Dead Moon: Alive in the Unknown tour
The Dellburgoes, Slavetrader
Barrytown, NZ
January 4 2003 by Kim Eggleston

Barrytown. A strip of land with the mountains at its back and its face to the sun. A pub, a hall, a gravel road heading down to the sea. Hot shiny day, thunderclouds rolling in from the Sou’west. The air full of oxygen, sparkling.
Dead Moon arrive in the afternoon for a sound-check. The stage just finished – sheets of plywood laid over upturned milk-crates, trampoline against the back wall, kids and dogs in the corners of the hall, cowboy boots ringing on the old sprung floor, sun glittering through the cobwebs on the windows.
Fred tips his hat back with one finger and smiles, Yep, we know places like this.
The sun slides into the sea. The middle of nowhere, people come for miles. Dusty cars all down the road. Pub verandah clinking with laughter. Barrytown has always had its own brand of soul.

The Dellburgoes open the bill. And from the first chord the old hall is rocking. The noise is huge, pure adrenaline. Spector-power – layer upon layer of sound.
Leighton’s power-house drumming setting the beat, the bass blazing right up there with him. Three raw star guitars rocking, howling, driving. And coming through all that noise riffs that just shimmer with light.
Johnny Bourke, 19, first proper gig with Dellburgoes, cool as Keith only better-looking, kid in a state of bliss.
And they move. Sliding across the stage on their knees, guitar necks pointing to the roof, stepping up to the mike in their cowboy shirts, twisting, singing without missing a step. Hey Sugar Bunny, you’re driving me wah-wah-wild.
The crowd is on fire, skirts and sweat flying, surfing, whistling, screaming for more. It’s a trip into rock n roll heaven, reeperbahn style.
Going Home, Freeway of Love, two new songs Baby That’s It, Girl on Fire, Kick-ass covers of Leave my Kittin alone, She Said Yeah. And the perfectly formed Last Twist – a pure gem of wild guitar-driven Dellburgoes sound.

Slavetrader had a hard time after this because everyone was hot and crossed to the pub for cold beer, but they looked good and they sounded good. They used to be called the Hi-Tone Destroyers which is a great name.

Dead Moon. Dead Moon are just special. From the moment the candle was lit in the Jack Daniels bottle on the drum kit at the front of the stage, we were in the presence of magic. That kind of scorching garage on-the-edge magic that makes your heart feel bigger.
Fred and Toody have been together for a long time. They have grandchildren and a guitar shop and cut their records at home, Tombstone Records, “music too tough to die.” They are the kings of three chords passion, low-fi inspiration.
Fred has been playing in bands, screaming at the top of his lungs since 1965, his guitar-playing, lead and rhythm simultaneously, loose, blistering.
Toody is so damn beautiful, like Emmy-Lou Harris only better. Her basslines are dynamite, raw energy. And when she sings your heart soars right up to the rafters. And when Fred sings with her and they’re slightly out of tune and time, you just feel like you’re where you should be.
Fred’s melodies, riffs, notes dropped in and rippling out, Andrew drumming right up to meet them, long hair dripping, candle burning, they find a moment, they give it to you with arms of colour. They make room in there for heart to happen, till your teeth are buzzing with happiness. These guys know each other so well, one takes off and the others are already there waiting. And the crowd with them every step.
They played a mixture of old stuff and new stuff. The Way It Is from Trash And Burn, 40 miles of Bad Road, a searing These Times With You. 54/40 or fight, Evil eye, Im wise, ACDC’s It’s a Long Way to the Top.
But it was Toody’s covers that brought the house down. This is specially for Johnny Virgin, his first night on stage. Watch out Johnny, it’s addictive, and into a version of Play With Fire that was just sublime. A heart-breaking finale Can’t Help Falling in Love, which segued into Ring of Fire/Folsom Prison.

The clouds broke and rain drummed on the old tin roof. 250 ecstatic people blasted out into the night. The poster said No dorks, and none came. Dead Moon traditionally light one candle on the drum kit and play till it’s burned down. Tonight they lit two.
Gonk grinning – I do all that other stuff, but this is where my heart is.
Andrew to Johnny – Forget the olds, Let’s form our own band.

But the olds are the heart of rock and roll. This is the way it is. Not stadiums or supermodels or world domination. But this. Guitars. People. A family in the hall. Like coming home. It was a night that matched perfectly the time and the place. Barrytown rocked.

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