Often, emerging groups can fill out a venue on the premise of sounding like another band, but while Sons of Rico sound more than a little like Supertramp, that certainly isn’t the case tonight.
Ding Dong Lounge is nearly empty when the first support band takes to the stage. To their credit, Bayou still delivers an engaging set of visceral, reverb soaked indie rock.
Angela Flood’s swooning vocals are sometimes drowned out by the twin-guitar assault of Tim Davis and Reuben Acciano, but she cuts a graceful figure, swaying elegantly with the music. Taking their cues from the British indie music of the 80s and early 90s – from The Smiths to shoegaze – Bayou are an impressive outfit.
Sadly, the same can’t be said for Lost Weekends. Although set closer, “Swallow Your Pill” has its moments, their Kasabian-inspired dance rock falls short of the mark. An unfortunate tumble from their bass player sums up their night. He is later escorted from the venue.
By the time Sons of Rico arrive on stage, the band room has swelled, but only modestly. Armed with a Telecaster and dressed in an old, brown leather jacket, shaggy-haired frontman Alex McCrae looks like he’s stepped straight off a 70s film set.
Sons of Rico begin tentatively, as if distracted by the gaps in the crowd. Given their recent appearances with The Living End, that would be unsurprising. Either way, McCrae eventually loosens up with a searing solo before a rousing rendition of the hooktastic “Miss Adventure” gets things moving in the right direction.
“It’s Alright” evolves into a big, bluesy stomp and showcases the incendiary guitar playing of McCrae and Callan and the pair trade licks throughout the show. Many of the songs climax with Who-like freakouts and Adam Weston (also of Birds of Tokyo) seems especially delighted at these moments, pummelling his drum kit with reckless abandon.
When they enter ballad territory, the Beatles-esque “In The Morning” is both poised and haunting. “I woke from a dream where I fell to the ground,” McCrae croons over poignant piano chords. Callan and keyboard player Brett Murray both offer crystalline harmonies – it’s a beautiful moment. Later, the gangly frontman bops and shimmies to current single “You Don’t Know What You’re Missin’”, straining to reach the infectious chorus falsetto. Another knockout.
Still, the comedown from The Living End shows proves hard to hide. “This stage is so small,” McCrae ponders, all the while looking out to the sparsely populated band room. At one point a woman jumps on stage to take a photo with the band (yep, it’s one of those gigs).
It’s been a while since 70s-influenced pop was in vogue, probably years to be honest, but while Sons of Rico seem unlikely to buck this trend, that’s in spite, not because of their musicianship.
