Hospital the Musical

Hospital the Musical took the stage with a blatant discharge of unmoshable technical wizardry. Watching the crowd trying to dance to this onslaught of rage and intricate arrangements was akin to the parody of William Shatner's wildly gesticulating body language in Family Guy. Temperamental technacality set off by dizzying pace defined by HTM, and they had much courage in their foldback tonight. - The Drum Media

It’s a Wednesday night at The Metro. There’s no milling around. No waiting for the room to fill. No chatter as the first support hurry through a set. Instead, as the newly re-formed Hospital the Musical take the stage, there’s a throbbing anticipation amongst friends and fans.

And then they begin: a new song, not unlike their older repertoire: tight,controlled cacophony highlighted by ethereal backing vocals. The opener twists and turns and finishes. Frontman Drew Gardener catches his breath and the crowd greet the intro to A Vioxx Rougue with outstrecthed arms, like an old friend.

As Gardener bounds around the stage, the well worn comparisons to a caged bear set loose cannot be dismissed. He pants and puffs, complains or apologises for his lack of fitness before launching himself into the crowd. Whatever he may be lacking in fitness certainly doesn’t show. And the music is as agile as well. Songs are well fleshed out with chunky riffs, blast beats and that relentless roar. Then they teeter on a hairpin turn, developing in a subtler direction. The intricate guitar sections are like a palate cleanser for the aural sense before the return to the pummelling intensity that close the songs.

After a set of predominantly new material punctuated by only two songs off their 2006 EP, the audience, some of which have travelled from Newcastle, disperse grinning. We’ve all just been witness to a sorely missed band’s resurrection.

The showmanship baton is then passed to Sydney locals Furcurve, whose energy never disappoints. Frontman Luke Monks prances around adorned like a some sort of Hong Kong bowerbird. The first couple of songs are accompanied by the theatrical guest vocals of Fail bassist Kim Conroy, the dual vocal attack lending a piece more credibility to the often repeated (and superficial) comparisons to The Blood Brothers.

The set then continues to accumulate guest appearances. Later the red-maned vocalist of Sydney grind band Schrodingers Cat takes the mic and Hospital’s Drew Gardener returns to lend a few growls.

Furcurve’s set is a high energy divide between two metalcore bands. A departure from blast beats, the band inhabit no definable genre. Instead songs are steeped in a myriad of inspirations and influences. Monks’ appearance belies a deep vocal styling that infuses bluesy rock numbers with a swampy feel. However, tonight’s dividers seems to divide loyalties as well. While some audience members appreciate quietly or yawn, a dedicated posse sing along.

Like a three course meal, tonight’s bill has already more than satisfied. But nevertheless as Horse the Band take the stage it is, for the most part, this band the audience has come to see. The band is known for their pop culture references and a gimmicky synthesiser sound reminscent of Nintendo video games.

This is the first leg of the DIY Earth Tour – a self booked, intensive tour of 45 countries spanning four continents. The band banter with the audience and replacement drummer – Jon Karel of The Number 12 Looks Like You, who has been warming up conspicuously all night – finally looks at ease behind the kit. With each synthesiser intro, the audience yelp with recognition and whip themselves into a circle pit. The drums are tight, relentless bursts: a performance, which for me, steals the show.

Despite the quirk of the synthesiser, the intensity is in no way tempered or compromised. Horse are a band that don’t need to look brutal to harness a big sound. The set is a mixture of humour, fun, impressive technical skill and inventiveness. Boxes are ticked. Blast beats – tick, circle pit – tick, spirit fingers – tick. However, I don’t leave disappointed by a generic set of tired hateful lyrics performed by angry, white men preaching to the converted. Sure they may be gimmicky, but no one can accuse Horse of being generic.
- Fast Louder Website