Paying attention? This album by a band from local serial killer capital Adelaide that hardly anyone outside Australia will have heard of celebrates obscene volume, filthy guitar sounds and a blaring bottom end. For these reasons alone, you should love it.
The Meatbeaters still dress like homicidal Water Buffalo Lodge members wandering out of the pub after commiserating about their failure to pass the basic skills test at the local basket-weaving workshop. They make a noise that's rude and crude enough to blow your average Danzig T-shirt-wearing would-be thrash band right up a dead elephant's arse and out the other end.
The Meatbeaters are unashamed fans of the Powder Monkeys, the Tatts, the Onyas and the Cosmic Psychos. The dirty stuff. Each of their songs burn with the same intensity that all of those bands delivered. Then they drop in a good dose of carnal humour, a trait they share with fellow Oz yob rockers the VeeBees and a long line of precursors.
This is smart-dumb rock and roll with its three big chords locking horns with dark clouds of electrified energy blowing in off the Great Southern Ocean. Every man for himself and lock up your sister with the braces and cleft palate.
"Name Of The Father" entwines Sonic Smith's fifth notes solo with scalding rhythm guitar. Whoever plays lead on these songs (Kid Ock or vocalist Slammin' Stan - or maybe they share the role) invariably drills rather than thrashes. The playing's tight and doesn't leave many spaces. If it did it probably wouldn't leave you with bleeding ears.
The Meatbeaters' assault is hard and relentless. Only "Slappin' My Balls" varies the formula with a bass intro ushering the guitars in before the Beaters lock into formation. They take it down and build it back up with Slammin' Stan wailing away righteously on vocals in the middle of a guitar ebb tide.
One of the band members emailed to find out if the CD had made it through the lucky dip that is Australia Post and if it passed muster. My reply of "it's a motherfucker" prompted the response: "Is that good?" I certainly hope so.
Even with its paucity of lighter moments, "Carry On Tuggin'" never wears thin over the course of 37 minutes, Motorhead fans take note. And The Meatbeaters' ragged take on The Wipers' "Over The Edge" (the only cover) might even shade the original.
1/4
