Tropical Fuck Storm Lays Waste to Marrickville Bowling Club

“Half a century, motherfuckers!”

Australian rock icon Gareth Liddiard grinned between gasps of air as remnants of You Let My Tyres Down – a Tropical Fuck Storm fan favourite – rang through the sold-out Marrickville Bowling Club on Thursday, November 20.

So far this evening, Liddiard and his Melbourne-based genre-blending art-punk project had been relentless with their energy. The frontman’s white button-up shirt was transparent with sweat, and the weight of his low-hanging guitar seemed to pull his body toward the stage.

Yet, standing before his pedalboard, barefoot and grinning, it was clear there was no other place he would rather spend his 50th birthday than in this hot, intimate room playing music with his friends.

“Not long left…” he sarcastically added before doubling over and sinking back into his strings. Taking his cue, the band joyously followed his lead.

Despite a touching moment later in the performance, where adoring audience members and bandmates alike sang an abashed Liddiard “happy birthday”, this was one of the brief occasions the four-piece came up for air. Otherwise, for over an hour, Tropical Fuck Storm systematically laid waste to the bowling club, delivering a live sound that, since their 2017 inception, has grown to become celebrated within international rock circles.

It is a sound of uncompromising raw power. On stage, whether large or small, Tropical Fuck Storm makes improvisation look simple. Taking tracks from an ever-evolving catalogue, they consistently stretch, warp, and distort existing music into unique new works of loud sprawling chaos. And Thursday’s performance – in support of their recently released, and perhaps best album to date, Fairyland Codex – was no different.

As the band delivered renditions of songs both old and new, their music dipped and dived. At times it would grow eerily quiet – leaving room for breath and reflection – before exploding into minute-long, guitar-focused, fist-pumping swathes of noise. Guitarist Erica Dunn’s deliberate knife-like riffs would stab with bouncing energy, while Fiona Kitschin’s growling bass and Lauren Hammel’s crashing, cymbal-heavy drums gave a crucial backbone to the otherwise loose music. Liddiard’s distinct feedback-heavy guitar was a constant presence throughout. Fingers moved freely along his instrument’s neck, pulling wildly at the strings as he pounced manically on his pedalboard. At times it appeared as if he may not be in total control of the sound he was making, but instead merely guessing and hoping all would fall together.

Vocals were mostly performed by Liddiard, whose manner of bowing beneath the microphone and projecting his gravelled wail to the heavens helped emphasise the emotional brilliance of his writing. Dunn and Hammel’s shouted harmonies would regularly arrive at crucial moments to punctuate Liddiard’s voice, while Dunn would also have several moments out the front – her stoic ferocity brilliantly contrasting Liddiard’s writhing laxity.

As the performance raged on, it was clear the band was pouring everything they had into this music. Impressive, considering the following two nights they would be expected to do the same thing again… and again. Two more sold-out shows at Marrickville Bowling Club were slated for Friday and Saturday.

Rare is it to have a band so dedicated to intimacy that rather than upgrading the venue to somewhere with a higher capacity – condensing the three nights into one – they were prepared to sacrifice their own exhaustion for the experience of the audience. Whether out of madness, economic reasons, love for small venues, or true dedication to their fans, I’m not sure what influenced this decision. But to say it was worth it would be an understatement.

Not often is one offered a performance of this calibre in such an intimate space.

As Tropical Fuck Storm concluded with a splintering rendition of Paradise, it seemed each member wrenched whatever energy they had left to fuel the track’s ever-rising emotional climax. Amidst pounding bass, crashing cymbals, and loud whammy-barred guitar, Liddiard collapsed at the altar of his pedals, bending low over them to furiously bash buttons and twist dials until the track’s mighty conclusion.

In the aftermath, with feedback still ringing, Hammel bounded from her seat behind the drums to lovingly tackle Liddiard to the floor. This inspired a pile-on of all members from the band, with the addition of support act Michael Beach.

Holding back laughter, Dunn rose from this pile to once again wish Gareth Liddiard – Australian rock legend – a happy birthday.

“Hip–Hip!” she shouted into the microphone.

Hooray.