Basement Jaxx

Considering how many people protest that they ‘hate the Potbelleez,’ there’s a healthily half-full venue waiting for the Sydney-siders warm up set. Despite being given what can be only described as ‘support sound’ (i.e, we only turn on the real speakers for the main act), this energetic foursome blast through their string of radio favourites like veterans – and that’s probably because they are. In the last year, Potbelleez have seen more stages than hot dinners, and they’ve got their performance down to a fine art.

Dynamic front man Ilan Kidron combines the best of sex and stage, running around bare chested and pushing out phenomenal vocal lines at the same time. Really, I thought I’d heard enough of Don’t Hold Back to last me a life-time, but the Irish DJs chop and screw things up until it becomes a crowd anthem worthy of its’ status. Whether these guys will prove to be as dispensable as arch-nemeses Sneaky Sound System remains to be seen, but they seem to cherish the adulation far more than their Bondi predecessors.

Nobody can ever accuse Basement Jaxx of being normal. In fact, tonight they prove once and for all that they are the apotheosis of ‘weird’, in case you hadn’t guessed that from their huge back catalogue. Survivors of a time when Big Beat was all the rage in the UK, the Jaxx have survived by continuously adapting their sound while keeping their love for a good hook firmly planted in the ground. They also know how to secure top talent; three amazing female vocalists, a drummer, percussionist, tuba/trumpet player and a couple of grime boys to rap for the hell of it. Watching this show is like Carnivale on acid; there’s so much colour and sound that you’re in danger of having sensory overload. The girls change costume, role play, and flirt with security, while belting out dance epics Good Luck, Red Alert and about twenty more.

Some flagrantly homosexual dude who looks suspiciously like Sam Sparro gets up to slink his way through Plug It In, while the centrepiece of the set goes to the big Momma (I’m sorry, I will find out your name!) who croons a cool jazz version of Romeo with the technique and control of Ella Fitzgerald. That’s not just superlatives, she really is that good – and she can dance too! The brains behind the operation indulge themselves by throwing in a number of random tracks from new EPs that very few people have heard, including that collaboration with Lightspeed Champion that sounds dangerously like Phil Collins. Luckily, they save themselves in the eleventh hour when Felix pre-programs Where’s Your Head At?, leaves the DJ console and proceeds to go absolutely spastic on stage, completely disregarding convention that thy mix master shall not sing, dance or fall on the floor like he is having a fit.

Coming back to kick some arse with the Latin-flavoured (they’re well good at that) Bingo Bango, they finish the night by busting out Do Your Thing in a sort of conga-line/mass orgy on stage that has the whole place on their feet – not hard seeing as they never actually sat down. It’s a spectacle well worth the accolades; in the time of digital downloads and musical suicide, at least there’s one outfit that never forgot how to have fun.

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