Paul Dempsey

I normally would cringe at the thought of a sold-out show. Sure, it’s great for the band, nice boost for the venue, all that, but for Joe Punter, it can be a nightmare. Rowdier clientele crushing one’s toes into a fine paste, beer and spittle flying like childish taunts and lies during Parliament Question Time, a general annoying hubbub. This may be own idiosyncratic neuroses (in fact, I am almost positive it is), but I was tremendously pleased whereupon entering the Northcote SC tonight and finding the prototypical Paul Dempsey/Something for Kate fan: for the most part, unlikely to pour vodka-cranberry down your shirt, waiting patiently for the man of the hour to grace the stage, keeping quiet when the man was singing in his ever-dulcet tones. The room was so hushed when Mr Dempsey spoke or sang that every holler and hoot could be heard by the general rabble. Is this a good thing? Who knows? Just setting the scene.

I know this squib of a review cannot truly paint the picture of a Paul Dempsey gig, if I may adjust my rose-coloured glasses ever so, but I have adored Dempsey and his SFK cohorts since I was a wee one. Echolalia was my Nevermind. A bold statement, perhaps, but Kurt Cobain’s sick anger never made me feel anything quite like what Paul Dempsey’s smooth emotive tone brought out. I don’t mean to get all “Dear Diary” on you, but his vocal stylings and amazingly real lyricism still make me quiver to this day. Dempsey played largely new songs that one can only assume will feature on his forthcoming solo effort, Everything is True (due in August), including the echo-y, folksy Out the Airlock. What really stirred the punters- if they could indeed be stirred, Dempsey and SFK fans not being the type for rambunctious rabble-rousing, not at a Dempsey or SFK gig, anyway- was his reworking of MGMT’s massive hit Time to Pretend. Even on acoustic guitar, those opening bars rang in our heads for hours proceeding.

You may not dig Something for Kate. You may find them dull, depressing, blasé; any synonym you may apply to what is essentially just poignant rock music. But one cannot deny the power Mr Paul wields in his pen; easily beating out the likes of Tim Rogers and Daniel Johns in my book of Aussie Lyricsmanship. Yet another job well done, sir.

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