The Triffid fills with punters on the Sabbath, all turning up to the altar of Roachford.
Twenty-one years between visits and the pews are packed – not a soul here who isn't ready for some musical salvation (25 May).Starting off the musical offering is Jack Bratt, wandering onto The Triffid stage looking like he's had a rough few days on the road, but glad he's arrived at his destination.
Jack Bratt - image © Clea-marie Thorne
An Aussie blues-rock preacher, solo but sounding like a damn choir, Bratt builds walls of sound with loops and gospel-level guitar chops layered under those weathered vocals.
He cops a bit of stick from the crowd early on – reckons we're not exactly throwing energy back at him, to which one punter deadpans "harsh". Bratt laughs it off, backs it up with 'Will You Ever', and confirms what fans know – this whole set's mostly from his 'Slow Release' album, including 'Spades' and 'Down'.
It also turns out the Brisbane lad has moved to Sydney – which apparently means the GPS is out to ruin him financially. Bratt reckons he's racked up so many toll fines he needs us to buy some merch just to make it home.
A moment of proper reverence is descending as he baptises us with a silky cover of Hendrix's 'Little Wing'. It's not overcooked, no self-indulgent noodling, just sharp and tasteful. Then it's 'Body Language', which gets a few hips swaying down front, even if the energy stays more Sunday arvo than Saturday night kick-on.
Jack Bratt - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Jack admits he's been gas-bagging a bit too long and instead of two more he's only got time for one. Bratt chucks a shout-out to Ben on sound and slings one last plea to us to buy some merch to pay the Sydney tolls. I think he had some fans new and old willing to throw down some dosh on the offering plate he extended.
We're waiting too long. Even one second feels sacrilegious. The house lights stay low and the crowd thickens as the PA starts wheeling through some cheeky warm-ups: 'Can’t Take My Eyes Off You', 'Do You Love Me?', 'Higher Ground', 'Stand By Me', and Curtis Mayfield's 'Superfly' – punters shifting feet and necking last drinks before the main musical service.
Jackie Barnes (drums – and yes, Jimmy's son), then Chris Moorhead (guitar, vocals) and David Levey (bass) arrive onstage without the man of the moment. They're playing an instrumental intro to us and we cheer anyway, knowing the leading gentleman must only be seconds away.
Roachford - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Letting his band shine for a minute, just like an apparition Andrew Roachford appears before us. Walking on with that calm, smooth energy like he's not even trying – just is. 'The Doctor' of course is our opener and it's like he's flicked on a switch with his presence.
Suddenly the congregation's locking in, loud, eyes fixed, like Roachford's just stepped up to the pulpit. No messing about, they hammer into 'High On Love'. The groove is seeping up the hangar walls and the room's got this slick heat to it, like velvet and little beads of sweat.
By 'The Way I Feel', Roachford's throwing it out to fans, inviting everyone to join in – and bugger me, they do. Loud, slightly off-key, but full of heart. 'Love Remedy' follows, smooth and soulful.
"Is it alright if I tell you a story?" he asks – crowd answers back with a full-throated yes. Roachford warns us it is Withers, done Roachford style. Then the band drops into a moody, stretched-out version of Bill Withers' 'Ain't No Sunshine'. He leans us into the "I know, I know, I know," part like he's dragging up something deep – and he is. Our sad muddy voices. It's a glorious cover.
Roachford - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Roachford teases us, telling us they're going to do something old – then no, he retracts that, telling us we're getting something new. He thinks it might be time for the bar for some. Roachford boasts this one is co-written by the talented Moorhead – 'All The Love We Need'.
He's right – it is getting a bit of the 'might pop off for a beer' response from some punters, clearly only here for their glory day songs; but not many at all – folks down front are clearly already across the lyrics of their later work and it's a damn fine track
Then it's time for almost vintage Roachford. 'Ride The Storm' and the room erupts. Massive cheers. Bedlam. People bouncing on the spot, arms up, like they've been waiting all night for this one. Roachford nods, calls us "Sister Brisbane," and you can tell he's preaching to the converted – we're right there with him, hands raised.
Roachford - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Keys start pulsing. They're low and deep for 'Carry You', which swings slow. It might be a Teskey Brothers tune, but it is soaked in Roachford blues-tinged gospel and I tell you, the brothers might just have written that one for him. We get a compliment from the lead man and he makes the band intro for us. All the band get a great round of applause from us. Leaving London's finest on keys till last, he cops a huge deafening crowd reaction, arms flailing and whistles from the back Fans are totally losing their sh.t – and it's not even a song. Ha!
'Lay Your Love On Me' slinks in like it owns the sermon, and the choir behind me – that's the crowd – erupts, voices climbing like hallelujahs for the chorus "come on, come on, lay your love on me".
Keeping the momentum high, they pull out 'This Generation', which somehow manages to get everyone dancing who wasn't before – and more chorus yelling this time like it's some kind of protest chant or fervent incantation.
Roachford - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Moorhead picks up the acoustic for 'Cry For Me'. It's the soul altar moment – couples swaying, mates leaning on each other, schooners half-raised like communion cups. A deep, emotional voice booms from the middle of the crowd, "a beautiful song!", and he's not wrong. Feels like someone just cracked open their chest onstage and soul tears are pouring out of it.
Roachford cracks a dad joke – says it has to happen schooner or later – but it lands like part of the sermon. We're in the church of groove and he's our pastor with a pint. Things slow to a simmer with Roachford taking a solo spot on the keys, threading through 'Johnny', 'On The Street Again', 'How Could I?', 'Kathleen', a blink of 'Dancing In The Dark' (cut short), and a taste of 'Over My Shoulder' – a reminder to us of his time with Mike + The Mechanics.
Fans are riding it all – bit quiet, bit misty-eyed, but still swaying. Moorhead reappears, hands over a schooner – crowd cheers! – and Roachford recalls that 21 years ago it would have been a bloody VB. Everyone boos. Booing the VB feels weirdly communal.
There's a grin from Roachford, and they come back together to give us a powerful, stretched-out 'Free Falling' (Tom Petty cover). It hits right in the guts. People singing: "And I'm free. Free fallin," like they've been carrying that line around for years and practicing hard to hit it right. It cleverly fades into 'The Tracks Of My Tears' and that's when I notice a few punters wiping at their eyes like it's just sweat, not feelings. I feel it.
Roachford - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Talking about feels. Just when it feels like it's all winding down, Roachford's back with "Brisbane, I want to tell you a story. Is it alright? It was a long time ago. I'm talking about 1980. . . 1980. . ." He feigns a poor memory. Leaves the year open and goes on to tell us about being a little boy and his only joy was a cuddly toy.
Then boom – the sacred hymn. The one we've all been carrying like a beat-up bible, 'Cuddly Toy'. The joint detonates like a revival tent mid-hallelujah. Not politely, not tidily. Bodies bouncing, lyrics shouted like it's church and this is scripture. 'Cuddly Toy' gets hammered.
Nobody wants it to end as we lap up the additional jam moments, the call and responses, the little side stories, the counting of drum beats – 2, 3, 4 and 21 – but it has to. It does end with one final hug of a tune wrapping it all up – 'Only To Be with You'. We go all out with the Roachford choir and we get a little extension for our efforts.
My whole body responded in waves – mini gospel earthquakes of joy. Goosebumps on goosebumps. It's like getting baptised in soul one final time before walking back into the secular chill of night.
Reassuring us they'll return sooner this time before getting a final tour photo of the band with the crowd behind them. Then it is done. I'm exhausted yet exhilarated.
Out into the cool night, ears ringing, cheeks sore from grinning – and a whole lot of punters leaving with an appreciation for the power of a soul groove done right. I'd love to see him again schooner not later. Like even next year's too far away. Just sayin', Roachford!
More photos from the concert.
