A whole lot of woman. That is the only way to describe local spinster Hayley Beth . Soulful, honest and utterly mesmerizing, those who dared to take their eyes from her tender solitary frame really were ignorant to the fact that this little lady is a complete dynamo. In the most literal sense. The main gripe with acoustic performers these days, apart from the fact they can be disgracefully yawn-worthy, is that they have absolutely no ability to hold the attention of the room in pin-drop anticipation.

But Miss Beth does precisely that.

Gorgeous and rich, ironically her vocal style sounds more suited to a delicious black songstress straight out of raging eras past – not a fresh-faced girl from the back quarters of this isolated city. And the stories she spills are most deceiving to her age. Like El Capitan, with its off-putting quirks and kitsch guitar croons, about a lovesick lady who is sick of her man’s faux promises and nights spent drinking herself into dank depths. A tale told many times mind you, but not with the feeling that leaves your heart dripping down the edge of your seat.

Injured Ninja are one band of late that really defies definition and expels stereotypes simply because there is nothing to justify them being attired to any vision. But they do have a vision, a vision that buries itself in fusion and manipulation. But the manipulation of instruments, distortion and vocal boundaries are not the only barriers being tested.

Transcending how each of us grasp the chaos and altering our perceptions to confront the experience seem to be more their niche. A series of soundscapes worked to be both captivating and deliberately crushing to pierce the minds, and auditory drivel that accompanies most punters perception of aesthetics. Selectively sampling from their Circuitboard EP, heavy hallucinogens would have been the most apt confectionary for their mix Our Bodies. Grinding bass drenched in psychedelic electronica marked by damning vocals that could wash with more post-punk yearnings. But although totally engaging for the sheer refresh stance they carry, they were at times blind to the fact that they did lose the crowd at whim. Ritalin highs and lows made for unease.

Ska’s not dead. The saying is completely true. West Aussie ska scum-punkers Special Brew were trying to make their stance the only way they damn well know how. With rounds of two-tone and kick-step rhythms served on a dish of skank-worthy tones. And two-step punters did, albeit in a very boozehoundish and amusing way. But that is what ska is all about.

The Brew lads have been on the seen for around two years and, although not making much headway due to the almost defunct trend in local waters, they live and breathe the energy and heat of the beat.

Most outstanding original was No.1 Cut with its nitty gritty horns section and charisma oozing from frontman Magnus – a much-loved local scenester overload. They even threw in The Specials’ A Message To You Rudi and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones Impression That I Get just so punters could have a sing-a-long. A tad predictable, but Perth is not know for its ska flavourings – so not all that surprising.

Heralded as the master of country-fuelled rockabilly, Cal Peck and the Tramps’ southern drawl and pulsating tones were the send off to the last of the Bootleg shows. For this year at least.

Finding themselves in cascades of rickerback guitar, it was nice to see this long lost hue grinding back into reality with these five boys using it as their battalion call. With Mr Peck as the shepherd of his crew of gangly musicians taken from all corners, the brand they presented to that dim dark hall was one of far away plains and trawls we would never see.

Tracks like Cinnamon tickled with warm harmonic undertones while Not Sorry dallied with the more dangerous side of our nature. Unfortunately their drawl blended from each to the next without much noticeable origin making for a very average journey. And then when the pub streamed on the lights and switched off their sound after only seven songs, we knew the night was over, leaving with eyes sheathed and ears shut into the humid summer’s night.

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