Considering the proliferation of Misfits t-shirts that exist in outfits no matter where one is, it was a surprise to find tickets still available for sale at the door of the HiFi Bar only hours before the band were due on stage.

Misfits,
The HiFi Bar, Melbourne, December 3, 2011

Apparently the night’s support bands had been chosen via an online poll, and set times listed Bellusira, Hatchet Dawn and a group called Electrik Dynamite, playing in that order.  I hadn’t heard of Electrik Dynamite, but the set times seemed a little confused, given the strong following Hatchet Dawn have in Melbourne, and that they seem a perfect match for the headliner.  That said, Electrik Dynamite quickly won my affection immediately by unashamedly wearing their own merchandise and by having a dedicated keyboard axe player.  They played a catchy 80s-style hard rock that would fit perfectly on the soundtrack to a horror movie house party, and jumped around the stage with an enviable energy.

Electrik Dynamite’s set seemed like it was over before it had really had a chance to get started, and as soon as they left the stage the dance floor started filling with a varied crowd vying for prime viewing position.  It was a longer than usual stretch waiting for the stage to be set for the Misfits, with much talk of the double-bass drum set up.  It was the first time I have been in an audience who have felt compelled to cheer for a roadie simply because he picked up an instrument.  It was not undeserved, though, with the roadie playing a few chords on Jerry Only’s customised bass guitar, complete with a cyclops skull on the headstock, and he received another round of applause as he finished the test and lowered the guitar respectfully to its podium.

The audience reaction wasn’t matched until the Misfits themselves emerged on stage, coated in their trademark make-up, Jerry clad in a spiked vest, Dez Cadena wearing a full length leather jacket that I decided I wanted when I saw the skeleton motif printed on the back.  They launched into a string of unfamiliar songs from their current album, which sounded great – and allayed the fear I always have seeing old bands that they might suck – but it wasn’t until they dove into classics like Bullet and Static Age that the audience really went wild.

And it really was the dream crowd.  A sad truth is that an audience can make or break an otherwise admirable live show.  It only takes a little bit of consistent shoving or macho posturing to cast a shadow over a perfect performance.  Luckily, everyone had come out on this night to show the performance the respect it deserved, and ensured everyone felt truly a part of the experience.  The crowd surged and pulsed at just the right moments, never more evident than when Jerry teased into the microphone ‘I want your skulls…,’ to be answered in unison:  ‘I need your skulls!’

Other highlights included American Psycho and more crowd participation with Dig Up Her Bones, and after a brief break, the band returned to the stage for an encore that slowed down only enough to slide in a delicious rendition of Saturday Night.  It was a set and an encore sadly devoid of any of the covers from the Project 1950 album, but for a band with over thirty years of history, it was a good selection of songs (although I doubt anyone would have complained if I Turned Into A Martian had been slipped in somewhere.)

If anyone was waiting for a second encore, Jerry Only made clear that it was not forthcoming in the most exciting way short of smashing his guitar into pieces against the stage.  In a single, dynamic gesture, he ripped the strings from his guitar as the other members of the band tossed drum sticks and guitar picks into the audience on their way backstage.  As the ominous strains of horror music soundtracks rose over the PA, Jerry jumped off the stage, bypassing the screaming young vixens spilling tattooed cleavage over the barrier in front of the stage and stalked directly to the woman standing in front of me.

An older woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, she had seemed a little out of place throughout the show – not due to her age, because she was far from alone in that bracket – but because she was wearing a sensible red blouse and conservative slacks, a plain handbag draped over one shoulder that was sure to contain anything she might need for an emergency.  Nowhere to be found were the extremes of make-up, spiked hair, and costumes that were de rigueur that evening.  Nevertheless, she’d been jumping and pounding her fists in the air throughout the night.  Jerry stopped in front of her, and flashed a rare smile, then gave the woman a hug and a kiss, to much deserved applause from even the girls who had been begging for cleavage signatures.

As the scary music continued, so did Jerry, prowling around the whole venue, posing for photos and shaking hands for as long as it took.  Meanwhile, his antics encouraged members of other bands to do the same, and, as I browsed the merchandise stand – surprisingly devoid of the iconic skull-motif t-shirts – an elaborate member of Hatchet Dawn handed me an autographed poster.  I was still reeling from an unexpectedly passionate kiss from Jerry Only and the gig itself, so may have thanked him more ferociously than was called for.

Daniel Gardner

Progressive or experimental Thrash are words often not heard together. I’m not sure if there’s any kind of official genre that goes by that name. Maybe it exists in relative obscurity. Thrash metal sprang from the early eighties, and many of its exponents sound like they are still trapped in an 80s timewarp. By its very nature thrash is a non-progressive genre, its unrelentingly fast, gnarly and brutal and few bands break new ground within its limiting parameters.

So when a band does, it makes you sit up and take notice. The music of the strangely named A Million Dead Birds laughing features many of thrash metal’s signature attributes: it’s regularly played at breakneck speed, interspersed with some big, fat grooves; the songs are ultra short and very much to the point; the vocals are relentlessly screechy and melody-free (aside from the occasional more droney vocal interlude); and the production is enjoyably harsh on the ear. It ain’t pretty sounding music. In fact, these guys even stray beyond the realms of thrash into grindier territory at times. But at the same time they inject a quirky progressiveness into their sound that really begins to set them apart from the thrashy/grindy crowd.

It’s obvious that quite a large amount of effort has been put into giving the songs some strong, individual flavour and character, despite the brevity of the songs and inherent nastiness of the material. They pack more than enough off kilter, flat knacker rhythms and idiosyncratic vocal lines in to one to two minute songs to seriously maintain the interest, where a more traditional thrash/grind approach may have become rather tedious and undynamic.

The musicianship is as fast, precise and powerful as you’d expect in this kind of music. Ultimately, with the level of  skill on display here, these guys could probably take their sound significantly further into the directions that they’ve begun exploring on this, their debut album, on their next record. And then charter  some different musical terrain from there. Maybe wind their songs out by a minute or two and throw some different type of soundscapes into the mix. It would make their sound even more interesting than it already is.

Ultimately though, this is an enjoyable and audacious debut from these Melbourne boys. The door is open for these guys to go in any direction they want, and if they manage to stick together, following their career could make for fascinating listening.

http://www.myspace.com/amdbl

Rod Whitfield

Many people may think that British act Bush is an early to mid nineties one hit wonder band, with their 1994 album Sixteen Stone and its massive worldwide smash hit single Glycerine their only real moment in the sun. And they can be forgiven for thinking this. Truth of the matter however, is that The Sea of Memories is no less than their fifth album, it’s just that it comes after a decade long hiatus.

So how have the last 10 years treated them? Pretty well, by the sounds of the new record. It may sound like a contradiction in terms, but it mines the exact same ‘commercial alternative’ sound that they were doing in the 90s, and does it very well. If your tastes in alternative music lie in the heavier and/or more progressive range of the spectrum, you’d be better off giving this a wide birth. But if you’re a little more mainstream in your alternative likes, there’s much to like here.

The songs are mostly uplifting, crowd pleasing rock tunes that will appeal to a broad audience, such as Baby Come Home, and Red Light, whilst they’ve attempted to recapture the minimalist magic of Glycerine on All Night Doctors. Singer Gavin Rossdale is sounding as much like a latter day, alternative Peter Gabriel as ever.

The Sea of Memories is very inoffensive, accessible alternative rock that is radio ready. Whether they can regain the status they had in the mid 90s remains to be seen, but this album gives them a very good shot at it.

Rod Whitfield

More solid metal from Adelaide. The back cover of ‘Worship the Bled’ depicts hundreds of nasty looking bombs/missiles hurtling to earth, bent on annihilation. And this is very much the effect of this record. It’s all about destruction.

This writer prefers a little more dynamics and melody in the metal, but this record will appeal very strongly to those who enjoy their metal unrelentingly brutal and uncompromising. There’s minimal time or space wasted on clean vocals and soaring choruses, quieter passages, soundscapes or ambience, or anything even resembling progressiveness, this is a wall to wall, mind numbing thrash assault on the senses that barely lets up for a single second. And this is the way many heavy music fans love their metal.

Best track honours go to the titanic, call to arms chorus of ‘Hunt All Heroes’. The tiniest hint of haunting, gothic atmosphere is attempted on ‘The Great Waste of Flesh’, before the track descends into mayhem once more. ‘Summon Abyss’ slows down, and fattens up, the groove slightly and closes the album in pretty devastating fashion.

Unlike a lot of metal these days, the musicianship on Worship the Bled is actually quite functional and directly serving of the song, and the production is kept deliberately raw, gnarly and brutal.

This album is possibly a little one dimensional to become a real favourite for this metal fan, but it’s more than well put together enough to appeal to metal heads to whom harmony, light and shade and variation mean little. And there seems to be a lot of those out there, so there is a definite audience out there for these Adelaide heavy hitters.

http://www.truthcorroded.com/

Rod Whitfield

Two members of Melbourne’s awesome Engine 37, bassist Aryn (who takes guitar and vocal duties here) and drummer Shane, have themselves an extremely catchy and appealing side project on the go here. Formerly called ‘Sir Apples’, the band have wisely changed their name, and given us this teaser single, apparently the first single from a debut album to be released sometime in 2012.

‘Restless’ is an intoxicating tune, a mid paced indie/alternative rock track with dark, subtle but memorable melody. It’s close enough to the Engine 37 vibe to appeal to that band’s many fans, but far enough away to have its own identity. The musicianship is as strong as you’d imagine from a band with such a pedigree, and production wise, it sounds absolutely sweet.

This first single does exactly what first singles are supposed to do, ie. it really whets the appetite for what’s to follow. Bring on the album.

www.shadowgame.com.au

Rod Whitfield

Can you tell? I’m on holidays again! And this year I have two Sanderson fantasy books to read, but not a complete trilogy. The first one I picked up is the new Mistborn novel. Last year I remember loving this series, but is the author trying to spin out his tale just a little too long? No!

Set 300 years after the events in the first series, Sanderson’s land of the Mistborn now resembles something of the Wild West. People move around by train, rifles and pistols are common, and beyond the boundaries is a country where civilisation is forgotten. Waxillium has made a name for himself as a lawman in the ‘Roughs’ when he is summoned back to the city, heir to his uncle’s estates. Reluctantly Wax packs away his guns and mist cloak to become a gentleman. But there is this curious series of robberies…

At only a little over 300 pages, there is no time to explain the magic, so either accept the burning metals and the push and pull of a Coinshot or set aside a week to read the full Mistborn saga first. All your questions will be answered. Many readers simply don’t like the foreign lands and difficult names common in fantasy, but if you read Wax for Max, suddenly the name becomes common and manageable. Saying that, I do love the pun of Wax and Wayne.

Strictly speaking this is a fantasy, but if you analysed the story elements, it has a lot more in common with a western adventure than anything else. Reading it I was reminded of the old TV series The Wild, Wild West. A little bit silly, a lot of action and adventure, and most of all a lot of fun.

But I suspect this is a stand-alone book. Not fair! I want more of Wax’s adventures. At least tell me if he gets the right girl!

CS Sutton

Months ago I hear that this book was in development. Horowitz, an international bestselling author for young adults, was going to write a traditional Sherlock Holmes mystery. My first reaction was to question whether he could control his passion for the extreme enough to write a fitting tribute. And the jury is still out.

The book opens as a ‘lost manuscript’, or rather a final story recorded by Conan Doyle before his death that was considered so controversial that it was placed in storage for 100 years and has only now been released. Holmes is consulted by an American who had been caught up in the theft/destruction of significant artwork. But then his enquiries lead him to a mysterious House of Silk, apparently a classy opium den and organised crime ring. From there the plot thickens.

Horowitz has an excellent grasp of the Conan Doyle writing style. Many times I felt I was actually reading a ‘real’ Sherlock Holmes. And he successfully maintained the focus on Holmes thinking rather than modern gadgetry to move the plot forward. All the favourite characters were there, Watson, Mrs Hudson, the Baker Street Irregulars, and I felt they were true to their historical roots. This is an amazing effort from Horowitz, obviously a real fan of the originals.

However, I really felt that the final ‘reveal’ was just too modern. Too ‘set up’ for modern morality. In 1890, I suspect that little or nothing would have been said about this ‘crime’ if it even was a crime back then. It is hard to go further without spoiling, but I am very disappointed that Horowitz was unable to avoid this rush to the 21st century.

CS Sutton

Rod Whitfield

CS Sutton

Here’s an Aussie metal institution that has been through a number of changes/evolutions in sound and style over their decade and a half of existence. These changes have coincided directly with the tenures of their three singers: original vocalist Adam Glynn (who went on to front Five Star Prison Cell) brought a real quirk factor and a slightly more avant-garde approach. They then morphed into more a straight up, groove based metal act with the inclusion of second singer Adam B Metal. Current howler Dan McDougall brought an injection of anger and more or a punk/thrash vibe, and this is where they reside today. And very happily too, by the sounds.

One of the charms of the mighty Bok is that on the surface their music is unrelentingly vicious, ugly and in your face, but there is also an underlying tongue in cheek vibe that is very entertaining. They obviously take the writing and recording of their music very seriously, but they don’t take themselves too seriously, which is very refreshing. Their music is loads of fun, at the same time as being gnarly and angry, and this sets them apart from the thrash pack. It also comes across best in their live performances, where they rein absolutely supreme.

That’s not to say that The End of All you Know isn’t a worthy recording. In fact it’s an absolute ball-tearer. It’s typical latter day Frankenbok, some tracks are a flat knacker, death thrashing fury (first single Dine in Hell for example), others are fatter and more groove based (see Bring the Temple Down). And all are super catchy in their own way.

McDougall attacks some pretty serious and angry topics in his lyrics. He gives his opinions on certain political, religious and social issues in no uncertain terms. Even the cover artwork is a statement about a desire to tear the establishment down and establish a new and more equal order in the world.

Despite this however, the aforementioned sense of fun in the metal remains. You can’t help but crack a smile as you thrash the fuck out to this record. And whilst the musicianship is somewhat primitive by today’s astounding metal standards, the playing is still vibrant and tight as a clenched fist. Especially from drummer Mick Morley, who is an absolute pocket sized dynamo, and a very underrated drummist, even on the Australian scene.

This album isn’t reinventing wheels of any kind. What it is doing is bursting out of your speakers, thrashing you all over the room and putting a big fat cheesy grin on your face. And that’s what music is all about….sometimes.

http://www.frankenbok.com/

Rod Whitfield