Well-read nerds.

republished from Butterboxmedia.com

The Devoted Few: Annandale Hotel. Thursday 16th September, 2004. Supported by Derwent River Star & Sounds Like Sunset.

Derwent River Star won the 2004 Sydney University Band Competition. The miniscule portion of their cello-infused set I heard was given an atmospheric, rickety lushness by the big fiddle that was both endearing and, thankfully, non-neo-classical. Listening to ‘em prodded me into an almost requiem-like remembrance for the former transcendent quintet: Smart Went Crazy, from the mid-90’s Washington DC scene, which is admirably documented on the Dischord label.

The intricate melodies of the D. River Stars were instilled with a stabbing intensity that oscillated between tightly structured and delicately subtle. The gliding vocals sounded clear, soaring and intermittently impelled by some elegantly heartbroken tangents. All of which went to defy the stigma of despondence that usually haunts me whenever recalcitrant stringed instruments run away to the circus of rock. I look forward to their next gig.

Objectively, Sounds Like Sunsets can’t yet stake much of a claim on the cinematic space-rock space. Maybe the naive constituents of Umina’s ‘mean streets’ that frontman (what’s-his-face) claims to ‘run’ can be flogged such gravely unmemorable effects pedal fodder. But it was a bloody chore listening to this kinda shoegazer stuff back in the early ’70s. And only then when it was performed with some resonable understanding of the genre. Christ only knows just how many of these spirit of Rimbaud journeys into the derangement of the senses kinda-things I witnessed on a fortnightly basis at Forestville RSL Youth Club dances. Ingeniusly lit by a single, relentlessly flashing strobe that some clown had gaffered into the 'on' position.

As we’ve come such a long way - all of it backwards, it seems - why don’t Sounds Like Sunset take these excruciating recitals to the cover band wonderland of North Sydney? In that bone-coloured universe of cultivated mediocrity the masses are famished for such aural flagellation. Hell, who am I trying to fool? I can’t be objective, their music sounded truly awful.

The Devoted Few were launching their sophomore release Billboard Noises [nonzero/Shock; 2004] and played a 12 song setlist that diverted only slightly from the CD’s tracklist. In pop terms, it’s probably relevant to describe Ben Fletcher’s historical band derivation; and that information is reliably chronicled elsewhere. But at a time when promising talents abound all over the sunburnt country, anyone who compresses the atmosphere of a current era into a dozen songs that so crystallize the surrounding landscape without overstatement must surely rank above that of a mere metaphor-slinger. And these songs, born from the input of individual band members rather than the pitfalls of a democratic writing imperative, certainly demonstrate an affinity for the lie in the land’s heart.

Set opener “Misery Loves Company” was a slyly soulful ramble capturing the sense of failure felt when hugely enlarged realities, verging on complete fantasy, remain unfulfilled. It unrolled a beach scene at dawn to me, whereupon a couple of self-help group refugees strip away their illusions over endless cigarettes and shared pain. The tempo of the set increased and the band bled into “Counting Cars.” Although the feel and sensation contrasts widely here, the intelligence of the lyrics never becomes too oddly fascinating. Unlike some dude in a department store record section, (or, more commonly, the contrived use of a hyphen) I won’t be a category enforcer and condescend to welding The Devoted Few onto any perpetual style. But their youthful themes of longing and desire have a pop ethic without its excessively deluded vernacular strategy.

At this point, Tanith Sherman stepped up to the mic to harmonize for a song. She returned later with another couple of friends yanked out of the crowd for a cresendo of la-la-la-laa-ss on “Your Face Burnt a Hole in My Memory.” The extra voices provided a poignant, emotional counterpart that was far less fist-pumping or anthemic and conveyed a touching message full of resigned optimism.

And all the songs on this album excel for such reasons of displacement, by neatly illustrating the gap between irony and pathos. If a line like, “And the ghost will sing another line” from Desolation Angels doesn’t convince, then, “And if she could be anywhere today, it would be yesterday..” certainly could. The effect of pop awkwardness made more bold by the rock ‘n’ roll predictability: maturity, reassuringly adds a touch of the everyday. But for all their sturdiness and fun, the songs are also contemplative, dreamy and childlike. Just like the kindergarten picture used in CD’s artwork.

The endurable guitar riffs sounded excellent on The Annandale’s brilliant audio set up. And the divine lighting offered eternal hope for the restrained use of strobe. But the sentimental bloke moment belonged to a shaggy-haired dude pulled from the crowd who clutched the mic stand while wailing the chorus during the last song. He reminding me of just how commanding a few devoted moments of unadulterated happiness can be.

- Peter Thornton September, 2004