Carus and the True Believers,Greg Arnold, The John WoodsBand @ The Governor Hindmarsh(6/7/2007)

Sun 8th Jul, 2007 in Gig Reviews

I took my seat in front of the stage as John Woods broke into the chorus of It’s Gold: “It’s gold, gold, gold / Oh yes, my friends, yes it’s gold”. Having heard Woods’ support set three times in as many months, the scene was all too familiar: those same complacent twee songs, those same rosy-cheeked friends who you know have car-pooled to the gig. Consequently, It’s Gold sounded as tired as the Seinfeld catchphrase from which it took its name.

The band’s musicianship is certainly not in doubt – they do what they do very well – but Woods’ appeal to promoters is as a utility. He has sewn up the support slot to the Gov’s visiting roots acts with harmonised confection akin to Hi-5 for uni students. He’s definitely in a groove. I only wish he’d get out of it.

The arrival of Greg Arnold as the next support act, playing solo and acoustic, caused some to noticeably check their watches. Solo folk sets are always at risk of sounding homogenous, but Arnold’s craftsmanship easily transcended that and occasionally afforded glimpses of Things of Stone and Wood’s successes. Many in the crowd wouldn’t have remembered the 90s folk-rock of Arnold’s former band, but Happy Birthday Helen still stood out from a good set.

Carus and the True Believers’ arrival in Adelaide heralded the end of the Three Boxes tour that began, in of all places, Copenhagen. Bursting into the excellently named Born with a Broken Heart, they marked their territory as headliners from the get-go.

Arnold joined the band for Sixteen and Counting, which could’ve been about the besotted girls grouped by the stage, gazing at Carus Thompson with eyes like swimming pools while their boyfriends busied themselves with their mobiles. Watching Carus lap up the attention, one could safely assume that lonely nights have been few on this tour. But his charm is not without substance.

With cohesive, tight-knit support from the True Believers, Carus rollicked through alternative country, folk and rock and roll. When the time came to slow the tempo, he stepped from the stage and climbed atop a table to perform acoustically; first alone, then accompanied by violin and percussion. We listened, enraptured, to the command of his very natural voice; engaged despite those talking loudly at the bar. Once back on stage, the tempo and the volume was quickly ramped up again with an almost-reggae groove that instantly filled the dance floor.

Though I did see some thumb-in-pocket thigh-slapping, Carus’ song-writing is not easily categorised. The self-imposed label of country artist might ensure his standing at the ute-muster, but it doesn’t do justice to his versatility.

Each song was clearly well-honed for two-and-a-half months of touring and the weariness that comes with life on the road certainly didn’t show. Perhaps it was the excitement of having come to the end, of going home, but Carus won’t be kept off the stage for long.

I’m not sure I’ll ever decide which I dislike more in a person, the apathy with which one parts with money for a gig he doesn’t care to listen to, or the ignorance with which he shouts over it. But what’s even more perplexing is how, after nine tours of Europe and another lined up for August, these guys remain largely unknown at home.