There's definitely an air of anticipation here in Adelaide. We get to see the context of a chunk of the Australian (and, for once, the South Australian) underground scene on the big white screen, musicians and (genuine) personalities who don't usually rate much of a mention. Famous Tex Perkins appears as one of many names playing alongside the still-relatively-unknown Gray.

Indeed, as he was once more than an innocent bystander here in Adelaide, Tex explains the rather messy parts of the early 1980s scene pretty well, although his assumption of "about 30" participants total is simply wrong, sorry - he may have frequently seen "about 30" in the crowd, but it was never always the same 30. And, if it comes to that, I recall seeing him conduct the first version of the Bumhead Orchestra, and there were a damn sight more than 30 people present. Grong Grong usually attracted way more as well (so there). 

In other news, I-94 Bar readers will find it heartening to see Sydney described in the same way that the rest of Australia saw it then and -  now: More bands that sound like Radio Birdman (aka “a pack of Birdman saddoes”. No, not in direct quotes, but you get the idea.

That said, gigs under the banner of Sydney's Red Eye label - and its offshoot Black Eye - were pivotal tribal gatherings; if you're not sure what I'm talking about, remember that there was a cluster of extraordinary bands before, during and after the first Beasts of Bourbon LP; certainly Tex Perkins was a significant a driver, but so were Kim Salmon, Lachlan Macleod and Stuart Gray. 

Speaking of which, old fart Adelaideans will also rejoice to see expats like Lachlan Macleod, Martin Bland, Renestair EJ and Charlie Tolnay, and fellow traveller Peter Read on the big screen. The film gently notes that Ren and Charlie and Peter are all gone, emphasising how bloody amazing it is that Gray is still alive. 

We are allowed to read between the lines; I could write a sheaf of dot-points but these are made far more effectively, and far more emotionally, through vision and interviews with Gray and his friends. 

There is, in fact, much that is telling about this documentary. Again - spoiler alert - because Jason Axel Summers conducts two major interviews with Gray, each held some 20 years apart (!!), and we can clearly see that there seems to have been a younger, more obnoxious Gray, and an older, wiser, and more vulnerable Gray.

You don't have to read too much between the lines to realise that there's a lot being left unsaid, and much that Gray probably regrets, but has difficulty facing. Some things come out because Summers appears to have taken his time working gently with his subject. Certainly his relationship with his father is [SPOILER ALERT - SEE THE BLOODY FILM]

Because Gray has lived and worked in America for so many years, we see members of Mudhoney like Mark Arm, Steve Turner and Guy Maddison talk about not just their experiences with him, but their working relationships with him. It looks like these interviews gave them a great deal of pleasure.

Essentially, the tale spins between Gray's beginnings at Lonsdale, hard by the Port Stanvac oil refinery, where his enquiring mind discovered semi-underground lit like Colin Wilson (in particular, “The Outsider”), James Joyce, Edgar Allan Poe, J.G. Ballard, William Burroughs, Burgess' “A Clockwork Orange”, and Alfred Jarry; and Gray's present life as a New York underground rocker who makes more money from his sculpture. 

Hell, with Spotify ever-lurking in the atomos like an aural skidmark, it's clear what musicians should do: sculpture. The pay's rubbish, but it's better than being a fucking musician.

Oh, and Gray also got proper into Crowley and the O.T.O., as did the late Louis Tillett, and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and, I am told (by guitarist Marduk Gault), Marilyn Manson. And doubtless many more. I'm sure the Lonsdale suburbs were as boring as everyone else's suburbs, but the search for something, anything not boring and dull drives many to the library.

But I digress. Like most musicians in the Adelaide underworld, Gray dressed and acted like a rock star long before it was justifiable. For example, The Sputniks were always well-turned out, living their fantasy (Dave Graney really did do gigs in a three-piece red velvet suit), but they were hardly alone in presenting a vivid and memorable show, a trait which Gray has maintained to this day. In fact, if Gray's current band, The Art-Gray Noizz Quartet, appeared onstage at (say) The Gov one night ... Adelaideans would recognise the band instantly as one of their own. Even if they'd never heard a single song before, the Noizz Quartet make Nirvana look like ... well. Let's leave it there, shall we?

Summers' skill lies in being able to weave Gray's history through some 24 bands (many relatively unknown outside a small coterie), and contrasting the younger Stu Spasm with the older Stu Art-Gray. That Summers has sourced such extraordinary footage (most probably thought lost if considered to exist at all) is itself remarkable.

That he's pulled off such an extraordinarily entertaining and thought-provoking film - also without producing the sort of BANNER HEADLINE-style doc - is nothing short of delightful. Cracking editing, superb pace, great sound (again, quite an achievement as you will discover).

Stuart Gray's music certainly deserves reissuing and reappraisal. Because the one over-riding sensation you get all the way through the film is - how do I get this fucker's music?

Whether anyone will take on the job (and do it properly) remains to be seen. Currently, their LP and a couple of singles are available (the last single is a split single with Gravel Samwidge) at their Bandcamp. The single is available in Australia here. 

“I Should Have Been Dead Years Ago” screens at 7pm on December 14 at Kepk Space in Yerongpilly, Brisbane. The screening will be  followed by two bands, Glan Schneau’s new outfit Ect Unk, and Gravel Samwidge.

Read Danger Coolidge's interview with Stuart Gray here.

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