I think I might be an
old person. If not in years, then at least in behaviour and especially so on
Saturday night. Sadly, I missed support act Young Werther in favour of picking up some earplugs (exhibit A) but
I jostled a spot at the bar nonetheless, got myself a gin and tonic (exhibit
B), and waited cantankerously (it’s an old person thing) for Hello Satellites to grace the stage.

Eva Popov has been
kicking around town for a while now, and this most recent incarnation is the
most intriguing of all. Seemingly breathless by the first song, the group took
a few songs to find their swagger, but when they did the songs walked all over
the restless crowd. Now, being an old person, I’m not terribly up to date. But
if I had to, I might liken them to surf rockers The Drums, folk-songstress
Laura Jean or Fiona Apple, all strange instrumentation with an extremely
listenable bent. Popov performed with a pleasing lack of vocal acrobatics and
the bare bones of the set sounded promising. The best moment though, had to be
when the bizarre polypipe contraption hogging the stage was finally put to use.
In the very last song. It rather resembled a whack-a-mole, and was played with ping
pong bats. Instruments these days aren’t what they used to be.

A quick changeover and
the velvet curtains twitched open to reveal woodland-esque stage decoration,
recalling the school plays of, well… probably many childhoods. Animal motifs
peppered the stage and I was reminded of Grand Salvo’s Death album, particularly as the room was hushed by a creeping
ambience of chirps and chimes.

The band took to the
stage and dove headfirst into an energetic set, while the sound filled out
comfortably around Mark Lang’s deep, arresting voice. He is a distinctively
Melbourne songwriter in the best possible way, part of an esteemed handful of
artists including, but not limited to, Paul Kelly, Charles Jenkins, Ned
Collette, Tex Perkins and Glenn Richards. There were striking similarities to
Kelly’s Foggy Highway & Stolen Apples records, parts of Ryan
Adams’ Love is Hell EPs, and just a
bit of Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska.
Hell, they even have a song called ‘Nashville’

Skipping Girl Vinegar

have the talent, the sing-a-longs, the energy…goodness,
they even have the cassette tapes. But they should own their indie roots, and
assert their God-given right to the twin pillars of superceded music technology
and handicraft. Because handmade things connect people and the band’s wholeheartedness
is part of what makes them so remarkable. Back in my day, etc etc…