Happy Christmas, etc.
FIGHTMILK/ SUGGESTED FRIENDS/ PET SEMATARY, All Tamara’s
Parties, 6/12/18
Although, if she ever gets the success she deserves, it
will doubtless be with a full band in tow, we always enjoy Gaby-Elise Monaghan
most in a stripped back format, such as her Pet Sematary project. Tonight she is joined by a guitarist who
bolsters her bewitching bluesghoul wails with picked notes enshrouded in misty
reverb, or sheets of disquieting ambient noise, creating textures that recall
Daniel Lanois or Angelo Badalamenti, but it’s the voice that commands your
attention, sometimes frail and intimate, like Jeff Buckley without one eye
constantly on the mirror, and sometimes sweeping epically on tumescent waves of
sweet bleakness.
Suggested Friends prove that, when it comes to pop music,
a tight, sprightly band will always win out over mere good taste. They bombard us with a string of buzzing
punked up versions of songs that would fit neatly into some hideous drive time
AM radio show, in which Split Enz rub shoulderpads with late 80s Fleetwood Mac,
and Counting Crows lend some safely grizzled guitar licks to the bombast of
post-reggae Police. But, as if to prove
that the magic comes from the chef not the recipe, they play with such
wonderfully taut abandon – especially the drummer, who just looks ecstatic to
be alive and allowed to it stuff - it is impossible not to find the whole
experience intoxicating. New song
“Turtle Taxi” was written two days ago, and rehearsed once, but sounds like the
band have been playing it all their lives.
It also sounds like Men At Work.
Glorious. And slightly
awful. But mostly glorious.
We’re not often fond of the term frontperson, as most
bands are a collaborative effort, and the one with the mic is no more important
than the one with the sticks, but sometimes you see an act where the singer is
so mesmerising, you couldn’t pick the rest of the musicians out of a police
line-up ten minutes after the gig. Lily
from Fightmilk is just such a performer, a fizzing bomb of guitar-wrangling and
yelping, her slightly prissy indie outfit making us think of a grown up version
of Hermione Granger, or Rebecca and Enid from Ghost World, or perhaps even Wednesday Addams, mixing fearsome
intelligence with astringent superciliousness, dishing out lyrical putdowns to
ex-partners like a laconic teacher (and her request for those who want an LP to
“see me afterwards” is just too
perfect). Musically it’s all decent enough, a melange of the less theatrical
end of the Britpop spectrum and Johnny Foreigner’s playground scrap pop, and
although we’re hard pressed to recall much about the songs, we know we’ve
witnessed the sort of unforced star quality that can only truly be experienced
in a small live music venue.
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