Radio One 91FM

The first thing that hits you when Vera Ellen walk on-stage is their dedication to the bit. Bob haircuts, baggy dress shirts, matching ties: all giving a beautiful sense of '90s I-Don’t-Give-A-F**k energy. The percussion is heavy, at times contrasting with Vera’s soft vocals, before complimenting them when she wails into the microphone in her signature perfectly-imperfect style. With her ferocious bite, a song like 'Broadway Junction' (the stand-out of her set, by far) becomes a piercing exercise in vulnerability. Vera opens her heart to the audience, and they gladly take it, as they bear witness to the anger building — not only in Vera’s own performance, but in every guitar strum and drum beat. The power of live music is being able to be a collective part of something like that, summed up simplistically but accurately by a fellow audience-member who whispered to me as we cheered: “Gives you goosebumps”.

With an off-kilter violin sending a dizzyingly, spellbinding effect across the crowd over sludgy bass, Reb Fountain takes the stage. She stomps her feet with aggression as her hands dance delicately in the air around her — she performs not only with her voice, her body becomes its own instrument. The lyrics wound you as much as the experiences she’s singing about may have wounded her. Her growling vocals and the haunting, swampy quality of the instruments flawlessly match the ‘witchy’ exterior of the band. When the instruments cut and only Reb’s voice hits the air, the audience goes mute. We are mere mortals compared to her and we savour every little crack in her vocals as she declares; “I carry myself like a f***ing boss”. The musicians' talent can be subtle at times, adding small yet powerful details to the overall sound, but when she compels us to “come dance in the shadows”, it builds to a murkier, dirtier, darker level; becoming an overwhelming noise backing Reb’s intoxicating request. These are the shadows you are now dancing in, and it is glorious. She leaves us with ‘Don’t You Know Who I Am’ and even the most stubborn audience-members are moving now. Reb points her finger across the crowd, her voice and eyes accusing every one of us. Going from delicate whispering to screaming into the mic, Reb’s finale ends in a monumental round of applause carrying on even after the band has completely left the stage.

Voom’s approach to their performance was a departure from the previous acts, immediately obvious from Buzz Moller’s compliment to the Dunedin weather (a quick trick to getting the crowd on your side). The music was, of course, extremely tight — especially the drumming. Scratchy, almost twangy vocals that still held a youthful aggression were encased in reverb and distortion. Most impressive was Buzz’s storytelling. Between each song, he’d give us succinct and witty tales behind its creation, sending ripples of laughter across the crowd. But when the music kicks in again, you feel as though you’re perpetually in the ending sequence of a 2010s-indie flick (in the best way possible). The guitars carry the emotional core of the songs, and the vocals pull in and out as if adrift at sea. Simply, it was a very fun set to watch — especially when Buzz sang ‘Martin Phillipps’ to the actual Martin Phillipps.

Each act delivered something different: Vera’s raw edginess, Reb’s wistful art ballads, and Voom’s tight indie-indie anthems. Yet there is one thing that ties them all together, a golden thread of vulnerability through performance, lyrics, and sound. You cannot come out of this show having not been deeply touched by their music.

This piece was written as part of a wider review of the Voom, Reb Fountain and Vera Ellen tour by the SRN (Student Radio Network) and originally published on UndertheRadar.

After my friend and I got rejected for a photo by new Vice Chancellor Grant Robertson, we headed to Union Hall to catch the openers for the Home Brew gig. I was going in blind, not hearing of the hip hop collective or any of their songs that they have released in the past two decades. He encouraged me that I would enjoy their stuff due to my love of jazz infused hip-hop. The first openers, Max Dad E, RyeChi, and DJ Shan did not disappoint. A group of MCs on stage with sweat towels and a DJ mixing with real vinyl brung an underground 90s era hip hop show, especially with their Wu-Tang Clan style beats. The range of production did vary though, with boom-bap, drill, trap, and west coast G-funk. The hooks, flows and stage presence were all great, even when they included the miracle spiritual double time flow that ruined the vibe for me. An overall good start to a promising night.

Big Sima then showed up on stage and oozed charisma. He had great crowd control (We all yelled “F**k the Government” and “F**k the Prime Minister.”) Sima’s songs often had the rags to riches approach to rap which I respect, but the big soulful hooks feel very played out and boring to my ear at this point. Sima also liked to use the triplet flow for these songs which went against the feel of the production and felt clunky. The guest singer he had was singing his heart out but I was not feeling it. Once the tempo picked up with the more trap style beats I was more engaged. My friend compared him to Shapeshifter and I felt he had a Royce Da 5’9” vibe. Overall, a decent set that just kept my anticipation and attention for the main act.

Before I start talking about Home Brew, I want to talk about bias in rap. Rap is full of bias. From the conception of the genre in the late 70s to the 90s in the “golden era”, hip-hop was only thought of as being a coastal genre, East or West. This was until OutKast won best new artist at the Source Awards with the iconic acceptance speech “The South got something to say”. Many people did not think women could rap until Queen Latifah and even then held out on saying any women were top 5 until Lauryn Hill swept the Grammys in 1999 with a classic album. White people often made corny rap, and it is still upsetting that Vanilla Ice is the first rapper to go number 1 on the charts. However, in 1999 Eminem came onto the scene and released three great albums in a row to prove it was not a fluke. I suffer from these biases myself. I did not want to listen to someone from England rap until I heard Skepta and Little Simz. Even as a queer person, I was hesitant to hear queer content in rap until Kevin Abstract and Tyler, The Creator. I say all this to say, I did not want to listen to a rapper from New Zealand until I heard Home Brew.

Instantly from the moment I saw Tom Scott on stage I knew why Home Brew was the headline act. Never before had I seen such a charismatic performer that had every member in the audience hanging on his every word. The crowd was fully engaged singing back each hook to Tom and the remarkable live band that gives the sound so much personality and depth. The live band consisting of drums, synths, electric guitar and bass gave such an energetic vibe that complimented Tom’s stage presence. A favourite moment of mine was when Tom sat down and just let the guitar player wail. It was soulful and beautiful. Lyrically, Tom is sharp, introspective and often melancholic, even all at once like with one of my favourites: “Drinking in the Morning” where he says “I’ve been mourning” and the crowd sings along. The music often conveyed the chill jazzy qualities of an early Mac Miller, along with a lyrical transparency of his later years. It is not always clear how Tom is mentally but on stage, it is hard to blame the crowd for not noticing as he just gives it his all.

Like Big Sima, Tom also gets the crowd to focus on politics with a call and response of “F**k Brian Tamaki, F**k David Seymour, F**k Christopher Luxon, Death to the IDF and From the river to the sea”. Tom also was able to reflect on a past song and said “When I wrote this I was a dickhead, and at one point we were all dickheads, and that helps us grow into who we are, so this is dedicated to the dickhead I used to be.” Unfortunately, a lot of the crowd continued to be dickheads. After the band had finished, someone jumped on stage and tried to sing into the microphone that was thankfully turned off. After the gig I stood around looking to get a shirt (they sold out) and a man clearly off his chops said “Nice mullet bro” and proceeded to stroke and play with my hair. When you are in a crowd of other people it is easy to take important stances but it appears harder to reflect these values in isolation. Tom Scott has seemed to grow up in the past two decades, I hope that his audience does too.