Harboured in one of Sydney’s most vibrant and culturally diverse social hubs, the Oxford Art Factory is known to churn through an array of creative acts on a perpetual assembly line, each product born into its own world of uniqueness and generously devoured by the rabid music consumers of Sydney. Twin Peaks and their supports managed to make it their own over an unforgettable night on the weekend.
A holy trinity of psyched out, garage rock perfection, Twin Peaks and their enigmatic supports truly tore a hole in time and space when they rocked OAF
On one particular evening, this hive of a joint sported the particular vibe of industrial scale madness as acts from all over the world joined artistic forces to put on a mind-bending rock and roll show that made an awe-inspiring example of what it meant to be alive and kicking within 21st century animosity.
I recently read up on the creation of hallucinogenic honey harvested by massive bees somewhere on this godforsaken earth. Entranced by the prospect of tripping the fuck out, as well as establishing a level of ‘horniness’ induced by simply ingesting the sticky, sweet liquid, I decided the ultimate precursor to this endeavour like this would be to see in the flesh Sydney indie psych-rock outfit Wild Honey.
Wild Honey induces a positive ascension within the spirits of ravenous show goers. Spraying the walls of the factory with their own creative seed, driving through a variety of sounds and genre influences to reach climactic conclusions. The lads combine elements of folk and indie rock with the outward grittiness of screaming solos and head banging breakdowns that kaleidoscope their sound into shamelessly addictive, jangly tunes.
Looking like the cast of Almost Famous, and donning a whole-hearted, passionate ethos towards their work, Wild Honey played a seamless set, all members constantly feeding off each other in intrepid gazes as they adventured around the diverse soundscape created by layering tasteful melodies and soothing lyricism over well orchestrated rhythmic fills and big, ingenious beats. Wild Honey played as if they had conscious reservations to activate a big broad smile on the gathering crowd within Oxford Art factory.
Looking over a shoulder, it was plain to see an edging mass of fresh-faced soldiers, moving in due time towards the stage rendering the first initial bursts of energy that would expand within every exciting moment of the band’s performance.
Wax Witches is the brainchild of Alex Wall. The band have spawned angelic mayhem and grown like a mutated seed birthed from an inconsiderate father. The 5 piece embody their primal sense by engaging in noise-driven ascension into a world of elusiveness, angst and overwhelming rapture. Exhibited among the walls of punk, psych, noise rock and pop, it would be downright sinful to put these guys in any sort of box.
Constantly riveting and expanding on their own fuse, branding these guys would be a mere understatement to their artistic integrity. Bringing a bratty, garage presence to the Oxford Art factory pedestal really made a grand association to many of the favoured parts of my brain, capturing in the most energising way possible what it means to discredit the established world. Distorted guitars wailed like crying infants during soundcheck. I consider the foundations of the building and attempt to reassure myself that these guys will not bring the ceilings down.
Wax Witches embed righteous societal discernments, political angst, and elusive personal depth within a distorted canvas of heaving guitar riffs controlled with perplexing dynamics and droning atmospheric contributions. Balls to the wall bass lines alight with anticipation compliment heavy- as- fuck, skin slapping and outright extravagant drumming that systematically destroyed the physical kit as it painted deep booshie grooves among spine-tingling anthemic jams.
Arriving on-stage with a subtle uneasiness, and unbeknownst to myself, Wax Witches were about to play their first ever show as a full band. A sudden feeling of monumental proportion came over the room, one moment in time, like the murder of Caesar or the day Henry Rollins got onstage with Black Flag. This was the immediate consummation of the future, and man they killed it. Losing all initial anxieties with their intense wall of sound, the band displayed a range of playground antics as emotions erupted into guitar vs crash cymbal battles.
Horizontal thrashings of demonic possession and reckless, child-like movements saturated dumb-struck punters into bug-eyed collisions and sweaty jostling, boosting the crowd into a frenzy. Wax Witches revealed in anthemic anarchy the electric connection to everyone’s adolescent introvert in both heart throbbing live performances as well as thoughtful and eclectically produced recordings.
Twin Peaks are masters of a controlled demolition. The Chicago rock ‘n’ roll 5 piece absolutely ignited the stage, illuminating their 60s influenced psych-rock sound with the lashings of on-stage tomfoolery and artistic recklessness. Twin Peaks have established a fun-filled sound, relying on generous repetition of delectable guitar riffs, that play out like an intriguing inside joke you desperately want to be a part of, smooth vocal harmonies reminiscent of Lou Reed’s Transformer and jangly passionate lyrics, inspiring all sorts of perceptive wisdom.
Jagged, bluesy keys tie in with a heavy, dominant drummer creating punchy stabs that cut through the endearing combination of melodic bass lines that walk all over the canvas. The group took alluring rowdiness into full consideration when demonstrating what it means to be a loose rock n roll unit on tour. Organ/piano player, Colin slung himself around a beery alter, in a consistent trance-like state as he was subdued by his surrounding counterparts, layering thick, transcendent chord structures behind the bite of a compelling lead guitar.
Onstage hardware was crippled under the ambitiousness of the gat and bass brigade that wildly aroused imaginative chaos, without missing a beat. Orchestrating this rodeo was the powerhouse drummer, Connor, who almost blasted a hole in his kick drum and melted cymbals in the apocalyptic marriage of rhythm and melody. And what exactly does one do in all this mayhem? Dance their tits off.
These fuzzy psych/pop/rock tunes were instilled in every striding step of organic human matter that entered the factory. Embellishing wholesome lyricism deep into the psyche of all-seeing eyes, and manifesting their ethos and attitude within jerky mass movements, liberated by joy. Twin Peaks have just released their new album Down In Heaven and have taken a substantial new leap into the world of emotive and uplifting creation. Developing unique narrative voices and catchy instrumentals the album is a landmark result of the prolific minds that constitute a fucken great band.
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