WAITING FOR GUINNESS the show

This is the first album review on this blog that looks at the rare genre of gypsy-folk-eastern-western-cabaret-latin-gallic-agit-pop...

A lot of groups right now are trying very hard to sound like my Dad's record collection. Waiting for Guinness are the first band I can remember who sound like my Great Grandad's record collection.

The Show is an adventurous journey back in time, littered with squeeze-box trumpets, Gallic accordion and coalman violins throughout. There's Latin flavoured mariachi on opener 'Chanson pour Marie', a joyous rendition of 'El Cascabel' by Lorenzo Barcelata (born in 1898) and a Berlin cabaret freakout on the title track.

More recent influences and events aren''t entirely ignored though. 'An Urchin's Tale' has a ska feel to it and on 'George' they offer the US President some career advice (essentially: "Go and work in McDonalds").

With an ambitious project like this there's bound to be the odd blip and in the bar room drawl of 'Harry's Song' the impression of a drunken bore is a little too convincing. But when they bring the curtain down with 'The Ageing Drifter' (an instrumental that sounds like a battle weary cowboy riding into the sunset) you can forgive them anything.

How, in 2004, eight white kids from Sydney ended up sounding like this is a mystery. That they manage to retain a modern pop sensibility throughout is little short of amazing.

If Waiting for Guinness were waiting for Guinness they'd spend the time watching The Triplets of Belle Ville.


By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.
The Show is available through Vitamin Records.


First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

VERVE artwork of the week

ShoutAboutMusic featured Oasis album artwork by Brian Cannon (of Microdot fame) a few weeks ago. At the time, I promised to revisit some more classic artwork by Microdot, and here is another gem. The Gravity Grave EP dates back to when The Verve were just 'Verve', and Richard Ashcroft was still tortured, hungry and electrifying. 

The shoegazey title track is hypnotic, psychedelic and utterly mesmeric - but the artwork is possibly even more amazing. In a single frame, the photo tells an entire story of a man discarding his clothing and material possessions, as he wanders into the ocean (for the last time?). As he disappears into the distance, the letters V-E-R-V-E disappear with him.

I'm lucky enough to have bought a 10 inch vinyl edition of this EP, back in the day, and it's one of my most treasured records. Microdot just do not design bad music artwork.

THE SPECIMENS the quick and the deaf

It's Wednesday! Past the halfway hump of the week! Wahey! Let's look at some music that is packed with cheap thrills...

Okay first off, if you’re someone who loves great lyrics then steer well clear of this. Shakespeare it most certainly ain’t. If, however, you’re someone who likes track after track of speeding punk rock this album might be for you. If you also love a liberal helping of gratuitous swearing then pull up a chair dude, The Specimens are your new favourite band.

The Melbourne four-piece follow in the great Aussie tradition of raucous, macho pub rock that was once defined by the likes of Radio Birdman. On ‘Get On Top’ singer Terry Opie says he “don’t wanna be lonely” so he implores his chick to “get on top baby, yeah!” It’s that sorta record.

The amphetamine fueled riffing of ‘What You Wanna Do’ and ‘Drama Queen’ also calls to mind a more confident, less paranoid Husker Du. They could even be outtakes from Bob Mould’s lost weekend in Hawaii where he did nothing but sit on the beach, drink cocktails and sing Status Quo songs. Well they could be if that ever happened. Which it didn’t. As far as I know. Anyway, I digress, what I’m really trying to say is that The Quick and the Deaf is kinda dumb but kinda fun too. A good Summer party album in other words.

If The Quick and the Deaf was food it would be a $5 steak: simple, macho and meaty.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

The Quick and the Deaf is available through Infidelity Records.

BEN KWELLER lyrics of the week

Regular blog reader Mr Tikka Darlow Esquire reminded me recently of just what a talented lyricist Ben Kweller is. With that in mind, I'm awarding Kweller the coveted accolade of 'Lyrics of the Week'. These lyrics are from the title track of his 2004 album On My Way...

I want to kill this man but he turned around and ran.
I'll kill him with karate that I learned in Japan.
He wouldn't see my face. I wouldn't leave a trace.
I wouldn't use a bullet cause a bullet's a disgrace.

Aw, mom, I never thought that I was a murdering man
But tonight I'm on my way.

There's this drawer that I know in a house up the road
That's full of things that are easily sold.
When they go out of town I could go and snoop around
And make myself rich off the things that I found.

Aw, mom, I never thought that I was a stealing man
But tonight I'm on my way.

I was sitting on the bleacher staring at the speaker,
Reading his lips but I could not understand.
So I opened up my ears and clearly I could hear
This detailed story all about a grain of sand.

Aw, mom, I always dreamt of being a good listener
So tonight I'm on my way.

There's this kid you gotta meet. He lives across the street.
He's got spirit and heart. We're ten years apart.
He is up for anything. He can hang with anyone.
He still likes the things we used to think were fun.

Aw, mom, I never thought that I could have a friend
But tonight I'm on my way.

I'm in love with someone who's as pretty as a flower.
Her life give me power so I'm buyin' her a ring.
She makes hats with her hands. She is such an artist.
I'm her biggest fan and I'm teaching her to sing

Aw, mom, I never thought that I could love no one
But tonight I'm on my way.

REGURGITATOR mish mash

Mish Mash, in case you’d forgotten, is the result of Regurgitator’s brush with Reality TV. In just two weeks over a million people gawped at them whilst they recorded an album inside a giant fishbowl in Melbourne city centre.


The ‘Gurge will tell you this was all in the name of “art”. Some uncharitable people are a teeny bit cynical though and say it was all a shameless publicity stunt. But let’s not get in to that here. What you wanna know is what the songs are like right? Well duh! They’re a mish mash of course!


You like a bit of ska? Take ‘Welcome To My Ego’ for a spin. Or maybe you’re more into Weezer-style alternapop? ‘Metal Is Big’ should suit you. Or how about ‘The Game’, a 70s cop show theme tune that morphs into a rap dissing rappers? Too postmodern for ya? Then what about a good old fashioned tearjerker like ‘I Was Sent By God’? Yep, there’s something for everyone here.


The biggest compliment you can pay Mish Mash is that the music stands out from the hullaballoo surrounding it. It’s an eclectic and fascinating album in its own right.


If this album were food it would be rissoles: loadsa different stuff mashed up together.

Article by Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.
First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

Mish Mash is available through Valve Records.

LES SAVY FAV inches

Les Savy Fav are bringing their own unique brand of live mayhem back to Australian shores soon. So here's a hint of what to expect...

Brooklyn’s Les Savy Fav have been wowing, scaring and baffling audiences for eight years now. During that time, besides staging surreal shows, they’ve released a series of quirky 7-inch singles. Inches brings these together onto one CD, b’sides and all. It’s a bizarre mixture of post-punk energy (which mostly works) and art-rock detours (which don’t).

‘Meet Me In The Dollar Bin’ is a strong opening gambit. Pulsing keyboards and guitar punch holes in your psyche as bonkers singer Tim Harrington threatens to jump in the crowd (something he’s noted for during gigs). ‘Hold On To Your Genre’ is less in your face but no less effective, as a paranoid Harrington trades vocals with his whispering alter ego.

It’s not long after this that the former art-school classmates begin noodling about on ‘Hello Halo, Goodbye Glands’. There’s knob-twiddling and mumbled vocals about petri dishes which is faintly amusing but essentially a musical dead-end. You start to get the sinking feeling that a spoken-word track can’t be far away and sure enough one arrives in the shape of ‘Reformat’ (a radio play set on a submarine). It’s not quite as infernal as Radiohead’s ‘Fitter Happier’ but you’ll be reaching for the “skip” button on your stereo in no time.

Inches certainly has curiosity value but whether it has any longevity is another matter entirely.

If Les Savy Fav were measured in inches: They’d claim that size didn’t matter.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

Article first published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

Inches is available through Popfrenzy Records.

RICHMOND FONTAINE live review

This is my write up of a fabulous show I saw at the Brass Monkey in Cronulla this year...

There’s a reason the art of storytelling has lasted through the ages: Everybody loves a well-spun yarn. Tonight, the bill features three exceptional lyricists (two of whom are published authors) so the narrative quality of the songs is no surprise. 

Robert F Cranny is first up to the mic and he quickly justifies his reputation as one of Sydney’s most gifted songwriters. His lyrics carry the weight of nostalgia and regret across the grimy landscapes of small towns and the inner city. His guitar playing offers tempo changes and structural twists when you least expect them. It’s an impressive combination. 

With Katy White now recruited on keyboard/melodica, the next chapter of Cranny’s career is beginning to take shape. If some harmonies were added, to lift his vocals a touch, who knows where it could lead? 

Jason Walker sticks to a more tried and trusted formula to tell his tales. His acoustic strumming has a distinct country twang while the lyrics feature sad, angry men propping up bars while drinking women’s tears. Walker is a charismatic performer, throwing in one-liners between songs, and his powerful voice gives his stories added punch. His musicianship is so sharp that it’s hard to believe he was added to the bill just 24 hours ago. 

The storybook is now passed on to singer Willy Vlautin who, with Dan Eccles, makes up half of Portland, Oregon’s Richmond Fontaine. Opener ‘Welhorn Yards’ begins a series of evocative, often harrowing testimonies from a gallery of rogues. We hear of a violent criminal’s guilt, a gambler’s losing streak and a boxer’s journey from obscurity - to victory - to injury (both physical and psychological). 

On the surface this sounds bleak. But if you peer between the cracks there are signs of redemption and catharsis: ‘Two Broken Hearts’ and ‘Post to Wire’ both see lovers united after shared pain, while ‘Polaroid’ concludes: “Not everyone lives their life alone/Not everyone gives up or is beaten or robbed or always stoned”. 

Throughout, Dan Eccles gives everything, as if he might squeeze the very life out of his guitar; while Vlautin proves himself to be a major country-rock talent. He might not possess the same vocal range as Bruce Springsteen or Ryan Adams but, when it comes to storytelling, he is way ahead of them both.

IGGY POP artwork of the week

The 1977 album Lust For Life doesn't just boast one of the most hedonistic songs of all time (the title track) it also has one of the happiest front covers you will ever see.

Iggy's grin may seem unremarkable, but stop for a second and consider how many album covers feature the artist smiling. There's hardly any! The consensus seems to be that 'serious and moody' is cool; while big aping grins are most certainly not cool.

Iggy's album sleeve proves that that theory is total hogwash (and it's not every day I use a word like 'hogwash', believe me. I save it for special occasions, like this one). I love this photo for its portrayal of a rock star who is revelling in the moment.

Pop trivia fact: 
This happy snap was taken during a television recording session in Manchester, according to the late Factory Records impresario Tony Wilson.

SLUTS OF TRUST we are all sluts of trust

Here is my first ever music review. Aw! Isn't it cute?

And by the way - yes - they really do eat deep-fried pizza in Scotland.

When I was 14 a new kid arrived at school. Newcomers were normally given a pretty rough ride but Eddie* was different. At six-feet-plus he was further developed physically than anyone else and quickly set about demonstrating this to the school's female population. Brash, rude and violent, he was worshipped by boys and girls alike.

Today, at the School of New Rock, Scottish duo the Sluts of Trust have arrived for their first day with similar aspirations. Their schoolbag is bursting at the seams with dirty, thrashy punk songs full of sexual intent.

Things kick off at brutal, breakneck speed and you’re eight tracks in before things slow down long enough for you to catch your breath. By then you're not sure if they've fucked you or beaten you up but you do know a baseball bat was involved somehow.

When the pace slows things begin to unravel though. 'Dominoes' sounds like The Divine Comedy minus the sense of humour and 'Pirate Weekend' brings the album to a plodding close. Being a guitar/drums duo, comparisons with The White Stripes are inevitable, and though the Sluts do have the same spunk, they don't quite have the same subtlety. So whilst many of these songs will sound ear-bleedingly good live, on record they aren't top of the class just yet.

If We Are All Sluts of Trust was a Scottish food it would be deep-fried pizza: it sounds disgusting, you know it must be bad for you and it's best consumed when you're blind drunk.


By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

Article first published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

'We Are All Sluts of Trust' is available through Chemikal Underground.

* No, his name wasn't actually Eddie. His real name has been changed for the purposes of this article to protect his anonymity.

MORRISSEY lyrics of the week

Another lyricist for whom I could have chosen any one of numerous songs. I picked 'Late Night, Maudlin Street' for its poetic qualities. On paper, you'd never know that this was even a song at all.


The last night on Maudlin Street
Goodbye house, goodbye stairs
I was born here
And I was raised here, and
...I took some stick here.
Love at first sight
may sound trite
But it's true, you know
I could list the detail
of everything you ever wore or said
or how you stood the day.
As we spend the last night
on Maudlin Street
"Goodbye house, forever!"
I never stole a happy hour
around here,
where the world's ugliest boy
became what you see
Here I am - the ugliest man!
Oh, the last night on Maudlin Street
Truly I do love you
Oh, truly I do love you.
When I sleep
with that picture of you framed beside my bed
Oh, it's childish and it's silly
but I think it's you in my room, by the bed
(...yes, I told you it was silly...).
And I know
I took strange pills
but I never meant to hurt you
Oh, truly I do love you.
Came home late one night,
everyone had gone to bed
But, you know
No-one stays up for you
I had sixteen stitches
all around my head.
Oh, the last bus I missed to Maudlin Street
So he drove me home in the Van
Complaining, "Women only like me for my mind..."
Don't leave your torch behind
A powercut ahead; 1972, you know.
And so we crept through the park
No, I cannot steal a pair of jeans off a clothesline
for you.
But you ... without clothes
Oh, I could not keep a straight face
Me without clothes ?
Well, a nation turns its back and gags...
I'm packed
I am moving house
A half-life disappears today
With "every hand waves me on"
(secretly wishing me gone)
Well, I will be soon
Oh, I will be soon...
There were bad times on Maudlin Street
They took you away in a police car
"Inspector - don't you know?
"Don't you care?
"Don't you know - about Love?"
Your gran died
and your mother died
on Maudlin Street.
In pain, and ashamed
with never time to say
those special things ... oh
I took the key from Maudlin Street
Well, it's only bricks and mortar!
Oh, oh, truly I love you
wherever you are...
Wherever you are
I hope you're singing now
Oh, I hope you're singing now...

LITTLE RED live review

Little Red have been dominating the airwaves lately with their single 'Rock It'. But did they rock the Metro when they came to Sydney this month? Find out in this brand, spanking new live review. Fresh from the pages of your friendly neighbourhood Brag magazine...

Tonight’s bill is just made for a Friday. It presents three bands determined to make you shake your body from weekday drudgery into weekend celebration.

Appropriately (given tonight’s headliners), singer-songwriter Kimbra shimmies onto stage wearing a little red dress and a little red smile. Oh, and a big, BIG voice. By using a loop pedal, she manages the neat trick of becoming her own backing chorus. This makes her vocals cascade over the freaky dance-pop tunes played by her backing band (four guys, all dressed in braces and all camp as a row of tents). We will hear more from this girl. Of that I have no doubt.

From the moment Sparkadia arrive, you know they mean business. Their musicianship is as sharp as their clothes (all dressed head to toe in black) and they speed through their set at an incredible rate. Sporting a remarkable quiff and jacket combo, lead singer Alex Burnett is aiming to look like a young Johnny Cash, but ends up looking more like 1980s fop Rick Astley. And, alarmingly, new song ‘China’ actually sounds like something Astley might have sung. It’s power balladry at its absolute worst. If this was delivered with a knowing wink – a smirk even – then you could laugh it off. But Sparkadia actually mean this.

From opener ‘Morning Light’ to closer ‘Jealousy’, they remain po-faced and serious. But guess what? The crowd absolutely adores them. There is dancing and jumping and screaming and whooping throughout, and ear bursting applause at the end. Go figure.

Following Sparkadia’s well-drilled approach, Little Red appear a bit ramshackle. The vocals are occasionally lost in the mix, and early technical problems culminate in a blown amp. Dominic Byrne also appears to have forgotten his stage outfit. The rest of the band are resplendent in collared shirts, bowties, waistcoats and hats while his skinny frame is decorated with nothing but scruffy ripped jeans and an over-sized white t’shirt.

Despite (or perhaps because of) all this, Little Red’s performance has warmth and humanity. They’re unfussy, they’re geeky and they can’t dance for shit – but their passion for their music is obvious. Tom Hartney croons with the best of them during ‘Place Called Love’, Quang Dinh pines and shines in the loser anthem ‘In My Bed’ while Dominic Byrne‘s dancing is heroically unco during ‘Slow Motion’. And the longer they go, the more they win the audience over. The crowd dances so hard during ‘Rock It’ that the room actually shakes and, after ‘Coca Cola’, the crowd doesn’t cheer – they roar. Little Red welcome the weekend in thrilling, ragged, glorious style.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

First published in The Brag, Sydney, October 2010.

DAVID BOWIE artwork of the week

Bowie has produced more striking and iconic cover art than Ziggy Stardust, I fully admit. But what I love about this particular album cover is that it matches the music so well.

On the face of it, this is a suburban street like any other. It's dirty, dimly lit and anonymous.

Bowie is the counterpoint to this. In his bright, other-worldly costume, he stands out like the 'moon-age' characters in his songs. And by doing so he transforms his surroundings. It's almost as if his presence in the photo is what has caused the colours to 'bleed'. 

This perfectly illustrates Britain and Bowie in the 1970s. It was a time of economic hardship and urban decay. Through his art and music, Bowie provided some much-needed escapism.

THE VINES live review

The first time I went to see The Vines live they didn't show up. The gig was meant to be played at the Metro, but they imploded the night before on stage (two songs in, their bassist stormed off stage, just before their singer told the crowd that they were a bunch of sheep and then kicked a photographer in the face). Unfortunately for The Vines, that show was a for radio station TripleM, who promptly gave the band a 'life ban' from their station! Thankfully, the second time I went to see The Vines at the Metro, four years later, they did show up...

‘All ages’ gigs are much maligned but, on tonight’s evidence, it’s hard to see why. By the time the doors open at 8pm, there is a queue halfway around the block, full of eager beavers ready to rush for a place in the moshpit. And, once the crowd is let in, there’s a genuine buzz around The Metro that’s quite infectious.

If you need any more convincing, speak to the bands themselves. It must be a thrill for relatively unknown support acts like The Cabins (formerly Bear At The Door) to get rapturous applause and screams as they take to the stage. For them, it’s a chance to strut their stuff in front of a large, appreciative audience and, by jove, these fellows don’t need to be asked twice.

From the get go, the four-piece are energised, tight and on the money. The rhythm section builds the groove nicely, while their talented keyboardist tinkles the ivories to magical effect. And while The Cabins wear their influences on their sleeves (The Doors, The Coral, Joy Division), they are anything but predictable. Songs frequently take unexpected turns in tempo, while the odd psychedelic freakout has the moshpit literally jumping for joy. Their next show is at the Annandale on Thursday, 13 November. If you can, be there. You won’t be disappointed.

The crowd is swelling in size and anticipation as Wolf & Cub launch into their own, unique brand of psychedelia. The South Australians have got rhythm in spades and the guitar riffs to back that up.

Waiting for The Vines to make an entrance, the audience fills the time by chanting for their heroes. Few of tonight’s congregation would accept the claim that the band is merely “soldiering on in the face of adversity nowadays”. So, when Craig and the boys open with two new tracks (‘Manger’ and ‘He’s A Rocker’) it goes down a storm.

Things only go awry when the pace slows down. ‘Autumn Shade’ is a fine song but Craig warbles all over it tonight, distracted by problems with his mic stand. And the harmonies on ‘A. S. III’ also leave a bit to be desired.

Elsewhere though, it’s a pleasure to hear The Vines finally do justice to their early rock numbers (‘Highly Evolved’, ‘Ride’ and ‘Outtathaway’ are delivered with aplomb). And the all ages crowd (now a single, sweaty, happy mass) deserves no less.

P.S. And yes, Craig did smash his guitar up at the end.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2008.

!!! louden up now

!!! are due to tour Australia again soon, so here's a look back at the album that broke them over here...

Is this group's name pronounced "ungh, ungh, ungh", "chk, chk, chk", "pow, pow, pow" or something else? The seven New York bandmates still can't agree after two albums so what chance have we got? Then there's the question of how to find them in music shops. I tried and (eventually) found them filed before A, between C and D and after Z depending on where I went. The music itself is equally hard to categorise as there's so much happening on each song. It's funk, it's electronica and it's disco all at the same time. It's also got a "fuck you" punk attitude to boot.

The only problem with having such a lot going on musically is that Nic Offer’s voice is often drowned out. That's a shame because there's some lyrical treats here, like "When the going gets tough the tough get karazee, let them huff and let them puff cuz it doesn't fuckin faze me". They also find time to protest about Mayor Guiliani's ban on dancing in New York bars on the album's stand out track 'Me and Guiliani Down The School Yard'.

This is one of those records where you hear something new each time you listen. It's just a pity it's rarely the vocals.

If Louden Up Now were a time and place it would be the Hacienda, Manchester in 1988: pumping disco, funky guitars and it couldn't give a shit whether you like it or not.
Article by Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.
First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

Louden Up Now is available through Inertia Music.

HOMEBAKE 2008 live review

There's no Homebake this year. Boo! All we can do now is relive the memories of Homebakes past...

My lords, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Brag Towers for the 2008 Homebake Awards!

First up: the Animal-From-The-Muppets Crazy Drummer Award, which goes to Taka from Little Red!  Rarely can a band member have enjoyed himself as much as this guy. Without a mic, he sang along to every word of every song, pausing only to grin from ear-to-ear and occasionally stand on his drumkit to lead the crowd in some gleeful hand clapping. This man is a gem and his band was one of the day's high points. The crowd was eating out of Little Red’s hands well before the set closed with the 1950s school dance romp of 'Coca Cola'.

Now, let's move on to the My Chemical Romance Award for Band Who Look Most Like Their Audience. And the winner is: British India! Fresh faced, long haired, spotty, excitable and an apparent average age of 18. But hey, in a punk band that is a good thing. The four boys delivered a raucus, pacey set full of energy, with the highlights being 'Tie Up My Hands' and the splendidly obnoxious closer 'This Ain't No Fuckin Disco'.

Without further ado, we have the Kate Moss Award for Best Festival Outfit, which goes to - who else? Nick from Pnau! Making his entrance suspended on wire from the ceiling, Nick was resplendent in white tunic, yellow-feathered headdress and furry green fake eyelashes. The band's whole set was candy for the eyes: a delirious mixture of dancing human strawberries, sunshine, cowbells, green skulls and red Indians. Meanwhile, the sight of giant colourful balloons bouncing across the crowd was a delight. The Flaming Lips had better look sharp, because they've got competition.

As for the Courtney Love Worst Dressed gong, that goes to Mercy Arms. Thom sported a lurid, oversized Vinnies shirt; Kevin wore black and white leggings; while Ash opted for the Miami Vice white shirt/white jacket/jeans combo. But who cares how they looked, their sound was spectacular: a crafty blend of Mary Chain white noise and Expatriate angular guitar pop. The shoegaze heartache of 'Caroline' recalled the majesty of early Boo Radleys; while the discordant chaos of 'Shine A Light Down' was a scintillating way to end.

Next up, the St John's Ambulance Award, which goes to the moustachioed ranga in the crowd whose head was spectacularly sun-scorched by 3pm (we don't call it Homebake for nothin' kids!). Naturally, he did the sensible thing after that: he poured a can of beer into his 'Sun Sense' water bottle and removed his t'shirt. May he rest in peace.

It's painful to report that the Ian Brown Award for Most Overrated Underperformer goes to You Am I. However bad they sound, the crowd still whooped and applauded. People, are you so blind you cannot see? The emperor has no clothes! Beset with sound problems from the start, even the band's decent recent tunes sounded stodgy, and when they murdered 'Heavy Heart' it was time to leave.

The Too Big For The Big Top Award goes to Cut Copy. The tent was absolutely overflowing with people as the trio blasted through a sparkling set of early-Depeche Mode-style electo-pop. The crowd went positively ape shit during 'Out There On The Ice'.

For the squillionth time in their career, Crowded House scoop the People's Choice Award. Every song was met by twenty thousand voices singing along. When a setlist glows with 'It's Only Natural', 'Don't Dream It's Over', 'When You Come' and 'Fall At Your Feet', Julius Caesar and the Roman Empire couldn't conquer the happy festival vibe. And neither could a flying thong thwacking Neil in the face. The assailant was led away by Security, but not before Neil commended him for his accuracy. Soon after, 'Better Be Home Soon' drew the night to a suitably warm and fuzzy close.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

Article first published in The Brag, Sydney, 2008.

BRIGHT EYES lyrics of the week

Bright Eyes (aka Conor Oberst) is an absolute God among men when it comes to lyric-writing. I could have picked any song from his I'm Wide Awake It's Morning LP. But I chose 'Landlocked Blues' because it blends the personal and the political quite beautifully...

If you walk away, I'll walk away
First tell me which road you will take
I don't want to risk our paths crossing some day
So you walk that way, I'll walk this way

And the future hangs over our heads
And it moves with each current event
Until it falls all around like a cold steady rain
Just stay in when it's looking this way

And the moon's laying low in the sky
Forcing everything metal to shine
And the sidewalk holds diamonds like the jewelry store case
They argue walk this way, now walk this way

And Laura's asleep in my bed
As I'm leaving she wakes up and says
"I dreamed you were carried away on the crest of a wave
Baby don't go away, come here"

And there's kids playing guns in the street
And ones pointing his tree branch at me
So I put my hands up I say "enough is enough,
If you walk away, I'll walk away"
And he shot me dead

I found a liquid cure
From my landlocked blues
It'll pass away like a slow parade
It's leaving but I don't know how soon 

And the world's got me dizzy again
You'd think after 22 years I'd be used to the spin
And it only feels worse when I stay in one place
So I'm always pacing around or walking away
I keep drinking the ink from my pen
And I'm balancing history books up on my head
But it all boils down to one quotable phrase
"If you love something, give it away"

A good woman will pick you apart
A box full of suggestions for your possible heart
But you may be offended and you may be afraid
But don't walk away, don't walk away

We made love on the living room floor
With the noise in background of a televised war
And in the deafening pleasure I thought I heard someone say
"If we walk away, they'll walk away"

But greed is a bottomless pit
And our freedom's a joke 
We're just taking the piss
And the whole world must watch the sad comic display
"If you're still free start running away
"Cause we're coming for you!"

I've grown tired of holding this post
I feel more like a stranger each time I come home
So I'm making a deal with the devils of faith
Saying "let me walk away, please"
You'll be free child once you have died
From the shackles of language and immeasurable time
And then we can trade places, play musical grace
Till then walk away, walk away

So I'm up at dawn
Putting on my shoes
I just want to make a clean escape
I'm leaving but I don't know where to
I know I'm leaving but I don't know where to

DAGGY MUSIC OF THE WEEK hi-standard

Another regular blog reader, who shall be known only as "Ben", has written in with this week's daggy music confession...

"As far as I was concerned So-Cal punk bands were the only ones creating music in the mid to late nineties. Pennywise, NOFX, No Fun At All, No Doubt and, of course, the 63rd top Japanese artist of all time (according to HMV)...


"...none other than Hi-Standard.


"The stand-out for me was Hi-Standard's 1997 long player Angry Fist. This involved band members Akihiro Nanba, Ken Yokoyama and Akira Tsuneoka producing 35 minutes of nonsensical ‘sound’. Ken sung in English but it was sounded all Greek to me.


"The LP featured 11 originals, including 'Fighting Fists', 'Angry Song', 'Shy Boy' and 'My Sweet Dog'. It still amazes me that they could go from singing about smacking someone’s face in to singing 'Good morning my sweet dog, you are such a good dog let’s go for a nice walk in the park' WTF???


"The album also featured four covers, including The Who’s ‘The Kids are Alright’, Fogerty’s ‘Have you ever senz ze rain’ and hidden track the Pink Panther theme. These were the highlights for me as at least I knew the originals so could understand what they were singing about. 


"I liked the band because at the time I was in a band and thought if these non-English speaking Japanese punks could make it - why couldn’t I? But mostly I just laughed at their ridiculous accents.


"However, easily the hi-light for me was buying tickets to see them live at Dee Why beach as part of a punk festival in 2008. There I was getting ready to see them live when Fat Mike from NOFX comes on stage to say that singer Ken had broken his arm and so they wouldn’t be able to play.


"...but the Japanese punk gods were smiling on my face that day. I spotted the bass player Akira in the crowd and my friends and I proceeded to hang out with him for the rest of the day - even getting a signed t-shirt by day's end.


"Unfortunately Hi-Standard broke up in 2000 but not before a HMV poll rated them the 63rd best artist in Japanese music...yeah!"


Thanks for sharing your hidden secret with us Ben. Hope you feel better now you have made your confession.

RECORD TIME a meditation on vinyl

Technology scares me. Not in a ‘computers-are-going-to-take-over-the-world-and-robots-will-be-their-footsoldiers’ kinda way. My problem is that it moves too damn quickly. I’d just bade a tearful goodbye to my cassette walkman, and got on speaking terms with a discman, when everyone else started flirting with mp3s. I couldn’t believe how fickle people could be. Can’t we commit to anything nowadays?

So, I decided to take a stand. I reversed the trend and went back in time. I discovered the glamorous, intoxicating era of vinyl. And now I’m happily trapped here forever.

Early on, the fact I didn’t actually own a record player was just a trifling detail. I threw myself headlong into buying the records themselves. I guess it’s no surprise that I quickly lost control. If music is art, then surely vinyl is the natural medium. The cover is a perfectly square canvass of 12 x 12 inches.

Then there’s the vinyl itself. In its purest form, it’s a circular slice of fetishism: sleek, neat, shiny and black. And, like any good fetish, records can be subverted in delicious fashion. Coloured vinyl has the power to complement an album like nothing else (The Cure’s crimson smeared Pornography cover? Match it with red vinyl. The Beach Boys’ lush Pet Sounds? An ocean-green disc. The Beatles’ white album? You get the picture. Speaking of which, don’t even get me started on picture discs).

And let’s not forget the simple genius of the seven-inch single. In the twenty-first century, a song is just an entry on a list; zapped into our Mac in seconds and forgotten about seconds later. But in days gone by, the seven-inch proudly said, “No wait! This song matters. In fact, it matters so much that it deserves a whole big side of this disc.”

But while the quirks of vinyl gave me much delight, they also presented an inevitable flipside: a quick road to bankruptcy. So, before long, I set myself some firm ground rules.

First, I had to get over the delusion that I was buying records on the basis that they were an “investment”. The popular myth that most old records have astronomical financial value is just that. A myth. And even if my collection did, by some fluke, accrue value in years to come, I could never part with it anyway.

Second, I had to stop gorging indiscriminately. If I already owned the music on another format, I couldn’t purchase it again on vinyl. Even if that did mean walking away from the Kings of Leon’s Aha Shake Heartbreak on 10 inch double-vinyl (man, that one still hurts).

And finally, I had to buy a record player, so that I could actually listen to the stockpile of albums, singles and 12-inches I had cached. This proved far easier than I had anticipated. Thanks to superstar DJs, turntables are now back in demand and widely available. I picked up a basic one for three hundred bucks.

When I played the records for the first time, it was clear that my vice had just become an addiction. Each unintended crackle makes every piece of vinyl utterly unique. Nobody – not even the artist – will ever hear the music the way that you do. And the fragility of the records gives you a new appreciation for the songs. Vinyl must be treated with the same love and care that the artist invested when they originally crafted the music. Otherwise, you will scratch the record, making you feel like time is forever repeating itself, repeating itself, repeating itself, repeating itself, repeating itself…

RIDE artwork of the week

Nevermind the fact that Ride's Nowhere is one of the finest albums of the 1990s (Nevermind that it's way better than Nevermind). Nevermind that it contains some of the best psychedelic music from any decade. The cover is a piece of gorgeous artwork all by itself.

LITTLE RED & SPARKADIA coming soon...

Friday nights are made for bands like Little Red and Sparkadia. So I'm off to see them both at the Metro tonight.

A live review will be posted here in the next couple of weeks. Stay tuned!

THE CHARLATANS who we touch

Hot off the press, into this week's edition of The Brag, and onto the page of today's blog...

This is not the finest album The Charlatans have produced in their 21 year career. It’s not even in the top five. But it does tick many of the same boxes as their best work.

The Madchester survivors still use a hammond organ better than anyone (just as they did in 1990 on Some Friendly). They’ve still got that languid stoner groove (as they did on 1994’s Up To Our Hips).  And they’re still one of the few white boy indie groups who ooze funk out of every pore (as on 2001’s Wonderland).

But two things let them down on Who We Touch. The first is the finely polished production from Youth. The band asked him to make the record sound like a European winter. What they had in mind was “fresh and crisp” but, on many tracks, what they got was “cold and wet”. The worst example of this is ‘My Foolish Pride’ - the most sterile track the band has ever committed to tape.

The second area that lets the record down is the lyrics from Tim Burgess. At times you wonder if he’s just swallowed a rhyming dictionary. ‘Sincerity’ is a prime example: “I find atrocity in your monotony” (Really Tim? Seriously?) and in the tautological chorus: “The honesty of your sincerity”.

This patchy album does include some cracking tunes (the chest thumping anthem ‘Trust in Desire’, the six minute psychedelic opus ‘Oh’ and the tender, dreamlike ‘You Can Swim’) but we’ve come to expect more from The Charlatans over the years.

Article by Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

First published in The Brag, Sydney, October 2010.

Who We Touch is available through Shock Records.

CARLY SIMON lyrics of the week

Simply classic lyrics this week from 1972. To this day, Carly Simon has never revealed who the song is written about. It's become part of rock n' roll folklore and still the mystery endures. Was it Warren Beatty? David Geffen? Or even Mick Jagger? (The latter actually sings backing vocals on the song).

You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf it was apricot
You had one eye in the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte
And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner, and...

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

You had me several years ago when I was still quite naive
Well you said that we made such a pretty pair
And that you would never leave
But you gave away the things you loved and one of them was me
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and...

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?

I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and...

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga and your horse naturally won
Then you flew your lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not you're with
Some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend
Wife of a close friend, and...

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you

THE LOVETONES live review

This is a live review of a recent Lovetones show in Sydney. As published in this week's edition of The Brag...

“Oh damn you Rock N Roll Stardom - you are a fickle mistress! Again and again you have dashed the careers of talented bands onto the rocks of anonymity. And why? Simply because these musicians weren’t in the right place at the right time! It’s just not fair I tell you! Curse you Rock N Roll Stardom! You are a heartless beast!” This was my reaction after a night of marvellous music played by magical musicians who, I fear, have arrived in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Instead of Australia in 2010, The Prayer Circle should be in London in 1990. Back then, bands concocting ethereal drone rock were packing out places far bigger than the Oxford Art Factory. Groups like Slowdive, Lush and Chapterhouse used exactly the same formula as The Prayer Circle: delicate vocal harmonies drowning in a miasma of guitar feedback and buzzsaw guitars. It sounded glorious back then and The Prayer Circle prove that it still does today.

As for The Laurels, their natural place in time is really New York in 1993. This was when Bob Mould and his band Sugar were unleashing a fierce album called Beaster; while Sonic Youth had just released Dirty into the wild. These albums tore a punk-shaped hole through the shoegaze sound, adding fiery aggression and attitude into the art-rock aesthetic. The Laurels have gone out and bought the same guitar pedals as Sugar and Sonic Youth, and tonight they engulf the Oxford Art Factory in a blizzard of white noise.

It doesn’t take a mad scientist to work out when and where The Lovetones would have prospered most. Kids in late-1960s California pretty much lived on a diet of psychedelic pop. The Lovetones would have had San Franciscan hippy chicks eating out of their hands. Still, even in 2010, the music they serve up is delicious. ‘Navigator’ is the perfect appetiser and ‘Journeyman’ is equally mouth-watering. ‘This Great Romance’ and ‘A New Low in Getting High’ are sweet and bittersweet respectively. Meanwhile, during ‘Stars’ and ‘Chinatown Busride’, you can practically taste the hash cakes.

Sadly, Rock N Roll Stardom will probably never wine and dine any of these bands on this bill. But each and every musician played a part in seducing the Oxford Art Factory crowd tonight.

Article by Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.

First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2010.

THE CURE the cure

A lesson here for any bands who have been around for years and need to find new inspiration...

When a group has been around for 25 years the toughest challenge is keeping things fresh. The Cure's Robert Smith tackled this by bringing in an outside producer for the first time. Ross Robinson really shook things up in the studio, forcing bandmates to spill their guts to one another (often putting long-time friendships under strain).

The upheaval was worth it though because the result is this brilliantly terrifying collection of songs. Album opener 'Lost' draws you in with a murmur that gradually becomes a frenzied scream. Next up is ‘Labyrinth’, the sound of a bad trip where familiar faces turn sinister ("It's not the same you" Smith wails).

Most of what follows throws you about like a raft in a raging ocean so that when the mood lightens into poppier moments ('The End of the World', 'Taking Off') you want to cling to them for dear life.

The album closes magnificently too with scrawling wah-wah guitar tearing a bloody wound across 'The Promise' before the gentler 'Going Nowhere' bids a wistful farewell. There are echoes of former glories here (1982's Pornography especially) but The Cure still sounds vibrant, scary and most importantly fresh.

Midway through Smith states "I want this to be the last thing we do”. If it is, it's a hell of a way to go.

By Andy McLean. Copyright held by author.
First published in The Brag, Sydney, 2004.

The Cure is available through Geffen Records.

DAGGY MUSIC OF THE WEEK kirsty maccoll

This week, Dave digs into his closet and pulls out his daggy music confession...

"When I was a teenager I joined a mail order music club called Britannia Music. The selling point of this club was that you got to pick five albums for free, before then committing to buying one full price record per month for the next 12 months.

"I'd picked four reasonably respectable albums when my pen hovered over Otis Redding. A man respected the world over for his amazing musical talents.

"It was at that moment that I spotted, out of the corner of my eye, the flame haired Irish songstress Kirsty MacColl. I have no idea why, but I chose Kirsty's Galore over the great Otis.

"It's a pretty throwaway record of feelgood, sugary Irish diddley-dee music. It's basically quite rubbish. But I've still got a soft spot for it.

"One of my mates in patricular has never let me live this down. On the day when poor Kirsty met her demise in a speedboating accident, I received a text message from my mate asking me whether I was alright."

Dave, you shouldn't feel too bad about your Kirsty MacColl fandom. She does have a bit of street cred. She performed with The Pogues on classic Christmas single 'Fairytale of New York' and even appeared on stage with The Happy Mondays on Top of the Pops once. Still, Galore is a pretty dire album. Well done for getting this off your chest mate. Hope you feel better now.