Club NME

And it seemed like such a good idea.

Well, that’s not technically true. At forty bucks a pop and only one live band advertised (‘DJs ain’t rock stars’), Club NME was heading headfirst for an epic fail. Having apparently been cancelled in other cities due to low ticket sales- and a two-for-one deal enlisted to help shift units- it looked to be barely floating, despite the band/club night’s popularity in the UK.

But, in accordance with many of the shittier laws of the universe, indie-tastic Purple Sneakers DJs pulled out a week or so before, then- seemingly on the night- Victoria’s Yacht Club DJs also cancelled their set. Black Night Crash DJs (Saturday nights at the Rochester in Melbourne) were given the honour and dubious assignment of keeping a relatively meagre crowd pumped until midnight-odd when Philadelphia Grand Jury took stage.

‘However will this pan out?’ one wonders.

Melbourne’s Love Connection began the night; a largely instrumental affair (live at least). They are to whom many might attribute phrases like “sonic soundscapes” and “fantasmical”. The music is expansive in a dreamy, very nineties way. The ringing guitar sounds are like church bells in an acid trip; the night is young, and we are now hopeful.

The Rochy DJs do their thing, pulling out all the indie rock and retro stops to get the punters stoked. Arctic Monkeys, The Big Pink, The Rapture…people were beginning to set drinks down and fill the space with cheerful boogying (except a few who could not tell whether Jamiroquai’s ‘Canned Heat’ had been played in irony or not).

I didn’t care; perhaps because I, like Jay Kay, also had canned heat in my heels tonight bay-beh...or perhaps because I have no shame.

We all hid gleeful awe as Andy Rourke- legendary Smith's bassist- took his seat for his much-anticipated DJ set. He played much of what was to be expected- patron saints of Indiedom (Joy Division), The Kinks, Groove Armada, Stone Roses…nothing to make you go ‘ahhh’ basically. But the mission was more or less achieved; people were dancing.

I don’t know what to think about Philadelphia Grand Jury. On the one hand, they annoy me to no end; nuances of the members tend to grate upon me like tiny pinches. It could be Simon Berckelman’s (aka Berkfinger) whiny voice (which does not make itself as apparent on the studio recordings, no, sir) or the pre-recorded between-song banter…I’m not sure.

On other hand, though, I must at least commend them on their phenomenal energy during their set, despite the average-sized, slowly thinning crowd (which may have caused other bands in their position to self-deprecatingly and uncomfortably remark on the lack of patronage…I hate that) and after-midnight timeslot.

Their songs are rabidly electric; namely elongated, frenetic set closer ‘I Don’t Wanna Party (Party)’, ‘Going to the Casino’ (Does anyone else think this track would’ve been awesome on the Hangover soundtrack? Just me?) and Philly Jays’ Like A Version track, a cover of Jay Z’s ‘99 Problems’ which, although pale in comparison to the original, is a greatly fun ender for the crowd.

Better luck next time, NME.

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