Love of Diagrams at Slim's

Smile a smug grin of self-satisfaction if you're hip enough to be at the venue for the warm-up band. Last night Ted Leo and the Pharmacists played at Slim's, but I was there for the backup act, Love of Diagrams. Any of my cooler-than-thou hipster credentials weren't really all that well earned since I've never heard any song by Ted Leo and Pharmacists in my life; I wasn't snubbing them; I just don't know about them.

Our arrival was timed perfectly. Not more than twenty minutes after we had our tickets checked and hands stamped in verification of our age did Love of Diagrams take the stage. "We're from Melbourne," the lone male member of the group, Luke, called to the crowd eliciting a small chorus of acknowledging cheers. Those were probably the other Aussies.

Scruffy hipsters, scruffy hipsters—the group looked typically ramshackle, sporting the kind of urban-trendy look you'd find anywhere on Brunswick Street: unkempt, greasy hair and recycled boutique clothes. They fit the mold. But when they opened with the first few bars things fell into place. You could accuse them of being too aware of their image and you'd probably be right, but they've even got a woman beating the skins and that wins big extra points. Rarely do you see a woman behind the kit belting out the rhythm. There are too many male drummers in this world and it's time that changed.

So what about the music? Love of Diagrams do a great knockoff of early eighties post-punk—all heavy bass riffs, discordant guitars and half-screeched vocals. It's clearly a conscious effort on their behalf to resurrect one the superior musical eras of the past and for the better part it works. On stage the approximation to their recorded material more or less hits the mark, they're more raw and more energetic. Notes get missed, the balance on the vocals is off kilter—probably more a function of the cruddy acoustics at Slim's than anything else—and they fumble a couple of songs. None of it really mattered all that much and the now-full venue seemed to side more with acceptance rather than rejection. The set was short at around forty minutes, leaving barely enough time to rip through a catalog that really could use a longer airing on stage. Perhaps their best song, No Way Out, remained inexplicably absent from the playlist and that's a loss. It would have made the perfect closer.

There was no point sticking around for the headlining act; I'd got what I came for and besides, the Great Organiser was about to fall over from tiredness. Getting older will make you do things that your twenty year old self would hate you for: stand at the back of the venue and admire the band from afar; have only one beer; leave early. If that's what being a 30+ attendee at a rock gig is all about then I can live with myself.