The best and worst of Anton Newcombe and his not-so-merry band of psychedelic rockers was on display at the Governor Hindmarsh, as The Brian Jonestown Massacre delivered a rambling experience that was as frustrating as it was electrifying.

Words by David Knight

**Image Supplied by The Brian Jonestown Massacre**

The return of rock’s former problem children, led by the enigmatic Anton, BJM were once the music industry’s ultimate warning label. Made infamous by the documentary Dig! for living a drug-fuelled Exile on Main Street lifestyle on a college band’s budget, their gigs could descend into a war of words (and worse) between band members.

Then something remarkable happened. The group everyone thought would implode became the poster boys on how to flourish as an independent act. They built an ever-increasing fanbase thanks to consistent touring complemented by record after record of ethereal neo-psychedelia and shoegaze.

Some 20 albums and 30-odd years deep into this celebrated career, the band-room talk at the near sold-out Gov – full of everyone from hip band kids to rock dads and even grandads – should have been about the one-two punch of their heavyweight 2022 and 2023 records, Fire Doesn’t Grow on Trees and The Future is Your Past.

It wasn’t.

After Adelaide’s Druid Fluids treated the Gov to a super dose of `60s psychedelia, by way of early Tame Impala, there were murmurings about what happened in Perth and Hobart.

‘Did they really play seven songs?’

‘Did Joel [Gion, fan-favourite tambourine player] walk off stage?’

Gossip aside, they looked every bit the rock’n’roll travelling circus when they hit the stage. Decked out in double denim, boho jewellery, dark shades, and cowboy hats  – while swigging bottles of wine in-between vapes – they launched into #1 Lucky Kitty from Fire Doesn’t Grow on Trees, which along with The Future is Your Past powered much of the set.

The end of the opening track got the first words of complaint from Anton about his guitar amp. This set the stage for the extensive banter and guitar tuning to come: ‘All these 12 strings sound better in tune than out,’ he quipped.

It should be noted that Anton barely uttered a word at the 2013 and 2015 gigs at the Gov (I missed the 2018 show). The band were largely silent between songs. Anton would crouch over his 12-sting in his corner, keeping an eye on proceedings while they would play. Stop. Tune. Play again. Both gigs were magic. The notorious Anton was a thing of the past, or so I had thought.

The old Anton was back tonight. Encouraged by hecklers, Anton started to fire up: ‘Are you in a hurry to return home and jack off or something? Hush up.’

The rest of the band seemed nonplussed by the carry-on – including founding member Ricky Maymi on guitar – preferring to stare into space or smile to themselves.

Then Anton traded barbs with guitarist Ryan van Kriedt while drummer Dan Allaire was the unfortunate subject of a changed lyric and an eyeroll of a bad joke, which the drummer concluded with a perfectly timed boom-tish. ‘I’m here all night. Try the liver,’ Anton retorted. Maybe things had settled? Maybe this was all an act?

In-between the on-stage drama, the band were largely magnificent. Mining the plethora of soon-to-be Brian Jonestown Massacre standards found on the last two records – including the soaring It’s About Being Free Really and The Real – they, occasionally, hit the perfect BJM groove.

When locked in that sweet spot with four guitars swirling for a sympathy of psychedelic shoegaze, there’s isn’t much that tops BJM for an exhilarating live music experience, it’s why the Governor Hindmarsh – and venues around the world – packs out year after year to see the rock’n’roll veterans.

Away from the last two records, Pish and That Girl Suicide were rapturously received, as was their hypnotic psychedelic classic Anemone, delivered near the end of this ragged two-hour experience.

There was more drama. Joel left the stage mid-song before Anton got the crowd to call him back, and he returned. I thought this was all part of the schtick. It would be Joel’s final show of the tour. He returned home for a family emergency the next day.

Leaving in a wall of feedback, if ever a gig summed up the career of a band it was this shambolic juxtaposition of pop music genius and schoolyard taunts. Here’s to more music and less rants the next time the BJM visits the Gov.

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