Winning over a room full of people by describing an act of cannibalism and banging on chains with a hammer seems hard to believe, but that’s what Graveyard Train did. On Friday May 29, Melbourne’s John Curtin Band Room was moving in a unified bop to the five-piece band that have pioneered country horror.

Before the set began, lead singer Governor Shinbone McDagger gulped from his pint of beer while his fellow band members waited for his signal to begin, washboard, chain and hammer at the ready. What followed was a toe-tapping, knee-slapping journey though the minds of monsters and murderers.

The all-male group sang in unison like a southern gospel choir in Bit by a dog, enthusiasm sky-rocketing as the graveyard story unfolded. Their sound is a sort of old-gaol-boy country blues that draws you in like the smell of hot food cooking on a winter’s day. The story ended with the tell-tale lyrics, ‘now I think I’m a dog and I don’t know why’, McDagger taking off his hat and holding it to his chest in earnest.

By then the chain player, J.J Cadaver, was sweating profusely from the exaggerated tapping of his tan, spurred boots and chain banging. It was obvious that playing the chain is no easy feat, but this singlet-and-suspenders-wearing musician was the man for the job.

The narrative theme continued with Mary Melody, a heartfelt song about a cannibal who sees a girl in a bar, falls in love and decides to eat her. The earthy twang of the banjo filtered through the tale with the same misleading innocence as it did in the movie Deliverance. The lyrics, ‘That’s when I gets to eat you’, were followed by a crescendo of all-in vocal harmony.

Washboard player Dead Horse Jones sang the lead in Scarecrow. He whispered the lyrics, ‘so let’s dance’, and that is exactly what the crowd did. The rest of the band then joined in for a good ol’ hillbilly ho-down. Some girls at the front of the crowd were dancing solo can-cans or getting down in a full on body shake at this point.

Graveyard train’s performance was as entertaining as their pseudonyms. The energy in the audience was tangible. Broken legs covered in plaster to the groin couldn’t have stopped knees bending to the beat. They found a way to make death and horror something to celebrate. Graveyard Train reminds you of your own mortality in a way that leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Must be that country charm.