Detroit post-punks Protomartyr chose the worst time for their Australian live debut.
Brisbane’s severe humidity had left locals sweating profusely; it’s unimaginable what the band – arriving from a snowy winter – was feeling. But on the first stop of their tour, Protomartyr gave no sign of it affecting them charging headfirst into an intense performance at The Foundry (15 February).
Opening was local trio The Goon Sax, who played their first show in over six months. The band’s coy indie-pop seemed like a mismatch with the headliners’ intensity, but several new songs debuted in their set showcased a new, fuller sound for The Goon Sax.
Even with this development in their sound, they still retained the naïve charm and melodic gifts that first caught my attention.
“Is this real?’ called singer Amy Wilson of Sydney goths Mere Women at the top of their set. The rest of the quartet kicked in, with Flyn Mckinnirey coating their brooding music with atmospheric guitars.
They may be dour, but that didn’t stop fans cheering the big riffs of ‘Eternally’ nor Amy from dancing behind her synth and making her dangling earrings flick her face.
There was barely any acknowledgment of the audience’s presence when Protomartyr arrived. Singer Joe Casey adjusted his mic stand before his bandmates launched into the spiky ‘My Children’. The band threw themselves into each song with barely a pause to catch breath in between.
Each member strained their faces as they crashed through their set, especially drummer Alex Leonard while he worked his way through the clattering beat of ‘A Deeper Understanding’. The musicians kept firmly in place through their forceful dirges that Joe howled over.
It’s difficult to comprehend Joe’s words through his howling and slurring, but his intense presence said more than he did. His face was cold and straight, turning his gaze into a leer. It was hard not to chuckle when he pulled a beer can from his jacket pocket during ‘Windsor Hum’, but any laughter was stifled when he let out a strangled scream into the mic: “Everything is fine!”.
Flecks of spit flew from Joe’s mouth during the noisy assault of ‘Don’t Go To Anacita’, with every consonant feeling like a punch. While one of their more melodic songs, it caused a mosh pit of fans convulsing to its primal rhythm.
I usually tend to stand closer to the mixing desk to get a better ear for the sound, but I found myself drawn closer to the stage, my body shaking to the punk blast.
It was near the gig’s end when Joe finally spoke to fans, telling them about holding a koala and how the weather “f#$%ed up our heads”. No one would have guessed they were suffering if Joe hadn’t say anything.
Instead, Protomartyr hypnotised the crowd with their passion and rage, making the weather the least memorable part of their explosive Australian debut.
