If you missed Part 1 in the Josh Pyke saga, you should start by checking out our interview with him here. Now that we have established that my brother looks like Josh Pyke we can continue.
My brother and I arrive at Brisbane’s Black Bear Lodge, to a sold-out room of fans politely milling around the stage, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the affable modern bush poet that is Josh Pyke. It is a fans-first show so only those who have bought the new album But For All These Shrinking Hearts (or are lucky enough to be writing about the affair) are allowed access. It is immediately apparent that if you put all of Josh Pyke’s fans in a pot and boiled them down, this would be the concentrated broth. They have a distinct flavour; soft and sweet with a rosy finish. Even the bartender remarks at how nice they are as I buy my first drink.
Standing towards the back of the room it is immediately apparent that people are staring at my brother. I don’t think they think he is Josh Pyke, but it is a stare of jealousy because he has really nailed that Josh Pyke look (as we discussed in Part One of this adventure, they look remarkably, uncannily similar). In a room of mega fans he looks like the biggest there is, and he fucking hates it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t like the lilting indie music, but if you spend your life looking like someone, it’s pretty uncool to admit to being an admirer. It is better to keep a distant aloofness so you can shrug off any comments with an off hand “Who? Yeah don’t really know his stuff.” If you accidentally start liking your doppelganger’s work, you immediately become the impostor and it’s a dark journey into self-deprecation from there.
As Josh comes on to the stage there is a roar from the tiny room that makes Beliebers seem like fair-weather fans. He soaks in the admiration before launching into an a-dorkable “Are you rrrrready?” followed by a laugh and a lament about his terrible MC work. The crowd respond like they are on the set of a sitcom with appropriately timed laughs, awwws and cheers.
When I notice the performers outfit, I look at my brother in disbelief. They are literally wearing the same thing. You can see the photo evidence below, but there are nuances that aren’t quite clear enough. For example, not many people roll up the sleeves of a long sleeve shirt right to the muscle bulge. It’s a dated but somewhat bold look that they both embrace on their spotted blue shirts with a laissez faire ginger charm. The main difference is Pyke has metal collar cuffs, an item reserved for those that have truly made it. My brother tells me it is unplanned. I take this as further proof they were separated at birth and share weird telekinetic powers.
As the music kicks off the set is an intimate exploration of Pyke’s ten-year career to date. Spanning five albums he hand picks the songs that resonate most with fans, and delivers them with his signature alpine vocals. They climb and stagger from line to line, always journeying onwards and upwards to a fantastic peak. The Summer and The Lighthouse Song from 2008’s Chimney’s Afire are favourites with stunning lyrics that take me on a stirring nostalgic trip. “Time is like the ocean, you can only hold a little in your hands. So we swim before we’re broken, before our bones become black coral on the sand.” I’d forgotten how beautiful the album is but am instantly reminded.
Mid set, Pyke invites friend and musician Jack Carty to the stage to perform hit Make You Happy. There is a shout from a woman in the front row and Josh responds: “That must be you, Bernadette!” I imagine that some of these people have seen these songs in countless venues and cities and really are the backbone of his career. He knows there names and he is grateful and you can really see it. It’s quite touching. As Carty leans into the single microphone the two touch heads as they perform together and it’s another warm and fuzzy moment. I even see my brother humming along. Busted.
There are plenty of tracks off the new album littered throughout the night, and despite being out for only weeks, they seem to have lodged themselves deep in the psyche of those in the room. A lady behind me seems extremely conflicted as the set goes on. With each new song she says something like “this is my favorite on the album”, then the next “no, wait… this is… this is definitely my favorite.” It goes on like this for five or six songs, but the moral of the story is people like them all… a lot. And with good reason. But For All These Shrinking Hearts is a superb record befitting an artist who has fully embraced his sound and has pushed it to new ground.
Still Some Big Deal is a lovely ballad that explores the depths and lengths of a relationship and stands out in its vulnerability. Be Your Boy continues the sentimentality but has more musical complexity with a pulsing beat played through an iPad, an extremely catchy chorus, and Peter Gabriel-esque vocal heights. It’s bordering on twee but stops just this side of being extremely endearing. I cross all my fingers and toes that he might jump into a cover of Solsbury Hill, but it doesn’t happen. During There’s a Line I listen to the words: “Every time I think I got a bearing on myself, I lose the bearing on myself…” I nudge my brother and say, “this song is about you.” He rolls his eyes.
As the set nears the end single Hollering Hearts has the whole room pulsating in a joyous dance of camaraderie. All of a sudden I understand that these fans first shows are definitely for the fans, but just as much, they are for Pyke. He smiles from ear to ear mirrored by the crowd, completely safe and accepted as he shares the songs he cares so much about. It must feel pretty damn good to be in a room so full of love and free from judgment. Over the course of the night there are more thank you’s than I can count, and in one last show of gratitude Josh ensures he will be staying around to chat with whoever wants to come say hi. I grab my brother by the wrist and drag him to the front of the stage. He harangues me with jibes about how Highlander style “there can be only one”.
When we get there I shake Josh’s hand and introduce them. Call me crazy, but there is a moment of brotherhood. All threats of beheading (aka the Highlander) are gone and they exchange jokes about coordinated wardrobes and the complexity of beards. People look on amazed and wonder what on earth this Josh Pyke impersonator is doing, but the three of us share in the joke as I snap a picture and my brother’s ten year struggle with being likened to the red headed troubadour comes to a head, forever etched in social media history. While they may never become best friends, they are now highly aware of each other’s existence, and if they bumped into each other in the street I like to think they would stop for a beer and regale stories of the twins that never were.
We bid Josh farewell and leave him to swim happily in the sea of adoration, slowly making his way to everyone who wants to exchange a few words. As we file out of the Black Bear Lodge I have a warm feeling of contentment and a knowing that my work here is done.
