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michaelangelo russo

  • Hugo Sara Alice CeccarelliSara Alice Ceccarelli photo.

    He's as well known in Australia for fronting '80s Melbourne blues rockers The Wreckery as he is in Eruope for his work with The True Spirit, Fatalists and Dirtmusic, and onetime Bad Seeds guitarist Hugo Race is a man who never stands still. His latest album is a moody collaboration with Michaelangelo Russo called "100 Years" that's as sweeping in its musical vision as it is deeply rooted in the blues. 

    After immersing himself in "100 Years, Robert Brokenmouth was prompted to seek an audience with Hugo and ask him some probing questions. Their wide-ranging chat is here.

  • meat cakeOnce upon a time I went to The Big Day Out. I can’t remember which, but the events themselves I always thought were a nuisance which one was obliged to endure in order to see the two or maybe three bands you actually went to 

    Anyway, it had dawned on me that “my generation” was utterly reviled by the one coming up. Which is understandable, of course, as every generation has to gain independence and identity, and the quickest route is to revile the old farts. ’Cause of course, we no nuffink. 

    Now that I am a card-carrying Old Fart who Shouts At Clouds and Doesn’t Like the Look of Those Teenagers, I have a blessed distance to view the rich landscape of modern music [Barman: insert vomit noisehere]. In 1987 Steve Albini made a passing comment: “Pointless teenage thrash bands”.

  • hugo wheatyDateline: Adelaide. Hugo Race (pictured right) and Michelangelo Russo arrived at the venue shortly after 4pm, just in time for a swift soundcheck, have a couple of beers, smoke a couple of rollies and a cigar (respectively) while Michael Plater was on.

    Quizzed later about their 4am wake-up to drive from St Kilda to Adelaide’s West End, Hugo denied it being a hard trip. "Warsaw to Paris, that’s a hard drive" … you knew he meant non-stop.

    And it’s not the first time Hugo’s done this drive; this time he was captivated by the patterns of light, the yellows of the rapeseed, a stand of blasted trees waving in the wind… Charlie Marshall does this kind of thing. Not so much old school as a rediscovery of the essence of travel.