Adalita, Mike Noga @ TheNorthcote Social Club,Melbourne (14/08/2011)

Mon 22nd Aug, 2011 in Gig Reviews

When did bands become passe in the Australian marketplace? For the past 12 months, it seems, we’ve witnessed troubadour after a troubadour decide to branch out alone: former Bad Seed Mick Harvey with a fine effort earlier this year; Augie March’s Glenn Richards kicking out one band to replace it with half of The Drones; Brisbane’s The Gin Club leader Ben Salter is about to drop his opus; Gareth Liddiard’s released a stellar collection of acoustic folk and now his fellow bandmate, skinsman Mike Noga has tried his hand at the front of the stage.

It was not a bad transition from the kit to the mic, with Noga’s story-telling translating well with just a rustic acoustic and harmonica. There was a gravel in the voice which hits somewhere on the spectrum between an urgent early Springsteen and a tired, too-many-scotches Waits. Pissing On A Butterfly towards the end of the set perfectly exemplified his natural, laconic wit and understated drawl. It was at this point, close to the end of his set, that the Northcote Social Club audience imposed itself on proceedings, albeit in an unexpectedly pleasant way. Early birds were seated eagerly front and centre, and the entire room was attentively hushed right from the word go – something Noga himself seemed a little uneasy with, commenting on various occasions by how much he was intimidated by the between-song silence.

It was a trend which thankfully transferred into the headline act, even though the sitters were begrudgingly forced to make way for the surge of people squeezing in for the sold out show. A grab-bag of the Melbourne music world elite (spotted were one-time collaborator Mick Harvey, Jet’s Nic Cester and fellow troubadour Jordie Lane) squeezed in among Sunday night hopefuls. And they were transfixed right from the beginning of guitarist JP Shilo’s soundcheck-come-strangled intro into the heart-broken Fool Around. Even the bar staff seemed self-conscious of their noise, ensuring their glass-clinking and till-rattling didn’t impinge upon the songstress’ reverberated vocals echoing off the walls.

Decisions to go it alone are not always made by choice, and with the sad passing of founder Dean Turner in 2009, Adalita’s long-time outfit Magic Dirt is seemingly on hiatus. The change has afforded the singer the opportunity to turn the tables on her rock pedigree, releasing a heart-felt and theatrically sparse self-titled album.

On-stage, it’s beautifully presented – just Shilo’s coiled energy prowling stage left and Adalita’s mostly unadorned figure wrapped around the mic stand in the centre. Unlike many singer-guitarists “going nude”, Adalita looks comfortable with just the mic for accompaniment, along with a floor-tom to thump on the down-beat when needed. Anxious, urgent and strained when needed, intensely focused on the one-man guitar wall-of-sound during the furious meanderings, with nary a superfluous hair-toss or strut.

When she first picks up the guitar (her customary Heritage red Gibson SG slung menacingly low proving you may take the girl out of the punk, but you can never take the punk out of the girl), there’s a heavy romantic longing to it. The song, Invite Me, defines that aching yearning for an absent lover, be it by choice or design. When she pines “You stood behind me / And placed your hands upon my head / And smoothed down my hair / And lovingly cradled my neck / And I could be there by now / If you’d invite me, darling” there isn’t a person in the room not plotting a way to get a partner’s leave pass to fill the role played out in that provoking imagery.

Whilst evidently stripped back and comparatively bare, Adalita’s songs never stray too far from those of Magic Dirt. The subject matter steers a solid course through that interesting juxtaposition of fiercely self-assured, yet achingly vulnerable. Single Hot Air breaks more hearts with the refrain “Oh boy, I need your body” in what could be the closest in style to her previous, hook-laden offerings. Most songs revolve around a persistent, repeated structure building to the point of desperate release – the extended jam to round out Goin Down sucks the air of the room to the point that the applause at the end is part thanks, part relief.

Good Girl featured the captivating Amaya Lauririca filling out both the guitar and backing vocals sound, while an angry Fur Seal hints that the fiery indignation is still lingering. An encore of the Raul Sanchez co-penned Taxi Club rounds out the gig and leaves a wonderful sensation – that of an intense, driven artist with a whole new direction. Perhaps we don’t need rock bands, after all?