Okay. Let's get one thing straight. This album is great. Here's your six bottles, James. (Last time I tried to give you six bottles for something, the Barman turned me down but now we seem fine with that kind of thing). Now, if the Barman would do a quick edit we could be three for three. Six. Six. Six. Apt.
Of course there are elephants in the room. Great hulking elephants and the occasional five foot one elephant. I guess we'll just have to tackle them head on. (Can I pun my way through this whole review? ) As a spoiler, I've read Robert's review because I know he'll have a different take to me. I haven't read the Barman's because it is always funny how often we write the same review. There could be some overlap.
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- By Robert Brokenmouth, The Barman and Bob Short
- Hits: 20030
New Zealander Delaney Davidson is like a lot of musicians who saturate themselves in the blues, country and modern rock.
Unlike the majority, he still gets it. The music is as vital for him now as when he picked up a guitar. He’s never still, always moving to improve and expand his range. Why? Because he doesn’t want the songs to sound the same.
I must apologise - this has been sitting along with a couple of other CDs, waiting their turn as I try to complete a documentary about a rather brill Australian rock band and another book. I’ve been a tad busy elsewhere too. So the review may be a little old.
Should you chase a copy?
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 6011
Take the massive rhythm section of Fear and Loathing, add ex-Love Fever and Primevils’ David Mason on one guitar and the redoubtable Sean Tilmouth on the other guitar and you have a crunching, bowel-scouring rock band.
The Bums were first put together a few years back by the late Renestair EJ; their first gig featured a rather heatstroked Ren beaning a startled Mr Tilmouth with the mic stand. Mr Tilmouth’s response to this was not, "I say, that’s a bit harsh, Ren old buddy". No.
Sean knocked Ren out cold, and floored him again when Ren got up and went for the cuddle of forgiveness. I’ve seen the video and this band owe me a new pair of underpants.
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- By The Barman
- Hits: 6351
Once upon a time blues had led rock to a powerful, muscular, emotional place.
You don’t see this much anymore. And most of the practitioners who plod from town to town are long, long past their relevance (never mind their heyday).
But Love Child from Sydney...now here’s the kind of band you want to see on a Saturday night but you’re not allowed out anymore. There are no duff musicians here, it’s all tight and glossy and yearning. The singer, Steve Hancock, has the sort of voice which swells men’s chests and moistens um, erm, lady’s lips. He really knows how to belt a song out. The girls must heave themselves at him like despairing lemmings.
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 5217
At first, second and third glances there are copyright problems all over this CD EP. And that’s just the cover. This is wonderful.
Inside we have three beguiling, entrancing tunes - the title track, "Vice City Cop" and "Space Lounge." Your intrepid reviewer has been exposed dancing to all three, and even bouncing around in an Adelaide radio station studio to "Let’s Go To A Disco!" Is it a band or an individual? These days you can’t tell.
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 4988
What a brilliant record this is. I’ve played it about six times since buying this one on spec. Fuck but it’s great.
See, this is why I like exploring Amazon. The Clash were panned in their day for their dub experiments, journos always banging on about how super they were live.
Funny. I saw them once and got bored fairly swiftly. Their LPs are not always cohesive, but sod that. That’s what cassette tapes were for, and making your own versions of their LPs was always fun.
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 5674
If you don’t know Sun God Replica, they’re a hairy floor-filling Melbourne three piece (led by Link Meanie) who enjoy breaking bones and throwing stones. With amplifiers, harmonies and a smirk at the back.
Sun God Replica are also the kind of band which would do well overseas. Get outta town, boys.
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 5358
A few weeks ago I went out in search of crunching, scabrous rock’n’roll. Headlining were Fear and Loathing (their usual ramshackly brilliant horrorshow), Leather Messiah just before (their new stuff is fabulous. Remember how Legends of Motor Sport were great fun but seemed to lack something? Leather Messiah have that extra something - they’re a burnout, man).
The band I was curious about, Iron Feather, were second on the bill, and within seconds of punching us all out, assorted members of the Messiah and FAL were front and centre, thrilled.
And you know how old and past it we all are. Who the fuck are Iron Feather?
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- By Robert Brokenmouth
- Hits: 5934
Scratch deep enough and you’ll find an undercoat of Yardbirds below the shiny paintwork of every worthwhile rock and roll vehicle.
We’re talking a group that was part of the original wave of British blues, but took 12-bar and twisted it for their own purposes. The Yardbirds were true progenitors of overdrive and sustained feedback, bringing in eclectic influence like Gregorian chants and Eastern ragas.
All-in sonic escalations (dubbed “rave-ups” by the band) were features of their song arrangements. Does that that ring any bells about contemporary bands all these years later?
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- By The Barman
- Hits: 6395
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