The prospect of seeing Hot Water Music on Valentine’s Day at King Street was exciting. An excuse to bring the old band back together, run through some trusty chords and recount our bruises.
Our first candy came in the form of Newy’s own Melvic Centre. From the brain of Will Mitchell, MC delivers an impressive quiver of incredibly tight, catchy and accomplished arrow-shaped songs bursting with melody, sharp guitar and fist-clenching choruses and this reviewing record store owner can’t help but feel chuffed for ramming Paul Westerberg and Bob Mould into Mitchell’s ear drums.
Chris Cresswell appeared in his first set of the night with Canada’s favourite sons The Flatliners. It’s a ridiculous contradiction, given the band exudes more life than most. Cresswell opened the set declaring love on the room with an impassioned monologue about diversity and inclusion as he handed out white flowers from a vase. A real nice touch. They powered through a greatest hits set full of sing-alongs and sunny moments they’ve built their brand on.
Hot Water Music is one of the more reliable rock n roll bands. You know, a band you wish more bands were like – on and off the stage. A band you can trust. No shit. No ego. Nothing fake. But heading in there were mixed feelings about the absence of co-founder Chris Wollard, Flatliner Cresswell assuming Wollard’s role in the band as well as his own.
Wollard’s voice is such an integral part of the HWM DNA it just felt weird, and having never seen the band before, I’d put disappointment on the show before they’d even struck a blow. I needn’t have. The show did everything but disappoint.
The band took the stage without a fuss, soundtracked by the Beastie Boys Sure Shot. The fish-catchin-knife-sharpenin-cabin-buildin woodsman Chuck Ragan picks up his Gibbo, swells the volume and all of a sudden the pang of King Street gives way to the distinct smell of fine leather and rich mahogany.
Chuck’s a blokes bloke. A man whose arms you long to be squeezed in. A man who could just be the bastard son of local restaurateur Mike Galvin and Fern Bay’s own Billy Bragg – Jamie Hay, who must’ve been proud watching on from a few rows back in an obviously loyal and eager audience.
Opening with Menace from their most recent album, Vows, it seemed as though the band felt they needed to make up for lost time, having stayed away from Australia too long. They powered through the first bracket but it was during State Of Grace that they really clicked into gear.
Chuck and Chris trade vocals and guitar noodles back and forth like a tag team flogging, belting punters up the guts with anthem after anthem as the two frontmen bound around the stage throwing their fists against their guitars. George Rebello swings his arms behind the kit without a fuss, while bassist Jason Black seems glued to his post, guarding his drummer with swift fingers and a head locked in a groove like his life depended on it.
The mature crowd responded in kind, winding the clock back with plenty of crowd surfing and a good ol’ friendly moshin, chanting along with every single word. Then like a Caterpillar dump truck in a quarry, Ragan let ten tonnes of gravel tip from his mouth – ‘I need a remedy of diesel and dust, something I can taste with the things I can trust’ and the pit opened up to swallow it whole. After Remedy, there was only one place to go, and they closed a wonderful set with Trusty Chords.
I nearly didn’t go. I’m so thankful I did. The moral of the story, don’t give up on love. I and a couple hundred others witnessed it in the form of punk rock n roll and if anyone deserved their flowers, it was Hot Water Music.
