It was the second last show of Gay Paris’ After Party tour and the line at Cherry Bar on Saturday night went all the way around the corner into Flinders Lane – a huge testament to the night’s headliners.
Released in April 2013, their crowd-funded second album The Last Good Party received rave reviews from such auspicious publications as Rolling Stone. Although not overly exhilarated by the release, Tone Deaf reviewer Rebecca Russo noted, “A saving grace is the thought of Gay Paris’ live show, where an album like this would come to light.”
“The loud, explosive sound will leave you wiping the dirt and grease from the four-piece off you for weeks to come.”
Russo was right. The grease, sweat, and spit flying off the band during their set just won’t come off, although Batpiss and Sheriff already heaped it on before the headliners hit the stage.
When drummer Marty Mortal, guitarist Paul Portal, and bassist Thomy Cones join forces they become the mighty Batpiss. Cones and Portal take the vocals in what looks and sounds like a drunken domestic dispute.
They play fast and hard in a genre that sits somewhere between hardcore and stoner rock – most likely claimed by an esoteric name.
There was an early snag in the set when Portal broke a string, a factor that ate into their performance time quite a bit. However, in true punk fashion, he didn’t bother turning off the guitar to change the string, instead letting a shrill hum hang over the crowd as Mortal and Cones had a small jam session.
Melbourne rockers Sheriff hit the stage with their renowned butt-kicking gusto, and guitarist Thomas Watson wasted no time hitting the dance floor. Marching back and forth through the crowd, Watson split the packed crowd in two like some sort of axe wielding Moses dividing a Cherry Red sea. Exaggerations aside, it was pretty damn cool.
Sharing vocal duties, Watson and bassist Jim Coelli provided some entertaining between-song banter, sounding like a couple of dirty sport announcers commenting on their show.
Rollicking their way through heavy-hitting rock number after another, the sweat and grime was caking up on the faces of the unwashed mass. They trade in downtrodden, ballsy pub rock, which, if personified, would slur its words and cover you in stale beer smelling spittle when it talked.
Cherry was brimming with a capacity crowd. This was to be the last show that Gay Paris would play in Melbourne for a while before setting off to record their third album in the USA, and clearly the fans had taken cue.
Rockabilly, stoner blues-rock comes close to categorising the band’s music, with lead man Luke ‘Wailin H’ Monks’ gravel pit vocals falling to a metal growl periodically. Pounding away at their sonic tools, the frontman was quick to assert that anyone who didn’t want to party could get the fuck out.
The bearded singer is a little abrasive, to say the least. A bouncing ball of unrepentant energy with a devilish and twisted sense of humour makes him a polarising figure.
Between songs, he was constantly calling out to anyone in the audience who had drugs and requesting girls with “big titties” to meet him in the disabled toilets after the show.
You could either love him for his rock n’ roll spirit of no-holds-barred triple x banter, or hate him as a self-indulgent misogynistic sleaze.
This kind of showmanship can really take attention away from a band’s music, causing people to talk more about ‘attitude’ than the musicianship. But that’s what Gay Paris are, and bet your britches they don’t give a shit what you think.
