AAA Backstage Archive

Live Review: The Drones, Harmony @ The HiFi, Brisbane 27.09.2013

The Drones are possibly the biggest name in the underground Australian rock scene—not that they should be though. They’ve released more albums than most people have had sexual partners. Highly rated by critics, with an incredibly devoted and eclectic fan base, they’re a force to be reckoned with.

The Hi-Fi was already packed with patrons eagerly awaiting the night’s festivities. As I said, The Drones fan’s are a mixed bag, there were young dudes there that looked like they’d be more at home at a hardcore gig, going all the way to couples in their fifties.

Harmony opened the evening for The Drones. A fitting choice of support, although I didn’t understand the broader scope of their music. Part spoken word poetry, part choir, part noise-rock, it was a strange experience. That being said, it was very cool and they are evidently talented musicians, Harmony came off as The Drones Lite. Great band, I just have no idea what they fuck they were trying to do. I suppose the same thing was probably said of The Drones ten years ago.

The Hi-Fi was close to being sold out by the time The Drones were ready to kick it. Unbeknownst to most punters, the band actually rigged their own gear rather than depending on roadies—the exceptions being Gareth and Fiona. Dan did guitars, Mike and Steve did their thing, and nobody cheered. It’s strange to see such a huge band doing their own Charlie-work. A true testament to independent music, and not letting things go to your head. Or maybe they couldn’t afford roadies for the tour—who knows.

Gareth Liddard has been described to me, by Cam Avery from The Growl, as simply, “amazing,” and I would have to agree. Dan Luscombe can play like nobody’s business as well. When I interviewed Dan just prior to their arrival in Brisbane, he told me about his ’79 Tele—a guitar vintaged to his birth year, and how it was stolen from a show at The Espy in St Kilda. One of his friends called him six years later—only having ever heard about the guitar—telling Luscombe that he spotted what he thinks was his guitar in a pawn shop not too far from the pub. Dan went down to have a look, and sure enough, it was his guitar. It had trebled in value, and he bought it again anyway. “The only guitar so good, I bought it twice,” he told me matter-of-factly. His guitar looks like Keith Richards might have thrown up on it. Good story, even better tone. The overall level of musicianship in The Drones is just amazing.

Part noise-rock, part folk, part pub-rock, all awesome. The Drones sounded great, and some of their older songs like I Don’t Ever Want To Change really bloomed with the addition of keyboards—turning it into a Jim Jones Reveue-esque rock ‘n’ roll dancer. Some dude with a broken arm was beating other punters with his cast in the mosh to it.

Shark Fin Blues and A Moat You Can stand in kicked arse. To close off the hour and a half set, Liddiard pulled Harmony on stage, borrowing their choir section; three female vocalists, to sing back-up for Laika, leading into Why Write a Letter That You’ll Never Send. They dragged the I See Seaweed finale out close to fifteen minutes, and it was the perfect ending to the set. There’s something heart-wrenching about the song already, but watching Liddiard whisper, “… away,” in his uniquely guttural Aussie accent, truly made the set.

Possibly one of the best rock shows I’ve been to in the last year, I encourage you to get along to any of the remaining shows—they won’t be touring again for a while because they’re going back to recording. If you can’t get along to see them, buy their latest album, I See Seaweed. It’s tremendous.