Clag + Kitchen’s Floor + Scraps @ Brisbane Powerhouse, 22.07.12
Words: Everett True
Photography: Isaac Thackray + Jerry Thackray
Today was only my second gig of the year (the other was in support to Electrelane at Scott Creney’s favourite Australian venue The Zoo). It was on a chill Sunday afternoon in the ‘trendy’ part of town, free as part of Arts QLD’s ongoing quest to appear artistic. I felt too guilty at leaving Charlotte with all three kids, so Isaac (age 7) came along, to provide moral support and take photographs. That was the idea, but he soon grew frustrated at the way the photographs appeared blurred. He missed the point – hard to explain to a child at that most literal and fanciful of ages – that that was what I was looking for. If I want bog-standard live photography I only have to click onto any fucking live music website in the world.
I was so excited about this show a few weeks back – all three bands have made it to Song of the Day here on Collapse Board. In the event, we bore up for 20 minutes.
Scraps (Song of the Day 443)
A sparkling headdress. A serene electronic pop sense, enlivened by the freedom to garble. A Bangs-almighty awful sound, accentuated by the Powerhouse’s (sur)really high ceilings: there were only keyboards and a singer (there’s just one member in Scraps, one member given the freedom to grab and garble) but the keyboards were muffled and the vocals even more so. Even so, it sometimes, momentarily, gloriously felt like standing to one side alone in a fogged-off Euro disco circa 1983 while everyone around you showed their form and you grabbed another bottle. That was a good sensation. Here’s what I mostly did instead of listening to Scraps’ cloaked beauty: tried to wrestle with my sudden, terrifying vertigo and nausea at being out again among people who know me.
Kitchen’s Floor (Song of the Day 49)
All this sullen beauty. Here’s what we did instead of listening to Matt Kennedy’s torn, shredded tales of deceit and hedonism, shaken into existence via a battered acoustic and an even more battered, terrified rhythm section: wrote out a list of Isaac’s spelling words twice. It was cold outside the Powerhouse, winter has certainly come to SE Queensland this year, and the Powerhouse is on the river. The sounds inside were where I wanted the sounds outside my head to be. But the sounds outside were those of the Sunday afternoon Brisbane young elite, happy to share their presence with others. I wanted blurred angst. I got cold-shouldered warmth. Isaac completed his lists.
Clag (Song of the Day 442)
All this childish beauty. The ladies dressed in garbage bags, and – according to trusted sources – caused Brisbane to bring out its mid-90s gig-going elite in a way not seen since Clag last played (in Brisbane) (in the mid-90s). Isaac enjoyed the first number, ‘Goldfish’, mainly because of its improv gurgling sounds. I enjoyed the second number mainly because a trombone was wielded. I noted, couldn’t help but note, several former Deadnotes splattered across the audience, all digging the beauteous, minimal frenzy. Then Isaac needed to to do a poo, and I had to field a call from the Head Of Music at QUT, and… I didn’t have the heart for a show after that.
When I’m tucking Daniel (age 3) into bed this evening, he solemnly informs me that he’s going to “perform magic” tonight and sleep all the way through the night without getting up and waking us up once, which would make the first time he’s done this in a very long time indeed. I so want to believe him. I so want to believe in magic.