The sweeping staircase of the entry to the Thornbury Theatre and the pseudo-baroque decor give off an air of preparation for entering a suburban wedding reception; with tables of twenty and thirty somethings finishing off the last of their meals at round tables, with wine served by waiters in metal ice buckets. Indeed were it not for the lack of a bridal party, one could be forgiven for mistaking the booker announcing the headline act as the MC, and the tall skinny bloke walking on stage and sitting on a stool squinting in the spotlight as the genial acoustic after dinner act – there to play a few tunes and crack jokes and tell stories in between songs.
There’s no mistaking Gareth Liddiard’s rasp, however, as he greets his ‘wedding guests’ with the matter of fact announcement that he’ll be playing his acclaimed debut solo album in the order of its track listing. “Here’s the plan Stan , we’re going to play the record from go to woe – so there’ll be no surprises”. Launching in to ‘Blondin Makes An Omelette’ off Strange Tourist, it’s immediately apparent that there will be little difference in the tracks live and the way they were recorded in a bare bones fashion, with just an acoustic guitar and vocals. Rather than being light entertainment to assist the digestion of a pleasant meal, Strange Tourist live is an intense after dinner experience, as if a few tabs of ketamine have replaced petit fours, and backyard brewed grappa served in place of a fine port. Yet all the while between songs Liddiard cheerfully relates stories – such as Japanese businessmen hanging themselves in forests at the base of Mount Fuji – whilst simultaneously remaining laconic and self-deprecating, with fierce intelligence and a larrikin streak.
‘Strange Tourist’ illuminates the ‘shit flatmates’ Liddiard has had, and you can almost feel the unease of former dwelling partners in the room as he spits out their collective sins: ‘I have never known someone who needed to talk so much/Or even fool himself disguising a guess/I just steered his bullshit through the next diversion/Never bothering with reality checks’.
‘Did She Scare All Your Friends Away’ reveals a tenderness only hinted at in the recorded form, but the pièce de résistance remains the album closer ‘The Radicalisation of D’ – which he points out is not so much about former Guantanamo Bay prisoner David Hicks as ‘people like him. Fighting for the Kosovo Liberation Army wasn’t such a bad thing, was it?’ Liddiard’s half smile suggests he’s baiting people into fumbling for an answer, but immediately lets loose with the searing intensity of the 16 minute closer (closer to 20 minutes in length live) and drives it through the lyrics which rasp upon the eardrums like Banjo Patterson writing a psychological profile and murder confession in iambic pentameter.
An encore seems inevitable after this set, which has long veered way off course from wedding entertainment, with jokes getting funnier as Liddiard reveals that growing old to him means no longer pissing in empty longneck bottles. The crowd is treated to several Drones songs as an encore – ‘I Am The Supercargo’ off Havilah and ‘Locust’ off Wait Long By The River…It’s also treated to what is almost a set piece, in which a good natured heckling punter named Warwick, experiences damnation and redemption in the eyes of Liddiard. At first he is swiftly dismissed by Liddiard who asks ‘oh so you’re writing the set list now are you? What’s your name? Warwick? No Warwick, I write the set list’. In a moment of redemption for Warwick, however, Liddiard gives him an opportunity to choose the last song of the night. Luckily for Warwick, it happens to be ‘Jezebel’ off Gala Mill, which may or may not have already been on the set list at this juncture. It doesn’t matter, however, as it encapsulates the audience experience at the gig – damnation and redemption at the hands of Liddiard and his acoustic guitar, with jokes in between just to keep it grounded. Or are even they just a ploy to distract us from realising that we’re watching something quite remarkable?
– Jim Murray
