Writer: Keeley Thompson
Images: Olloform & Riculev
Tuesday, 6:46pm. It’s a goldilocks night in Brisbane, a sought-after 20 degrees with a light breeze and just a kiss of humidity. The coolness you dream of in blistering summers and the warmth you yearn for in frosty winters. I didn’t know it as I entered The Princess Theatre, but perhaps this meteorological sweet-spot was prophetic of the musical experience ahead.
Small groups sit around tables, their faces softly illuminated by the golden hue of the candle flickering between them. Conversations between each group blur into one, filling the beer garden with a hum akin to the cicadas songs during summer.
I look at the time. The show's about to start.
Walking into the greenroom of The Princess Theatre for Stage Door Sessions, I’m met with an immediate sense of homely comfort. Persian rugs paint the monochromatic floors with colour and band posters turn otherwise plain-walls into a photo album. A small group plays on the pool table in a corner while others sit on velvet vintage-style couches, surrounded by fringed lamps and indoor plants. There’s a very fine line between cosy, ‘lived-in’ clutter and straight up mess, but this space is the former.
After a brief conversation with some friends, I join others on the floor in preparation for the first act, The Dandys.
Performing a stripped back set, one-half of the normally four-piece group take to the ‘stage’. Both wearing double denim (one in blue, the other in black), Mads and Felix share a chuckle and admit to the audience that they haven’t really played like this before. Yet, as they begin their first song, any external signs of trepidation seem to melt away.
It’s easy to hear the band’s underlying alt-rock roots through their songs, but the way they’ve reworked them is as commendable as it is convincing. Their song, Lemons, normally a manic, drum-heavy track is transformed into a bluesy, jazzy and layered journey through mental health crises and the seemingly unending waves of shit that life throws at you. Somehow, despite this subject matter, there's also an unmistakable grittiness and sexiness to this version.
With layered, bright guitars in some tracks and shoegaze droning in others, The Dandys show flexibility in both their music and their skills as musicians. Throughout their short set, the pair cover some heavy topics, singing about sexual assault, heartbreak and shitty mental health with an honesty and energy that kept a lightness to the air. Sharing stories, laughs and harmonies with the crowd, The Dandys were the warmth needed to ‘break the ice’ for the night.
During the break, I duck out to buy a beer and have a quick chat with friends. Coming back inside, another couch has appeared and chairs are now dotted around the area. Time to get comfy.
Walking in from the door behind the audience, Rosa Mack takes the stage with her seven-piece collective.
Wearing a gold jumpsuit that would’ve had Stevie Nicks asking “where did you get that?”, Rosa glimmers with the same warm, amber hue of a summer sunset. As the band take their places, they share smiles between each other that says what words sometimes can't.
The gentle tones of a piano usher in their first song, a deeply introspective account of love and heartbreak and the spaces in between the two. About a minute in, I get goosebumps and they don’t go away. Singing with both power and restraint, Rosa’s voice carries the array of emotions we feel during relationships, as though the experience she’s detailing happened just a minute before she came out here.
After about a minute of applause, the group begins their next track. The playful, bright song provides an opportunity for Rosa to introduce the collective and invite each band member to perform a solo. The wind section (trumpet, trombone, and saxophone) sweeps through the crowd, causing torsos to sway as if the soul yearns to waltz. Then, passing the instrumental microphone to the guitarist, the solo continues this dance, sparkling, shimmering, and blooming through the warm greenroom.
Throughout her set Rosa Mack and her ensemble display not only impressive musical talent, but a level of integrity and candour that frequently silences the audience and fills their eyes with awe.
At the end of her set, the clapping starts and it just doesn’t stop. People rise from seats and from their places on the floor. A standing ovation.
Someone amongst the crowd calls for an encore, and after an okay from the organisers, Rosa begins to play a cover that I recognise after about two-seconds.
To cover the iconic Portishead track Glory Box and to cover it well is something I imagine few can do, but after the set I just saw, I’m unsurprised that Rosa and her band do it more than justice. Staying true to the original while adding their own personality and musical flair to the song, the band earn yet another two-minute applause, closing the night with grace and leaving smiles upon faces.
An intimate yet comfortingly casual night, Stage Door Sessions invites music lovers into a space many would never see otherwise. Walking out from The Princess Theatre, I walk behind a mother and son raving about the events of the night and decide that their concise recount likely says it all.
“How good was that?! Everyone was so talented!”
“I know! Gosh that was so cool!”
“And how cool was the JUMPSUIT!”
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