SIMON & JENNY
Clearly desperate times call for desperate measures, I need something NEW to write about, I’m going crazy here! Still, of all the shit I could have chosen to see tonight, shit like this would’ve EASILY been last on my list. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not speaking any less of the quality. I celebrate nothing but the finest on this blog, I really do! Nor am I speaking from personal preference. My taste in music is so ridiculously ecclectic and expansive now, even I don’t know recognise 90% of my shit when I press shuffle on my ipod; only that I love what I hear. No, this is a whole OTHER level. For nothing is quite as terrifying to a combat photographer as a two-piece semi-acoustic act; or what I like to call a “Bambi shoot”. It’s the lightest of touches really. You want to tippytoe in and tickle that Bambi on the nose. The last thing you want to do is punch Bambi repetitively in the face. Which is quite the hairtrigger dilemma I faced with our opening act tonight. Better yet? it’s their first gig too. So not only is this a “Bambi shoot” but it’s a “Newborn Giraffe” too. I can see it now it’s gonna be a massacre, it’s gonna be a puppy in a blender and OH GAWD I CAN’T BEAR TO LOOK!! Yup that’s Simon & Jenny. As much as they’re embarassingly clunky, coy and cute-as-a-button; they’re also surprisingly confident at what they do. They draw you in with their instrumental two-piece combination of simple bouncey percussion and plink plonk keys; whistfully bittersweet, melancholic yet ever so feather light in their delivery. They perform songs about about having butterflies in their stomach, hearts on their sleeves, and being really into porcelain ponies and matching wallpaper samples; or kinda like if Mila Kunis from “That 70’s Show” formed a band with Zach Braff from “Scrubs” only ten times as geeky. In “Jenny” you hear a breathless squeak that sits somewhere between Katy Steel from Little Birdy and Feist. In “Simon” you hear a warbling midrange a little too disturbingly like Antony And The Johnsons; only with slightly smaller testicles. Yet in combination it works brilliantly. They’re weirdly infectious in quite the same way all those songs Apple use to sell ipods and macbooks pull you in so effortlessly; in quite the same way the soundtrack to “Grey’s Anatomy” makes you want to snarf an entire packet of Tim Tams (*cough* not that I’m a fan or anything). If you love shit like Chairlift’s “Bruises” (from the ipod nano ad) or Yael Naim’s “New Soul” (from the macbook air ad) then you’ll love the shit out of Simon & Jenny. My Y chromosome maybe itching to blow their brains out, laughing hysterically all the while whilst watching this, but they’re a Bambi buzz all the same!
THE HONEY PIES
Sometimes it’s in the most trivial of details that you can begin to pinpoint where a band is coming from. Especially when it comes to our second act tonight: The Honey Pies. As a four piece they’re rife with an infectious indie pop charm that knows few equals. They’re like a mad tab of E dunked into freshly squeezed glass of vitamin C and served up on a summers day soaking up rays of vitamin D. Channeling everything from Blur, The Arctic Monkeys, The Last Shadow Puppets to The Libertines and fronted by what sounds all little too much like Craig Nicholls from The Vines (aka: Jon Marco) celebrating all his Christmases at once; you can’t help but be beaming with smiles in its presence. It’s so damn likeable in fact you could actually anaesthetise a charging rhino to it; chuck a pink tutu on it and get it to reenact scenes from Walt Disney’s “Fantasia”. Scarier still, as a two-piece tonight, they’re no less lethal. Of course we all know who we have to blame for this, it’s clearly their singer Jon Marco. The question is, where the HELL does he get it from!? We could entertain all manner of wildly fanciful theories: everything from Tony Marshall the guitarist secretly working him like a ventriloquist puppet, to something a little more akin to what happened to Tom Hanks in “Big” (and if ever they introduced one of those oversized floor pianos into their live set and Jon Marco went apeshit on it? my head would freaking explode!). As it turns out however, the answer’s much simpler. Moments after the gig, I couldn’t help but notice Jon had a spec of glitter stuck on his face. In pointing it out, he replied rather sheepishly with: “oh that? yeah I work with kids..”. No shit, it explains EVERYTHING!! I can see it now: Peter Combe, trapped in the body of Macaulay Culkin, possessing the voice of Bobcat Goldthwait from Police Academy and he has a freaking army of ankle biters at his command!? We’re through the looking glass here people! How else could this music be so ridiculously catchy!? Clearly Jon Marco is either possessed by the devil or he’s the very son of Satan himself! A revelation that is made no less disturbing when we consider their satanic setlist tonight. Featuring a greatest hits selection of everything from The Honey Pies, Poly & The Statics to a particularly fiendish cover of The Jackson Five’s “I Want You Back” (oh yeah, there was a whole lot of that tonight) few could possibly stand in it’s way. And in the way they performed it? Jon yodeling, shrieking, gnashing, shredding at his guitar like a madman, like a man possessed; whilst Tony played shotgun, wondering just when Jon was gonna tweak out, cut loose and kill us all. You couldn’t get enough of it. It was a mesmerising performance, it truly was. As much as I feared for my life watching it: fuck damn was it catchy!
KITTYHAWK
Our third act tonight by any other name, are the singer-singwriting duo behind Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!. Caitlin Duff and Dave Williams. I know, it came as quite a shock to me too. I mean sure, I’m well aware that they both sing all the vocals for Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!, they’ve possibly even written a good deal of their songs for the past year or more (some of which they even performed as “covers” tonight) and it’s clear that they’re both fiendishingly clever at what they do, I don’t deny that; but I always assumed that this was nothing but an elaborate ruse to blind us all from the truth. That Artyom Zinoviev their keyboardist and Josh Flavel their bass player are the REAL brains behind this operation. I mean you’ve seen Art smash that tambourine during “War Coward”: that shit’s nothing but genius! he’s YEARS ahead of his time!! And as for Josh? he wears a hat maaan! No really! Think about it. A hat (yeah ok.. maybe I’m just fucking insane). Still, if we’re willing to accept that this two piece act actually exists, then maybe we need to accept some other hard truths about Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!. That maybe Sam Stearn the drummer is NOT a robot and that maybe Dave didn’t drop dead back in January 2008 only to be reanimated as a zombie ever since (although let’s face it the jury is still out on that one). Kittyhawk. In essence they’re a character study on two lead vocalists of Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! without the rest of the band to distract us: both good and bad. In many ways they’re also yet another “Bambi shoot” on a live stage. In Caitlin, her awkward (yet strangely endearing) stage presence is made all the more apparent as she perches petrified on that stool like a pigeon with her feathers puffed up against the cold. But you also appreciate the fragile quality of her singing voice more: how it lilts and warbles like a Juanita Stein from The Howling Bells; and it really shines in Kittyhawks sparse instrumentation. Whilst Dave cuts a more tragic, world weary figure, twice his seeming age: hunched over, furrowed brow, a voice quavering through all the nasally mid registers like a homeless man beaten over the head with a shovel (or once again very much like Antony And The Johnsons) as he strums his guitar rather like the chimes of a grandfather clock. I know it sounds wrong; but in hearing it he does give some added weight to Caitlin’s lighter than air register. Their voices compliment each other nicely. Still, something feels like it’s missing. Part of it is the fact this is one of only two times they’ve played live as a two-piece in over two years (and I could’ve sworn they had a keyboard back then). The other is that I keep comparing it to Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!. Yeah, maybe I’m just nitpicking, but for all of Caitlin and Dave’s talent: they’re a little lost without a band.
BING GOES TO MONACO
And for all of you wondering just now, why I picked THIS gig (over all the other gigs I could have picked tonight) right here in this headlining act is your answer. For not only are they launching their shiny debut EP “Interspecies Backup” (and we all know I’m a sucker for a CD launch) but they’re also one of the most diabolical challenges I’ve ever been presented with for a live review; I mean how could I possibly say no!? They’re not just a “Bambi shoot”, they’re Ãœber Bambi! For weeks I was shitting actual bricks considering this suicide mission. I knew there were SO many ways I could fuck this up: we’re talking two teeny tiny doe-eyed deers exploding in my crosshairs and an entire audience of ankle biters bursting into tears.. OH THE HUMANITY!? Which made them the PERFECT target for my blog tonight. For Bing Goes To Monaco and I clearly belong to different worlds. Freya Adele (aka: “Froogle”) on guitar and Anny Duff (aka: “Bing”) on keys, exist in a fanciful fairyland I could only but dream of: part Beatrix Potter, Enid Blyton and Jane Austen. We’re talking fluffly little bunny rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks living in hollowed out tree stumps, drinking buttercups, hosting concert recitals, seasonal balls, wearing waistcoats and speaking the Queen’s English. We’re talking childhoods spent in frolicking innocence, weekends spent in the country, tea parties, picnics, doilies, cabbage patch dolls, afternoons knitting tiny pink booties and assembling family quilts. We’re talking Jane Fucking Austen people!! What the FUCK am I doing here!? I’m clearly a snarling green beast, belching fire and smashing into skyscrapers in their ethereal presence. Still, when you hear those delicate dappled keys: like light rain tickling a window pane, that lightly strummed guitar, how they both sing together like a siren song, you can’t help but be inexplicably drawn. They’re music to sooth the savage beast, they truly are. In nearest equivalent (and believe me I’m frantically flicking through my thesaurus trying to come up with shit) they remind me of Sia, Imogen Heap, Lenka (from Decoder Ring), that one song by Laura Jean “I’m A Rabbit I’m a Fox” (which I somehow found on my ipod from a Triple J “Home & Hosed” CD I got for free back in 2006) and all manner of songs used to promote tourism in Victoria (Joanna Newsom anyone?). Actually no.. scratch that.. they clearly don’t sound anything like that, but they’re definitely in that rarefied league where nymphs, gnomes and faeries love to frolick fancy free. Yup, if you dig any of that crazy shit I’ve listed above? no shit, you’d definitely go beserk for Bing Goes To Monaco!
What strikes me most about Bing Goes To Monaco tonight is the harmonies. How they combine so effortlessly with the dappled keys and the harpsicord style guitar. How that sound skips lighter than air before you. To the mixer’s credit Matt Hill captures it perfectly, brings everything into soft focus (although it helps that he also produced the EP). Just a little bit of reverb to fill the room is all you need to float downstream (he even added some extra guitar to one of the songs tonight). It’s the sort of music you could appreciate a really good bottle of wine to, spend aimless hours daydreaming, watching the clouds pass overhead, or shop for antiques with your nearest and dearest, skipping hand in hand. Sure, none of these things are anything I’d ever do in a hurry but even so, here sipping my beer, I’m savouring all the subtle flavours. No shit, I don’t think this dark ale has EVER tasted this ridiculously awesome! It’s amazing how just two people and two instruments can produce all this colour to fill a room. Still, that wasn’t all there was to this set. Ryan Manolakis joined them on stage to provide drums for a few songs (including a sweet rendition of their single “No. 6”) and although his accompaniment is light, it’s no less ridiculously complex to watch as he conjures up a spidering array of percussive fills that run riot over the kit. They also perform a sweet cover of Grizzly Bear’s “Deep Blue Sea”. From beginning to end your captivated. Sure you may occassionally wonder if they feed Anny Duff with an eye dropper (how freaking tiny IS she!?) but it’s a fleeting thought if any. In my mind I’m already long gone, I’m in a land of make believe and duuude there’s no better place to be! Bing Goes To Monaco. It may’ve been a suicide mission for a combat photographer; but I’m ever so thankful that I took it.
to listen to their music now on 
