The Church @ The GovernorHindmarsh, Adelaide (16/12/10)

Sun 19th Dec, 2010 in Gig Reviews

Great concept. Scratch that, brilliant concept. 30 years and 23 albums (well approximately. Even The Church are sanctioned to forget a ‘career moment’ or two). So how does a necessity of the Australian musical landscape react? They play an “acoustic show” cataloguing the present to the past. One song off each album starting with one of the many selectable options from Untitled #23 and follow it by chronologically rewinding through each LP length release, sometimes replaying hits, sometimes reinvesting time in glorious album tracks of beauty, gravitas or otherwise and occasionally rewarding an obscurity. In this context this means rewarding the crowd along with the song. No support act,an early start and a 20 minute interval. It was pure Church, which by extension means performances of depth and skill, songs of shimmering beauty and a solid dose of piss-take and humour. Steve Kilbey belies the bands aesthetic. Where Church songs can entrance and involve the devolved, he jokes and jibes between songs as if he was one of the girls with rifles for eyes or men with horses for hearts. Perhaps he is, maybe not then, but now.

Theirs is a career of movement in relief. It has stood within itself yet has explored subtle depths of shade. It’s developed in an organic fashion yet often dribbled sequential aural differences hefty only to those that have bargained with The Church, their currency more than a drop of emotional life blood. They’re a band for people who invest in atmosphere, but know that substance (in the Church’s case, often melodic rationality) imports the necessary qualitative meaning to well-crafted, canvassed ambiance. The Church may sound ‘good’ and may often be ‘easy to put on’ but this is a story told in fifths. Their vestibule is continually and welcomingly open, with lacquered walls and gossamer drapings, but their cocoon is one that there is no password for. You let yourself in, but only after you’ve fashioned your own key. Lying on each pew is a song, of such strength and more often than not of admirable quality. And that is when you understand that The Church are not the band that has released ‘albums that sound the same’ or have honed their sound to perfection. Within the lyrical abstractions and awfully measured obtuseness of Kilbey’s words lies the advisory locksmith who lives The Church. The sound of it all declares purpose, the detail blueprints the graceful lurch they encourage and the finished piece often dazzles. And across 30 years they’ve achieved this through mediums so different yet instantly recognisable. At this show no-one walked out conceptually constricted by the idea of ‘sameness’. You, the listener define what makes The Church special. Not Kilbey or Wilson-Piper or Koppes or Powles. Not some bullshit reviewer. You.

Untitled #23 is special. I would have been more than happy to witness a show celebrating this taut yet lucid, dreamy yet defined release. They played Pangea, and did so with their adumbrating, shadowy, liquid veil. Followed swiftly by a rocking, confectionary version of Space Needle. It went without saying that we’d had and desired more of Kilbey’s ‘treacle’. Soon after Reptile was jazzed_ up to the hilt and The Unguarded Moment with it’s now definitive (in at least their mind) slowburn acousticism. We were only up to (down to?) El Memento Descuiendo and already a number of key elements of what made this show special, what was going to make this concept work, had bubbled furtively to an accepting surface. Like a post Rolling Thunder Revue Bob Dylan, but with greater skill and better taste they managed to touch up and rearrange most every song. Messing around with each, they developed structures, contorted styles yet come what may, promoted cohesion. They also avoided the most alarming potential pitfall an overly structured, chronological journey gala-show could fall prey too. That of becoming a best-of list confined by time and release year. In other words choosing songs because the song has to be played, not because it’s the best option to follow the last and compliment the whole. They chose the best option to build momentum when required, the best option to cavort the boundaries of a dynamic perfectly established. Of course they were going to play Under The Milky Way but which song would they choose from Heyday straight after or Priest=Aura to set the scene for a even more popped up rendition of Metropolis? I’m skipping ahead in an attempt to prove a point so I’ll leave this portion of the night for a second and simply answer with “the right songs”.

Time passed quickly as Peter Koppes took lead vocals for Forget Yourself’s Appalatia where he successfully channelled the breeze of Kilbey’s vocals, but with an additional self-effacing touch that imbued it with nobility. And the control of dynamic mentioned previously was further confirmed with the Americansied Louisiana pushed to the background, entirely appropriately by a truncated but power-pop masterwork in Comedown from the criminally underrated Magician Among The Spirits. The majority of songs got introductions describing the album from which they were sourced with an occasional comical anecdote appended. All this proved, convincingly that taking the piss out of music so serious is no problem if done with full self-awareness. Even this night’s versions of famous ‘Kilbey abuses the talkers’ diatribe were tasteful and well supported. As they continued to cycle unhindered they eventually passed through an interval and got to the juicier audience known numbers in their catalogue. A straightforward but always inspiring Under The Milky Way was followed by an easy to recognise, yet difficult to place, cascading bass line ala Paul Mcartney rewrite of Already Yesterday. One could conceivably complain about not hearing these songs as they had heard them forever, as they had been throughout their lives, their Churchian passion glowing in the meantime, but they wouldn’t be Church fans. People of The Church embrace these changes and become one with the exploration. 10,000 Miles bristled with the excitement that only three rabid, flailing acoustic guitars in retarded unison could bring while radio rock favourite I’m Almost With You pieced the night together by chilling spines and minds in the same ways it does only incidentally on broken commercial airwaves. While Tear It All Away brought it to an underwhelming close. Well underwhelming if you didn’t catch the encore.

Which was simply special. They trotted back, Kilbey with bourbon mixer in hand to play none other than Disarm. That is correct. Disarm. Yes, the Smashing Pumpkins song. Reportedly played as a (positive) retort to Corgan covering Reptile a Church classic, they gave the song more than anything Billy could give it in his current fucked up state. In fact one was forced to contemplate whether the Pumpkins had ripped The Church off and stolen their sound for the most un-Pumpkins number on Siamese Dream. They shortened it yet it felt more epic and Kilbey bellowed insanely quite unlike anything he’d produced on the night. You believed he was sending smiles over us, you believed so vehemently that the killer in him was the killer in us. Awe-inspiring. And riskily, after they took a classic most everyone’s heard, they performed a song off Untitled #23. Granted it’s the most accessible number on the record. Granted it’s a gem, but not that many of the crowd would have known it. Space Saviour rocked with its 3-4 chord riff like a gunshot from a sawn off revolver, bristling with energy that had been absent to some degree from the later half of the gig. And then with a crescendoing boom they played Grind which acted as little more than a showcase for Marty Wilson-Piper to spit riffs of fire from his so far relatively placid 12 string acoustic. 8 minutes of fervent guitar heroics sprung forth mesmerising the crowd a full 2 and half hours after the whole voyage had begun. Of course the mix of drunks and lovers were begging for more.

And that was it. For a crowd that was greater part devotee than passing fan, there was a sense of disappointment wafting through not so delicately but it was a brilliant show from a truly brilliant band. Nothing they could have done was going to make The Church appear a better band to anybody there. It reaffirmed, through a perfectly designed journey through the past that not only have they and do they provide us with magical music, they’ve done it while avoiding so many individual radars of legendary acknowledgement. If a band could lay claim to having a timeless quality it is The Church. They may occasionally have been bruised and battered by a production ‘nuance’ here or there and may have sometimes charted a single, but they are timeless.