Brisbane’s pop-punk upstarts Two Times Shy are soaring lofty heights as they let loose their …
POLISH CLUB with All Our Exes Live In Texas + Sweater Curse
Factory Theatre, Sydney
Saturday July 14th, 2018
For two inner-city regulars jamming their hearts out, Polish Club muster an unethically juicy sound.
The smoky twang of frontman David Novak’s beat-the-f@ck-up baritone buzzes through the venue like a chainsaw through a megaphone, drummer John-Henry Pajak downright merciless behind his (surprisingly minimal) kit. But unbeknownst to us, it turns out there’s been something missing from Polish Club all this time. A sneaky dash of bitters in their double-shot Lemmy, that ups the sexiness from ten to 11 and drops the jaws of anyone with functioning ears: a little bit of slick, sonorous brass.
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So, finally weilding the budget to pull off the ultimate onstage gimmick, Polish Club swung themselves a five-piece horn section to amp up their hour of power. Goddamn, this was a wild night.
It all kicked off with a life-affirming set of rollicking post-hardcore jams from the Brisbane babes in Sweater Curse. And though their mix was nothing short of a trainwreck, the trio powered through with incogitable grace, cuts from their forthcoming debut EP beautifully toeing the line between lackadaisical and livid. Especially notable was the interplay between guitarist Chris Langenberg and bassist Monica Sottile, sharing lead vocals and luminous melodies with an unbreakable chemistry akin to that of seagulls and stray chips.
Sweaters Curse // By Britt Andrews
The pressure was on for the northern imports, too, given they were enlisted to replace Polish Club’s volksmusik alter ego, Polka Club (Novak and Pajak with the latter’s dad on the accordion, ripping out polka covers of current pop hits). The initial plans were axed after Pajak’s dad was diagnosed with cancer—though having seen the trio blast through a rare performance of Red River Rock (the closing track on Polish Club’s debut album, Alright Already), this scribe is more than willing to jump the gun and say that a Polka Club set would have been absolutely ace.
Sweater Curse // By Britt Andrews
Where the indie-emo fuzz of Sweater Curse played to many of their genres’ tropes (in a good way, of course), All Our Exes Live In Texas threw formula to the wolves. Meddling four-part harmonies with a soulful smoothie of accordion, mandolin, ukulele and guitar, the foursome had a packed crowd swaying and swooning from their first resonant hum. There was no definitive frontwoman in the mix, all four members playing to each other’s strengths with their unique, yet impossibly cordial voices all finding a moment to shine.
All Our Exes Live In Texas // By Britt Andrews
All Our Exes Live In Texas // By Britt Andrews
All Our Exes Live In Texas // By Britt Andrews
By the time Polish Club made their grand debut, the Factory Theatre was bursting at the seams with eager, beer-infused bodies all staring impatiently at the instruments lined up against the back wall—a baritone sax, a trumpet, two trombones and a tuba. It was dick-shrinkingly cold tonight, but as soon as the sultry septet sauntered out onstage, the venue became awash in the heat of 800 fiery woos (and Novak’s lustful smirk). A belting anterior cover of Give It Up by KC And The Sunshine Band made it perfectly clear: this was not the show we came to stand at the back and watch passively at. Dancing was 100 percent mandatory, and you can bet your ass we were going to follow those rules.
Polish Club // By Britt Andrews
Though they normally revel in the looseness of their drums-‘n’-baritone setup—matched with songs that melt by at breakneck speed like a ’50s rock ‘n’ rollercoaster—Polish Club were decidedly tight in their composure. Impromptu drum solos came a dime a dozen from a notably intoxicated Pajak, but they always managed to fit not a beat off-track with the quintet of roaring horns behind him. And with the focus off his manic riffing (which was unsurprisingly stunning), Novak was free to let his vocals take the centre stage, a soulful bellow echoing through the venue on every heartfelt quip.
Polish Club // By Britt Andrews
Such made for some truly memorable moments, like the Sinatra-channelling redux of Don’t Fuck Me Over, which became a stirring crooner in the hands of the brass ensemble. The earnest warmth of the doots lent to some other goosebump-inducing slow jams, too, like an impassioned recital of the fan-favourite Divided and a go at How To Be Alone (the deepest of cuts from Alright Already) that saw more than a few lighters raised to the stars. Bouncier cuts like Come Party and My House were largely unchanged from their regular formats, the horns instead adding a twinge of groove that turned otherwise mosh-ready bangers into nuclear bombs of danceability.
Polish Club // By Britt Andrews
It was towards the end of the set that shit really hit the fan. Midway through a choice slice of banter from Pajak, the PA cut out and left the stumped in silence. Not ones to let technical difficulties break their stride, however, the band quickly devised a plan to keep the punters entertained: make Novak do a shoey. The face of pure, unmitigated regret painted across the vocalist’s face will live with us forever—as will the memory of the band’s snap decision to play a semi-acoustic acoustic cover of Powderfinger‘s classic (Baby I’ve Got You) On My Mind, which the crowd were more than happy to belt every word to in Novak’s vocal absense.
Polish Club // By Britt Andrews
Ditto for their encore cover of Stop by the Spice Girls, featuring All Our Exes Live In Texas on backup vocals and the two primary Polish Clubbers trading lyrics Blink-182 style.
If there’s one fault the set presented, it’s that Polish Club sans horns may never live up to the cataclysmic grandeur tonight’s jaunt offered. Hell, if the duo found it in their hearts to make the brass ensemble a permanent hire, they’d find no complaints from Team Hysteria. It was the type of show that just immediately goes down in history; years from now, we’ll turn to our mates and say, “Remember that time we saw Polish Club play with horns at the Factory? Yeah, that was sick.”
