Augie March Celebrate 20 Years of Moo You Bloody Quire at Manning Bar

“There are a lot of ways you can look at the twentieth anniversary gimmick we’re doing right now,” says Augie March frontman Glenn Richards before the band’s final song at Manning Bar on May 1.

“The advantage is, there’s only that many songs.”   

The audience who fill the large room laugh at the comment. By now we are well used to this self-deprecating transparency.   

Over the past hour and a half, as the iconic Melbourne band have worked their way through their 2006 sophomore album, Moo You Bloody Quire, they have consistently made fun of themselves for their lack of preparation for the anniversary tour – especially Richards.  

“Only this band will take two weeks off before an ultimate and final show,” he laughed at one point, “… Sydney deserves our best.”   

And, after Richards fumbled the lyrics in an otherwise beautiful rendition of Mother Greer (which he had forgotten about before relearning the album), drummer David Williams piped up. “We’re usually watching the people in the front row to see what they’re singing… Well, I am anyway… is that the right word? Oh, that’s the right word!”  

The effect of this humour was that the occasional mistakes littered through the set – which would normally have come across as unprofessional – were almost endearing. Like when a stand-up comedian laughs at a joke not landing, we were allowed to laugh with the band. The imperfection became humanising, and strangely, a memorable highlight of the night.  

Yet, this may have been different if the majority of the performance had not been so beautiful.   

After a few more minutes of banter, Richards returns his attention to his guitar. Laughter through the room evolves into cheers as, with deep focus – intent on not making a mistake in this closing number – the singer carefully runs his fingers up his fretboard. The sliding rhythm of the album’s penultimate track, Clockwork, snakes into the room.  

Cheers die as the frontman’s voice quivers over the rise and fall of his chords. We close our eyes as the simple hammer of a kick and snare join the glow of an organ. We sway as the mellow rumble of a bass slumps beneath a deep, growling guitar riff – provided tonight by Drones guitarist Dan Luscombe. And, taking its time like all the best Augie March songs do, the music rises like smoke.    

The almost seven-minute song is a perfect conclusion to the night’s music. Starting slow and evolving into loud, cathartic rock, it captures the varied artistry of Moo You Bloody Quire. 

Though the album is famous for its opening song, One Crowded Hour, which came first in Triple J’s 2006 Hottest 100, the vast majority who filled the room had seemingly come not for the acclaimed single, but because of the variation in the record’s songs. Ranging from aching folk to racing rock, every audience member seemed to have a different favourite.  

While some wistfully mouthed the lyrics of Cold Acre, others excitedly danced and shouted to Just Passing Through.  

Meanwhile, a common theme ran through each song: in moments when momentum effortlessly built and instruments, backing vocals and Richards’ stunning falsetto melted into each other, the warm chords glowed like winter sun.  

Towards the end of the night, Richards gave a heartwarming speech about the state of live music in Sydney, thrilled at the sold-out room glowing before him. 

“I just feel like Sydney is back,” he said with a small smile. “And you’ve proved it again. Thank you very much.” 

 Looking around, it was hard not to agree with this sentiment. There are a lot of ways you can look at the twentieth anniversary gimmick, and tonight, in a room thronging with people who above all else adored live music, we looked at it with joy.