Let's Go!
A lounge-style set from Jess Day's band started the gig. It was a valiant effort, but not their intended performance, due to absence of Jess Day herself because of illness. This was followed by a tight and focused set from Dulcie, a performer with some great songs and genuine vocal talent. With the crowd suitably warmed up, King Stingray hit the stage at Freo Social to a tremendous welcome. The diverse and enthusiastic crowed were pumped and keen to see a young band in their youthful prime. They did not disappoint. If it wasn't already apparent from their eponymous debut, this performance left no doubt; King Stingray are one of the most exciting Australian bands to emerge in years.
Firstly, they like it loud. They're not My Bloody Valentine (I doubt anyone left with bleeding ears), but they clearly delight in giving their audiences a proper rock experience. And they're a rock band, no question. If there's a touchtone act to liken them to, it's got to be Midnight Oil. Given that the final song that played through the venue before they took the stage was Beds Are Burning, I reckon the band might agree. And though there's definitely some lyrical and thematic overlap, it's the aural resemblance that's most striking.
They share a love for a combination of rhythm and lead guitar, for psychedelic flourishes and for surf rock nods. Lewis Stiles might not hit the drums quite as hard as Rob Hirst, but to be fair, no one does. The bloke still knows how to make a snare drum wallop hit you square in the chest and create that roiling thunder that a proper band needs to find its fifth gear. And find it they do. Their rendition of Raypirri is a case in point. As a song, it thunders along like an outtake from Mirrorball, Neil Young's mighty collaboration with Pearl Jam in 1995. Stiles and bassist, Cambell Messer know how to lock in. It's double-speed grunge with a squalling solo and an urgent chorus. King Stingray have pop-hook instincts that Neil Finn could admire. Malk Mirri Wayin is a highlight. With its low-slung bass and chant-level vocals, it sounds like an early AC/DC classic before exploding into bludgeoning surf-grunge.
Similar qualities are on display in a room-swelling version of Sweet Arnhem Land, the song of the night for me. It showcases the band perfectly. King Stingray summon and sustain a chugging rhythm in the vein on Beds Are Burning and The Dead Heart, adding into the mix the swirling uniqueness of the didgeridoo. There's also a wonderful, overt nod to the Icehouse classic, Great Southern Land, with the repetition of the chorus line. It's a song that builds and build, becoming every more powerful and yearning. I doubt there wasn't a person in the room who wasn't longing for country they'd likely never seen.
And as great as the heady mix of instruments is, it’s in the vocal department that King Stingray have the edge over pretty much every other band out there. Lead singer Yirrŋa Yunupiŋu's voice is just incredible, an instrument seemingly rooted in the blood of country and kin. Not only can he wail, below and ululate with conviction and control, but he's an incredibly spirited and charismatic presence clearly adored by the crowd.
It's ballsy to try a bit of Freddie Mercury-style audience call-and-response in your first gig in WA, and impressive to make it work. Yirrŋa is a confident, charismatic and cheeky stage presence. Alongside him is Dimathaya Burarrwanga, who harmonises with Yirrŋa to produce a sound of searing beauty when he's not stepping in to take the lead vocal himself. To have one vocalist of this quality is rare enough, but to have two is just remarkable. And to ice the cake, Roy Kellaway is an integral part of the mix as well. He sings with unbridled passion, giving depth and support to the others. Heck of a guitarist, too.
When everything drops away, though, and Yirrŋa's voice wails and echoes as he sings in language, that's when you really get the chills. You're just in the thrall of the immediate and the ancient, connected and alive. It's honestly hard to describe the feelings that radiate from this band. It's just so obvious that they're having an absolute blast up there, playing together, smiling and interacting like the family band they are. Personally, I love it when band members turn inwards, looking at each other when they play. Watching Dimathaya locking in with Lewis, ripping away at his guitar like a bloke who's trying to start it is a sign of real connection and chemistry.
But there's message, too, and it's both vital and inclusive. When Yirrŋa talks to the audience, most are quickly quiet. He apologises for his English, noting that it's not his first language. Later on, Roy points out that English is his second language but his 17th. He's a man who speaks from the heart, as is Dimathaya, as is Kellaway.
This is perhaps the real key to the power and importance of King Stingray. I think I speak for a lot of people when I say that they are different. When they play, they are tapping into something OLD. Something sacred. Incredibly, they project it in a way that's inclusively glorious. It might sound sentimental, but being in the same room with these guys is a privilege. Rarely, when listening to music, have I ever felt so Australian, but never, when listening to music, have I felt Australian quite like this.
One final thing stood out. The first song of the encore was the band's Live at the Wireless cover of Coldplay's Yellow. Yes, it's an anthem that a crowd can enjoy, but it was poignant to me that the audience weren't singing Chris Martin's vocal line, but Yirrŋa's. This was a crowd of people who've fallen for King Stingray both hard and fast. They've quickly concluded that, to borrow from the boys themselves, there is something here, so beautiful and clear. Gee, they're not wrong. I hope they set the world on fire.
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