Give Me Another Hœur Please God - Woolworths Flu Shot (Self released)
There is nothing more pathetic than boomers who lament there are no decent bands anymore.
Sure, they’re not as bad as the ones who go on about shitty, awful tribute cover bands populated by burned-out has-beens, or those people who think |godawful vineyard gigs with heritage acts responsible for the worst Australian music of the 1980s are somehow relevant.
Don’t listen to any of them. Some of the edgiest, toughest and most inventive bands are Gen Z. OK, it’s sometimes like panning for gold to find the nuggets of wildness, but they are out there.
It was a Wednesday night a few weeks ago when I dropped into the legendary and edgy Nimbin Hotel in Far Northern New South Wales. I entered to the sound of blisteringly loud noise as the bar’s floorboards shook.
Further investigation revealed a packed back room of tattooed misfits with coloured dreadlocks, and Mohawks, with the odd Goth thrown in. Every alternative rock freak from the area must have been packed into that moshpit, most of them on a variety of chemicals. It was the Sydney Trade Union Club circa 1983 on a bad acid trip. The band was Woolworths Flu Shot and they were incredibly loud.
Rolling on the floor, hollering, was heavily tattooed Maddison Wood who makes Amy Taylor seem like Taylor Swift. The band was “on” with tight guitars producing blistering riffs. There was inventive lead guitar by Skelly Cullen, and the tight rhythm section of Julien McCardie and Micheal Lewis Pettit was locked in. Then layered on top were the swirling synth and organ lines of Lily Hollaway. I felt I was in the final round of a heavyweight boxing fight.
To confuse me, the band used a flute player: It added a weird dimension that worked. In one blazing 45-minute set, I heard Zappa, early Hole, the Birthday Party and ‘90s metal funk with rapping.
It is impossible to pigeonhole this band live except as intense and committed. At its heart are the raw and powerful vocals of Madison with a stage presence that’s equal parts Lydia Lunch and a Riot Girrrl who is in the process of self-imolating
The band is from Tasmania and used to be called Hardcore Dog Penis. They’ve been travelling in a van, touring dives up and down the Australian East Coast for weeks. I bought their album
“Give Me Another Hœur Please God” has been on my turntable for only a few weeks and has been on high-rotation. “Billie Don’t Know The Time” opens it. It’s dark and swirling, almost like early Alice Cooper crossed with Gothic metal with an organ.
“Chemical Cave” is hard funk metal with a Birthday Party twist; sonically, it takes the album to the level of a pure rock explosion. The tight bass and busy drums are so locked in. “God Gave Me Lemon Cake” follows and by comparison is a light-hearted jolt and is obviously a party song. It gives the album a lighter note.
The tough rapping returns with ”In Your Eyes”. As soon as you’re down with its hard-edged funk rap, it tiptoes into crashing metal.
After an indie-rock introduction, “Jacob” takes on a melodic edge with, dare I say it, the sweetest of arpeggios. Maybe it’s a gentle moment but it’s not without bite. Maddison Woods shines like some wild falling star in the night. This could be one of the most impassioned and emotive vocal performances I have heard in decades. The record is worth its weight for this one alone.
“No Wurrows Burrows” ends the A side with a doss of hard-edged punk.
“Quaalude Castle” opens side two and is like the soundtrack to a 1960s horror flick. The vocals are intense as the song builds and the lyrics set the ground rules with some street lingo.
“Russian Bathrobe” hits you square between the eyes with its note of desperation and an references to an underbelly of downers and heroin. It’s about the loss of friends who have gone under. In the 1970s, “The Needle and The Damage Down” was about the same thing. Now, we have Gen Z delivering the same warning with a less subtle, take-no-prisoners bellow.
Closing track “Teague in Prada” switches the mood to a wild hootenanny cowboy punk sound resembling The Johnnys on speed. It rolls along on some great guitar lines and that rhythm section would ignite any moshpit into a frenzy as Maddison channels Dolly Parton meeting Courney Love after an all-night bender.
Every time I listen to this record something more sparks my attention. In the space of one song, Woolworths Flu Shot spit out more ideas than an average band can muster in a whole album.
Sure, I can hear so many influences of late 1980s Sydney label Black -Eye and bands like Box The Jesuit and Lubricated Goat, but there’s also the feminist punk of Babes in Toyland and the aforementioned funk metal. Throw in a nod to Frank Zappa and early Black Sabbath.
At the centre of it all is the amazing Maddison Woods and the most impassioned, fucked-up intense vocal delivery that I have heard in eons, Maddison spits pain and gore, she croons and then bellows from the pit of her lungs.
This is a mind-boggling album.
5 beers plus 5 shots of tequila at 3am
