This is a good bill in anyone’s language. I know that and I haven’t even seen any of them play before. Labjacd and Diafrix have been starting parties all over Melbourne for yonks and they’re pretty damn good at it.
But it’s Boomla who are throwing this party: Ben and Syrene are launching the single Brain from their forthcoming album From Brasil to Cyrene. They are using the teaser method: first, a barely advertised gig last year that was lauded by music press, now a little sneak peek of the album they are birthing.
Labjacd are a fervent 9-piece who do a great line in funk, hip hop and latino flavoured music. That’s not to say that’s all they do, but it is not good writing, generally, to list every bloody genre that band as diverse at Labjacd crosses. It’s all too messy you see?
With a pumping horn section, Cuban excitement, ferocious ukulele, two MCs sparring funk-poetry, they have a fucking awesome time on stage. Spanish raps with Aussie flavoured turn-tabling; funktified guitar and bass; awesome tight grooves; afro-latino world beats with solid percussion; tight as rhythm and horn sections that blast like punctuation – this band has it all.
I would hazard a guess that Labjacd aren’t one of those bands where the bass player only learnt bass ’cause they needed a bass player. I love rock, garage rock, whatever, but there is something really special about music that is played to serve music. Plus you always get loads of cowbell with outfits like this, and who doesn’t need more cowbell? Infectious! No one in this room could help but move.
Luis Poblete and Cristian Saavedra move from conga to mic, mic to guitar, unleashing extraordinary fast rhymes as they go. The dynamic band dips to salsa and funk and when it comes time to break it down, they all get clapping, a crazy street party, a real celebration of music. Particular mention goes to their saxophonist, Andy Williams who loses control as the music takes control – either that or he’s on ecstasy. He’s having a sterling time anyway and since he goes on to play for Diafrix, you gotta give it to him.
Labjacd don’t want to stop and when they dangle another musical carrot the crowd goes mental. Sadly, their drummer had already taken off and an unseen voice tells them they’ve already played longer than they were allowed to. What an anti-climax. We’re not crying for too long as the Diafrix crew take to the stage.
It’s not long before a packed crowd is ‘a-whoa a-whoa a-whoa’-ing to In Tha Place, the title track of the new Diafrix album. I’m sure I’ve heard this cracking hip hop track, with its sweet samples, double sax, bass pumps and wicked raps, on the wireless, but who writes these things down when they happen?
Not afraid to sample an accordion, they go all Jamaican with phat beats and infectious dirty dancehall. I feel reluctant to call them Aussie hip hop when they draw from so many places, but if we can call them that, excellent. That means they’re ours.
Put your hands up! Aerosmith-y guitar riff; an addictive hook which appeals to my black jeans. Powerful guitarist gets to show real chops here. Not to say white men can’t sing, but I think we all defer to black dudes to see what standards are being set. It’s a show of the ‘bring the funk’ sort of party musicians love, with tight practiced sounds and a show of hands for hip-hop heads, music lovers and other crazy people. Diafrix outdid themselves on finale: Azmarino and Momo were jumping around Public Enemy style, dark bass ran beside awesome ‘eye of the tiger’ guitar, across an ethereal synth back drop with lickety-split scratching over the top. If you’re not dancing, you’re dead—the whole crowd is singing, getting into hip-hop call and response with gusto. They’re on the clock too—only time for one more song.
A couple of the Labjacd boys pop back out, beers in hands, and establishing a bit of a round robin the four MCs out-rap themselves, and each other, in an explosive delivery of verse and music that brings down the house. The sound system barely does them justice. Announcing that they will be continuing their party at the Espy, Diafrix departs taking the majority of the crowd with them.
The bandroom has taken on a semi-deserted feel as if the spaceship-like bar has drawn patrons in with shafts of light. A ballerina takes to the stage, stretching tattooed arms out, balancing on one leg now and then the other. Vest and fedora-clad shadows creep out from the cracks and assemble themselves, a crown waiting for a jewel. Resplendent in plum, Syrene takes the mantle. A Cuban-pimp-daddy-ring-master of sorts, Ben Brazil, her co-creative-conspirator mans congas to her left while their full band—two saxophonists, a trumpet player, drums, keys, bass, guitar and backup singers—lay a lush, tight foundation for Syrene’s voice to pour over like treacle. Sweet Riders on the Storm keys, awesome funk guitar, jazz drums and a singer who makes you want to close your eyes, put your hands up and shake your arse; the musicality prays to the old school, but brings something totally fresh. Syrene brings juke joint to Melbourne’s VCA set; her voice beckoning like a crooked finger.
Sometimes she invites, sometimes she tells, sometimes she commands. Ben keeps everyone in line with some cowbell, but there’s nothing whimsical in it: an emotive dark soundscape for Ms Syrene to drive a shiny, chromed-out convertible down.
Taking up an acoustic guitar, Syrene welcomes a top-hatted violinist on stage to round them out for Low Rider. Sexy and addictive, I think of *Roisin Murphy*’s growl, but don’t think Ms Murphy could quite pull it off. Ben pulls out the clarinet for a new start and it gets crazy—an arrangement of instruments that should be too busy, but manages to create a wonderful, galloping vibe—tight, original and so much fun.
The point of the night came around: Brain, the first single, is to be launched. And it is, like a sailboat. Syrene conjures up ideas of summer days, swinging slow-motion in a tyre-swing over water—brilliant percussion, spiralling horns and indulgent clarinet. A male vocalist steps up with a blues soul number from him which leans towards Jamaica; the entire band is totally there. Drummer, horns and clarinet frenetic. It’s the music of Corona’s and lime, fedoras, shoulder dancing, hands waving and air piano, amazingly vibrant. What a crack team of muso’s these two had assembled for their second only show: Ben, inexplicably cool in dubiously patterned safari shirt and straw hat; Syrene, mistress of lyricists and sonic powerhouse.
When you see a live band who are genuine, professional and qualified musicians—the types who can sorta read music and that—it’s just better. Every performer over the entire launch bill was having an amazing time and it translated. Crouching into grooves, they grinned at each other or hooted and whooped in encouragement when another performed their specialty. It’s just a good vibe, you see? It’s a shame so many people missed out on the headliners. Their loss.
