Ah, Honkytonks, many will miss you, and Thursday you taught us once more the meaning of the unexpectedly eclectic, experience. For starters, the ad-hoc Christmas lighting being strung (and dramatically unstrung!) around 10:30 characterised the deceptively mellow onset. With backs against the wall, perched in quiet urbane postures, the early birds gave little hint to the promised happy hips. The tone was reminiscent, as a past-loved club night, Cocoa Butter @ Lounge, was revisited at the soon-to-be-missed clandestinely back alley venue, Honkytonks.

It was nearly eleven before the DJs came on, and even then it was sneaky soft and in the form of separate, sequential songs. It wasn’t until I caught a quiet Latin rhythm that I thought to look over and caught a glance of someone behind the wheels. And even then, I was a little put off by the numerous train-wrecks in the first hour. I have to apologise for not knowing which DJ to credit with the problem, but I misestimated my ability to acquire the details due to the sudden surge of people arriving in chaotic glee.

But I’m being too harsh. These blokes had something that I’m always craving in a set… they took risks. In fact, I made a note at one point that it was as if DJs Kano, Ennio Styles and Chris Gill had purposefully organised the quiet clashing songs into a cacophonic backdrop set up that would render the musical building blocks that would dictate the evolution of the set. (Mutilating the metaphor…) It’s like they spread these simple wooden blocks out on the floor for everyone to see, and then proceeded to make it their business to construct a truly intricate plucky groove with flying buttresses, we don’t know where they came from, but we can only guess that they were derived from steely skill.

Because as the music slowly got louder, it resonated through deeper foundations, and soon the listener was left with little else to do but smile and laugh at the comedic crunchy constructions. However shaky the night started, Honkytonks got packed as quick as a handbag on a Sunday morning and perhaps the best way to express the building energy was the increasing ratio of vacant seats to open floor space.

The scene was something I hadn’t experienced before which isn’t really surprising considering I’m new to Melbourne, hailing from Florida by birth. To me, it was as if everyone got together and decided to play dress-up as squared-circle hipsters with an old-timey tinseltown twist.
Spectacular. And the dancing styles were just as varied. I caught my eye on everything from the Charleston to Boogaloo, from Salsa to Skank… a friendly, fat, fabulous, fantastic departure from the usual sort of shuffle seen. Even the back loungey area couldn’t keep people still, as the overflow from the crowd in front of the band found a moment of relief, if not rest, for the wicked.

When The Bamboos hit the set, the words “Full cream: Unpasteurised, just the way we like it.” floated over the mic. It was an apt introduction to what they were about to deliver. (I’m now and forever going to think of them as the skanky milkmen with happy horns.) And the crowd responded in kind; the heat of the day that drew on through the night was no deterrent to cats cutting loose, not with the masterful execution of builds, drops, bass, brass, and class.

I was impressed. Live acts that have the ability to really rev up a smallish venue like ‘tonks are rare, and the evolutionary exuberance of this band, with groovy jazzy sounds peppered with breaky old school deep funk grit made this an experience that I’d have to say is world class.

Their sound brings whispers back from the now washed-away streets of New Orleans, uses swinging backbeat drops and trills and pushes the whole production out in a manner as refined as Rakim, and at times as dirty as Rick James with a side of—- ‘Some of y’all might know this, and some of you all don’t, some of you all might get with this, and some of you all won’t: Let me clear my throat. Ah hah hah hah ah.’