Live Review: Flowertruck, Gauci, Dominic Breen

Sydney's Flowertruck have had a steady upward trajectory since their inception back in 2014. Their sunny arrangements owe a lot to a number of great bands (The Go-Betweens, Television, The Bats), and they could slip unnoticed into the Dunedin scene if they wanted.

They command the room with just a few jangly riffs and some judiciously deployed harmonies. The (new) Lansdowne stage is no stranger to indie pop outfits like Flowertruck, but it was obvious that their album launch was something special. They became more than the sum of their parts, and whether it was the crispness of the execution, their infectious exuberance or the balloon hovering over the crowd near the front, the show was a huge success.

Helping out was Sydney multi-instrumentalist and visual artist Dominic Breen and Gauci, a synth-pop outfit that have been snooping around the traps for the last couple of years brightening up support slots and trying to break through. Breen's moody songwriting may have better suited a late-night slot at Golden Age or The Basement. The frothy Saturday crowd dug it, but the details were kinda lost, which is a shame as his attention to detail is great and there's lots to enjoy in the languid blue-grass angst that he generates. It was short and syrupy-sweet.

Gauci continue to impress, but they also continue to stop short of lighting the room up. The two siblings are not shy of talent, but they never push it, happy to dole out synth arrangements that borrow from other more passionate bands. Their now-familiar setlist served as a decent link between the two other bands, but not much more.

As a second balloon whipped around the room, powered by escaping air and a spinning rubber propeller, Flowertruck were gaining momentum on Dying To Hear, the dynamite anthemic centrepiece to Mostly Sunny, their mercurial new record. It's an extended song, full of heartfelt longing with a killer central hook. The crowd ate it up, and there was a palpable sense of elevation, of time slowing down a bit, reaching the point of lift-off that only occurs every so often during really great shows. Every time the instruments were pulled back to give idiosyncratic frontman Charles Rushforth plenty of room to deliver his sermon the crowd gathered and were right there with him when he surged forth with the chorus. It was golden.