Imagine Tarantino. Think Tarantino sitting with Gil Evans somewhere in a retro lounge in the desert of Arizona, the San Pedro cacti silhouetted by a full moon and a serenade of gunshots, mariachi and wolves. Think Calexico.
Supported by Phoenix Foundation (who still remain one of the topindie acts of the windy capital) and the Surfy Hollowgrinders, the show began with an eclectic range of styles.
This United States Southwest group have a cinematic ability to document that sad purgatory of the maquila, the sweatshops so kindly donated by the United States to the Mexican frontierland.
Their tone was capable of encapsulating that sombre aspect of Arizona while still holding on to the racy beats of a good mariachi band and the ad-lib MC-ing of their frontman Joey Burns.
Having just opened for Nick Cave in Australia, this Tucson-based group ripped through their repertoire with virtuosity and versatility of contortionist proportions.
Burns is the quintessential audience mind-reader, whose eyes went from one end of the bar to the next trying to pinpoint the mood, check the pulse of the band, and render one of the best performances to wash over the Kings Arms in a while.
Technically speaking, this band is as together as it gets.
The multi-tasking percussion session (Martin Wenk and Jacob Valenzuela) had absolutely no difficulty in dominating the higher scales of a trumpet, and just as easily tinkled with a marimba or played the accordion (all of them, amazingly, and even two at a time).
Many of the show's tunes came from their superb Feast of Wire album, and watching Burns eerily wail "Washed my face in the river of empire, made my bed from a cardboard crate ... " made a ghostly chill rattle through the otherwise boiling hot venue.
The Saturday gig covered retro lounge, folksy, Manu Chao, Mexican classics, surfy sounds and one or two punk-infused tunes.
The show closed with their rendition of Manu Chao's Clandestino and a tongue-twisting, salsa coated Guero Canelo with Jacob Valenzuela on vocals and Volker Zander making the crowd almost tex-mex with his stand up bass ritual.
With the jandal-ed Chris Cox seemingly ready to hit the town with the band, we can only hope Calexico, gun-toting or not, tumbles back into New Zealand.
