Howlin' Threads ask: Do ya think I'm saxy?

edge on the worldEdge On The World b/w Red Line - Howlin’ Threads (Mineshaft Records) 

The Howlin’ Threads wear their collective influences on their sleeves but it's the A side of this, the follow-up to their debut EP, that finds them pushing the stylistic boat out.

Summoned to life by Adam Bowler’s toms, “Edge On The World” recalls the Iggy and James of “Kill City” - or even an early Died Pretty - in its sonic approach, deploying some expansive saxophone from guest Noah Hampson to mix things up. Guitarist Dylan Webster rides a wave of wah wah pedal with a keyboard wash fattening the sound.The B side is more straight-forward and rocks along nicely.

Mark Hunstone recorded it with veteran sideman Bruce Callaway (Ed Kuepper, Saints and the first studio version of the New Christs) mastering it. Score a copy at the band's Bandcamp.

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No slow burn for this Short Fuse

short fuse3Short Fuse 3 - Various Artists (Wreckless Enterprises) 

Fifteen songs from as many bands in 11 minutes. A punk rock barrage. Sounds like fun - and it is. 

As you can tell from the name, this is the third in the series of concise and imperfectly formed, all-Australian compilation EPs from Wollongong label Wreckless Enterprises and it doesn’t pretend to be anything it isn’t in its headlong rush to the finish line: It’s a punk rock speed dating party and you wouldn’t want to be left on the shelf, would you?

'Tis the season for some treason

cultural treasonCultural Treason - Moot (Riot Records)

The sleepy resort town of Forster on the New South Wales Mid Coast might be an unlikely place to find a punk band, but never forget that Jello Biafra grew up as Stanley Boucher in nondescript Boulder, Colorado. Moot have a little Jello in the musical DNA on their debut EP - plus a whole lot more.

It’s said mainstream Americans don’t “get” sarcasm. Aussies do and Moot is dripping in the stuff. “Fake News” is a blast of bile with lots of dynamics, directed at you-know-who. "I Hate Hippies" channels a show at The Grand Hotel in Sydney in 1980 with its nod to Johnny Dole and the Scabs and is a punked-up attack on hipsters. Simple and simply effective. 

Flesh for fantasy

fleshen fellaFMR008 - Fleshen Fella (Fantastic Mess Records)

This band was formerly known as Fleshlight, comprises four actors and played live (in drag) at the Gasometer in Melbourne precisely once before recording this bunch of songs, sans overdubs, and promptly disappearing.

This is a seven-inch EP of five songs on a boutique label.

Spoiler alert: There's much more to this story but don't read on if you want the mystery to be preserved...

Potty-mouthed punk that sounds shit hot

bot bots coverStoneage Scomeos - The BotBots (Outtaspace/Wreckless Enterprises)

This really shouldn’t work. A couple of rehearsals and one gig that was truncated for excessive swearing. A by-the-seat-of-the-pants recording session fuelled by beer in a terrace house-cum-studio, four months later. Seven songs in nine minutes. Punk rock, eh?

The buzz of blowflies announces “Engadine Maccas”, a 52-second treatise about an alleged bout of Prime Ministerial diarrhoea in a southern Sydney fast food joint. Apocryphal or not, you don't need to wear brown corduroys to know the song's as funny as fuck. The makers of Imodium need to license it for an ad.

Sounds like summer again

vibrajetsGold Foil Fever - The Vibrajets (Off the Hip)

So much goodness over just five songs. Warm, fat guitars permeate this predominantly instrumental record like honeybees holed up in in an old hive. 

The Vibrajets are Melbourne-based and include past or current members of The Stems, The Shimmys, The Futuras and The Breadmakers - which should tell you most of what you need to know. This 12-inch 45 is their second piece of recorded output, not so hot on the heels of a mono single four years ago. The Vibrajets sound owes its origins as much to the Chet Atkins as “Apache”.

The vintage sound of Sammy-lou Croissant and Julian Matthews’ guitars are all over rumbling opener “Greasy 186”, one of a brace of originals. The shaking cover of Long John Hunter’s “El Paso Rock” reeks of Tecate beer and Tequila chasers. Lick, sip, suck!

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