Live Review: Bob Log lll, Pork Chop Party, The Burnt Sausages

A massive tin foil tray adorned with plastic sits upstage, and as their set begins, The Burnt Sausages (dressed as sausages) snuggle into it and then tear their way out.

The three-piece sing about sausages and barbecues (and that’s it), and employ a variety of props, from streamer-filled sauce bottles to human-sized (and worn) bread. Tonight’s audience laughs incredulously at the inanity of it all, and even Gasometer’s sound guy is in fits. Final dance number BBQ Party ups the hilarity with falsetto vocals courtesy of guitarist Johnny Charcoal. 

Heavy guitar strums deceptively open Pork Chop Party’s set. The duo comprises Anto Macaroni and Pinky Blue, both seated behind kick drums and looking every bit the bluesmen in dark suits. The juxtaposition of sombre country twang with cheeky lyrics elicits many a cackle, especially the line “I lost my heart between your legs/We never had anything but sex” from I Lost My Heart. 

Frenetic guitar begins to sound throughout the room as Bob Log III now descends the mezzanine staircase. The audience parts like a biblical sea as the man assumes his position on stage, donned in maroon jumpsuit and trademark helmet-with-telephone-mouthpiece that conceals his face. 

“I want my balloons popped, Melbourne."

A couple of songs in, Log offers a bag of flaccid balloons to the crowd, who don’t hesitate to fill them. Balloons fly through the air and bounce around the stage, with many collecting at Log’s feet. Bang Your Thing At The Ball is the ideal track to now dish out, with sporadic balloon bursting adding some spark. 

“I want my balloons popped, Melbourne - this song goes like THIS,” and as many a female punter takes to the stage at Log’s request, the delta slide of Wigglin’ Room is punctuated by sounds of exploding rubber. 

It really is one big party at a Bob Log show, as the distance between artist and audience is kept to a minimum with many a high five exchanged.  The hijinks continue as two women now sit astride Log’s lap, but alas, Boob Scotch is not to be.  

Many have been eyeing the rubber dinghies situated upstage, and now one is brought down and fed into the crowd. Log launches backwards onto it, legs splayed, floating across hands that gently return him to the stage. 

As the high energy set comes to a close, the drenched Bob Log III now makes his way back up the stairs from whence he came, twanging away on his guitar as he goes, another crowd left happily demolished in his wake.