Lincoln Le Fevre at the John Curtain

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With Lincoln Le Fevre (say it like “Fever” you ignorant bastard. FULL DISCLOSURE: I SAID IT LIKE “FEV” WITH AN AWFUL ACCENT UNTIL POLITELY CORRECTED), on stage at the John Curtin, you can trace a few things back to the crystal clear purity of the Tasmanian waters from which he sprang:

  • An immaculate beard, fully legitimate
  • Those piercing eyes, oh yes
  • No bullshit songwriting

Le Fevre’s honest-to-God rock is unpretentious, confident, and downright good, and Melburnians can certainly be smugly satisfied that Le Fevre’s uprooted and crossed the water to base in Melbourne.

Lincoln Le Fevre and the Insiders have been traversing this wide brown land in celebration of the imminent reissue of their 2008 debut 30-Watt Heart by Poison City Records. Checking out the crowd confirms the occasion: plenty of die-hard Le Fevre-heads, happy to shout their pipes bloody to sing along to favourite tracks on the set list.

Le Fevre’s sound sits happily in the rock genre, but with enough cross-pollination from country, blues and folk to add some nuance to the decibles. He and the Insiders are a tight racket, easygoing and comfortable musicians who know their shit enough to be having a great time with their audience.

Pleasingly louder, messier and scratchier than album recordings, the John Curtin bandroom set an appropriate scene for this distinctly Australian sound. Even if you haven’t heard them before, these songs are familiar and you know them on some genetic, pub-linked level. Lyrics feature words like “a’right”, “wrong”, “down”, “shame”, “sheets”, “forget”, “fucked”, and “ahhhh, uuuhhhhh.”

These words lurch out from Le Fevre’s regal beard easily, his voice fitting the lyrics like 7 year old jeans. His delivery moves from joyous ear-drum battering to pin-sharp intensity easily, and reflects the genuine, heart-on-your-sleeve songwriting style that Le Fevre does so well.

In an era where music can feel too universally polished, produced, packaged and pimped, Lincoln Le Fevre and the Insiders are a refreshing splash of cold Hobart water to your junk.


Originally published in Rocket.

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