Berlin’s Mary Ocher. What a gal! Ned Collette & Wirewalker’s support act jingle-jangles her way onstage wearing an outfit that’s part-cabaret, part-biker chick, part-belly dancer. The crowd is murmuring quietly when Ocher rips into song with little ado – sounding somewhat like PJ Harvey in her ferociously ragged and raw early days – and the room does a little jump of fright.
In the span of her first song, I u-turn from giving apologetic smiles to the friend I bought along to sharing appreciative nods. Ocher has a tiny guitar amp through which she also runs her vocals and the overall result is harsh, tinny and inexplicably wonderful. Costume notwithstanding, there’s something most unceremonious about her presence. Standing square-on to the crowd, she tells us she has some “funny t-shirts” for sale. ‘What are you doing after the orgy?’ that kind of thing,” she explains, deadpan. She’s the definition of brash and brave.
Due to three other events in Sydney tonight pitched at the roughly the same gig-goers, it’s a decent crowd but not as full as you’d expect, given the reviews of Ned Collette & Wirewalker’s outstanding new record, 2. Ned is in the wings, wearing his white suit. In the dark, second-floor room in the seedy heart of the Cross, with two floors above and two floors below packed with people hell-bent on getting wasted, he has a faintly puritan glow about him. When he and Wirewalker come onstage, it seems like he’s a long way away, beamed up in body alone, spirit elsewhere. And, when they kick off with the icy rumination of ‘Il Futuro Fantastico’, we go too.
It’s harrowing when songs that are dear to you don’t translate live. So when ‘Il Futuro…’ begins I get a little jolt of panic. James Rushford’s synthesiser is demanding more attention than I’m accustomed to giving it and Ned’s vocals have an echoey, metallic effect. Fortunately, I adjust, and enrapturement follows. This full-frontal live version is totally gripping – and thus goes the gig. The songs from 2 are deceptively complicated creations, laden most obviously with evocative Spanish guitar, but also with nuanced atmospheric interludes. Instead of dispensing with the subtleties, Ned and co. have devised a way to bring that depth to the live show.
If you’ve ever had a Spaniard try to explain the soul of flamenco to you, you’ll know how they struggle. Known as the ‘duende’, they’ll tell you it’s the spirit evoked by the performer that you feel in a physical way, marking the passing of that spirit to you. While Ned’s bright Spanish guitar features on most songs, it’s not until the instrumental ‘For Roberto’ that we’re truly transported to the glaring, white sun of southern Spain. When you hear flamenco guitar played live, contrast with other instruments and styles, you really understand how fleshy, rich and full of life it is. Its warmth brings a shiver: the duende. The only track played that’s not from 2 is ‘The Pool is Full of Hats’ from an EP of the same name recorded before Ned moved to Berlin in 2010. The song is a mesmeric slow-burn, cresting in the explosion of showy flamenco everyone’s been waiting for; that incredible splayed, five-fingered strum that happens so fast Ned’s hand is a blur.
Songs bleed into songs. Nothing really happens, as such. There’s little banter and few smiles. There aren’t enough people here to warrant jostling so an attentive, solemn appreciation fills the room that, fortunately, stops short of reverent. The songs are so beautiful and finely wrought it’s nice to rest your head against the wall behind you, be at peace, and just listen. It’s even nicer not to endure one of those painful “dinner gigs” to do it.
Afterwards, a well-behaved line forms at the merch desk where Ned serves people courteously. “First – I’d like to say thanks, that was great,” says a guy. “Second – when are you coming back to Australia?” Ned looks lost for words. “I’m really not sure,” he replies. I feel a rush of relief I saw these songs performed live, so fresh, and close to their inception. He’s not “our Ned” anymore. Who knows if I’ll get the chance again?
Ned Collette and Wirewalker – Long You Lie from Lucy Dyson on Vimeo.
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The Vine version here.
