True Colours at St James

By GRAHAM REID

With three separate rooms running simultaneously, Saturday's True Colours event was like the Big Day Out conveniently under the one roof. We were spoiled for choice and even arriving at the ungodly early rock'n'roll hour of 7pm meant you'd missed almost a dozen bands.

Nestled between the Chilly BlamMatic Roadshow on Friday and the singer-songwriters on Sunday, which drew more mature crowds, Saturday's all-ages no-alcohol event pulled younger kids.

That meant lots of text messaging, excitable kids pumped on industrial strength caffeine drinks, and clothes which had elder statesmen becoming parental and whispering, "God, she must be freezing in that!"

There were some alarmingly young people on stage as well. When One Million Dollars announced they had an album due in August, some in the band didn't look old enough to celebrate that with a drink. Of the Jamiroquai generation, they looked like a high school band - four horn players and a conga player included - and delivered an impressive set of original funky soul.

At the same time Sommerset were raising the spirit of '79 with their anthemic post-punk rock and the equally energetic The Have whose influences seem located between early Thin Lizzy (Clue? Guitar solos) and the garageband economy of the Datsuns/D4. Both rocked mightily.

The real surprise on a night of very few, was 8 Foot Sativa who delivered their bellicose, furious Satan rock with the power and precision of a nailgun.

Within seconds they had their audience slam-dancing (haven't seen that in a decade or so) and roared along supported by a light show designed to induce epilepsy. They dedicated a song to a dead friend, which seemed appropriate, and were strangely compelling.

So much so I tarried too long and, while pondering how many people will be disappointed if Satan doesn't speak in that low scary voice, missed most of the P-Money and Scribe set. But if its closing overs were any measure, it had been terrific and delivered to a breathing room only audience.

Elsewhere betchadupa proved again what a powerful and unnaturally mature pop-rock band they are (they seem to have upped the garageband end since I last saw them), Rock & Roll Machine brought home Iggy rock for an audience unfamiliar with Raw Power, and Four Corners tossed out disciplined and dexterous rhymes. The young Verse Two connected the dots between soulful rap and Gil Scott-Heron-styled poetics. They were excellent.

After betchadupa, the mood in the St James went electro with Shapeshifter, who started off like Eno-with-a-pulse then steadily upped the ante to bruising beats, and that room went out with Salmonella Dub in typically devastating form.

Those who wanted beats and little more - and there weren't many - went to Concord Dawn for relentless, wall-shaking drum'n'bass. Those who still needed guitar rock were at Blindspott, whose set veered from terrific when they were angry (and that guitarist seemed very annoyed with his instrument) to tedious when they dropped the mood for what might be described as "the ballad bits", often sung flat. No matter, there were plenty of digits in the air.

As the final night of New Zealand Music Month, there was much to be cheerful about: there's ample diversity out there and it's some emotional distance, if nothing else, from 8 Foot Sativa's taut rage to the uplifting, leisurely spiritualised dub of Fat Freddy's Drop. The event lacked only in surprise, really.

New Zealand music might have been the sexy issue last month but as saxophones and trombones trooped on stage for about half a dozen acts you had to ask: When did we get so horny?

* A review of True Colours' final singer-songwriter night will appear in tomorrow's The Guide.