Red Ink

Firstly, I must apologise to Johnny Rock and The Limits; I was unable to arrive in time for their set because I was told that there was to be a three-band line-up on the night. As I walked into the venue, I overhead one punter say to another, “yeah you just missed them, they were rad.” My loss, apparently.

MojoRising were the second support act, taking the stage after an interminable set up. From the very moment the band began, diplomatic phrases started flying through my head. I prefer to write positive reviews, you see. The band’s brand of pop-blues-rock is definitely not going to knock your socks off, which is as succinctly as I can put it. I’m not going to say they were bad; they weren’t. They were, however, wholly average. There is simply nothing that distinguishes MojoRising from every other act like them, and there are many, many others like them. Think Maroon 5’s sound and lyrics and you’ll be close. Unfortunately, the world only needs a handful of Maroon 5-type bands, if that, and MojoRising surely aren’t going to be one of them. Most local rock bands speak fondly about ‘making it’: the process of getting signed to a label, touring the world to screaming fans and becoming rich and famous. I don’t know if that’s what MojoRising want, but if it is, I would suggest that their efforts might be in vain. I really hate to single anyone out, but my bleak prognosis of the band’s prospects is largely due to lead singer JJ’s lack of X-factor. He doesn’t have a big enough voice, an impressive enough range nor a memorable tone. Again, just average. The band’s cover of Sam Sparro’s Black and Gold, undertaken in all earnestness, perfectly illustrated MojoRising’s lack of creativity and individuality. I don’t think you should cover a song if you’re not going to interpret it in your own way; if I wanted to see glorified karaoke, I’d watch Australian Idol. That, or visit some crappy over-forties bar. Anyway, MojoRising had me looking forward to the next band.

Dead Actors Club strutted on to the Evelyn stage next in all their tight jeans and nice shirts, their set up time not quite as protracted as the previous band’s, which I was grateful for. The boys look every bit the rock stars, imagine The Strokes’ get-up, and you won’t be close; you’ll be bang on. So, they talk the talk, I thought to myself before they began, but if you’re going to put so much effort in to your image, you had better walk the walk. And for the best part, DAC put on a pretty convincing show. Their songs are tight and loud; solid, formulaic rock n roll. Nothing new, nothing courageous, no more than you would expect from a mainstream rock band. I suppose the appeal is there for the many people who like their rock music straight up and down. One thing bothered me about DAC’s performance however, and it was the arrogant swagger of the lead singer, whose name I could not source from the internet. This guy’s stage performance made Liam Gallagher look like His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He waltzed out onto the stage with a glass of red in hand, which got me offside instantly. He proceeded to give the entire performance with his head firmly lodged up his arse, which probably accounts for the mediocrity of his vocal work. His baritone melodies were forgettable, if not boring, and he showed not even glimpses of a technical or artistic brilliance that might justify his over-confidence. My advice: less time in front of a mirror, more time improving your voice. When the same young man dropped the microphone at the end of the set with an overwhelming air of conceit, I looked around to assure myself that I was in fact at The Evelyn, not Rod Laver Arena, and that I was seeing a local band, not fucking Pearl Jam. Look, other people -let’s say imbeciles- might like that phony bullshit, but I sure don’t. At the end of the day, Dead Actors Club probably will ‘make it’ after not too long, simply because they do what people expect them to do and they look like people expect them to look. If mainstream success is what you’re after in this music caper, you have to learn pretty quickly that the emphasis falls far heavier on the flashy package than the musical substance. Dead Actors Club seem pretty darned aware of that.

Anyway, Red Ink bounded forth a short while later and my night finally looked up. To say that this is one of Melbourne’s hottest unsinged bands is an understatement, and I am yet to leave a show of theirs disappointed. There is a genuineness to their pop-rock that is wholly endearing; unlike the previous band, no pretensions whatsoever can be detected. Lead singer John Jakubenko bounces around the stage without a hint of self-consciousness, his tenor range soaring all the while. With all his entertaining movements and emotive top notes, Jakubenko is surely is one of the more accomplished performers I’ve seen for less than fifty dollars. If I had but one minor complaint, it would be that I’d like to see his hands away from the synthesizer more often, leaving him free to move. A minor concern though. As a unit, Red Ink look truly comfortable and cohesive as they deliver their set with the right mix of precision and looseness. The band’s newer songs are less hook-oriented and slightly more challenging, giving their set, which is otherwise full of ever-so-catchy tunes like Love on a Park Bench and An Elaborate Plan to Run Away, a fuller, more complete feel. Watching the lads simply enjoy putting on a show is something that makes it near impossible for the audience to have anything less than a memorable experience at a Red Ink show. This surely is one band to keep your eyes on.

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