Boy and Bear at The State Theatre, Sydney

Sophie Metcalfe reviewed and photographed Boy and Bear's gig in Sydney last week:

It has been a while since I’ve been to an all-ages gig. I think we can all agree that the all-ages plaque is usually an instant repellent for anyone who’s post teen. An environment involving small greasy things with underdeveloped limbs prodding our sides and screaming ‘I love you’ toward the stage. But, if there’s anybody thinking of enduring such a crowd – then The State Theatre is the place to be.
No wait - Boy and Bear at The State Theatre is the place to be.

It was great to be in an atmosphere where the excitement started from the opening song of the first act. Tin Sparrow began with their chai scented folk like a welcoming hug. Following this was Jungle Giants and although I usually switch off when any Vampire Weekendesque indie-rock comes my way – I actually caught myself bopping along somewhat pleased! By the time Boy and Bear came on, the excitable young things, the palatial setting and the man walking around selling candy and ice cream had seduced me. So no matter what went down I had already given this night a thumbs-up.

Opening with Rabbit Song – the boys quickly reminded us why we were all there. Grabbing our attention with flawless harmonies and a fluid light display, Boy and Bear had captured the attention of everyone in their hot little hands. One thing to be said in particular is that they have a great onstage presence. Engaging in banter that isn’t flawlessly witty, but rather a relaxed and goober-esque interchange between mates, it made you feel like you were in their garage drinking their dads' Coopers and just having your usual Sunday night session. They have a knack however, of going straight from having this grand old chinwag to slipping into a beautifully executed, intimate minor melody.

They glided through an impeccable set which was sprinkled with heckles from girls ranging from ‘marry me Dave’ to ‘I love you’ and there was even a sneaky ‘fuck me’. By the time the set got to Feeding Line, the girls were out of their seats and lining the walls of the theatre; everyone had fallen in love with
them all over again. There was an endearing little spiel about how they don’t like the idea of encores and then told us of their ‘mock-encore’, which involves pretending to leave the stage. Dave shoots one last heart melting glance to the audience, the girls scream a little more and then they play their ACTUAL last song.

Thank you Boy and Bear – for pulling a cynic out of her depths and giving her a truly fantastic, light-hearted night at the theatre.

Words and photographs by Sophie Metcalfe.

Musical memories - No 1. Antony finally opens his mouth

I’ve been to a lot of gigs in my time and have seen more bands than I can recall. Some were mind-blowing, some terrible, most have landed somewhere between being slightly below average and quite good. I have experienced, though, a few occasions that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think of them. Not necessarily entire gigs, but just something - a moment, a song - that endures where other memories fade. I thought I would share a few of these via occasional posts here. First up, a moment that took my breath away.

It all started at 9pm on a balmy summer night in Sydney in 2007. The Sydney Festival was in full swing and, as always, there was a booth in the city centre that sold a limited number of tickets for every show for just $25. The catch was that you could only get these tickets on the morning of the performance. With Lou Reed set to play his Berlin album in its entirety at The State Theatre, I decided to queue all night in order to secure a ticket. The 12 hours that I lined up for were amazing fun and transformed the gig into an awesome two-day experience. Friendships were born that exist to this day as members of Sydney bands Bridezilla, Whipped Cream Chargers and Chicks Who Love Guns hung out, played cards and gently strummed guitars while we all waited for the sun to appear from behind the high-rises and signal the opening of the box office. By just after 9am, the queue snaked for blocks. Some people were cosily tucked up in sleeping bags, some were dozing away the effects of the previous night’s alcohol, others were dressed in suits, ready for a day at work. Many would miss out on tickets. I, however, pasty-faced and bleary-eyed, would soon be making my way home, ticket in hand, for a few hours’ sleep before the big night ahead.

After all that, the Berlin show didn't turn out to be as remarkable as I’d hoped. Maybe I was simply too tired to fully appreciate it. The night before had left me feeling jetlagged, and my vantage point - standing at the back of a seated theatre - didn’t fully immerse me in what was happening onstage. Also, I found myself growing increasingly frustrated that, to the left of the stage, Reed had two backing singers that he was barely utilising. They were Sharon Jones and the unmistakable figure of Antony (and the Johnsons) Hegarty. I really wanted them to open their lungs but, at best, they were bit players.

The gig came and went, Reed shuffled off the stage and I presumed that was the end of a good, if not great, evening. However, after a few minutes of applause, Reed and co came back for an encore. Having already played Berlin in full, it dawned on my sleepy brain that there was every chance he would bust out some hits. Excited, my newfound buddies and I sprinted down the aisle towards the front of the venue, avoiding rugby tackles from security guards on the way to join a crowd of about 100 of people who had left their seats to create an impromptu standing area before the stage (from where I took the picture of Reed at the top of this post). From feeling as though I was barely at the gig at all, I was now almost within touching distance of the great, grumpy man.

The encore was fantastic. Spurred on by a crowd who were by now all on their feet, Reed belted out three tracks, including Sweet Jane, in which Jones got to let loose. It was during Candy Says that, at long, long last, Antony got his moment in the spotlight.

Of course, the harsh glow of the spotlight is not something that the singer especially likes and he awkwardly hid his hands inside his sleeves and shuffled uncomfortably, but, holy smoke, when he opened his mouth unaccompanied, some 90 minutes into the gig, it was one of the most beautiful moments I have ever experienced. His voice was truly otherworldly, like the saddest of angels singing, and it transcended everything that came before and after it in the State Theatre that evening. I was transfixed, mesmerised and awe-struck. I lost my breath. Not in a metaphorical sense, I remember literally struggling to breathe as the air seemed to disappear from my lungs. Amid an otherwise fairly raucous encore, I recall a gasp from the audience as the first note left Hegarty's mouth and then complete silence and serenity filled the room until his turn ended to a crowd reaction that bordered on pandemonium. As I walked out into the warm Sydney night, it was in the knowledge that this moment - along with the camaraderie of the previous night - would live with me forever.

Queue For Lou

People who criticise us at BobbySix.com for never having to buy tickets for gigs might be interested to know that I spent the whole of Wednesday night on the cold, hard concrete of Martin Place lining up to buy tickets for the Lou Reed gig which was to take place on the Thursday. It was the first time I have ever queued overnight and it was a thoroughly rewarding, if entirely knackering (it is now Sunday and I still haven't recovered) experience.


I arrived at 9.40pm, expecting to be the first person there, yet there were already 15 people ahead of me (including a Big Issue seller), and therefore I was worried that there weren't going to be enough tickets to go round. However, after 3 nervous hours, a representative from the Sydney Festival kindly came along and told us that we were all safe to get tickets. The mood in the line was joyous.

The night went surprisingly quickly, as my friend Millie and I met a whole bunch of new people, who soon became buddies. There was a great sense of togetherness amongst the 25 people who were there all night. People drank, played cards, strummed on a guitar, created art on the floor in chalk, chatted and generally had a nice time.

At about 2.30am, some jobsworth idiot from the council (with the worst haircut ever, incidentally - a kind of greasy ponytail) came along and took photos of all the chalk drawings, while talking seriously on a mobile. 10 minutes later, there were 3 cleaning vehicles and a whole heap of City Rangers there telling us we all had to move because the streets needed cleaning. It was like we were some threat to society with our small pieces of chalk. Idiots. Anyway, after much fuss they managed to totally drench the pavement, meaning we couldn't sit down for about an hour. Thanks for that. God knows how they reacted when they noticed the washing up liquid in the fountain which caused massive clouds of bubbles to float through the city.

As the morning drew ever-closer, the lack of sleep became more of an issue. I began to feel very sketchy indeed. I started getting my words all mixed up when I spoke, and as the sun rose, I grew pale as a ghost. I started to hallucinate that the Big Issue seller was telling me the same story about Split Enz for the 6th time, but then I realised that I wasn't actually imagining it, and he was telling me the same story again. I can relay it for you, word for word, if you like? No? Ok.

Throughout the whole night, I managed to get a massive 10 minutes sleep between 6.40am and 6.50 am, before getting up and trying to avoid the insipidly irritating girl who was attempting to juggle lemons and do cartwheels. I vowed that if I ended up sitting next to her at the gig, I would walk out or kill myself, whichever was quicker.

By this time, I was delusional, and spent many minutes trying to jump in the air and land at exactly the same time with two of my new, young friends. I don't know why I was doing this, but it became very important to me at the time. Millie was also losing the plot, wandering aimlessly around Martin Place with a vacant look on her face.

However, the end was in sight, and by 8am, spirits were high. By 8.10am, they were even higher, as I had a ticket for the gig in my tired little paw. I felt a real sense of achievement.

All in all, it was a night that I will never forget. The camararderie, the friendliness of strangers. The knowledge that every person that I had spent that long night with would all be merrily headiung to the State Theatre in a few hours to see a person that they were prepared to lay on a pavement all night for. It is a feeling I can barely describe. Awesome.

Words by Rob Townsend.