Mad Warrior, Violent Leader: Mad Warrior, Violent Leader

- I feel like a bit of a jerk saying, but, it doesn’t often happen that a band’s press-release actually makes me smile goofily and really want to like them. Most of those flimsy, content-bereft one-sheets are so concerned with convincing you that THIS IS THE BEST BAND EVER, ironically they have the opposite effect. Mad Warrior, Violent Leader, in their presser and as a band, are nothing like that. One of the hardest working and longest persevering A&R folks I know is Paul Curtis, the bloke behind both Consume Touring and Valve Records, he’s more than happy to throw good money after bad … probably all his money, actually, in support of the interesting and obscure music he’s obsessing about, any given month. Paul’s first meeting with the band opens the presser: “...they never really knew they were releasing [the record] until Rohin et al were approached and this idea thrown into the ether. All good because it is an incredibly genuine collection of what they refer to as 'post-folk’. Whatever… it just left me feeling inspired and I know it will make you feel the same. In my [that's Paul's] words… “this is really ****ing good. What are you doing with it?”” Paul’s enthusiasm for MW,VL is as undisguised as his distaste for what he later derisively refers to as the ‘reductive’ label post-folk. He’s right that, although it partially captures the band’s oeuvre, there’s much more to them: elements of indie-folk, rock, post-rock, alt-country and a diverse selection of often trad instrumentation fielded by each of the eight members, saving those indie-folk tendencies from banality by embellishing them with the sounds of the folk revival. They demonstrate this quite adequately over just five songs on their debut, self-titled EP. Opener and lead single, Condamine is -unsurprisingly- the most obvious cut on the record. Indie-folk-rock is teased out with the lushness of rich, post-rock harmonies and the country melancholy of fiddle and steel guitar, building to a sentimental roar, in celebration of the Condamine river, running through bandleader Rohin Power’s hometown, Warwick. Consolidating the theme of place, the second number, Dead House, Pinkenba, details (celebrates might be too strong a word) the dilapidated Brisbane suburb and its decaying swamp-gothic splendour. Composed of roughly the same elements, this time country wins out, with a mournful, dusty sway, even as it builds to another post-rock climax. If there was any doubt as to MW, VL’s country chops, Poor Brother is alt-country that’d do The Jayhawks proud, complete with wailing harmonica. Manus sinks into the sparsest and most saddening folk-country of the record; unsurprising, given the subject matter. It’s worth noting that the band also devote a good chunk of their presser to a tentative political manifesto: “Influences are diverse but largely they as a group agree that humane treatment of asylum seekers is necessary as well as justice system that treats people with dignity and compassion. The band also agrees that an economic system that encourages equal distribution of resources and discourages profiteering business practices that are detrimental to the environment would be good. Also, that the linear consumption of resources on a finite planet is unsustainable.” The West Endery of it all should be overwhelming, but it’s hard not to be carried along by the passion of their beliefs worked into their music. The final cut is a cover borrowed from JK Ryan of Cascadeer and featuring lyrics by Ernest Shackleton making a grand tribute to the epic scale of Antarctica’s Mt. Erebus. Ironically, for all the band’s post-rock shock and awe, Erebus is one of the most laidback tracks they have. It even features some happy-go-lucky whistling. It rounds out a debut, that is, if that presser is to be believed, as unexpected as it is diverse. It should probably too earnest, too indie-folk and just too plain West End altogether, but, it’s hard to dislike Mad Warrior, Violent Leader, there’s a lot about them that’s appealing. Even their presser. - Chris Cobcroft.