Showing posts with label The Drones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Drones. Show all posts

Friday, March 23, 2012

Gareth Liddiard - Live @ The Regal Ballroom Northcote, Mar 23

This review was originally written for ToneDeaf, and was published on-line here. The following is reproduced in unedited format. 
After a thrilling set from Lost Animal, playing material from Ex-Tropical with calculated aloofness. The Drones frontman himself graces the stage for one of his rare acoustic performances.

For one typified by the knotted blues rock and brutal accounts of grizzly Australian history of his day job, the haughty trimmings of Northcotes’ Regal Ballroom seem a little out of character. The ticket price including optional dinner, the hall splayed with dining tables and silverware, with ornate chandeliers draped overhead. However Liddiard, flanked by gothic candelabras, commands the space. A tall, cavernous roof allowing him ample room to roar his hardest and strum his fiercest.


Monday, March 12, 2012

'A spade's a spade' Interview: Gareth Liddiard

This interview was originally conducted for, and syndicated by ToneDeaf. Who originally published the article here, which in turn spawned this scoop, the article is re-produced here in its entirety for the AMR readership, enjoy, I think it's one of my best.
“With your songwriting, it’s very much storytelling – do you have your own favourite storytell-“

“Fuck. I just found a bullet.”


I am speaking down the line with Gareth Liddiard,
The Drones frontman himself – to some, his band is considered our nation’s most important rock act; in other circles his muddied tales of Australia, with their gothic poetry, are as revered as Paul Kelly’s or Nick Cave’s – and he’s just found a bullet.

“Just sitting in the middle of the bush – cause I get phone reception,” the ocker twang of his songs and his speaking voice one and the same, “and there’s an unused .22 bullet just lying here. Looks real old.”


It’s a surreal yet fitting moment. Who else but Liddiard would be able to spot, let alone identify and carbon-date such a projectile? In the foliage of Western Australia, no less. It’s wholly appropriate for a man whose own work looks past the tourism-friendly image of our country and its picturesque bush to pick out the true, gruesome details that lie beneath.