Who's responsible?

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The article is a tour de force of avoir votre gâteau et manger-le. On the one hand, we are told that the boys (that is, young adults) in the band have spent the entire night "partying" (lush-speak for drinking to such excess that sub-human oblivion becomes the predominating characteristic of those partaking); and, on the other, that the poor bedraggled young lads are the innocent victims of a mish-mash of malice and misunderstanding (mainly malice, on the part of "Bawling Bertha" and the pilot of the aeroplane, whose responsibilities are few and trivial).

Naturally, the lads must bear no responsibility for the burden of their manufactured reputations as dangerous nihilist types (which reputations had, in any case, been imposed on them by greedy spinmeisters in the music industry).

To tease out any grain truth that may have incidentally gotten embedded in the entire spiel is to miss the point; which is to reawaken the children born at the dawn of the Age of Aquarius from their nightmares of children and mortgages and paunches and get them to revert (atavism is the anthropological term) to their adolescent fantasyland and give up significant portions of their hard-earned to come along to see (and listen to, perhaps; but that is, literally, 'another story'; music is an irrelevancy here) this doddering icon of "up-yoursism" (less, of course, the late Keith Moon, dead too soon).

Lest anyone should be led to doubt by the chattering classes that the baby-boomers are in charge, let me remind you of the likely ages of the chattering classes by innuendo: that's right; about the same age as the boomers themselves.

By the way, the music, in this case, if the outfit is up to playing it, is about as good rock 'n' roll as you could expect to hear. Sadly, it is obviously not important enough to rate a mention in the piece under consideration.

Who cares?

Men of their word, now bearing the marks of the grandeur of age: weak in body, indomitable in spirit; although they vowed never to return, hand on heart, yet are here, just 36 years later. Oh, raw youth, what can we not forgive you in excesses? Little, let it be said. But, grandfathers: what can be forgiven you for usurping your grandchildren's privileges?

Read the original review (subscription required).

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Beautiful dreamers
in a sea of echoes

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Now, to be fair to Greg, I went up and had a chat with him at the bar after his set and found him to be a sweet guy. He also likes to be known as Dialectic, which gives you a bit of an idea as to his political leanings, but I was subjected to no diatribe. "I'd like to achieve change," he said, "but I'm not arrogant enough to know in which direction we should go." Hmm, Greg for PM, I'm thinking, we could use a bit of left-wing lack of arrogance as an antidote to the current situation. "I'm just doing what I do," he said, "hopefully it will hit a resonance with someone." Amen.

Motif certainly square off as a beautiful looking duo. Handsome Dave gets up to play a mournful tune for soundcheck, then gorgeous Fiona casually ambles out to join him. The laid-back vibe was appropriate - it is hard to get really wired when you are playing to eight quiet punters. Motif, however, shouldn't be judged by the turnout they received on a cold, wet, midweek, midwinter night in Melbourne. They deserve an audience many times larger than their circle of friends.

Motif on a sunny warm dayMeanwhile, on with the show. Dave chips out an intense guitar, while Fiona's voice curls sinuously around the mic. Despite her vocals being swallowed by a guitar-centric sound, a reverb the size of an anaconda (I'd love to comment on Motif's lyrics, but the reverb devoured most of them without trace) and the sort of bass resonances that can destroy a mix, Fiona's vocals had an undeniable quality and purity that is refreshing in a musical world full of singers who can't sing. Her sound owes something to Kate Bush, without that sometimes-annoying little-girl quality - her vocal "age" is somewhere between the divine Ms Bush in her heyday, and PJ Harvey. There was no doubting her technical competence, barring the odd pitching glitch, and her relaxation on stage was impressive in the face of technical problems evident to anyone in the room (except perhaps the sound engineer - hey, at least it was a nice guitar sound). We musicians have to keep reminding ourselves that the mix is the filter through which people hear our music, and pay as much attention to getting the sound right as to rehearsing the actual numbers - until we are all rock gods with salaried sound engineers. Here endeth the lesson. Being picky, I would have preferred it if Fiona didn't take slugs of beer during the sensitive playout of some heart-rending ballad - it bruised the mood a bit but, hey, maybe she was thirsty.

Perhaps it was just the set order, but I felt that Motif's songs could use a little harmonic variation. The music did have the sort of dramatic, moody changefulness that has unshakeably English connotations, and that can be rather horrible and put-on if overdone. Fortunately, Fiona McCammon doesn't overdo it.

In fact, she sometimes undercooks it a little. Singing "I want to do you" was as close as Motif came to a grinding blues number - but when she sang lines like "I want to be your sweat" there was little evidence of passion or perspiration.

One feature of Motif that lifts them above the crowd is their use of the guitar as a single line melodic instrument interspersed with chordal work. This is far more interesting than the average guitar-thrashing duo. David certainly knows a few more than three chords, and isn't afraid to use them. Although some of the songs are obviously hanging out for a few more instruments, there is a sense of variety and completion within each piece, if not within the entire set, which makes Motif satisfying to listen to. There are some mannerisms - in rythmic sections, the melody tended to sit on the root note of the chord a little too much - this does get dull if over-used and doesn't often make for an interesting tune.

David's occasional vocal interjections seemed a bit tentative - sounds like there is a nice voice there that could really enhance the duo with harmonies and counterpoint if developed.

In all, fitting music for a cold windy winter Melbourne night - forlorn, lonely, slightly mulled. Needless to say, the audience wore black.

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