Unperturbed by the Arena’s empty spaces, Sydneysiders Ghostwood attack their opening slot with gusto, layering oodles of echoing feedback into dreamy guitars in the most attractive way. The middle pair of their short five-song burst push toward fast-tempo hardcore territory, robbing lead vocalist Gabriel voice of some of its melody and dulling the layered intricacy of the guitars. The four-piece return to the opening theme as they conclude – a mini-opus complete with five minutes of guitar-noodling and a multi-pronged percussion attack that’s only saved by the sexy bass line that anchors the piece.
By contrast, The Rakes play what feels an interminable set. Eventually, their brash britpop numbers bleed into one another – a crime that might have been avoided with a tauter set. Taken individually, songs such as We Dance Together are full of infectious guitar hooks and sexily danceable beats – but only the hardcore fans could keep pace for an entire hour. It’s also impossible to decide whether the affectations of Cocker-esque frontman Alan Donohoe are endearing or annoying. Awkward and kookily phrased stage banter hovers on the edge of irksome, but his robotic hand gestures enhance rather detract, lending the five-piece an amusing nerd chic-ness.
We always knew an evening with The Jesus And Mary Chain would be an exercise on the eardrums. And, as the band plunges without adieu into Psychocandy’s Taste of Cindy, the noise levels are as pleasingly ear-shattering as you’d want, even if the trademark feedback is judiciously, rather than liberally, applied.
After, vocalist Jim Reid informs the crowd in trademark Glaswegian drawl that he has a touch of cold, but promises to soldier on regardless.
What follows is almost everything a fan could have wished for as the band – on this occasion a five-piece incarnation with dual guitarists, bassist and drummer – delves through a back-catalogue that spans almost 30 years to deliver a tight set of brooding noise-pop with astonishing aplomb.
Almost everything.
Fact is, the absence of the early feedback-ridden hits that brought them to prominence is noticeable. Still, in their place, darkly melodic renditions of Some Candy Talking and Just Like Honey earn plenty of cheers and allow Jim Reid to stare moodily into the middle distance while brother William Reid showcases his guitar skills.
Course it doesn’t stop there, even if Psychocandy is regarded by many as the band’s defining moment. The grinding surf guitar and stomp-all-over-you bass rhythm of Sidewalking shifts into the familiar sounds of The Crow soundtrack’s Snakedriver as almost every era of the band receives a showing of some sort. From the almost-poppy tones of Darklands’ Happy When It Rains, to heavier tunes like Automatic’s Blues From A Gun and even Munki’s Cracking Up, every album is represented tonight except Stoned And Dethroned. There’s even room for a couple of new tracks – both of which ably hold their own against older material.
It all goes so fast that there’s an almost palpable sense of surprise and disbelief when they conclude with a delightfully messy version of Syd Barrett’s unreleased Pink Floyd song and Upside Down b-side Vegetable Man.
An encore is demanded and given. The chiming atmospherics of Darklands are well received but it’s the spitting nihilism of once-banned Reverence that takes the final accolades and, tonight, comes closest to the dense white noise style they pioneered.
