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“Hi, we’re the Energy Commission and we’re here to knock down buildings”

Lets call it Molestation-punk-blues, their songs are frighteningly catchy, though it’s difficult to know whether to laugh or call the police. As much as a list of songs played at a gig is usually a boring read, these might give you the best idea of what the Energy Commission is all about. She’s a Bitch (dedicated to their mothers and sisters, but not their girlfriends because they don’t have any) Little Lost Girl (- œit’s comfy in my car, get in the back seat’ – Apparently not a true story) Bloody Crotch Blues (Apparently a true Story), A song about feminine hygiene (- œgirl you’ve got a stinky labia’) Punk in a Tin (- œhuba duba ba bada’) and Jailbait were just the most memorable, and their standard blues riffs, while not complex, were well executed. These guys will make you laugh, in an American Dad kind of way. Worth a listen, if you like your blues offensive and nasty… don’t take your mum.

Next up, after a drum kit unbuilding and rebuilding sized break, were Frozen Ocean. Continuing on with the molestation theme, except they say they want to molest minds, not children; something of a relief, given that there were at least three kids under 12 standing in the audience. The same kids retreated around a corner in fear of going deaf when the band began to play, timidly venturing out, hands over ears, for tiny peeks at the band.

Its difficult to articulate exactly what makes this two-piece so compelling; the music is impassioned and chaotic, the time signatures change dramatically within the songs, the lyrics are half screamed, half sung and mostly unintelligible except for intriguing snippets that suggest a godlike insanity. There are a couple of bands doing a version of this sort of sound in Perth at the moment, and it is probably a reaction to the banal retro garage rock so prevalent in the indie scene; combined with the refusal to suck the cocks they need to if they want to play a gig with a decent sized audience. Whatever, it’s as refreshing as frozen ocean.

The only dud in the lineup was the next band about whom the less said the better. As much as a drummer who can sing is admirable, and this guy really can, when all your songs sound like a cover of the same half of a Metallica song, and all your lyrics are PC pap, (Intolerance, I don’t understand why it exists… can you tolerate me? – oh the irony.) When most of your audience has left to go and stand in the rain; announcing that you’ve got three more songs is probably the second most inconsiderate thing you can do. On a positive note however, they will be relocating to Melbourne next year.

So, The Spitfires doing an acoustic set… what? Surprisingly, it actually worked. It is a testament to the skill of Sean Regan and Paul Bovenkirk that despite having no drummer, and two acoustic guitars, one of which had a broken pickup, and half a lung between them, they managed to pull off a fair imitation of a punk set with the added bonus that we could understand the lyrics better and therefore enjoy the full bitter humour dripping from each song. Thanks to the MacGyverish skills of Nat from Hybrid Aura, the broken guitar was miked up partway through the second song and all was well. They also managed to recover the energy in the crowd and did what a support band is supposed to do, by getting them ready to dance.

This was Hybrid Aura’s CD launch, a second launch gig -for the underage fans, not many of whom showed up unfortunately, however there was a good number of over 18 fans who had come along having enjoyed their Rocket Room launch so much a week earlier. There was dancing and cheering and cries of – œI love you’ from the dark, and lapping up the admiration, the band rocked. Opening the set with Presto Manifesto they had people jumping on the spot (and wishing they weren’t too chicken to go closer to the band) and eventually dancing in a clump at the back… Punctuated by the drums, bassist Brad Armstrong hooked all the tunes together, while Nathaniel Parbery unfolded angst laden tales of dealing with the shit life throws at you. Screaming about injustice and going apeshit on stage seems to make it all somehow easier to deal with. It’s easy to imagine a packed Capitol crowd jumping, fists in the air shouting along with – œa total waste of time, a total waste of life just another chapter in the story of my life…’

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