Change is a fickle thing - it’s neither good nor bad, it’s just…different. It’s rife with potential for reflection and development, it can be a reckoning. It can be bittersweet and mournful, or, to happily pluck the low-lying fruit of references from the eternally plentiful High School Musical tree of life, the start of something new. 

Change manifests in this gig review in a variety of forms. Aunty Blue, self-proclaimed dreamy-indie-folk rockers, gathered us at Cactus Room on Thornberry’s High Street last Thursday night to herald in an era of temporary change as a band; bidding adieu to their guitarist Harry, who possesses a heart of gold very similar to the one Neil Young searched for many years ago. Everyone confirmed Harry will be missed, yet he is embarking on an exciting voyage, so this farewell is bittersweet to taste.

The band’s transition to a new era also saw yours truly change her status from a previously uninvolved yet content gig reviewer to one with still inchoate powers, as I may have indirectly created a turn of events that led to Harry farewelling Australia in a fashion far from pure; by doing a shoey out of lead singer Kim’s blunny. 

Before the bounce, I found myself chuffed to be in a conversation with Kim, wherein she expressed her conundrum of not knowing how to give Harry a worthy on-stage goodbye. I briefly mulled over Kim’s dilemma, and had a flashing vision of another renowned Harry (Styles) embracing his arrival on Australian soil in a quintessentially ‘down-under’ manner. I decided to chime in. 

“You could get him to do a shoey on stage?” Kim turned to me, and with a glimmer in her dazzling eyes said, “That’s not a bad idea.”

When it came time in the set to bon voyage Harry, Kim’s suggestion of a shoey garnered the strongest reaction from the crowd. Harry protested that the gig seemed to be brimming with too much wholesomeness to warrant a shoey, however Kim presented her Blundstone like it was King Arthur’s Excalibur and Harry downed it with unshakeable alacrity, then leaned into the microphone with an almighty grin and uttered “Farewell, Australia.” In summary, this was a gig overflowing with warmth and heart, and just a smattering of old-school peer pressure.

I unfortunately missed Mitch Fathers - who I’m told is an exemplary lyricist and performer - due to catch-ups in a Canning Street lounge room where hysterical laughter and delirium headlined. Our entry was then further delayed by falling victim to this city’s frequently unreliable public transport system, but then we arrived, jackets shed and spirits high. 

This was my first time descending upon Cactus Room’s shores. It’s a fusion of a cramped share-house kitchen and a backyard BBQ area, with a singular band room and a small bar operated by a lone barman, where Mazzy Star’s notable track ‘So That Tonight I Might See’, emitted from a tinny speaker. The fridge at the bar also boasted similarities to one encountered in a share-house, covered in eclectic stickers and magnets and scribbled memos. 

The second supporting act of the night, folk-acoustic superstar Isobel Caldwell, kicked off, so I downed my beer for hand-eye coordination convenience and sashayed into the band room, and it could have been mistaken for heaven.

Issy brought to the table merely vocals and a guitar, yet the way they performed was larger than life. There was a palpable feeling of peace and bliss in the room, a quietness and calmness as the crowd simply stood and watched, entranced and magnetised. You could almost hear everyone’s heartbeat, which reminded me of the closing lines of Raymond Carver’s short story ‘What We Talk About When We Talk About Love’ - “I could hear everyone’s heart beating. I could hear the human noise we stood there making, not one of us moving.” 

Issy’s story-telling vocals bore similarities to Anne Mieke and Hayley Heynderickx. I loved her introductions to each song; she welcomed us into ‘Snails in the Sage,’ by describing it as yet another song that mentions her Mum, who Issy spoke of with such delight and fondness.

Her track ‘Mary’ explored Centrelink and antidepressants, and before launching into an examination of queer heartache in her next song ’Across the Hill’, she asked if we would prefer a happy or sad track. This prompted illusions to the quotable scene in season one of Peaky Blinders when Grace asks Tommy if he would rather receive a happy or sad serenade. Tommy opts for sad, and Grace forewarns she will break his heart, to which Cillian Murphy gives an Emmy award-winning performance and simply shakes his head and explains his heart is already broken. 

Issy’s next performance drew Joni Mitchell parallels, as a royal blue light flooded her face, and I could have sworn I was listening to Joni’s Blue album and gazing at the album cover. The track ‘A Dozen Dogs’ - featuring the heartbreaking lyric “I hurt my feelings by wanting more” - revealed the full power of Issy’s soft and gentle vocals, unfaltering in their delivery of passion.

As the performer of the hour re-tuned her guitar, they treated us to a breakdown of their recent 14-date tour wherein they adopted the triple threat role of performer, manager and booker. “I up-cycled 28 tea towels as merch!” I felt like we were in her living room chatting over a cup of perfectly milky tea. 

Despite forgetting some of the lyrics, Issy’s performance of ‘The Stomach is a String’ was incredibly endearing and captivating, and generated a crowd sing-along. Their persona, vocals and unique lyrics also compelled me to draw connections to the rather unsung and enigmatic 1960s folksinger Connie Converse. Connie’s songs feature wonderfully obscure lyrics similar to Issy’s and also the witty quips of Dorothy Parker, such as in the quietly defiant heartbreak tune ‘Talkin’ Like You’ - “in the yard I keep a pig or two, they drop in for dinner like you used to do…you may think you left me all alone, but I can hear you talk without a telephone.” 

‘Mangoes north apples south’ chronicled Issy’s occasional status as a “fruit bitch,” and her final song ‘Tiger Stripe’ apparently emerged as a tool in which to combat depression. The lyrics were gut-wrenchingly raw and lucid, and further enhanced her breathless and peerless performance. I was genuinely bowled over by Issy; their music makes you want to squeeze everyone you love.

I didn’t think my heart could break anymore, but then Aunty Blue waltzed in. 

Aunty Blue exudes a feeling akin to a soothing hug. Their music conjures images of sitting in soft sunlight with the certain type of pal who knows exactly the right moment to suggest getting a beer, who you can talk at length with, laughing and dipping in and out of each other’s minds. 

They launched into their set with gusto and mirth, tight and succinct as a quartet. Drummer Tom always looks like he’s performing on Christmas Day morning, full of zest and life and flashing wide grins, whilst Kim is the epitome of coolness and class, with spilling golden locks and a smile that gorgeously opens her face. Bassist Nichola is sweet and composed with an angelic serenity, maintaining enviable posture and groove - and donning killer flares on the Thursday night in question. And Harry watches over from the back, all reassuring height and a jovial nature, his effortless skill as a guitarist a pleasure to watch.  

The track ‘Dylan’, their first baby, prompted a mass sing and dance along, and featured a predictably electrifying guitar solo from Harry - reminiscent of Tom Misch’s driving slides - coupled with Tom’s slight ska-esque drumming. The lyric ‘Do you remember me like I remember you?’ hints at the perils of unreliable memory, and the occasionally harmful drug that is reminiscence. The song builds and builds, taking us on a journey to the climax. 

As a wannabe music historian, I aim to constantly draw connections and parallels between the band I’m reviewing and the titans who came before. Aunty Blue has me slightly stumped; the band’s presentation and demeanour and dynamic is so unique. Everything the band does, whether it’s drinking a beer, smiling, looking at each other, gesturing or re-tuning, reveals itself like a natural performance, a painting in moving form. 

The very first time I heard ‘Always Saw the Wrong Thing’ - The Leadbetter Hotel in early 2021 - I was left reeling. And when Kim sang that opening line last Thursday night - “I wish I could keep my mouth shut sometimes” - I nearly erupted into sobs. However, my tears were kept at bay by the two pals I linked arms with, and the necessity to vividly recall this performance for the review. 

Kim’s vocals leap and bound in this track, tumble-turning over you, hitting the crown of your head and travelling down to the soles of your shoes. Sigh-inducing, smile-provoking and swoon-worthy. She seamlessly travels up and down the scale, similar to how the Icelandic wonder Bjork or even bedroom folk singer Odie Leigh reach high notes with such ease.

The lyrics examine communication breakdowns in relationships and the fallout of possessing crippling empathy, wearing your heart on your sleeve and operating as an open book. The track also touches on how allowing emotion to govern your actions can produce unwanted consequences and change the way someone loves you - “It’s been a long time since you looked at me the way you used to.”

The resonance I have with ‘Always Say Then Wrong Thing’ is ripe. I am someone who has a proclivity to use words as a defence, or even a white flag, desperate to get the last statement in out of pride. Words are life, but sometimes I believe they’re both a saviour and vice, empowering and also defeating.

The penultimate track ‘Keep It’ was a freshie, so Kim requested our forgiveness if we witnessed a blunder, yet there was no danger in that happening. The band continued displaying precise and synchronised musicianship, crashing and bashing with both grace and coordination. 

The final track, ‘Raising Our Kids’, not only encouraged swing dancing to commence beside me from fellow loyal fans, yet also showcased another bout of heartbreaking lyrics which explored grit, the gendered separation of the domestic sphere and tireless efforts to raise children solo. 

Aunty Blue pulsated with pleasure and talent and enjoyment. They toasted Harry’s safe travels and expressed enormous amounts of gratitude for our presence at Cactus Room. And in the timelessly relevant words of presenter Eliot Spencer, the host of the nostalgia-drenched ABCKids TV show Rollercoaster, it’s only bye for now, not forever.  

Check out Aunty Blue on Bandcamp and also in write ups for Beat Magazine and Trouble Juice. Harry and Kim also recently featured on an episode of Kiwat Kennell’s Triple R show The Exchange.