LIVE REVIEW: Anton Newcombe & Tess Parks at the Sugar Club

Anton Newcombe and Tess Parks spill on to the stage like every good rock band should – all dark sunglasses, stylish haircuts, aloof cool and sunken cheekbone heroin chic.
Parks is a mostly unknown quantity on these shores outside of a well-received solo debut album, Blood Hot. Newcombe, on the other hand, is reknowned as the mastermind behind The Brian Jonestown Massacre – a manic, punk-rock, drug and booze fuelled collective of rag-tag neo-hippies more notorious for their excesses and flashes of violence than for their prolific and often prodigious output. Indeed, it’s nearly seven years to the day since it was reported that, following a BJTM gig at the Kentish Town Forum in London, Newcombe allegedly stabbed his own guitarist, Frankie ‘Teardrop’ Emerson. There is little that hints that tonight might descend into the same sort of violence, but nonetheless the pair’s heavily Velvets inspired music is imbued with its own creeping malevolence.
After an extended preparation period in which Newcombe takes the time to teach the keyboard player the correct way to play some upcoming melody, he lets loose his first blast of controlled feedback and opening number ‘Wehmut’ oozes menacingly from the speakers.
Things like this shouldn’t happen when it’s still light out. The evening sun still shining in through the beer garden door of the Sugar Club gives proceedings a giddily illicit feeling, like a gathering in the dark of complicit deviants engaged in some sordid act of revelry. In fact, Newcombe and Park’s particular brand of photosensitive psychadelic blues feels so antithetical to sunshine that it is initially disorientating, like a hangover in the daytime. It’s a contradiction that doesn’t go unnoticed by Parks, who comments to the audience that have remained largely seated in the venue’s plush red velvet booths, “How civilised is this? Do you feel like you’re at the opera?” Eventually, and at her behest, by mid-set the small dancefloor is filled with bodies swaying to the ‘Gloria’-like swing of ‘Melliorist’.
Lead single ‘Cocaine Cat’ is an early highlight and sets out the band’s stall effectively – repeated three and four chord structures, drenched in feedback, mellotron and hammond organ that float by in a blissed out narcotic fog – rumbling rather than roaring, hypnotic rather than high-energy. The perfect medication for a sleepy summer’s night in Dublin.
While the songs on record can occasionally feel thin and stretched out, live they have much more flesh on their bones, and Parks' voice is immediately arresting. Gifted with a 5am, bourbon and cigarettes yowl that is pitched somewhere between latter-day Joan Jett and Mark Lanegan; the singer is a perfect Nico to Newcombe’s John Cale.
The band play through all of the songs from their sole album, this year’s excellent I Declare Nothing, for the most part in the order that they appear on the record. While this doesn’t really allow for many surprises on the night, it does provide a nice flow to the evening; with album highlights like ‘German Tangerine’ and particularly ‘Voyage de l’ame’ allowed to shine above the satisfyingly absorbing groove they maintain throughout.
If there is one stand out surprise tonight it is the ill-advised decision to end the set with a pretty leaden version of The Doors’ 1968 classic ‘Five to One’. After all the good will the group’s consistently engaging moody psych-rock has earned them, it comes across as an unnecessary attempt to provide a crowd that was already on their side with at least one tune they can sing along to. And, while the intention is admirable, in execution the song comes across as disconnected and a bit bar-band bluesy.
Brian Jonestown Massacre fans might lament the missed opportunity to have heard Parks' take the lead on one of Newcombe's older songs; ‘Anemone’ from 1996’s Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request would surely have been a perfect fit. However, it does little to mar what has been an enjoyable showcase for an exceptional new voice, and a fine excuse to spend some time in the company of one of rock music’s true mavericks.