The Vasco Era, The Fumes @Jive, Adelaide (06/10/07)

Wed 24th Oct, 2007 in Gig Reviews

Sold out signs were posted outside Jive Bar on Hindley St for the second gig of a two night stand by The Vasco Era. Small, sweaty and underlit, Jive would appear a venue ideally suited to the group’s fiery and nakedly emotional contribution to the blues, and so it was to prove.

The crowd were nicely warmed up by the aggressive work of The Fumes, a duo who provided a decent addition to the Blues duo formula of The Black Keys/The White Stripes and others. Later on they would return to help add a few more decibels of percussive noise to the end of the night.

First though the stage was left entirely to Vasco Era vocalist Sid O’Neill, his brother and bassist Ted and drummer Michael Fitzgerald. As a trio they first caught this critic’s eye by shredding through an opening set for Gomez at the Governor Hindmarsh earlier this year, and tonight they proved equally adept at taking top billing. Sid in particular enjoyed his night, pushing the crowd into full-blown sing along mode when he gave a chilling rendition of I Can’t Help Falling In Love during a stint alone on stage at the show’s midpoint. With his vocal prowess, ability to coax all manner of riffs and squeals out of his guitar and dark, prominent sideburns, Sid appears at times to be a 21st century melding of Jack White and Elvis Presley. Equally at home strumming quietly or screaming with abandon, he is also a deft slide guitarist, a characteristic showcased at the end of the night.

Good as Sid is, it would be unfair describe him as the group’s only selling point. Ted is a typically staunch bassist, ensuring his brother’s frequent detours into the depths of emotional torment – debut album Oh We Do Like To Live Beside The Seaside is unashamedly a break-up concept record – do not take place without solid rhythmic support. Drummer “Fitzy” Fitzgerald rocks just as hard as he needs to, contributing only the sorts of beats and fills that the band’s ballsy, stripped down blues aesthetic demands.

Following his solo bit, Sid offered a simple “now is when we get loud” announcement to usher his band mates back on stage. Loud was to be an understatement, as the aural power of the closing few songs overshadowed (almost) all that had preceded them. Honey Bee (When It Was Making Weird Love Songs) in particular provided ample opportunities for rudely passionate noise, and by show’s end there were as many ears ringing as heads bopping. Unless you had a headache to start with, it was a difficult gig not to like.

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