Amplifier, Perth. 26th Feburary 2007

I don't get hangovers. Today I woke up feeling like Martin Sheen at the beginning of Apocalypse Now. Its taken me a couple of hours and a pie trek to reach a state where I can stare at this monitor without my heart rate shooting up. Nonetheless, I want to assure that the effusive outpourings that are about to follow are the product of Yo La Tengo's brilliance rather than a bottle.

We get underway by balancing out Inspiral Carpets style organ pop number with some tense, dusk-covered creation. It feels like the start of a journey. On drums, Georgia Hubley twitches her face in concentration; biting her lip. It's an arresting opening, but nonetheless merely a prelude to Pass the Hatchet - a seemingly endless plunge into ballistic guitar abuse. Premium psychedelic funk. And it IS funk. On the third beat of each bar there's a heavily emphasised bass note, therefore by technical definition and all round genius, this is funk music. Everything from here on is a blur of wandering elation. Were I more familiar with their material, I'm sure I could spray wild praises with landfills of adjectives and unnecessary metaphors. I'd be able anchor this experience in some solid bedrock of reference. As it is I have to surf the uncertain weather, barely able to keep my mind upright. It's the almighty bass groove which underpins the freewheeling axe destruction. Its often forgotten by your average student noodlenik that to really drive the train off the cliff you need a pulsating rhythm to drive it. No half measures are permitted. on guitar, Ira Kaplin warps his puny human frame in time to the power billowing out.

Callouts rise up as the dust settles. Ira Kaplin helpfully replies that they make mental note of what's requested and often try include it in their next show. Tricky for us perhaps. The nearest major city is 5000kms away (it's a long way. I know. I've driven it.) Also I've timed my beer jug purchasing to perfection. Having just got a large, communal one in before the start it's the others turn to supply the goods through the set. I don't have to fetch further refreshing Toohey's Old until the break before the encore. Bravo. Flipping over some more left of field pop jammies, we're soon back into the freakout expanse. So good its almost painful. Ben asks if my eardrums are shredded yet, but compared to the time when the Datsuns came with monitors larger than the venues speakers this is child's play. I roar my approval with Charles Mingus style "YEAH"S. The crowd screams in delight.

Before tonight I really knew very little of YLT, this was pretty much an open gamble. Its gig of the year territory and we're only in February. I feel utterly sorry for the chumps watching NOFX tonight. A frantic yet funky Nuclear war highlights the encore, somehow retaining that sense wistful sense of Armageddon despite skipping along at a fluid pace. We're all slaves to this six legged groove assault, like the avid guests in the Masque of the Red Death dancing toward our annihilation.

Transcribed by G-Man

Props to Ben, Leon, Jess, Wendi and Noah. It was a top night and you guys provided the spirit of YEAH.