March 29, 2014
March 29, 2014
For those of you who don't know, it's Festival time here in the Little City, which means for all intents and purposes, most of us who live here keep well away.
First up I must confess I’m a Buzzcocks tragic from way back. Been in Adelaide for 10 years now and this is the fourth time I’ve seen them, plus once in '92 in Melbourne. So the title Buzzcocks Tragic sounds good to me.
It's the night before Anzac Day and all through the house/Every bugger is rushing to get ready to go to a gig.
Tuesday night rock'n'roll at the Annandale? Not gonna be an eventful night, no sirree....goin to pay homage to some power-pop legends who have given me years of inspiration and pleasure, coupla beers and some great tunes and home to bed. It's Tuesday night for chrissakes, can't get carried away, what can possibly go wrong I thought...I often forget about the influence of rock'n'roll on my weak will.
Look. There are two kinds of people hanging around at the I:94 Bar this week. There are Flamin’ Groovies people and Blue Oyster Cult people. Now, as Quentin Tarantino has famously explained it, you can like both but you have to like one more than the other. Do you come down on the side of Teutonic precision or do you let your dancing shoes do the talkin’.
Blue Oyster Cult. Fashionably obscure forerunners or collective remnants of past glories? Only in it for the money tourists or a heritage act with a reputation to uphold and something still to say? The first band to make the umlaut cool? You can debate these things until you're Blue in the face. The only way you're going to find out is to get off your arse and see for yourself.
First, an apology to Tab of Secret S, who I assured I would see after the gig. Jello went on too long for that, and I needed to talk about the gig with ... almost anyone. Fortunately I didn't find anyone, but Mike and Kim, much better.
Harry Howard and Dave Graney - Trish Nacey photo
The Metro - November 22, 2012
It's been over two years since I've seen Harry Howard and the NDE live and I feel a bit like a kid with too much red cordial and wedding cake sloshing around inside. So I'm on the lemonade tonight.
Arriving at the Metro a little late (it's Friday night and we've been home to feed, listen to the band do a sterling four songs and interview on local radio 3D, guzzle red cordial and cake, change and dash back out) I catch a few songs of the St Morris Sinners ripping up a rug and am dragged just outside to breathe the same air as half the smokers in Adelaide.