The Fauves: Five Of The Worst

Few bands reach their 1000th gig, let alone one from Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula named after a short-lived Modernist art movement. Nonetheless, a week from today The Fauves take to the stage at Melbourne’s East Brunswick Club as they clock up another milestone. To honour the occasion, Mess+Noise asked vocalist and guitarist Andrew Cox to recall the five worst gigs of their career.

Heaven Nightclub – Adelaide, 1998
When we accepted the role of main support on the Hunters and Collectors farewell tour we hadn’t reckoned on the Whitlams. Added to the bill as extra support in the capital cities, they unfortunately became huge in the fallow period after the announcement of the tour. On the day of the gig ‘No Aphrodisiac’ was confirmed as number one on JJJ’s Hottest 100. Having already rejected their smug entreaty to swap positions on the bill, we had to fight our way through the detritus of empty cigar canisters and draft thank you speeches just to make the stage. We were booed as we started, the crowd making it clear that they vastly preferred the opening act. Intermittent booing continued until we left the stage to a chorus of ironic cheers, at which point the in-house DJ played a dance remix of ‘No Aphrodisiac’.

21st Century Dance Club – Frankston Guitar Festival, 2005
We strutted back to our home town keen to showcase our finger tapping abilities at this, Australia’s premier cultural event. Unfortunately crowd numbers were lower than an intermittent creek in the Murray-Darling basin. The absence of paying customers meant that our drinks rider did not even extend to complimentary water. After making a mildly jocular remark over the mike to the effect that I once queued in pink slacks to gain ingress to this club as a teenager and felt my loyalty had been betrayed, I looked side of stage to see the duty manager reaching for the power switch. After having cut the electricity he proceeded to shape up, waving clenched fists and inviting us to step outside. Fortunately the 15 people in attendance were having none of it and began a riot so peaceful it made Gandhi look like Hulk Hogan.

Beach Party – Newcastle University, 1999
Some towns register their dislike of your act immediately. Others, in the words of Paul Keating, do you slowly. On about our 20th visit to the venerable blue-collar city, Newcastle finally decided it had had enough. No sooner had we begun than the audience began removing the makeshift beach in front of the stage and hurling it in our direction. Like any good beach it consisted of much more than sand – beer cans mostly. Choking on grit and sporting several major flesh wounds each, we prudently decided to vacate the stage after six songs. To our surprise we were promptly paid and offered a return engagement. This time we performed indoors where a lone heckler threw raw sausage meat at us until he was beaten senseless by the security staff at our behest. If I ever see Newcastle again it will be while accidentally alighting on the wrong page in a street directory.

OZSTOCK 99 – Bunbury, 1999
OZSTOCK 99 didn’t need the numerary suffix for there was never to be another. Held on rolling fields two hours south of Perth, the event was the brainchild of a clueless farmer who sold 1000 head of cattle to stage his very own rock festival. We arrived on a Saturday afternoon, driving the Tarago straight over the audience viewing area. We could have driven a 747 over it and still not hit anyone, so few were the numbers. After the show our host moved among us, red-eyed yet still able to commend us for our efforts. He was like a man who had climbed out of his own coffin to thank his murderers for sending flowers. Jack took the cow to market and came home with a bag of beans. This guy took 1000 there and ended up with OZSTOCK.

Attic Nightclub All-Age – Hamilton, 2003
We have never worked the kid market. All of those sober teenagers watching rock at three in the afternoon are too damn discerning by half. A day before this show Ted was involved in a bruising bicycle accident, so we left him in Melbourne and soldiered on as a three-piece. My inept bass playing created a low rumbling shockwave that herded the frightened children into one corner of the venue from where they watched mutely. The Education Department has since adopted some of my techniques as a means of class control.

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