Metro Theatre, Sydney
Friday March 23, 2018 :
People-watching at these garage punk shows is always an experience. Teens in band tees filter between veteran rockers and meander around the bright haired young punks. Seeing all the different people makes me nervous sometimes, like I’ve wandered into the wrong show, or that someone else has and they’re going to cause problems. But when the music starts playing and all the people rush forward into one colourful puddle, and I can see everyone’s minds simultaneously sync with the dimming of the lights and the pluck of the first guitar, there’s a kind of peace that settles over the venue as we all get lost in the sound.
I thought Georgia Maq had a huge voice when I was listening to Camp Cope in my car with the volume all the way up. If Georgia’s voice was a semi-trailer then it hit me smack in the face at this show and left me as crow-pecked roadkill. Whatever cavern she has inside her that she pulls that voice out of is hidden, deep, somewhere behind her sweatpants and betty bangs.
The trio have mastered their crisp sound and a fourth instrument would be a shame. Heavyweight lifter in another life, Sarah sent earthquakes through the crowd. That drummer is crazy strong. The clean, crisp crashing of the cymbals and the roadie who kept running onstage to adjust her kit translated that raw power into the thrumming, pure sound that drove every fist bump and head bang.
Camp Cope is the bra-burning, riot starting, feminist, punk, grunge sound that bra-burning, riot starting, feminist, punk fans have been desperately begging for for far too long now. These girls will encourage you to cut your hair, get a tattoo, break up with your boyfriend and get a girlfriend. From someone who is sick of seeing carbon copies of the same band, Camp Cope are a welcome and well-needed authenticity that left my ears ringing and my fist raised.
Reviewer : Stephanie Jenkins
Photographer : Ben Hunt
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