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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.
