Having done the deed at Splendour in the Grass over the weekend, London’s loveable louts, Palma Violets, graced Northcote Social Club Monday night.
If colonisation of Aussie hearts and minds was the aim, by the end of the night it was certainly achieved
Controversially dubbed Britain’s latest garage-rock ‘darlings’ after joining the Rough Trade ranks of The Strokes and The Libertines, the foursome’s live-show reputation, which led to their online success and eventual cult status, raised the stakes for those in the mixed-bag audience.
A crowd made of two distinct parties: expat devotees who camped at the front and bemused Aussie punters who lounged on the wings.
Showcasing a sluggish start marred by technical difficulties and vocalised frustrations from bass guitarist and singer Alex ‘Chilli’ Jesson, the more volatile half of Palma Violets’ front men duo, the Brits quickly and suddenly found their feet with their Ramones-like throwback track “Rattlesnake Highway”.
Oscillating between tightly -coiled punk defined by Chilli’s bass rumblings and Will Doyle’s snare rolls, and spacious new wave distortion-euphoria from the melodic tinkering of Sam Fryer’s tele and Pete Mayhew’s keyboards, the one-hour gig delivered what was promised from their stylistically diverse debut 180.
Reveling in the yin-yang duality that defines Palma Violets’ sound, the front-men duo of Chilli and Fryer provided the perfect performance equilibrium—a dose of “Madchester” cool and a swig of ‘The Clash’ scruffiness.
The contrast between the two personas most evident in their differing approaches to a slightly wary crowd. Fryer coaxing the dubious with the ironic rhetoric of “don’t be shy”, while Chilli opted for a direct addressing of the situation: “come a bit fucking closer!” The confines of a house party obviously more to the bass guitarist’s liking.
Launching into reflective “All The Garden Birds”, Fryer’s somber vocal timbre sobered the sweaty Violet devout up front. The effect crumbling upon Fryer’s strumming of the opening riff for tongue-in-the-cheek hit “Best Of Friends”. Chilli finding his element as lead vocalist, as the small mosh up went into frenzy: beer spilling into blonde hair, bodies bouncing off each other.
Segueing into the “Step Up For The Cool Cats”, the Palma Violets then dabbled into the more experimental and psychedelic with the wistful “Last Summer Of Summer Wine”. Fryer closing with wolfish howls whilst Chilli kept hawkish eyes out for the more reserved “cool cats” stage right who refused to raise their arms at his command.
The bass guitarist’s punk petulance, endearing with its absence of snarkiness, reached its zenith as he made visceral-like demands from the crowd. Where Chilli, glowering over those in front, cigarette lit in hand, screamed for hands to be raised “higher and higher” like a speed-freak evangelist priest as the keys hummed out the last few notes.
Doyle by this point wet and pasty in a grey tank, resolutely taking advantage of the almost hypnotised state of the audience, stood upon his throne taking a courteous bow and receiving a well-deserved cheer from the crowd.
Almost spent, the Palma Violets launched into the closing song the visceral “14”. Fryer’s delicate fingering finding a fairytale ending in the last piercing chords, as the foursome without ceremony left the stage bidding goodnight—their plugged in instruments still humming with an encore left begging.
Swaggering back onto stage for one last round, any nuance demonstrated or gentlemanly courtesy expressed beforehand was decidedly done with, as Chilli took a drag from his smoke, snubbed the butt and reached for his bass.
The shit-stirring impulses of the larrikin Violets coming to the surface as the mosh swamped the stage and the band launched into punk riot. The composed Mayhew who was seated behind the keys for most of the gig, joining those on stage the keyboardist’s cardigan pulled off the shoulder and flapping off the arm.
Finishing off the second half of “14” which was chanted back by the crowd, Chilli encouraging the possibility for anarchy screamed for the lights on stage to be turned off. Upon the request, with the stage less visible to on-lookers, the bass guitarist jumped head first, mic almost in mouth, into the crowd.
Reveling in the legacy of their English rock forefathers, the Palma Violets’ distinctive Brit sound found a new home at Northcote by the end of the set, as the crowd made their way out to High Street just before midnight.
