Another Wave from the Aussie Underground
by Kevin J. Elliott
by Kevin J. Elliott
If you weren’t already aware, there’s a glut of excellent, if not unbearably ugly, punk being produced in Australia these days. And though there’s been a long lineage of mordant riffs from the Saints, Radio Birdman, the Birthday Party, and lesser-knowns like Feedtime borne out of the desolate outback and cretin-filled ghettos, a lot of these kids would rather snub Nick Cave’s influence than build the man a statue. If anything, this latest surge in exports from Oz owes as much to the Columbus, Ohio pantheon as it does to homeland allegiance. First, there’s the Negative Guest List. Not only is the DIY label and zine named after a Thomas Jefferson Slave Aparments’ song, it contains a monthly column dedicated to keeping up with the current underbelly of Ohio’s capital city. Then there’s the unhealthy obsession with the Cheater Slicks. Among Australian musicians, the Columbus band’s output has become a genre all its own, so much so it’s puzzling why the trio hasn’t already migrated to the southern hemisphere to ride out their twilight years. It’s like there is a pipeline between the two scenes—that or circles in Brisbane, Melbourne and Sydney are actually universes parallel to Columbus. Hell, down under they celebrate the Unholy Two with reissues and two-page centerfolds of Chris Lutzko. Mighty bizzaro indeed. But even in this age of internet and instant satisfaction, the Australia underground still feels far away, hard to access without postage stamps and mysterious as to how it continues to thrive. The first half of this year brought us Circle Pit, Slug Guts and Kitchen’s Floor, but in this latest batch from Australia, it’s apparent the junk-punk abscess is still bubbling wildly, fueled by bad smack, crude culture and the government’s dime.
Dead Farmers, “Out the Door” b/w “Never Enough” (RIP Society)
From the label that introduced the world to the hellish biker groove of Circle Pit comes the debut single from Dead Farmers. I made the mistake of missing them when they last checked in, but judging from these two songs, Dead Farmers sound as if they’re put together with more time and care than their peers. That doesn’t always guarantee dazzling results, as the charm of most of these bands comes in their crummy fuck-off abandon. Dead Farmers are instead stylized with rootsy clarity. “Out the Door” relies on a faux roadhouse racket made famous by bands like X or the Mekons. I’m sure the Gun Club and The Cramps are more suitable psychobilly aspirations for what the Dead Farmers aim to play, but in the end, exasperating as “Out the Door” is, it seems neutered of any sign of danger. Though the male-female blooze damage of the aforementioned Circle Pit can be found on the flip, “Never Enough,” the whole thing is a centimeter away from giving love to Uncle Tupelo.
Low Life, Sydney Darbs EP (Negative Guest List)
It would be remiss to exclude the downer nihilism of Flipper when referring to what is so energizing about this mass movement of Australian half-speed hardcore repossession. Low Life is the perfect representation of what makes junk-punk such a gnarly revelation. The Sydney trio displays such a classic tone on their debut that it’s like discovering some lost pocket of proto-sludge from the early ’80s. While Black Flag and Bad Brains were searching for speed, Low Life’s inspiratory mainline is filled with Drunk with Guns records and, as expressed in “Atomised” or “Rewire,” Wire as pigfuck. This is heavy face-melting metal, really, just bypassing actual metal in exchange for AmRep aggro. Think Cows and Cherubs, rhythms so blatantly bashed to a grind it’s like being dragged by the leg on hot asphalt, with skin flayed to reveal the gory details of the circulatory system. This is the grimiest twist on the Aussie underground’s already soiled underbelly, perhaps the Australian doppelganger to the sonic rape provided by the Unholy Two. That’s definitely apparent on “Down Under,” which ends the EP with their distinctively abrasive structure, but soon devolves into brown-acid psych or some nightmarish PiL mantra driven into oblivion.
Of course this next wave is not limited to these records. For more pummeling examples of the chum coming from Australia, one need only to pay the extra cash required to get the Negative Guest List in their hood or check out other releases by like-minded labels, like RIP Society and Bedroom Suck Records, currently being distributed in the States. Going forward, I’m eagerly anticipating Degreaser’s Bottom Feeder LP and the further disintegration of no-wave though this jenkem-coated lens on Scraps’ Classic Shits album.
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ROYAL HEADACHE, another in an endless stream of fantastic new Australian groups, delivers an essentially flawless pop record in long form on their first shot. While their debut single totally impressed, they truly shine here, making the kind of record that folks from a wide array of genres will likely embrace. The performances are top notch across the board, complete with actual singing that’s so proficient and downright awesome that it sounds totally fucking jarring. The production is perfect, fuzzy in all the right places, propelled by a stabbing guitar sound that recalls the most powerful moments of classic UK DIY punk rock. The soulfulness and excellent songwriting exhibited throughout brings to mind a speedy, punk SQUEEZE, which I hate myself for saying, but fuck it, it’s there. Much like stateside heroes HOME BLITZ, ROYAL HEADACHE is capable of conjuring up a monster hook out of chaos and making a whole lot of other current pop bands sound terrible in the process. (
Goddamn… no sooner do I convince myself that it is statistically impossible for another Australian group to completely blindside me with their greatness than Royal Headache show up and knock me senseless. Looks like a pretty boring record, what with the “band in an empty lot” album art and sparse information, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t the best traditional punk album I’ve heard this year. It’s like a perfect blend of The Jam, Buzzcocks, The Circles and Nasty Facts, with maybe a touch of The Housemartins for good measure. If you are familiar with Nasty Facts, you know they’re not a comparison to make lightly, but seriously, Royal Headache are right there – speedy, Mod-ish punk with an endless, precise energy and a vocalist who would make any band sound better with his mouth behind the mic, the type of confident singer that sadly seems to have fallen out of punk rock fashion. It’s kind of thrilling to hear a band be this good. And they even throw in a song like “Surprise”, ripped straight from the first Strokes album, and incorporate it into their own style. I know underground Australian rock is a cool trend for us Americans to be into and all, but Royal Headache surpasses all of that; it’s a record anyone into punk rock needs to hear. I’m not making this up!
The curiosity I felt toward new releases from R.I.P Society has quickly turned to eager anticipation in the wake of a number of smash hits from this great label. Beats me who Woolen Kits are, surely just another good (if not great) Australian rock group, so let’s check it out… “Maths” opens with a sunshine-y guitar riff and bouncy drums, the sort of thing that would be melodic pop-punk if they played it at twice the speed. The vocalist seems to like this laid-back tempo though, slowing and deepening his vocals to a Calvin Johnson-esque bellow, sung from the gut with a rose in his teeth. “Out Of Town” picks up the pace, kind of a standard garage number if it weren’t for the even more prominent vocals, culled deep from the well of indie rock (or maybe The Trend’s “Band-Aid”). Pretty cool single overall, although in the presence of Woollen Kits’ R.I.P Society peers, a soft backboard layup amongst so many 360 dunks.