Frenzied guitars and rocket-sized tunes
It’s Friday night in awesome Sydney hangout Mr. Falcon’s, and both bands are totally – hilariously – befuddled by the size of this place, which is roughly equivalent to the size of the box my shoes came in and darker than the inside of a cow. While they try to decide who’ll play first – a debate conducted with an alarming quantity of “whatever”s and “we’re not fussed”s – they decide to set up camp around me in the bar to also discuss their puzzlement at having to do their own sound. All of this with precisely zero idea that I’m both writing down everything they say and trying desperately hard not to allow tears of laughter to roll down my face. Bands crack me up…
Summer Blood, for some reason, keep apologising for being too loud. Which is like a Brit apologising when you bump into them – what they actually mean is “get it together you cockwomble, I’m awesome and you’re a tool”. In this, they are correct about being awesome, since the tunes are long on distortion and short on length, packed to the gills with fun and daftness. They finish – I think – on “Knuckle Up”. Either I’m right, and it’s a ferocious wee beastie full of teeth and muscle (where the recorded version is lo-fi and scratchy), or I’m wrong and it’s still a bloody brilliant track with widdly riffs and screaming. So much fun.
On record, Hound steer a straightline course via Placebo, but live – at least tonight – they veer into major Dinosaur Jr territory. This may be to do with the fact they are totally and brilliantly drunk. If so, being drunk makes them totally brilliant. The guitars just ring like bells, and the songs chug along like a freight train – even if they do have to be reminded which songs to actually play. “Drown” in particular is an absolute screeching fucking belter of a track tonight, rubbing our faces raw and then kissing it all better.
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