As published on Drone Magazine, 5 August 2009.

It says a lot about my taste that I can’t stop listening to ‘Love and Death’ by The Beasts of Bourbon, the second track off their first album, The Axeman’s Jazz. The album is about to be re-released with their following two albums (Sour Mash and Black Milk), remastered, in a special edition box-set. The song itself sounds like something straight off Blood Red River. God I love The Scientists. My love for The Scientists extends beyond belief – Kim Salmon, in my mind you are IT. I can’t stress my adoration for this man, and this particular brand of timeless garage rock. Give me murky western-influenced swamp and clumsy slide guitars, with Salmon’s yelping and gurgling vocals please. It’s wonderful.

I have this quite fabulous sensory build-up of nostalgia – a self-created mythology that began in childhood – about Aussie rock, stemming waaaaaayyy back when I was a little poppet innocently, but voraciously, absorbing as much Nick Cave and Tex Perkins as I could get my hands upon. There’s this beautiful period existing in my mind, merging elements of the 80s and 90s, which belongs to grainy, over-exposed film clips from bands such as the Bad Seeds (around the Henry’s Dream and Let Love In period) and The Cruel Sea. They introduced these impossibly – oh – undeniably cool characters who were imperfectly, incomprehensibly sexy at the same time. Does any of this make sense?

My attraction to this kind of music was instinctive and bang on the buck. My love for Tex and Nick et al, and underground-ish Aussie rock has only grown over the years. Actually, when it comes to The Beasts of Bourbon in particular, instinct is all I really have to go on. Their music is primordial, exploring the baser elements of human nature through profane, homicidal lyrics and evil aural blues experiments. I’ve seen them live numerous times – if you haven’t then DO if you get the chance. Truly, Tex Perkins IS one subversive, naughty, SEXY man when writhing up on that stage, with his black eyes and filthy mouth (… ahem). His intense confidence makes it difficult for me to actually look at the man – he’s so intimidatingly COOL (and God knows what kind of jabbering mess I’d turn into if I met the man in person – all red faced and stuttering and completely frozen, eyes stuck to the ground reverting back to some awkward, pimply teenager).

The Beasts of Bourbon are one of many Australian bands obviously deserving of more recognition. True, their name rolls off the tongue much easier than others, but they still maintain a somewhat underground following. There are plenty of folk (at my age especially) who know the name, but would struggle to actually think of a tune. It’s part of what I love about this style of garage rock though. Their homicidal take on the blues isn’t for everybody; at times it’s beautifully repulsive with Tex’s disturbed tales of desperation, screamed, gurgled, yelped, sworn at with this vice-addled baritone of a voice. The music is abusive, confrontational but so effing sure of itself. The Beasts of Bourbon, along with other similar ilk, managed to create a style of music unique in sound and sporadic in influence, but completely bloody Australian. It’s the sound of our unbelievable summer heat and humidity, obliteration and self-abuse in dark, dingy dens, cigarette smoke and excess, and unspoken, undercover violence that permeates throughout our lives. Music is often used as an antidote to this kind of desperation – it has the ability to cover the bleak. While The Beasts of Bourbon borrow from the blues and western rock mythology, by embracing these darker elements of our society, a brazen honesty comes out in the music.

The best thing about this rerelease isn’t actually the remastering (the three albums do sound great though), or the boxset with the lovely accompanying booklet filled with anecdotes from the band’s original line-up. For new and old fans, this is a collection worth picking up, no doubt. The most striking thing about this release is that it’s a continuation of The Beasts of Bourbon. Like their typically dark explorations – insidious, persistent, terrifying – this is music that isn’t going to go away. It sits, bubbling just below the surface, sometimes unreferenced, but always influential and relevant. Over twenty years on, these three albums are still epically evil, odd, inspiring and wonderfully Australian. Viva La Beasts of Bourbon!

An article on seminal Sydney post-punk band, Scattered Order, appearing in Music Feeds, 5 August 2009.

Ladies and gents, let’s talk about post-punk. Not the post-punk-influence that’s been surging through the alternative music scene for the last few years – where, as a result, Joy Division have teetered on the brink of genericism, due to every-which-what band singing their praises (and songs about ‘dancing’ to ‘them’ played on the radio). Let’s talk about the real stuff – the dirty, poor, home-made, inner-city beginnings in the late seventies. The complete bypass of Australian mainstream music media. The cold artistic obscurity which, in turn, created a thriving underground local scene, and also in turn, has evolved into both legend and inspiration for so many.

Scattered Order began from the most humble of circumstances. An ideal example of the DIY ethic on which the most impressive elements of punk were based on, their history includes self-start record labels and recording studios, the fierce force of aural experimentation and line-up changes. Scattered Order’s story starts in 1979, when Michael Tee and Mick Jones started ‘wrangling guitars and any signal-altering device they could get their hands on’. Around this time, they turned a small, rented terrace house into a recording studio and record label: M-Squared, complete with the motto, ‘World Domination’.

“We believed in the DIY ethic of punk. The world domination thing comes from the letters we used to receive from people overseas who thought we were a ‘big’ company and would write to us asking for a job,” explains Michael.

“We thought all record companies were hoaxes. We had no idea what they did but we knew we could do it better. We had the sounds and the bands. All we needed was enough front to blag our way through it,” continues Mick. Through its time, M Squared offered inner-city, underground bands an opportunity to lay down their tracks cheaply. During the early eighties, the label released various samplers and EPs from bands such as Scattered Order, Systematics and The Makers of the Dead Travel Fast.

“Because of necessity, everything was done in-house. There was no industry as such catering for independent bands, so we had to do it for ourselves. Recording, designing, distributing and live promotion.”

Scattered Order started out aiming to exploit the limitless possibilities of analogue recording. “We used to describe ourselves as the builder’s labourers of the avant garde”, says Michael, a response to the narrow-mindedness of the Australian pub rock scene plaguing the industry in the eighties. “We used to assemble music rather than write songs. We just made music that we wanted to hear.”

Ploughing through relative obscurity in the industry, positive critical response and numerous line-up changes, the band continued to make music and perform throughout the nineties, and sporadically in the new millennium. The period between 1984-1988 saw the release of the album Career of the Silly Thing and support slots for bands such as New Order and The Residents.

The original version of the band are reuniting for a show in Sydney in late July. “Scattered Order is all about bending and treating a whole range of music sources and influences. Using the personnel and technology that is to hand we try to create music that sears your brain. Not stopping for anybody is this 16 wheel juggernaut of loops, samples, cassettes and guitar which will plough through both old tunes and new,” says Mitch.

“Scattered Order throughout the years have never tried to go back and play earlier material live. We could never remember how to play the old songs, so the idea of playing old tunes at this coming show is a bit odd. Knowing we could never recreate the old material, we decided to reverse engineer it, which just means we have dismantled, looped, cut and treated it before trying to put it together.”

Like so many bands of the same time, and similar genre, the music and history of Scattered Order have reawakened, the result a brand new audience who have taken interest in the DIY music offshoots of punk, and the resurgence of interest in Australian and international post-punk.

“They weren’t hard times. They were fun times. This hard time narrative suggests that the purpose of being in a band or making music is to be rich and successful or wildly acclaimed. We didn’t make music so we could be famous or rich, so in that sense we were a success,” Michael says of the band’s history. Live, “Noisy funny people were watching us whilst drinking beer. There were lots of black jeans and Doc Martins. I used to pretend I was playing in the first version of Public Image Ltd.”

In the interests of displaying previous work, I can’t forget to put up links to an old literary magazine I co-founded, co-ordinated and distributed. It’s called Story To…, and below are the links to PDF’s of two issues we printed in 2008. In it’s early stages, we were lucky enough to be the recipients of a small amount of arts funding, which went a long way in getting it from idea to actual magazine. Story To… has been on an hiatus of sorts over 2009, as my partner in the project, Kate Nicholson relocated overseas and I focused my energies on Drone Magazine and getting my writing career off the ground. Alas, if you like what you see, we have been in talks recently about starting it up again somehow. It’ll possibly be based online, but as news comes to pass, I’ll be sure to update this space.

Issue One

Issue Two

As published on Drone Magazine, 26 June 2009:

Sonic Youth keep their flame strongly lit with their sixteenth full length release, The Eternal.

On Friday morning, it snapped. I’d been listening to The Eternal for a bit over a week by then, trying to come up with some solid angle of opinion. For the first three listens I was unable to get past the opening three tracks, Sacred Trickster, Anti-Orgasm and Leaky Lifeboat (For Gregory Corso). They were decent enough – the way Sacred Trickster led seamlessly into Anti-Orgasm was especially impressive – but something about the songs didn’t sit right. Even now, after the barriers have been broken, I can’t quite put my finger on what exactly misses it for me.

A few listens later, I made it past the barrier. My initial explorations of the rest of the album were mixed. Some tracks were met with the same reaction as the first three – good songs packed with the solid Sonic Youth sound, but not quite hitting the mark. The impact of other songs were more immediately satisfying. The track Antenna, with it’s mellow and restrained Incinerate-like pop direction, was an instant contender for favourite track. The next two songs which followed joined it in immediate impact. Lee Ranaldo’s voice juxtaposed with Kim Gordon’s in the chorus of What We Know – his comparably conservative and straight-forward vocals an interesting mix with Gordon’s epitome of grungy sultriness. The combination of droning, sometimes space-rock howling guitars, a brilliant beat – as well as well utilised noisy bridges and lulls in effects added to its appeal.

Calming the Snakes continued with Gordon’s irresistably imperfect vocals – this time tinged with more desperation than usual. Steve Shelley’s drums pulsated faultlessly through, teaming perfectly with new bassist (ex-Pavement) Mike Ibold’s intriguing and foot-tapping resonances.

Songs such as Poison Arrow, which followed this magnificent trio of tracks, had definite plusses – again, it’s seamless beginnings following on from Calming the Snakes was a complete amalgamation of absolute energy – but it was let down by a chorus bordering on gimmicky. Apart from the small imperfection though, the song soared, with Thurston Moore revisiting his brilliant slacker-drawl in the verses, soothing and comforting in its familiarity and suitability with the clashing riffs and effects.

On Friday, I listened to the entire album again. This time, it fell into place. Unlike previous spins, I got it – it all made sense. On The Eternal, the elements of classic Sonic Youth are all present; discordant and battling guitars, three incredible and different vocal stylings, Steve Shelley’s faultless drumming, and through all the dissonance, an innate funkiness in every track. Is this their best effort? Probably not. It may not be another Daydream Nation, but then again, we’re a long way from 1988. When you’re criticising Sonic Youth though, you can really only compare them to themselves. No-one stands up against them – in both longevity and innovation. And sure, The Eternal may not be contender for album of their career, but look at what other titles you are comparing it against. The fact that this album, despite being their whopping sixteenth release, is stuck-in-your-head solid, and up there with some of the more memorable releases of 2009 is an unheard of achievement in an aggressive and violent industry. The Eternal is a brilliant album – proving once again that Sonic Youth are not just great for what they’ve achieved in the past, but for their wonderful and genuine ability to keep creating relevant pieces of art. Because of this, they’d have to be one of the greatest gifts to rock music.

FAVOURITE TRACKS: Antenna; What We Know; Calming the Snake; Malibu Gas Station; No Way; Walkin Blue
LABEL: Matador

The first of my regular rants/column at Music Feeds. This article’s aim is to introduce myself to the new audience.

What is it about rock and roll music that makes so many of us bend-over-backwards crazy with devotion? A little over six months ago I started a small online space called Drone Magazine, dedicated to expressing the aural inspired desires bubbling away incessantly inside of me. I’ve been a rock and roll convert for some time now. When I was younger I’d keep lists every year detailing each gig I attended. And though it’s not a particularly uncommon ambition, I always knew some piece of rock and roll would have to factor into whatever endeavour I chose to follow. Beginning the baby-steps with Drone has made this ambition particularly luminescent.

I come to Music Feeds bearing passion, erratic and irrational musical obsessions and an addiction to well-informed rock and roll discussion. In my opinion, some of the greatest things one can experience in life include the exact moment an album clicks – and turns from a humble musical recording to all you can – and want to – listen to, as well as intoxicated conversations about shared aural passions, and those few and far between gigs – that creep under your skin, becoming something subliminal.

What I love most about rock and roll is it’s intangibility (those unexplainable emotions it is capable of arousing) and it’s truly democratic nature. Since it’s very beginnings in the 50s, through the DIY surge of punk in the 70s, to the more recent digital revolution, it’s a form which welcomes everyone who chooses to be a part of it.

The result is a sometimes overwhelming amount of creative output for one to choose from. But this also, as convoluted and disarrayed as it stands, is brilliant when you think about it. It makes room for us – the critics. Our place is just as vital as the music itself. My rock and roll is a never-ending dialogue – between musician and audience, and between myself and others. With the subjectivity of opinion, everything comes together – literally, there is something out there for everybody. Of course, what gets my pulse racing is kryptonite for another person’s ears. To me, this is what is wonderful about rock and roll (and any kind of music in general). With this in mind, it means everyone has a place – from artist to listener, to fan, to disdainful critic.

So, tell me, what gets your pulse racing with excitement, aurally speaking? I am obsessed with (almost) all things psychedelic, shoegaze, garage, noise, grunge, post-punk, no-wave – etc. Some of those genres might seem disparate, but in my own individual, interpretative way, they fit solidly together. Some of my favourite bands include My Bloody Valentine, Deerhunter, Sonic Youth, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Autolux, The Black Angels and The Scientists. I’m also deeply in love with Australia’s wonderful ‘neo-psychedelic’ community. Never pass up an opportunity to see The Black Ryder, The Laurels, The Dolly Rocker Movement, Songs, Beaches, Slight of Build, Dreaming of Ghosts, or the gazillion other bands in this genre worthy of mention.

As I said before, my rock and roll is a dialogue. My passions are nothing without having some way of expressing them. So, don’t view these columns as didactic, self-perceived authoritative lectures. Get involved – talk back. Tell us what you think and why (no ignorant wankers or arseholes though please! Let’s keep this informed and positive!). Let’s celebrate this crazy, indefinable, intangible art form, and let’s celebrate our wonderful, individual passions for it.

Appeared on Music Feeds July 4 2009.

This piece appeared in the now-defunct magazine Small Lust, in 2008. It was my first paid freelance piece – very exciting, but honestly, not my best work!

It can either go one of two ways:
1
Humans reach a point where we no longer rely so much on different words to communicate, but different deliveries. Our language will condense to a set of a few select mumblings and a wide range of tones and emphases. Language will simplify until what is said isn’t so important – it’s how you say it that conveys the meaning.
2
Through our idolising and embracing of all things simple, accessible and bimbo, we ultimately dumb ourselves down so much we evolve into a species of literal idiots. A vocabulary won’t be necessary if we can’t understand anything more than monosyllabic mush.

These linguistically-focused evolutionary ponderings are no doubt triggered by a group of teenagers who always seem to be on the same morning train carriage as me. Their superfi cial discussions are verbalised so loudly that by the time the train departs at Flinders Street, I’m convinced. If these kids represent an evolutional turning point of the English language, future generations will be born into a society of idiocy.

My beef stands with one word in particular, which I’ve noticed is being used by people way more than it needs to be. I’m referring to ‘like’. It’s being thrown uselessly between any word in any given sentence at any given time – probably on a train near you. Its inappropriate usage and abuse is an eyesore in any conversation. I remember I used to throw a few ‘likes’ into a sentence when I was doing an American airhead imitation, á la Valley Girl Cher from Clueless. But it stumps me why anyone would want to appropriate a language style that infers they’re vacuous and dim-witted.

I’ve started to wonder if the youth of this country are so uncomfortable with their identity (individual, generational and national) that they have been forced to adopt a foreign subculture’s irritating speech (is the American airhead even a subculture?). Is there really nothing higher to aspire to these days than a life of bimbo-ism? Perhaps not. Reality TV ‘personalities’ like Paris Hilton and Lauren Conrad (from MTV’s hit show The Hills) aren’t just considered celebrities, but cultural idols deserving of media and consumer attention. Through the dominance of reality television and the vapid ideals TV producers slather all over these shows, Clueless’ protagonist has gone from parody to hero.

The anger that rises during my morning train trips is always followed by a concern for my tendency to overreact on issues most normal people wouldn’t even notice. After all, it’s just a harmless four-letter word I’m dedicating all of this energy to. Has this materialised from a desire to be a wannabe language purist? I don’t think so. I suspect it comes from an ambition to be perceived as more than the Australian equivalent of a Californian airhead – call me anal, pretentious or proud. The word ‘like’ can be correctly used as a preposition, conjunction, verb and noun. Let’s put it back where it belongs.

So. I woke up on Saturday morning feeling as close as one can to pure, rancid pus. The night before had not been kind to me – or more so, I had not been kind to myself the night before. I had one of those hangovers so paralysing, they are destined to become the stuff of legends. I’ve had more than a few of them in my time, especially over the last year or so. I remember one particular case, where I was forced to vacate my unit for a period of half an hour or so while potential landlords traipsed through the lot. It had taken me about three hours to get to the point where I was able to actually leave the premises: sixty minutes fighting the nausea and actually getting out of bed; sixty minutes sitting in the shower whilst the water ran over my crippled body, praying that it would serve as some magic cure-all; and sixty minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, naked, wishing I’d throw-up/feel better/summon the will to even get dressed. The worst part was finding something suitable to do for my half hour of mandatory absence. I did the only thing my body would let me: I dragged myself to the park around the corner and laid on a bench, like a bum, while parents watched their children playing on the swings.

Such was the venom of the hangover I had to endure on Saturday. The only difference between the situation I faced and the one previously described was this: I wasn’t just looking at half an hour of public pain, but a whole music festival’s worth. Yes. I’d bought myself a ticket to V-Festival in November – I’d been anticipating it for almost five months previous. And my whole experience was going to be tainted by irresponsible decision to get wasted the night before. Some controlling part of me seems to love the idea of self-sabotage, but that’s a completely different issue altogether.

The above is like a disclaimer for the basic and limited review of the festival I am only able to provide. I wasn’t actually able to get out of bed until about three pm, and I didn’t arrive at the Showgrounds until about 5pm, just in time to catch the Jesus and Mary Chain. I also didn’t have the stamina to enjoy any of the sets amidst a throng of people, so I sat (eventually quite content) in the grandstand towards the back. Despite the awful nausea and headache, which actually subsided soon after my arrival and something to eat, I thoroughly enjoyed the festival and feel compelled to write why. Not only were there some first-class acts, which provided excellent and entertaining sets, V-Festival was smoothly operated. In comparison, it had everything that the Melbourne Big Day Out didn’t – first and foremost, seating and grass – and in absentia was everything from the Big Day Out that ruins the event – I’m talking about the abundance of dust and the abundance of idiots.

As I sat in my comfortable spot in the grandstand, I contemplated why this might be the case. V-Festival lacks the amount of bands that an event like the Big Day Out provides, but it also means the amount of patrons required for such a show is lessened and the chaos that goes along with trying to see fifty bands in a massive space is avoided. The atmosphere on Sunday was completely relaxed. On my arrival I was shocked to see that had I possessed the physical stamina, I could have still gotten an impressive front-row position for the Jesus and Mary Chain’s set. This had changed quite a bit by the time Queens of the Stone Age started playing, but excusable in my mind considering they were the second last band to take the stage for the evening in that particular area.

The three full set’s that I watched were, in full, enjoyable. The Jesus and Mary Chain played a similar songlist to their headlining show at the Palace a few nights before. It was solid, tight and palpable. Jim Reid’s stone-straight face said more than any indulgent on-stage banter could. Particular highlights were personal favourites, Cracking Up and Reverence, as well as the few new songs thrown in. The Jesus and Mary Chain’s reformation clearly doesn’t stink of sentimentalism or dollar signs – the new material has as much edge, anger and sharpness as anything they’ve ever produced. The only longing carried on from their headlining show – I wished it was louder. I wanted more distortion, more feedback and more chaos.

The same can be said for the next band, Queens of the Stone Age. The set was extremely tight, as anyone who’s ever seen them live would expect. Perhaps it was the wind carrying the sound in the opposite direction, as outdoor stages are apt to do, but I remember saying to my companion before the band took to the stage that ‘I want it ear-bleedingly loud’. Other than the volume, Queens proved why they’re the scariest band in rock – without pretense or premeditation – they’re just genuinely scary as fuck. The set was perfect for a festival audience, a mix of highlights off Era Vulgaris (I was particularly chuffed with their launch into Misfit Love and Turnin’ on the Screw, two of my favourite tracks off the album) and popular hits. To satisfy an audience who may not be further familiar with the band’s catalogue, songs such as Feel Good Hit of the Summer and the closing No-One Knows were inclusions. Impressively though, the band abridged most of these songs with what felt like extended improvisation. Halfway through Feel Good Hit of the Summer, Homme launched into singing the Men Without Hats hit, The Safety Song. For die-hard Queens fans, these touches provided added entertainment and perhaps a point of difference.

I’m glad to be able to say that I’ve now seen the Smashing Pumpkins live. Admittedly, I’m not likely to go out and buy their latest release but the event was almost like fulfilling a prophecy to my twelve year old self (I was a huge Pumpkins fan at that point). Overall I actually enjoyed the set. I had read some less than favourable reviews from the Sydney and Gold Coast festivals and was wincing at the thought of having to sit through twenty minute metal jams, a Hendrix redo of the Star Spangled Banner and sped up versions of old classics. All of these things can certainly be said about the set the band played in Melbourne, but it wasn’t as intolerable as I had expected. Firstly, the sound the band knocked out was amazing. It was loud and it was incredibly clear. Secondly, Billy Corgan is a sight that differs completely in real life to pictures. He’s a tall, gangly giant who would probably look more awkward dressing masculinely than in his spacey, androgynous skirts and skivvy combos. Thirdly, some of the extended tangeants weren’t intolerable in the slightest. Indulgent – yes – but his interlude at one point with the current hit for Britney Spears was nothing short of classic. I was also extremely impressed by their brilliant cover of my favourite Pink Floyd song, Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun. The American national anthem borderlined on the ridiculous and they did play an awful lot off the new album. After a bit of thought though, I realised it probably wasn’t just Billy Corgan trying to piss the audience off. Like the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Pumpkins shows aren’t as simple as just a reformation tour. They are creating new music and effectively promoting a new album. I may not be a huge fan of the new material, but they’re more than entitled to perform it. Besides, this isn’t the nineties anymore and the Smashing Pumpkins certainly aren’t the same band as they were ten years ago. Perhaps it’s unfair to expect them to just rehash the past to satisfy our generational longing for nostalgia.

Overall, I have to congratulate the V-Festival organisers for renewing my waning faith and patience with music festivals. Just when I thought they had all been handed to the ignorant masses and my place within them as a spectator was limited and passing, it’s been suggested that I shouldn’t give up so easily…

The Lovetones, Dimmer and Spectrum (Sonic Boom) – Northcote Social Club, April 12th 2008

Saturday night’s gig at Northcote Social Club turned out to be an exercise in rock and roll contradiction. I witnessed the amazing, the slightly average and the way-out-there within the space of just a few hours.

There were two elements which drew me to the gathering. Firstly, I was intrigued – admittedly not so familiar – with Spectrum (Sonic Boom). I know more Spacemen 3 than any resultant solo project by the co-founder’s (the other half of the band, Jason Pierce, went on to form the oft-namedropped act Spiritualized). I decided promptly that live exposure to Spectrum would be an adequate exercise in my ongoing psychedelic rock education. Secondly, I’m more than partial to the soothing and extended melodies of Sydney-based band The Lovetones. I’ve seen these guys perform a few times and I’ve never been unimpressed.

The Lovetones were playing support on this tour and like so many bands filling their role, I’m disappointed to say they were only slightly better than mediocre. A few reasons made this so. I suppose I had high expectations based on previous experiences. The band seemed flat and singer/lead guitarist Matt Tow borderlined on being cranky, quipping at the audience a few times. Granted when they walked on the stage there were only a bit over ten people making up the audience and the lighting was atrociously unatmospheric. Literally, three or four yellow stage lights shone straight onto the band for the entire set. To add to this, I felt the vocals were mixed probably a tad too high, which eliminated the depth created by the reverb usually present in their songs. It made them sound like nothing more than a straight garage rock band and erased any of their soul-searching psychedelic sound. Stronger songs were able to transcend the dreariness, the opener Mantra being the biggest exception. When they walked off though, closing with Navigator from their latest release, Axiom, I noticed a distinct absence of the excitement I’d felt at previous Lovetones shows.

The next band to take the stage were New Zealand act, Dimmer. I had only a vague idea who these guys were. I recognised the name as supports on a few tours by the Brian Jonestown Massacre in Europe – and well, BJM has never really let me down as a source for great rock and roll pointers. I had the feeling these guys would be – at the very least – okay. Dimmer turned out to be the highlight of the evening. Why on earth have I never heard of this band before? Their sound is pure, murky evil. It’s like they’ve taken the finger gesturing attitudes of The Jesus and Mary Chain, Aphex Twin and Sonic Youth and channelled them into a sound. If you haven’t heard Dimmer, please don’t hold off. Take my advice, head to their Myspace and listen. What I liked most about the band was their lack of superficial and aesthetic attitude. Like the acts mentioned above, the darkness didn’t speak from their forced appearance or tough stances on stage. It came from the music, making it so much more compelling than any black-clad and dolled up band on the market today. The only downsides to the set didn’t come from the band, but more so from the punters. Behind me were a bunch of Kiwi’s who gave me the impression they’d travelled across the ocean just to see the band play. Kudos to their commitment, but these guys were loud, obnoxious, annoying and very, very drunk. My view was obsfuscated by the two tallest people in the whole crowd, one of which looked like the kooky guy from Mythbusters if he happened to grow his hair longer and get a perm.

By the time Spectrum started playing, I had prime position, sitting on the far edge of the stage. I was surprised to see Sonic Boom setting up all of his gear himself. I’m not sure if it’s because there were a lack of roadies or because the artist is a little bit of a control freak. The opening song was delayed for a solid ten minutes as he searched the stage for a particular red paperclip. Performing solo, Spectrum’s music sounded like the soundtrack to a coma victim’s deep consciousness. As I sat on the side of the stage, I could feel my eyes glazing over. Looking around the crowd, I saw a room full of dedicated (and much more aware) fans. Spacemen 3 famously recorded the album Taking Drugs to Make Music to Take Drugs to. For all of my desire to learn about the scope of psychedelic rock, I felt this was a little bit too far out of my reach – sober, which I was. This was music to take drugs to. While I respect the opinion and the appreciation of the audience, Sonic Boom’s effect eluded me and failed to grab hold of my attention.

The evening was an exercise in rock and roll contradictions. I tasted every aspect of the pallate – from the uninspired, to the prophetically amazing, to way beyond what I could comprehend. Like most forays into psychedelia, it opened my mind and got me thinking – just not quite how I expected