Kamikaze Trio
East Brunswick Club, Melbourne

I sort of almost understand the Kamikaze Trio a bit more, in light of a conversation I had recently. Kamikaze Trio celebrate and indulge the noise-as-virtue style of music that occupied the lower to middle levels of the so-called grunge wave that swept through the music industry in the early 1990s – Dinosaur Jr, Melvins and In Utero-era Nirvana.

The set started auspiciously – a maroon crushed velvet curtain swept open to reveal the band in its Melbourne rock glory. Kamikaze Trio’s new album, Rain on Your Parade, is a record polluted with anger and catharsis, Sam Agostino snarls, shouts and spits every last note in a quest to expose and expel his demons. On bass Snoop Mitchell opens the gig wearing an item of clothing offensively described as a wife beater in less liberal communities. Up the back Andy Moore is the machine, crouched over his kit in a manner that’d horrify your average physiotherapist. Snoop accepts Agostino’s brazen challenge to reveal his naked torso, discards his tank top and the rot sets in. Agostino dedicates Demons to the people who’ve pissed him off in the last year and thanks the first few rows of the crowd via a helicopter spit of cheap and nasty Northcote plonk.

The concluding moments of the set are taken directly from third year Angry Rock Theatrics – guitars cast across the stage, ceiling tiles penetrated and wail upon wail of feedback. The band finds its way back on stage for a carefully chosen encore – some well-owed celebration of Greg Sage’s underappreciated genius and a typically erratic ‘Saturday Night, Sunday Morning’. Fun, games and a whole lot of good rock & roll.

by Patrick Emery