Words – Rick Grimm
Photos – Dan McKay
It’s summer, it’s Saturday, and I’m ready to party. And by party, I of course mean standing near the front of Max Watts’ stage, enveloped by waves of post-rock atmosphere. Tonight’s musical offering is the first-ever Melbourne performance of God Is An Astronaut, another stellar act brought to us by the Birds Robe Collective, who went from strength to strength last year and clearly intend to do the same in 2025.
The first band is Treebeard, a group I’m fortunate enough to have a bit of history with on a personal level. I’ve been lucky to watch Treebeard grow since their very first show, and seeing them on a larger stage gave me a sense of vicarious pride.
The stage glows a deep, ominous red, and the room drops to silence as guitarist/frontman Patrick steps into the light. With a gentle pluck on his six-string, the set opens with an ambient tone that feels like the calm before a storm. The atmosphere the band builds is rich and deliberate, each note measured and purposeful. There’s a long build before they finally erupt into heavier moments—it’s not just noise, it’s feeling. I think this song (Incognita) is a great introduction to the band for newcomers in the audience because when the music gets heavy, it’s not through the crutches used by many bands in the modern scene. No ultra-down-tuned guitars, no 6505s or Mesa Triple Recs—just well-executed and deliberate arrangement and instrumentation. The intensity is born of context, where the swells of delay create tension and the riffs provide release. It’s a great start to the set and an even greater start to the event.
The next song, titled 8×0, opens with Rhys hitting a bass riff so tough it could crack concrete—not just any concrete, but the good stuff they’re using to build Melbourne’s train stations. But unlike Melbourne’s transit system, Treebeard were on time all night. This song, in particular, was their tightest.
Snowman, the title track off their most recent record, opens with a heartfelt shoutout from Patrick to his mum, who joined us in the audience, and a small insight into the music. Patrick tells the crowd the story of how his father recently passed and dedicates the song to him. A spotlight dances across the guitarists as they open the song. For the first time in the set, the two guitarists approach the mics to layer vocals—not as lyrics but as an instrumental texture. We sit in calm for a few minutes, washed over by guitar plucks that sound like teardrops falling. The calm gives way to power as the fuzz bass tone and drums come in, emulating the feeling of your heart sinking when you receive bad news. The dynamics here are masterful—a rollercoaster of tension and release.
The last track, Mountains of Madness, is the only one with lyrics, and it’s the heaviest of the set. Patrick comes out swinging like he’s here to collect souls, his vocals channelling the chaotic energy of Anaal Nathrakh. It’s an incredible set-ender—sludgy, doomy, and heavy.
Solkyri takes the stage next, bathed in a blue wash of light that highlights the drummer’s opening salvo. The band walks out to applause, instruments in hand, and immediately locks into a high-energy performance. The drummer is a machine, tight as hell, and the live glockenspiel he plays through the set adds a unique touch. The lead guitarist brings the most energy of the night by a fucking mile. The music was appreciable throughout, but I had to wait until the second song before my riff addiction could be tickled. Even then, when they dropped a riff with some meat, it felt like a schnitzel when you’re craving a steak—satisfying enough, but I’ll probably still grab a kebab on the way home.
Song three starts with a world-class build-up that teases a payoff and then delivers nothing—I was musically edged. But then, just as my disappointment began to set in, they dropped a riff that FUCKS. The bassist, usually reserved, finds his passion and it’s a joy to watch. Song Four is a drum clinic. The drummer’s semi-quaver triplet fills were airtight. Brother was locked in, and it was mesmerizing.
I think one of the things Solkyri did best was the way they filled space with ambient texture between songs—a very classy move, in my opinion. It made the whole performance feel more immersive than your average band.
The last act for the night is the long-awaited God Is An Astronaut. Before even setting foot on stage, they announce their uniqueness with their layout. The three-piece is arranged with drums stage left and toward the back, bass in the middle, and guitar front right, creating a diagonal across the stage. Each instrumentalist’s station is adorned with the tools of the trade. Torsten, in particular, is surrounded by enough pedals and blinking lights to emulate a cosmos in which he is the astronaut. The group begins their exploration of sound with the track Odyssey.
They follow up almost immediately with Echoes, which has a super groovy intro. It’s at this point I notice that drummer Lloyd Hanney has brought two snares with different amounts of snap to their timbre—foreshadowing the subtle thoughtfulness the group cultivates in their sound. The light show is killer, and the bass drops shake the venue to its foundations.
When the last notes fade out, we’re finally treated to a moment of speech from Torsten. He recounts the passing of his late father and how this song, Falling Leaves, is about that. A lot of dead dads at this show—you should probably call yours and tell him you love him. With the story of a lost patriarch in mind, we’re all treated to gentle waves of comfort from the music, and the song becomes an emotional release. It’s not about technical flexing but pure expression. A couple in front of me embraces, lost in the song’s warmth. It’s moments like these that remind you why live music matters so much.
As the stage goes dark for the end of another song, sounds of thunderstorms ripple from the speakers, and the stage lights flash to imitate lightning. But we’re not talking about a scary, ominous thunderstorm—we’re talking about rain after a drought. The music sounds how petrichor smells, feeling like stress melting away after the worst day imaginable—a reset button.
Apparition takes a darker turn, and Torsten coaxes an impressively intense tone from his P90s. The energy is palpable. Suicide by Star is clearly a crowd favorite. It’s a slow burn, but when it kicks in, it kicks like Tawanchai (Google him). We’ve now moved into the portion of the set where they play all the old-school fan favorites, as each track gets applause at its opening notes. A bit more primal is the track Embers, delivering the heaviest moment of the set—its rawness outpacing the energy of the record by a wide stretch. Naturally, it’s my favorite.
The night closes with From Dust Till Beyond. The stage lights mimic a sunset, a beautiful thematic touch. It’s a fitting end to a night that was equal parts heavy, heartfelt, and unforgettable.
Huge thanks to Max Watts and the crew at Birds Robe for having us.
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