Review: Earthless at Rosemount Hotel

Earthless at Rosemount Hotel
w/ Giant Dwarf
Thursday, September 18, 2025

There are gigs where the opener warms the stage, and then there are nights like this—where the support band all but lights the fuse. While this was Earthless’ night and a welcome return to the Rosemount stage, Perth’s own Giant Dwarf drenched the room in delectable fuzz from the get-go.

But—before we get into the thick of it—a brief PSA:

Sure, Earthless and co. may tend to draw a male-heavy crowd, but being one of maybe five women in the room (excluding those with the bands) was a tad grim. Despite being a girl solo at the sausage sizzle, the atmosphere was the safest I’ve felt at the Rosemount in years. Girls, we need to show up! Bring a mate or bring a man, but safe spaces don’t just appear—we help make them by being present.

Now, onto the music.

Giant Dwarf opened proceedings at 7:30pm sharp, but most of the crowd seemed to have missed the memo—the room was still sparse enough to feel the sheer quaking volume reverberating around. Minus their vocalist, their bass-driven jams and psychedelic tangents were accentuated: swamp sludge laced with vintage fuzz, slow and muddy one moment, spacey and elastic the next.

There was no time to mess around with banter, though the music more than spoke for itself, the lead guitar soaring like a vocal, free and unleashed, with warming bass and distortion softening the land. With a whiff of Sabbath and early QOTSA, Giant Dwarf’s vibe is unapologetically huge.

What could veer towards indulgent carried too much charisma and swagger to be denied. Locking into primal, hypnotic grooves, with riffs so fat you could chew on them, the crew has landed upon a sound as referential as it is authentic.

After such a generous start, Earthless humbly took to the stage. If you came looking for trippy metaphors about rockets blasting into the cosmos, you’re out of luck.

Before launching off, guitarist Isaiah Mitchell acknowledged the turmoil of the world outside, offering us “a moment of chaos for all the fucked shit going on in the world today,” and gave the Rosemount a nod. Cue the purge.

Notably, drummer Mario Rubalcaba’s kit was pushed forward, level with Mitchell and bassist Mike Eginton, rather than hidden at the back. The effect was immediate—punishing drumbeats like gunfire and splayed cymbals—while Mitchell conjured shrill feedback and ominous warbles. It was a cacophony, a wail and a prayer, before they settled into a groove.

This wasn’t self-indulgent noodling. Mitchell’s guitar stayed articulate, clear, and almost conversational. His solos meandered but never complacently—always disciplined. When the bass kicked up at Mitchell’s cue, the entire room felt it as a solid heartbeat throb, the air thick with distortion.

Mitchell played with Hendrix cool—effortless, almost casual—while the abrasiveness of the drums cut through the Californian ease. Rubalcaba—a powerhouse familiar to punk fans from Rocket From The Crypt and Hot Snakes—thwarted any preconceptions of loose stoner rock. Tight, melodic and infused with blues worship? Yes. Ill-disciplined wankery? No.

Coming down from Uluru Rock at the half-hour mark, pulsing reverberations and strobing lights lulled the room into a collective trance. Mitchell cast a knowing look out, surveying the worshippers he’d pulled into a waking hallucination. The audience wasn’t just watching—they were in it.

Earthless may not be for everyone—if you need lyrics, hooks, or tidy three-minute tracks, you might be left adrift. But for the willing, following the rise and fall of their sprawling improvisation is as physical as it is cerebral: textured passages mutating, accelerating, collapsing and rebuilding. The guitar is kaleidoscopic and ornamental but tethered to a rhythmic gravitational core.

Exceeding an hour with barely a breath between, the stamina of these seasoned players was staggering. Waves of distortion crashed and ebbed, easing us down gently after punishing heights. It was sobering and oddly grounding—less outer-space escapism and more elemental, earthy power. A point particularly resonant in their ode to Uluru, their next tour stop after Perth.

What struck most, though, was the humility. For all his virtuosity, Mitchell stayed unassuming and visibly grateful, and the generosity flowed both ways between band and audience. No ego, just communion.

Following Earthless’ encore—and a blistering rendition of Cherry Red, the only song of the night bearing vocals—the crowd walked out, ears buzzing and feeling underwater. A sensory overload sans substance. Discordant, fuzzy dreams guaranteed.

CAT LANDRO

Photos by Adrian Thomson