Live Review: The Hello Morning, Hot Spoke, Tim Wheatley

Intimate gigs can be a great antidote for overblown packed shows. There were only around 20 people in the crowd in The Vanguard for Friday's show, and The Hello Morning knew most of them personally. It's a small room, and the peace between songs felt warm and patient rather than like an uncomfortable vacuum of sound. By the time the headliners were playing the small gathering was relaxed, with one or two drinks under their belts, blurring the lines a little and softening all the edges. The tone of the music being played, lying somewhere between soulful road blues and raucous bar jams, walked hand in hand with the mood and it all made for a memorable evening for those lucky to be there.

Tim Wheatley, of Melbourne's Crooked Saint, played a solo acoustic warm-up, a bittersweet clutch of songs dealing chiefly with travelling and the fragile, fickle nature of the relationships that happen on the way. His grainy husk of a voice felt worn like your favourite pair of shoes, and had a richness to it that was easy to like. His songwriting wasn't particularly complicated or challenging, but that was fine.

Sydney's Hot Spoke followed with an interesting set of what could be described as the best music that middle-of-the-road indie can produce. It was an easy set to digest, full of graceful, handsome arrangements and generous, slippery hooks. What made it interesting was that each band member felt very distinct, like they had all blown in from very different points on the map, bringing their own sensibilities with them and not quite blending seamlessly. Vanessa Muir's vocals were stunning when she let fly, and she had a visual and aural aesthetic that felt like a direct link to Joni Mitchell or Dionne Warwick.

Melbourne's The Hello Morning played a tight set. The fact that the best song of the evening was a cover (a gorgeously melancholic version of Wilson Pickett's Don't Let The Green Grass Fool You) wasn't indicative of their own quality as songwriters; it was just a fucking great cover. Frontman Steve Clifford's vocals were the perfect mixture of gravel and honey, and the rich four-part harmony they got going was deeply satisfying. Joe Cope's gurgling organ-grinding made everything feel like gospel in the best way, and the whole event was a real treat. Don't miss them when they make their inevitable return.