Best o’ the Best: Thigh Master + Multiple Man + Prag

Thigh Master – Songs To Wipe Your Mouth To 7″

Tenth Court put the ‘vanity’ in vanity label, amirite? Dude releases stuff by Dag, Mope City, Wireheads and a bunch of others, and has the freakin’ gall to put out his own band? On his own label! Where has the dignity gone?

Look, that can be overlooked, considering that Thigh Master are, I believe the term is, “fuckn’ sick aye”. They’ve just put out a three track 7″ of pop songs in the truest sense of the word. You’re basically tuning in for Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” as its being choked in hiss and fuzz, a pop tune that’s been sunburnt and caked in Brisbane’s dustbowl economy. “Age of Concern” is Yo La Tengo being driven several keys out of tune, “Flat City” is Q And Not U slowed down to a funeral pace, with mopey lyrics to match, and “Red Woons” is just oozing, slushed guitars piercing wrought, dying breath vocals. Spooky stuff.

Thigh Master are coming down Sydney way for a HUUUUUGE show at Blackwire. $10 will get you TM, Bare Grillz, King Tears Mortuary, Clever, Exiles From Clowntown, Roamin’ Catholics, Point Being and Table.

Multiple Man – Persuasion 12″

This one’s for all the freakin’ lovers out there, man! Take your sweet bride, pick her up, throw back that veil, and then engage in some grisly and fucked up coitus ripped straight from a blending of the that rave scene from the second Matrix, and the stuff of Patrick Bateman’s nightmares. Multiple Man can be the soundtrack to that. This shit is dark and irresistible, New Order being slashed by Jack the Ripper, Depeche Mode being force-fed amyl as The Soft Moon watches on in demented glee. Also from Brisbane, this 12″ has been a source of torture for me, as I have waited with baited breath for one of the best songs of 2014 to finally get a wax release.

Don’t like freaky shit? Fuck off, this is for the strange trying to mutilate their minds with the world’s greatest cocktail of gothic synths and drum machines that could kill the Terminator. This 12″ is deadly, and if you’re under the age of 12, I would suggest sticking with a digital copy. The vinyl is probably more razor-edged than Shredder’s claws, and kids shouldn’t play with sharp objects.

PRAG – S/T

PRAG are fucking sick, and I’ll pull some sick telephone pranks on anyone who begs to differ. They are brutal hardcore, music for the deranged generation. It’s Cosmic Psychos in a cage match with Boris, claws out and haunches raised. It’s loud and aggressive, purpose built for destruction. Sludgy, evil riffs pound relentlessly through their veins with whiplash intensity, a source of willpower and insanity. The noise is excruciating, and the guitars careen like they’re the Millennium Falcon dizzily dodging its way through an asteroid field. Going into this album with anything less than the expectation of having your face melted off is folly. PRAG are ugly, creatures of the Black Lagoon that woke up each morning to smash a copy of ‘My War’ over their heads and use the shards to eat their cereal made up of Darkthrone records. PRAG are relentless, pushing with a fiery willpower, a just-got-out-of-bed look that all the punk kids are trying to achieve these days. Don’t fuck with PRAG, or you’ll end up with metal up your ass and four songs of decapitating fury bleeding you dry.

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Video: Thigh Master-Head of the Witch

I always thought witches were the lamest of mythical creatures. Like, the two incarnations you have are as a bitter old lady that had a wart on her nose, and wanted to turn people into frogs (aka the lamest of amphibians), or Hermione Granger, the lamest character in Harry Potter. When comparing witches to beasts like a minotaur or a cyclops, they pale in comparison, and their overt lameness shows.

Thigh Master’s new clip has made me change my views.The band runs around a patchwork galaxy full of humping dinosaurs, citadels and evergreens, whilst a witch gets hellbent on cursing innocent ol’ Thigh Master. Fear is struck into every pore of my body. Sweat cascades from my forehead. Anxiety doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel.

Luckily, there’s this badass garage mourner occurring in the peripherals. ‘Head of the Witch’ is a slacker tune that’s upheld with stringy vocals that sound like they’re been bubbling in a cauldron for a fair while, and wretched, cursed guitar. Even though Thigh Master end up with their heads getting voodoo’d on a beach whilst a knight on a dragon attacks a T-Rex in the background (yes, this is how the video ends), there’s going to be this tune to carry on the Thigh Master legacy.

Mixtape: Oz Do It Better!

 

Fuck me with a spatula, and call me Gordon Ramse! There is no way anyone will be able to beat the eye-popping names on the latest mixtape from Peking Tapes.

Let me lay it out for you like this: Do you like Parading? Or Day Ravies? Or Shrapnel? Or Cat Cat? Or Wizard Oz? Or…fuck me, every name on this compilation is like Aus underground royalty, and every second you waste reading this is a second that could be spent buying this tape.

But if you insist on getting the blow-byblow, let’s start at the top: Andre begins things with a squelchy guitar romper called ‘Single Town’, and then Parading double down on that crunchy reverb with an exclusive single entitled ‘Try to Do A Good Thing’. From there, it’s one of my favourites off Shrapnel’s debut, a cool pop song called ‘Baby Picks Up’, followed by a jangly one from Cat Cat that manages to be both sad and relieved at the same time, the perfect song for when you’ve got your back turned on something.

Mac DeMarco on crack gets channeled excessively in the track, ‘You Were Mine’, from Colours, as lazy guitar mingles with clashing noise. The middle of this is a brilliant mind-fuck, moving between twinkling emptiness and a feeding frenzy of feedback. Day Ravies continue down this road of overblown noise in their contribution ‘Drink the Ocean’, a track that starts quaint and Pavement-esque, and then bombards the listener with squirming noise towards the end.

Wizard Oz dilute the waters with a frowning track called ‘Go Home’, a song swarming with warm synth work and lyrics that are more desperate than the Socceroos attempts at a World Cup.

Now, after a mixture of noisy and down-tempo tracks, Australia’s garage/slacker scene gets a chance to shine, with contributions from Cool Sounds, The Ocean Party, Thigh Master, Disgusting People and The Grease Arrestor. Each of these songs is warmer than a dole cheque, and they’ve got more heart than those lab-rats with organs grown on them.

The best mixtape ever ends with two amazing pop tunes from Snowy Nasdaq and Moondice, both providing tracks that could easily fit into the ‘Sexy Time’ playlist (that you’ve never used before).

To summarise, the title of this playlist doesn’t even remotely do the contents justice. Oz does music so good, they should outlaw other countries music, and just have this playlist on repeat globally. The songs on here are more or less the pinnacle of human achievement. Sure, there may be a bit of gratuitous hyperbole in that last statement, but until the other continents catch up and release a mixtape as good as this, then Australia wins the award for best underground music in the world. Take that, Brooklyn!

New Australian Music: Prolife + Martyr Privates/Thigh Master + Raindrop + Wolf Cola + The Owls + The Ninjas

Whilst The Great Barrier Reef prepares itself for the biggest natural raping in mankind’s history, and sharks in Western Australia ready themselves for the massacre, there comes the small condolence that Australian Music is still in top form.

Prolife-Gold Leaves

Slug Guts were one of the pillars of Brisbane’s underground scene, so it was a real fucking bummer when they broke up. They managed to make noise music sound interesting and fresh again, and then, suddenly, it looked like things were going to get all fucked up again. From two of Slug Guts’ remaining members comes Prolife, an anti-suicide band. However, instead of shredding noise that echoed with Junkyard-era Birthday Party, we get the Rowland S. Howard experience. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it only seems logical that there be that re shifting of musical ideology after being immersed in a blood bath of viciousness for so long. ‘Gold Leaves’ is fucking beautiful, just soft, layered mush slowly pressing its corpse against you and hushed, melancholy vocals ringing hollow. The result is a sincere and creepy track that can only be described in synonyms of praise.

 

Martyr Privates/Thigh Master-Split Cassingle

Quick review: get behind both these bands as fast as you can. They are about to very soon become highlights of Brisbane’s underground scene the same way Palms, Straight Arrows and Unity Floors are so central to Sydney’s music group. Seriously, both these bands couldn’t have offered greater singles to this work of art if they tried. This cassette is like the fucking Holy Grail of awesome things that all music lovers could own, right next to Ozzy Osborne’s pubes and Axl Rose’s lobotomised brain.

Martyr Privates are first, and they offer a super ultra dooper cool take on the John Dwyer School of Advanced Garagery. Think super wild overblown fuzz, like a screeching pterodactyl laying eggs on top of your face. Its exposed stoner-fuzz of the highest order.

As for Thigh Master, well everyone knows how much I love these guys. Sassy as Beyonce and local as the kebab shop down the road, these blokes make garage tunes to be danced and cried to. Strung out and bleached beyond recognition, Thigh Master are like that stain that you have on your favourite shirt-technically an imperfection, but one that’s got more character than all the seasons of FRIENDS compiled together.

 

Raindrop-It Goes Off

Now moving onto some stuff that could’ve been demo material from POND’s sessions for ‘Hobo Rocket’. Splashes of psychedelic glam rock, shimmering with the kind of attitude Ziggy Stardust had right before he got devoured by the New Wave scene and not-multi coloured hair. If anything, ‘It Goes Off’ is like a journey, similar to the one’s Unknown Mortal Orchestra ride on. Basically, these are just massive compliments for the debut track from a glorious little Sydney psych band. In three words, it’s fucking good.

 

Wolf Cola-Wolf Cola EP

Wolf Cola sounds like a marketing ploy for a really manly drink. Other contenders for the name were Mountain Lion Pop and Lioness Power Drank. But Wolf Cola won out because its fierce and fast, a lightning bolt to the cock.

Only, the band did away with that sort of marketing bullshit and went with a super chilled cuppa sort of thing, a drink you relax with on your balcony, that’ll put you in a drunken stupor in no time. A mixture of Baileys, Coke and Jack Daniels, on the rocks. Sounds disgusting, but if we didn’t mix random shit we never would’ve gotten the White Russian, and then there would be no Dude.

Wolf Cola (the band) are from Sydney that exemplify that sort of upbeat downer paradox that other bands like The Black Lips, Jay Reatard and Royal Headache did really well, only with a beachy touch that makes it seem like the Beach Boys got together after a month of injecting who knows what. Again, that’s a compliment. The result of Wolf Cola’s debut EP is a mouth agape, drunken howling of amateur rock at its finest. Let the fuzz be turned way up and the bliss release be implanted in all the brains of those lucky enough to be within hearing distance.

 

The Love Junkies-Chemical Motivation

Onto something that swings its dick in your face and smugly begs for you to get fired up so that you can both engage in an old fashioned bar fight, and the bar band strike up an old school Errol Flynn duelling ditty. What a romantic thought and gesture on The Love Junkies part. ‘Chemical Motivation’ is a shock to the system, switching from 60’s smoothness that would have Fred Willard all flustered and mumbling, it engages into a hyperspeed, Nirvana-ish chorus that is an inch away from making you shit yourself. Dat brown note.

 

The Owls-Krakow

For those that like Kasabian comes a Newcastle band that twist some Snowdroppers and Gay Paris on that formulaic shit. The Owls are ready to sleazily move themselves into a level of rock music that only The Hives have really achieved, namely high-energy ballads that make you want to stroll through a manor and box with Daniel Day-Lewis. ‘Krakow’ is the sort of long, strung-out thing that blows minds with the energy of Krakatoa.

The Ninjas-Kill ‘Em All

Look, a chord for chord replication of Metallica’s masterpiece would’ve been nice, but this Velociraptor-ish single fromThe Ninja’s is a radio-ready, rock track that cuts the bullshit to make way for the solo’s. Big, heavy chorus, drooling Cribs-like guitar-Noel Gallagher, Julian Casbalancas and Johnny Marr would be probably be all over this band. Keep up these kinds of smash singles, and I can see The Ninjas supporting The Strokes all around the world.

New: Thigh Master + Shaking Hell + Petty Things + Dum Dum Girls + Diveliner

So many tunes, so little time. What a shitty, cliched introduction. Fuck it, we’ll do it live.

 

Thigh Master-Goon Punch

Thigh Master are from Brisbane, so you know they’re tough as fucking nails. All is pretty much confirmed when you’ve got a song entitled ‘Goon Punch’, an all too common experience had by every teenage boy soon after sculling four litres of pure demon piss. Musically, Thigh Master are awesome. They sound like a strung-out, tired-of-your-shit Archers of Loaf, hidden behind a couple of layers of badass fuzz.

If you’re free on the 25th of January, make sure you head out to The Clarence Hotel, because Thigh Master are going to play ‘Goon Punch’ and a bunch of other sick tracks. Ruined Fortune (!), Beef Jerk and Video Ezy play support.

 

Shaking Hell-I’m Not Your Friend

Remember that Frenzal Rhomb track ‘You Are Not My Friend’? Well this song from Melbourn’es Shaking Hell is nothing like that. Its way more furious, and it burrows into your brain within a millisecond of the first chords erupting. It’s a friendly sort of evil, like South Park’s version of Satan, and you can’t help but let ‘I’m Not Your Friend’ invade your blood stream, forcing every fibre of your body into a dangerous state of punk overload. Shaking Hell are a band that demand to be moshed to, and who the fuck are you to deny them of that?

Shaking Hell are playing what is guaranteed to be one of the best shows of the year at Blackwire Records on January 18th, with Yes, I’m Leaving (!), Narrows Lands (!) and Palmer Grasp. If that sort of lineup doesn’t make you sopping in the loin areas, you’re fucked mate.

 

Petty Things-Bored

This is a song by a band from Arizona. Cool. The songs about a bunch of kids who are walkin’ down the street and kill a dude for shits and giggles, because they were bored. Now we’re talking!

‘Bored’ reminds me of those fuzz bands that popped up around California around the time Wavves first started getting popular. There’s a definite slacker/punk vibe to these guys. Like, they want to rebel against their parents and go to that White Fang show….but there’s a bong just out of arms reach, and that is definitely the more pressing issue here. Hey, we’ve all been there. Now, go get this fucking song, because it’s rad.

 

Dum Dum Girls-Rimbaud Eyes

Although the first single off the new Dum Dum Girls was pretty meh, but this new one is way more to my liking. It’s so 80’s, you’d think that the Dum Dum Girls was a culmination of the Psychedelic Furs and Debbie Harry. Seriously, the icy waves of New Wave are so prominent here, you’d think that the Dum Dum Girls’ record collections were solely made up of New York synth artists and The Bangles’ ‘Walk Like An Egyptian’ 12″ single. If Lou Reed were still around right now, I feel that he’d be obsessed with this song, and that’s enough for me.

 

Diveliner-Vìda

Wanna listen to King Krule, but scared that you’re friends will all yell at you for jumping on the hipster bandwagon? All you have to do is listen to Diveliner, the most perfect replication of King Krule’s nu-jazz to date. The song ‘Vìda’ is pure perfection, a slow-moving sex-jam that rolls around the brain like a caramel sundae drizzled in Beyonce’s perfume. Its so goddamn smooth, it’d put an event of Drake songs as sung by Ray Charles to shame. Everything about this song is near perfect, from the glossy guitar strokes, to the computer blips and saxophone love-making horns. Layer that underneath one of the soon-to-be-declared ‘best voices of 2014’ and its a recipe for success.