Gig review of The BrAsS BeD playing at 'Fray Day' (international prose event).
9th September 2001. Cafe Hotel, 480 Victoria Street, Nth Melbourne.
Article by Chris Paris.

Find yourself a comfortable spot, pull that chair closer to the table and strap yourself in. Slouch against the wall and stretch your legs out over the steps because the wild, untamed ride starts here.
The Brass Bed swings into action. Into a sea of trumpets, trombone, bass and drums. Intermingling, switching and seaming effortlessly into a highly emotional, evocative symphony of imagery.



Rising out of the subconsciousness previously, primarily the exclusive use of Dreamtime, bringing you into the very personal presence of majestic African bull elephants, bellowing out from the rim of some dark, mysterious valley, in its kingdom of a primeval animal world.
A startling snarl. The brassy roar of lions, leopards and tigers. The snorting of reverberate around the valley. The chattering of the monkeys, subdued yet clearly audible.

The patrons in the room had been taken hold of this symbolism. Those who had arrived to hear this band were not disappointed.



All in now. The smashing, clashing drumwork, evoluted strains of trombone interdicting sombre trumpets crescendo into a swirling, boisterous dance of cossacks. Slashing sparkling sabres and clanging shields. Metal on metal, swirling bodies leaning through the smoky haze and dropping limply to the ground. Rolling and somersaulting in a dance dictated by those drums......drums....drumms....truummmmpppettttss....................and....bass.

Slow sultry ringtones, the heat and humidity. Stifling heat of the savannah, hark. Now the delicious breeze, can you smell the salt.
No words were needed. Here, in this mirrored fanned room, no vocals were necessary, baby. This music spoke for itself in a world of surrealism. Of personalities intertwining, entering a virtual world full of evocative colouful flotillas of emotions.

The first set finished after half an hour of dreaming.
Needed to hear Stuart's voice just once, man. Needed a fix of vocals that edify around this room. Feed on its power and authority. Even just one song, just one take. If only to justify its authenticity.

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The second set delivered. Stuart Thomas' vocals stirred and slurred out of a menacing story of decadence and dark entrapment of sinister, sensual Melbourne streets, in "No Rest for the Wicked" and "NiteSpot".
A tale of two bands. One, that gets all raw and illusional instrumentally. Delivering a soft yet excitable rush of jazz, leaving its own indelible imprint on those wining and dining.
The second, a seriously powerful linguistic bluesy contrast so magnificently suited, glued in a conjunction of need and shared objectivity. Very clearly a mix well suited to any evening performance venue.
Reactions were very positive. Ranging from comparisons of something groovy comforting and soul uplifting to a balance between The Tea Party and Nick Cave.