With a sure-fire ability to draw a crowd, the Melbourne three-piece Damn Terran managed to turn a relatively spacious venue into a claustrophobic’s nightmare within the space of a few songs. Harsh, swift guitar echoed thick, almost sludgy bass, coming together in an almost haphazard fashion – and yet the group functioned surprisingly cohesively.
Dual vocals were at hand more often than not, with bassist Ali Edmonds playing off Lachlan Ewbank and vice versa, creating a variety that never became overused to the point of predictability. After an explosive set – and the surprising lack of broken strings from Ewbank – it’s safe to say that Damn Terran is a live band first and foremost and should be experienced in such an environment.
Blacklevel Embassy had a tough act to follow, but the three-piece somehow managed to reel in an even bigger crowd. Inspired by the likes of Coerce as well as the night’s headliners, the group played a very bass-heavy set backed by an almost indescribable guitar tone. Is ‘thwacky’ an adjective? It probably should be.
Letting the guitar ring out between songs was an interesting method used to sustain the atmosphere in the room, although it did confuse potential applauders when the group refused to fall silent between songs. To the band’s demerit, time management was an issue, claiming they had run out of time before abruptly leaving the stage. Regardless, it was a powerful performance that got a lot of people swarming towards the stage.
How To Stop Your Brain In An Accident was a landmark LP for 2013 that built upon Future Of The Left’s pseudo-political and sarcastic brand of jumpy, alternative rock, crafting one of the band’s finer releases to date. Coming off the back of a new year, the Welsh four-piece were a treat to watch.
The reaction was overwhelming as the first few chords of the opening song ‘Arming Eritrea’ played, with universal recognition amongst the packed crowd. The group’s performance was mystifyingly rhythmic, most evident in the opening lines of ‘Bread, Cheese, Bow and Arrow’, where the band adopted jerky, almost robotic movements on stage as Andy Falkous issued his signature fiery vocals.
Technical trouble arose with Julia Ruzicka’s bass during the first few seconds of ‘Small Bones, Small Bodies’, causing the song to be restarted. “You can keep a secret, can’t you? That song never started,” Falkous suggested to the audience with a domineering look before the group carried on.
Perhaps more funny than Falkous’ between-song rants, which included a frequent rip into Metallica fans (“I was like you once”), was his talent at disarming hecklers and overzealous crowd members. “The world is full of heartbreak, and it’s better that you learn that now than later on in life at a show with a more violent frontman,” he said with a sheepish smile plastered across his face.
Even during the beginning of ‘Adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood’, when guitarist Jimmy Watkins openly admitted to forgetting his opening vocal duties by claiming he was “still on Welsh time”, Falkous didn’t spare a second shifting the blame to the loud audience and claiming they were the distraction, receiving numerous laughs.
The final number they played was a handful of songs strung together, starting with the brilliantly spoken ‘Singing Of The Bonesaws’ before transitioning to the more upbeat ‘Lapsed Catholics’.
During the group’s final minutes, Falkous abandoned his post at the center of the stage and disassembled band mate Jack Egglestone’s drum kit, holding high hats and cymbals just out of reach for Egglestone to play. Contrastingly, Watkins revealed a roll of gaffer tape and affixed a banana to the head of his guitar. He then leant out over the crowd and fed various audience members before returning to the stage with a half-full beer bottle attached it to a lucky punter’s forehead. They then passed him around from on top of the crowd, each taking swigs from his face.
Yes, this actually happened. It was bizarre to witness, but with a band as eclectic as Future Of The Left, ending on any other note would’ve seemed inappropriate.
