Pleb Pool

Last Tuesday I saw Deerhoof.

Above are some photos I took.

It was a a rather kinetic gig as I have tried to capture in the animated stills I have got looping (possibly an eyesore, feedback please, all two of my readers). I don’t feel in a position to give the gig the standard review that follows the local magazines/website’s blueprints which appear to be drab song by song rundowns of the set with the arbitrary “they were good/bad” conclusion. Instead I’d like to point out three major points of this concert that were at the forefront of my conscious thought:

1. It was ridiculously hot. They played at the Woodland venue in Brisbane where the temperature had at least reached over 40 degrees Celsius. Woodland I should note in a rambling tangent, is usually a lovably small venue with acoustics suited to garage bands who want to annihilate what hearing you were thinking of saving for retirement. It also has a low set stage for intimacy, with an endearing collage of paintings adorned behind the performers. On Tuesday’s evening said venue had become a sauna heated by Lucifer’s flames. The sweat dripped off every attendee like run off in a shower. This gave the feeling afterwards that one had emerged from an intense mosh. The thing to note about this is…

2. There was no mosh. There was no dancing. The motion in the room was probably constrained to two dozen people swaying side to side. I note this because almost every gig I have attended at alternative concerts in Brisbane has had an intolerably boring crowd. This is not the fault of Deerhoof, whose every song was flourishing with beats and hooks that any human being would feel, via their innate instincts, the urge to move their bodies rhythmically to. I have heard artists actually complain that Brisbane had in fact, a drab crowd. Why is this? Is it just that the 1000 or so people who regularly attend these things are coincidentally all allergic to moving? Is it part of a ‘scene’ to have their arms crossed with a face that suggests they are criminally unimpressed when wonderful things are unfolding before their eyes and into their ears? Perhaps I’m being overcritical, since really the crowd gave their best applause and it’s not everyone’s thing to move their bodies especially when the climate was akin to living on Venus. Perhaps I mention it this time because the only guy having a spirited time dancing, though drunkenly, was told aggressively to “Fuck off, mate”. This was said by a punter who figured that merely being nudged by an imbalanced dancing man when standing in the front fucking row at a rock concert was an infringement on his personal space. So maybe that particularly entitled man can take the brunt of my scorn. Still, alternative crowds of Brisbane, learn how to have at least a little more fun, please.

3. On a more positive note, that drummer. Greg Saunier belongs to that group of drummers who transcend humanity to become beat machines (see also: John Stanier of Helmet and Battles fame). I won’t pretend I know any technicalities about the art of drumming, but I do know that Saunier hit drums really hard and sound came out that, not surprisingly, was very loud. These loud sounds were both enjoyable, and danceable. 

I’m going to conclude by saying that I’m going back on what I said I would do. Satomi Matsuzaki was a bubbly gem with lovely stage presence. She sang words like “Panda” and “Basketball” repetitively with a thick Japanese accent. This was endearing. Saunier hit things and I enjoyed the severity with which he did it. The guitarists Dieterich and Rodriguez played infectious chainsaw riffs. Together they crafted a night of fun, fast experimental pop rock. Music.

To conclude yet again, Deerhoof were great.