Gareth Liddiard, Dan Kelly @The Zoo, Brisbane (26/03/2011)

Thu 31st Mar, 2011 in Gig Reviews

I’ve never seen Gareth Liddiard; I’ve never seen The Drones, either. I often find myself skeptical of all the hype surrounding both his projects. Is Liddiard really deserving of all the praise he receives? I can now say I am 100% enchanted under the spell of Gareth Liddiard. Every misconception I ever had surrounding one of Australia’s most ingenious songwriters has been blown from the water.

The Zoo is more suited to full ensembles, yet Dan Kelly has completely reshaped the vibe of the venue. He merely has an acoustic guitar, a Gibson SG and a tiny Vox amp and this is all he needs to have the attention of the majority of the room. Kelly’s narratives are far less perplexing on the brain than Liddiard’s. They’re both storytellers, but they each have their own way of depicting events. One of his songs is about living in a futuristic underwater utopia in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with Bindi Irwin. He jokes that this relationship is acceptable since Bindi would be in her 20s or so.

He also uses an assortment of sampled crowd cheers and laughing toddlers to have the audience in hysterics. Tongue is very much in cheek when he does a cover of Advance Australia Fair on guitar. Then he dedicates the virulent Drunk On Election Night to a “boring English music critic”. There are a few guesses, but all signs point to Everett True. Presumably, it’s because of the comments True made when reviewing his album for The Vine and his rants about the AMP. I’ll tell you what, Dan, your “white, male indie” is fine by me.

Perhaps what makes tonight so brilliant is the setting. When a show is in this intimate setting, the mythical barrier between artist and audience evaporates. In the presence of someone without the wit of Gareth Liddiard, it would be nowhere near as engaging. He calmly walks on stage, grabs his acoustic guitar, and assumes his place centre of stage on a red chair. A spotlight illuminates the position where he sits. He rants on for ten minutes or so; it’s reasonably incoherent, but it’s hilarious. He then gently begins plucking the strings to Blondin Makes an Omelette and recites the tale of how the daredevil crossed over Niagara Falls; each method of crossing more bizarre than the next.

Members in the audience constantly berate him; Lightheartedly, of course. Each time Liddiard offers a rebuttal. Not exactly as eloquent as his lyrics, but the witty marks allow a respite from some of the foreboding themes. He moves on to Strange Tourist, the tale of a former housemate’s addiction to Stillnox. When he explains the back story, it only makes the song more harrowing. Towards the end he snaps his bottom string and the crowd lets out an “awww!” in disarray. A wry smile forms on Liddiard’s face. He replaces the string whilst humorously comparing it to bedding a woman. Only Liddiard could make the most mundane of tasks full to the brim with sexual innuendo.

Highplains Mountain sees Liddiard move his voice into the higher octaves. It’s the most his voice shifts in pitch. It’s not the range of his voice that impresses – it’s the delivery. You can see the muscles in his strain and contort as he presses his lips upon the microphone, almost devouring it. He takes requests for The Drones songs and obviously the two favourites are Jezebel and closer Shark Fin Blues. It’s interesting to hear them so stripped back and raw. The highlight of the evening is by far The Radicalisation of D. The single notes on each beat which gradually build and build behind the confronting lyrics until Liddiard screams as if he’s actually bearing witness to a child losing his innocence and becoming a terrorist.

Tonight, The Zoo has become Blackburn House; the abandoned mansion where he recorded Strange Tourist. He has taken us all on lyrical journeys of adventure, despair and love. Whenever people praise Gareth Liddiard, it’s not ridiculous hyperbole – It’s absolutely right on the money.