The night opened with the ambient, hypnotic tunes of Mick Turner, an instrumental Australian rocker who effortlessly eased the crowd from the ever-looming buckets of rain that were about to hit Taronga Zoo; and sure it did when Kurt Vile appeared on stage. Yet nothing could stop the crowd from enjoying Vile’s dreamy, stoner-esque vibes that transported the crowd from the cold wet rain, to a beautiful summers day driving across a mountainous range with your legs perched out the window and a cigarette burning away slowly between your lax fingers. Vile’s sound on the night was so polished it felt as though you were listening to his album, rather then hearing him perform on stage. Each tuned flowed beautifully onto the next, and although many tunes would be recognizable, they somehow felt like an exciting new discovery. Vile is simply a remarkable performer to watch, and as a solo artist on stage, he brought with him in spirit the presence of a full and complete band.

It certainly was a magical night that will be etched into the memories of all those gathered around the stage, and even for the woman who without any struggle jumped up on stage and danced for a solid 30 seconds before being removed, she was for that moment a figment in our imagination, conjured up by Vile’s storytelling. Without doubt you would be hard-pressed to find a single person in the crowd not mesmerised by Vile’s chilled, in control charm. He is our modern day Leonard Cohen. We all could have listened to him all night long in the pouring wet rain, yet when it came time to accept the end, we were all so humbled by his exit off stage as he tipped his teacup to the crowd and graciously bowed several times acknowledging we were there. What a top bloke!

2 Responses

  1. Jack

    This was honestly the worst gig I’ve ever seen.
    The support was even worse. So much so that Mick Turner himself apologised for his sloppiness as he shuffled off stage to literally no applause.

  2. Nick

    Holy shit were we at the same gig?
    He was lazy, uncommitted and his guitar playing was loose as a goose. He didn’t even bother singing all of the lyrics to Pretty Pimpin, as if he was doing it to spite the crowd who wanted it so much. At best it was like stumbling drunk and stoned into the bedroom of some dude at a party who can sing a play a little bit and is kind of interesting. At worse it was a half hearted cash grab by someone who couldn’t even be bothered to give thousands of Australians their $90 worth by bringing a band on tour with him.


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