Michael Beach Electrifies the Vic on The Park

Few places in Sydney’s inner-west feel more alive on a Friday night than Marrickville’s Vic on The Park.

Whether looking for an expansive beer garden, late opening hours, footy on the TV, or a brilliant selection of free live music, every weekend sees throngs of punters descend upon this famed establishment.

Of course, it was the latter I was chasing last Friday as I waded through the heaving 11pm crowd.

With a beer locked to my lips, and the small stage in my sights, I pushed past bodies of all shapes, ages, and sizes. Around me, shouts of joy and rage punched through the beer-soaked air, laden with stories of the week that had been.

And by chance – within this mess – I all but tripped over the exact person I was there to see: the quiet, disarmingly friendly Californian-turned-Melbournian – Michael Beach.

For those unaware of Beach’s presence within the Australian music scene, you would not have been out of place within the crowd that evening. Barely a second glance was thrown in the musician’s direction as he stood quietly watching the support act.

Yet, within the right circles, this man’s name carries enormous weight.

With decades of work within the music industry, Beach’s musicianship, production skills and engineering capabilities are sought after by some of the most respected artists in the country.

So, despite my delight, I was surprised an artist of his calibre was playing a free show at a rowdy pub late on a Friday night.

“Did you choose to play here?” I asked him, after introducing myself.

He laughed. “No – They chose me.”

And what a choice they had made.

Ten minutes later, Beach was on the stage. He slung a guitar around his neck, turned to his bassist and drummer, gave a quick nod, and the three proceeded to electrify the room.

Suddenly he was no longer the quiet, friendly man I had been speaking to moments before.

He now wailed with distortion, and belted lyrics with warbling emotion. He peered, from behind the microphone into the audience with a fierceness – challenging the chatter that filled the pub to try and fight his sound.

And of course, the chatter was no match. Beach’s music cut through with ease. Intoxicating bass riffs joined hands with searing cymbals as they provided a ground for Beach’s guitar to sprint across. Solo after solo was launched into the ever-growing audience as more and more heads were turned to the electrifying stage.

After five scintillating tracks, it seemed Beach had well and truly won the heart of the pub.

Raucous applause replaced the wild chatter, and audience members, lured by both music and performance, hung by a thread.

Yet, as he unslung his guitar and stepped down to his keyboard, the true test was yet to come.

Despite his previous four albums being built around his guitar prowess, Beach’s most recent project, Big Black Plume, sees him explore the depth of the piano instead. Of course, guitar heavy moments are littered throughout the record, but on most of the tracks the lyrics stretch mesmerisingly over keys.

Though how would a pub heaving with punters at 11:30pm on a Friday night respond to this kind of music?

As he first dove into the slow, beautiful ‘I’m Gonna Need You’, it seemed the audience would perhaps lose interest. Hints of the chatter began to sporadically erupt. But, self-assured, and immersed in his own performance Beach persevered.

Then, from his keys rose ‘The Sea’ – a superbly long, mostly instrumental piece that felt, as we listened, like he had delivered us the ocean.

A slow lilting rhythm kicked it off, before vocals were softly – briefly – introduced. Long and drawn out, as if wind over water.

And as these vocals were coming to an end – before Beach launched into the instrumental body of the piece – he peered up.

Again, he stared down the chatter.

Again, a fierceness overcame him.

He spat his final words with resounding strength. “Did you hear the desperate lonesome wind blowing?”

And with that, he broke into a blistering performance.

There was no way you could look away. Beach bashed the keys as if a mad organ grinder, summoning not only the ocean but a storm into the pub. Drums and bass became thunder and his keys the pelting rain.

By the end of the song, not an ounce of chatter remained.

Finally, to an enraptured audience, the band concluded with a spellbinding rendition of ‘Freddie Dreams of Mars’, eliciting desperate cries of ‘ENCORE!’ as they exited the stage to mould again into the heaving crowd.

Though no matter how hard we tried, they would not return.

As Beach told me later, “it didn’t feel like playing another song would have enhanced the feeling, so we left it.”