chilli oatmeal

bore witness to the glorious, hmynal noise of the new pornographers last night at the venerable and salubrious st kilda venue, the prince of wales hotel. the oxymoronic indie-supergroup minus destroyer/swan lake's dan bejar were supported by the chiming indie-pop of local act the crayon fields, whose appearance motivated one of my fellow gig-goers to state that she was prepared to bet large sums none of the four-piece line-up got laid in high-school. further furnishing my theory that indie-girls are way hotter than their undeserving indie male counterparts. the headliners came on strong opening with sing me spanish techno, the laws have changed, jackie dressed in cobras, and the bleeding heart show on which they achieved transcendental joy. what followed was a sublime display of crunchy power-pop ably assisted by the bellowing purity of noir-country chanteuse neko case's vocals which seemed incongruously disproportionate. none of the shittiness, predicted in a show of faux-modesty, presented itself. in its place we were treated to a cacophonous example of noise-pop delivered by a professional outfit who knew exactly how good their songs were and who did no disservice to them. there was no pomp or pageantry, the unadorned stage filled with what looked like middle-aged kids rocking out, but who needs to look good when you can sound this tight particularly in the service of music's harshest mistress; the pop song.