A traditional Good Friday. At The Tote. Perfect.
Wandering through the dark cavern of the venue for a well earned wig-out, first cab off the rank was local outfit Buried Feather.
With their hearts well and truly bolted to their outer sleeves the four-piece indulged in some wistful warbling and put their pedal-boards to tasteful use, side-stepping the blissful but meaningless shoegaze emulation that has glutted Melbourne band rooms in recent years.
The musty room was slow to fill while the intermittent vocal catches that drifted in and out of conscious audibility, the tempered synth coupled nicely with frontman Stephen McLennan’s levelled guitar sounds.
Bringing forth a tasteful nod to their non-too-subtle heroes, Wooden Shjips, the soundscape was sweeter than most without flying around a twisted storyboard of unhinged riffage.
Buried Feathers various talents were an apt warm-up for the night’s noisier headliners.
Endless Boogie’s shaggy-haired Kentucky native Paul Major cast a lurching shadow as the New York based jam-band’s lead guitarist and his wiry limbs took centre stage in something more like a gradual becoming than an entrance.
The stage was, notably, a bare floored version of the earlier acts, where pedals were spread around like mouse traps.
All Major and his fellow guitarist Jesper Eklow (taking a break from his Seven Duffs day job) required was a switch each and a solitary wah pedal for a little wobble, Erklow playing Marshal to the Major.
Formed as a means to pass the time rather than a fully-fledged attempt to take on the world, “Endless Boogie” played up to their name since their inception. With good reason – they named the band over a few beers before first plugging in, and ever since the method has been straightforward and simple – the same way they kick off a set.
Eklow’s Stooges-like riffage quickly hits a chugging, steady groove. and instantly drummer Chris Gray had his work cut out for him; holding down a constant beat that could well push half an hour.
With the rhythm set in motion, Major took hold, wigging out with his mane flaying about as his stark grin seemed to hover a good distance proud of his shoulders. After 20 minutes of mind-bending sounds with a dropped shoulder here and there, the Tote’s floor was bouncing.
Whatever cave that Jesus fella was supposedly kipping in this time many moons ago, he’d have got up for this too. The manic strains of Major were held up neatly by the band, like a night out, everyone looking out for the hyperactive lightweight before losing patience and turning away while he flinched about.
The dirge of “General Admission”, from recent album Long Island, came coupled with Eklow’s instruction on how to pronounce it. “Say it… Lawn Guyland,” was the monkey-see-monkey-do session after being goaded for the customary “Hello MelboRRRne” failure. (“It’s Mal-bin!”, a willing corrector offered).
After three songs in three-quarters of an hour, Major announced in his hissing drawl “We’re gonna take a short break then come back and jack it up!” The room needed a beer by that point, so the intermission was welcome.
Back on stage, each man mirroring the other with a beer in hand. They began hopping about with every groove. The oscillating face of Major nearly unhinged itself before time was called. That was it. No hide and seek, just a band playing and playing and playing.
Aside from a possible work place injuring suit coming on the back of Gray’s inevitable RIS, there is no stopping a wave like Endless Boogie. As Good Fridays go, that was definitely a rad one.
