On a rainy night in Brisbane, I splashed my way through puddles and pools of water, braving the downpour to witness the talents of Scott Walker, mag00, Tom Clark and Nick Ho. Upon my entry into The Shamrock, I was rather surprised at the lack of numbers. If one were to take into account the expressed excitement on forums, then numbers should have been generously proportioned compared to the final murky efforts. The usage of the term “Melt” may have encouraged fears, besieged by such images as the Wicked Witch of the East dissolving into thin air upon being showered with water. However, I’m quite confident that such reports are restricted to fairy tales. Kudos to the groups who did defy the cloudburst and thus ensure with their presence that the night was a success.

Tilting my head to read the aged newspaper articles on the walls, I immediately established the decor as ‘old Brisbane’ – which held its own patriotic charm. Though patriarchal men in their worksinglets had been usurped by our partisan selves, the beer remained in ample supply and well priced. I entered the dance arena (thankfully close to the bar) to Scott Walker’s wonderful basslines and rhythms. He had such firm control over his music, providing a refreshing take on the 80s with his pulses and keeping colour to a minimum; keeping focus on the beats rather than the melodies. It wasnt shy or resistant; it was direct and undeviating. I was well impressed with the atmosphere he strove to create, being an icebreaker to the ensuing acts. Watching him perform was much like watching a diffident light catch and build into a warm satisfying fire. There was certainly an incandescence to his beats which required his talents to be firm, yet gentle; resolute in approach but tempered in application. His performance on this evening confirmed for me that Scott Walker is very much the Renaissance man for the 21st century.

The time of the mag00 was well nigh. Alternating between the extreme frequencies, mag00 strove to establish each texture; allowing each musical note and beat to find its melody and flow. I felt a witness to the construction of an electronically framed symphony. Introductions to each texture were beautifully executed, each texture given its own prominence. It did not take long for mag00 to establish his hold over the crowd and thus steal them from Scott’s gracious clutch. Listening to mag00 was like sinking into a tepid tub of water, each musical surge climbing from the toes to the knees, his basslines lapping mildly up the calf and undulating toward the nether regions. mag00 explored the fullness and depth in the beats to the point where each beat itself possessed its own melodic sense. Meanwhile, in the background, colours overflowed. The extreme ranges of the background textures were delved into and scooped at. As he composed, he established small climaxes, determined to allow for small bouts of satisfaction. Though small, the climaxes were fast and furious, with each wave increasing in strength and effect. To my mind, it was penetrative persistence. It was in the last twenty minutes of his set that mag00 cast off his creeping dial. Now, fusion-inspired beats on snare set against some beautifully deep vocal house treated melodies crept into the atmosphere. The spatial 80s basslines were delightful, serving as chromatic runs to new supplementary textures. He was paving the way for something wild; something primeval. And for us ferine fanatics, we were oh so ready to receive.

Glancing at my phone, I realised it was past midnight. The thought that Cinderella had lost her glass slipper immediately came to mind. The witching hour was upon us where barbarian behaviour could not be restrained. On the decks came Tom Clark with strident beats and phat synthetic chords. And quickly, a roomful of african tribesman were performing their percussive warcry as brief cells of tribal melodies pervaded the room. Mr Clark’s bass pounded against these musical corpuscles. The bass lines were full and pulsing, leaving wide spaces between the beats and the thin units of melody. There were plenty of organ jazz chords interspersed amongst the beats; the altered notes producing a beautiful dissonance and continuing to push the idea of space between harmonic groups. He exploited the harshness of each texture, pushing the boundary of its pitch before finally adding the necessary depth and dimension to each note. In time, Mr Clark began to introduce a different edge to the rhythm. He alternated focuses on beats – emphasising the backbeat or converging to The One and then shifting to double time. I really enjoyed his percussion segments – brief spurts of marimba, snare or maracas wonderfully offsetting the deep tones of the bass. He manipulated your sense of reason yet allowed you the safety net of the bass, allowing that small comfort zone. For one so musically vulnerable, I was truly grateful.

Throughout the evening, I could not help but notice the startling blonde locks of Nick Ho. There was a fascinating aura surrounding him as he wandered around the dancefloor. Andy Wallace kindly offered his thoughts on Nick Ho’s performance: “Look, Nick Ho always brings the goods. There is a jarring sound he establishes; one that produces small electric shocks. He started with a harder edge to his beat and then settled into a more-driven techno. Brisbane likes this sound – thats for sure. I had actually been chatting to Nick about this track I had purchased just days earlier called ‘Polar Shift’ and how I was madly in love with it (I actually think it is one of the greatest productions I’ve ever heard!). Anyway, midway through his set, I heard familiar strains of melodies coming though the mix. I nearly lost my shit. It was indeed ‘Polar Shift’. The strobe was dazzling us, going the whole night to every beat and adding to the ‘mind fuck’ that was Melt.”

Whether there be the soothing dip of Scott Walker; a mag00 sauna; Tom Clark mollifying the senses; or a Nick Ho induced narcosis; always are the varying degrees of intensity that encourages one’s spirit to liquefy in the maelstrom that is Melt.

Kisses, Lady Lex