On Sunday, Brisbane's The Triffid hosted punk-rock icon Bob Mould.
You may know him from the bands Hüsker Dü and Sugar or his solo career and collaborative meanderings; if you don't and you like punk rock – get back tracking!I arrive inside the venue to bathe in its dim light (1 December). Before long the chattering voices reduce to low murmurs as Jack Bratt – with his red, blue and silver glittering Buck Owens Fender Telecaster – seats himself on a bar stool behind a mic stand on the stage. With his pedal board within a stretched reach of his feet and guitar strap slung over his shoulder, our evening of electric acoustic commences.
With his Americana design guitar as a centre-piece to his presence, Bratt himself is sporting a look that gives off a surf-rock vibe with a pinch of country. His disheveled hair, button-through, red rose print black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, jeans and a pair of Chelsea boots (that might be the pinch of country, lol) has him looking as uber chill as he starts to play to the room that's not quite yet packed.
Jack Bratt - image © Clea-marie Thorne
With a deliberate measure he is testing the room. His voice kicks in a little raw on the edges, but weighty and smooth, even a tad creamy in the middle. It's an intimate affair and I sense punters settling into his music, drawn in with each song.
The fact he's not being all flashy allows the crowd to focus on his precise guitar work that is almost hypnotic. Bratt evens mentions he's noticing his songs have a similar tempo – perhaps that is the hypnotising allure, like a metronome that comes with an undertone of melancholy that sinks deep into your chest.
Between songs, Jack talks and comes across as humble and although I didn't catch the name of it, his third song was dedicated to Craig, before Bratt did a cracking rendition of Hendrix's 'Little Wing'. He even stops to crack a joke telling us we are "such a polite audience. . . Sydney wasn't. Rowdy f...ers!" Then tongue in cheek, letting us know there's another artist playing after him.
My favourite share is about how he's grateful he hasn't been turfed off this tour, confiding it "wouldn't be the first time". Ha! The crowd chuckles too and we get the sense he's genuinely stoked to be playing for us as well as being turfed off a tour (or two?).
Jack Bratt - image © Clea-marie Thorne
By the time Bratt wraps up his set, it feels like he's taken everyone on a side-journey with him. People clap and there are cheers breaking out from the back. We're invited to show him support by buying his EP (as it's a long way to West End from the venue) with a smile before he finishes his set with a more visceral version of 'Everything And More' than you'll hear on the recording.
Fans give a welcoming roar at the sight of Bob Mould emerging from side of stage, chunky black chain around his neck, faded black tee and jeans with sneakers and Stratocaster at the ready.
Raising his eyes from looking down on his plethora of pedals, he drinks in the crowd before him and is pretty quick to get down to business and right into 'The War'. The riffage roars through the room – it's on, baby! Solo electric is the truth of it. There's no backing band – just Bob, his guitar and his passionate drive to perform.
Without missing a beat, he drives on into Hüsker Dü classics, the anthemic 'Flip Your Wig' and the punk flavour of 'I Apologize'. The crowd roars as Mould's furious strumming pervades every crevice in The Triffid as his voice packs emotive punches to our ear holes and memories.
Bob Mould - image © Clea-marie Thorne
The chords of Sugar's slower hit 'Hoover Dam' may be played a little faster and less polished than the recorded version tonight – either way it is landing like a gut punch with each strum and electrify the venue.
After reminding us it's been 11 years since he's been in Brisvegas and how he's noticed how much our metropolis has grown, he moves to more offerings from the world of Mould. It is the gritty and bold tones of 'Stand Guard' with riffage that is invoking a Neil Young resonance with an ebb and flow that keeps our heads nodding.
Getting the venue pulsing with 'Siberian Butterfly', we welcome the surge of pop-punk energy before its crashing waves withdraw from us, replaced by the melancholic beauty of 'Sinners And Their Repentances'.
Bob Mould - image © Clea-marie Thorne
When 'The Descent' kicks in, you notice Mould pulls more energy, but from where? Who knows? He has and is thrashing it out before us. Even when he follows it up with the slower track 'I'm Sorry, Baby, But You Can't Stand In My Light Any More', it still manages to flood the room with a power of thick and resonant guitar tones.
We're only about halfway through and the following songs are nothing short of pure catharsis. Mould continues to move between rhythms to solos effortlessly during the blistering bangers including 'Next Generation', 'Walls In Time', 'Too Far Down', 'Hardly Getting Over It', 'Celebrated Summer' (that has the crowd in a spin), 'The Ocean', 'Daddy's Favorite', 'Black Confetti', and 'Something I Learned Today'.
Mould barely paused between songs to address us – it was like the only interaction he needs is to see our eyes glued to his performance, heads nodding and banging. I even caught him throwing a brief smile to those less transfixed singing and dancing yet still overtaken by the music.
Bob Mould - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Behind slightly fogged up glasses, Mould exuded droplets of sweat and spittle while roaring into his mic not to mention drowning us in a raw energy generated by his soul, clearly burning with passion for every note he plays and sings.
We even get an encore without him leaving the stage, he just motions for us to cheer him on then proceeds to smash out more hits in a flurry of fretwork or artfully strummed rhythms: 'If I Can't Change Your Mind' is a jangly, bittersweet joy to hear played live.
His performance is that spellbindingly loud and emotionally crushing with distorted chords like a tempest and vocals, so full, rich and urgent all the way to his closing out track 'Makes No Sense At All'.
Mould really gives us every mil of fuel that he has left in the tank. My proof is the sonic vibrations that are making the hairs on my head quiver at their roots. I'm left breathless and in awe of a true legend who has not slowed down his performance one iota, and to steal from the song title, it makes no sense how a 64 year old just doled out a set with the vim and vigour of his 20-30-something-year-old self!
Bob Mould - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Bob Mould. No gimmicks. Just a man, with one guitar, putting out a soul-shaking rocking set, unleashing decades of raw energy and melody to his fans. Punk rock doesn't age, even if the fans do – the relevance of the music is everlasting and Bob Mould proved why he's a legend within the genre.
More photos from the concert.
