Tourettes @ Excelsior,16/04/04

Sun 2nd May, 2004 in Gig Reviews

Late arrivals to the Excelsior this evening were certainly kicking themselves. Stuffed to the gills, the pub was heaving as the Sydney-based Tourettes kicked into their set with all the subtlety of a petrol tanker explosion. As more punters tried to move their way to the front of the band room, the Tourettes Army – otherwise known as the SiK FuKs – made their presence known. Moving as one, the mosh began, and a real sense of camaraderie pervaded; of community and single-mindedness (not only of dress) that’s often missing from rock gigs.

The four piece’s type of music is certainly dark, but it’s plain to see why it engenders such a fervent respsonse from the band’s fans. It’s also easy to see why Tourettes aren’t signed to a major as yet – the most notable big-name act (lame as the comparison may be) that sounds somewhat similar to Tourettes is Evanescence; although they’re a severely emasculated version of the local powerhouse - a watered-down Diet Tourettes, if you like.  The real thing communicates a crushingly heavy sound that somehow manages to remain unique, despite the overtones of industrial, metal and darkwave that pepper the tunes. And they have the king-hitting bonus of being fronted by perhaps the most enigmatically terrifying to ever wield a microphone: Michele Madden.

Tonight’s gig at the Excelsior is – like Tourettes shows in general! – really just a case of Michele holding court for the duration. There’s no question about the instrumental ability of the band - indeed, they’re some of the strongest musicians playing this type of music you’re likely to see – but as good as they are, there’s no denying that the audience’s attention will, for the most part, be commanded by the band’s singer. With long hair flying, tattooed muscles tensed and a wild-eyed stare staking to the spot those punters brave enough to venture into the front rows, she’s nothing short of enthralling. Vocals summoned from the depths of the earth are flung at punters. In terms of emotiveness, there’s nothing short of primal screaming that’d communicate pain, anger and general feelings of spiritual seasickness more effectively than the vocal lines that’re given an airing tonight.

This is less a gig and more an encounter with some kind of caged, superbly literate beast. It’s a live show that immerses – thanks to its dynamic leader – in a way that encourages both fear and respect. Tourettes ride a knife-edge between chaos and muscular assuredness in a way that few bands are able to – or have the balls to.

The great thing about a Tourettes performance is that there’s no question of the crowd being there to see the band. To be honest, they’d be scared not to pay attention. Anyone who heckles – you have breath left to heckle with after this mosh? – is forced to run the gauntlet of Michele. Aside from the obvious fact that a muscled singer with a microphone is going to easily overpower an unamped dweeb with an attitude, those tonight that try their luck at smart-arsery are quickly undone with a reminder of exactly who paid to get in tonight, and who’s taking the cash home – just before the band pummels the audience with another of their dark constructions.

As the crowd made its way out of the humid pub, the most telling testament to the intensely personal nature of Tourettes’ music was made by vocalist Michele. For the past hour or so, she’d been all over the stage, prowling and intimidating. But at the end of the night, the image that remained was of a performer, glasses and beanie on, blending into the crowd and slipping away. Someone who’d channelled so much power, content to merge into the night and leave gobsmacked punters alone with memories of a performance stronger than most you’re likely to see.

Somebody, please give Tourettes the acclaim they deserve. In a sea of mediocrity, there need to be more homegrown arsekickers.