The Love Junkies have absolutely irrevocably fallen in infatuation with the music they are creating; that’s the first thing I notice about them. And so has every member of the audience. If you aren’t singing, clapping or dancing to their music bearing a grin the size of Nicki Minaj’s arse, you need to open your ears and let the genius that is their music trickle in.
The second thing that I notice, as the mothers’ milk of grunge genius occupies the joint, is their appreciation of the intimate nature of the gig. We can tell immediately that these guys will go out of their way to let their crowd know that they’re appreciated. Having trekked all the way from the south-eastern suburbs to Fitzroy to see them play, understandably I feel slightly out of place. Yet, as soon as they start playing, the contagious presence of this three-piece group makes me feel welcome.
But this gig is memorable not only for the release of their multifarious new album, Maybelene, but also for the humour they inject into the event. The Love Junkies don’t simply play; they perform. They are unique in that the energy they create causes the audience to connect with familiar exchanges of laughs and knowing enjoyment. They have managed to woo their crowd before the end of their opening song.
The drummer, Lewis Walsh, gets so into it he drops his stick halfway through the third song. Usually, most audiences would scorn disapprovingly, assuming that his nerves were overpowering his talent. But we can tell that this slip-up is merely due to a profound passion for what they do. There is not one set of eyes in the place that isn’t fixed on them. Everybody’s barely even touched sipped drinks they’re so engulfed in the hypnotic electricity that they create. We are all entranced.
A typical Aussie band, front man Mitch McDonald belches into the microphone, and the bare-footed drummer fumbles for his sticks in between sipping beers; it’s fairly obvious that they don’t take themselves too seriously. But the gratitude they express toward their fans is touching, as Mitch thanks the audience at least three times for the impressive turnout. His boogying on stage, sarcastic quips and obvious love for performing only nurtures the audience’s affection for him.
“Now we’re gonna play a song,” he declares. “We’ve all learnt that I’m shit at talking and we should just keep fucking singing, huh?” As he chimes “Why does your mind run overtime?” his voice is a soothing siren amongst the drum and bass. I’m taken aback by the perfectly refined dynamic within the songs. They shift between a melodic and romantic lyric before evolving into a powerful Queens of the Stone Age-esque sweat-filled panty dropping sexy rock ballad.
Everyone is excited to hear their favourite tune off Maybelene, which can be closest compared to channeling The Fratellis. “Love is for the blind. I hate it when you speak” McDonald chants. The chords in this piece are jumping with ecstasy. At times it’s nostalgic, but then it sneakily eases into this vigorously paced beat, and the lyrics become belligerent. “Love is for the blind and comfort’s for the weak. Happiness is just a cheat.” The words are just enough to put you slightly on edge before the bridge sweeps in and rocks you back into a gentle lilt. They then announce they’re going to “play a softie”. It’s “about love and shit”, Mitch informs us. I look back to the drummer to reassess the sweat patches that he’s been cultivating; confusedly noticing they’re no longer existent… until my eyes creep to the corners of his shirt, which are a whole shade lighter, and I realise that it has become completely drenched. Forget Zumba or cross-fit, this is the real way to work out. And that was how intense it was after one of their so-called “softies”. “That was a fucking love ballad,” Mitch declares.
If you are one of the unfortunate few who is yet to allow The Love Junkies’ poignant sound envelop your body and engulf your mind, I will try my best to liken them to other, better known bands. Mitch McDonald’s voice, channeling The Fratellis, overlays a Queens of the Stone Age crossed with Thee Oh Sees’ grunge-style rock. Add a hint of The White Stripes and a dash of paprika, and you might have of an idea of their genius. You could probably pull Led Zeppelin and Rage Against the Machine out of there, too.
They have refined and perfected the distinctive transition between mellow, kosher lullaby-like lyrics, with progressively erratic patches of grunge. The words are haunting, authentic and at the same time strangely soothing. My boyfriend decides that their performance is “as satisfactory of sex.” If it were any other style of music I’d slap him, but The Love Junkies are that good that I’m flattered.
His reiterations that “we’re The Love Junkies from Perth” remind us that no matter how big they want to become or know they will be, they won’t forget where they’re from, and nor will we. Chatting to the band after their set, three words come to my mind: modesty, modesty, modesty. “I’m pretty fucking chuffed!” he declares, his blue eyes beaming with delight. It’s their first gig in Melbourne, he tells me. And judging by the way the audience has received them, I doubt it’ll be their last.
But above all, what stuck with me was the impression that they are just genuinely good people. They don’t simply play, get their paycheck and then get the fuck out of the place. They stay and they chat, and they drink the place dry. As Robbie Rumble, the bassist, responded to my insistence that he describe the band in one word: “nah, we’re just having fun, man!”
