Humbly warming into the evening was Courtney Barnett. Sat on the uselessly low Corner Hotel stage, with her eyes just above those of the swarming early birds, the charming lady took hold.
Touring without the need for a backing band brings about a pleasant simplicity and Barnett’s set is testament to that. Leaning through each cheery rattle of her battered Harmony, but for the occasional drizzle of reverb, the echoes of a certain ‘MTV Unplugged’ session are as clear as the night air.
The quirks? Dropping ‘masturbation’ into the first verse of the brilliant “Lance Jr.” prompted uncontrollable grinning before the calmed, clever lyrics would mosey on through a fine warble.
Perched below the pedestal glare of the usual show-boating front, Barnett could just as well be at home. Indeed, the more EPs we buy, the cheaper her taxi home would be.
Feeling the swarm of punters, the dreaded Corner Hotel wind turbines clunked into gear, blowing a blustering chill across the dark space. Meanwhile, Barnett and her percussive, blues-pop passed over as a highlight, all of her own. With her debut EP I’ve Got A Friend Called Emily Ferris tucked under her wing, Polly really wants more crackers.
Cowering out from the air conditioning’s fierce breeze, the now Los Angeles based Mia Dyson’s faithful trio of musos made their unannounced entry before the lady herself marched on and lashed into ”Dancing On The Edge”. Plucked straight from her new album The Moment, the great emotive rasp that is Dyson’s voice pulled together the dramatic opener. Claps of keys rose up from multi-instrumentalist Liz Stringer, propped high and to Dyson’s right, driving the song forward.
Pausing to call out a friend in the room, Lesley, who’d lost her child to adoption, Dyson was solemn and touching. A dedication doesn’t often follow with much personal significance, but here Dyson had penned a note for her friend.
“Jesse”, also from The Moment, showed that the pained tribute runs with an equally pained delivery. Dyson expressed the sadly well-known tale not as a ballad but as a wretched and all too close void in a life.
Swapping guitar for keys and back again with the matchless Liz Stringer, Dyson’s gentle but piercing notes always picked their moment. Often spilling into crunching jams, the band turned all at once to reel in awe as the drummer thundered through a fill, battering his kit to near collapse. There’s much to love about a drummer who actually brings something to a gig when ushered under the bright lights. Especially when they’re wearing a hat. Smashing.
Bass player Tim Keegan proved the quiet one, dutifully performing without fuss, propped a little skewed to his right, facing the frontwoman, and though he was showy, Dyson is not.
Grim-faced but pleasant all the same, she opined the love of a home crowd to typically “wahey… ” type hoots. Originally from Torquay, Dyson’s Melbourne roots are carried with her. Sparkling but intermittent interplay between herself and the band left the sense that more could be thrown bare, wigged out and allowed to flow on stage.
With four albums to expose, the sound was in part refined to a point of a methodical formula, spread out over the evening.
Clumsily departing for the traditional gig-end game of hide-and-not-seek, Dyson and Co. didn’t waste much time in returning, closing with a bomb of claps and wails. With more time to be spent back in Los Angeles, there’s surely more to come from this fine talent.
– Ciarán Wilcox
