Mere Noise Showcase

In the first of a planned series of Brisbane City Council-sponsored label showcases, Mere Noise Records' finest rock exponents take to a stage in the middle of the Valley's Brunswick Street Mall. Positioned at the foot of a few sunken steps and adjacent to a multinational burger joint, its central location means that even bystanders are thrust into earshot.

Turnpike open proceedings with a sound that’s complex, dense and conforms to few traditional rock conventions – they've got more in common with post-punk purveyors At The Drive-In than AC/DC. Yet they're well-received by the few dozen who gather around for their half-hour set, which ends on the stroke of 8pm. The early slot does Turnpike no favours, as most of the teeming masses that inhabit the Valley on a Saturday night are still boozing on at home. Their loss.

Since we're in a public place, punters are forced to substitute vice for vice: there's no alcohol for sale, but smokers can happily puff away. Fifteen minutes later - gotta love necessarily short changeovers and bands sharing gear - Butcher Birds land far more hits than misses. (The towering 'Bare Arms' is the only song to overstay its welcome.) That misstep aside, tonight's set is an engaging advertisement for Mere Noise's credible taste in rock. The quartet are considerably louder than Turnpike, owing to their dual guitar attack, and their pop-song-drenched-in-distortion approach draws in more curious locals. 'Millions' morphs from punchy to bruising within three minutes; its jagged outro will ultimately be heavier than anything else on display tonight.

Somewhere during all of this, Earth Hour is going on, but I only notice when a McDonald's sign flickers back into fluorescence midway through Vegas Kings' set. They’re clearly audible inside a nearby convenience store, and upon returning to the mall, they dominate the strip with a succinct, galloping display of breakneck garage rock. Mere Noise founders Pete Collins and Ben Dougherty share guitar and vocal duties, while drummer Angus Chapman barely has time to count in between tracks. At once raw and precise, the trio play fast, sharp and sans bass and bullshit. Highlights include the shuddering stop-start of 'Fade Away'; the wry commentary on society and evolution on 'I Great Ape'; covers of tracks by Standing 8 Counts and The Hymies; and climatic closer 'Flying Jesus Judo Kicks', wherein the crowd begins to nudge triple figures.

Hits have sanded off almost all the rough edges since the last time I saw them at the launch of Brisbane's Hi-Fi a year ago. The attitude and the raw-as-fuck rock sound remain, but their delivery has evolved into something that approaches, well, professionalism. It may have something to do with this being a dry gig, but the band seem to be on their best behaviour. What results is as polished a set as they've ever played. It's a bold move for them to headline, but they’re strangely the most accessible band on the bill. They opt to end on a slower number more suited to a stadium than a mall, which singer Evil Dick delivers eyes closed, microphone in hand and rooted to the spot. I'm still agape at the transformation they’ve made.

Upon stepping away from the mall's sunken auditorium, it becomes apparent that the majority of the general public have chosen to either ignore the racket or dance ironically en route to somewhere else. While thousands pass by the stage throughout the evening, it’s disappointing to note that scarcely a hundred at any one time feel compelled to stop.

by Andrew McMillen