New: Darts – Westward Bound

Darts have been around for fucking yonks, but I only heard about them when they opened up the fucking amazing party that Rice is Nice threw a few weeks ago. I walked into the courtyard keen to hear a band named after the fastest thing that’ll kill you, and was promptly thrown by how fucking amazing this band is. Shame on all of you for not arriving on time and catching this maelstrom of sound. Just through watching them, I lost 10 kilograms.

They’ve just announced a signing to the legends at RIN, and have dropped their first single of an upcoming record. Holy fucking shit, drop whatever bullshit, menial task you’ve assigned to yourself and wrap your ears around this thing. It’s a chugging anthem that sits somewhere between At The Drive-In and Modest Mouse’s most thuggish singalongs. “Westward Bound” is course and grating, but soaked in acidic melody. It’s a chokehold of a listen, a slam dunk of steely-gazed alternative uproar. Seriously, shove this into your brain, and let this clanging gut-punch cleanse you harder than any detox ever could.




Watching the new clip from Sydney’s TEES reminds me a lot of the “Now, we’re in Delaware. Oh, cool we’re in Delaware” part of Wayne’s World. Only, instead of boring ass Delaware, you’ve got the life-affirming sounds of TEES bumping and grinding to flashing images of retro Club Med parties.

Whilst the dream team of Lizzy Tillman and Sean Duarte pump and thrive on acid house that’s being smothered in Madonna’s pop sensibilities, tanned beasts splash the green screen with XTREME JETSKI STUNTS. Doesn’t get much cooler than that.

TEES have a fair few shows coming up – this Wednesday with Holiday Sidewinder at Art After Hours at the MCA, a Friday night appearance at this weekend’s Secret Garden Festival, and a Goodgod show on Thursday March 12th, also with Holiday Sidewinder. Like Pokemon, make sure you catch ’em all.

New: Blanck Mass – Dead Format

Chuck this up your stinkhole! You think sniffing glue and racking dodgy lines of speed will turn you into a schizophrenic trainwreck? Try this side project from Fuck Buttons, an illusion of synth walls, hammering drums and cosmic layers of flattening electronic work. This is Lynchian paranoia to an extreme, six minutes of challengingly intoxicating work by one of the masters of manipulating sounds for their most terrifying potential. As the horrific results extend, so does your slow and sinking fear that you’ll never listen to something this bloody terrific again.

Dicks and Golden Drumsticks: An Ode to the Gooch Palms

The Gooch Palms_hires

The first time I ever saw the Gooch Palms was revolutionary. It was early October 2013, two days before my HSC Exams were to begin. It was a chilly Friday night, and myself and a good mate decided to head to the Cross and watch the Goochies launch their debut album ‘Novo’s’, aptly named after their hometown, Newcastle.

I had all the Gooch Palms’ material, from their early “Cucarachas” and ‘R U 4 Sirius’ 7″s, to their recently released record. I loved listening to this band, their catchy-as-hell chorus’ mixed with sweeter-than-rainbow punk rock. It was authentic, and vibrant, electric and eclectic. From their early, lo-fi recordings that were akin to balls-out (literally) Ramones rip-offs, and their synthier, DEVO side (“Participant No. 91”), to the power ballads of “You” and “Don’t Cry”, to the straight up garage ragers that should have festival crowds panting with joy in a few years time…The Gooch Palms have it all. And I had it all. I was so proud.

Back to the show…being just a mere few days before the most IMPORTANT EXAMS OF MY LIFE, I got insanely drunk. I didn’t know anyone at the show, and I felt out of place, and awkward. I wasn’t a punk, or a cool music dude. I was a nerd from a private school who just happened to hijack into the awesomeness of Anti-Fade Records’ discography. How the fuck was I allowed to enjoy something this special? A rowdy pub in the Cross, filled to the brim with deadset legends and talent bouncing from wall-to-wall was no place for a fucking blogger.

But you know what? The Gooch Palms changed that. They changed everything. For an 18 year old kid who’s previous most punk experience was watching Fucked Up perform with The Foo Fighters, The Gooch Palms showcased something insanely formative to my growth as a lover of punk rock and Australia’s wealth of talent. THEY DIDN’T CARE! They performed to a heaving crowd with the sort of enthusiasm that can only be described as biblical. Leroy spat on his tattooed chest with glee, and Kat smiled from behind her pink ‘do with beaming joy. They threw themselves into their music, and it made you want to throw yourself into it just as much as they did.

During “We Get By”, a salivatingly, pants-shittingly good track, as I thrashed at the front with reckless abandon, Leroy pulled me onto the stage. I accidently stepped on his pedals, and panic and grief struck my heart. Leroy didn’t give a shit. “Dance! Dance, man!”. I took off with something that can only be described as somewhere between Elvis Presley suffering a stroke and a guy at a Slayer concert. It was a fucked up heap of limbs, but no one cared, and my grin was bigger than anyone else.

And of course, there was Leroy’s nudity, an aspect that has now become one of the most recognised and anticipated aspects of The Gooch Palms’ live show. Some folks might see it as an excuse, or antic, trying to cover up bad music, but in fact, it is the opposite. It’s an accentuation of the madness and brilliance of this band. A garage band that doesn’t give a fuck, and in doing so, gives so many fucks.

For those who don’t know, The Gooch Palms are moving to America. Take a moment, it’s ok, I’ll wait. Shit, just typing this makes a single tear roll down my cheek like I’m in a goddamn Keep America Beautiful commercial. But really, it’s for the best. We don’t deserve a band like this, a band that can be so consistently good every time one sees them live. Two folks who care about each other, punk rockers nicer than most grandmothers. Two legends who know how to meld rock ‘n’ roll and pop together in a way that hasn’t been seen since Cheap Trick were at the top of their game.

The Gooch Palms have grown since that first fateful night. They’ve gone from playing support slots at midnight in Frankie’s, to being one of Australia’s most revered and beloved rock ‘n’ roll acts. They got matching uniforms, toured America, and Leroy got a green tinge to his mullet. I’ve grown as well. I’ve learnt to try to not be such a fuckwit, to go to as many shows as possible, and to try and be a more excellent human being. But no matter how much I try, I probably won’t live up to legend-itude of The Gooch Palms.

The Gooch Palms play their final shows this weekend, playing in Newcastle this Friday, and Sydney on Saturday. Proven legends Straight Arrows are main support for both shows, whilst deadset heroes The Sufferjets and newbies Raave Tapes support in Newy, and shred magicians Los Tones play in Sydney.

If you see Kat or Leroy around, go up, hug them, and wish them well (and shove $50 in their hand, USA is xpensive). It’s gonna be a tough year without knowing there’s a Goochies show around the corner for all hell to break loose. But we wish them well, and hope that the Yanks get to experience The Gooch Palms for the first time in exactly the same way I did, as a cerebral and unforgettable force of garage punk. Adios to one of my favourite bands. Adios to one of your favourite bands. See y’all at the shows!

Album Review: Mystery Date – New Noir

How about that? Power-pop is still well and alive. You might think that it was stabbed to death when The Buzzcocks stopped breathing, or maybe when Big Star kicked the bucket. Or maybe you were a tad more positive, and thought power-pop only stopped existing when we all found out Weezer were scrambling for a semblance of originality after ‘Pinkerton’.

However you feel about it, fear not my friends, because Mystery Date, a band from Minneapolis who share members with the amazing Real Numbers, are keeping the power-pop dream alive. Amateur pop music played at a high velocity pace that would blow the underpants off Paul Westerberg. Shit, in a weird turn, the vocals even sound like the weird middle ground of Craig Finn and Bob Mould’s voices. How’s that for a Minnesota Venn Diagram?

At 10 songs and just shy of half an hour, ‘New Noir’ is the epitome of what a garage record should be. The songs are short and sharp, with doo-doo’s and woah’s coming in thicker and faster than a hair regrowth machine that actually works. The whole thing reeks of simple genius, a product that can appeal to the everyman, and doesn’t require a diploma in the waltz to dance along to.

Mystery Date deliver fantastically in terms of the sort of thing one wants from a garage record. Each song is bursting with pop brilliance, quotable lyrics, and guitar solos. It’s hard to pick a favourite, but “Safety Trigger”, “Cosmos”, “You Can’t See It” and “Wouldn’t You Like To Know”. They just seem like the songs on here which are throbbing with the most frenzied riffs and have been attacked with the best melodies. However it’s important to reiterate that every track on here is a No.1 single here, in both our hearts and minds.

It’s hard to believe how criminally underrated Mystery Date are. From a foreign perspective, it feels like they would slot right into the rich legacy of punk acts that inject melody with the frenzy of a junkie that loves The Beatles. Husker Du, Lifter Puller and The Replacements fans should be selling their limbs to get a hold of this ‘New Noir’ LP. And yet, they continue to go unrecognised. Horseshit!

Rectify this mistake, and grab yourself a copy of ‘New Noir’ and all the greatness it has on offer at Mystery Date’s Bandcamp. And while your there, check out their other EP’s! Don’t be a dipshit, hop on the powerpop bandwagon, and enjoy your shitty life for once!

New: YEEVS – Lazy

YEEVS. What a name, what a treat. It makes no sense, but why should it? Don’t just be a dole bludger, be a dole bludger who likes catchy as rock ‘n’ roll. Be a real man/woman/anything. Get onto YEEVS, and earn the respect of your fellow blogger.

YEEVS are like Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex & the City – strong, independant, powerful, but full of enough flaws to make them a relatable enough character that warrants six seasons on HBO and two movies. And sure, the movies might be bloated wastes of space written by semi-illiterates…

But right now “Lazy” is Season 1, so forget about the future, and focus on the present, and all the great rock ‘n’ roll that comes along with it.

New: Gordi – Taken Blame

More in love with this than Die Hard-era Bruce Willis is with a dirty wife-beater and witty puns. Seriously, Gordi is the new face of gorgeous, limitless talent. Only on her second single, she looks to have everyone’s hearts a-flutter, simply because her voice is the equivalent of staying up all night with a loved one to watch the sunset. Fuck, have you ever done that? Neither have I, but Gordi makes me want to.

“Taken Blame” may come off initially as timid, but closer inspection reveals that its just as strong as any Primitive Calculators track. She oozes with self-doubt, but backs it up with simply incredibly arrangement and a voice that will send more shivers down your spine than any fucking haunted house.

Calling it now, Gordi is going to be bigger, better and more heartbreaking than that scene from The Big Lebowski were Donny gets shot, played on repeat on the world’s largest projector screen. Fuck, that was hard to type, but I stand by it.

New: Telafonica – What Remains

I missed the boat massively on this one, but ya know what? Y’all need to hear it. It may have come out in January, which in the “BLOGOSPHERE” equates to a millennia, but you still need to wrap your ears around it. Sincerely stunning indie/electronic influences clash underneath a soaring voice that takes you back to an innocence that only exists in Disney movies.

New: Catlips – Fade

Hey, big fan, big fan of this one. Everyone’s mate Catlips, from the dusty old Perth has just put out a subtle, sensual blast of lusty house music. Sure, it was still 10 or so years before I became considered my parents biggest mistake, but Catlips has an innate ability to reflect the closed-eyes euphoria that I’m sure a lot of the folks who experienced the original wave of Chicago House. It’s got enough groove to constantly slick down the constantly kicking drums, and Catlips’ vocals are more on point than Robin Hood at an archery range. Get “Fade” into ya before you choke on mediocrity.

Fuck Valentine’s Day Playlist

Whilst everyone else is staring into each other’s eyes, and talking about how much they love each other to the tune of anything by Collarbones, you are (read: I) sitting there with tears in yours eyes, chocolate being injected into your veins, and watching “Love Actually” with the volume blaring.

But fuck that! Fuck this over-commercialised holiday to make people look like terrible love interests because they spent the dole cheque on a 12 pingas instead of 12 roses. Here’s a playlist to fulfill all your unrequited  sexual desires. Because even though we are the most attractive of all, sometimes punx get lonely too:

1. Grinderman – No Pussy Blues

2. Death Grips – Have A Sad Cum

3. Beyonce – All The Singles Ladies

4. Husker Du – Don’t Want To Know If You’re Lonely

5. Shellac – Prayer To God

6. Jack Ladder – Cold Feet

7. Jay Reatard – I See You Standing There

8. Bjork – literally anything off her new album ‘Vulnicura’

9. Taylor Swift – We Are Never Getting Back Together

10. Gotye – Somebody That I Used To Know

11. Richard Hell & the Voidoids – Love Comes In Spurts

12. A$AP ROCKY – Fuckn’ Problems

13. Beck – Lost Cause

14. Carly Simon – You’re So Vain

15. Keyshia Cole – Let It Go feat. Lil’ Kim, Missy Elliot

16. The Cruel Sea – The Honeymoon Is Over

17. Ben Folds Five – Brick

18. Justin Timberlake – Cry Me A River

19. Twerps – Work It Out

20. Blank Realm – Reach You On The Phone

20. The Angels – Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again?