Spectrum, 34 Oxford St., Darlinghurst, 16/07/05.Let’s be honest, hipsters. You’re not like everybody else. And it’s not those homemade badges stuck on the collar of your blazer that set you apart. It’s your perverse sexual predilections. I’ve spoken to members of your ranks, and I’m now convinced that none of you get hot over conventional pornography. Oh no, it’s not tits and arse or well-hung black men for you. Cute Japanese girls do nothing for your libido. Who cares about the Suicide Girls? You get most excited about advertised line-ups like this: Expatriate, The Valentinos and The Spark.
And Christ, I can’t blame you. As far as bizarre sexual kinks go, getting a little too excited about indie rock extravaganzas is a pretty good one. I mean, the gigs are pretty cheap (tonight was $10), it’s fully legal and no one would ever suspect that your tight Valensi jeans are actually there to restrain a grossly inappropriate music boner.
Foreplay tonight came in the form of The Valentinos, an energetic amalgamation of on point Gang Of Four rhythms and slightly off point Ian Curtis vocals (minus that man’s beautiful moroseness). The band are at their best within the first 20 seconds of any given song, with tightly-wound, foot-stomping, bass-heavy intros that make you put down your beer so you can really enjoy dancing awkwardly. The audience are asked to Dance Or Die, and almost all of them gleefully choose the former.
The Dead Dead Girls popped up next, a surprise mini-set from this charmingly esoteric pop-electro-weirdness trio. Think Spod meets Chicks On Speed meets Play School and you’re just about there. (Journalistic integrity time: one member of The Dead Dead Girls edits this very paper).
Pre-gig, I asked a representative of the indie rock brigade what I should expect from The Spark. ‘They’re fucking incredible,’ he said, his cheeks flushing red. He then excused himself to the bathroom. And he was right: these guys are absolutely spectacularly fucking good. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had pride of place in the spank banks of hipsters everywhere. They have all the ingredients necessary to be the band du jour.
Awesome, melodic, surging music that sounds like so many other awesome bands, but in a good way? Check! Brilliant James-Mercer-meets-Isaac-Brock vocals? Check! Genuine stage presence? Check! A drummer who seems to be half-machine? Check! If you could find anyone in Spectrum who wasn’t going absolutely buckwild for The Spark, you probably found the only fun-hating fundamentalist Christian in the joint.
After another quick dance-a-thon led by the Dead Dead Girls, headliners Expatriate took to the stage, and don’t the kids go crazy for these guys? From woe to go, the men were bouncing their Albert Hammond, Jnr. bouffant hair, and the women were moving their Karen O arses. Another Saturday night at Spectrum, another night of indie rock hotness. Who needs well hung black men and Japanese schoolgirls?
(Originally published in The Brag).
(Image taken from the photographically endowed Daniel Boud's blog).
