Old Heads by Paul Sutherland
Tangled Thoughts of Leaving, Bolt Gun, Sleepthink @ Mojo’s, June 5th 2026.
Okay, first thing’s first. In the inaugural issue of Mouthguard, Matt Aitken let slide in no uncertain terms that I would be reviewing Pressure Bells, the soundtracked spoken word piece by Simon Charles and John Kinsella which opened Audible Edge 2026. But I didn’t do it.
So, on the topic of false starts, I’ve gotta at least describe what was happening before the gig. Matt and I were sandwiched in the corner of the Victoria Hall floor, awkwardly in front of what I suppose was the storage room? Maybe? I don’t know, but there were lots of chairs being taken out of the room as more people gradually arrived to fill the floor. Between Matt and I asking each other how our weeks were going and what we were looking forward to that evening, we were also having to negotiate an ever-evolving seating and standing arrangement, unsure whose way we were in at any given moment. I was mildly stressed, half listening to Matt at this point describe a Simon Charles related anecdote and wondering whether I should help move some of the chairs around. Actually you know what? No, that’d be worse. The chairs will be fine.
Eventually the dust settled, the mostly seated audience quietened down, and then Josten and Annika conscientiously fulfilled their MC duties, reminding us all to be relaxed and comfortable, but not too relaxed and comfortable; you know, sprawl a bit on the cushions, dance a bit if you want, don’t speak during the performances, and ideally don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Have a great night everyone! and without further ado, please welcome—crash! Someone collapsed from their seat, completely stacking it, causing a circle of concerned concertgoers to huddle around and help them back up. “Ouch”, I heard someone whisper. "That was definitely an audible edge". It took probably twenty or so seconds for the mildly rattled performers to know for certain that it was appropriate to start playing and that the audience were ready to hear the piece.
Obviously I ultimately decided against writing about that show, even though the musical accompaniments by Djuna Lee, Jameson Feakes, and Saskia Willinge were very lush and evocative. Instead, I was looking forward to writing about the Tangled Thoughts of Leaving show at Mojo’s a few weeks later. I mentioned this to Ben, and his response was something along the lines of, “Tangled Thoughts? Bolt Gun? Sleepthink? Woah! I haven’t heard of those guys in years!”
I make the pilgrimage once more to Fremantle. The first thing I noticed was that there were very few people in the crowd younger than myself. I could clarify this by saying that I’m in my thirties now, so this is a conspicuous situation, but truth be told I’ve always thought too much about age. It’s one of those things that colours so much about how different people experience the same events. For an obvious example, I was in my mid-twenties during COVID, and I now have friends who were in school at the time! Age provides you with a permanently fixed temporal perspective and reference points that are qualitatively different but sometimes shared. I realise that I’m in a room full of people whose faces I vaguely recognise from hanging around the metal scene nearly fifteen years ago. I don’t know most of them, but they’re familiar. Maybe seeing them here is nostalgic. Or maybe it’s the uncanny and humbling reminder that I haven’t moved on as much as I thought I have. Tangled Thoughts of Leaving have reached legend status in Perth. The rest of us have reached unc status.
I spotted my old friend Graham in the crowd, who I knew was specifically looking forward to Sleepthink, an ambient producer who was somehow never on my radar. Graham informed me that he, like the rest of the lineup, has been producing music for the last decade or so and doesn’t play gigs very often. Sleepthink’s stage presence included a stand for his laptop and synth draped in fairy lights spilling onto the floor and a heavy amount of low-lying fog accented by a flood of red and yellow light. The visual components were minimal. Enchanting, not flashy or gimmicky. The music moved between urban field recordings, pulsating electronics, and dreamy keyboard melodies. I understood very quickly why Graham was looking forward to this performance in particular.
Bolt Gun was next. Graham hadn’t seen them play before but this was the band I compared to Wittenoom, which was clearly persuasive enough. The rumbling jazz-influenced drums, ominous cymbal hits, and effects-laden samples are framed by Val’s tense basslines. The tension breaks with Andy’s high-pitched screams. It provides a counterbalance to the otherwise dominant low-end, and I suppose for that reason, the vocals add to the texture of the music rather than cutting across it. I have a grin on my face the entire time. I glance over at Graham, whose facial expression is wide-eyed and a little dissociated, mouth agape and head tilted upward, as if enduring being thrust headfirst into some kind of drone ambient sublime, or perhaps receiving a metaphysical revelation directly from God. I look around the room, and I can see everyone appreciating their set knowingly. As I expected, we’re all here because we’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. “Yes, they were good,” said Graham.
Tangled Thoughts of Leaving round out the night. I wonder if post-rock is making a comeback in the same way that emo did a few years ago and shoegaze did a bit before that. Sure enough there were plenty of folded arms and thoughtful expressions in the crowd. Nowhere near as many waxed moustaches or man-buns though. I don’t remember the last time I’d seen Tangled Thoughts of Leaving play, but I think it was at the Rosemount, back when the bar used to be in the middle of the room, which feels like a Mandela effect situation at this point. Can someone verify if this was true? I don’t want to ask Reddit about it. The band is having a great time. They look triumphant when they play; every phrase feels like a gymnast nailing a trick at the London Olympics. Ron’s double-keyboard playing reminds me of Andy’s vocals from Bolt Gun. No—hear me out—not because the keyboard playing is high-pitched and terrifying, but because it’s the indispensable signature of the band, the anchor point they’re built around, and the element that sticks with you for years after you see them play. The whole show was phenomenal. The band ends to a rapturous applause, and Ron, beaming with unbridled joy, thanks us all for coming to the show. It was actually so sweet.
Everyone else leaving the venue is at least my age. I remember going to see Refused play at Metropolis when I was 18. At the time, the band had been relegated to a cult status legacy act who would never play live again. I was excited, but there were people in the crowd at least fifteen years older than me who had been listening to them since the 90s. That must have been special. Maybe I’m one of the old heads now. We all walk away appreciating what it’s like to grow with the bands playing on stage. To see them rise from strength to strength, to remember the first time we saw them play, to be proud of our friends and the culture around them, and to remind ourselves over and over again that this is why we haven’t stopped going to gigs, that this is the point.