pocketwatch - The I-94 Bar

Huge night ahead when X returns to Sydney

This Satrurday in Sydney will be huge when return to the city of their birth. All-girl leather-clad groovers DollSquad and teenage tyros Pocketwatch will be in support at Marrickville Bowling Club with tickets selling here. If you're quick, you can pick up two tickets for the price of one by using the code RETURNOFX at the check-out. 

Night of power and pop recalls the best of times

mick salutes bowloMick Medew and the Mesmerisers
+ The On and Ons
+ Pocketwatch
Marrickville Bowling Club, Sydney
Saturday, 5 November 2022

Photos by Vic Zubakin of Look Sharp Photography

The 1980s was in many ways a dire period in music: if you look at the charts or are forced to endure a few re-runs of “Countdown”, you’ll agree. Mainstream music was based on synth and a chorus pedal, gated snare and re=recordings of “Funky Town”. And there was fucking Phil Collins and his drums.

The padded shoulders and “eat the poor” mentality that saw the rise of the trickle down economics of Reagan and Thatcher.  Whenever I see any sentimental recall of the ‘80s, I run the other way. The exceptions lie in pockets of underground music

Sydney particularly reacted against the culture of Ken Done tea towels and pastels and third rate sounds. We real street music with some of best bands in the world, many of whom you could see live for five bucks.

Just as then, we still have a Sydney underground music scene in 2022. We can still see shadows and glimpses of the past and talented young bands who have been handed the baton.

Old Farts At Play and The Kids Are Alright

sonic garage 3Pete Bourke, Phil Van Rooyen and Pete Trifunovic from Sonic Garage.

Sonic Garage
Pocketwatch
Bayley and the Liquid Squid
Marrickville Bowling Club, NSW
Friday, 11 March 2022

You can say “Boring Old Fart” but it’s good to stare rheumy-eyed into the middle distance, drool into a beer and recall much less complicated times in hushed tones. Times like the early 1980s, when the biggest challenge on a Friday night was to decide which two or three rock and roll shows you were going to attend, all of them within a short distance of each other.  

If they were local bands, the door charge was free or modest, and if the headliner was on the national touring treadmill, entry might set you back a ten spot. At least one of the supports was a band you’d never heard of, but paying your money and taking your chances was all part of the ritual. You got to conduct a post-mortem as soon as their set was over or over a hair of the dog at your local the next day. 

I-94 Bar