Reviewed on Friday November 20
My sneaking suspicion that many punters at Eden Mulholland’s Hunted Haunted album launch actually had no idea who Mulholland was only solidified when the gentleman next to me asked, “Wait, who are we listening to?” The source of confusion stemmed from the Apparat gig next door, which saw many fans arriving early for pre-drinks. Lucky for them, they scooped ace pre-show performances too.
Bathed in the glow of bare filament bulbs, Nick Pes was first for the night. Deftly looping riffs over click tracks and delay-saturated chords, the electro songwriter and producer filled the sparsely populated venue with mellow vocals and a summery sound. ‘Under The Light’ and ‘California’ impressed with a raw edge distinct from their usual programmed polish, but in terms of onstage warmth, Pes’ tropical printed shirt offered more flair than the singer himself.
What the evening lacked in stage presence, Sydneysider and indie singer-songwriter Hannah Joy brought in abundance. From the moment her lips hovered over the microphone, she commanded the space, her plucky vocals making sense of the Montaigne and Meg Mac comparisons. Nimbly shifting from swaggering keyboard progressions to grungier guitar moments, rustic warbles to gutsy choruses, it’s clear why Joy’s name is peppered across ‘must-watch’ lists.
Mulholland saw and raised Joy’s energy. The lyrics “Don’t be such an arsehole” blasted through speakers as he kicked off ‘River Of Hurt’. Jabbing synths and punchy lyrics induced mild boogying from the bar before the Kiwi composer swiftly progressed through the peculiar pop hailing from Hunted Haunted.
The detail and drive Mulholland conjured when backed by a mere drummer (albeit, a machine of one) was noteworthy. ‘Four To The Floor’ and ‘The New Old Fashioned’ bristled with an anthemic energy akin to The Jungle Giants. Meanwhile, the ebbing electronic layers that introduced ‘Blueprint’ and surfaced again for the finale, ‘Body Fight Time’, demonstrated the singer’s penchant for abstract tangents and cinematic-scale crescendos. (Fitting, given The Wizard Of Oz was playing behind him, depicting swirling tornado scenes.)
Mulholland’s banter lacked quite the same finesse (“Fucking gorgeous weather eh?”) but with a mere 45 minutes and a cast of lyrically rich songs available, no-one minded allowing the music to speak for itself.
With a set that carved out charged and contemplative moments, Mulholland delivered a performance that gave many listeners, including the gentleman next to me, ample reason to remember his name in the future.
