Review:Richard in Your Mind, The Laurels, Buffalo Club, Sep 24

The front door is painted black and locked shut. Following our ears, we wander down an alleyway, through a nondescript entrance, up some concrete stairs, and suddenly we’re inside RAOB GAB Buffalo Club. A pair of disinterested males tend the bar and well-dressed youth are pushed up around the borders of the dim room, as if some kind of force field restricts them from venturing any closer to the stage before them.
Offbeat duo Fishing are packing up and The Laurels take their place. With their amps propped up on green milk crates and surrounded by industrial fans, they begin to play.
 
Thick, dreamy and loaded with effects and occasional futuristic bleeps, the band seem to channel Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine via early ‘90s Primal Scream. A portrait of the Queen from the ballroom’s glory days peers on with the audience, as the space is enveloped in drone. Their lyrics are barely discernible, but it doesn’t matter. Where other bands make rock look hard and sweaty, The Laurels make it seem easy and effortless. With their heads down, they play it cool. It’s all grim faces and drooping mops of hair, besides the ponytail-and-bow-wearing Kate, who grins as she bounces up and down on the drum kit.
 
While most musicians choose to supplement their set with banter, or, at the least, introductions between songs, The Laurels prefer to speak with their music. Whether or not this is because they are a support act, each song shifts seamlessly into the next by means of swirling guitar feedback, and no words are needed. The focus is solely on the wall of noise they are creating for us, live.  Even the notion of applause is discarded, as they guide us through an uninterrupted sonic experience. It’s hard not to be totally absorbed by The Laurels, but a quick gaze around proves otherwise. Most of the crowd are motionless and decidedly indifferent, those getting into it offering just a slight head nod. Perhaps this is the appropriate response to shoegaze. Or perhaps they have Richard on the mind.
 
The latter theory seems likely as Richard In Your Mind emerge with a friendly "Hey, man," launching into optimistic psychedelic pop. The force field is broken as some settle up close on the floor and a group of girls begin to dance like nobody's watching. Completely contrasting the seriousness of The Laurels, Richard In Your Mind have their own cheeky party onstage. The percussionist waves his sticks in the air, the guitarists play a primary school clapping game and someone feeds the bassist beer. In lieu of a giant prop sun the band intended to transport with them, Richard In Your Mind instead partake in a weird champagne-pouring sacrament to toast their latest album, 'Sun'.  The band's namesake, frontman and spiritual leader, Richard, facilitates the madness like a modern day Neal Cassidy steering the Merry Pranksters on a magic psychedelic bus ride. The bespectacled man is quirky and charismatic, and makes jokes about Sydney (what better way to bond with Melburnians?) alongside quips like "Thank you for coming out, even though we're inside".
 
Richard In Your Mind's sound is hard to define. Their nostalgic experimentation is a mishmash of gathered inspiration and sounds from the past, present and future. Their post modern musical collages recall Beck, and they effortlessly traverse genres in the short time we share the same room. Dropping the poppier songs, they occupy the middle chunk of their set with a warped trance-inducing psych jam, before kicking back in with catchy songs off the new record, snapping the crowd out of their daze with flashing lights and ascending volume.
 
What makes a good live performance? A memorable gig often provokes contemplation or makes you feel something inside that cannot be explained. Whether or not there is profound meaning behind lyrics such as 'opalescent moon mantra' we left the Buffalo Club feeling like Richard In Your Mind were saying and doing something important - even if we weren't quite sure what that thing was.

Words: Bianca Fioritti