Thoughts for this week:
- Placebo, Anthrax, Motion City Soundtrack, Shinedown, Set Your Goals, Enter Shikari, Closure In Moscow. With one swift blow this week Soundwave has bent Big Day Out over the back of the couch thoroughly sodomised it. And the fact that Big Day Outs are selling out across the country, while Soundwave still has tickets remaining is testament to the fact that BDO is no longer the bastion festival of music lovers. Music at Big Day Out is now secondary to warm $8 Tooheys cans, Australian flags and bad tattoos. I dare you to argue otherwise.
-“There’s no shame in acknowledging your influences. Bands never want to say that they are influenced by the bands that they sound just like. When a new ‘melodic hardcore’ band comes out, they’ll never say “oh, it was the first major label Rise Against record that really helped define our sound.” They’ll instead say “oh, we listen to lots of Sammy Davis and lots of Judas Priest and so we combined those sort of melodic elements with the sort of aggressive drum machine blast of late era ministry but we used a real drummer.” No you didn’t. You heard “Give it All” when you were in the mall shopping for a new belt.”- Brendan Kelly (Lawrence Arms)
- My cat’s breath smells like cat food.- The new liquor licensing laws that dictate any venue with live music requires security are so idiotic, it’s horrifying. Whoever decided that there is a correlation between bands and alcohol fuelled violence needs to pay a visit to my local. This rickety pub smells of trench foot and moth balls and the bands will attract a crowd of about 50 people on a good night, yet they’ve had to hire a security guard. The poor guy’s only legit threat is being relentlessly hit on by amorous middle-aged women gone a bit ‘silly’ on the sherries. I hate you Brumby.
October 7, 2009
Caught Bad Religion and NOFX again in Sydney last week and I’m sorry to say my in-depth analysis of their Melbourne performance rang true yet again. In other words, NOFX ran about the stage like a pack of turkeys, telling off colour jokes and playing with half-arsed abandon.
I dunno how Smelly tolerates his band members given his commitment to sobriety.
Both bands are ageing, admittedly, but damn Bad Religion approach it with such aplomb by comparison. I can’t help but wonder how NOFX might review their own shirtless, sloppy performances when they’re followed by Greg Graffin’s neatly pressed polo shirt, politically conscious lyrics and general professor-like demeanour. Combine that with Bad Religion’s incredibly tight performance of genre defying hits and any band would surely cower in their presence.
Speaking of old dudes and their questionable fashion choices, Strung Out’s new album Agents Of The Underground is out now. Check out their beret clad band photo and file it in the ‘DONTS’ of badass punk rock fashion folder.
I dunno how Smelly tolerates his band members given his commitment to sobriety.
Both bands are ageing, admittedly, but damn Bad Religion approach it with such aplomb by comparison. I can’t help but wonder how NOFX might review their own shirtless, sloppy performances when they’re followed by Greg Graffin’s neatly pressed polo shirt, politically conscious lyrics and general professor-like demeanour. Combine that with Bad Religion’s incredibly tight performance of genre defying hits and any band would surely cower in their presence.
Speaking of old dudes and their questionable fashion choices, Strung Out’s new album Agents Of The Underground is out now. Check out their beret clad band photo and file it in the ‘DONTS’ of badass punk rock fashion folder.
September 30, 2009
So I copped a totally unwarranted amount of shit about attaining more than my fair share of mosh injuries at The Bronx a couple of weeks ago. Mates, co-workers, but more importantly my mum couldn’t comprehend how a young woman- elegant and ladylike as I am- would find herself in amongst the animals at the front of stage.
“Moshpits are for young men” apparently. Fair call, too. My feet were so severely bruised from the ‘pit’ that I’m still unable to wear my favourite heels, thus proving in a very retarded, 50’s, Man Men kinda way that the front of the stage is no place for a woman.
In my defence, though, at the time I couldn’t fathom any other satisfying means to witness The Bronx. And I realised that there wasn’t any particular form of dance happening in the flurried frenzy at front of stage (I’ll be fucked if I ever randomly whip out some spin kicks in my time), it was merely a bunch of mad music lovers indulging in self expression usually restricted to behind bedroom doors. Except when you partake in said expression within a large congregation of people, it becomes more socially acceptable.
Basically, I wanted to make like an epileptic monkey to The Bronx’s sweet tunes and would have been mocked mercilessly/bottled had I done it anywhere else in the venue, so I spasmed with a bunch of other uncontainable twats up the front. That some other dudes expression involved violent head movements is mere misfortune on my part, but good on him for endangering his neck and facial region for the love of the game.
In other news Bad Religion killed it, KIIIILLLLEEDDDD IT on Sunday night. NOFX were OK, though frankly, were upstaged by Fat Wreck band mates Pour Habit. Instead of token Jew/Mexican/OMGIMSOWASTED jokes, Pour Habit just made with the tunes AND the party and didn’t let their lead singers massive bout of violent vomiting onstage disrupt their thoroughly entertaining set. Melbourne lads The Gun Runners killed their brief opening set but, really, no one could outdo the headliners. Balding they may be, but Bad Religion truly remain the best punk rock band around.
“Moshpits are for young men” apparently. Fair call, too. My feet were so severely bruised from the ‘pit’ that I’m still unable to wear my favourite heels, thus proving in a very retarded, 50’s, Man Men kinda way that the front of the stage is no place for a woman.
In my defence, though, at the time I couldn’t fathom any other satisfying means to witness The Bronx. And I realised that there wasn’t any particular form of dance happening in the flurried frenzy at front of stage (I’ll be fucked if I ever randomly whip out some spin kicks in my time), it was merely a bunch of mad music lovers indulging in self expression usually restricted to behind bedroom doors. Except when you partake in said expression within a large congregation of people, it becomes more socially acceptable.
Basically, I wanted to make like an epileptic monkey to The Bronx’s sweet tunes and would have been mocked mercilessly/bottled had I done it anywhere else in the venue, so I spasmed with a bunch of other uncontainable twats up the front. That some other dudes expression involved violent head movements is mere misfortune on my part, but good on him for endangering his neck and facial region for the love of the game.
In other news Bad Religion killed it, KIIIILLLLEEDDDD IT on Sunday night. NOFX were OK, though frankly, were upstaged by Fat Wreck band mates Pour Habit. Instead of token Jew/Mexican/OMGIMSOWASTED jokes, Pour Habit just made with the tunes AND the party and didn’t let their lead singers massive bout of violent vomiting onstage disrupt their thoroughly entertaining set. Melbourne lads The Gun Runners killed their brief opening set but, really, no one could outdo the headliners. Balding they may be, but Bad Religion truly remain the best punk rock band around.
September 23, 2009
OK so, I’m so excited about new Strung Out that my pores are aching. I need new material, now and I need it to be good because once again their cover art doesn’t fill me with confidence.
Has anyone had a glimpse of the artwork? It looks like something my 17 year-old self would have thrown together in a hormonal frenzy in year 11 art. Cobras, machine guns, microphones and clenched fists bundled in perfect symmetrical composition with the timeless astrolux planted in the middle.
I always assumed most bands would have the maturity and frankly- the balls- to speak to one another about their artistic output. You know, if the guitar smacks of wank, or the vocals are out of key, they’d have a way of letting one another know without coming across as a complete ass. As a mere mortal I can’t begin to fathom how to tell someone their creative efforts suck, but bands have to have that shit sorted for the sake of survival. So why the hell hasn’t someone taken vocalist Jason Cruz aside and asked that he stop belittling the band with bad album covers?
Don’t get me wrong, I adore Cruz with all the stalker-ish fevor that a good fangirl should, but I truly believe album covers need to represent the music at hand. So if we apply this theory to Strung Out’s new album Agents of The Underground, it’s going to sound like my old high school band that exclusively specialised in Frogstomp covers.
Could be OK actually…
Has anyone had a glimpse of the artwork? It looks like something my 17 year-old self would have thrown together in a hormonal frenzy in year 11 art. Cobras, machine guns, microphones and clenched fists bundled in perfect symmetrical composition with the timeless astrolux planted in the middle.
I always assumed most bands would have the maturity and frankly- the balls- to speak to one another about their artistic output. You know, if the guitar smacks of wank, or the vocals are out of key, they’d have a way of letting one another know without coming across as a complete ass. As a mere mortal I can’t begin to fathom how to tell someone their creative efforts suck, but bands have to have that shit sorted for the sake of survival. So why the hell hasn’t someone taken vocalist Jason Cruz aside and asked that he stop belittling the band with bad album covers?
Don’t get me wrong, I adore Cruz with all the stalker-ish fevor that a good fangirl should, but I truly believe album covers need to represent the music at hand. So if we apply this theory to Strung Out’s new album Agents of The Underground, it’s going to sound like my old high school band that exclusively specialised in Frogstomp covers.
Could be OK actually…
September 9, 2009
It’s Bronx week ya’ll! I’m pretty sure no one else gets as excited as my mates and I do when The Bronx roll into town on their quasi-annual visit. It’s with good reason, though. A Bronx visit is like a full moon, it brings out the animal in everyone.
Last time The Bronx played at The Corner hotel, Heart Attack American started with it’s ball tearing howl, and without a second’s thought, turned to the gentleman next to me, motioned upwards, and he swiftly tossed me into the pit. Before you could say “HOLYFARKINGSHITISTHATBIGBITCHCROWDSURFINK?” I was writhing about on people’s skulls and fist pumping like a right clown.
You truly would have been forgiven for thinking someone had launched a newborn giraffe into the crowd, so overwhelming was the flailing of limbs. It wasn’t until I landed with an awkward thud on security’s face that I realised how entirely retarded it was for a lady of my age to be crowd surfing. This was further emphasised when I returned to my friends who were each doubled over in laughter at having witnessed what they pleasantly referred to as my “O-Face” as I rolled around on people’s heads.
Like that extra beer you downed at the office Christmas party, The Bronx makes you do things you shouldn’t. That’s why we love ‘em. See you on Sunday.
Last time The Bronx played at The Corner hotel, Heart Attack American started with it’s ball tearing howl, and without a second’s thought, turned to the gentleman next to me, motioned upwards, and he swiftly tossed me into the pit. Before you could say “HOLYFARKINGSHITISTHATBIGBITCHCROWDSURFINK?” I was writhing about on people’s skulls and fist pumping like a right clown.
You truly would have been forgiven for thinking someone had launched a newborn giraffe into the crowd, so overwhelming was the flailing of limbs. It wasn’t until I landed with an awkward thud on security’s face that I realised how entirely retarded it was for a lady of my age to be crowd surfing. This was further emphasised when I returned to my friends who were each doubled over in laughter at having witnessed what they pleasantly referred to as my “O-Face” as I rolled around on people’s heads.
Like that extra beer you downed at the office Christmas party, The Bronx makes you do things you shouldn’t. That’s why we love ‘em. See you on Sunday.
August 26, 2009
If you’re not already following Brendan Kelly’s (The Lawrence Arms) blog (badsandwichchronicles.blogspot.com), then get right on it. Or don’t, then you probably won’t realise when I pinch a bunch of hilarious ideas from him in the future, either way. Check out his awesome diatribe on illegal downloads. I want to bottle this dude’s brain and sit it on my bedside table like a trophy for inspiration. He’s that good.
”Look, there used to be an industry built around shoeing horses. There were places that made horseshoes, people who put em on, took em off, people that built the nails... Well, at some point, probably right around when the car started getting popular, these poor schlongs all went out of business. You know why? The world changed. All the bitching in the world about tradition or how it’s gentlemanly to ride a horse or how this one is right and this one is wrong didn’t sway anything. Shit done changed and the option is, cry about it and look absolutely pathetic, or fucking sack up, look around and figure out what the fuck you’re gonna do.”
”I can’t stand listening to these fuckers in the industry bitch about illegal downloads… It’s like crying because it’s raining… I mean, musicians gripe and gripe because their profits are shrinking, and sure, that sucks, but the idea that since they used to make X amount of dollars and now they don’t, they’re allowed to just complain and throw a fit is just childish…Humans are at our best and most innovative when we adapt. There’s never been an exciting discovery made from complaining about the way things used to be. There’s never been progress made by sitting stubbornly in the rain or the road and there’s never been a blowjob received by someone who was such a pussy that the world turned and they just rolled over and cried.”
”Look, there used to be an industry built around shoeing horses. There were places that made horseshoes, people who put em on, took em off, people that built the nails... Well, at some point, probably right around when the car started getting popular, these poor schlongs all went out of business. You know why? The world changed. All the bitching in the world about tradition or how it’s gentlemanly to ride a horse or how this one is right and this one is wrong didn’t sway anything. Shit done changed and the option is, cry about it and look absolutely pathetic, or fucking sack up, look around and figure out what the fuck you’re gonna do.”
”I can’t stand listening to these fuckers in the industry bitch about illegal downloads… It’s like crying because it’s raining… I mean, musicians gripe and gripe because their profits are shrinking, and sure, that sucks, but the idea that since they used to make X amount of dollars and now they don’t, they’re allowed to just complain and throw a fit is just childish…Humans are at our best and most innovative when we adapt. There’s never been an exciting discovery made from complaining about the way things used to be. There’s never been progress made by sitting stubbornly in the rain or the road and there’s never been a blowjob received by someone who was such a pussy that the world turned and they just rolled over and cried.”
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