AMM 2021 Feature Album Day 4

 

Kahvas Jute were a heavy and loud blues based rock band, who made this one incredible album and then kinda went nowhere. The album is now highly collectable, and I wish I owned it. It was released in early 1971 on Infinity Records through Festival, and never scored a repress, so originals are scarce. It sounds incredible and the remaster on Aztec circa 2006 sounds brilliant. Bassist Bobby Daisley has a field day here, and so does teenage guitarist Tim Gaze. Gaze went on to re-join Tamam Shud after this album (he was in the Shud before he split to form Kahvas Jute) and Daisley went to England and played in Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne in the 80s, among many others since. 

AMM 2021 Feature Album, Day 3

 Courtney Barnett is an incredible and unique songwriter from Melbourne, Australia. She has a unique style of singing, almost half sung and half spoken, but she tells a great story and plays a mean guitar. This live set for MTV Unplugged (who knew that was still a thing, huh?) is relaxed and gives her space to jam and to get some friends in the process. One of whom is Paul Kelly....

AMM 2021 Feature Album Day 2:

 

Richard Clapton is a legend. As a singer songwriter he's as good, if not better than Jackson Browne, and this album, his fourth, is one of his very best. Tracks like "Deep Water", "Goodbye Tiger" and "Down In The Lucky Country" are things of beauty. Also features the guitar stylings of Kirk Lorange (no apostrophe!) 

Australian Music Month (AMM) Feature Album Day 1

 

Skulker were an all-female, four piece Alt.rock band from Sydney. This is their debut album and its exuberance is infectious. 

The title of the album is so named because they were kicked out of a potentially lucrative spot on the entertainment lineup of Club Med in Tahiti for being....

They at least got their vengeance by cheekily naming their debut after such a mortifying incident. 

Australian Music Month (AMM) Feature Album Day 0

 

Every year in November the ABC hosts Australian Music Month, and every year in November I listen to an Australia album every day, and share the picture on our socials. 

Day 0: Kings of the Sun - Full Frontal Attack

Why Day 0? Well I made my career in the IT industry, and IT personnel know that numbers in computing start at zero, and so does our annual countdown.

Kings of the Sun were a band that were in a similar league to the hair metal bands of the LA strip in the 80s, but they were much more streetwise, and nowhere near as gratuitously ridiculous and grandiose as Motley Crue, RATT or Poison. Their first album was produced in America by Eddie Kramer, famous for working with Led Zeppelin among other artists. It had a big polished sound, but none of their singles charted higher than #47 in Australia and their albums sold well, but not well enough to be remembered. 

Full Frontal Attack was produced by William Wittman and did poorly in the marketplace, despite some provocative press advertising. 

As a record, it still stands up, but I still reach for their first album as a preference. This one has a few flat spots in terms of songs, but tracks like "Drop The Gun" are indispensable. 

Review: The Cast, by Michael Waugh

Michael Waugh - “The Cast”  

Michael Waugh has released his new record entitled “The Cast”. I’ve reviewed his previous albums before, and I've said in the past his albums are pretty much a trademark of quality. They’re all beautifully produced and accompanied by Shane Nicholson. The songs are interesting and heart-wrenching. This fourth album is no different. 

This isn’t trying to sound dismissive. Quite the opposite, in fact. However, it would make for a boring review if that was all you could say about the record. The fact is, with each new release, Michael is in fact becoming braver as a storyteller. Each subsequent album has taken bigger and bolder steps in directions other country performers, nay ANY modern performers, fear to tread. 

 What makes “The Cast” so compelling is that this is, quite simply, “dangerous” music. Dangerous to every bloke, simply because it dares to challenge and question the very core of masculinity we all grew up with. The core beliefs that boys from the 1980s and older all carry with them (I know, because I’m one of them). It dares to point out that all the crap we grew up believing we had to be, in order to be a “real man” is exactly that - crap. These are songs that dare to shoot holes in the facade that we’re all guilty of wearing. 

 And what’s more, songs like “He Taught Me” and “The Cast” also are textbook examples of something that us “real men” are terrified of: being vulnerable. Real men can’t be vulnerable. Boys don’t cry, or some shit. Being vulnerable is when the hunter becomes the hunted. It’s where you become less than you hold yourself to be. 

Michael Waugh’s music reminds me that this model of masculinity needs to change - for the good of men everywhere, our partners, our kids, and for society at large. These songs remind me that I have feelings too - as much as I don’t want to admit that I do. And bloody hell, they don't half hit me deeply. 

Speaking of dangerous, the album opener “Swollen” dares to call us fellas all out for being - complacent at best, ignorant at worst, about our battles with food, the struggle to stay healthy as we age, the battle to lose weight and stupid backhanded jokes we throw at each other when we plump up a bit. “You look like you’ve been in a good paddock, mate”. 

While we’re at it, “Dark” looks at alcohol-fueled blokes and the danger they can be for unsuspecting women on a night out. A big topic to be discussed, and one we try hard to avoid, and one we cannot escape now. 

During the writing and recording process of this album, two of Michael’s biggest influences - his mum and dad - both passed away. There are beautiful tributes to them in the form of “He Taught Me” and “Hold On To The Ones You Love”. “Too Many Drawers”, in honour of his late mother, is made all the more poignant because it features Felicity Urquhart, herself a legend in Australian Country circles, and an artist that was a favourite of Michael’s mum. 

This is an album of music with its heart on its sleeve, and blood and guts on its boots. It’s a rare artist who finds new ways to move me to tears with each new album. It’s almost as if he has looked into my soul at my deepest and darkest memories and fears, grabbed half a dozen of them and turned them into songs powerful enough to tear down the rugged macho shell I’ve spent my entire life building around myself. Come album number 5 in a couple of years time, no doubt he’ll do it all again. But for now, “The Cast” has given me cause to stop, pause and reflect on who I am and what needs to change. If a few more of us can do that as a result of listening to this album, Michael will have changed the world. If only a little bit.

A Rallying Soundtrack

It's been interesting to watch the debate surrounding the nationalist rallies in Australia over the last few weeks. An organisation known as "Reclaim Australia" had rallies in Brisbane, Melbourne and Sydney on the 19th of July and they quickly turned violent. On one hand, Reclaim Australia are protesting as what they perceive is the "Islamisation of Australia" and then the anti-racism protesters on the other clashed with police making some ugly scenes.

It is not the place on this blog for debate about these issues. We take a strong anti-racism view but we will not comment on our opinion any further.

However, the interesting part of the story is the use of music by the Reclaim protesters. If you wanted to make a statement about something, do you really think the use of the song "Khe Sanh" by Cold Chisel is the best choice of song to use?

Considering Reclaim Australia are protesting against immigration, using a song about a Vietnam Vet who returns to South East Asia a number of times on a soul-searching mission, the song's use is even more ridiculous.

It is admirable that Jimmy Barnes has spoken up to express his disgust at the use of his music at these rallies. As have a number of other musicians, such as Shane Howard of Goanna, Midnight Oil, John Williamson and John Farnham.

In all the above examples, the use of the music as a rallying cry to support their viewpoint is almost uniformly incongruous. I thought I'd take a look at why this is the case.

"Khe Sanh" is obviously an ill fit, but it's funny as to why this song is almost a de facto national anthem in the first place. The piece is a narrative of a Vietnam Veteran who finds like increasingly difficult back in Sydney after returning from his time in the war. Not an uncommon scenario for many of those who fought in the conflict, but quite a foreign premise for most people who weren't there to grasp onto, especially 20- and 30- somethings who are alive in 2015. As the lyric deals, in a non-partisan way, with Asian cultures it seems like an odd choice for a rally such as this.

Shane Howard, the writer of the iconic "Solid Rock", a hit for his band Goanna in 1982, states this song is about:

"Working to find our common identity and shared destiny, in this remarkable Aboriginal cultural reality is a more powerful, peaceful and rewarding way forward."

. It's more of a plea for racial harmony and integration, and not exclusion.

John Farnham's "You're The Voice" was written by Chris Thompson (ex-Manfred Mann's Earth Band), Maggie Ryder, Andy Quinta and Procol Harem lyricist Keith Reid. It was written as an anti-war missive at the height of the cold war in the 1980s, to protest against the use of force to find a peaceful solution. Keith Reid states, (From Songfacts.com:)

"Chris called me and said, 'I've got something and I don't know what to do with it lyrically. It feels as though it should be slightly political, but I don't know. Have a listen.' And we sat down, he played me the tune, and I got the title idea, 'You're The Voice.' It's an anti-war song in a way, but it was more of a 'make your voice heard' kind of thing. Wake up to your own power."

"You're The Voice" is probably an easy one to misinterpret, but it's not an excuse in this case.

John Wiiliamson's "True Blue" is a typical one to go for if you want to push a purist racial agenda:

"Hey True Blue,
Don't Say You're Gone,
Say you've knocked off for a smoko,
And you'll be back later on..."

Even so, it misses the point. Sure "True Blue" may lament the loss of a certain way of things but JW is not an exclusionist. He is certainly not xenophobic line in this song anyway. He argues that politicians shouldn't "sell us out like sponge cake". He also puts it that there is a place for everybody and every culture.

It's hard to push an agenda conclusively using someone elses music as a backdrop if said agenda is not in the spirit of the musician's original intention. Doing even a cursory amount of research into the people who create the music we love will fill in any blanks one may have on the topic. This is why so many televangelists look ridiculous when they attack popular music. This is why politicians who use pop music get their song choices out of line, raising the ire of the songwriters.

What other misguided soundtracks exist that we haven't thought of?

Until next time...

Punk Night at the Duck's Nuts: The Sequel

And everyone loves a sequel, right?

Well, maybe not in the case of Police Academy XI. However, in this case we'll make an exception.

After my previous post about Attila The Stockbroker and his adventures in Newcastle at a "testicular themed pub" as chronicled in "Punk Night At The Duck's Nuts", he has been in touch with us here at the Sound and The Fury HQ and he has supplied us with a follow-up story about Newcastle, where he returned to play a gig in the city in 2011.

I mentioned in the previous post about seeing an Attila show advertised in Newcastle that I thought about attending...and ultimately didn't. It turns out that this story describes what happened at that very gig...

NEWCASTLE – THE REPLAY, by Attila The Stockbroker.
It’s a Saturday night in Newcastle, New South Wales, eleven years later.

News has filtered through to me that The Duck’s Nuts has apparently changed its name to The Silk Bar.

But far worse news is that the mural of the duck on a surfboard with his testicles hanging out has apparently been painted over.

Robina says, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘Thank God it’s gone!’

I think ‘I’ve brought you on an epic, romantic journey to a town on the other side of the world to show you a mural of a duck on a surfboard with his testicles hanging out - and it’s been painted over. Surely you could be more appreciative of my efforts and sympathetic to my anguish!’

But I don’t actually say that.

I’m playing at the Cambridge Hotel: an enormous venue in a run down area three miles from the city centre.

According to the board outside (the only visible publicity anywhere) there are four bands on the bill.

Actually, there are three bands and a poet.

My friends the Go Set are headlining, then me, then the Sydney Girls’ Choir then the Havelocks.

At the appointed hour for the first band the paying audience is zero.

Even the twenty elderly alcoholics from the Duck’s Nuts would be welcome in this cavernous void.

The Havelocks don’t have locks. (They may well have some on their guitar cases and I’m sure they do on their front doors, but they don’t have any on their heads).

They take to the stage to a combined audience of myself, Robina, and two members of the Sydney Girls’ Choir.

The Havelocks appear to be in their early thirties and sound to me a bit like Crosby, Stills and Nash.

Their friendly singer tells me he is originally from Staines in the UK. I want to ask him why anybody, even someone from Staines, especially someone who presumably loves music,
would emigrate to Newcastle, New South Wales, but I don’t. I think it would seem insensitive.

The Havelocks finish their set. By this time the paying audience has risen to five.

As the next band take the stage I can see a pattern developing. The Havelocks don’t have locks: The Sydney Girls’ Choir aren’t from Sydney, aren’t girls and aren’t a choir. They are four blokes from Woolongong in their early twenties and are an excellent kick-ass rock n roll band in a Kings of Leon meet Dr Feelgood kind of way.

The first thing the singer says is that he is pleased to see so many people there because they played in Newcastle last week and nobody turned up at all. I admire his dedication to the cause.

I join the three-strong moshpit. I have a lovely time. Then it’s my turn.

By this time the audience has soared to about twenty including three Attila fans, one of whom is from Canada. I don’t think either of the other two are from Newcastle.

The void in front of me is aching. It’s monumental. It’s like being at a Crystal Palace home game.

Needless to say, I start with ‘Punk Night at the Duck’s Nuts’ and the sound of surreal irony echoes across the tiled savannah.

One twentieth of the audience suddenly shouts at me. What he shouts is ‘Yabba Yabba’.

I am confused by this at first but soon realize that this is his way of conveying the fact that he is unfamiliar with the concept of the unaccompanied spoken word as a form of live entertainment.

I berate him, gently. He shuts up.

In the middle of my performance The Go Set arrive. They’ve been doing another gig at a birthday party round the corner. I finish with a flourish to the sound of nineteen pairs of hands clapping in a wind tunnel and ask my friends how their gig went. Shithouse, I am informed. There were 200 people there. When the Go Set started playing most of the guests went outside and began dancing to techno. The rest sat in front of them eating and chatting.

Given this, I wonder why they were booked to do the gig in the first place. The people who booked them have promised to turn up here. I hope they will, so I can ask them. But they don’t.

The Go Set play I join them on fiddle and it must be said that the twenty-five people in the audience have a lovely time and are most receptive.

Afterwards, someone apologises for the turnout and says we would have had a better crowd if we had played somewhere else. I agree. They mean somewhere else in Newcastle. I don’t.

The next day as we head out of town we drive past what used to be the Duck’s Nuts and is now the Silk Bar.

The mural of a duck on a surfboard with his testicles hanging out has indeed gone. In his stead there is a grubby silver banner draped on the wall with ‘The Silk Bar’ written on it. The place is now a shabby backpackers’ hostel and poking out of an upstairs window there is something which looks worryingly like the Antipodean equivalent of Joseph Porter’s Sleeping Bag.

Then I notice that one of the pub signs still says ‘The Duck’s Nuts Hotel’. My heart sings.

I ask Robina to take a photo. The angle is wrong, she says. It won’t come out. My heart sinks.

We drive away. Back in Melbourne I recount this tale to my musician friend Rory. ‘John’ he says, earnestly, ‘Newcastle is the rectum of the Australian music scene’.

‘Rory, my old mate’ I say ‘I think you may be right.’
11/4/2011

Reprinted with permission from Attila The Stockbroker, with thanks.

Punk Night at the Duck's Nuts

image source: Punky Gibbon

John Blaine is a performer who goes by the rather unusual name of Attila The Stockbroker.

He is a British punk poet, taking his inspiration from the strident political stance of UK punk rockers The Clash. He has made a career from his potent topical ranting for 35 years on the 8th September this year.

He is a frequent visitor to Australia it would seem. I'd only heard of him through the Canonical List of Weird Band Names, a piece of essential reading for those with a twisted sense of humour.

A few years ago, on one of my infrequent visits back to my hometown of Newcastle in New South Wales, I saw a poster advertising a local gig of his, on his 30th Anniversary tour. Intrigued, I thought that if someone or some thing could exist and survive for 30 years on the back of such a ridiculous name, I need to do some research and find out all about it.

Upon further investigation, I found Attila's work to be highly engaging and thought provoking. I began to regret missing that gig in Newcastle.

Attila actually wrote a monologue about my home town, inspired by his first visit there to play a gig at the University, supporting Sydney band The Whitlams (His description of them in this piece is hilarious). The piece is called "Punk Night at the Duck's Nuts". It's a story about a place in a foreign land in strange environs, that just happened to have a pub on a street corner so named for a body part on a male duck.


image source: The Herald

The Duck's Nuts Hotel on the corner of Hunter Street and Steel Street, was known as the Family Hotel for many years before under going a name change to the now famous moniker in the year 2000. As recently as 2013 it has been renamed again to The Silk Hotel. When it was known as The Family, I saw many a lively gig there. It was always a great gig venue, with the tiny front bar packed out regularly. It had a great vibe and the music was usually great.

Although, after I'd left town and the venue changed names, gigs weren't all that flash, according to our man Mr Stockbroker. This tale of a sordid Wednesday night listening to a covers band in this now dodgy little pub is a fascinating and dead-on representation of a city that was all but devastated by the relocation of its main industry - steelmaking - to other parts of the country. This piece (I think) dates back to around the year 2000-1 which was roughly when the BHP Steelworks had shut down and the unemployment rate rocketed. The town was quickly becoming a shadow of its former self when Attila made these observations. Newcastle has slowly regenerated into a more gentrified and welcoming place, but it is lacking the rogue charm it had in years gone by.

Here below is a reading of "Punk Night At The Ducks Nuts", a requiem of sorts for Novacastrians,(i.e. Newcastle people) like myself, everywhere by Attila The Stockbroker.