Inside Enmore Theatre, the air feels thick tonight — not just with heat, but with the promise of something unapologetically old-school: loud guitars, loose edges, and rock’n’roll played like it still matters.
First up, The Southern River Band arrive like a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest. Fresh off UK and European dates, the Perth outfit don’t waste time easing in — they hit the stage at full tilt, all Herculean mullets, sweat and swagger. Frontman Cal Kramer prowls the stage like he’s trying to outpace the amps behind him, turning every chorus into a communal shout.
By the time they leave the stage, the room feels primed — not warmed up, but shaken awake.
When The Black Crowes step into the frame, everything tightens. Since reforming in 2019, Chris and Rich Robinson have tapped back into something elemental — a version of the band that strips away nostalgia and leans fully into instinct.
What follows isn’t about individual songs, it’s about force. The Black Crowes deal in groove and grit, in riffs that feel lived-in rather than rehearsed, in a kind of looseness that threatens to spill over but never quite does. It’s Southern rock as something physical — not polished, not restrained, but pushed right to the edge.
There’s a weight to it, a sense of history moving through the room without ever becoming static. The band don’t play like they’re revisiting a catalogue; they play like they’re still inside it, still stretching it, still testing how far it can go.
What stands out isn’t just the sound — it’s the conviction. The Black Crowes don’t posture, they don’t overcomplicate. They lean into the fundamentals: rhythm, feel, and the kind of swagger that can’t be taught.
Two bands, different generations, same intent. No reinvention, no compromise — just rock’n’roll played loud enough to drown out everything else.
Images Deb Pelser
1 comment
I may be getting old but I think it was a bit too loud. Otherwise, they’re great band and I always liked them.