Rowland S Howard

One of Melbourne’s true icons, Rowland S Howard seems to be going from strength to strength recently, with recent All Tomorrow’s Parties shows under his belt and a new album recorded for a new label. There are plenty of folks crowded into the Gershwin Room, both old hands and curious youngsters, many of whom were probably not born when RSH was first coming to attention.

He has a strange kind of elegance, tempered with shyness. Initially, he looks almost vulnerable onstage. In his usual dapper uniform – black suit and white shirt – under plain stage lights, he asks for a drink before starting. In his 40 minutes or so onstage, he does more than some bands could do in three hours.

Rowland doesn’t really look at anyone while playing, or really try to “sell” the songs. He riffs, he stumbles occasionally (for real or as part of the song, it’s hard to tell). There’s not much talking and he doesn’t introduce everything, which leaves most of us pleasantly adrift.

There is a tension at work here that is hard to adequately explain in words. But always, at just the right moment, he calmly and deliberately cuts loose and hammers great ringing tones out of his guitar. His signature scratchy tone isn’t so apparent tonight – it’s these waves of noise that define it from where I’m standing.

He doesn’t do anything from way back when he played with that other band – and he doesn’t need to.

by Trevor Block

Treetops

There’s an argument to be made that Treetops were one of the defining acts of the early days of the Mistletone corporation – before they were even a label. And so it’s fitting that they are kicking off Summer Tones in The Espy Front Bar this afternoon.

It’s the original lineup too, back together for the first time in five years. All of them seem to be enjoying it, an opinion confirmed later when frontman Ben Montero tells me that they found it a bit weird, but loved every minute.

They have lost none of their two guitar attack/release thing; that trick where they pile a couple of voices and all their instruments into a big harmonic heap, hammer it for a while, then break and fall back, often grounding with a much gutsier riff than the Rickenbacker jangle that got them off the ground in the first place.

I don’t remember the names of any of these songs (sorry), but they all sound familiar and really good. The pudding-bowl fringes go down and ripple in unison over some awesome jams too.

They close five minutes over time with an amazing feedback/tone generator fuelled mess of noise, that draws more than a few curious punters inside from the smoking area, only to be disappointed.

Next time, kids.

by Trevor Block