Live Review: Explosions In The Sky, Aldous Harding, The Middle East: Spunk Records Finale @ Sydney Opera House

When Aaron Curnow takes to the Joan Sutherland stage, there is a cheer equal to what any performer would get. It’s no wonder. After 25 years, Spunk Records has made a name for itself as one of Australia’s most treasured taste-making independent labels. 

Curnow has released music from acclaimed international artists such as Sleater-Kinney, Sufjan Stevens, Joanna Newsom, ANOHNI, The Shins, Belle and Sebastian, Arcade Fire, and, of course, Explosions in the Sky, in addition to countless local favourites.

Now, Spunk is done, and Curnow is grateful, joking, “I feel like the winger from the Cessnock Goannas who’s scored a few tries… Not everyone gets to do a lap of honour… So I just wanted to say thanks.” His humility and humour are just as strong as his ability to corral wonderful artists around him.

As such, for this celebration of the end of Spunk, post-rock outfit Explosions In The Sky have made their way out from Texas, enigmatic Aldous Harding has hopped over the Tasman, and the indie-folk group The Middle East have made it down from Townsville: like Christmas come early.

Such a rare sighting: “A bunch of Townsville bastards” back together after The Middle East officially split up after touring their acclaimed sophomore release and debut LP, I Want That You Are Always Happy. 

Thirteen years later, you can still see the tensions that tore the band apart after their Splendour set. There were flashes of warmth from some bandmates but a noticeable iciness at centre stage. 

Still, despite their differences, they produced a nourishing and awe-inspiring live show, moving from the meditative openings – pensive and slow like a sunrise – to the recognisable rendition of their major hit, Blood and the transformed Land of the Bloody Unknown, which was fast and vast and got in your eyes like a sunset.

Dan’s Silverleaf saw the band converge on harmonies and an uptempo folk stomp while Blood transported the audience back to their first hearing. That nostalgic romance translated to heads on shoulders and smiles.

A soul-infused rendition of Months saw Bree Tranter dismount the keys and take lead vocals, wielding a flute at intervals throughout. But the monumental track was the closing Land of the Bloody Unknown, which seemed reminiscent of The Band’s Last Waltz; a driving beat melded with this wall of guitar sound while flourishes came from the light tread of the keys and the twang of electric guitar and Jordan Ireland’s dulcet falsetto. Yes, this band has played a smattering of shows together and are even fresh from touring the States, but there is the spectre of their end with each reunion performance. 

20 minutes is no time. That’s an episode of Seinfeld minus Jerry’s stand-up. 20 minutes goes by in no time, except when Aldous Harding appears. She’s in all black, sitting like a tortured doll, tapping her foot, wielding an acoustic guitar. She ensnares you like no one else. Her enigma is like a white peacock. 

She opens with Warm Chris, the titular track off her 2022 album. Her idiosyncratic faces, posture, and crystalline smack-you-in-the-face voice draw you in. Such is her power; you want that heavy-breathing guy next to you to stop breathing. You want the people trying to find their seats to freeze. You want the world to stop.

Then, the song ends, she doffs the guitar, and a pianist, Laura Jean—also dressed all in black—takes to the stage for Fever. Her intonation, her sound-over-sense lyricism, and her delivery all rouse you, breaking the uncanny simplicity of the piano. She sits back, staring into space and enjoying the mad beauty of it all as thousands of eyes fixed on her.

Then she sits at the piano in the silence between songs. Aldous taps out the beautiful ditty, She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain, an affected twang in her voice as she moved into the chorus: “Breathing time is such a lonely state of mind.”

Horizon from Aldous’ 2019 LP, Designer also stunned. Here she stood, commanding with this raw and striking movement through this energetic and opulent ballad. A pin could drop. The Harbour Bridge could fall. All the lights of Vivid could flicker and die. Nothing mattered in that 20 minutes.

Then, after the interval, Explosions In The Sky launched into their 2003 magnum opus, The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place, in its entirety. Audience members could do nothing but strap themselves in for this cosmic event, which saw the Texan quartet (plus one) soar through First Breath After Coma and all the way to Your Hand In Mine. 

The lights burned polychromatic as the smoke wafted, and we were transported into this warm universe of ebbing and flowing emotion, compressed down into 45 minutes of blissful instrumentals.