Vocal Folds mellow

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Gelbison lack the direction needed to get ahead in this world...

The supporting band, Gelbison, have had a lot of airplay on JJJ, so I was familiar with their recordings, unfortunately for them; they didn't come up to scratch live. Attempting a mellow introduction for Folds, Gelbison instead committed a messy, unbalanced wash of 2-5 instruments. The singer lacked charisma; he came across as an irritating hippie, performing only to promote knowledge of poverty in third-world countries. His attempted jokes, sing-a-longs and whistle-alongs consistently fell flat; no one whistled, no one sang, and no one laughed. A cover of the Home and Away theme song was the crowning disappointment. Such a dreary and inappropriate set for such a large, electric crowd was an embarrassment.

Then, Ben Folds to the rescue.

Post-modern piano man Folds first rose to popularity in the mid-nineties, playing with North Carolina based indie-rock trio Ben Folds Five. One of their four albums, Whatever and Ever Amen, which included cult single Brick, sold platinum in Australia.

After meeting his wife to-be, he moved to Adelaide, SA in 1999 to be with her and their twins. Ben Folds Five disbanded in March 2001 and Folds begun a lucrative solo career. His first solo album, Rockin' The Suburbs, was recorded in an old church with producer Ben Grosse, and released in 2001.

Folds has since released three solo EPs (Speed Graphic, Sunny 16 and Super D) available exclusively online from Sony.com. He recently produced and co-wrote William Shatner's comeback record, Has Been.

The universality evident in Folds tracks has attracted a massive fan-base. Ben Folds' new album Songs for Silverman triggered the current tour that sold-out at The Forum, causing the addition of an extra show in Melbourne. Sarah Jane tells me, rather loudly over the chanting of fans, that her fiance Michael and she will be using Ben Folds lyrics of The Luckiest for their wedding vows. She occasionally pops up above the crowd, a "meer-cat" approach she tells me, to see if her inspiration is on stage yet.

After a stalled wait, an opus of cheers rose from the crowd as the geeky pianist/rock legend arrived on stage. After a few muscle flexing poses, he sat down at his Yamaha grand piano and, with the help of bass guitarist Jared Reynolds and drummer Lindsay Jamieson, played a set that was entertaining, inspiring and satisfying to even the most marginal of his fans.

Folds, now in his thirties, played confidently and alluringly to his audience of fans and decapitated Greek statues, filling the breaks between songs with amusing chatter and laugh-out-loud jokes. His black-rimmed glasses framed an amiable face that doesn't suggest his talent for writing clever lyrics and pop melodies. He was everything you could want in a solo performer, even using suggestions from his audience to make up lyrics and chords on the spot. Funny, smart, nice and good-lookin', he even "plays" extra parts with his mouth and tongue against the microphone.

Jamieson played with animated fury, a white sweat towel well-used and a foreign-accented tongue contributing to tracks like They Give No Fuck. A professional sense of ensemble is apparent between the three, everything tightly played and intonation generally very good.

 

"And once more from the top..."

The bulk of the set was emotional songs and love ballads, with mainly minor progressions and slow tempos pleasing the mellowed crowd. Folds divided the room into two, and each half of the crowd were given parts to sing, most doing well, probably because they were already familiar with the crowd participation tracks from the Ben Folds Five Live CD.

Meanwhile, Sarah Jane laid her head in the lap of her fiancé, surrounded by the silhouettes of pleased punters. She gazed up at the "stars", listened to Folds, mouthed every word, and smiled.

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Pushover

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I walked confidently and curiously up to the main gate. Greeted by a fluorescent-dressed security guard too busy organizing the gates to pay me much attention, I quickly introduced myself as a volunteer for Push. He ushered me inside, where I was greeted by other Push members and volunteers. Although my shift selling hip-hop bandanas in the Giggle Palace didn't begin until 1pm, I had decided an early morning start was a better way of reintroducing myself back into the world of music festivals.

A click-counter in one hand and ticket stubs in the other, I welcomed the mainly 12-17 year-old punters through the gape-mouthed gate until Luna Park reached capacity. Free to roam, I claimed my yellow volunteer crew t-shirt, and wandered around the Park taking photos.

One familiar sight was the Push Start Battle of the Bands finals, which gives all the Push regional finalists a chance to compete. Rock four-piece Showcard won the competition, pleasing their screaming teenage female fans.

One noticeable factor about this particular gig, compared with recent gigs I'd attended at Melbourne's pubs and bars, was the different vibe. The punters were actually there to see the bands, not just to get pissed, nor to pop a pill and dance to lighting displays. The only addiction the punters at this drug-and-alchohol-free event were indulging was the same as my own - to live music. For many, it was the first rock gig they'd ever been to.

At Giggle Palace, devoted to fans of hip-hop, I got to see my first hip-hop performance. I observed with interest as the teens genuinely got into rhymes drenched in Australian accents, and cheered at break-dance moves I wouldn't have thought physically possible. Although I did enjoy seeing characters from Tekken3 possessing the bodies of these flexible adolescents, after two hours selling bandanas I was more than happy to return to the bands playing outside.

A familar chore of gigging is finding a place to see; my vertically-challenged physique is at times at odds with my choice of pastime. Early in the evening, I found a place in the crowd right in front of the sound tent, dead-centre viewing of the stage. I made a deal with the two sound guys; I would sit on their equipment cases, and only stand occasionally to take photos.

And so, although attacked once by an airborne ornament from one of the rides, and later by some journalists, I sat mostly undisturbed for my evening's entertainment, as the heat of the day was gradually replaced with the whiff of salt on a cool ocean breeze.

On stage, Perth group Downsyde displayed some more hip-hopish culture. Reluctantly impressed, I found their tunes playful, if familiar. As addictive as television theme songs, Downsyde's tunes pleased the pimply crowd, both hip-hop and rock. Catchy as Roger Ramjet, the six-piece band harnessed the raging hormones of its audience to produce some enthusiastic moshing.

Next in line was Gyroscope, a four-piece traditional rock band from WA.An Afro and some decent side-burns helped these guys, by far the sexiest yet to grace the stage, look the part of retro rock legends. They also played and sounded the part, owning their corners of the stage. To a tight set made distinctive by Metal-like shouts from Afro, and some belching, sun-burnt teens gleefully surfed, smiled and sweated.

But The Living End, as usual, tooked the cake.

As the sun set, guitarist, singer and songwriter Chris Cheney smirked like Calvin at Hobbes; a totally charismatic performer glistening with sweat. He chatted about keeping St. Kilda venue The Palace alive, and an upcoming album.

As The Living End played through raw rockin' tracks, I found double-bass player Scott Owen to be as captivating as Chris. Thrusting about, frolicking with, and climbing on his bass, he fortunately remembered to play it as well, as The Living End performed hit after hit after hit. Every fresh-faced punter, flailing their over-heated bodies in appreciation, screamed the lyrics in Cheney's game of call and response.

By the end of a long day, a satisfied crowd dispersed; weary, satisfied and a little bit pink.

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