The Grates

A fresh Melbourne breeze whips through our ears and eyes, even with my shielding glasses. It is so bracing and cool I cannot bear to wind up the window, not on a night like this, despite being unable to hear the stereo blaring. Regardless of being slightly perturbed by the ungodly heat one has to face in the Hi Fi Bar ahead of us, it is a splendid night on all matters concerned. Allow me.

Entering the Hi Fi at the tail end of a John Steel Singers harmonica solo, I felt the sharp pang of music nerd regret for having missed a vital opportunity. One day. The Vasco Era graced the stage looking steerage, smiling and frontman Sid making crazy eyes. Only having seen them once before- at Laneway Festival, and I don’t recall having lurved them then- I was as surprised as most of the other Grates fans in the audience to have been blown away by the three-piece. They have the spontaneous insanity that makes for a stout rock show, all sweat and energy and noise. Sweet Honey Bee was like an aural hallucinogen; I was wholly engulfed and I would gladly pay to be so again.

Bounding on stage to the Laverne and Shirley theme song, Patience Hodgson is mostly a blur. She is rapid kicking legs and a big toothy grin. She is a wave of dark brown hair springing about the stage. Cute as a button drummer Alana plays with feline curiosity and concentration, looking out worriedly before each song. Don’t worry, Alana, you got all the hits right. The Grates remind me of an article called Younger Than Yesterday by esteemed music writer Simon Reynolds: he delves into the notion of indie- pop’s “cult of innocence”, its throwback to sixties' customs and style, and its propensity towards child-like naivety. The way modern rock leans more toward maturity, perspicacity, and the contemporary, whereas Indie pop is loaded with bubblegum colours and fairy bread; a step back in time, into innocence, unknowing, bliss. Now, even though I’ve just rather arrogantly categorized The Grates into a genre I deem fit, as I watch Patience fling herself about and Alana bang away at her drum kit and John strum attentively (just excitedly enough so as not to steal attention from the hyperactive frontwoman) all I can think of is a conversation (well, debate) (well, argument) I had in high school with an older punk girl (I only having just joined the church) who berated me on the sudden (and apparently unearned) self- induction into Punk-hood. “Punk isn’t about what music you like” she snarled. “It’s the attitude; it doesn’t matter if you like fucking New Found Glory, it’s about not caring what people think, and having fun and getting fucked up”. I can see a manifestation of punk in The Grates, and I wonder if that girl would stab me with her lip ring if she was here today.

They played all the atypical Grates tracks; from newbies like Burn Bridges and Carve Your Name to the songs that rocketed the candy kids to indie stardom like the nonsensical ADHD tinged 19-20-20 to show closer and personal singalong favourite Inside Outside. But as if they wouldn’t play them. I suppose what allows me to adore the Grates so (I don’t own any of their records, I’ll admit it. Their live show is fantastic and no CD can do it justice) is their communication with their audience; especially Patience, who treats every spectator like a mate, perhaps more so if you happened to be the young buck whose shoulders Patience rode, drifting atop the crowd like a sailboat. Bet the lad couldn’t believe his luck.

NB: To the young spectacled lad whose lack of enthusiasm was dwarfed (no pun intended) by his idiocy; it’s funny because you got told off by the security for throwing water bottles from the stage into the crowd. HAHA OWNED!

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