The venue felt incredibly regimented and disjointed, damming the typical flow of gig culture. A stern security guard separated the bar from the actual stage area, carving an edge onto the event. My simple pleasure of a beer and a gig was ripped away. Instead, I had to awkwardly (and quickly) drink my $12.50 Newtowner within the confines of this bizarre jail-cell-of-a-bar to not miss the support acts. I understand that a large proportion of the audience were minors, but this level of scrutiny made the environment intense and off-putting.
The bitter taste in my mouth worsened further whilst watching the type of crowd wash into the venue. It was as if an alien species had teleported a random crowd of schoolies kids into an indie gig as an experiment. Leather jackets and a good music taste were not welcome — bleached hair and checkered shirts only.
I tried not to let the audience ruin the first support, Micra. Despite the distracting majority of the crowd being glued to their Snapchat and peach-flavoured vapes, I loved the centrality of the bass in Micra’s work, creating a deeply 80s sheen to each note and lyric. Even when the boys next to me were shouting at the footy on someone’s phone, I loved how Micra’s music ran straight through my chest, building an ethereal and shoegaze-esque sound around the Roundhouse. Micra had a tough job to please an audience antithetical to their soul as a band.
The awkward lull between each act was randomly accompanied by Olivia Rodrigo and some bloke lighting a cigarette inside, turning the space into a smoke room from the 60s.
The second act, Jet City Sports Club, was joy personified. Once again, their acutely feminine and whimsical air was uncomfortably jarring against the crowd’s potent ‘lads, lads, lads’ persona. I can appreciate that Jet City, as revealed in their set, is lining up to be Australia’s next musical export of Clairo-fame with micro bangs and spangly guitars in tow. It ultimately felt so Triple J… sickeningly so. At times, it felt like plastic indie rock was being sold to us as real art. My cynicism wavered ever so slightly as the lead singer, Lilla’s, delight was palpable amongst the rush of riffs and beautiful vocals.
At last, we reached the magnum opus of the night, Old Mervs finally entered the stage with AC/DC wailing over the speakers. With only a guitar and drums, Old Mervs produced a mammoth of a sound. Their style is very stereotypically Australian. Each song embodied this scenario: a bloke left the beach after a surf to go to the pub and watch the footy with mates. This is not an exaggeration, as the drummer repeatedly asked for the footy score between each song. I can understand why Old Mervs are so popular: they are very charismatic and create very catchy hooks to match perpetual teenage disillusionment. Their songs are that of a sunset — they all vaguely look the same, but you still enjoy it. Ultimately, it is a pretty view. Occasionally, you see a sunset that hits you to your core, which ‘Don’t Go’ and ‘Parched’ totally, wholeheartedly embody. These two were genuinely fantastic and exhibited a groove I had been desperately searching for the entire night like a sad metal detector on an abandoned concrete lot. The magic of Old Mervs lies within their ability to build a festival-like atmosphere in a venue as caustic as the Roundhouse. It was the pinnacle of Australian camaraderie. Despite those pockets of triumph, Old Merv’s set proved why the bass exists and matters to great art. Not even great art, but fun art. Hopefully, they make more songs like ‘Parched’ in the future to cement groove within their discography.
Old Mervs ended their set as they began: with AC/DC. A man next to me very poignantly summed up the whole experience as TNT played out of the speakers, “I prefer this [the mosh next to us] to watching the actual concert.” As I left the mosh pit unfold, I understood exactly why the audience was the way it was. It all made sense, like the click of a lighter. Old Mervs are the modern ‘bushmen’ within Australian music —- mixing the idea of ‘mateship’ with surfer-style guitar riffs and rough drumming.
