Vasco Era, The Roys @TheEsplanade, 8/4/05

Fri 8th Apr, 2005 in Gig Reviews

As soon as I noticed a member of the Esplanade bar staff serving two Coronas – complete with lemon twists – it was clear that the demographic tonight would be demonstrably different from the usual Esplanade crowd. The Vasco Era have whipped up a blues rock storm in recent times, and their presence on national youth radio was obvious everywhere we looked tonight.

The title of tonight’s opening (and unannounced prior to the gig) act could be the name of a shoe shop in Greensborough, or even maybe Matt Taylor’s son’s band. The music was far more invigorating than the band’s name, a skeletal line-up (violin, acoustic guitar and drums) producing a sound that grew and grew as the set went on, ultimately approaching a cleaner version of The Dirty Three. 

The Roys don’t play bad shows, and this was no exception.  The difference between The Roys and The Vasco Era is like comparing Darren Lehmann during his tenure playing for Victoria in the early 1990s (not Darren Lehmann circa 2005), and Michael Clarke in the contemporary Australian line-up. The bands are inseparable in talent and skill, but The Vasco Era have the publicity and crowd support that comes with national exposure. 

From one perspective The Roys’ set documents the evolution of country rock in the US, with the band demonstrating the very best of The Byrds in their country phase, The Band, Big Star and Gram Parsons, and – very importantly – avoiding any suggestion of being derivative. The band churns out heart breaking country rock riffs with the laconic deliberation of a Lehmann casual flick through mid-wicket, while vocalist Felix Juliff walks the fine line between charisma and self-indulgence and comes away with his integrity intact. A rousing rendition of Buon Vaggio and they were gone, until next time.

The Vasco Era have a consistency and empathetic blues quality that defies their age.  Close your eyes and Sid O’Neill could be playing session music on a Fat Possum release in a dingy Alabama studio; open your eyes and he’s belting the bejeezus out of his snare drum in a frenetic display like John Bonham meets Meg White.  Ted O’Neill has the generic rock’n’roll appearance of the Jet generation, and plays his bass with the vivid enthusiasm with which Tim Rogers wrestles with his guitar.  Michael Fitzgerald is distant to the eye, but near to the ear, his trained percussive skills ensuring the band never loses its grip on the tempo.  The band’s performance was permeated by a sense of excitement that’s always welcome; the crowd equally excited by the live renditions of songs from Miles and earlier recordings.

But I would make one critical (and hopefully constructive) observation.  The Vasco Era play a brand of rock’n’roll that’s heavily weighted toward the blues tradition.  In its (understandable) quest to meet the audience’s expectations (especially taking into account the demographic profile of the crowd), the band chose – like latter era Led Zeppelin – to accentuate rock’n’roll element of its visual and aural aesthetic rather than the blues.  This didn’t necessarily dilute the quality of the show, but it did alter the character of the music.

And a finally … while I can (just) tolerate the mobile phone as a relevant (but certainly not essential) tool to organise social events, surely it can be neglected for the duration of a band’s performance.  During The Vasco Era set we were confronted repeatedly by punters either calling or sending text messages.  It’s disrespectful and offensive to the band playing to spend your time caressing your whizzbang electronic tool while the band is doing its best to entertain you.