Let me set the scene. It was a dark and stormy night...

It had been a hell of a week.  I was in a rather bedraggled condition when I got to Richmond, accompanied by a friend, and not really too receptive to anything. Hell, I was barely conscious at times.

I'd wanted to go to an earlier Augie March gig, at Storey Hall at RMIT, but having left it till the last minute, it had sold out.  Thus, this was my maiden Augie March experience.  It was also my maiden Corner Hotel gig, me being one of those wretched people whose idea of a good time was making popcorn and sitting down to watch another episode of "Australia's Funniest Home Videos"1.  But I digress.

I should have known that it was going to be an amazing night indeed - it started at the door, where we got in free.  Now, call me vulgar, call me poor, but I love a freebie, and I rarely, if ever, get one.  But, after such a positive start, we sat and listened to The Rectifiers rocking out.  They made a fairly good impression on me, if I recall correctly - then again,  I wasn't in much of a state to pay attention to anything.  Or so I thought.

When Augie March were about to come on, SOMEONE (grrr) made us stand up - not a good move, since I'd been standing up basically all week long.  So we shuffled forward, letting the panting legions of fans file into the room behind us.  My feet began complaining and whinging, "how come we have to go through this? It's not fair, I wanna go home...".  That sorta thing.

Then the band members came on stage.  It was the first I had seen them, and I looked, slightly bemused, at the lead singer, who we all now know as Glenn.  What struck me most about him was the fact that, dressed as he was in a white shirt and black pants, he looked like a choirboy.  A 16 year old choirboy.  He looked like he was cutting class to sneak out to this pub and play music with his older brothers or something similar - he'd taken his school tie and blazer off, and loosened his shirt, but that was about it.

I'm afraid that apart from this, I didn't get much visual imagery from the night.  Perhaps that was because as soon as they began playing and Glenn began singing, I totally forgot about my feet, or Glenn's clothes, or whatever, and just heard the music, and Glenn's voice soaring.

And you may have been reading this and wondering why on earth I was whinging about myself, when no-one gives a stuff.  But I guess what I'm leading up to is just the sheer power of what Augie March do - the way they can make you forget a shithouse week, forget your petty little whinging.  The way the music and lyrics just create another world, another time.  And to encounter this on one's very first experience of a band live, is an amazing feeling.

It wasn't quite a religious experience, but there were points which came close.  The performance of The Moth Ball on the night was incredible.  I was spellbound from its immortal opening lines, falling into the song's delicacy and beauty.  I was caught by the sense of anticipation and wonder it brings, which then faded into feedback and fuzz, improvisation and chaos, where melodies began and paths meandered, but never quite got to the destination.  I remember Glenn bringing it all back into the fold when he ripped out the opening of Rockets On The Esplanade, that unmistakeable riff which convey such urgency and energy.  That point when suddenly, the 3D image came together, and instead of chaos, there was a song.

And thus was I introduced to Augie March.

Footnotes

1. Scarily, this is closer to the truth that I'd like - dump the popcorn and swap "Buffy" for "Australia's Funniest Home Videos", and you're almost there.

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