Angie Hart, Richie Cuthbertand Sarah Aubrey @ TheBasement, Sydney (29/2/08)

Mon 3rd Mar, 2008 in Gig Reviews

The strong, confident voice of opening act Sarah Aubrey is perhaps no surprise when she reveals her day job: working as a commercial voiceover artist. The audience laughs, thrilled at unexpectedly recognising her voice as she reels through a string of promotions for Telstra, Olea and something called Dirt, which apparently occupies a late-night spot on pay TV station Extra. She’s a likeable, seasoned performer seemingly getting the most out of mainly unremarkable material. Afterwards, it was difficult to recall many details from her mid-tempo folk-rock songs, though I did want to buy some Olea products and watch Dirt on Extra.

Richie Cuthbert is the solo incarnation of the suddenly ubiquitous indie troupe Cuthbert and The Night Walkers, a surprising move into solo territory given that band’s ten members and reliance on a polyphonic, choral sound. Having already supported Kate Miller-Heidke across town earlier in the evening, Cuthbert arrives “flustered”, but immediately settles into confessional singer-songwriter mode with an understated song about a relationship gone sour amidst the revelry of Byron Bay’s Splendour in The Grass. There are shades of Dan Kelly about it, and like the Melbourne-based bard, Cuthbert seems keen to explain the stories behind the songs, to tease out their real-life inspirations into something more universal.

The faux-English falsetto and pomp of the band Cuthbert leads with his “nine best friends” are gone, but the songs stand up without the ornamentation, with the likes of – œCatholic Guilt’ and – œRed Frogs’ offering self-deprecating, observational lyrics a cut above the pop-rock norm. Also of interest was a love song he wrote for a student play, which avoided theatricality for a simpler brand of devotion. Overall, Cuthbert’s set was interesting and unexpectedly successful off-shoot from his main band, but the songs were mostly lost on an audience that spent most of their time talking and wishing that nice young lady from before would come back on stage.

Angie Hart knows a thing or two about art as confessional, with many of her new songs tending, however obliquely, towards autobiography. She certainly has a lot to write about, from the whirlwind success of Frente to that band’s commercial decline and breakup to the false starts and record company frustrations of her subsequent bands Splendid and Holidays on Ice. At one point she takes issue with a recent article that claimed she would run out of therapy sessions to hit the pub – “I finished therapy and then then went to the pub” she explains. She also scotches the media rumour that she had a – œdrinking problem’: “I like a drink, it’s not a problem”.
– œMy Year of Drinking’ continues in this vein and offers further proof that Hart is intent on making a new start, not being content to play Frente songs for die-hards or to return to that band’s cute naïveté. It’s typical of the mature torch songs from last year’s Grounded Bird. The wispy, folk-inflected – œCare’ sees her move into stark balladry, but some others move too far in this direction, the guitar and bass merely providing tasteful accompaniment. – œMy Thief’ is an exception, the bass bubbling away under a vaguely foreboding tune, while the piano-based material has more dramatic flair, overstated stabs at the piano recalling – œ70s Neil Young.

Some of the older, jazz-fan types that The Basement always attracts have wandered off by the end of the set, but Hart still judges it the best turn out she’s had for the new record, and those remaining received the songs warmly. She may have never had a better song than – œCold Heart Killer’, a lush mini-epic of stoicism in an abusive relationship. And barely anyone has ever had a better song than the perfect – œBizarre Love Triangle’, the New Order classic Frente turned into a massive hit single. It’s a suitably upbeat finale for a show that plumbed some of Hart’s dark places but happily suggested a new range of musical vistas opening up.