Monday, 26 July 2010


Would you believe it? I'm just always writin' shit. This life of mine is just CRAZY! It's fucking intense. I'm just so unpredictable. Everyone at the office agrees.

Brats ''1980'' LP/ The lost tapes LP

Before King Diamond started paintin' his face and slammin' his eggs in the car door, the dudes from Merciful fate had a different singer, different songs and a different band name- BRATS! Sometime in '79, these mad bastards recorded a pretty decent, albeit pretty unremarkable punk rock demo. Over the cruel Danish winter, they locked themselves in their jam room. They stared with admiration and awe at the Ramones, Judas Priest and AC/DC posters on the walls. They ignored their girlfriends. They ate the finest Turkish Kebabs. They didn't clean their bedrooms, do their study or take out the rubbish. Damnit, these Danish cream-puffs practiced hard until they were literally the best band in the world! ''1980'' boasts hard rock songs that render 99% of the genre obsolete. Not content to plod, prick in hand through their tunes, Brats brung a new level of energy, tenacity and annihilation to the table. ''OY905'' is the long lost theme song to some Danish frat movie. ''Complex (Don't Destroy Me)'' see's old Yenz pour his heart out, before kicking into a rhythmic propulsion that would have Motorhead and Bad Religion fans falling to their knees and screaming uncle. ''Punk Sunglasses'' is from the demo, but it's given a steroid injection that puffs it's chest out so far, the little bugger just clucks headfirst through the walls and out the gates of the Ingham Chicken factory. ''Sense My boy'', well, that's just an incredible Danish mistranslation.

Puerto Rico Flowers- 4
True men's music. ''Not My Idea'' hurts. It hurts 'cos it's bloody good. ''Let's Make Friends'' made me shave off my fringe. PRF made me a skinhead. ''This is Murder'' left me crying into my laced hankerchief. Rumour has it, the emotional outpour of this record was channelled during the Blue's semi final thrashing at the hands of Brisbane in 09. With a voice four octives lower than Sticks Kernahan, bass as big as Justin Madden, drums as simple as Anthony Koutoufides and synth as futuristic as Peter Dean's bionic bandage work, PRF creates one hell of a mournful anger sound. ''4'' is a good old fashioned punch in the head record. I can't believe how weak you are if you don't like it.

Low Threat Profile- ep
Two of these songs appeared on complication releases a few ears back, and bugger me with a pitchfork if those versions didn't sound slightly superior. More push-ups, sit-ups and chin-ups in the low-end production values. But remember, when it comes to Deep Six, Infest and SoCal middle-aged men, you've just gotta expect everything to be completely ass-backwards. You see, these old-timers are completely oblivious and 100% uninterested in the mythological status they've earned via their previous endeavors. They've got real lives. Their songs, well, they have a strange, hyperactive lazyness. Maybe it's Matt Domino's guitar slouching? Even at it's most frantic, his playing has an undeniably comfortable lean. MD's casual riffage is offset by A. Beatie's unmatched vocal delivery. This guy is out there. The first thing he said when we met him was, ''Sorry, I'm mentally ill.'' The lapse in time between recording and releasing this record was not an effort to create any additional demand or mystique, it was simply because Bob (drummer) temporarily misplaced the master! This is A-grade material played by people who don't give a fuck. Study your textbooks.

Sacrelige- demos lp
The first thing that stands out is the incredible discipline and restraint that this drummer shows. He's got more burn than a fat man's fairway after a walk down the shops on a hot day, but he's saving it all for the band he's starting with his girlfriend's brother. His straight up and down performance is the hinge that allows the enormous door to slam in the depths of hell. The guitarist's ability to coil and recoil is remarkable. Dude is prairie-doggin'! I'd like to see the vocals on a polygraph. She'd be flat linin'! I get the feeling these guys were a little bit above sleeping on floors with glue-sniffers and mangy dogs. I'm sure one of them still works in a music store, one of them is a social worker and one went on to a successful career in biological science.

Thursday, 17 June 2010


Oh my days! Here is some more garbage to read! There was some other stuff too, of course, but they were more promo/fluff pieces to fill in gaps. Are we still mates?


Brain Children are a fascinating musical proposition.

Brain Children is the brain child of Michael Mate and Maxwell Crumb, two Melbourne music veterans who’ve completely ruined their lives by relentlessly peddling their musical wares across the globe.

Indeed, these young men have spent the majority of their youths and adulthoods on tour, cutting their teeth on bad roads, sticky floors and ramshackle stages. These years of extended poverty have created a degree of musical knowhow and a lack of pretense that certainly sets them apart from their bovine contemporaries.

No doubt, Brain Children is a dramatic musical departure from M & M’s previous output (ECSR, AxOxAx, FLL, TOTAL BRO’S, O.B’S, CALT-X AQUARIANS…). Already well versed in all facets of aural overload, sensory battery and crash after burn musical extremity, these good old boys have entered completely foreign sonic territory and have proceeded to make 99% of modern electronic releases obsolete.

So, I can hear you asking, ”What do these sick mother-fucks sound like, bro?”

Well, take healthy slivers of 70’s disco cheese, generous helpings of contemporary electronica, the futuristic Krautrock-isms of Kraftwork and a boot full of scud mags, then slam it at 120 k’s down the Eastern Freeway in a Brown Datsun with an all-shag interior and you’re somewhat close to the Brain Children experience.

Brain Children play dance music with a difference. The difference being, Brain Children are actually good.

12” out now on Stained Circles.


Attention all aspiring wordsmiths! The Emerging Writers Festival is on now!

Running from the 21st to the 30th of May, the festival exists to promote the interests of emerging writers – to improve their opportunities for professional development and their engagement with the broader public.

Taking place at a multitude of cosy, book-friendly venues around Melbourne, the festival has a little something for all you cerebral individuals out there.

Wordstock is an unlikely literary tribute to AC/DC. Taking place in Fed Square, Wordstock gathers Melbourne’s bohemian fraternity for a collection of poems, performance pieces and stand-up comedy dedicated to Australia’s greatest export since Iron Ore and Vegemite.

The Zine Bus is exactly what it says on the tin. A bus chock full of contemporary zines and zine writers that drives to various locations around town to espouse the value of these humble publications. Have your glue stick and safety scissors ready, as the bus’ final destination is Fed Square, where a massive fanzine workshop is taking place.

Speaking of workshops, if you’re one of those weird people who actually enjoys learning shit, there are a number of classes on getting started, structuring your work, peddling your wares and surviving as a freelance writer. In fact, anything you need to know about becoming a full time writer and the crushing levels of abject poverty that comes with this lifestyle choice will be available this week.


Misanthropes the world over can breath a sigh of relief. Goth is back.

That’s right, in high-rent, high-density areas of urban civilisation, young men and women are dropping everything to jump on the goth steam-train before it splutters out of the station. Most artists attempting this style fail miserably. You see, they have family and friends that understand them. They receive healthy amounts of natural sunlight. They brim with self-confidence. They possess all the characteristics one would not normally associate with the genre…

For the majority of Goth/Cold Wave/Dark Wave/Wave Wave bands in 2010, self-loathing and misery are nothing more than aesthetic platforms. They’re simply trying to recreate a style.

Through virtue of sharing a marginally similar trajectory, Puerto Rico Flowers have been lumped in with the pathetic offerings of this neo-goth revival. The fundamental difference between PRF and ”the new wave of no mates” is the songs.

Puerto Rico Flowers have great songs.

Puerto Rico Flowers is one man, John Sharkey III. More astute readers may remember John as the chap behind Clockclean ER, the American skinhead group that soiled Australian shores in 2008 with a series of poorly attended, hit-and-miss live performances.

Well, fast forward a few years and Sharkey is a married man with a young’un on the way. Sorry ladies! These days, he divides his time between Lamaze Breathing classes, pancake making and cot shopping in the hustle and bustle of suburban Canberra.

Somewhere in between his multitude of domestic duties, John found the time to write and record a new PRF ep in Melbourne.

”2” is the sophomore release from Puerto Rico Flowers. It’s due to be released through Fan Death Records on Anzac Day, 2010. ”Voice of Love” is the A-side. It’s similar to the songs on PRF’s debut release, ”4.” It’s got that prominent bass, washy synth and rudimentary drum beat that’s not unlike frisbeeing your Bauhaus records in a pool of Molasses. Flip the disc and Sharkey tries his hand a Neil Young tune.

”2” is a strong record. It’s a great record to put on when you feel like curling up into a ball and crying yourself to sleep. Don’t take it too seriously, though. PRF don’t.


Zephyr Pavey’s Psyched to Die blog and fanzine presents photographs of unruly, maladjusted sociopaths in varying states of consciousness, dress and undress.

Viewing this blog, it becomes quite clear that you wont find any pictures of Pavey’s pet Chiwaua wearing a white gold tiara and sequin booties. Nor will you find any photos from the Pavey family Christmas BBQ; unless of course there are any snapshots floating around of old uncle Barry with his fly at half mast, tomato sauce down his singlet and a rollie stuffed in his toothless gob.

Yessir, P2D is a high brow nod to the glory days of ”youth culture” where mental instability, extreme idiocy and all manner of anti-social behaviours were De rigueur. Watch in awe as Pavey’s subjects participate in productive, community-minded pursuits like pushing shopping trolleys into river estuaries, breaking into abandoned buildings and blackout-inducing binges of alcohol consumption.

The sporadic updates in P2D-world indicate that Pavey’s focus is primarily directed towards the print version of his ouvre. So, where do you find a copy? Well, Pavey’s advanced printing techniques, nonchalant approach and all-roads-lead-to-oblivion artistic vision suggest the dumpsters behind 711, or the floor of his budgie cage would be a good place to start.

waddaya do for a quid, mate?

Part of my fuckern job is to coordinate web content for a clothing brand. I wont tell you which one, cos I don't fuckern need to. It's not important. What is important, is that when my writers don't submit nothin', I have to pick up their slack and fill in the blanks. Shit, it don't really matter as the guys canned this shit anyway!!!! Luckily for me (the only person that reads this blodge), I got heaps more of these to post. Keep your eyes peeled!I got other wickedness that will be fuck good.


Get in touch with your medieval roots this weekend at the Collingwood Children's Farm Winter Solstice.

That's right, astronomy comes to Collingwood this saturday. Now, you may argue that the nice folks in Collingwood are already well versed in astronomy. You see, about this time every year, they fall to their knees, they look to the sky and they pray to god, just hoping that they can win that ever elusive premiership, sometime soon. These prayers inevitably go unanswered. And while celebrating the distance of the earth's axial tilt from the sun wont make up for a lack of silverware in the trophy cabinet, surely its proof that there's a higher power out there?

Now, I don't expect many Collingwood magpies supporters to turn up to the Children's Farm this weekend. This is primarily due to the fact that these days, Collingwood is populated by 18-26 year old students and slightly left of centre young professionals who believe football is a barbaric pursuit for base-minded rabble who lack the tertiary qualifications to pull themselves from the quagmire of their own banal existence.

But I digress...

The Winter Solstice at Collingwood Children's farm is all about having a real good time in front of a gigantic fire. Hey, even if you don't know nothing about the weather and think Cumulonimbus Cloud was the name of this really sick Belgian House DJ what you seen one time, there's a bar, dudes playing drums, a bar, fire twirlers, a bar and a bar to keep you occupied.

Oh, and before you ask, NO, you ARE NOT allowed to sacrifice any of the animals to the gods! I cant stress how important that is! You'll lower the tone and the property prices. After all, the is bourgeois Collingwood. Entry: $16 family,

$8 adult, $4 Children

Farm Pass holders at concession rates if pre-purchased.