Veri.Live – Issue Seven (First Birthday!)
The seventh (first birthday) issue of Veri.Live is out now. It has one hell of a cover and includes an assortment of multi-coloured vinyl, featuring tracks by Opeth and Self is a Seed. In this issue I review The Mars Volta’s brilliant new album Noctourniquet, the brutal King Parrot at Pony, and have written a long interview piece on the 2012 Soundwave festival. The piece includes interviews with Mastodon, Gojira, Chimaira, Madina Lake and Machine Head.
Buy it now online or in-store. Stockists can be located here: http://www.verilive.com.au/
Roky Erickson @ the Corner Hotel, Melbourne (13/03/2012)
Originally published on Friday 16th March, 2012 by FasterLouder
Who is Roky Erickson? When faced with this same question, in an interview from the mid-1970s, he said, ‘I have been a Christian, the devil and a monster…an alien…not a member of the human race.’ His career is one that parallels those of Daniel Johnson, Brian Wilson and Syd Barrett. At separate times Erickson has been diagnosed with schizophrenia and labelled clinically insane. Anyone who has seen the brilliant documentary You’re Gonna Miss Me, will understand the kind of trauma he succumbed to following years of sustained drug abuse in the 1960s. For a long period of time he didn’t have music. He once resided in an institution for the criminally insane and endured years of extreme poverty. But thanks to his younger brother Sumner, he eventually made a return to music. It was then that Sumner said, ‘He got his life back.’
But this is all off stage. On stage and on record he is someone entirely different. The extent of his influence is probably incalculable, and has touched everyone from ZZ Top to the Cramps, Henry Rollins, Patti Smith, Sonic Youth and the Mars Volta. He is also a man whose identity hasn’t the slightest appearance of stability. There was the psychedelia of 13th Floor Elevators; the sci-fi/horror movie-inspired hard rock of The Aliens, the creative decline, and his return to live music in 2005 after a 20-year hiatus. Each change in his career has brought with it a different Roky Erickson, and at 64 years of age he’s touring Australia for the first and probably last time, 48-years after forming his first band.
Erickson’s backing band consists of six musicians, including his son Jegar, who appear on stage long before Roky himself. When Erickson emerges he moves slowly, guided towards his guitar by his assistant, seemingly indifferent to the crowd screaming his name. He is a bear of a man, and with the first chord a huge and childish smile breaks through his dense shrubbery of grey beard. They begin with Cold Night For Alligators. Erickson’s voice isn’t quite what it once was but still has enough of that spine-tingling, arse-kicking quality it had way back in the 1960s when it was, arguably, the best voice in rock music.
Erickson’s memory isn’t so good. His guitarist keeps an eye on him throughout the set, coaching him through guitar and vocal parts. Whenever Erickson forgets what he should be singing someone does it for him and he catches on soon enough. During Goodbye Sweet Dreams his lack of conceit and vulnerability produces an odd charm, which turns to sympathy when it appears he’s being forced through some of the material. For the most part he acts as if there is no one watching him: he turns his back to the crowd and doesn’t talk to anyone but the band between songs. A single white light illuminates him, pulling him forward from the band that disappears around him.
His band demonstrates as much reverence towards the man as the entire crowd do, pausing between each song to clap and to bring him towels and drinks, asking him if he’s fine (he responds in the affirmative with a slight nod or a thumbs up). He is no longer the precocious talent of the 13th Floor Elevators or the certifiably insane leader of the Aliens. He is a man who would probably no longer recognise, or remember, either one of those two people.
The brilliant Two-Headed Dog (Red Temple Prayer) and Night of the Vampire pushed his voice back into a dirtier space more akin to the one from his days with the Aliens. FollowingReverberation he left the stage and was dragged back by chants of ‘Roky! Roky!’ Expectedly he closed with You’re Gonna Miss Me, a song written and recorded when he was only 19, the one that introduced the world to the 13th Floor Elevators and the enigma that is Roky Erickson.
The entire set was played with a degree of detachment and confusion, as if he was introducing himself to his former selves, rediscovering the kind of person he was when he originally wrote those songs. Music means something quite different to everyone. But for people like Roky – if there are any people truly like Roky – it’s the very matter that constitutes life. No amount of speculation could arrive at an adequate conclusion for who he’d be without music, just as no amount of speculation could produce an adequate answer for who he is with it.
System of a Down and the Dillinger Escape Plan @ Rod Laver Arena, Melbourne (29/02/2012)
Originally published on Friday 2nd March, 2012 by FasterLouder
The Dillinger Escape Plan, or “the support act” as was announced by Big Brother over the PA upon arrival, are one of the most consistently phenomenal live bands currently touring the world. Each and every time I’ve seen them play they’ve pushed the limits of what a band is capable of doing live. It was a slightly different story though in what was perhaps the biggest venue they’ll ever play in this country.
The band matched the chaos of their sound with equally chaotic moves (scaling amps, fold backs, road cases, gesticulating wildly, etc.). Front man, Greg Puciato, was a little less animated than usual. He cleared this up however, prior to their second last song of the night,Sunshine the Wearwolf, “I was told I can’t run on people. If I come out there the shows over,” he said, pointing to the crowd in front of him. Still, it didn’t stop him running to the barrier and screaming, “Destroyer!” and “Without my existence, you are nothing!” into the faces of fans. Unfortunately most of the crowd responded to the band with indifference. “You have a good tolerance,” said Puciato, to a quarter-full venue, realising just as much. With Panasonic Youthand 43% Burnt they departed, quickly, and a silver curtain dropped from the roof with the title “System of a Down” projected on the front of it.
The venue was far from full. Black curtains in the upper tiers concealed the unsold seats. When the lights cut out System of a Down appeared as silhouettes behind the silver curtain. Flashes of light accompanied each beat to the opener, Prison Song. It both looked and sounded great and the thousands of people in the venue lost their collective shit. It was the kind of spectacle one expects from an arena performance. But when the curtain fell so too did the immediate excitement of their presence.
The last time System of a Down toured Australia was in 2005. Seven years is a long time and time has not been kind to the band and their material. At first, they generally appeared interested in what they were doing, which made one think that their reformation wasn’t entirely about money. But for most of the night the band, especially the rhythm section, laboured through their parts with detachment. Vocalist Serj Tankian strolled casually from mic to keys, working through his unique and histrionic vocal range with varying degrees of interest, while guitarist Daron Malakian was set on challenging the assumption that he is actually part of the band. Instead he proved that he is the exception: an entertaining, talented and charismatic musician.
They were tight and the sound was great but overall they came across as flat and lifeless. My memories of System of a Down are of a much better band with much better songs. Their first two albums have many great moments; Needles, Deer Dance, Suggestions, Chop Suey andPsycho were a reminder of this. But Hypnotize and Mesmerize are such mediocre albums I’d almost forgotten they existed up until they played through Revenga and Radio/Video, which sound even worse now than they did seven years ago.
A single spotlight shined down on Malakian as he began Lonely Day. The image of a snowy mountaintop replaced the bands logo at the back of the stage. The significance of this was beyond me. Because it stayed up for so long, I can only assume that it was the bands cryptic way of telling their crowd that it would be mostly downhill from here, with a few peaks and troughs along the way.
The peaks were Aerials, with Ben Weinman from the Dillinger Escape Plan on guitar, andSuite-Pee, with Joey Jordison from Slipknot on drums. The troughs were Lost In Hollywoodand a cover of Dire Straits’ Sultans of Swing, in which Malakian changed the lyrics to the chorus and sung, “We are System. We are System of a Down.” The crowd joined in at full volume. This was the pinnacle of horrible and I awaited some sort of landslide or snowstorm from the image behind them to make it all go away.
The trio of War?, Toxicity and Sugar closed out the set. The mountaintop fell and the backdrop to the stage became the cover of their self-titled debut album, now 14 years old. There is still something engaging about these songs, though parts of them have begun to erode and I can’t imagine that there will be much left of them in another 14 years time.
Veri.Live – Issue Six
The sixth issue of Veri.Live is out now. In it I review Battles’ Big Day Out sideshow at the forum, Future of the Left at the Corner Hotel, self (en)titled by A Gender, and the 2012 Big Day Out at Flemington Racecourse. The piece includes interviews with Matt and Joby from the Bronx/Mariachi El Bronx, and Max Cavalera and Marc Rizzo from the Cavalera Conspiracy.
Buy it now online or in-store. Stockists can be located here: http://www.verilive.com.au/
Scott Kelly (Neurosis, Shrinebuilder) Interview
Neurosis are a band like no other. For a primer on the group follow this link. This is the transcript of a interview I did for Warp magazine.
Scott Kelly: Hello.
Jervis Dean: Hey Scott. My names Jervis and I’m calling from Australia.
SK: Hey man, how’s it going?
JD: Good. How are you?
SK: I’m good.
JD: Great. I’ll start with the tour. You’ll be in Australia for the first time next month. Why has it taken you so long to finally get to Australia?
SK: Well there’s all kinds of logistical problems getting anywhere. Neurosis is a kind of difficult band to tour. Even in the best of circumstances it’s not easy for us to get what we need to another continent. Especially back when we were touring a lot in the nineties and early two thousands before everything we used got smaller. We were literally taking around like 4,000 pounds worth of gear everywhere. That made things pretty difficult. So there was never an offer to tour there that made any sense financially. I think that now it starts to become a possibility. Now our main problem is just figuring out our different work schedules and everything, because we all work day-jobs, so. You know, trying to find the time that then fits with the fact that you guys have opposite seasons with us, and all that. It works out good for me right now because it’s my down time at work. So I can come down there in the summertime. But you have the exact opposite schedule as I. So yeah, it’s one of those things that needs to be worked out and will probably take a long time before it can happen but it will happen at some point, I’m sure.
JD: You’ve said in other interviews that playing solo can be more confronting than playing with Neurosis. Does the prospect of touring a country you’ve never before visited seem anymore daunting than if you were to be coming here with Neurosis?
SK: I suppose it does in some ways. I mean, Neurosis is a much more comfortable space for me than just doing the solo material. It’s just difficult to – it’s much easier to lean on other people and depend on them to be there, and hide behind that wall of sound than it is to just sit there with an acoustic guitar and sing. But as far as going to a new country, I have no fear of that. I’m comfortable with that. I’ve done that many times.
JD: And do you separate what you do as a solo artist from what you do in Neurosis?
SK: I have learned how to separate them in my head, yeah. I think that you can see the difference in the sound of, like, my first solo record [Spirit Bound Flesh] versus the last one [the Wake]. And I’ve just recorded a new one, just before Christmas, and it starts to get further away. I’ve learned to compartmentalise my solo material and Neurosis material and Shrinebuilder material and stuff like that in my head as I’m writing.
JD: When you pick up a guitar do you get to a point where you think, “this belongs to a Neurosis song, this belongs to a solo song, this belongs somewhere else,” or do you write specifically for a project?
SK: No, it’s like you were saying, the first way. I don’t write specifically for a project. I just play and then whatever happens [noise on the phone-line renders the rest of what he says incoherent].
JD: You’re currently recording a new Neurosis album. Has the solo tour that you’ve recently done, coupled with the solo material you’ve recently recorded, feed into the creative process with Neurosis? Has it in any way expanded what you are capable of doing with the band?
SK: I’m sure it does on some level. But, you know, they’re pretty different things, different animals. So, I think that there is something to that. But in general, Neurosis is a group project and something that we all do together and work on songs together and kind of craft the songs together, whereas the solo thing is just me.
JD: You and Steve Von Till (Neurosis guitarist/vocalist) released your first solo albums not long after one another and have continued to release solo material. I was wondering if there is any sense of competition between the two of you? Do you try to get as far away from Neurosis and each other as you can with your respective solo work, as a method to challenge one another?
SK: You know Steve and I have always been that way with each other. I mean we just try to kind of push each other to be better. That’s one of the reasons he and I work so good together in Neurosis, that we bring the best out in each other. I think that we both choose to – we’re both pretty competitive people and Neurosis is a pretty competitive band, so we’ll find ourselves – I think, actually, it’s the way we are, the way that we were raised.
JD: There’s a huge visual component to Neurosis and this great physical and emotional force behind everything the band does. As a solo artist are you inclined towards the direct opposite of that? Is that one of the attractions of playing and recording your own material?
SK: Yeah, I definitely like the idea of doing something completely opposite. That was the idea of doing this really stripped down, bared bones approach.
JD: Do you try to cultivate the same sort of environment at solo gigs as you do at Neurosis gigs?
SK: Oh, it’s different. I don’t try to create a visual aspect or anything like that. It’s literally supposed to be just one man and his guitar. That’s it. It’s supposed to be as stripped down as you can get.
JD: You wrote an interesting piece on Hank Williams on your blog, in which you also mentioned David Allan Coe and Townes Van Zandt. You’ve mentioned that it wasn’t until your late 20s that you “revisited your roots” with these artists and really discovered their music. Is part of the solo/acoustic gig not only honouring these influences but also honouring your most primal roots as a musician?
SK: You know, I grew up listening to a lot of Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings and stuff like that. Because that was what my dad was listening to. So, when I first started to get back into those sounds, in my late 20s, early 30s, and then subsequently I discovered Hank Williams, and Townes Van Zandt and David Allan Coe as you were saying, and all the other guys that go along with that. I just felt like really, I just felt inspired and I’m continually blown away by what those guys do, what they’re able to do with the simplicity of their approach, the heaviness of the music, the heaviness of the words. And then, I just thought I had something to offer to that idea. I think that, to me it works. There’s something about – I was actually talking to my wife about this the other day – there’s something about like mixing the dark sort of sounds with folk or country music that just works, like really really easily. I was remembering this band called Fields of the Nephilim I don’t know if you remember that band. They were kind of cool. They mixed this kind of country with this metal or rock thing, which was all done with a real dark tint to it. It’s just one of those things, it’s one of those things that seems to make perfect sense. It’s like a Cormac McCarthy novel, you know. It just makes sense. You’re blending these two elements that aren’t like the first thing that people think of, but when you hear them together it’s just right on. The music that I have always written has always had this kind of dark tint to it.
JD: I was intrigued by the comparison you made, in your press release, about the Wake and James Joyce’s Dublin, as artworks that are somewhat independent of the places and influences that gave rise to them. Is that the ultimate, idealistic goal of anything you do artistically, to have it achieve this independence, where it becomes almost an anomaly against the time and space in which it’s produced?
SK: Oh yeah, absolutely. That’s a great analogy. I think that is absolutely the ultimate goal of anything you could do artistically.
JD: Do you think that feeds into your artistic ethos, the DIY ethic that essentially allows you to do what you want as a musician?
SK: Yeah [phone line distorts then cuts out during his answer].
The line cuts out and I call back.
SK: Hello.
JD: Hey Scott. I’m sorry, the phone cut out.
SK: That’s cool. That was weird. It sounded like you went underwater for a second.
JD: Well, Neurosis always seems like something that would be very emotionally and physically taxing for you. Do you find touring and recording solo to have any sort of a restorative effect?
SK: Yeah. That’s a really good observation. I think, to me, Neurosis is extremely physically and emotionally taxing and there’s just a different vibe with the solo touring and recording. It’s just not – it’s much simpler, it’s much easier in many ways. It doesn’t demand as much physically every night, or emotionally for that matter. For instance, I was thinking this morning about the first show that I do on this tour that we’re talking about right now. It will be in Auckland and it will be the evening after I get in after a sixteen-hour flight, or whatever. And it won’t really matter because I won’t need to [phone distorts part of the answer, thank you Optus] it’s not going to hurt at all, it’ll be fine, it lends itself to the songs because the songs have a lot of space and allow for lots of space. It’s this kind of thing you can do when you’re in that sore state of mind. It just lends itself to it and it just doesn’t – it’s something I should be able to do forever. Whereas I hope that I’ll be able to do Neurosis forever but honestly I don’t ever want to do Neurosis if it’s half-assed of what it is at this point. If you reach the point where physically, or I or anybody else is unable to carry it like we are at this point then I think that performing live would be something we’d have to consider not doing any more, you know.
JD: You’ve mentioned that it’s quite a huge process putting a Neurosis album together. You’ve said previously that when you were much younger and just starting out you knew what you wanted to achieve and it was just a matter of working out how to do it. Is it any easier now to realise the sounds and ideas you have floating around your head and put them into music?
SK: Yeah, somewhat. The practice, the ritual of it has become more normal. It has become more ingrained. So yeah, in some ways. But it’s still – the difficulty with it is that each time it just digs deeper and deeper, so you have to emotionally be prepared for that and be willing to do that. And that’s something, sometimes you forget how much it takes and what the demand is and then how much you need to come up with in order to do it the way it needs to be done. We just, we’re almost done with the new record. We only have a couple of things left to do and mix it and it will be done at the end of March. We’re really really happy with it. I think that we achieved what we set out to do, which was, as I said, we’re a very competitive band and we’re constantly competing with ourselves. We try to do something that goes further than what we’ve done previously and I think that we did.
JD: Fantastic. Well that’s about twenty minutes. So thanks very much for your time, good luck with the tour and Neurosis and I look forward to seeing you when you’re out here.
SK: Thank you man, I appreciate it. I’ll see you then. Take care.
Scott Kelly (Neurosis) and John Baizley (Baroness) 2012 NZ/Australian tour dates
2/02/2012 King’s Arms – Auckland
2/03/2012 SF Bath House – Wellington
2/04/2012 The Civic – Perth
2/05/2012 Fowlers Live – Adelaide
2/06/2012 The National Hotel – Geelong
2/08/2012 ANU – Canberra
2/09/2012 The Zoo – Brisbane
2/10/2012 Corner Hotel – Melbourne
2/11/2012 Manning Bar – Sydney
2/12/2012 The Brisbane Hotel – Hobart
Tickets can be purchased via this link.
Omar Rodriguez-Lopez (the Mars Volta) and Le Butcherettes at the East Brunswick Club, Melbourne (13/12/2011)
Originally published on Monday 29th Aug, 2011 by FasterLouder
Le Butcherettes are a Mexican garage-punk three-piece driven by the incredible energy of a front woman named Teri Gender Bender. For a little over 40 minutes, she ran from one side of the stage to the other, screaming, wailing, whispering, choking on microphones and scaling curtains. Refrains were sung in Spanish as was the banter between songs and made as much sense to most of the audience as what it was she and her band were trying to do.
From the number of expressionless faces and lewd comments that escaped the mouths of those around me, it seemed that unfortunately, most of the crowd didn’t “get” Le Butcherettes. The main attraction was bassist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, who attempted to remain inconspicuous further to the back of the stage, positioned between the drums and Bender. At their best moments it seemed that he was just another member, though his presence loomed large and he was never entirely obscured, despite everything that Bender put into the performance.
Their songs are “punk” in every sense of the word: raw, emotional, confronting and entirely subjected to impulse, not cliché. They moved throughout their set with an awkward and staggering momentum, defined by wandering synths, bouncing drums and tight bass lines pulling it all together. Their dynamic was suggestive of an intimate familiarity with ‘80s new wave/post-punk bands such as Siouxsie and the Banshees and Wire. The paroxysmal chaos of sound and movement conspired to discomfort more people than it seemed to entertain. But for those who got it, Le Butcherettes were spectacularly visceral, immediate, entirely unpredictable and, above all, awesome.
Pink Floyd’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn broke the silence between sets. The East Brunswick Club was packed with die-hard Mars Volta fans eager to see Rodriguez-Lopez in a considerably smaller setting than he’s ever played before in Melbourne – with the exception of his “surprise” gig at Revolver back in 2006. But when the curtains to the stage parted, Rodriguez-Lopez was absent. Drummer Deantoni Parks was positioned front and centre alongside bassist Juan Alderete. The crowd’s excitement was held until Rodriguez-Lopez appeared only a few seconds later, laughing; humoured by the cultish reverence with which his fans receive him. He began by simply thanking everyone for being there, quite unlike the grand Morricone introduction Volta fans are use to.
In contrast to the loose and erratic nature of Le Butcherettes, the first two tracks had a distinct dub flavour to them and were sustained by the ferociously tight rhythm section of Parks and Alderete, who pulled together the jangly labyrinths of guitar Rodriguez-Lopez weaved around them. The sound was perhaps as clear as it can be at the East Brunswick Club and facilitated a set full of the band’s heavier compositions. Parks’ tight and syncopated rhythms routinely saved the compositions from collapse and closed the distance between each player, emphasising that they are, in fact, a band with songs and not just three dudes from the Mars Volta jamming.
Agua Dulce De Pulpo was the only song to feature vocals. Rodriguez-Lopez doesn’t have the best voice and is probably aware of that. He used it not strictly for melody but as a rhythmic tool, breaking his most melodious moments with fast staccato segments, spoken as well as sung. A technique borrowed from friend and collaborator Damo Suzuki.
A series of long psychedelic jams, defined by Rodriguez-Lopez’s affinity with guitar loops and delay, exceeded any standard of musicianship one could realistically expect. As a result however, the compositions were more memorable as a series of virtuosic performances than as actual songs.
Rodriguez-Lopez thanked the crowd one last time and dedicated the last song to “all the dancers in the room”. He asked humbly if we will have him back, the crowd noise affirmed that he is always welcome. The band repeated the long, mounting and cyclical movements of the jams throughout the night, though nearly fell apart towards the end when Rodriguez-Lopez drifted into a maze of effects played in and out of time with Parks and Alderete.
Rodriguez-Lopez’s staggering output over the past few years hinted more towards vanity than quality. Despite the compositions being characterised by a similar atonality, length, depth and distinctly Latin feel to that of the Mars Volta, Rodriguez-Lopez’s band is its own separate thing. This gig clarified that his solo material is more than just second- or third-rate Mars Volta but something that has assumed a sound and presence of its own.
Veri.Live – Issue 5
Issue five of Veri.Live is out now. In this edition I interview Gareth Liddard of the Drones, Neil and Sharon Finn of the Pajama Club, Falco of Future of the Left, Tom Meighan of Kasabian and Damian Coward of Heirs. I review the Black Keys’ latest album, El Camino, and gigs including Kasabian and Heirs.
Follow this link for information on where to get a copy: http://www.verilive.com.au/
Veri.Live – Issue 04
The fourth issue of Veri.Live is out now. In it I talk to Diesel about his 25 years in the industry and Opeth’s Mikael Åkerfeldt about the band’s 10th studio album, Heritage. I review Machine Head’s latest album Unto the Locust and a number of gigs, including the Mars Volta, Sebadoh, Pajama Club and the Living End.
Buy it now online or in-store. Stockists can be located here: http://www.verilive.com.au/
Jewels & Bullets at Arts House, North Melbourne Town Hall (29/09/2011)
Originally published on Sunday 2nd Oct, 2011 by Express Media Buzzcuts
Jewels & Bullets paid homage to Australia’s hidden musical past with a series of gripping performances by 12 special guest vocalists, all of whom were each given the task of reviving some of Australia’s lost classics.
Backed by the Bacchus Marsh Band, featuring members of the Boat People and Hot Little Hands, each guest vocalist brought with them a song from the depths of Australia’s musical past. Most of these were songs that, for one reason or another, have been largely forgotten, but have all had an indelible effect on the shape of Australian music.
The first guest, Jimmy Stewart, of Clinkerfield and the Miserable Little Bastards, performed electrified versions of the folksong ‘Streets of Forbes’ and Maurice Frawley’s ‘Dark Side of Sunday.’ The songs themselves are remarkably honest and bare, as was felt in Stewart’s dry and emotional delivery.
The backing band was solid, but it took until Steve Lucas from X joined them before they really made an impact. Lucas admitted to being “a bit out of it” as a result of the drugs he’d taken to abate the pain of recent back surgery and a hard fall down a flight of stairs. For three compelling minutes he wailed through Blackfeather’s ‘Seasons of Change’ without the appearance of any discomfort. He then slowly lumbered off the stage, appearing as if every step he made was causing him physical pain.
Liam Linley and Felicity Cripps of HOY started the second set with a stunning version of the Triffids’ ‘Raining Pleasure,’ which was soon followed by an appearance by Roman Tucker of Rocket Science. He began with the Missing Links’ ‘Wild About You’ and quickly followed it up with Fungus Brains’ ‘Pasty Faces’, balancing a perfect mix of noise and confusion. The animation and energy that Tucker brought to these songs made for the two strongest performances of the night.
Jewels & Bullets succeeded in honoring some of the most defining and important artists in Australian music history and the songs that have sadly been buried under the torrents of new music that persistently fight for our attention.
Rebels and Radicals at Southpaw, Melbourne (27/09/2011)
Originally published on Thursday 29th Sep, 2011 by Express Media Buzzcuts
Billed as “a short comedic history of rebellion in Australia,” Micah D. Higbed’s ‘Rebels and Radicals’ identifies the acts of protest and heroism that have defined Australia’s past and continue to echo in the present. Mixed with snippets of autobiography, Higbed asks his audience to take a long hard look at the historical importance of rebellion in Australia, but not without first having a good laugh.
Higbed is an impassioned supporter of dissent and has been since an early age. The first people he rebelled against were naturally his parents. When his dad once asked him what he was rebelling against, he said, in his best Brando, “Whadda you got?”
He begins with Captain James Cook and skips through time in search of the good stuff: conflict. He touches on the settlements in Castle Hill and Botany Bay, before moving onto the Rum Rebellion, the blackballing of Ned Kelly, the Eureka Rebellion, the cult of the Southern Cross tattoo, and one of his favourite subjects, Charlie Perkins: the activist, one time Everton FC soccer player, and the first Aboriginal Australian to graduate from an Australian university.
Higbed’s attempts at condensing over 200 years of history into a 60 minute set meant that he had to sustain a furious pace in order to cover his dense narrative, causing him to stumble through a couple of jokes. But his frequent sparks of brilliance largely concealed his errors.
The autobiographical elements often provided a welcomed break to the consistency of his narrative and delivery, but eventually became lost in the mass of historical information. As a result, the second half of the performance lacked much of the diversity with which it began.
Higbed cleverly locates the humour in the utter detestability of the actions and attitudes that have inspired rebellion in this country. Rebels and Radicals is a polemic carefully worked into a downright hilarious routine, which aims to show how some of the most important moments in Australia’s history remain largely ignored. That Higbed can find humour in oppression and the persecution of minorities is testament to his impressive comedic skills.
