Standing so far left of stage, many were forced to strain their necks to get a decent view of Stephen Malkmus. Of course, The Jicks is a solid music unit itself, but it’s hard to divert focus from the legendary vocalist.
The confident “Senator,” with its manic rhythm, politically provocative lyricism and sharp vocal delivery, which adequately displays both Malkmus’ quivering croon and emphatic shrieks, opens the set with a fierce energy.
The majority of the set is dedicated to tracks from The Jicks’ 2011 album, Mirror Traffic, an inviting record that could make a lazy summer day feel like a productive spiritual adventure.
Malkmus carefully caresses the microphone like it’s a dripping ice-cream cone on a hot day during “Brain Gallop”, and seems reluctant to relinquish his tender grip to play his guitar part. The languid bassline drips slowly like molasses over the country twang of the lead guitar and Malkmus’s disjointed melodies.
The music drops away a few bars earlier than expected. “There’s something happening,” alerts Malkmus. “It’s this feedback thing. I don’t know what it is, but I can hear it”.
He doesn’t seem particularly alarmed by the invasive noise, but for the benefit of the audience, he repeatedly imitates the droning electronic wail, his rendition of which sounds something like a freshly castrated howling wolf.
Realising he’s having too much fun making strange sounds, he jokes that his howling is probably the origin of the noise, before quickly composing himself to get back to the music.
The delightfully buoyant beat of “All Over Gently” is amply smeared with a desperate melody. Guitarist Mike Clark, launches himself into the crowd, and is carried across the ocean of arms without compromising his guitar duties.
“I’m pro Geelong,” Malkmus declares suddenly. “It’s where all my illegitimate children live”.
Throughout the night, Malkmus continually impresses and entertains with his astute awareness of local geography. “Last night, we were in Castlemaine. How many of you are going to live there in five years after you get pregnant?”
Feeding off the laughs of the crowd, he later announces that “Sunbury is a lot more rock’n’roll than Woodstock”.
Drummer Jake Morris (who recently replaced Janet Weiss, formerly of Sleater-Kinney and now of Wild Flags, on the skins), has a banging moustache, which seems to determine the obscure contortions of his face, which in turn, appears to decide the intensity and pace at which he’ll bash the drumkit.
There’s something outwardly off-putting about much of The Jicks’ repertoire. Many songs seem to hit a stride, then suddenly jump backwards into structural mania. However, what is superficially challenging is mentally stimulating and the beauty that emerges through this understanding has a profoundly resonating impact.
In the live setting, it’s even more rewarding. Malkmus’s dedication to his music becomes abundantly evident through his body language, while the quivers and writhes of his vocal cords adopts a deeper meaning.
During the obligatory encore, a member of the crowd throws their shirt onto the stage. As “Jenny and the Ess-Dog” draws to a close, Malkmus thanks the audience for this gesture, whilst bassist, Joanna Bolme, proceeds to swiftly add it to her outfit. Meanwhile, a shirtless fool grasps at air from deep within the crowd in a fruitless effort to retrieve his shirt.
With much of the audience nervously eyeing watches and recognising that the set has already run half an hour past the scheduled end time, everyone is left to internally debate our priorities.
Malkmus confirms that The Jicks are “the kind of band that can go all night, if you know what I mean” (comically asserted in a tone not unlike the screechy voices Monty Python would give to their female characters), which sees many people sigh in torn frustrations, and several leaving the venue.
It’s a shame, however, as those who remain are amply rewarded by the final two songs. Firstly, a cover of Dragon’s “Are You Old Enough?” accompanied by Malkmus’s earnest declaration of fondness for the classic track and a quick account of his warm recollections of listening to it in his dad’s car as a kid.
Finally, the memorable gravelly riff of Pavement’s “Summer Babe” greets our ears and we’re warmed by Malkmus’ bow to his roots. A virtual standing ovation accompanies the band from the stage, with a sea of hands ascending into the air and lingering until the blazing lights tell us it’s time to get out.
