There’s an old Scorsese quote: "The most personal is the most creative". Few contemporary artists embody this sentiment better than Australia’s Courtney Barnett. Across five albums, she’s delivered hilariously straight-faced, diaristic lyrics that would be intrusive to almost anyone; yet she sonically shrugs off their honesty. It’s almost like she doesn’t realise the magnitude of what she’s survived. Despite the open-book approach to her art, Barnett’s stage presence on her first of two nights at O2 Forum Kentish Town is surprisingly restrained – only offering the obligatory thank-yous and the occasional wise-crack across a seamless, no-fat, near-two-hour set.
Kicking things off are Sydney’s Body Type. Bursting onto stage, guitarist and vocalist Sophie McComish announces, "Good evening, London… Hope you’re ready for some rock!". Opening on the wonky snark of ‘The Charm’, the group cram as much as possible into 30 minutes. From the visceral ‘Sick Bag’ to the vocal tennis of the unsettled ‘Mulberry’, the group take cues from Can to Television to The Supremes, trading vocal duties between McComish, guitarist Annabel Blackman, and bassist Georgia Wilkinson-Derum. The result is art-rock meshed with CBGB tendencies: ‘Tally’ is pure staccato slacker, while ‘And What Else?’ weaponises pop’s call-and-response structures to mock objectification. They close on the chugging punk rambling of ‘Buoyancy’, leaving two minutes to spare in a blistering set that treads an absurd amount of ground.
Tonight’s unofficial theme seems to be efficiency. A shadowy mantis appears on the backdrop as Barnett and her band rip straight through the scuzzy overdrive of ‘Stay In Your Lane’, and the amped-up lackadaisicalness of ‘City Looks Pretty.’ An opening hit of energy makes way for a surprisingly early airing of ‘Avant Gardener’: a dreamy, stream-of-consciousness float with so many immortal lyrics it’s impossible to choose just one. "The paramedic thinks I’m clever ‘cos I play guitar / I think she’s clever ‘cos she stops people dying" is seemingly tonight’s fan favourite.
The resigned matter-of-factness of Barnett’s voice is never more prevalent than on ‘Small Poppies’; a slow-burner that ascends into a psyched-up shriek, showcasing her chops on guitar. The downtrodden yet resilient country bounce of ‘Mantis’ preludes Barnett’s first direct address to the audience: introducing touring members Bones Sloane on bass and Stella Mozgawa of Warpaint on drums.
Like most great grunge or rock acts, it seems almost absurd how much noise the three of them can make. ‘I’m Not Your Mother, I’m Not Your Bitch’ is an incensed indictment of gender expectations, resplendent with snarlingly distorted guitars. However, highlights arrive in their contrast too: the slice-of-life ‘Depreston’ turns a hushed singalong of If you have a spare half a million / you could knock it down and start rebuilding" into something downbeat but triumphant. Barnett excels in that liminal half-space between satisfaction and setback, at home either exorcising her anger or accepting it. In lesser hands, the jumps between the two feelings would be bumpy, but Barnett’s approach accepts both as inevitabilities. Either reality is devastating in its own way.
Barnett’s commitment to the personal supersedes any need for stage banter – the jokey but earnest storytelling you’d expect is laid out in her lyrics. ‘Elevator Operator’ may be the only exception: the story didn’t actually happen to her. Still, the propulsive stomp of the drums sparks clapping along as she recounts "Oliver Paul / twenty years old / thick head of hair worries he’s going bald" with the half-shouted, half-melodic nonchalance you’d expect at a pub table rather than in front of over 2,000 people. Ironically, the ambient drum-machine intro to ‘Sugar Plum’ contrasts an elevator music feel with Barnett’s own words of imposter syndrome.
"You’re all such beautiful singers", Barnett beams after the perfectly placed ‘Before You Gotta Go’ – a forgiving, folksy breeze toward the tail-end of our main set. Another cut from ‘Things Take Time, Take Time’ in ‘Write a List of Things to Look Forward To’ is bright and peppy, an arpeggiated moment to sway that feels indebted to Teenage Fanclub.
As cheers ring out following the chugging main set closer ‘One Thing At a Time’, the politest demand for an encore is answered as Barnett returns to the stage solo. The stunning ‘Mostly Patient’ is all twinkling, finger-picked style to back a monologue of encouragement – "So lonely in the zone / I think you oughta give yourself a break" lands with painful gravitas for all the burnt-out creatives in the room.
"We’re gonna play a really old song", she teases, "It’s from the first EP". Sloane and Mozgawa rejoin to tear into the slacker fuzz of ‘Canned Tomatoes (Whole)’ – its descending bassline feels reminiscent of ‘She Bangs the Drums.’ Across her set, the segues between tracks are evidently tightly rehearsed, as the bruising ‘Pedestrian At Best’ bleeds straight through an extended outro. Mozgawa attacks her drum kit; smatterings down in standing start flirting with the idea of a mosh, as "Put me on a pedestal, and I’ll only disappoint you" is spat with absolute venom.
Landing one final hit, the crunching riff of ‘Nobody Really Cares If You Don’t Go To The Party’ bursts in; it’s hard to imagine a bigger finish for Barnett. Light on interaction, the already bleeding-heart songs do the talking for her: from the shrieks to the sighs, everything is personal.
Keir Shields
Images: Finn Delisle
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