An eerie feel filled the air of the Friday night prior to Halloween. Frightful masks, smeared bottle blood and synthetic vampire fangs were paraded up and down Oxford St, where Spectrum was to see the album launch of likes of Snowman that same night. If the sheer terror of vengeful Halloween characters coming to life before my eyes wasn’t fearful enough, another uncertainty arose. I had not seen the support bands before, and frankly; in worst-case-scenario mode, I wasn’t sure that Snowman would be able to compensate.

The first confrontation was with Warhorse. Psychedelic rhythms and distorted guitars were the fashion; very typical of The Stooges era. The somewhat experimental and almost prog-rock sound was complemented by droned and mumbled lyrics which were deemed appropriate. At first Warhorse were extremely captivating, much like how a wicked witch would captivate the attention of starved villagers by dangling candy in front of their eyes. But after a while, it all became too the same. The candy lost its appeal. I began to see them in the same light as a cover band, and was easily distracted by the unlikely look of the bunch on stage; making me loose focus on the sound they were making.

Batrider flew in and were quite the entertainers. Their tunes were temper filled and highly unpredictable to the point where an attempt to anticipate the next melodic mystery would be refuted with a musical ‘Fuck You’. The bass player danced frivolously amongst the crowd, and singers were cleverly positioned on the punter-filled floor. Batrider let off an air that was trashy and riot-girrl reminiscent. Batrider = thumbs up.

Being relatively pleased with the support, I felt safe for Snowman didn’t have to be great to make it an enjoyable night. Luckily for all present, Snowman chose to be absolutely spectacular. You Are A Casino was played early on, and there was not a spot on the floor that remained bare, making movement minimal. Snowman began to unleash the beasts within them; with Snowman quickly upgrading their status from beasts to moon, and the crowd; the werewolves controlled by it. The falsetto, the screeches, the hollow sound conjured up by a little bit of good old reverb and the nasal sound of trumpets and saxophones overwhelmed an audience, with the expression of a newly raised zombie gracing many faces; wide-eyed, open mouthed, surprised and enlightened.

A coterie of punters jolted each other with their elbows and knees while dancing to the surfy yet sadistic sound of Snowman. They answered the crowd’s appreciation with yelps and screams and jagged onstage spasms. Smoke & Mirrors saw an overabundant amount of unified falsetto heard through the perfect intimate setting for this somewhat ritualist spectacle.

Snowman’s hour of reign passed by quicker than a speeding bullet. A word of warning: when you see Snowman, BEWARE!, for you may never see the moon in the same light again.