It’s been a long while since I’ve spent a night in The Basement, but what better way to return to the iconic Sydney venue than with two of the finest Australian musicians around. Kicking off the night was Dan Kelly, performing solo and acoustic; a perfect support for the night’s headliner, The Drones’ Gareth Liddiard.
Kelly – nephew of Paul (but I’m sure you knew that by now) – is a clever songwriter to say the least. He balances impressive melodies with tongue-in-cheek lyrics while getting the crowd singing along to lyrics like ‘cocksucker mother fucker’ in the track “Drunk On Election Night”. Meanwhile, in “Everything’s Amazing”, a ‘sensitive song about goths in Byron’ which comes off Kelly’s next record, Dan parades the meaningful-yet-not-so-meaningful tightrope nicely. His songs do have meaning, sure, but not in the oh-so-deep sort of way. He just knows how to tell an entertaining story through his guitar.
Another new track, “I’m Moving Back to Brisbane”, gives a similar approach, as does the brilliant “Sea Shepherd Cook”, a track about how difficult it would be to be a cook on the infamous Sea Shepherd vessel. And he knows how the deliver some great banter too – with plenty coming before, after and even during his songs.
The set ended with one of my favourites, the “Bindi Irwin Apocalypse Jam”, which sees Bindi form a band with her Mum, under the sea, after the apocalypse. Dan gives us the track with God-like reverb and ends with the Hendrix-inspired Australian anthem. Because Hendrix is there under the sea too – naturally.
After attacking Steven Hawking, and offending most in the room, it was Gareth Liddiard‘s turn to shine, wasting plenty of time as his foul mouthed non-PC humour and political commentary got in the way of his music. Oh, who am I kidding, that’s half the reason you go to a Liddiard show. And if anyone would actually be offended by someone like Liddiard – well, they wouldn’t be at his fabulously intimate show in the first place. Everything comes with a bit of a cheeky grin.
In contrast to being hilarious in his banter, Liddiard is terrifically dark – dare I say even morbose – in his songwriting. As rowdy as the crowd were in between songs (which wasn’t very, to be fair, they were just participating in his diatribe), when Liddiard was performing, the room was silent; you could have heard a pin drop at times. It’s a testament to his prowess.
He ran through an impressive set tonight, which included tracks like the beautifully poetic “Highplains Mailman”, the often requested “Strange Tourist”, “Blondin Makes An Omelette” off the album of the same name, fan favourites “Did She Scare All Your Friends Away”, “Shark Fin Blues” (how good is that song!?), “Sixteen Straws” and set closer “The Radicalisation Of D” – an epic track which also closes out Liddiard’s Strange Tourist record. How he finds his way around that track night after night is a strange mystery – but a welcome one.
He’s a unique performer in the sense that nothing ever feels in tune (he blames Dan Luscombe from The Drones), but nothing ever feels out of place. His songs rarely contain the sort of “choruses” that songwriters try to find for the sake of radio play and singalongs. Hell, “The Radicalisation Of D” barely even has a melody. Yet it is one of his most compelling (and intense) tracks. It’s what makes him a songwriter’s songwriter – a performer’s performer. And like Dan Kelly before him, and eloquent storyteller. He doesn’t adhere to convention and he doesn’t take your shit. And it’s what makes him one of the finest Australian musicians of his generation.
