Album Review: Bachelor Pad-Dooming Out

Bachelor Pad, that garage band from Sydney. There hasn’t been a sentence with so much synonymous debauchery attached to it since the last time Ozzy Osborne decided to go to Las Vegas.

They’ve been kicking around for quite a while now, with their melodic yet scrummy garage rock hooking anyone close enough to be within earshot. They’re brand is friendly like those American indie-fuzz bands like Philistines, Diarrhea Planet and Roomrunner, but there’s a punk edge to them that increases the attraction to jizzworthy levels. Imagine if John Dwyer fronted a Sydney-based Murder City Devils featuring members of The Gooch Palms? That’s the kind of shit that Bachelor Pad bring to mind, and its such an orgasmically holy thought, it almost makes me want to keel over and vomit.

Now, onto the album in question ‘Dooming Out’. Although they’ve got two other ‘albums’ worth of material, this one is being considered their debut. Because fuck maths. Hey, I never passed that course in high school, so who am I to argue. Anyway, this shit is fucking off chops. You know when a record starts off with an orgasmic little surf rock riff, indulges itself into a smorgasbord of fuzz, and then lyrically starts with “Yeah my girl, doesn’t know I exist”….well, basically, its hard to remain a cynical dick about something so fucking geared towards everything that resonates with me.

But personal tastes aside, Bachelor Pad have put out a damn fine garage rock record worthy of all the praise that I’m about to heap on it. This isn’t just another jizz-worthy article of fuzz and reverb over topics like girls, beer and fucking up. Instead, its a jizz factory. There’s ballads, there’s punk rock blitzkriegs and there’s mindless drone-alongs made for shaking your long hair back and forth because you’re such a fucking rebel. Its a beautiful thing to witness as track after track amps you up even further, like some sort of ten course meal that forces you to keep eating until you’re a bloated and delighted twisted image of your former self.

Bachelor Pad rule for the simple reasons that their songs are both short ‘n’ sweet rock jams, and they never overstay their welcome. And the best one’s are perfectly resonating with the kind of inner city loser that I myself happen to be. ‘Fried‘ is a fun-as-fuck jam that beats around the bullshit in approximately a minute and a half, with the main message being, ‘fuck it, life sucks, let’s get fried’. ‘Let Me Go’, a slightly longer track that cracks over the two minute mark, is a robust, Ramones-like jam that goes heavy on the chorus and crashing cymbals, a purpose-built shout along sassy track that would make a heavy-metal version of Destiny’s Child blush with shame. And then there’s ‘Moving On’, a track that recalls the best era of Wavves and Times New Viking. Just a super fun track that is actually dripping with misery about the inevatable moment where you’re the only kid who hasn’t grown out of bongs and still refuses to get a ‘proper’ job.

Between these tracks that are, believe it or not, basically the longest on the record, there are a whole bunch of punk flurry’s that get in and out of your face with the sort of musings that made The Ramones famous. They’re young ‘n’ dumb anthems with titles like ‘I Love Cops’, ‘Spag’ and ‘Greasball’. These short little bits of wondrous fuckery are just a testament to the message of Bachelor Pad. And that message is Fuck It, with a capital F. Fuck getting old, fuck uni, fuck everything that doesn’t contain traces of dangerous amount of exhilaration. And that, my friends, is how a fucking record should be.

Buy the record right here and right now, at Bachelor Pad’s Bandcamp. While you’re at it, get their previous two albums that apparently aren’t albums. AND, although you’ve missed the album launch, Bachelor Pad are playing at FBi Social on Thursday, 23rd of Jan, along with The Fighting League and Yard Duty. Amazeballs.

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