Gareth Liddiard, Tendrils, BenP Salter @ The Tote, Melbourne(26/11/2011)

Sun 27th Nov, 2011 in Gig Reviews

When he’s not joined to the ranks of Brisbane’s Gin Club, Ben P Salter likes to grab his guitar and simplify things a little. On the Tote’s stage, Salter started off with an instrumental piece of guitar picking, drawing in a few from the front bar to catch a glimpse of his set. What followed that wasn’t the folk rock you’d expect, but Salter’s tuning-filler rendition of Madison Avenue – perhaps an in joke, but one that he managed to bring up another three times later on. In the song department, Salter holds his own away from his usual clan, and his songs have a much more sobering nature than his banter, which is kind of ironic given the prevalence of drinking in the lyrics of some songs. There were no smiles in the tunes like you might see throughout a Gin Club show, but that’s not to take anything away from solo Salter – he plays the serious part well, and held the attention of punters throughout songs like Gas Guzzler, The Cat and the Velvet Underground’s I’m Set Free.

A much fuller room met Tendrils next; the guitar duo made up of Melbourne music scene stalwarts Joel Silbersher and Charlie Owen. Their performance was completely stripped back and understated, and a somewhat difficult one to define. Certainly a soundtrack to the miserable weather outside, the pair’s tunes did become dreary as their set went on, hinting towards elation in some parts, but rarely ever getting there. There were a few moments of variation in the set, with a blues twang thrown in and gruntier vocals late in the game, but overall Tendrils were delivering a similarly sparse, distant sound that wasn’t entirely fulfilling.

It seemed fitting that Gareth Liddiard should join in the tail end of the Tote’s 30 year celebrations – the venue launched his band the Drones years ago and the band and venue have had an affinity ever since; the Melbourne quartet playing their part in getting the venue’s doors back open last year. And whilst Liddiard might have a soft spot for the pub somewhere inside of him, he wasn’t about to show it as he fobbed off any congratulatory moments on hitting 30 and claimed embarrassment in the booking given he and his friends in the Drones “tried to shut this place down.”

Jumping up on his stool centre stage, it was immediately clear that the night’s set would be like Liddiard playing to a bunch of mates in the corner of his favourite haunt. He was up for a chat and no one seemed too fussed about when the music might start, as Liddiard entered his theorisation of the timing of Steve Jobs’ death. And what better way to kick of a Gareth Liddiard show than with the morbidity of death and the man’s conclusion that we may as well talk about it because we’re all going to die, “unless you’re 22, in which case you’re good and you’ve got three years.”

Death wasn’t the only topic of the evening, as Liddiard opened his thoughts between songs on everything from how good his wife’s cooking was, how weird it is to be complemented by the SAS when you’re coming down from acid, and one particularly great rant about hipsters, who would claim to not even know who Beyonce was (“What’s that? Is that a deodorant?”). For those familiar with The Drones, but uninitiated with Liddiard solo, the man’s discussions between songs are what you’re missing out on. He’s not frantically trying to recover for the next offering like he would be at a Drones gig, so he’s willing and able to share his thoughts; and what amusing thoughts they are.

Musically, he’s something else. This was no more evident than in the early set showing of Highplains Mailman, introduced briefly and delivered with serious release, Liddiard almost crying his way through the high chorus vocals: “please, you can’t leave me here on my own.” It was the transitions between the chatty funnyman and serious storyteller that was so engaging about the set. Time and time again Liddiard was able to completely entrance the room in his musical tales, whether in the lengthy unfolding stories like Blondin Makes An Omelette, in stripped back Drones favourites Shark Fin Blues or I Never Want To Change, or in demonstrations of Liddiard’s exceptional solo guitar work such as in Strange Tourist. It was the deadly differentiation between narrating and singing that Liddiard pulled off so naturally.

There really is no other performer like Gareth Liddiard and to catch him solo again after yet another recently successful run of Drones shows was quite the treat. No matter what incarnation he comes in though, he’s well and truly proven to be someone to keep going back to.