Tim Finn
Athenaeum Theatre
November 7, 2009

Over 20 albums, film and television scores, a musical; Tim Finn’s career may have slipped under the radar to a few, but certainly not to those at the Athenaeum on Saturday night. When you’ve been involved in the history of popular music to that kind of degree, you’re probably entitled to a sell-out anthology tour.

And if you’re lucky enough to be in the crowd of one of those sold-out shows, you’re in for a cracker.

In a career that started somewhere in the early 70s and is still going, there’s plenty of material for Mr Finn to draw from to piece together a real ride for the live audience. When you’re drawing from eight albums of Split Enz stuff, eight solo albums, a Crowded House hit, a couple of Finn Brothers releases and some other bits and pieces, the challenge is keeping the set list to something manageable.

I feel obliged to use the ‘Mr’ prefix, not just because of the OBE he’s got after his name, but because when you’re taken through the trip that is the career of Tim Finn, you realise how much respect this man must be paid.

So this manageable set list began with his vaudevillian tale of woe, in the classic Enz number ‘Six Months in a Leaky Boat’, and it didn’t let up for the next two hours and two encores. Backed by a 5-piece band, including ex-Split Enz and Crowded House master Eddie Raynor on keys, whatever Mr Finn had lost in vocal purity over the years was compensated for by the band.

As he waded through the classics and the ‘not as classic but still very good’, the one thing that became increasingly obvious was that this bloke’s knack of crafting a quality tune could not be questioned.

It was also obvious that he still had that Split Enz stage eccentricity coursing through the veins. Sure, it’s toned down a little these days, and gone are the costumes and bouffant hair, but the energy remains.

So what does a Tim Finn anthology sound like?

It sounds like Split Enz titles ‘My Mistake’, ‘Dirty Creature’, ‘I See Red’, an off the cuff rendition of ‘Hermit McDermitt’, ‘Bold as Brass’, ‘She Got Body, She Got Soul’ and ‘Maybe’ – all great songs in their own right. But when you look at the Split Enz playlist, you could probably pick out at least half a dozen others that you would’ve also liked to have heard on the night.

Then there’s the Crowded House numbers too. Sure, Tim Finn was only present for the Woodface album, but he picked a decent album to be a part of. ‘Chocolate Cake’ and ‘Weather With You’ got a run, but again, any of the songs on that album would’ve been crowd pleasers.

The rest of the set was littered with old and new. His biggest hits from his solo career were always going to be on the bill – ‘Fraction Too Much Friction’ and ‘Made My Day’ – there was some Finn Brothers stuff, one or two from his ‘Poor Boy’ musical and even treated to a couple of newies.

I have to admit, I wasn’t too familiar with some of the new stuff, but then it seemed Mr Finn wasn’t overly familiar with it either at times. But it only served for more entertaining repartee between old pals Finn and Raynor.

And I think it’s fair to say that Raynor influence on the career of Tim Finn should similarly not be underrated, judged by some to be as influential to the Split Enz sound than anyone else in the band. It was no surprise that Neil Finn enlisted him to help his fledgling band, Crowded House, in the 80s. So seeing him on stage on Saturday night was as much a treat for the audience as it would’ve been for Mr Finn.

In the end, amazingly, a career that spans over 30 years and numerous hits, was somehow whittled down to a bang-up 2-hour show.

Thanks Mr Finn for the two hours and the 30 years.

The Melbourne music scene is often described as ‘rich,’ ‘vibrant’ or ‘eclectic’ – or any other manner of exciting adjective. And if you’ve ever taken a quick squiz at the gig guide on any night of the week, there’s plenty there to suggest such descriptions are warranted. Tinpan Orange, as one of the relative newcomers to the Melbourne scene, closely represents all that is rich, vibrant, eclectic or other about the Melbourne music landscape.

But amongst a landscape that often sounds like it’s all beer and skittles, the road of a Melbourne indie artist is one that usually involves less of the beer and not as many skittles as you would otherwise imagine. Yet the realities of the industry certainly haven’t seemed to dull the passion of Tinpan Orange’s Emily Lubitz, Jesse Lubitz and Alex Burkoy, enough to devote their life to it.

So when I got the chance to chat with Emily, I wanted answers. As they strive in an industry as competitive as it is exciting, I wanted to know why they do it, and I wanted to know how they do it. Strangely enough, it seems answering the latter provides some obvious answers to the former.

The Tinpan Orange story began in familiar territory, no doubt, as it does for many musical-types keen on making music. Jamming with her brother Jesse, busking, going to open mic nights, writing songs if and when they felt right… it was a social thing, an outlet, and largely an unconscious, gradual process towards what we now know as Tinpan Orange.

Perhaps surprisingly, the life of an indie artist was never originally a conscious decision for the band – after all, they were just going up to Darwin to hang out with friends, do a bit of busking, do some markets and play in a few pubs, maybe sell a few CDs along the way. It wasn’t until they sold a few more CDs each week than they expected, during what Emily describes as “a real random winter up there”, that they started to approach this vocation with a little more seriousness when they returned down south.

The small world that it is engineered a chance meeting with Alex Burkoy in 2005, whom they previously went to school with, and whose musical ability and sensibility seemed to fit like a glove with the direction the Lubitz siblings were heading.

So they now had the band, and the building blocks of their sound. But that’s not enough to allow an indie artist to enjoy even the modest success that Tinpan Orange are now eexperiencing. The difference, as is often the case for those indie artists with any kind of longevity, is the song writing.

Emily shoulders much of the song writing responsibilities for Tinpan Orange, with brother Jesse chiming in here and there. Listening to their second and latest release, The Bottom of the Lake, it’s clear that such crafting was not only a crucial aspect of allowing them to choose such a life, but also one crucial aspect that will no doubt foster their longevity on the scene.

Yet by her own admission, Emily is not the most prolific of songwriters. Their new record, for instance, was two years in the making. But, as she prefers the song to come to her, rather than her going to it, being prolific is not often the way to find quality. While every songwriter has their way of finding, crafting and ultimately delivering the tune, Emily’s process is more inspiration than perspiration.

“Often I can feel a song coming, it’s a really weird sensation. I feel it in the air, or inside me, but I don’t really know at that stage how it goes or what I’m trying to say, and it’ll take maybe 3 days, maybe 3 weeks, to get it out. But it’s actually a really lovely feeling. It’s kind of like this feeling that something’s about to hatch,” she explains.

But that’s not to say they all turn out to be good ones. One of the benefits of being an indie artist means you’re only working under the pressure you place on yourself. Emily puts it simply: “I find the songs are written because they need to be written, because they need to come into existence for themselves – to frame a moment or present an idea that I feel I can’t really present in any other way.”

It’s the absence of pressure, too, that helps shape the quality of tracks that do get recorded. And when it comes to letting go of a song that has hatched but shows little promise, Emily has the luxury to let it fall by the wayside without having to force it. For the punter, this means that each track you hear on the disc is their highest quality. As she explained the process of sorting the good from the bad for their latest record, the benefit for the listener is obvious: “With this record, we only recorded the songs that we loved.”

Ultimately, however, it’s the audiences that can often determine the success of a song. Sure, each idea goes through the rigours of the band, arranging and re-arranging to get the right feel. But it’s often the Melbourne audiences that will help the band determine what makes it to the record and what doesn’t. 

Surely the Melbourne scene is the perfect testing ground, too? Yes and no. Emily admits that the Melbourne scene for an indie artist is an awesome place to be with so much happening and so many venues to play in, but in the same breath, she also admits it’s a scene that could be a little more supportive of its artists.

Much of this can come down to the venue, which, depending on the venue’s dedication to, and respect of, its acts, can have a similar bearing on the audience it brings. For Emily, winning over such an audience can be a richly rewarding experience.

So it seems the Melbourne scene can be a double-edged sword for those following in the Tinpan Orange mould; so many accomplished artists so keen to play their music to the masses, and so many venues concerned with the dollar more than the artist.

Tinpan Orange's new album: The Bottom of the Lake

As success for Tinpan Orange grows, however, it allows them a little more choice in the venues and festivals they play. Bennett’s Lane is a favourite, and the scene of their latest album launch, the Thornbury Theatre, proves to hold much promise – “It’s a really dedicated music venue, it’s an old ballroom, so it’s got this beautiful décor, and red velvet curtains and gold trimmings, so there’s something quite grand about it. It looks very beautiful. I’m looking forward to playing there”, Emily explains.

Being able to choose their venues, choose their gigs, is a simple of measure of success for the band. They’re not looking for the big break. For starters, Melbourne doesn’t always want the big names, opting more for the credibility of the artist. And Tinpan Orange, like so many other indie acts, aren’t in it for the break or the money.

While the Melbourne scene brings opportunity, opportunity does not necessarily bring riches.

The benefit for Melbourne audiences is that when you attend a Tinpan Orange show, you know they’re in it for the sake of the song. But then that will be obvious from the quality of the songs. So if you’re a punter in Melbourne, I recommend you catch a Tinpan Orange gig sometime. It’s ‘rich’, ‘vibrant’, and ‘eclectic’ – and no doubt you’ll find your own adjective to aptly describe it.

Tinpan Orange playing the Thornbury Theatre on October 1, 2009, launching their second album, The Bottom of the Lake.

Colin Hay’s an interesting bloke. And going to a Colin Hay gig is usually an interesting experience too. His latest appearance, the album launch for his new release American Sunshine, at the Corner Hotel, was nothing short of a typical Colin Hay gig. And shit it was good.

Colin Hay

I’m not one to throw in an expletive just to grab attention, and neither is Colin – probably. But he used them to reasonable effect as he waxed on about ‘dickhead’ Australians, potted John Farnham about being back on the road and Sting about his marvellous shoulders, and explained how normal it is to see Batman on the streets of California.

You see, that’s what makes a Colin Hay gig a little different. You don’t just get the music – the stand-up routine is also a part of the Hay shtick. And with the shocking flu that he was battling, it was looking like we might get more of the shtick than the music.

But this guy doesn’t fill in the time cracking jokes just to gloss over the tunes. When you’re up there for 1 hour 45 minutes, there’s plenty of time for everything.

So he kicked it all off with a bit of everything from the new album. Oh California told us of his love for the place he now calls home, or the place he now resides, at least. This was followed up by other newies, like Prison Time, There’s Water Over You and No Time.

The depth of sound that Hay gets from his guitar means he doesn’t have to lean on a band to deliver the full effect. More often than not, he gets a better result without them. Case in point was a lot of his new stuff, with I Came Into Your Store and Baby Can I See You Tonight? just a couple that probably sound better with just Hay on his acoustic.

There weren’t many from the new album that didn’t get a look in. Sure, it got those who were there just to hear the old stuff a little restless. But as he so eloquently put it at the start of the night, “I’m going to play some songs that you don’t know, so that when you hear it again, you’ll think, ‘fuck, I know that song.’”

So when the new songs were done, he gave in to the masses and ripped through the favourites. Again, many of which are better suited to the solo guitar – most likely, just the way they were first written.

For the younger set reading this, who perhaps only recognise Colin from his cameos in Scrubs, Hay’s history in Australian rock goes way back to Men At Work’s Land Down Under, Who Can It Be Now and Overkill, all of which received the hoots and whistles they deserve. These aren’t just great rock/pop tunes, but some of our most internationally recognised songs, breaking ground, particularly in the States, and paving the way for the likes of INXS and beyond.

However, it could be argued that Hay’s better songs were written in the period after the lofty heights of Men At Work. As he played through Beautiful World, I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You and Waiting For My Real Life To Begin, with all the stripped back emotion that one guitar and Hay’s unique Scottish rasp can deliver, it was very hard to argue against.

And, finally, I don’t know what it was about this particular Sunday night – whether it was the unseasonably mild night air, the sheer rapture of Hay’s tunes, or, the more likely scenario, the booze – but there were plenty of fuckwits (to steal a carefully chosen description from Hay). Talking during songs, talking on their phones, even taking pictures all drew a quick and rightful swipe from Hay. I also don’t understand what makes people yell out, ‘I LOVE YOU COLIN’, and then continue to talk right through the song. That’s real love. And if you’re going to heckle, don’t heckle Colin Hay – he just makes you look like the fuckwit you really are.

It’s hard not to enjoy a Colin Hay gig. Whether you’re there for the new stuff, the solo stuff, the old stuff or even just the jokes, you’re going to get what you came for. Watching and listening to the Scottish Australian American is an interesting experience. You’ll love it.

Tinpan Orange - The Bottom of the Lake

Tinpan Orange
The Bottom of the Lake
Vitamin Records

It’s Sunday. Mid-morning. You’re a little dusty, and it’s already warmish outside. You open up the front and back door to let some air in before you grab the paper and a coffee. An ideal complement to this kind of lazy-Sunday morn is the new offering from Tinpan Orange, The Bottom of the Lake.

You’ll find it sitting somewhere in between Clare Bowditch and perhaps Lisa Mitchell.

To be frank, this album was my first Tinpan Orange experience. The first listen to songstress Emily Lubitz’s voice evoked shades of Bowditch, in it purity and sweetness. So it was no surprise to read that the two, in fact, wrote their first song together when Emily was only nine years old.

But it’s not just the voice that soothes on this, their second release. More so, it’s the balanced combination of instrumentation, with carefully placed violin, mandolin, and ukulele filling out the acoustic-laden Tinpan sound. It’s clearly one of those albums that is rich without being over-produced – no doubt aided by getting Harry Angus on board as producer and instrumentalist.

The result is textbook ‘synergy’ – the interaction and cooperation of each of these elements produces an effect greater than the sum of their parts. At times, you barely notice the violin filling the background, or the addition of the whistles; they don’t just contribute their individual sounds, but add to the creation of what I clearly hear as the Tinpan Orange sound.

And, the more I listen to The Bottom of the Lake, their third LP, the more this sound in growing on me.

This has the romance of opener Romeo Don’t Come, and Lovely, but it never gets too sickly sweet. Things get a little melancholy with the title track, The Bottom of the Lake and closer Saudades, but it never gets too down and depressing. There’s longing, there’s homesickness, and a couple of tracks - Round and Round and Fitzroy Street - that are written and performed by guitarist Jesse Lubitz.

In fact, there’s really nothing too offensive in this album, nothing too distracting. You know what you’re going to get, which is at times mostly nice. It also means there’s no one highlight, nothing really blowing your hair back – just well-written tracks, the cruisey Tinpan instrumentation, and that melting Lubitz voice – consistently keeping the album heading in the same direction.

So if you’ve got a spare lazy Sunday, ease into it with a bit of Tinpan Orange’s The Bottom of the Lake. That should set you up very nicely.

Counting Crows
Palais Theatre
March 27, 2009

Some bands give you a live show that sounds much like you’re listening to the CD. Quality bands will give you a performance – a true live show. Counting Crows go more for the performance angle, yet so often, prefer to go above and beyond to deliver a memorable experience.

It’s this ‘experience’ that separates Counting Crows from the others. But more about that later.

It was only the second time that Crows have made it to Australia, and this time, only on the back of a supporting gig for The Who. Luckily for Melbourne fans, we had the rare treat of a solo show for the first time since 2003.

This, along with their new album Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings launched in 2008, pointed towards a mixed bag – the favourites, the classics, some new stuff and a few other bits and pieces thrown in for shits and giggles.

And that’s pretty much what was delivered.

It was a typical Counting Crows kick off – no grandiose fanfare, no big build up. Just get out there and play some tunes. Their 7-piece outfit, like the crowd, was there for the love of the music. Opening with Cowboys from the new album was a decent start, and it was followed by Children in Bloom, setting the tone for the expected mixed bag.

In fact, the early stages were littered with the unexpected, like Miami and Black and Blue from the 2003 Hard Candy album, and Mrs Potter’s Lullaby thrown in between. Front man, Adam Duritz, admitted himself that they kicked off with some different tunes, yet it’s all part of a Counting Crows set – they play what they want, what they feel. And you can bet it was entirely different the next night.

But with Duritz in fine form, they soon launched into more familiar places, sprinkled with some fine tracks from the new album.

Time and Time Again warmed up the crowd for Mr Jones, bringing them to their feet for the first time and drawing comment from Duritz – “I see – so you stand up for ‘the single’.” As an aside, surprisingly it was Mr Jones that was played most like it would be heard on the disc.

But these musicians are not to be underestimated. David Immergluck hammed it up while spreading himself amongst electric, acoustic and mandolin. Dan Vickery was switching from banjo to electric and back to banjo during Good Time, and duelling solos beautifully with Immi on Richard Manuel is Dead and the new Hanging Tree. Hell, we even got the pleasure of a few squeezebox highlights from Charlie Gillingham on the keys.

These guys know how to play – and know how to get the most emotion from their tools to guide the ebbs and flows. Anna Begins, Colorblind and A Long December provided the perfect case in point.

So anyway, about this ‘experience’ and ‘performance’ thing that I was banging on about earlier…

A lot of it can be attributed to front man, Adam Duritz, and his delivery. He doesn’t just sing the lyrics – in fact, if you were there to hear his dulcet tones, you’ve come for the wrong reason. More so, he lives and breathes the lyrics. He performs them, emotes them. In fact, just watching him perform and gesticulate seems to give you further insight into the meaning of each song.

Round Here, from the acclaimed first album, August and Everything After, was a classic example. It took 9 minutes to tell the story, but by its end, you feel the insecurities of ‘the girl in the car in the parking lot’, you understand what it means to ‘talk just like lions, and sacrifice just like lambs’, and you begin to ‘notice the contrast of white on white’. It’s an amazing experience.

And to round out the experience, they left us with an encore of Washington Square from the new album, and finally the title track from Hard Candy. But they also left us with so much more. I’m just hoping it’s not another 6 years before we get to experience it again.

The Bad Loves onstage.

There’s something about a lazy Sunday evening sitting on the grass with a few beers while you listen to live music – it rarely lets you down. And, perhaps a little surprisingly, the Melbourne Zoo does it really well with their Twilight sessions.

Throwing The Badloves into the live mix was a rare treat too. Not only have they not been seen since 1999, but their get-up has that same ‘lazy Sunday’ feel to it. The night was poised…

But first thing’s first. We found our spot on the lawn, laid out the spread, grabbed a couple of beers and let blues stalwart Chris Wilson and his band set the tone.

If you’ve never seen Chris Wilson, you would no doubt have heard him. Turn on any Australian rock or blues tune from the last 30 years and if you hear the ol’ mouth organ, you can bet Mr Wilson is probably behind it.

His experience was obvious, with a slew of solid blues tracks punctuated by his trademark harmonica licking throughout. Standards like ‘Show You How to Walk the Dog’ provided a sense of familiarity for the family set, as the burly Wilson encouraged their participation throughout his hour-long gig. It was all good clean fun.

Next up, The Badloves. Ever since hearing ‘Memphis’ on the radio while working ‘Hot Side’ (the kitchen) out the back of Sizzlers in 1994, I’ve always been hooked on their ‘rock-hippy-soul’ tunes. So I was suitably pumped to hear it live again after 10 years of missing out.

It was apt, then, when they opened with their early hit, ‘I remember’. Hearing the smooth Michael Spiby tonsils brought the memories flooding back. But in hindsight, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’d now prefer to hold on to those memories.

Don’t get me wrong, the tunes were all there – ‘Living Thing’, ‘Yesterday’s Gone’, ‘Barefoot Bride’, ‘Slave’- and, if they had asked me to write the set list, there would’ve been plenty of similarities.

Unfortunately, at times, they seemed to lack the polish that made their live act such a pleasure – with one notable exception.

Lead guitarist, Jak Housden, is one of the finest this country has produced. Watching every note, every wail, every sound produce its own swerve, jerk or sway of Housden’s wiry frame is a pleasure- and worth the price of admission in itself.

But there was an air of scratchiness from the new line up that seemed to be still feeling its way. Original members Michael Spiby (vocals), Housden (guitar), and John Favarro (bass) are now joined by new members behind the keys and the kit. While I’m reluctant to write them off after one gig, I couldn’t help but pine a little for Tony Featherstone and Chris Tabone.

Yet it was still a pleasure to hear them play again. They gave us a taste of the new album, and it showed plenty of promise. A rendition of Buffalo Springfield’s ‘For What It’s Worth’ was a little less so, but still entertaining. And when they finished up the 1 hour 15 minute set with crowd pleasers like ‘Memphis’, ‘Green Limousine’, ‘Lost’ and a break-neck version of The Band’s ‘The Weight’, we all went home happy in the knowledge that they at least played what we came to hear.

And if you’re toying with the decision to head along to a session of The Zoo Twilights, I would highly recommend it. Sure, we were spoilt with a mild, comfortable night, but it’s well worth the entry fee – and hey, you get to see the animals along with it.

So pack your Esky, grab the rug and head out to The Zoo for the Twilights. They do a good night on the grass with a few beers and some live music.

The Waifs perform live.

The Waifs
Hi Fi Bar & Ballroom
February 3, 2009

The Waifs, for anyone who has not had the pleasure, are those friends of yours who are more than handy on the guitar, and when you invite them over for a barby, the night will always end with a few sing-a-longs, some sweet harmonies, dexterous work on the fret board and some good ol’ fashion fun.

And The Waifs latest gig at the Hi Fi Bar was never going to be any different. They invited fans to choose the set list via their website in the weeks leading up to the tour, and it worked a treat.

After a quick loosener, Lighthouse kicked off the hand-clappin’ and knee-slappin’, and when this was followed with Take It In, the tone was set and they never looked back. In true Waifs fashion, the fun and frivolity was all mixed in with a smattering of new tunes and alternative treatments thrown in for good measure.

Early in the set, a stripped back Bridal Train offered a new take on the usual classic country feel, with barely an acoustic guitar in sight. I could never work out why, but it left me with shades of Bryan Adams ringing in my ears, yet somehow, no harm was done.

It was The Waifs, after all. It’s always about having a good time. “I feel like we’re playing in your back yard,” Donna added in between the songs and stories. And that’s exactly how it felt for the crowd too – only you don’t have to worry about how you’re going to clean up when everyone pisses off.

All the better to soak up the harmonies of sisters Donna Simpson and Vikki Thorn, as they took us through a veritable ‘best of’ set list that included old favourites London Still, Love Serenade, Fisherman’s Daughter, Willow Tree and Lies amongst plenty of others. Haircut, too, was just one of the lighter moments of the night, where the stories told are often just as entertaining as the songs.

We were never going to miss out on Crazy Train and the sing-a-longer’s favourite, Gillian. It was also nice to hear guitarist Josh Cunningham sing the last verse; after all, he did write it for his Mum and it’s always felt a little weird when hearing the girls sing “Gillian, if you weren’t my mother I’d make you my wife.” Not that we don’t get it when the girls sing it, but it means so much more when you hear Josh telling his Mum exactly how he feels.

A couple of new tunes filled the middle and showed plenty of promise, a solo double bass version of SunDirtWater provided a nice soulful take, and Pony – from the same album – simply rocked.

Two encores filled the two-hour show, with the whole band – Hammond organ, drums, double bass/electric bass included – leaving you thinking that this is just another Aussie band who are even better live than what their recorded material suggests.

So if you ever want to have a bit of good ol’ fashion fun, with a few buddies playing some sweet tunes, as you sing-a-long in between a few jars to loosen you up – you’ll get all that and more at a Waifs gig.