80-kidz-hands-bwr-300x300This week has been a grueling battle over sleep. On one side, two exhausted parents. On the other, two young boys to whom going to bed is tantamount to defeat. More than once during the hostilities, both Dr. O’C and I have daydreamed about the halcyon days before we had kids. The quiet, the leisurely Sunday mornings, the nights out. The quiet.

All of these are things of the past. I can probably count on all my extremities the number of times Dr. O’C and I have been out on our own in the evening since we moved to Australia. Hell, we haven’t been out to see a band since we emigrated. I love live music, love the thundering noise and the sweat of the crowd. I love the anticipation as the roadies tune up and the exhilaration as the band takes the stage. I love the charade of demanding a predetermined encore; sweaty, ears ringing. I don’t know how many live shows I’ve been to in my time, but even when it’s been a bad show*, I’ve had a good time.

These days, I just don’t get out to hear much music. A lot of it is the kids and the mental, emotional and physical exhaustion that comes with them. But more than that, we don’t get a lot of great bands coming through – Australia is kind of off the beaten track – and when we do, tickets are often ridiculously expensive. For example, The Pixies are coming through in the New Year. Now, I love The Pixies. They’re seminal. But they want $100 a piece for tickets. $100 buys a lot of Pixies albums. Or ice creams.

However, 18 months without seeing a decent band is a long time. So, when a friend e-mailed a couple of weeks ago asking if I wanted to go see Gomez at The Gov this Friday, I pounced. Price be damned. Haven’t cut a great album in a decade? Who cares. Kids? Well, let them fend for themselves for a night. Builds character.**

bring it onGomez. Dr. O’C turned me on to Gomez during the long distance wooing phase of our relationship. She used to send me packages full of music and chocolate – is it any wonder that I was smitten? Some of you might remember the British indie rockers from their first two albums in the late 90’s – “Bring It On” and “Liquid Skin”.  The former, in particular, was a fantastic record, especially when considered in context. The late 90’s British rock scene was dominated by bands like Oasis that made brash, bombastic, derivative pop. With their debut, Gomez offered up a warm and genuine sound – Anglicized Americana with a playful jazzy rhythm section and lots of tempo changes. But it was their cheeky, carefree lyrics that really made me into a fan.

Their sound has progressively changed over the years, gone softer, more ‘Dad rock’, more predictable. The critics who lauded them as the next great British rock band in 1998 have largely spurned Gomez as a flash in the pan. But I like a band that ages along with me; that doesn’t try to do the same thing album after album until it just becomes a farce. You can only be ‘groundbreaking’ for so long before it all sort of falls apart underneath you.

a-new-tideAnd the latest offering from Gomez is certainly not a groundbreaking album, but it’s a hell of an enjoyable listen. You can hear a band that is comfortable in its own skin, that knows each other well and plays off of each others’ strengths. They’re ripe. Mature. “A New Tide”  doesn’t grab you and shake you to the core, it creeps up on you sounding stronger with every listen.

I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I’ve never seen the band live, but I know what to expect. I know what I’m going to feel – the liberation of being drowned in sound, the carefree feeling of a night on the town without two kids and all the trappings that goes along with them. A few precious hours of a time that’s gone by. A night in 1998.

Fantasy, sure. But until our coach turns back into a pumpkin on Saturday morning with the cries of an eight week old baby, it will definitely do.

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“A New Tide”, the latest from Gomez, as well as their excellent back catalog, is available from Gomez - A New Tide.

Image credits:

Crowd

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*Worst show ever? Morrissey, 1994, Seattle. Someone through a beer at him and he spat the dummy. Flounced off the stage never to return. Still had a good time.

**I shouldn’t need to say this, but of course we’re not leaving them alone. The dog will be home as well.

 
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