The Kill Devil Hills, TheJoans @ The Wheatsheaf Hotel,Adelaide (09/05/08)

Wed 14th May, 2008 in Gig Reviews

Have you ever wondered what Nirvana would have sounded like if Kurt Cobain had grown up in Nashville rather than Seattle? No, neither have I, though he might have learned more about gun safety if he had. Anyway, the point is that the resulting sound would probably have been a little like that of The Kill Devil Hills, the WA six-piece that just rumbled through town, headed for the east coast.

Wheatsheaf favourites and exponents of the pub’s real-music scene,The Joans, opened proceedings. The Adelaide ensemble enjoys the pedigree of some of SA’s finest and most versatile musical talent: Di Caught (also of Problem Pony) on vocals and ukulele and accordion; Jim Redgate (also of GT Stringer and King Daddy) on banjo and guitar; Kim Perry (also of The Fiddle Chicks) on violin, and; the omnipresent Rob Eyers (of every other band in town) on skins. The combination has produced a repertoire of quirky folk-blues originals and adaptations with a genuine, organic mood. Caught’s sultry vocals evoke nostalgia for the simpler times of yesteryear – and the dark humour therein – and can transport a room to a candle-lit 50s cocktail lounge. Or even to the garden of a country homestead on a warm summer night, thus providing a gentle segue to what was to follow.

The Hills categorise their sound as “alternative/country/blues”, but such tags are utterly inadequate. They don’t prepare you for the songs’ haunting tales of heartache, desperation and mortality; they certainly don’t prepare you for the heart- and ball-rending tenacity with which they are told. It would be easy to presume that six guys who make ZZ Top look like a boy band, who regard the Wheaty as “a classy, sit-down venue”, would be all grunt and no substance. But the Hills continue the country tradition of emotive and purging lyrics, while making modern, popular country sound like made-for-ringtone confectionary.

They do, however, also have plenty of grunt. Songs like Hungry and Down worked up bombastic crescendos. Change In The Weather summoned Waitsian back-alley gospel before descending into a bluesy, manic and wailing fiddle run. How many bands can get away with a fiddle played through distortion pedals? Or with a mandolin solo? Though if you disagree, I’d advise against telling Lachlan Gurr. Gurr must be a contender for the Australian musician most inversely proportioned to his instrument, and he plays it with a gusto that is just one whisky away from Pete Townshend-style windmills.

Gunslinger went off like the soundtrack to the climactic scene from a Tarantino Western. And glasses chimed to the highly-anticipated Drinkin Too Much, a drinking man’s lament about how the drink that chases love away will medicate the wounds it leaves behind.

Don’t be dissuaded by the banjo, mandolin or fiddle. This is a serious fucking rock-and-roll band. And one that you want on your side during the bar fight after the show.