Live Review: Black Mountain, Miles Brown, Medicine Voice

The noise from tonight's opening act Medicine Voice feels ritualistic. The Sydney group led by Sar Friedman rolls around in dark shuddering feedback for the first 15 minutes before Friedman, like some sort of deity, transitions into the more straightforward part of their set. A contrast exists between Friedman's pure vocals, which cut through fuzzed-out, ambling guitars until each song is built enough to crash down heavily.

Local man Miles Brown offers a slightly leftward step to the night. Over six feet tall and draped in a long, sheer cloak, Brown blazes along on a theremin and synth combo that'd leave many techno heads dumbfounded. He smiles cheekily as he constructs what sounds like a female voice through meticulous theremin technique. The room responds delightedly to his high-tempo electro. Brown is a master of beats.

Breaking a seven-year hiatus from touring the Southern lands, Canadian psychonauts Black Mountain return to Australian shores in the wake of their aptly named fourth album IV. After what feels like a lifetime, the band's intro track plays over the PA and the venue's red stage curtains open. It's clear from the recognisable intermittent beep of Mothers Of The Sun that the band will delve all the way into IV for this show.

Stephen McBean provides all the amplitude on guitar while Amber Webber's voice soars. The two have a harmonious chemistry when they join vocally, something attributable to Black Mountain's space-changing ilk. Stormy High is a trudging, classically doom-styled song; Webber's voice fades in and out with ghostly presence. Jeremy Schmidt brings the church-style organ through with a flourish. As the entire track seems like it's set to explode, it does so with one final iteration of the delightfully hooky bass line. Although the group's output is certainly heavy enough for a moshpit to emerge, many seem content enough to bop along, which is testament to the variety of listeners that the Canadians appeal to; heavy heads, psych aficionados and pop partiers are assembled tonight.

Black Mountain easily transcend the stoner-rock label slapped on them in earlier years. McBean and Webber's vocal duets are glorious as the band work through a repetitive thudding, turning the set into something seriously ceremonious. Schmidt rocks in with some delicious Rick Wakeman Journey To The Centre Of The Earth-style keys, except it's the band that take us all into deep space. Space To Bakersfield indicates the end of the night - the closing track from IV — featuring a wondrous chorale from Webber that pitches straight into a wailing solo from McBean. The set ends and the room is left basking in the soft reflection of disco balls spinning slowly above.