This one’s an excuse for a trite throwaway line like: “Rock is back”, right? Because that’s what a mainstream music publication would do. Well, fuck that. You can use the fingers of a one-armed man to count the number of Aussie music mags that would give “Transmission” anything more than lip service - and you’d still have digits left over. The Volcanics deserve better than that.
This Perth band has been doing the hard rock thing since the early half of last decade - mostly in and around their hometown (although they're on their way to Europe soon.) There’s only one man standing from the original line-up (that’d be singer Johnny Phatouros) but the vision has been consistent throughout. They’re all about delivering straight-up, high-energy rock and roll that goes for the throat. Simple in theory but not easy to pull off without coming off like a re-heated and inferior version of your influences. Which “Transmission” is not.
Hey Sydney: you don't wanna miss rock royalty, Stewart 'Leadfinger' Cunningham in rare solo mode (playing both six and 12-string acoustic guitars) at the Midnight Special in Newtown on Sunday, October 18.
Leadfinger's history speaks for itself - The Proton Energy Pills, Brother Brick, Asteroid B612, Challenger 7, The Yes Men - and the opportunities to see him this stripped back and intimate are few and far between.
Joining him are acoustic alt-country punks, The Saloon Daddies. Entry is free and it's an early start at 6pm.
There was a time when everybody wanted to be in the Cramps and Voodoobilly was a thing. As is the nature of trends, some excelled and many bands were terrible at it. Generally speaking, harking back to rock and roll’s earliest roots (which is all the Cramps were doing in their own extreme way) was a good thing to do because it opened up so many ears.
It’s all in the beat and although Papa Pilko and The Binrats want to bury themselves deep in a swamp they sound like they’ve washed up on the shores of Lake Michigan, somewhere near the Windy City. Not that this is a bad thing. Chicago Blues is cool to revel in and this Sydney six-piece immerse themselves deep. Remember, it’s all just labels anyway and there’s even a lashing of outlaw country stirred into the musical mix.
There’s always something to recommend Unbelievably Bad even if their tastes extend to the extreme end of the cultural scale (black metal, splatter movies, hardcore) compared to your average, probably older, I-94 Bar reader.
There’s not much in the ranting of Cannibal Corpse’s ex-frontman Chris Barnes or the chick from the so pretentious Circle Pit to trouble me, but on the other hand a lengthy chat with Ian Cunningham from Birdman fans The Chosen Few is alway going to be a worthy read. Issue 16 is a cracker with the other stand-out an interview with Ian “Bobsy” Millar, the last surviving link to Lobby Loyde and the Coloured Balls. It’s also timely with the “When Sharpies Ruled” compilation recently dropping.
Here’s a record that’s as unassuming as an undercover cop with agoraphobia in a grand final football crowd. You’ll only find a bare bones mention of it on the Internet because it buries rather than hides its bushel under a tree, but it’s superbly played and overflowing with easy rocking charm.
Anytime James is led by Michael Gibbons, once a member of Asteroid B612’s guitar arsenal in the early ‘90s and now living on the New South Wales Far North Coast. That’s about as far removed as you can get from the hard rocking pubs of Sydney’s northern beaches of 15 years ago, but then Gibbons is drawing inspiration from a wellspring that runs deeper than just Sydney via Detroit.
"This album is dedicated to a small club: the squatters of Campbell Buildings in 1979/80. Every year our numbers get fewer but the story lives on," writes Bob Short on the LP cover.
Yeah. Just like the 100 Club and the Sex Pistols, occupants of the Campbell Buildings in London now number in their mythological thousands.
Yeah right. Some pasts attract wanna-be’s like flying bugs to apricot jam, others … well, let’s just say you’d give some pasts a wide berth.
Sydney’s premier cowpunks, Spurs for Jesus, are marking their 21st year with a four-week run of free shows at regular haunt, The Botany View Hotel, in Newtown. Spurs will be spitting out three-sets on the first four Saturdays in October, from 5-8pm.
The gigs are going to be some of the last for guitarist Moose Morricone who’s moving to Queensland in December. Keen gig-goers may know his alter ego, Martin Martini, who used to grace the ranks of southern Sydney '80s faves The Trilobites.
Spurs have just released a split single with Deadwood 76 (reviewed here) and is rightly regarded as an iconic presence on the Sydney music scene.
Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the psych ward, this sliver of shiny black vinyl arrives out of Brisbane’s sub-tropical humidity, stumbling around like a homeless man in a threadbare coat who's baring his arse for all the world to see.
The Busymen don’t seem to have been living up to their name in recent times because this 10-inch EP is their first release since the “Distort All Levels” album of 2007. Put that down to commitments with other bands or members being detained by the authorities for their own good. They’ve certainly made up for lost time.
Half-covers and half-originals, “Under Attack…” resonates with the brutal thump of a Force 5 hangover after an all-night pub crawl through the seedier haunts of their hometown’s party district of Fortitude Valley. The morning after just doesn’t come any fuzzier than this.
Much of the fun of listening to music that most of the world doesn’t get is imagining where it could be be transplanted to. Fuzz-faced Melbourne quartet Spacejunk would sound perfect on a scuzzy Southern European garage punk festival bill under a June or July sun with cheap beer in front of wild-eyed speed freaks who know the words to every song. Europeans love this stuff even if half their own bands can’t play it.
Spacejunk rejoices in hot-wired, fuzzy punk rock and roll that’s barely anchored to the floor. Short, sharp songs tumble after each other in an onslaught. It’s crudely recorded with sound leaking all over the place. Fast and frantic, they sound like a cross between the (speedcore) Hard-Ons, the late Jed Whitey and The Meanies. What’s not to love?