The crowd is as thinly spread as the opening band’s name suggests and they receive even less of a response from the devoted few present.
The Thin Kids – a Brisbane group made up of The Gin Club’s drummer Scottie Regan, local favourite Ed Guglielmino on guitar and music critic Everett True on lead vocals – is a boy band of sorts, mashing spoken word with off-kilter music – the result being a sheer, confusing mess.
Whether they mean to be ironic and/or sarcastic is lost on the few people listening. They close with True repeating the sentence, “You’re not allowed in,” and, after that performance, most punters looked as if they wish they hadn’t been let into The Zoo at all (thank god for pool tables for distraction).
Up next, and hailing from Melbourne, is freshly-formed band New Gods. Made up of a couple of members of now-defunct pop group Little Red, they take to the stage as a few more punters emerge.
The slight frame holding frontman Dominic Byrne welcomes the room before jumping right into a drum-thumping, guitar-wrangling opening number. Unfortunately, the rest of their set follows in a similar manner.
Byrne engages in sporadic banter but the rest of the five-piece remain engrossed in their instruments or, rather, the floor in front of their feet.
The forgetful nature of their insincerely-garage-like songs gives the urge to shake Byrne and spit, “you coulda been a star kid, but you threw it all away!”
After a few of the same tunes, a breath of fresh air feels imminent, with one song starting off with an electronic RnB drum beat – which is swiftly followed by more squealing power chords on the electric guitar. The song immediately melts back into the rest of the unmemorable set.
Sure, they play well, but what they play is simply tiresome.
Tonight, the venue is criminally under patroned – perhaps a quarter full. It’s a double-edged sword for punters to such a gig; there’s no need to bustle for a good view of the band but, on the other hand, a return visit may be deemed superfluous when only a handful of ardent fans head along to see them.
2012 marked 10 years for The Cribs and they appropriately walk on stage to KISS’s “God Gave Rock ‘n’ Roll To You” before smashing right into recent single and radio-favourite, “Come On, Be A No One”. It’s short and punchy and gets the show rolling with no hesitation from the band nor from the mosh.
“I’m A Realist” carries a slow-burning beginning with Ryan Jarman’s back to the crowd before the three-piece explode into the familiar garage territory.
It turns into quite the anthem and a high point right up until “Cheat On Me” is played and completely steals the show.
It’s a fine display of pure, heady rock ‘n roll at its very best despite the self-deprecating banter from the brothers; “If you’ve come to see a rock show, well, you’ve only yourselves to blame,” quips Ross Jarman, in a barely-understandable Yorkshire accent.
The passionately performed, strangled screams of “Back To The Bolthole”, serves as the only chance to catch a breath before the siblings pick things up right away again with “Men’s Needs” and even “Bovine Public” gets a play – humouredly aimed at arch-nemesis UK band, The Pigeon Detectives.
The ‘don’t give a fuck’ nature of The Cribs is seen in full force tonight, as barely an eyelid is battered from the many stage crashers, crowd surfers, and Leeds Football Club-flag carrying punters (to which Ryan disgustedly moans, “sorry, but I fucking hate football, I hate it”).
The Cribs simply smile with pure glee, even when the clearly exasperated stage hands have to do the dragging-off-stage-by-the-legs (including bringing back Ryan from a stage dive); imagining a sold out Cribs show is difficult – the tech guys would have a most hectic job keeping atop The Cribs and their fans’ antics.
“City Eats Bugs” finishes the show brilliantly, as the band do their best to wreck their belongings: throwing guitars into amps, tipping over hi-hats, and an impromptu drum solo from youngest brother, Gary Jarman.
The small crowd tumbling out back onto the streets of the Valley may have more reason than the usual brawlers to “start something.”
After that intimate, completely mind blowing performance from The Cribs, the three brothers from West Yorkshire sure make not giving a fuck about anything look good.
