Milk @ Captain's Rest, 27 Jun
Masked and taped, The Organs of Love resemble porno superheroes, all sighs and doped-up electro. Despite echoes of Smoke City’s Underwater Love (mermaids, Levis etc), they’re an enjoyable entrée, but just who are these mysterious strangers? Why, remove the Kato masks and bin-bags and you’ll find two of Wilson Tan of course! After speedy onstage costume alterations, the full quintet are ready to continue as bluesy country types, replete with banjo, harmonica, and steel slides on the ol’ gee-tar.
“That’s the last song” they joke as the set comes to a head. “You can go home now, the other two bands are shite”, but while true words are often uttered in jest, the fact that Schnapps share a guitarist with Tan (and all of tonight’s acts hone their sound in the same studio space) ensures there’s no opportunity to misinterpret the bravado. Even if the sarcasm had gone over any clueless heads, Schnapps’s set firmly sets the record straight: they rarely trouble contemporary influences, but their ability to channel the tight rock thrills of The Flamin’ Groovies and the punch of early Stooges repackages Hall of Famers expertly. Ice Cream’s sharp garage-rock tomfoolery and the scuffed, tumbling Crossdresser easily make up for forgetting to bring their bottled namesake.
A transition from Schnapps to Milk doesn’t sound appetising, but luckily the bands blend more successfully than their liquid counterparts. The sight of drummer Michael Marshall (also of Findo Gask) in garish lycra competes for attention with an intense performance from Pablo Clark (a.k.a. My Kappa Roots), whose vocals range from severely committed to distressed monkey yelping. They’re over in a flash, yet find time for the Doors-esque Wilma, There’s Been A Fire and some eighties cop-show lounge piano grooves, Milk capably proving they’re very much made of the white stuff (sorry). [Chris Buckle]