DUNE RATS // The Kids Will Know It’s Grouse But

Dune Rats + Skegss + The Gooch Palms – Metro Theatre, Sydney – Saturday, March 25th 2017

For every niche-ish alternative genre gig, there is a ferociously stereotyped uniform to match. At metal shows, it’s Rapunzel-esque black hair and band shirts lettered in frizzy tree branches.

At hardcore shows, you’ll find cheezel-sized gauges and crewnecks with band names printed on the sleeves. And when it comes to 420-friendly skate punk shows (like tonight’s sold out Dunies joint at the Metro) expect to see ratty blonde hair, pencil moustaches and four-day old Thrasher shirts—of which there is an abundance tonight.

It’s an all ages show, too, so we’re gifted the added bonus of 800 ninth graders bragging about how fucked up on dad’s cask wine they are – “dude, I drank, like, three Cruisers earlier,” we overhear at one point. Ah, to be young again! The overbearing stench of shit weed and Lynx Africa singes the hair lining our nostrils as we stumble into an already-choccas Metro Theatre; add to it the sweat of a pre-set mosh to the official anthem of the late ’90s (We Like To Party! by Vengaboys), and yep, we’re definitely at the right gig. Beers flow atop the rafters and we all chuck a yarn about how bloody good The Kids Will Know It’s Bullshit is: there’s a reason it scored Dune Rats a #1 spot on the ARIA Charts, after all, and if you’re still yet to soak in all of its weird and wacky riff-laden glory, we wholly suggest sussing our 8/10 review. (#shamelesspromo). 

Before the Brissy babes hit the stage, though, we’re given a big ol’ Novocastrian welcome (basically, your choice of a shotgun or a shoey—we opt for the shotgun) by self-proclaimed “shit-pop” provocateurs The Gooch Palms. The duo revel in immediate adoration from their younger crowd, and with a breezy brew of sugar-sweet guitar jams and whimsical charisma, it’s hard to justify standing at the back of the pit. Their carefree groove offers little in the way of complexity—Kat Friend (wo)mans two cocktail drums and Leroy Macqueen riffs on a fuzzy Strat sans pedalboard, both handling vocal duties—but what they lack in sustained sonic potency,  they make up for with a jovial bogan dorkiness and enough ridiculous stage banter to keep our eyes pinned on the two-piece throughout.

Where most bands end their set on a round of applause, The Gooch Palms bid us an abrupt farewell to the sweet, soothing sounds of the Metro’s fire alarm.

The setlist is built on cuts from last year’s Introverted Extroverts, which makes sense given that it’s an entire album of sheer, unadulterated fun. Slacker anthem Don’t Look Me Up shines in all of its retro-fused funkiness, while Tiny Insight harks back to the days when all we cared about was petting dogs and catching Hi-5 after pre-school… Except, well, drunker. Where most bands end their set on a round of applause, however, The Gooch Palms bid us an abrupt farewell to the sweet, soothing sounds of the Metro’s fire alarm.

Alright, which little shit lit a spliff in the men’s room?

Evacuating close to a thousand riled up rascals proves easier said than done for the dozen or so security guards. Taking full advantage of the calamity with which their set imposes, Macqueen races back onstage to bust out a cheeky drum solo (the wailing alarm his metronome) as we shuffled like penguins through the emergency exits. Chants alternate between “DUNE! RATS!” and “BULL! SHIT!” while a corner store clerk enters meltdown mode over the onslaught of messy teenagers spilling out into the streets out front his store. Nobody seems fazed by the alarms or evacuation—the general vibe is more, “Fuck yeah, something to talk about at school on Monday!” A short street-wide singalong of Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start The Fire later, we’re ushered back inside. A decent intermission, we’d say!

“People are just well and truly enjoying themselves, because really, that’s all one can do whilst listening to Skegss.

Skegss kick off no more than five minutes later, and with everyone still buzzing from the brief pre-show clusterfuck, the Byron Bay surf-punks are met with a rapturous outburst of energy. It’s not an aggressive pit, though—people are just well and truly enjoying themselves, because really, that’s all one can do whilst listening to Skegss. It’s easy to see why the Dunies made these lads the first signing on their record label (Ratbag Records): they both share the same scratchy and laid-back groove, but where Dune Rats often go for the loud and anthemic, Skegss slip more comfortably on the hazier and more easygoing side of the spectrum. They have it in them to go big—take Fun for example, with its booming hooks and buoyant refrain—but it’s songs like New York California that, in all of its jammy, beachy nonchalance, truly win us over. That tune in particular sees bassist Toby Cregan trade places with Benny Reed on lead and vocals—obviously, he nails it.

Cregan’s voice is raspy, draws attention and punches a little harder than Reeds. That said, there isn’t a moment where Reed doesn’t have the whole crowd in the palm of his hand. Sloshy yells and scuzzy riffs are as plentiful as the stage-divers (and there’s a lot of stage-divers). And y’know what goes down especially well after taking one too many Vans-es to the back of the head? Correct: an ice cold can of Dunies Lager! The recent Young Henrys collab boasts a 4.20% ABV (noice) and “full blown dank hop” flavour. It may look like a bit of a gimmick—because it is one—but even as someone whose beer preference is “as a last resort”, this scribe found themselves going back to the bar for seconds. There’s a reason Hysteria sticks to music and not beer, but if we had to spew our two cents, we’d say the late-addition hop hash is a nice touch, and the drop as a whole is sweet and malty.

Now all that’s missing is Scott Green…

For their biggest tour on home soil yet, Dune Rats are making full use of their spacious surroundings. They’ve decked the stage out with two enormous light-up joints that arch over the band and billow smoke throughout the set; on either side of the stage, there’s a giant middle finger cutout lined with Christmas lights. There’s much else to be distracted by as well, but from the second Blur’s Song 2 (a fucking classic and a half, may we add) starts pumping over the PA, all eyes are locked square on the boys from Brissy. Before they even batter out the juicy first riffs of Don’t Talk, the pit unfurls into sheer, sweaty chaos. Chasing it with 6 Pack and Demolition Derby, a consensus is set: by some unholy sorcery, The Kids Will Know It’s Bullshit is even better live than it is on wax. Goddamn.

Their whole schtick might be songs about getting messy, but as a live unit, [Dune Rats are] anything but..

Such is further proven when it becomes clear that, aside from a few choice cuts from their 2014 self-titled debut, the band are more or less playing the album from cover to cover. Never Gonna Get High makes for an early highlight, with a now completely packed room belting out the chorus so loud that frontman Danny Beausa is almost drowned out in the singalong. You can tell that he’s still a little blown away by all of the Dunies’ recent success as he soaks in the love with every circle pit and cheer. You can also tell that he—and bassist Brett Jansch, to that extent—is beyond wrecked after a ten-date national sprint: his voice is next to nonexistent, and there are a more than a few moments in which we’re certain he’s about to collapse onstage. Both members still pour 110 percent into their stage presence, however, each passing minute bringing with it another throng of fiery passion and cut-throat riffery. Their performances don’t suffer with such theatrics either: their whole schtick might be songs about getting messy, but as a live unit, they’re anything but.

It’s hard to believe that Dune Rats play for an entire hour tonight—the fifteen-track set seems to fizzle by without a breath, leaving us desperate for another wallop of dusty overdriven guitars. Lola feels a fair bit out of place as the night’s designated “slow jam”, but as the build-up for a triple-hit climax in Braindead, Funny Guy and Bullshit, we’ll give it a pass. A grungy cover of Violent Femmes’ Blister In The Sun stands out in the encore. The response comes nowhere close to the all-out eruption of bodies treated to Dalai Lama Big Banana Marijuana. Love them or hate them, it’s a hard fact that Dune Rats know what they’re doing. Regardless of how lasting or “respectable” that may be, they do it pretty fucking well.

Sidenote: shoutout to the dude who decided that traditional stage-diving was too boring and straight up cannonballed into the crowd. We hope you didn’t break too many unsuspecting punters’ teeth.

SETLIST

Don’t Talk
Six Pack
Demolition Derby
Red Light Green Light
Never Gonna Get High
Mary
Scott Green
Buzz Kill
Counting Sheep
Like Before
Wooo!
Lola
Braindead
Funny Guy
Bullshit
——————
Superman
Blister In The Sun (Violent Femmes cover)
Dalai Lama Big Banana Marijuana