There were a lot of firsts to be experienced on Tame Impala’s Deadbeat tour. I have never seen an arena headliner emerge looking more like he’s just stumbled out of bed. I have never seen a lighting and laser rig so spectacular that it can evoke the ego-obliterating escapism only the best psychedelia can achieve. And I have definitely never watched a performer walk off stage for a wee – and I mean watched, along with thousands of others, as a camera followed him right up to the urinal.
The question of whether Kevin Parker’s mid-show piss on the Deadbeat tour (he does it every show) is a cheeky joke, a manoeuvre to buy time for some production trickery, or a performance to build out his deliberately lackadaisical stage presence, is part of his appeal. Live, his voice is ethereal and plaintive, soaring even over the most abrasive guitars and synthy ruckus. And the whole band, with added sixth member James Ireland of Pond fame, sound incredible; drummer Julien Barbagallo can and will rattle your rib cage.
