Presented by The Harbour Agency
@ The Vagabond, Garden of Unearthly Delights
FRIDAY 24 Feb, 2012 (one night only)
The Snowdroppers take their name from the 20s slang for Cocaine addicts, although comically I was told by a couple of colourful characters I met waiting in the line that “Snowdropping” is also an Australian colloquialism for stealing underwear off people’s clotheslines. This kind of weirdness is exactly what you can expect at a Snowdroppers show, with as much theatrics coming from the audience as from the band. I certainly had no idea what I was in for.
Befitting the red curtained circus tent that is the Vagabond theatre, the Snowdroppers appeared to be more vaudeville than blues, launching into stomping country and gospel right off the bat, blowing some serious harp while they were at it. “Stompy” was one of the terms used to describe the Snowdroppers by the fans I had befriended earlier and it was an apt description. What few people were seated on the wooden benches around the outskirts of the Vagabond quickly swarmed the stage and soon enough Rockabilly girls and Swing dudes were pounding the floorboards along with Goths and parents alike. It was easy to see that this Sydney band have a strong following in Adelaide.
Seeing a band that would normally be rocking out in a booze-soaked pub get to act out in an intimate vaudeville theatre was just awesome, for lack of a better word, and so appropriate for what the Snowdroppers do so well.
Guitarist Pauly K looked like a well-scrubbed Nick Oliveri from Queens of the Stone Age while singer Johnny Wishbone cavorted around the stage like Jerry Lewis pretending to be Elvis Presley. Tearing through a list of recent hits Rosemary, Do The Stomp and Great Western Highway, Johnny Wishbone sang about sin and salvation, more snake oil salesman than preacher, the crowd eating up the guilty pleasure that is the Snowdropper’s schtick. Best of all however was the good old fashioned sing-along of Shit, Fuckin’, Yeah!, which had the whole crowd belting out some classic Australian lyrical genius.
Throughout the set the Snowdroppers showed their Rock and Roll roots and began to grind out some heavy numbers, which clashed a little with the old-timey country sound of their more “traditional” songs – Johnny was ripping into his punked-up banjo, although it just wasn’t able to cut through the mix, especially the bone-shaking bass and drums from London and Cougar Jones. It felt like there were two great bands on stage all at once, they just couldn’t pick which one they’d rather be.
As the night went on the show just got crazier. A few suspicious substances from the crowd found themselves on stage and during an intimate moment of crowd interaction one rather forward young lady got herself more than a handful of Mr. Wishbone’s unmentionables, although his lack of surprise makes me think this kind of craziness happens to them quite a lot with their particular brand of hormone-fuelled gospel-blues-punk.
The show finished in a sweaty and smokey climax of dancing, yelling, stomping, and screaming that looked like it would go on for days, the band as exhausted as the crowd when it finally came to an end. The Snowdroppers sure aren’t authentic blues, but they don’t pretend to be – they’re punk-rock honkies and they know it! Like the infamous Jon Spencer said – “The blues is number one, but I don’t play no blues… I play ROCK AND ROLL!”
What the Snowdroppers are is a damned good time, singing about doing all the things you shouldn’t be doing but doing ‘em anyway ‘cos they feel so damned good.
