Gig Review: The Blurst of Times Festival

Saturday 25th October @ The Factory Theatre

Simpsons quote. Straight from the go, you’re off to a good start mates. Add to that fact that almost every great guitar act in our country is on a Blurst of Time bill, and you’ve got every cat and their air guitar whizzing to buy a fucking ticket. I mean, people of ‘Straya, what more do you want? The government’s fucked (with the grand exception of Bill ‘Shortball’ Shorten), we’re paying through the nose for uni, and to top it all off, I’ve had a bad sinus infection all week. Really shitty stuff. So a day of DZ Deathrays and beer in Marrickville was basically the only cure, short of going on a bender with Bill Murray (a boy can dream).

Hockey Dad began the day with a short ‘n’ sweet set of feel good surf rock tunes. If you haven’t heard of these blokes, get around them, because they’ve got #nextbigthing written all over their peachy mugs. Zach’s got a voice like an angel, and Billy smashes his drums like he’s on a blitzkrieg, Lleyton Hewitt headband dripping with sweat by the end. A few muck-ups, but the smiles and lack of pretention from these blokes meant that their set was a loud, and thoroughly enjoyable, as good as watching Happy Gilmore the first time round.

Black Zeros followed, but unfortunately, sound issues fumbled their performance. The songs are tight, but performance was unsure, as lead woman Joe Jackson had trouble hearing herself. I mean, “Ride” and “That Boy” are fucking sick, but the dwindling between songs so early in the day made it hard for punters to stick around, and enjoy the usual Black Zeros carnival. Outside, Babaganouj were killing it, an amalgamation of Brissy indie-pop mixed with damn solid 90’s nerd-rock. Think of the dorky pop of Weezer, Superchunk and Kim Deal, thrown together with amazing songs like “Bluff” and “Love Loath Love You”. They had heads nodding along like the crowd were a bunch of bobble-heads. It was down-to-earth euphoric rock, something I’m not sure even existed until this point.

Sticking around on the outside stage, where a bunch of menacing clouds grumbled with menace, High-tails came and conquered with a slew of tight indie rock. High-tails seemed in more of a rock mood, as their songs boomed with a bit more bravado and oomph than usual. “Bending Over Backwards” and a cover of Cake’s “Never There” highlighted a band that knew how to marry pop sensibilities and rock with success. A divorce doesn’t seem likely in the near future, and there’s a strong hint at an LP coming out next year.

Step-Panther, (another band, another hyphen) hobbled unassumingly onto the stage. Just three blokes – a guitar, bass and a drumkit. And yet, these three guys turned an ordinary set up into one of the most impressive displays of musicianship to have been blazed into my skull in recent memory. Starting with debut LP cut “Never Again”, frontman Stephen Bourke was immediately sprawled on the floor, abusing his guitar like it was an Ike and Tina Turner situation all over again. Whiplash guitar ricocheted throughout the small domain of The Factory Theatre, and anyone within earshot perked up like a Chihuahua being mass-fed caffeine. Daniel Radburn is beating the shit out of the drum kit like he’s a 12 year old with the house to himself and a bright and sparkly National Geographic laying bare like the temptresses they are. And Zach, of Hockey Dad @fame, well, he was just looking good. Their set was a fiery ball-tearer, with a couple props to old schoolers like “Fight Like A Knight”, but mainly focusing on their new, gobsmackingly good record, ‘Strange But Nice’ (review here).

It was a party set through and through, a contorted mixture of thrash punk and pop knowledge, covered in gnatty noise and a genuine love, and ability, to rock the fuck out. For every awkward inner-teen out there, Step-Panther is the band you want to familiarise yourself with. They’re almost like a modern and local version of Bleach-era Nirvana, ruthless and primal, and Stephen Bourke makes for a picturesque Kurt Cobain, with his shoulder-connected-to-neck  solos being a sight worthy of the Bucket List. New singles “Nowhere”, “It Came From the Heart” and “User Friendly” were a shredder’s haven, and a reminder that Step-Panther are some of the last heartfelt headbangers in Sydney, possibly even Aus. Make sure you get down to their album launch (with Bearhug and Point Being!) at Goodgod on November 21st.

After exhilaration-incarnate, it felt like nothing could possibly match a Step-Panther show. Obviously, it’s been a while since I went to a SPOD show, and I’ve forgotten how one-of-a-kind this man, nay, GOD, is. Where Step-Panther are one of the ultimate rock bands, SPOD is the ultimate party band. I feel like that needs to be repeated -SPOD IS THE ULTIMATE PARTY BAND! NEVER MISS A SHOW FROM THIS GUY! EVER! EVER! EVER!

Armed with a battalion of all-black, sunnies-inside security guards (Steve’s #1 & #2, and old mate Nathan Wood) who never dropped their demeanour of seriousness and professionalism (sic), SPOD tore The Factory Theatre a new arsehole. Beginning with the song of our generation, “Deadshits”, SPOD’s set soon become something that people will talk about centuries from now, in hushed whispers, in case the legend himself blazes down from the heavens to destroy all human life with his hard-partying ways. To put it bluntly, the set was compromised entirely of legends. From young pup/legend Dom O’Connor being literally picked up and thrown around SPOD like a stripper on a pole during “Letz Dance”, to Dion Ford (Australia’s greatest guitarist/legend) coming onstage to crank out Oz’s favourite pub rock tune “Couple Of Drinks”, to old mate/legend Jules (of Rice is Nice one of the greatest labels to adorn our fair country) getting her waltz on to the finale and every pervert’s funky favourite “Electric Hips”. And I’d be lying to you if I said that getting on stage with pretty much every living legend the Australian music industry has seen for a singalong of “Boys Night” wasn’t one of the Top 5 Moments of my life. I entered the Factory a boy, and left a man, thanks to SPOD. The man is a saint.

After a sweat, party-filled few hours, it was time for Blank Realm, one of the main acts on the bill. After the release of their flawless pop record “Grassed Inn” earlier this year (review here), Blank Realm was a band that I physically could not withhold myself from seeing. Whilst the beginning of the set was marred by sound issues, primarily the bass thudding over the top of other instruments, things were abruptly fixed so that it was all Blank Realm awesomeness, all the time. Their set seemed to compromise of only a few songs, mostly of their latest album, but that’s hardly a complaint. My body was instantly entranced into twisting into an amalgamation of shapes I had no clue I was capable of. Maybe I was just trying to mimic the movements of the band themselves, in which they moved with poetic energy, jumping and grooving with artistic beauty. It was strange, and timelessly wonderful. Getting to see stuff like “Reach You On the Phone”, “Go Easy” and a sped-up “Falling Down the Stairs” (#songoftheyear) is something no ones forgetting any time soon. Summarisation: 2014 – year of the keytar. Never change, Blank Realm, never change.

Outside, a new and unruly beast was unfolding in the form of Velociraptor, fleshed out with a rare appearance from original members Shane and Simon of DZ Deathrays. Banshee cries were the first thing I really noticed from the set, followed by a ruckus on par with a football riot. Bodies flew everywhere, and it honestly felt like a tsunami of rock music had arrived. Whereas Velociraptor are garage-pop on record, the raw energy of earlier recordings was in sure-fire play during the set. As guitars reigned supreme, and the multi-limbed juggernaut of rock ‘n’ roll heaved on headbangers like “Cynthia”, “The Walk On By”,”Cool, Baby, Cool” and the anthemic “Ramona”, it was like an alternate ending from Jurassic Park, where the T-Rex doesn’t show up, and the kids aren’t so lucky. As the final chords rang out, and Jeremy Neale stood poised, with fist raised triumphantly above his lolling head, grin planted firmly on his mug, it was ultimately obvious that Velociraptor had fucking won.

After a truly sweeping performance, TV Colours graced the stage for a very different, but similarly affecting, display of amazing. TV Colours released the best album of last year, and they wilfully proved it. They had walls of sound at their disposal, tearing through songs like “The Neighbourhood” and “Lost Highway” with a virtuosity and newfound, dare I say it, professionalism. Their fury was there, but it was more controlled, funnelled into the seething audience of bobbing heads. It doesn’t seem far-fetched to believe that “Purple Skies, Toxic River” will be mentioned in the same breath as “Primary Colours”, or “Havilah” in the future. It’s a modern masterpiece, and seeing a band as talented and great as that dominate a stage is a pleasure as always. If you haven’t seen TV Colours rip through “Bad Dreams” or “Beverly” and let your jaw drop to the floor in utter amazement, you haven’t lived.

Die! Die! Die! seemed like a bit of a left-field choice for the day, the only Kiwi band on the bill. But they had a new orgasmic album to show off, and you’d have to be a total dillweed to miss out on these guys bombastically destroying expectations. Die! Die! Die! are one of the few punk bands left that can completely blow you away every single time you see them, pounding expectations to the ground as dangerously as frontman Andrew Wilson behaves on stage. Perched precariously on a stack of amps, Wilson cradles the microphone and bellows “A.T.T.I.T.U.D” with a conviction that belies belief. A song over seven years old, Wilson only needed to jump into the crowd and be assaulted by eager punters willing to scream the celebrated chorus, for the epiphany to click that Die! Die! Die! will never die. They’ll forever live on in a myth of wholesome awesome, a preservation of smart punk rock that shames anything that tries to come near it. The members are performers and musicians that have no contemporaries, lambasting temples of a bygone era.

 

To watch Die! Die! Die! in action is a sincere honour, a pinnacle of what humans can do when they really, really, really wanna tear the world a new arsehole. Although new tracks “Get Hit” and “She’s  Clear” shook The Factory to its hinges, it was old timers like “Wasted Lands” and “Ashtray! Ashtray!” that forced the crowd into a hurricane frenzy, centred on the eye-of-the-storm, Andrew Wilson. It can not be overstated how pivotal to your existence it is that you, dear reader, go and see Die! Die! Die! in action.

Cruising to a nice little backstage loft, watching DZ Deathrays side of stage was a set that will be ingrained into my memory for a fair while (Blurst of Times seems to be full of those, hey). After a lengthy UK tour, the duo added an extra guitar and a moustache to Simon’s head for their extraordinary set of euphoric rock. However, there was something a else about the performance. No, DZ were fairly perfect, they didn’t fuck up, and were rockstars to an inch. But that was the issue – these guys should be headlining stadiums, blowing out eardrums worldwide. The fact that they came back to Australia to dwindle with the mere mortals…I mean, how are you meant to react to something like that?

Watching with swollen eyes, every onlooker became enraptured with DZ’s sweaty thrusts of pummelling songs, mainly drawn from the pool of talent that is their sophomore “Black Rat”. Every song was a debilitating lesson in how to be a motherfucking rockstar, from classics like “The Mess Up”, to the slow-burning epic “Northern Lights” and a finale of epic proportions in “Gina Works At Hearts”. Watching DZ is a heart-in-mouth experience, where you want to vomit, cry and mosh all at the same time, where fist-pumping and deranged shouting is par for the course.

After a sincerely great fucking day, Hard-Ons finish the night with a heated dosage of their signature metal/punk/thrash expertise. For those who are unfamiliar, The Hard-Ons are a classic band of Australian lore, as integral to our musical landscape as Radio Birdman, The Saints and The Scientists. Getting to lose my Hard-Ons virginity was something I can only ever be thankful for. They swung through songs with riffs sent straight from another dimension, reaching into the bowels of my brain and throttling the joy factor. There weren’t as many punters there as the Hard-Ons probably required, but really that just gave the more dedicated few room to move and stand in awe of the wicked trio, and insane musicianship of Australia’s coolest band.Ray Ahn proved to those there that all you need to be in one of Australia’s most loved bands is a working pair of footy shorts, a flowing man of hair, and a certificate from Shredding School.

Fuck, so I gotta summarise this experience, right? Paragraph after paragraph of praising the shit out of all the bands I managed to cram into a day, and I gotta come up with something witty AND all-encompassing? I think I’ll stick with the words of everyone’s hero Dom O’Connor, who described Blurst as “… a house party”. And indeed it was – you had mates crammed next to each other, love pouring from every socket, and some of the best bands this country has ever seen playing enormously tight and friendly sets. Although clashes prevented sets from Bloods, Bearhug, Donny Benet and a few others from leaking into my pupils, and Low Life cancelled last minute, and a few sound issues tore away from otherwise perfect shows, The Blurst of Times made an excellent debut in Sydney. From booking the best and loudest, to having minimal deadshit attendance, and relatively cheap drinks and food, Blurst of Times has gone down as one hell of a festival.

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Video: High-tails – Terrible Day

First thoughts upon viewing the new High-tails: ‘That is a cute fucking dog’ and ‘they are really beating the shit out of their band mate’.

Obviously those thoughts don’t make a lot of sense next to each other, but neither does much of the “Terrible Day” video. Or the song either. I mean, the track starts out talking about walking Chihuahuas. This is not exactly a song that’s going to transcend major philosophical boundaries.

But it does have that extreme teenage sensibility about it, much the same way bands like SURES do. High-tails have that innate ability to get a pop hook, and unearth it unashamedly. This is further expressed in the video, in which a bunch of random shit (there’s really no other way to describe it) gets dumped on the band’s faces. They all show surprising resilience, considering all the lipstick, force-fed food and toilet paper. But yeah, good song, good clip, good band.

‘Strayan Video(s) Pt. 1: Ross De Chene Hurricanes + Babaganouj + High-Tails + Jasper Clifford Smith + Zanzibar Chanel + Community Radio

G’day, glorious wanker Ryan Saar here. Hope you’re enjoying the shit-hot Friday that we’re having in Sydney. It’s shit-hot because it’s hot and that’s shit. For those curled up in a ball in their bedroom, echoing my exact movements, I’ve prepared something for your eyeballs. A tonne of videos that have the strength and charisma of 10,000 Vladimir Putins. If you haven’t shat yourself at the thought of all that awesome, then prepare your anus for a visual escapade you won’t soon forget…

Ross De Chene Hurricanes-Personality Disorder

Boom! First cab off the rank is one of my favourite Aussie garage bands. And I do mean rank-these guys are underfed, tired, and smell like a ferret that’s been living in hobo’s asshole, just like all good garage bands. That’s how they’re able to pump out such glorious tunes like ‘Personality Disorder’. Although considerably slower than previous material like ‘Umm, Yeah I Surf’ and ‘The Jailbird’, it still holds the whirlwind fuzz and brawling bravado of those tracks. So really, there’s nothing left to do but jam and rock out like the kid in the video #dancelikenobodyswatching.

Babaganouj-Too Late For Love

Holy cheese dipped nutsack! It’s the new one from Babaganouj, the band from Brisbane with more pop sensibilities than a duet between mid-80’s Kylie and Boy George. Add in some lackadaisical  guitars and head-tilted, eyes-closed, half-smile lyrics and there’s a recipe for total content. Similar to other Brisbanauts like Major Leagues, Go Violets and Jeremy Neal, Babaganouj are certainly a band to blow your lid off to. What’s more, they managed to film a clip that captures the sunshine-saturated pop to a scary extent. There’s heart shaped sunnies, swings and a ginger? Count me in!

Fuggn go see ’em play with Chicks Who Love Guns and The Cathys on the 21st of March at MUM @ The World Bar.

High-Tails-Bending Over Backwards

Some more pop rock, this time courtesy of Sydney newcomers High-Tails. The clip kinda just shows off the band playing their instruments, and a couple shots of lamps and washing up here and there. Oh wait, what the fuck!? He’s got a gun! He’s pointing it into his ear! GG Allin may have shat in his hand, but at least he never tried to kill a bandmate! We’re all doomed, we’re fucked! We’ll never hear another bombastic and anthemic chorus like the one showcased in ‘Bending Over Backwards’ again (sorry) because there was a shootout on set! And the singer’s just chilling there, laughing his ass off. Truly, High-Tails are a collection of deranged maniacs if ever there were one, but at least they’ve got killer (sorry again) tunes.

Jasper Clifford Smith-Fight

I cannot get over how unruly and unhinged this song is. It’s like if Kirin J Callinan was fused with Optimus Prime and turned onto battle mode. It’s a thumping, dangerous track that’s a beat away from starting a riot all on its lonesome. It’s a self-loathing, self-propelled, fully functional anarchy machine that uses synths and loops as its sword and shield, and Mr. Smith’s provoking vocals as a head-long charge into the reckless endangerment, both for the cause of fucking shit up and simply for the fun of it.

That’s not even touching the off-kilter brilliance of the video. Take your average day of revolutionary shenanigans, and then unsettle that shit by putting a negative-colour spin on it. Boom, you’ve got a video that makes your loins wet and your instincts keel over in terror.

Zanzibar Chanel-ASS

Zanzibar Chanel are all about the retro sounds and look. It’s hard to place them, but they’re kind of like if lounge music was being directed by Wes Anderson. It’s quirky normality is offputting and completely enthralling in the same breath. ‘ASS’ is no different, both in audio and visual contexts. From the FRESH PRINCE bubble writing that introduces the clip, to the smooth bass funk that worms its way around a montage of VHS-ridden debauchery. There’s butt-slammin’ keyboards, drag-queens and gluttonous excess that would make the Wolf of Wall Street blush. By that, I mean there’s champagne at one point. AWESOME!

Community Radio-Sick In the Car

Community Radio rule harder than the rules of Aussie Rules being ruled by a plastic ruler. I post about them pretty frequently, but that’s only because they never release bad shit. The latest track to get my titties in a knot is ‘Sick In the Car’. It’s a shoegaze slow burner of the highest variety, accompanied by a clip of old school footage of random shit. The effect is psychedelica incarnate. Beautiful, brooding Yo La Tengo-ish rhythms hunting behind a simple chorus and flashing footage that leans between scary as fuck eyeballs, nightclub scenes, the ocean and the song’s namesake-car trips. Stunning.

New: High Tails-Bending Over Backwards (free download)

Summer’s nearly over, and thank Christ for that. For someone like me, who looks like and personally will confirm that they belong inside at all points of the year, regardless of the season, Summer is specifically uncomfortable, especially in the sauna of molten lava that is Sydney.

However, no one told High Tails, because their second single ‘Bending Over Backwards’ is like shining a tropical sun right over the cold, ashen existence that is my life. This song is like being transplanted into the middle of Big Day Out, with sun rays shining and burns rapidly spreading over the necks and shoulders. This track moltens particularly slowly, rotisserieng sounds into a nicely baked rock track.

New: High-tails-Maps (free download)

Smack bang stunning new stuff from Jerko signees High-tails. Unlike the label’s usual contingent of spewing brat-rock, like Wax Witches and Step-Panther, High-tails provide a super low-key and enjoyable affair. The song mulls on first kisses, Australia and teenager-hood-dom (that’s a word now) in general, all to the tune of delicately balanced simplicity. The harmonica solo at the end, a thing usually reserved for annoying the fuck out of people, actually works really well, in a quaint kind of way. Beautiful stuff.

You can catch High-tails playing Brighton-Up Bar on Friday the 27th of September.