King's Park, Perth. 24th February 2007.

This gem of an evening takes place in King's Park; the largest urban park in the world. It beats the arse off New York's Central Park. I've spent the last three years trying to unlock the mentality of the average West Australian and it could be here, in this sleepy domain of barbeques and purple sunsets. The stage is set in a gently sloping bowl formed from a lush, grassy banks that encircle the stage where Augie March, augmented by the West Australian Symphony Orchestra will take us. Thanks to the early arrival and strategic laying of blankets by Dave, Mandy, Emmy, Dancin' Matty (very much supine and well fed with chicken and home-made stuffing (damn fine stuffing I say(please note that was not an innuendo)) BMK and affiliates, we have an excellent spot; a few rows back and centre where the sound will be perfectly balanced, once Dave, BMK and Dancin' Matty have completed plotting their conquest of the West Indies.

With the full arts festival treatment the band are awarded glossy theatre-style programmes and a stage announcer to felate their egos. It's very much a family atmosphere. The symphony enters first, to make that wonderfully promising sound an orchestra makes when its tuning up. The band arrives, drummer Williams, looking very much the train conductor, attired in a formal dress with friendly mutton chop and best old time cricketer's moustache. Scarcely a 'hello' is uttered, as the ensemble breaks into This Train, picking up steam with double time drums and staccato strings. There aren't many songs in the Augie March catalogue that can instantly shake you; it's a rollicking choice.

This is my first gig where the band has been accompanied by a full orchestra. I've always suspected it could underline the disadvantages of each medium, the band doesn't share the technical skill of the orchestra, and the orchestra is too damn civilized. Someone should throw something into the string section just stir something up. And tonight, whilst AM are no slouches, Williams is a fire engine on drums, they sound a little slack here. Although there's a interesting dynamic here, of garrulous wise-cracker at the back, with perfectionist pedant at the front, singer Glenn Richards and the out of place classical scholar on keys / organ. Mr Richards occasionally scowls, then paces back and forth, presumably because he's heard something suspicious through the monitors and is trying to confirm its source and nature. Mr Williams informs the crowd he's "hot" to a bevy of applause and wolf whistles.

The orchestration is best when used as subtle augmentation - Bottle Baby for instance, with understated strings that allow the narration room to breathe. Or Mother Greer with its sudden unexpected leap upward as the singer intones "rise and rise". Some of the best moments happen with no orchestra at all; Cold Acre - streamlined, direct. Although it would pretty tough for Cold Acre to not be one of their best moments. One Crowded Hour features a wonderful emotional build, but by the end of if Glenn Richards is trampled flat under the weight of expensive blows. It's all a bit Las Vegas. He looks exhausted, as we're denied the most elusive treasure. You wonder how much synergy there is between the two parties, as the conductor has his back to the band for almost the entire performance. Augie March don't have ape the Arcade Fire. They fine as just they is.

There is plenty of second album, which unbeknownst to me at the time (thanks Dave for the background info), is according to the band their "shit" album. But nonetheless I feel chump-like for not knowing some of the tantalizing earlier material offer here. The setting is, in case I haven't made it abundantly clear, cocking marvelous. It's been a balmy 36 degrees, and the sky is several shades of perfect. Bizarrely, the canvas dome has illuminated a design for each song. For some reason Mother Greer has the image of a night sky, which is odd given that without this image of the night sky, we'd be staring directly into the night sky, albeit without a moon so unfeasibly large. Better yet, is was a wispy blue purple and orange background which perfectly fits the glooming to our right. It was as if Nostradamus had foreseen what colour the sky would be and designed it accordingly, as Glenn Richards coos There Is No Such Place. Tonight, there is.

Transcribed by Christopher H James