Kisses Bring Love to Phoenix Central Park

A kiss is a beautiful thing. Whether it is passing affection delivered by your grandmother; a farewell peck on the lips when a couple departs for a day of work; or a cementing of love as a relationship is born, this act of delivering and receiving a kiss is something essentially human.

Yet, when it comes to describing what this absurd, mysterious delivery of love actually feels like, most would stumble.

At Judith Neilson’s Phoenix Central Park on May 21, Naarm/Melbourne five-piece Kisses did just this.

Before tonight, the folk-rock band had only played one Sydney performance. It had been intimate, rough around the edges, and full of laughter. Crammed into the tiny Dulwich Hill venue Lazy Thinking, the walls had burst with the city’s clear adoration for the band.

Now, only three months later, as Kisses returned to Sydney and entered the dark circular centre of the prestigious Phoenix Central Park, the contrast could not be more apparent. Where Lazy Thinking had provided intimacy and connection, Phoenix provided expertise and style. In many ways, it made the project look, act, and sound completely different.

Foregoing any banter, jokes, or much interaction with the audience at all, the band tonight settled for sincerity. Using the venue’s acoustics, sound systems, and reverent architecture, the five raised songs from their sophomore album You Are in My Dreams to a new extraordinary height. True to their name, with the help of this space, these songs felt like kisses.

Delivered by either Zia Sikora or Noah Riseley, the consistent bass wrapped around the audience like a mother welcoming you home. Deep and resonant, its slow pulses melted into the room, stripping emotional guards and, between thrums, instructing you to take a breath.

Atop this, with very little performance, Sikora, Riseley, or Samuel Eidelson would begin a song by subtly balancing lyrics on a bed of gentle strums, slow riffs and hesitant fiddle. Ranging from the care of an anonymous deli woman to the grief following the death of a family member, with simple, effective poetry, these lyrics focused invariably on the broad, indecipherable spectrum of love.

As the audience breathed, and the band – often with eyes closed – fell into their music, songs would stretch, flex and grow. Like adrenaline, Vindi Ferguson’s fiddle began to race. Drums and percussion from Lewis Shaw gave our hearts something to follow. And, as the instrumentation grew to a crescendo, the five members would lean into their microphones and allow perfect five-part harmonies to fly.

It was these moments that struck the strongest. Rare do harmonies sound so complete. Buoyed by the swelling music, the five voices wound tight around each other. Together they gave the lyrics such immense strength it was hard not to be captured and held for a moment by a profound feeling of love.

After an hour, in the centre of the stage, Kisses came together in a clumsy, smiling embrace. And around them, spilling up the spiralling walls, in frantic, ecstatic applause, the audience returned the love they had received.

Whether from a beloved family member, a long-term lover, or simply in a fleeting moment of passion, tonight the warmth, safety, and sincerity that Kisses’ music had built was nothing short of the sensation of a kiss.