Kid Sam @ The Hopetoun, Sydney(22/08/09)

Tue 25th Aug, 2009 in Gig Reviews

A gig that begins with a plate full of tasty fajitas is automatically off to a good start in my books. But for those who weren’t munching on Mexican upstairs at the Hopetoun, there was the one-man-music-machine that is Kirin J. Callinan. Riding his own secret wave of euphoria (that I wanted in on), he recorded and looped his rhythm sections on stage, sang with melancholic gusto and managed to drum in his spare time…when he eventually found the sticks.

Next, walking timidly onto the stage, Hazel and Martha Brown of Melbourne’s OtoUto unveiled their restrained, Motown-inspired folk/pop for an eager room. Fine-spun, suggested, quiet, delicate: a possible thesaurus entry to convey their sound. The stage belonged mostly to Hazel and her electric guitar, but it’s a shame Martha was denied a stronger part. Her voice, coming from somewhere under a curtain of fringe, was stunning.

Their lyrics are quirky and innocent (“I mistook a man eating sushi for a man with a fake moustache”), but when Hazel borrowed from her soul influences, they sounded fathoms deeper. To See To See’s intelligent phrasing would have come across disjointed live if it wasn’t for the masterful Kishore Ryan (also from Kid Sam ) on drums/cookware. The sound he got from an upturned wok and battered steel pot was crisp, exciting and better than any cowbell.

But the night belonged to fellow Melbournians Kid Sam and the release of their second single Down To The Cemetery off their self-titled LP. The cookware stayed put, and I was itching to see more of Kishore’s well-crafted drumming. You could see the intense concentration written all over his face.

Kid Sam’s frontman (or only other man) is Keiran Ryan, Kishore’s cousin, and a phenomenal song-smith. His gritty, wayward guitar stood in polar opposition to the thoughtful drumming, which produced subtle (there’s that word again) rock ‘n roll. We’re Mostly Made Of Water is one of their stronger tracks, sounding already like a classic. It got a rowdy reception from a crowd that was now happily sitting in the palm of their hands. A laconic Landslide showed up Keiran’s freakish ability to mimic Thom Yorke (though I’m sure that’s not his intention), while bursts of heavy guitar outros came at just the right moments.

They kept the single until last, and, perhaps because of the gravity of the preceding set, it seemed tacked-on and rushed. The licensee called for the lights, the punters pleaded – again and again – for Sunday Bus and the contemplative mood was lifted. But I left chuffed, because I’d scored a new favourite Melbourne duo. Oh, and Mexican haunt.