Along with half of once-underground Sydney, I know Bob Short. Unlike the rest of Sydney, it seems, I’ve only seen the scrote play once and, because he was rather brilliant, he rates a decent listen and a proper review of his first 7”.
This isn’t an essential purchase, not in this world of freebie downloads and rubbish music. Surely?
Well, actually I rather love this little record, and it looks super in my collection. And, as I understand from Bob’s accompanying pitiful blurb that there’s an LP in the works, all this is as far as I am concerned, most certainly essential. Why?
So settle back on Granfer’s knee and I’ll tell ye a story young feller …
This single is great and odds are that the album from which this comes, "False Memory Lane", would be even better. Let’s get the antecedents out of the way first.
The Galileo7 is the latest vehicle for ex-Prisoners bassist Alan Crockford, whose band was at the vanguard of the Medway garage rock wave in the UK. The Prisoners bit the dust in 1986 but Rockford has been dutifully playing this garage rock-pop stuff since then and this is a new line-up of his current band.
If this East Sussex, England, all-girl trio is aiming to parachute into the same territory as The Pandoras with their debut 45, it’s found the drop-zone. The engine room doesn’t stomp quite as hard but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
“Black Book” is a song about, well, a girl’s black book and it bristles with fuzz tone and bad grace. Bass tones and a touch of the toms signals the start and it quickly locks into a nice groove. Guitarist Laura Anderson has a strong voice and she's mixed right up front.
Flip it over and you’ll hear a dirtier, drum-led rocker that’s no slouch, either. Skuzzy guitar fights for a place up front at centre mic before handclaps signal we’re on our way out. Another reminder, if it was needed, that garage punk rock isn't entirely down and out in Mother England.
State Records on the Web
Mike Stax, long-time singer for San Diego's long-running The Loons, is better known for Ugly Things, the magnificent magazine he runs, than his band. This double-headed pointer towards their forthcoming album suggests that needs to change.
“Miss Clara Regrets” is a fine slice of bustling freakbeat with a bassline that means business and guitars that demand to be heard. Stax delivers a fine vocal with punch and good range to tell a tale about an “It girl”. Twin guitars and a hook of in the tail that says it’s a pop song and it's exclusive to this single.
There’s a case to be made for this being the best Australian 45 of all time so Canadian label Ugly Pop has done the world a great service by re-issuing it. Here are the young Masters in their early incarnation, their essence wrapped up in two succinct but telling garage punk punches.
Gloriously raw and an inspiration to countless bands that have followed (Radio Birdman and the Saints among them), “Undecided” explodes with the snarl of over-driven guitars and the young Jim Keays’ unrestrained vocal.Taken from the Aztec Records re-master, it has translated perfectly to vinyl with a crunching bottom end and punchy mid-range.
If you believe the schtick about expat-Canadian vocalist-saxophonist Spencer Evoy meeting bassist Bret Bolton on a pigrimage to Joe Meek’s former flat and recording studio, you’ll swallow the line that the band was named after a takeaway shop Boulton was living above. And that the pair met when Evoy was busking outside. Every band needs a back story. and it beats Mick and Keef telling record collection stories to each other on a train platform.
(The word is that it's all true. So there. )
Anyway, these tracks are from the soundtrack for a forthcoming horror flick about bears. Which makes a change from the band's usual lyrics about chicken. The A is a greasy R & B mover (meaning Rhythm & Blues - before the term was denuded by atrocious pap) that’s dominated by a feel with swing and Evoy’s rich sax and vocal.
The flip is a horny instro that’s nearly as good and would have gone down a storm in a late ‘50s dance hall full of liquored-up teens. I’ve no idea what it all means in the film’s context but that’s probably not a game breaker. This shit is top-shelf.
MFC Chicken on the Web at Dirty Water Records