In his most renowned song, which I’ve always found too long and slightly saccharine, Don McClean asks if music really can save our mortal souls. Despite my lack of affection for ‘American Pie’ I have resonated with Don’s musing on numerous occasions, but none more acutely than last Saturday night when the heavens scheduled a quick reprieve from pouring down on Melbourne and I found myself hungry, heartbroken and with $38 to my name watching the Slingers perform at the Brunswick Ball Room. With each soaring guitar slide and lyric delivered with utmost gusto by lead singer John, I gently swayed and locked arms with my pal, feeling a small part of my soul heal again.

 The Brunswick Ball Room, which looks like somewhere your grandparents would relive their youth waltzing on a Wednesday night, is home to high ceilings and generous dance space. Ornate and glimmering chandeliers juxtapose against a disco ball positioned in pride of place in the centre of the ceiling.

 There was a feeling of comfort and wholesomeness in the warm band room air alongside a master scent of cologne infused with a perfume that appeared to be Georgio Armani’s Si – everyone smelt delicious for the Swinging Slingers.  

Above the stage, a staircase plastered with glow-in-the-dark star stickers seemed to lead to nowhere, yet pre-performance each band member descended one by one, like beauty queens at a pageant.  

 The clientele in the crowd was a fair share of flannels, caps, woo girls and cowboy boots. People waved manically to flag down a friend and reunited in a densely packed crowd.  

Following the zesty performances by supporting bands Sun Fruits and Juice Webster, The Slingers took to the stage at just shy of 10.30 pm. ‘Oh, is that air con? Beautiful’ John expressed to us in his velvety lilt, framed by a soft orange light, and excitable yelps ensued. The band collectively drained their beers and opened their set with ‘The Cruellest Cut’.

The 80s synth sound paired with chest-thumping bass and John’s Bruce Springsteen-like vocals (the comparison has been made before, but his likeness to The Boss’ sultry voice is uncanny) proved nostalgic and calming. It seemed easy to forget what decade it was. John maintains a look of peace and wistfulness on his face when singing. The band’s musicianship was exemplary; well-rehearsed, thoughtful, and precise.  

Many pints were lifted in the air in salute to the rockers, pals slung their arms over shoulders, swaying, chanting lyrics, human body heat emanating all around. In areas of space, people danced gleefully. My friends and I were sandwiched near the front, sweaty and happy, and we opted to move into more space, but then the opening few chords of ‘One More Day’ made us stay put.

 ‘One More Day’ demonstrates the band’s tight grasp on effective storytelling. Their lyrics acutely capture all things quintessentially Australian. When I closed my eyes and listened my mind conjured an amalgamation of images representing our distinctive way of life; cicadas and wide suburban streets and sparkling Shiraz on Christmas Day, lilac-coloured sunsets and heat that hangs so low it forces your shoulders down. The band’s skilful reliance on visual imagery to describe our harsh natural landscapes and often confused national identity ‘the heat twists the air like crinkled cellophane… Mum stands there and takes it, like the backyard Jacaranda, like Sisyphus’ - is on par with Tim Winton’s prose or even The Go-Betweens’ lead singer Grant McLennan recollecting his childhood in ‘Cattle and Cane’.

‘Kind Hearts’ is the musical embodiment of the phrase ‘nice guys finish last.’ The lyrics are heartfelt and lucid, explaining that those who suffer from crippling empathy and kindness are usually those who routinely find themselves on the receiving end of heartbreak. The emotion of the crowd was palpable throughout this track; with people singing in unison out of resonance. 

The band then treated us to ‘The Saddest Man in Melbourne’. John again tells a story with passion and gusto; you can tell he is exerting all his energy and bearing it all. His stage presence was so intimate and personal that he could have been singing to himself in the bathroom mirror. If not for the constant yelping and flickering lights I’m sure he forgot we were there.

As the next track – ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ - started, the pals and I finally decided to edge our way to the back in search of more dance space, which we happily stumbled upon, and goodness me, it was worth it. The Slingers proved a worthy soundtrack to the most joyous, daggy, and uncoordinated dance I’ve had in a long time. Our performance prompted a kind and curly-haired man to approach us and confirm that ‘our vibe was immaculate…we need more of you guys in the world!’

‘Happy Birthday to Me’ also boasted similarities to a similar wall of sound narrative - The War on Drugs’ track ‘Thinking of a Place’. John’s awe-inspiring vocals in this self-celebratory track also displayed a likeness to those of legendary Talking Heads frontman David Byrne, particularly John’s choice mid-way through the track to stutter on an ‘f’ sound, perhaps to emulate the ‘fa, fa, fa fa, fa’ of Pyscho Killer.  

The finale song – which I did not quite catch the name of due to commitment to grape vining and a chorus of cheers from the crowd – displayed similarities to the opening of Kings of Leon’s ‘Sex on Fire’, and by God, was the feeling of sex alight in the air. The standard chant of ‘one more song’ quickly succeeded the band’s tight finish and an eager man behind me delivered his spin on the cheer and requested ‘27 more songs!’ John simply grinned and waved, repositioning the headband securely fastened on top of his luscious locks to keep off sweat and tears of joy, and confirmed that he loved us very much.

I’m usually averse to displays of patriotism, but The Slingers make me want to clumsily clamber onto a rooftop, do a shoey and exclaim that I am proud to be Australian.