Ash Grunwald @ HiFi (12/09/2008)

With the music festival season fast approaching it was more than a little difficult to shake the feeling that Melbourne’s diverse crowd of Grunwald-goers were collaboratively doing their darndest to replicate a summery night of music within the HiFi on Friday night. The cavernous space appeared to be populated by a densely mixed crowd (testament to Ash Grunwald’s breadth of musical styles and supporters), eager to will the warmer months closer. As a carpet of fans sat cross-legged, talking excitedly and stretching out occasionally to enjoy the fictional night air, I realised I was witnessing the same festival comradeship you would find on a grassy slope in January. It was a sight.

First up to the bon fire was one-woman act Last Town Chorus. Sitting alone with her lap steel guitar, Megan Hickey announced herself politely and introduced us to her band: a suspicious looking iPod. In the absence of animate musicians, Hickey looked more than a little lonely on the eerily empty stage. Her music is an ambient concoction of grassy blues, psychedelic rock and folk – a combination of sound which becomes quite haunting when it appears to be played through one set of strings. Although at times I could see the steady swinging of hair in a slow-mo mosh circle, willing the music to keep up with their beating heads, this is unique music that stops just short of fascinating. While many musicians will tag the lap steel guitar as a finishing kind of ‘full stop’ to their sound, Hickey works the instrument proudly through her entire set – the result is quite breathtaking. Probably owing to the lack of musical relationship with her ‘band’, Hickey reverts to a stronger connection with the audience, at times singing directly to individual audience members in a plea for understanding of her iPod plight. In response, the crowd initially seesawed between an awed silence and gentle conversations before seemingly becoming tired of working to imagine the rest of the band and engaging in much, much louder conversations. I’m sure Last Town Chorus is an exceptional act, when everyone shows up.

Sauntering onto the stage in clothing you might wear to the local Fish & Chip store, The Sunshine Brothers work the philosophy of Cool like a tagline. The six brothers brought instant life to the stage with their dub reggae flair (hugely similar to Fat Freddy’s Drop) while brandishing contagiously wide toothy smiles from their opening song, My . These kids clearly know how to have fun and didn’t waste a second coercing our hips to sway. What made this set so enjoyable was that it didn’t really feel at all like a set, but a ribbon of music indefinable by lyrics or hooks, every inch of which was rhythmic and spontaneous. If it weren’t for an elated call of “Oh yeeeah!” from somewhere behind the drum kit every four minutes, you could almost get lost amongst the wails of trumpeting and consistent earthy baseline. The occasional vocals in TNT were sorely needed to kick a crowd hypnotised by reggae, setting the group apart from other dub acts with an uncharacteristically smooth voice from Cheeky, reminiscent of Sting in the early days of the Police . Their brotherly interaction on stage warranted a rousing response from fellow groovers, making it difficult to imagine their music anywhere outside of a live performance.

After strolling onto the stage it only took three steady thumps from his left foot for Ash Grunwald to drive any remaining campers to their feet and into the dance pit. Or more accurately into the stomping, bouncing, head twisting and arm-linking pit. There is something deeply primal about Grunwald’s music, which goes beyond his flailing dreadlocks or infectious rhythms. The singer tells a story. Whether this takes the form of simple traditional spirituals or lyrical contemporary social comments, Grunwald seems to have accessed our very bones in a way few musicians are able. What is it about this guy that makes everyone want to grab the closest rhythm sticks and dance in the mud?

Melting Hendrix guitar influences with rowdy percussions of Give Something Away, he follows with Rosie (not of JJJ, he assures us) demonstrating what percussive momentum is all about. Grunwald slows his expert picking down to a heavy trudge before stretching his head back to the ceiling, baring his teeth wide in a familiar grin, and pausing before hurtling us into fast and wild billy rock guitar. He even managed to work some fierce wolf howls in the obvious crowd favourite Devil Called Me A Liar, rocking a heavier riff that would surely satiate fans of Grunwald’s grungier sound.

As far as crowd participation goes, nothing could rival the roar of feedback heard as Money dragged a gritty hand along Grunwald’s guitar. Practically screaming back at their enlightener “We FEEL you, man!”, the audience shouted themselves hoarse. Finishing the set with a brilliant display of the power Grunwald holds over his crowd, Give Signs was probably the night’s highlight – if you could pick one. Singing “Do your thing, dance and sing”, the filtered vocals were received as less of a lyric and more of a stubborn instruction, leaving those of us lucky enough with enough room to kick a leg dancing and singing. We were happy to oblige.