|
Hey Mook
(officially)
launched their new long player
Never gets you anywhere
at The Venue in Hobart on the 10th of December 2004 with a rousing set
spanning all three albums for what was their first bash for the year and
back to back gigs for this correspondent.
An event so momentous even Brian Wilson missed out.
At $172.00 a front row seat even The Mooks were trying to talk up the event as a worthy contender for this years last big night out.
"F**K me drunk, that's only $8.00 shy of an airline ticket"
said the financially challenged under-employed man,
"I reckon I'll drop in on me mates ....".
Trust the Mooks to try and talk themselves out of a gig.
Picture this if you will. Hobart airport on a friday afternoon.
Man arrives for gig or more precisely,
the whole Mook palava.
Better value than SMILE and more chance of a face to face encounter.
The weather is perfect.
He hangs out at the luggage bay with the alleged Mook photographer.
It seems like a large prosperous country town.
He spys the Roobs front man in his overalls and shades.
Must be from the channel.
Never got a mention in the mainland rags despite snaring
Rocket Science support at The Trout.
The Mooks didn't even get asked or for that matter cared.
Hey Buzz, this scene is fading, this scene is fading or so the song goes.
This town doesn't hold me anymore but the Mooks have outlived even their contemporaries here
except for itchy new age guitar siphoned over the television set to the backdrop of tourist perfect scenery.
You feel like the past coming back to haunt itself.
Various mooks arrive,
lifts are given,
the incessant mockery starts straight away.
there's work to be done.
Some have done their bit but for the others there is no rest.
No golf or chess this afternoon.
This latest album has been difficult coming in times of personal loss for many band members
or just the trials of life in general.
For sure there has been much emotional energy invested into this project.
For some it's been a lifeboat, for others a duty but tonight's going to be a good time,
you can be sure of that.
It's friday afternoon and posters are still to be put up.
The more beligerent of the tribe make corny jibes about crook managment.
Six Pack Ninja pulled out at the last minute so printing was delayed.
That's the excuse anyway.
Tasmanian and ocassional JJJ band Enola Fall are a late addition to the bill.
The Bin Ladens have decided that their name is too hot to handle and
have gone with The Nonchalants instead.
Scorn revisited.
There has been some time for socialising and a quick draw on the chess board but the afternoon is set aside for lugging gear.
The Venue is upstairs.
The band carries everything they bring.
No roadies.
Everyone else has something else to do.
Where's Shrimp when you need him?
True to character the Mooks have stayed home and waited for the world to come to them.
A record company's worst nightmare.
A real band who are true to themselves and noone else.
People have flown in from Melbourne,
Sydney,
Queensland and even cut short a stay in Hong Kong.
Mostly regulars.
The absence of the invited mainland establishment may paint Hoabart as a backwater but
to the Mooks it merely paints them as high society.
It is ten to nine and we are on the way to the gig with our box of CDs.
The taxi driver seems lost.
The Venue is a mystery to him and our sydney guests haven't a clue.
The door person calls for relief.
Abuse is meted out for the slightest slip up.
The Mooks distain for the world is matched only by their brutal frankness to each other.
Typical Uckles show ... now I'm f**g lost.
A few signs would have been nice but in the end there is only one place to go but many people to meet.
Have we decided on a price?
No.
That would be too sensible.
CD? ... That'll be twenty bucks thanks mate.
Yes, that's on top of your five dollars entry.
That's a f**n bargain mate!
The Nonchalants open the night's procedings with a set of covers drawing heavily from the
Neil Young back catalogue.
It's back to high school.
Lead singer Rod Hunt lays claim to unearthing the young Kim Pearce while at Taroona High and maybe that's true.
Alot of water has passed under the bridge since them.
I started the joke but now it falls flat.
At the end they seem glad it's over.
A couple of more rehearsals wouldn't have gone astray.
What a thankless task.
Let's go down the docks ...
This audience it seems is mostly here for the music.
An almost erudite crowd.
Even internationally acclaimed author,
Richard Flanagan makes an appearance.
Oy, you rememba south of no south eh ... them were the days eh!
Why don't you play them old songs?
Would you read from the historical record at your new book launch?
Not for a kick orf cobber ...
Enola Fall are here at short notice and
are now a three piece rather than the five piece represented on their cd for sale out front for a mere tenner.
Their sound hasn't suffered in the least.
Once your head got around their sound these guys were captivating.
Even the crowd of Baby Boomers got it in the end.
The Hey Mook drum kit gets a god almighty flogging.
"This chap, he's errrrr ... listened to Jeff Buckley".
Indeed.
The set finished in a huge cresendo and by the reaction of the audience they were well appreciated.
As for the afore mentioned CDs, in the end they sold the lot.
Hey mook hit the stage looking dapper in suits and opened with "Let's go down the docks"
which made sense because that's where we were.
The band are like true professionals now,
launching straight into the music with a minimun of fuss.
Their sound is assured and if you are familiar with the band's music they have way of playing that stands out from everbody else.
A fashion unto themselves despite being unfashionable.
Cold Snap is followed by Come Along Sweetness before they launch into the new album.
As on the CD Everything is the opener followed by Paul Riley's composition, "Half way to Mars".
Truly the highlight of the evening was the appearance of The Horns of Dilemma.
"I signed a heartbeat" bought the house down followed by "The Geek",
another Riley compostion,
which one could easily imagine as a T.V. theme to a stylish Hiawian themed cop show.
Apart from an inspired monologue from singer Kim Pearce, the Mooks stuck to the script in performing the new material
and finishing with a second helping of "I signed a Heartbeat".
John Button's baroque keyboards during "Behind the Clock" were a definite highlight.
Just when you thought the Mooks had welched on their promise to span all three albums
a strange version of "Brick by Brick" emerged.
Watch out for the video.
A surreal spectacle ensued.
Like the Doghouse of the early days re-enacted,
those crusty die hard fans doing their mookish dance,
Jerry, Pricey, Holmes and all the rest.
May God bless you all.
Anyway the Mooks reckoned their performance was below par
but you would be hard pressed to tell from out front.
It is however the nature of the mooks to be their own harshest critics
so ignore them at all costs.
Now if a few gigs could be strung together over a month or two then maybe they would really hit their straps live.
The world trembles while it waits.
It's not like the mooks have hit the big time or anything like that.
Far from it.
In any case this is a business that eats you up and spits you out with no mercy.
However compared to the intimacy of
the Mook's last gig at the relatively cosy Crescent Hotel
this seems almost corporate.
There is money to be made to pay bills, CD pressing, mastering, artwork etc.
So some of us have to get their hands dirty doing the money.
You know what they want but they don't get it for free.
Nearly everyone pays cept' if your on the list
even family.
Luckily this band isn't corporate otherwise the bill would be more than a year of touring and junk food could pay.
Liebe Komrades, never make the mistake of confusing corporate and collective.
These guys aren't going to blow the cost of the enterprise on superficialities except maybe nowadays maybe a modest well cut suit.
This is not your run of the mill gig,
this is an ocassion.
Outside after the gig is a different world.
Up until now everything seemed so urbane.
Now we were back to the hard reality of Hobart Town.
Make believe homeys picked fights with each other ...
"I'll go ya, one to one .."
don't be fooled, this guy looks like a weasel but I bet he's carrying a knife.
We walk along to Knopwoods to get a cab and even sell a cd or two in the process.
There is an unbelievably long queue to get into the nightclub.
Bonnie Tyler booms out of the window.
Morbidly fascinating.
The only place left open in town.
Many people, few cabs.
We finish up calling home for a lift.
There is an after party of sorts.
The smell of half time hangs in the air like sweet purfume though we won't be singing any Don Mclean tonight.
Sing however we do and what else would you?
Paul shoulda sung on Hufcor Doors we reckon.
Dawn beckons.
Short summer nights.
I replay the past with a stroll down memory lane off Landsdowne.
It's another day tomorrow.
I wished today could last forever.
The next day we pick up the gear.
Already The Venue is being used for some early morning affair.
The Mook posters from yesterday have already been postered over.
Last night's triumph is just a memory.
No time is wasted.
The CD is in
The Hobart Bookshop
as of today and selling steadilly.
So the little beggar has been launched.
Next year it starts again.
Smart Idea that,
CHILTONE RECORDS.
The band can think about the next project and let their minds float over summer.
The next CD a double live titled "coppin' the lot" but can they fit all their songs in?
That'll bait them!
This story ends as it must almost a week later with your correspondent back (home) in Melbourne.
He has returned to the scene of the crime so to speak at The Duke of Windsor,
the venue for many a
Moths
gig.
Having failed to secure a gig with
The Sandpebbles
or for that matter even a spot with them at
The Harvest festival,
here he is,
cap in hand,
with the band's complimentary CD.
Actually he kind of enjoys it.
Cold Harbour reminds him of Thin White Rope but as Mark Eitzel's backing band waiting for him to step up to the mike.
The Sandpebbles,
who also lug their own gear,
play a more upbeat set with bass player chris in full cheery party mode.
By the time the act of the night,
THE ROYS,
whose CD launch it is tonite,
man drives home playing Greendale on the cassette player.
On top of 3CR's copy being in the post the cat is well and truly out of the bag now.
His clothes are already impregnated with the distinctive dive pub smell of second hand smoke.
At today's high petrol prices, time being money, seven bucks admission and $3.50 for a palid beer,
the walk down to the post office and $1.60 postage seems like a bargain.
If you have anything further to add then
let us know
Is this the
official line
or is this the truth
or maybe both?
We'll print anything you'll own up to.
The hard men of the Mook's collective egos can take it I'm sure.
Serve us
vitriol
and we'll give it ten times back.
Oh, and thanks to Malcolm Brooks for a fine effort behind the mixing desk on the night
although he apparently said the band kinda mixed themselves.
That's the kind of compliment you like to hear.
Hmmmm ... thanks Chay, Lee and Grace for doing the door and anyone else who deserves it ....
You're a class act.
Merry Christmas
UMOOKU
18/12/2004
|
