It would have come at no surprise if the stage had burst into flames from the red-hot, whip-you-into-shape, galloping tunes steaming up the band room. With their powers combined, these three acts could get retirement-village ditties dancing, test the stamina of Pablo Escobar’s MedellÃÂn Cartel, or lash the pants of any toe-tapping, jitterbugging, boot-scooting crowd around.
Johnny & The Johnny Jonnies kicked the night off, their sound straddling the grooving melodies from Rugrats or Napoleon Dynamite and the jiving beat of the ballroom scene in Grease. Whatever you want to call it, it had that quick and smooth blend reminiscent of cool-cats like Dick Dale & The Del Tones, The Shadows and The Surfaris, but with the added dimension of a Hammond keyboard.
Lucky Seven had an undulating four-note base guitar line complemented by a jazzy, Maxwell-Smart-working-undercover feel, together with moments of psychedelic guitar. Super Tube was a head-wobbling, twisting tune and their final track for the night had some snazzy drum-rolls and fleeting solos. Quips about out-of-tune guitars and Coca Cola sponsorship entertained the crowd between songs and a rising tempo of get-down and boogie beats showed them the reason why it was worthwhile arriving early to see them play.
Puta Madre Brothers came on wearing matching dark jackets with red shirts and a splash of red material over the shoulder pads. Their valiant musical stylings were combined with an assertive masculinity that had everyone bopping and drooling at their cheeky bad-boy appeal: what else would you expect of a group called Puta Madre Brothers?
Half traditional mariachi band, half laughing lunatics, they kept the pace fast and the mood light. Lines like “I’m the bread, you’re the cheese, spread yourself all over me” were spat out between grunts and raw animal-inflections. Some of the kookaburra sounds could give an accomplished didgeridoo player a run for their money. Putananny Twist and El Torro Brava provoked tendonitis in the ankle joints of audience members. Toes From a Deadman received an approving slow nod. Grandes Pelotes del Fuego showcased some Spanish lyricism that made you curious to know what guys like these would sing about. Their songs averaged about one minute each, so it was a short set but a good – œun.
“A show of mystery…adventure and pure catastrophic…things…” said the voice that introduced The Suitcase Royale. A grand sound befitting to victorious soldiers returning home from The Great War was streamed through the PA, then someone yelled out from the darkness of the stage, “let’s kick up the jams mother f***ers!” and they began the intro to Messy Dimes in the dark.
Miles O’Neil’s vocals were like the gravelly, gurgling sounds of a hungover and pissed-off Johnny Cash teamed with the reckless enthusiasm of Captain Jack Sparrow. This can be summed up in the lyrics: “all I want’s a coffee so I can get to sleep”. Next up was Little Baby with more of those water-logged, cigarette-stained, angry swamp-toad vocals. South Bound Train began with the steam-train whistlings of the harmonica before launching into dark and dingy recount of a train robbery. Miles then assured us that there was going to be some dancing as he stripped down from his cowboy shirt into a bluey.
Old Number Seven was dedicated to whiskey drinkers and they make a point of saying that although they don’t serve whiskey shots at the bar you can get it mixed or back-stage where they’ve got s*** loads! Elevator was about being dumped by your girlfriend in a broken-down elevator with elevator muzak playing out in spite of your heartache. A female vocalist introduced as Anna Scully joined them for St Gerome’s Arms and added her milky melodies like to the jangling chorus.
Someone from the audience yelled, “yeah baby,” and Miles retorted, “that’s right Austin Powers”. He then went on to explain the next track, Great Belief, is about robbing a bank in a Datson, adding that “we’ve all done it” as more guest musicians piled on stage.
Another guest female vocalist joined them for Wild Woman about when a wild woman meets a wild man, sung as a duet with Joseph O’Farrell. The guest vocalist had a sweet but powerful and seductive voice that she manipulated well to create a suitable sense of melodrama. Run From The Devil featured a neat little clarinet solo from another guest.
It was then that Miles told the audience it was time for Miles’s ruminations on life. He then enlightened the crowd as to why New Zealanders call thongs jandals – it is apparently a combination of two words. The soldiers returning from WWII wore – œJapanese sandals’.
After that quirky little diversion Doctor had Joseph O’Farrell singing sweetly with the laid-back strength of a handsome, wheat-chewing barn boy. Red Dress had some hauntingly high-pitched violin from yet another guest musician and a trombonist wearing some fabulously shangled black pants. Mojo was performed with the gusto deserved of a tale about intimate frustrations.
What began as a trio, had by their final song multiplied by four, with various musical talents joining in, all dedicated to showing the audience a good time for a set that ran for over an hour.
Threethousand’s Penny Modra said The Suitcase Royale can “save your party” and judging on their performance she is exactly right. Bravo.
