The Adelaide scene: to many of you it may be little more than a touring speed bump between Melbourne and Perth but to us it's a way of life. Feast within, on all its dysfunctional splendour, as we bring you the highly satirical, laughingly fictional and intellectually imbecile tales from our rock & roll wasteland...
TYGER TYGER + BAKEWELL STREET + THE TRAFALGARS LIVE @ ROCKET BAR / Thursday January 17th 2008
This is a photo of a drumkit. A photo of a blue drumkit. A photo of a mild mannered blue drumkit gently grazing in thoughtful silence under low lights at Rocket Bar on a lazy Thursday night, placed here to distract you from the glaring fact that I can't think of a fiendishly clever opening gambit for this episode of Spoz's Rant. Seriously, has it come to this? Of all the things I could talk shit on and here I am making fun of a blue drumkit? Fucking hell, nobody deserves this! It's probably got a wife and kids at home: a cowbell, a tambourine and a few ride cymbals trying to make ends meet and here I am poking fun at it? What has this blog come to? Wars, famine, drought, death and disease and here I am writing opening lines about a fucking blue drumkit? Surely I've gone mad. If only it was a red drumkit we wouldn't be in this mess. Still, before I can surepticiously make off with this blue drumkit in effort to swap it for a red one, I'm interrupted by three live bands. Damn, why does that always happen to me!? Oh yeah that's right, I'm running a live music blog, how could I possibly forget? ROCK 'N ROLL!! WOOOO!
THE TRAFALGARS (***1/2) myspace :: Perhaps you remember a pissy little UK britpop band by the name of Oasis? Big in the mid 90's, kinda shit ever since? Brothers Liam and Noel Gallagher still beating each other stupid with that blunt end of a whisky bottle, drunk in a gutter at 5AM? That same damn song from their first album "Definitely Maybe" played beyond projectile vomiting point on commercial radio? All that bragging that they're bigger than The Beatles? Noel Gallagher still rubbishing fellow UK bands in NME in the mistaken belief people still give a shit? Aaaaah so many memories! Or what about Jet? Everyone loves Jet don't they? They're everyone's favourite Australian rock band! Whoaaa, OK OK! take your finger OFF that trigger and put DOWN that shotgun! *cough* Yeah, beats me why I just mentioned all that? The Trafalgars sound nothing like them! They're nothing but sweet 60's mod guitars, goofy harmonies, catchy britpop hooks and everything you loved about The Beatles before they got into all the LSD, sitars, walruses 'n shit. Fuck yeah!
Wow and who'd think I could last an entire review of The Trafalgars without once making fun of the drummer for looking like Ralph Wiggum from the Simpsons? YEAS!! (oh fuck, nevermind!).
BAKEWELL STREET (***) myspace :: Despite what you may think, this next band is not named after one of many infamous back alleys from The Crown & Anchor where people periodically duck off to "in search of wookies". They're also not to be confused with fellow Adelaide band Special Patrol (as Miles from Special Patrol frequently wears an entirely different hat). Still, comparisons and confusions are more than understandable as Bakewell Street have been known to cause similar symptoms in their fans: blurring of vision, short term memory loss, uncontrollable fits of laughter, distortions in space and time, slowed reaction times, an increased appreciation in wildlife documentaries, short term memory loss, bloodshot eyes, increased appetite and short term memory loss. Yup, that's Bakewell Street (wait, did i mention short term memory loss?). They're the hearts on your sleeve stoner pub rock cliche everyone loves on a Sunday afternoon: hair of the dog droopy eared and howling on the porch, hunchbacks with acoustic guitars, pint glasses swinging in the air, a chorus of broken yodels as you sing along; yet surprisingly mixed up with a frenetic rhythm section channeling Franz Ferdinand and The Strokes (weird!). Still, as hungover as this all sounds, it is not without it's blissfully easy going charm. Light one up and funk on out yo!
TYGER TYGER (****1/2) myspace :: In covering this final headlining act for tonight, I believe a public service announcement is in order. Travis Williamson: lead singer of Tyger Tyger, formerly of Adelaide band Unspoken Things, has an ego that must be destroyed. Use all means necessary: small pox, snipers, orbital ICBM platforms, a well placed banana peel into an open sewer, fuckit it doesn't matter. I call upon you my ever faithful audience to get this job done with maximum expediency. For those of you who still doubt, dare I mention: Global warming? Travis' ego. Rising interest rates, petrol prices and plummeting stockmarkets worldwide? Travis' ego. American foreign policy? Travis' ego. Tom Cruise? dwarfed by Travis' ego. The gravitational anomolies in the orbits of Uranus and Neptune as rumoured to be caused by an as yet undiscovered "planet X"? Travis' ego. And for those of you who haven't seen the movie "Cloverfield", I apologise if this is a spoiler, but the monster that destroys New York? yup you guessed it, Travis' ego. That self righteous little c*nt of a crap weasel must die! *cough* still that being said, he sure knows how to front one FUCK of a live band! Not since the wreckage wrought by the combined forces of Central Deli Band, Tony Font Show and No Through Road has an Adelaide band been this damn near life threatening. They're the Arctic Monkeys and The Strokes with a "fuck you" lyrical belligerency, 80's band Wall Of Voodoo, Dave Graney 'N The Coral Snakes and a seriously confused Latin swing. Yup, as much as it pains me to inflate Travis' ego even more than it already is, this may very well be THE Adelaide band to assemble a lynch mob against in 2008. You have been warned!
And that's my Thursday night done and dusted. Of course I could go on to explain the deeper meaning behind why I chose those blue drums as my opening image (instead of simply targeting that same old desk lamp by the front bar for the six billionth time) but lets face it, nothing about me drinking myself retarded till 3AM on a Thursday night in January ever makes a lick of sense (and I don't doubt we must be all feeling infinitely richer because of it.. woooooo!).
THE DEVILROCK FOUR + BOOSTER + STEEL TIGER LIVE @ THE CROWN & ANCHOR / Saturday January 12th 2008
Those of you who think my weekend is all done and dusted by 10PM on a Saturday clearly don't know me very well and very likely just stumbled upon this site looking for that gratuitous D-grade celebrity stuntcasting I'm STILL milking for all it's worth *cough Vanilla Ice! *cough*. But there's more life to this weekend, OH YES! as we continue with part 2 of my Saturday night..
10:31PM - "My lower back is killing me.." Wow, what a spectacularly shit opener for a blog! On face value that would make me sound far too old to still be doing this shit, except that I've just spent the last 4 hours crammed into the space of a peanut unable to scratch my nose whilst hounded by 1000 screaming mental patients constantly picking fights with security around me as post-punk musicians from the UK continually land on my head. Fuuuck! Still, since I'm entirely too young and stupid to know better any better, drinking myself into a coma seems like the best solution. So thus where better to speed my carcass to the organ scrapheap than three of the craziest 70's hair metal bands that the Cranka can possibly throw at me!? SCOOORE!
STEEL TIGER (****) myspace :: They once said in the wild west (suburbs of Adelaide?) that the best way to deal with a war wound was to sprinkle gunpowder into it and light it on up. Such is the sentiment sought post summer party blitzkrieg with this band. Shellshocked and limping? Sprinkle a half dozen beers into your gaping head cavity and light it on up with this shit: no brain! no pain! Steel Tiger: this band screams everything but subtle. They're one giant mastadon, fur and all rotating on a spit. They're an entire semi-trailer being crushed into a cube whilst you're locked in the glovebox. They're the sacking of Rome in 476AD. They're a band that channels the full neanderthal fury of Ozzy Osbourne, Thin Lizzy and Iron Maiden, and then gets Meatloaf to front it. 10ft tall and blasting swiss cheese holes through your eardrums at 130dB's, oooh FUCK is this a mad jam!
and it appears the Vandals, Visigoths and Vikings in the crowd more than agree.. ROCK!
BOOSTER (***1/2) myspace :: After many years of research in the field (lab rat results still pending), I've come to know two distinct breeds of the Booster. First is the "Sean Kemp Circus Spectacular". For examples, look no further than exhibit A) their shitfaced drummer attempting to climb the balcony at Jive..
exhibit B) that same drummer, Sean Kemp making a twit of himself with the theramin..
exhibit C) endless fun with crowd participation and projectile vomiting..
exhibit D) throwing your entire audience up on stage..
or exhibit E) throwing your entire drumkit into the audience..
Then there's the "No Nonsense Juggernaut" where Booster thrashes every song out as fast as they can, no breaks, no bullshit and then get the FUCK out before anyone knows what's hit them. Brutal as fuck, unforgiving with howling falsetto and chugging guitars, all ripped through in barely 3 minutes each, save for that one face melting extended psychedelic breakdown at the end of "Prozac" that makes everyone want to break out with the wizard bongs and play along..
Hmmmm yeah I dunno, it's really hard to decide which one of these that I prefer? :)
12:01AM - It's at this moment, as I'm spinning my head back to it's frontal position and relocating where my lower jaw dropped that I suddenly remember that I still haven't eaten any dinner yet. An infinite kaleidoscope of culinary disasters soon taunt my whistling stomach with grand possibility, but it was Sean (returning eyes that'd since fallen out've their sockets) who rather helpfully suggested I try here: CitySpot Falafel & Yiros, corner of Rundle and Frome..
A place that is without a doubt, the greasiest shitstain eatery in all of metropolitan Adelaide. Mmmhmm just look at those tantalising spring rolls and mini drumstick, dripping with such sweet salmonella! the flavour, the aroma! be still my beating gag reflex!
12:19AM - The next few minutes feel like I'm reliving all of "Requiem For A Dream" minus the lucid bits. Dazed and confused, lost and wandering Rundle street yammering like a crazy person it's really no surprise that, like a homing pigeon, I'd find myself back at the Cranka..
THE DEVILROCK FOUR (****1/2) myspace :: From the same criminal badlands to the far east that brought us such redline screamers as The Casanovas, The Shine, Sin City, Crackwhore and Airbourne comes another teeth shattering, skull ringing entry into the Viking halls of Valhalla: The Devilrock Four. Channeling everything from Aerosmith, AC/DC and Motörhead, they're like 20,000 volts smoking your skull like a Cuban cigar whilst a blackhawk helicopter, rotors spinning at your faces, comes crashing down around your ears. Your only response in moments like these is simply to follow everyone else around you: punch both fists in the air, extend pinky and index, make the sound of a pack of hyenas attempting to devour a schoolbus til you're nothing more than a shrieking primal mess in involuntary motor function and reptilian synapsis. Oh yes, they do so diabolically ROCK!
Wayne and Garth are both on the floor right now, prostrate and shrieking "weeee're not worthy! weeee're not worthy!" to this black mass, as Satan laughing spreads his wings into the night..
And then, just like all uninhibited 70's rock before them, things get just a little bit weird..
The mad excitement in their eyes says it all, waaahooooooo! ROCK 'N ROLL!!!
1:31AM - In effort to flee the widening mushroom cloud erupting from the Cranka, I take passage west to FAD Cafe, where sweet nectar of the Bee Sting awaits my shellshocked senses..
2:06AM - throw in one to two hits of the choice catcus at Tequilarea..
2:15AM - Stir vigorously at Jive for the Gosh! fortnightly DJ massacre and we have everyone's a-grade recipe for disaster. They say nothing good ever comes of staying out after 2AM, and of course they would be right. I hereby apologise for any of the following wreckage to follow..
2:24AM - Catching up with Joe and Simone moments earlier at FAD, I am dragged dribbling to the bar as they demonstrate what appears to be the finer art of "Vodka bombing"..
despite my howls of protests, it appears this is NOT a spectator sport..
2:38AM - My howling hurricane of human hubris (wow, talk about a shittyarse turn of phrase) rapidly accumilates more mental patients into the fray, all hooting and shrieking as one..
3:12AM - One Ben Revi (aka: our favourite geek punchline) protests upon our rabble rousing..
So with no intelligent response at hand, we thought we'd take him along for the ride too..
3:56AM - this rather neatly illustrates how best to clear a dancefloor in Jive..
4:02AM - Whilst Nick Hadley (aka: the infamous "Where's Wally" of Spoz's Rant) and Kate Donnelly here demonstrate their very own unique method of emptying out the joint..
4:20AM - Aaaughh! it burns! it burns!! Run fer ya lives!! Joe Blogs is on the loooose!!
4:59AM - Yup, as rather graphically illustrated by Joe and Simone here, gurgling their last at Micky D's on West terrace moments before dawn, it's been one FUCK of a Saturday night! To think I've been out here on the killing fields since just before 4PM this afternoon? Fuuuuuck!
But never fear! Just when you think it's all over, just when you think it couldn't possibly unleash more carnage and turmoil, another weekend is sure to be just around the corner! :)
