Australia Part Five: Still Alive...

After Geelong we woke butt-ass early to fly to Brisbane. All our flights are butt-ass early, as if Australia operates on no other time schedule than that of butt-ass. But this is hardly a complaint. As I've explained before, these airports are all but completely empty when we arrive to check-in. We walk straight up to the counter, get our boarding passes, walk our shit over to oversize baggage check, get in the security check line, relish in the fact that we DON'T have to take off our shoes and spend mere minutes in the bullshit that can take upwards of HOURS at US airports.

Plus, and I hope I'm not getting anyone in trouble here, but there's been a few times on this trip where I haven't had to show ANY identification at all for anything at the airport. No ID necessary for a boarding pass. Not necessary to get through security. No one's asking for it to board the plane and you can be damn sure no one's asking for it at luggage claim either.

I mean, I guess it's cool until someone ruins it for everyone. Maybe by writing about it I just became the ruiner.

Brisbane was the first city the band ever came to in Australia. Like our first visit, we went back to 4ZZZ radio where Mick, Pat and Troy did an on-air interview with a guy who seemed barely knowledgeable about the band. I've taken any opportunity I've had lately to AVOID group interviews. It's tiring with everyone tripping over each other's words, awkward silences merely more awkward, nervous laughs abounding…give me a one-on-one interview any day where I can let my unbridled wit fly free.

From DIY community radio to downtown rock club. Upon entering the club the owner asked Troy "Are you a metal band?" to which Troy said "No" and the owner replied "Then have a good show," as if to suggest he would not wish a good show upon a metal band. And really, why should he?

Soundcheck's become whatever but I still feel the need to mention them so that it's known they happened. We ate dinner at some styling hipster restaurant with a tiki bar in the basement, tons of cool art for sale on the walls (one piece titled "Gay Robot Parade") and a cabinet full of old toys from the 70's and 80's that were available for purchase.

I ordered a Hawaiian pizza size large at 36 centimeters diameter. Not terribly proficient at the metric system, I polled the table as to how big this would actually be. Consensus was it would be a respectable 12 inches, where in actuality it was 14.173228 inches. You can imagine my dismay at the extra inches I would not be able to consume and would ultimately be left in our Brisby hotel room, hopeful the people cleaning the room would not judge me for my incremental inaccuracies.

I think we missed some of the opening bands and I surely slept through others. The drums I played were wrapped in some schwank zebra-print fur. I'd always wanted to upholster a drum kit but ultimately proved too lazy to even change the heads on them.


Onstage was hot as shit, all of us sweating balls. I think this would be the night developed a wicked blister/callus on my left middle finger that actually started bleeding in a way that resembled varicose veins. Crowd was lively and dancing. We did a particularly spirited opening to "Candyass" and for some forgotten reason pulled out "Kung Fu" for what felt like the first time in eternity.

From the 'bane we flew to Hobart. Tasmania. Home of the devils. Australia's pubic region. I'd spent a couple days there with the Stripes in 2006 and was curious to see what a trip that doesn't include international rock stars was like.

The club (the Brisbane Hotel) was cool by me. They even had boarding rooms for us to stay in upstairs, European-style. Mick, Pat and I shared a room. I got the top bunk, Mick the lower, and Pat the stand-alone bed.

Before soundcheck we cruised Elizabeth Street and popped into Tommygun Records. It would be the first place any of us saw a proper vinyl copy of We Have You Surrounded…truly a momentous occasion. And it happened in Tassie. The owner had us autograph one for him and he gave me an old issue of MOJO for free. I was stoked.

Checked out some other cool stores on the same street…antique places, instrument stores (with a guitar made in South Africa in the 40's that caught my eye) and a vintage clothing store. Hate to say that I actually purchased nothing and therefore failed to contribute to the economy of Tasmania.

After soundcheck was a hearty bar-cooked meal. Everyone in the band dug it. An army travels on its stomach and the choice cuisine in Australia may be the reason things have been going so well. Plus, I think the more meals shared by the entire touring party the better the band interaction. Also, based on tales from the ladies room at the club, we all agreed that when confronted with completely juvenile graffiti, the best combat is adding an equally unbelievable name of attribution. It would look something like this:

"Ang's vagina tastes like candy"
-David Byrne

Pat and Mick went to go do a radio interview from there while I went to the dorm room and read. There was a radio on somewhere and I was able to listen to the whole thing unintelligible. I mean, I could tell when Pat was talking and I could tell when Mick was talking and possibly even make out a word or two per sentence, but I was ultimately left feeling like a stranger in a strange land.

I would sleep through all the opening bands and bummingly so as I really wanted to check out the Reactions who'd also opened for the White Stripes in Hobart. Instead I went from slumber to stage and we rocked well. We ended the main set with "Theme from the Dirtbombs" and Mick was successful in bringing the crowd onstage to dance. We were all surprised when a particularly excitable young lady removed her shirt and began to dance around in her brassiere. This would be the first time a woman would ever dance around onstage in her bra at a Dirtbombs show.

We had finally made it.

After a late night excursion for some gas station food, I stayed up even later to write. The bar was still open and pouring downstairs and while music was booming it was all fairly benign. After shutting the PowerBook G4 and waiting for my rendezvous with Mr Sandman I was struck with an uncool moment of shit. As I lay there, hoping to be whisked away to dreamland, I heard an all-too-familiar sound.

It was the beginning of the Dirtbombs live show.

The sound man had run a room mic and before we'd gone to bed even handed the band a copy of the night's show. Apparently that wasn't the only copy he'd made as the rumbling tom intro to "Leopardman at C&A" was soon taunting my quest for shut-eye.

Without pause I immediately blurted out "Aw, hell naw!" to which no one replied. Mick and Pat were asleep. Everyone else in the other room was already out as well. I would be the only witness to this moment of Fellini-esque absurdity.

Next day in Melbourne, checking out the public market and came not as close as I'd have liked to buying one of those electric green Borat mankini's. Apparently John Mayer beat me to it. Went back to Missing Link for the third time, bought some CD's on sale and a Nick Drake bio I'd been wanting since I'd visited his grave in 2006.

Also, asking for an Xacto knife in Australia at office supply stores is met with awesomely uninformed stares. You've got to go to an arts supply store to find that shit…just in case you were wondering.

At the East Brunswick Club we finally got to catch up with Jay Reatard and his band. It's always refreshing to meet up with Americans, especially those in the same touring situation, just to trade stories…about flights, food, rental gear, soundmen, and Jay's pointed opinion on just about anything always proves for a fun conversation.

There was some cameraman following Jay around for a documentary that Other Music is working on and the dude was totally clueless. He provided for a few good laughs, asking people what their tattoos meant, not knowing which band member was Jay and generally acting annoying to the nth degree.

My drums on this eve would be a wine Red Mapex bass drum with orange satin flame rack and floor toms. Delightful.

We soundchecked and ate a tasty meal. First band the Ooga Boogas were rock-on. While it was hard to pinpoint exactly what the sound was/was coming from, it was solid, well-done rock and roll that has still yet to bore me.

Reatard's set was blistering. While the mix was off at the start (with completely inaudible drums) things were rectified pretty quickly and the band was in-step with each other. While all eyes in the sold-out crowd were on Jay, I don't know if they necessarily connected as much as they should've. Jay pinned it on the "I read about this guy in Vice some I'm gonna go see him without really knowing what he's all about" scene. Still never seen the guy put on a wack show and even though they didn't play "I Know a Place" I was still very into it.

Our jam was tight. Everything felt in its proper place in the set. I'm growing more comfortable with the length of time in between songs and the crowd there was definitely ours to be had. Other than one song in the encore that Troy tried to transpose on the fly after breaking a string, I think the show was pretty damn near flawless in my mind. The INXS jam went off like gangbusters and we even pulled out "Politicians in My Eyes" to which our promoter Daniel legitimately lost his marbles for.

Seemed like it took forever to get out of the club…Jay and band were acting in the fucked-up, debauched manner which I've come accustomed to from them and it's actually charming in a way. I bought a stack of Jay's tour single (some even with a limited to 50 copies sleeve) to give away to collector friends back home and after ages of sitting around and sloooooooowly packing up and loading out, we made back to the hotel for some much needed rest.

Australia Part Four: What For?

Adelaide hotel was situated near some local cancer treatment center. End result is the other lodging occupants were a weird and scary crowd of folks who appeared to live there. At the hotel. And we were there for less than 18 hours. As if traipsing across their metaphorical lawn to just to get a peak before hopping away in scared glee.

There was the guy with no nose. And the lady who sat at her little outdoor table smoking cigarettes and drinking champagne for at LEAST seven straight hours…alone. And the swimming pool that was tempting, but ultimately too small (and vaguely inappropriate to enter) with other people already frolicking giving me the evil eye.

So despite the sunshiney goodness the Lord had bestowed, I stayed in and watched a shitload of cricket. Hours worth. What a brilliant way to kill a Sunday afternoon.

Had mom back home call the phone company to unlock the cell phone so now $1.20 a minute phone calls are all for the taking. Most memorable part about the club was their fruity gay mixed drinks named after rock stars. I had the Slick Rick (tasted like lemonade) while Mick had the Herbie Hancock, Ko the Frank Zappa, Troy the Debbie Harry and Pantano the Iggy Pop. I spilled half of mine on my leg. It was awesome.

Ate splendid Asian cuisine with the entire band before the show. I like a band meal. It becomes a great time to share stories with our local hosts, promoters, etc and more often than not the grub is worthwhile. Asian food in Australia is pretty solid too and I think we were all glad with the gourmet.

I slept during the opening bands. Used a chrome-finish Pearl Export kit. Can't remember much else…shows seem to blur together more and more lately.

Back to the hotel, early-ass lobby call (it was still dark out) and back to Melbourne. Day off would check us in to a comfy Comfort Inn that reminded me of Melrose Place even though I have never seen an episode of that show.

Promoters Daniel and James would take me around for the intense record shopping on this day. First stop was Licorice Pie. Great vinyl selection. Two copies of the Kelley Stoltz Aussie tour 7" still available for $10 a pop. I bought a Los Huevos 7" (thinking I could find someone who really needs it), a Magnitude 3 single (because it's on Goner) and a single by Yeah Yeah Noh. Wary of its origin, I passed on the Grateful Dead single on Scorpio at $50. While the idea of flipping it for another couple hundred bucks if it were the real deal was appealing, the thought of being stuck with a shitty Grateful Dead single that's not even original was far too hard to stomach.

From there on to Vicious Sloth. What an establishment! Catering to the intense collectorate, they had quite the impressive selection of hard-to-find Aussie stuff and were quick to play anything I cared to hear. Contemplated records by Razar, Bodhan X, Tch-Tch-Tch (usually written as three arrows all pointing different directions and probably the first band to implement such a premise a good 20 years before !!! was known as Chik-Chik-Chik) but in the end settled on an Aussie Dusty Springfield pic sleeve for "I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself" coupled with CD's of the Coloured Balls Ball Power and the Aussie post-punk comp Can't Stop It Part II. These were kinda sympathy buys as I spent a lot of time in the store and it would have been in bad form to not leave with just a little something.

Conversation at Vicious Sloth was fun and engaging, but with record collector types it always seems like you've got to draw them out a bit, make them feel a bit comfortable. So instead of just blurting out "What's the rarest record you have?" you kinda dance around the topic, ask what they collect, sniff their butt a bit, drop a few hints, see where they're coming from before you really get into the thick of it.

So I dropped references to my Keggs single, he shot back with his Sex Pistols on A&M, we geeked on the Stooges, I told them the story of the Death recordings and I think we'd finally reached parity when he pulled his copy of the Brain Police LP complete with original mailer and insert. Good times.

With a substantial collection of Beatles stuff I had to inquire about an item high atop my wantlist at the moment: Communism, Hypnotism and the Beatles by David Noebel is a classic Bible Belt tract from the late 60's espousing the evils of that Liverpool band that wouldn't shut up about "love." Bangs mentions it in one of the pieces included in Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung and having actually looked through one I can say the shit is bananas. Will pay or trade handsomely for one.

From there had another classy Thai meal and then back to Missing Link. I picked up some good Japrock inspired by Julian Cope's recent book that I can't get enough of…shit like Les Razilles Denudes and the Flower Travellin' Band cd's. I got a handful of 7"s too…junk I'd mentioned in regards to my first trip there earlier in the week as well as a bootleg Green River 7" that I think was called Dude Party.

Back to the hotel for a hot minute before meeting up with the dudes from Rocket Science and just cold chilling with them. It was a relaxed vibe at a bar where they're regulars. It was nice catching up with conversations. We moved to a back room for a meal and I went adventurous and ordered the kangaroo.

Roo meat was fine…not as gamey as others had made it out to be, but coupled with some hearty potatoes and a spicy glaze accompaniment and it was delicious and worth the risk.

Slept like a rock that night as I was easily only operating on no more than an hour and a half sleep from Adelaide.

PBS radio session the next morn was perfunctory. We've done two of these before, so were familiar with the process and rigmarole. We tried to pick a nice cross-section of "hits" coupled with songs we'd usually not get the chance to play, so, we did "Ever Lovin Man", "La Fin du Monde", "Politicians in My Eyes", "Fire in the Western World" and "I Heard Her Call My Name" into a weird droney thing based on a drum beat from They Were Wrong, So We Drowned with Mick singing lines from "Phantoms in a Lesser-Crystalline Sphere."

From there we drove to Geelong. I know nothing of note about or from this town. After soundcheck we again had a brilliant band meal at an Asian place down the street from the club. Band meals have been coupled with lots of laughs and good vibes lately and that is irreplaceable quality time.

The toilet paper in the band bathroom was single sheets in a box. They needed to be grabbed one at a time and I'm not exaggerating when I say they had the consistency of wax paper. Interestingly enough, the TP actually performed its job quite well.

Opening band was the Frowning Clouds and while I can't stand that name, these little pubes knew how to bring it. They did a perfect recreation of Larry and the Blue Notes "Night of the Phantom" where the lead singer nailed that pseudo-snarl from the original while shaking his tambourine perfectly.

The boys were clearly indebted to Back from the Grave, even down to the singer's striped sweater, scarf (in the middle of summer) and what I'm imagining must've been beetle boots. Guitar player had a homemade Velvet Underground shirt on. Bass player and drummer both appeared like odd men out, just along for the ride, maybe not too into the whole "Sixties" thing, but moreso just into the idea of being in a band.

They rocked hard with a take on the Birds version of Bo Diddley's monster "You Don't Love Me (You Don't Care)" that they may or may not have known the tune was covered with saintly reverence by the Gories. And just like the Gories, the Frowning Clouds had two people in the band who could each blow a mean harmonica.

"You Don't Love Me" segued straight into a song I imagine is called "Jungle King". Totally ripping of Diddley's "Pretty Thing" with a perfect lyric "The city ain't my thing"

Overall, with their questionable tuning, 60's togs, adherence to the doctrine set forth by BFTG and clearly no fear in changing a few lyrics to a song and calling it their own, the Frowning Clouds remind me very much of the Gories.

Rocket Science were next and they were entertaining. It'd been 4 years since I'd last seen them live (and even guested on theremin for a song). The new stuff was alright, but I really got into the stuff I've known for awhile, songs they were playing while touring with us back in 2003. And when they jammed on "Copycat" with Hendrix-like fervor to end their set, it was bliss.

I played Kit's (from Rocket Science) kit metallic mango-colored Rogers drums with a huge bass drum and perfect rack tom. Would be the first show we opened with "Leopard Man at C&A" (my idea) and wouldn't you know the floor tom immediately begins to fall as soon as I start to pound out the beat. Luckily promoter Daniel was quick to the stage to remedy the situation.

I would end up with some mean blisters on my left hand from drumming that night. My ride cymbal started showing a crack during our first show and it's becoming more and more prominent every night. "Need You Tonight" keeps getting better reception from the crowds.

Australian Part Three: Perth...

In the morning make the flight from Melbourne to Perth. I eat lasagna from a sub-Sbarro type pizza joint and get a donut with bright yellow pineapple frosting on it.

Holy shit. Are there pineapple donuts in America? How come I'm just finding out about these now? I want to eat fifty more of these all at once and smear the saturated sucrose slop all over my face like war paint for carbohydrate combat.

While waiting at the gate the entire Australian cricket team walked right past us. I was somewhat dumfounded…I'm not one to usually care about such celebrity, but these were the guys I were watching on TV just the day before! How-fucking-badass! Someone later told me that the Aussie national team is easily the best cricket team in the world and I'm still impressed by that.

Flight was painless. Watched a bit of "Superbad" and am curious as to when the first time someone ever got a hand-job in cargo shorts. The movie perfectly captures those desperate teenage nights of yore. It feels lame and cliché to attach one's personal memories to a pop culture rendering of such, but I do not hesitate to say that "Superbad" feels like a long-mythologized high school night I'd lived.

I'd accidentally left my noise-canceling headphones on when I last used them so the batteries had been welched of their juice. When I clicked the switch to the "on" position, the noise-canceling technology turned into noise generating technology. I'm not kidding when I say that it sounded like a Wolf Eyes concert in my headphones. It was killer….way cooler than can really be conveyed here. And by putting pressure on different parts of the phones, tapping them, rotating them, I could vaguely affect/control the noise and get reactions from it. As far as I'm concerned, I now own the coolest pair of headphones in the world and as soon as I get home I'm running a line out from these suckers and putting out a lathe-cut cassette on Hanson Records.

Perth was bright and sunshiney when we arrived. Our local promoter Pex picked us up from the airport and shuttled us straight to the hotel. Once checked in, we had a couple hours to explore the town. Mick, Pat and I ventured to Dada Records first, where I bought an old issue of Mojo. We stopped for some ice cream, slowly snaked in and out of random shops lining the main downtown pedestrian mall and got to the store 78 Records about 30 seconds after closing time.

Seemed like most of the cool shit in town closed at 5pm on Saturday. I don't know why that is, nor do I agree with it, but it surely left us with not much else to do before lobby call at 6:30.

The club, the Amplifier Bar, was easy walking distance from the hotel, which was nice.
I contently hummed the Victims' songs to myself while making way down the Perthian streets. Hands down, my favorite punk band and ambling down their hometown avenues makes the tunes all the more present and real to me. The same thing with Franz Ferdinand while walking in Glasgow, Arctic Monkeys and Sheffield and the Ramones in New York.

Soundcheck was easy, I played a decent chrome finished kit. Afterwards, we stewed in the humid basement dressing room and wasted time. I would sleep through most of the opening act's set, only remembering the first band sounded like JSBX and ended with a cover of Dead Moon's "Fifty-Four Forty or Fight" and made me realize how killer it is to take a 19th century presidential campaign slogan and turn it into the chorus for a biker punk song in the 1990's. Fred Cole wins for life. All my love to anyone who can top him with something framed around "I like Ike."

I walked up the street to get a doner kebab. Big mistake. It would attack my insides right before we walked onstage, barely giving me enough time to make it to the bog. While a righteous delicacy I first enjoyed in Glasgow back in 2001, it may be time for Benny to turn in his kebab klub kard and start being a little more conscious about my tour food. I just don't have the patience to deal with feeling like shit on the road anymore.

We played what we consider our "old" set as we'd never played Perth before. So begin with "Start the Party" then "Get it While You Can" into "Underdog" followed by "Ode to a Black Man" and then slowly introducing stuff from the new album. Kick pedal I had was giving me shit within 30 seconds of "Start the Party". Ugh. Problems with random drum kits on tour never actually stem from the drums, it's actually always a problem of hardware. Luckily there was an extra kick pedal laying around so I swapped it out and things (for the most part) were alright from there.

Encore ended with me hanging the rack tom from the ceiling and yelling "Perth is a Culture Shock!" into the microphone a dozen times before a Chris Rock mic drop and a quick shuffle off the stage.

Immediately after our set the club really fills up as it's DJ dance club time. All sorts of young drunk fashion victims looking for a Saturday night triumph. The song selection is impeccable…Yeah Yeahs Yeahs, Beck, the Walkmen… and the kids are dancing like it's the end of the world. I wonder if such a peculiarity could happen in America?

Go back downstairs and fall asleep. Walk back to the hotel, watch Dirty Jobs, get an internet password, check email for the first time in a few days and stay up later than I should've.

6am lobby call and onward to the Perth airport to make our way to Adelaide. Walked directly to the ticketing counter with absolutely no line. Checked in with no hassle. Slid through security with the greatest of ease. Total time to get from curb to gate: approximately 8 minutes. Now THIS is what I'm talking about. I love me some Aussie airports. Overhear a vicious looking guy at pay phone placing a collect call…

"Yeah you fucking accept the charges, it'll take me six months to pay you back arsehole. Aw, don't give me any bullshit, I'll fucking kick you in the fucking face you fucking cunt. So are you going to pick me up from the airport or not? Fuck You."

Everything Is Fine: Australia Part 2...

Slept well over the Pacific with REM's Automatic for the People on the iPod.
Watched Anton Corbjin's Control, the Ian Curtis biopic. The whole thing was pretty unmoving, but it delivered the Joy Division songs in a way/context that I'd never really been exposed to them and left me with a newfound appreciation. Usually I just hear the bass lines at soundcheck, independent of any of the other musical cues. So there was a lot of me going "So that's the bass line Troy's been playing this whole time"

Land at Auckland Airport, go straight back through security and kill time. Flight from Auckland to Melbourne was cake…I watched American Gangster and thought the whole thing was unimpressive. The story was vaguely compelling in the same way Blow had been before it, but the viewer is ultimately left unsympathetic towards Denzel Washington's portrayal of Frank Lucas and Russell Crowe as NYC's lone good cop is not the least bit charming of the kind of guy you'd find yourself rooting for. The film was a decent time killer at best, but I'm also left wondering how much artistic liberty was taken with the story.

Melbourne Airport was quick and easy. Passport control was a perfunctory rubber-stamping, baggage wasn't terribly slow to burp out onto the conveyor belt and customs felt no desire to rifle through any of our shit.

Our tour promoters Daniel and Johanna escorted us to the parking garage and had a Spinal Tap moment as they were unable to remember where they'd parked the rental van. It took 20 minutes or so before we finally crammed all seven of us and all of our luggage into what sizes up to be a regular minivan.

This would be the first time we failed to stay in the St. Kilda neighborhood while lodging in Melbourne. Instead, we're closer to downtown, near some museums, the zoo, the uni and lots of other bullshit within walking distance.

Once in the hotel room I begin the completely muddled Billy Childish novel Notebooks of a Naked Youth, a book I bought at Powell's in Portland back in 2001 and am just now making my first attempt at reading. For some reason I always feel bad about buying a book and not reading it immediately. It's part of a long running personal tradition I have of feeling bad for inanimate objects…like dropping a glass and then getting depressed that it will never hold my morning orange juice again.

I feel asleep reading Notebook and when I awoke I ventured out on my own into the wilds of Melbourne city. Walking through and exploring urban centers is one of my favorite things to do on tour…especially when alone, it's empty time for my thoughts to drift, to follow my own mental map of how the city is laid out, no schedule to keep, seeing a city on foot always exposes the smallest and most interesting peculiarities that truly reveal its character.

There were plenty of cool shops…a nice old antique store, an intriguing Japanese grocer complete with an entire aisle dedicated to ramen, a few pawn shoppes and most importantly, record stores. I'd found the old location of the Au-Go-Go record store, now housing a completely forgettable DJ place called In And Out. My record radar (a term I must give credit to Matt Smith for coining) was heightened and I eventually made my way over to Missing Link Records. While I'd visited there back in 2004, I had no clear memories of what specifically they stocked or whether I even bought anything.

This trip would be far different. I made my way immediately to the 7" section and I was duly impressed. While the selection was terribly huge, it was of impeccable quality. To see the Tyvek 2x7" or selections from the X! Records catalog a world away (not to mention Cass shit, as I'm still amazed any time I see it in a store) fills me with a warm feeling that certain things are right in the world. I told the people at the store and I will repeat is here: Missing Link has the best section of new 7"s in the world. Better than Rough Trade. Better than any of the Amoebas. Better than Rockit Scientist or Goner or Academy.

Spent time talking with Scotti Campbell, one of the brilliant staff at Missing Link. He's a big Dirtbombs fan from way back and hipped me to some stuff…pre-Victims Perth punk from the Geeks, the Venomous Concept 7" with sleeve made out of human skin, and a plethora of Coloured Balls CD reissues. I've made a conscious vow to myself to try and only buy records that I know will be hard to find anywhere but Australia and actually left the store without purchasing anything…but remembering fully that we'll be back on Monday with the entire day off.

Slowly back to the hotel to enjoy the cricket match between the Australian team and Sri Lanka. Cricket is such a relaxing, lazy and overall wonderful sport to watch. Our first trip over in 2002 found an entire day off spent watching a test match with tour manager Tim Carton fully explaining all the peculiar rules and strategies and lingo. It was a beautiful summer day, spent sipping Gatorade after Gatorade shirtless, preserved perfectly crystalline in my mind. So any chance to revisit the game is a welcome treat for me…a chance encounter this summer during a Sunday afternoon on Belle Isle, trying to explain to Malissa the rules of the game (still somewhat uncertain of them myself) and also in awe that there's somewhere in the Detroit area where people play cricket.

I explained the rules to Pantano, myself remembering more and more as we watched the match and he eventually admitted to having a grasp of them.

Johanna drove us to the Tote for soundcheck. The entire evening would be a constant stream of people I hadn't seen in years and some people I'd even forgot were in Melbourne. Mark from the Stabs (and Saucerlike Recordings) and Mikey from the Eddy Current Supression Ring (as well as an ace recording/pressing plant engineer) were both good for shop talk as far as the intricacies of pressing vinyl as well as just other general band/music shit.

Bruce Milne, Australian national tastemaker, owner of the Tote, Dirtbombs Australian record label head was there as well. Johanna had very accurately described him as one of the few genuinely honest and nice people in the music business. We immediately started talking record collecting nerd stories. The Dirtbombs are clearly a better band with people like Bruce and Larry Hardy of In the Red Records on our side. I feel lucky just to know those men.

The rider backstage was nice…chips and salsa, a variety of Gatorade flavors and a tray of cheeses/fruit/veggies/dip/gummi snacks that was much-appreeshed by everyone.

Backstage we found copies of our Aussie tour single (delivered by Mikey) with a scant three copies on colored vinyl. Guess which three band members scooped those up? Soundcheck was quick and painless, Troy had some issues with his bass amp that seemed to be resolved before we played. I was privileged to play a sweet old Ludwig black pearloid kit from the Sixties. Pat was bummed that I called "dibs" and that he was left with the generic black Pearl kit with power toms. But he got his precious taller hi-hat stand, so it worked out for both of us in the end.

After check we stuffed the singles in their sleeves, peeped the tour posters, Dirtbombs pins, t-shirts and watched as Kate (formerly of Au-Go-Go Records) styled us with a completely professional merch set-up.

Bruce took Mick and I upstairs to lay some current In-Fidelity releases. I'm quite excited about the new King Brothers record. He also showed me his Australian Astor pressing of the Stooges "1969" single, one which I ogled on our last visit into his sanctum four years ago.

We nixed the idea of going out for dinner and instead ordered in for some pizzas. Bruce then snuck up on me and handed me his copy of the Stooges single and said "You owe me something really cool for this" to which I momentarily shocked into disbelief. I promised him I would completely hook him up while not being able to believe my eyes.

It's hard to be a record collector, cognizant of pressing variations and release years and the rarity thereof, without coming off as overly materialistic. But I've been viewing the hobby as an extension of my historical passion of late. So while I know that the "1969" and "I Wanna Be Your Dog" pressed by Astor has little-to-no difference from the US Elektra issue, it's the fact that such a fringe record by a totally unknown band was actually seen fit (by who I'd LOVE to know) to be manufactured by these Australian licensees in a year/era where someone like the Iggy Pop would most likely be deported from the Draconian commonwealth.

Basically, I'm sting there, holding this record, thinking "There no fucking reason in the world while this should have existed in 1969, let alone have survived all these years and no be sitting in my hands."

Plus, the Stooges are the greatest rock and roll band of all time.

The Stabs were violently loud, calling to mind mid-Nineties caterwaul like Cows. Guitar tone was sharp and piercing and played with all the deft charm of a psycho with a scalpel. It was also the first time I ever got to see them live, pretty weird since I put out a record of theirs a couple of years ago.

Eddy Current Suppression Ring was impressive from the little I watched, but must admit that I retired to the dressing room and fell victim to some much-needed sleep for most of their set.

Our set was strong considering we'd landed in town that day after 20+ hours of flying. We started the set with a couple of new songs and it kinda left me wanting more…"Start the Party" is such a perfect, dangerous opening song and when we don't start with it I feel like I'm not giving my all.

We encored twice and can't remember where we did the INXS covers, but they were clearly met with equal amounts of adoration and revulsion. A quote was relayed to me along the lines of "Why would you do that?" I think it's fucking hilarious. Dudes wrote solid, timeless songs, that's why.

Saw two guys trading punches in the bar later. Literally, trading. As in "Punch me in the gut as hard as you can and after I regain my composure it will then be my turn to punch you in the solarplexus my drunken bogan companion."

Back to the hotel to fall asleep reading pointless Billy Childish ramble that cruelly fails to reward the reader with the simple joy of chapter demarcations. Notebooks of a Naked Youth has become a grudge read now, merely trudging through the language so I can get the shit out of my perspective.

2008 Australian Tour Fiasco Part One...

Flight from Detroit to Los Angeles:

First off, I was overjoyed to see that the usually shitty Motown Memories store that's been slightly above "eyesore" status in the McNamara Terminal has finally begun to carry The Complete Motown Singles boxsets. While my visit would only find the collection from 1969 available (and at an over-inflated $159.99 price tag), it was simply the idea that the compilation was there that I was pleased with.

Flight with window seat and I devour the Hollywood issue of Vanity Fair. Pound for pound (literally with the heft of this month's edition) my favorite magazine right now. No other publication has the insight, foresight, grace or overall sleek, stylized and refined completeness that Graydon Carter's mag seems to effortlessly spew forth with each subsequent issue.

Of particular interest to me was the in-depth piece on The Graduate. From it's beginnings as a book by a schizophrenic author who would later shun all material goods, to the troubles it had finding a studio home to the general uncertainty everyone except director Mike Nichols had about casting Dustin Hoffman as the confused Benjamin Braddock, the story told is nothing short of rapturous and alone is worth the price of purchase.

I think to some degree, every man fancies Mrs. Robinson (perfectly portrayed by the stunning Ann Bancroft) in The Graduate. Her detached sexual fever as unleashed upon the unwitting Braddock, coupled with her experience, her overall learned and wisened demeanor is something that every young man would be considered downright lucky to get a whiff of in real life.

From there I snapped on my new Sharper Image noise cancellation headphones and reveled in the relative serenity they provided to an otherwise unrelenting drone of airplane operations. Tapped into my iPod it was even more heavenly. I'm still learning the tricks and feel of the 8-gig little beast, but to be able to call up OOIOO's "UMO" without a second thought is truly one of the better joys in my life.

Does anyone here goof around with the EQ setting on their iPod? I've fiddled with a few and quite honestly, the only ones that sound remotely palatable are flat (read: nothing) and the treble booster. But maybe that's just me.

I then proceeded to devour Gillian Gaar's fairly rote entry in Continium's 33 1/3 series with her tale of Nirvana's In Utero. As a dedicated fan since "Smells Like Teen Spirit" first bounced across these pre-pubescent eardrums, it's hardly worth the 40 minutes it should take to read. Gaar's words have all the charm of a Mexican bowel movement and her source material is limited to fairly uninteresting quotes from Krist Noveselic and Earnie Bailey. I'll have to admit that anything out of Steve Albini's mouth seemed honest, frank and ultimately to the benefit of Gaar's otherwise sagging words.

I've not read any of the other 33 1/3 books, so I really have nothing to compare it to, but for someone like myself with such an unflinching, deep-rooted devotion to In Utero I would think I'd be easily won over. Instead, I'm left pointing any truly interested parties to Everett True's essential tome Nirvana: The True Story for all sorts of insight and tales you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else.

After landing I made a quick trip to the In'N'Out Burger on Sepulveda to enjoy a hearty cheeseburger and fries while catching the last bits of Jonesy's Jukebox for the evening. I heard a new Be Your Own Pet song and it made me happy when other things made me sad.

Back on the plane and I indiscriminately devoured the latest issue of Radar. Another magazine where I read every last shred of text contained within regardless of my predetermined interest. Needless to say, I'm always impressed. Kudos on the revelatory story about the shady dealings behind the $1 billion empire of Forever 21, their blatant theft of certain designer frocks shocking, to say the least. The George Clooney article left me unimpressed though…just read like a whole lot of anonymous whiners complaining about nothing from a man who comes off as genuinely likeable.

I tapped into the Air New Zealand jukebox and was delighted to see a Datsuns collection featured. Featuring songs spanning all of the Datto's released interspersed with bits of interview, it was a welcome refresher course on the lethal qualities of this band's back catalog. The highlight though was a bit of conversation where the band discusses the few songs they've covered in their career…"Hello Ladies and Gentlemen" and "Good Night Ladies and Gentlemen" by Cheap Trick, a song I can't remember by Fun Things, and then "Where Eagles Dare" by the Misfits. The sure as shit, cue the lo-fi fuzz rumble that erupts into the explosive "I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch!"

To be able to hear this, unedited, unretouched, on the Air New Zealand musical selection computer jukebox, was quite possible the best moment of the 12 hour flight.

I then jumped over to a similarly formatted program featuring the Checks. The Dirtbombs first Auckland performance was opened by these New Zealand tykes and I was readily impressed with their frenetic teenage attack. Surely they were the next big thing. While they'd been feted by the NME, they've been virtually non-existent on US shores and with access to their debut full-length Hunting Whales I could see why.

The album abounds with ill-chosen tempos, ultimately defeating the energy one would imagine a bunch of kids in their early twenties should be brimming with. Instead, most songs have that same, slow, middle-of-the-road plod that sounds like a modern Rolling Stones throwaway without the benefit of being played by the same dudes who wrote "Satisfaction". Earlier in the week I'd mentioned in an interview with New Zealand press how I looked forward to buying a copy of the Checks records. Consider these Checks cancelled with insufficient funds in the "rock" department.

My first movie choice was The Bourne Ultimatum. While I'd initially hoped on seeing it in the theater, this is the perfect kind of movie to see on a twelve-hour flight. It never failed to lose my attention and Matt Damon is all kinds of badass. Add to the fact that it's the only trilogy in recent memory that I've seen each volume of (other than the Oceans 11 pictures) and what you get is a highly-recommended action thriller jam.

I followed that with Takk by Sigur Ros. I'd lost touch with them after the ( ) album, but still treasure my vinyl copy of Agaetis Byrjum purchased solely on David Fricke's Rolling Stone Review from 2000.

I was expecting Takk to be a total downer. But with the opening chimes of the title track I was paralyzed with the overall confusion of how such music is even created. It seems so distant and foreign from what I know, from what is familiar. String sections and cascading swoops of atmospheric vibes are plentiful and, as far as I can tell, truly difficult music to create.

When a friend recommends an album (or is even just a fan of it), there seems to be an unspoken hope on my part to really like the record. Knowing that going into Takk, the feeling of the record is not an upper or a downer…it feels like change. Maybe not for the better and maybe not for worse, but Takk feels like a record to signal a new path. It feels like a separation, an energy informed by an unspeakable distance, maybe geographical, maybe generational, maybe situational, but entirely clear and known and an ever-present issue.

The separation I feel on Takk is imbued with a sense of possibility. That things are rife for change, open for the taking, ready to be confronted. Opportunities need to be seized and turned into the ideal. Don't let yourself be weighed down, Grab hold and make the shit you want to happen happen. And if you need to cry, that's ok, because tears are usually the harbinger of truth, people want you to feel good because they care about you, not because that's what they're supposed to say. No matter how perfect or cinematic something may seem or feel at the time, it will always still be awkward and sad.

It's 4:03am Detroit time and I'm sitting here typing on a laptop thousands of feet over the Pacific Ocean and we're nowhere even near the halfway point of this flight.

Top Ten 7" Singles of 2007...

There's no big lead-up. Just check out these singles with utmost speed.

Also, there's some Blackwell-penned reviews in the new (Mc5 on the cover) issue of Ugly Things. Visiting here means you may actually really like what I write and/or trust my opinion, so check out my reviews of Leadbelly, Panciera's 45 Revolutions book, the Patron Saints, the Home Schooled comp on Numero Group, the deceptively awesome Holding a Dream comp on Boss-A-Tone and Nathaniel Mayer's Love and Affection comp on Vampi Soul. I'm honestly proud of those reviews and they're were sincerely slaved over to reach an impossible deadline so the least you can do is grab a copy at Borders and leaf through it for 5 minutes. Come on...you owe me.


1. Wolf People "October Fires" Battered Ornaments
What I look for in the best single of the year is something that totally catches me off-guard. I already knew how awesome Brian Olive, Tyvek and Jay Reatard were at the beginning of '07, but to basically stumble upon the Wolf People 7" at Rockit Scientist and paying an absurd $12 for the import single was pure luck for me. I bought it blindly and was wildly rewarded. As I said in MT, it wonderfully combines the best of everything that was happening in England in the late 60's. And the striking, beautiful artwork and attention to detail easily makes Battered Ornaments a label that I will buy every new release sight-unseen. My highest stamp of approval.

2. Brian Olive "See Me Mariona" Fitzrovian Phonographic
Like you didn't know? Olive's got to be sitting on mounds of stuff as stellar as this medium-psych scorch.

3. Tyvek "Summer Burns 2x7" What's Your Rupture?
I typically frown upon the double seven-inch format, but only savants such as Tyvek can transform that into a shit-eating grin. The new kings of Detroit and they don't even know it.

4. Jay Reatard "I Know a Place" Goner Records
It's as if after years of whatever you choose to call the Reatards/Lost Sound endeavours, Jay has fallend ass-backwards into hit-after-poptacular hit in his solo incarnation. See also his "Hammer, I Miss You" and P-Trash 7" as proof that every single he does, no matter how miniscule the pressing or obscure the label, is a fucking gem.

5. The Tall Birds "Action" Shake Appeal
Simply put, a refreshing rock band. Can't say they're doing anything new, and yet, can't say there's any band that would prove an apt comparison for the Tall Birds.

6. Noot D'Noot "Jiggle City" Solutionist Records
A funk-fried stumbled-upon 7" from the Selmenaires merch table. Little did I know how unforgettable the wobbly-junk would prove.

7. The Duchess & the Duke "Reservoir Park" Boom Boom Castle
Seldom if never does the acoustic guitar/vocal combination move me. The D&D do it right and it's as if for the duration of this one single that the sun is shining solely for me.

8. Ultimate Ovation "It's the Weekend" Eleganza
Long-forgotten Detroit vocal group backed by some of Detroit's best rockers turn out a slice of 70's funk that exceeds the highest of expectations.

9. Frustrations "Exploding Mind" Die Stasi
Seriously, when Dunkerly slops it out on that half-time breakdown, it's like the shit in my intestine momentarily turns into pure opiates and I'm rendered wowed.

10. Whirlwind Heat with Lightspeed Champion Lightspeed Heat Brille
I'm fully indoctrinated in the Heat's brain-cult and "How Do You Do?" is unparalleled, woozy git-pop par excellance.

The Walkmen's "In the New Year" and How Its Seven-Note Melody Has Been Stuck in My Head For Days...

Days later and I'm still thinking about the Walkmen show. The flux of new material they played was overwhelming. It's ballsy to play as many unfamiliar songs as they did on Thursday night. The first song, "In the New Year" was breathtakingly brilliant. I seem to remember lyrics along the lines of "Last year Christmas was black and blue, this year's Christmas is white." Such a strong lyric and in the context of only hearing it once I can't help but conjure meaning behind the words that's comparisons between Stones and Beatles albums. Singer Hamilton Leithauser's lyrics are more-often-than-not disarmingly simple. A song like "Thinking of a Dream I Had", when viewed on paper, is nothing, as shown below:

I'm waiting on a subway line
I'm waiting for a train to arrive
I'm thinking of a dream I had
Maybe your right

Hammy pumps those words so full of feeling, of emotion…full of raw, unadulterated UMPH that the song jumps with vigor. Nevermind that the lyrics of the song never address the dream that he's thinking of. No. He's simply thinking of the dream. None more need be divulged. I fucking love it.

(photo by the author, soundcheck at 9:30 Club, DC 2004)

But this song, "In the New Year" is already unforgettable. I've heard the thing only once, but randomly and without provocation, the chorus melody struck me again today. Just popped into my head when I thought I'd forgot it.

It's a simple string of six ascending notes with a decrescendo for a final seventh note, with accents placed on the second through sixth notes. The first and last notes are both held twice as long as the others. I understand this description may be getting a little over-the-top, but with nothing else to refer to, I'm kinda hostage to my memory.

There's an undeniable cohesion that the Walkmen lock on all the time. Particularly Paul Maroon's guitar coupled with the Farfisa Fast Three organ. It becomes bigger than the moment, the sound fills the space and takes on a presence that's greater than the sum of its parts.

Maroon's guitar is overly reverbed, to the point of sounding behind the beat…as if it's constantly fading in late. The effect is soothing and seems to slow everything around it. Joined with the thin, whirring Farfisa, the pairing wraps atmospheric swaths of orchestral magnitude throughout the room.

In some respect, I would like to hear Maroon's guitar by itself, unaccompanied by any other instrumentation. He's underappreciated almost to a fault, but the scenery he's able to conjure with his Gretsch and Twin Reverb moves me to moments unparalleled in music appreciation.

And "In the New Year" is another one of these brilliant Farfisa/Gretsch moments. Who knows when I'll hear this song again and hope someone out there can find a live bootleg for me The band has 9 of these new songs recorded and are hoping to get a total of 16 down, but right now, it takes all I can give to NOT think about it. This song and its melody remind me of buried-in-the-subconscious church hymns with its instantly familiar feel. The Germans should have a word for it. Nevertheless, with one listen the song feels a part of me and that is the highest compliment I can pay an artist.

The ended with another new song, not equally as memorable but still striking, called "On the Water." I love this band and want everyone else to too. There's no witty, clever or smart ending here. The Walkmen are under-the-radar and in some ways it's nice…to have this unparalleled band be like a best-kept secret. But you wouldn't find me complaining if everyone understood the greatness they behold.

Assorted Top Ten Lists for the Year 2007

Getting some love over at Arthur magazine's blog:

http://www.arthurmag.com/magpie/?p=2529

And my perfunctory year-end albums list for the Metro Times:

http://www.metrotimes.com/editorial/story.asp?id=12246

To (maybe?) be featured on Chunklet.com

List of Things I Didn't or Couldn't Include on My Lists For the Metro Times or Arthur:

1. The White Stripes Icky Thump

2. The Go Howl On the Haunted Beat You Ride

3. Blanche Little Amber Bottles

4. The Muldoons s/t

5. The Art of the Band T-Shirt book

6. Trees Community The Christ Tree 4xCD reissue

7. Amy Winehouse Back to Black

8. Bo Diddley I'm a Man 2xCD reissue

9. Ghetto Brothers Power/Fuerza reissue

10. Michael Yonkers Carbohydrates Hydrocarbons

My actual, honest-to-god top ten albums of 2007 regardless of my involvement or blood-relation:

1. The White Stripes Icky Thump

2. The Black Lips Good Bad Not Evil

3. Liars s/t

4. The Horrors Strange House

5. The Go Howl on the Haunted Beat You Ride

6. Tyvek Fast Metabolism

7. The Muldoons s/t

8. Amy Winehouse Back to Black

9. Magik Markers Boss

10. Blanche Little Amber Bottles

Top 7" singles of 2007 soon to follow.

And y'all?

My Top Ten Albums of 1997 and What I Think of Them Now...

Sophomore year of high school. I'd finally begun to write about music in the student newspaper and was more focused on music than ever before. I still had my list caveat where the last two spots would be records I'd merely "discovered" that year...not necessarily released that year.

(I'm somewhere in there)

1. Tasty – Demolition Doll Rods
The Doll Rods were hard to not totally dig as a 15-year-old. The white dude from the Gories, tasty garage rock riffage, primal drums and barely-covered tits is a pretty solid combination. With Mick Collins and Jon Spencer splitting the production duties, this record is still important to me. I remember hearing stories of the album release show (at the Magic Bag in Ferndale) where the band wore copies of the LP as their stage costumes. Totally fucking genius. Wish I had been there. I loved the vinyl so much that I actually went out and bought a CD copy too, certainly one of my earliest concessions in the battle of coolness versus ease/frequency of playback.

The cavalcade of hits here is undeniable…"Motor City Dragway", "If You Can't Hang", "Queen Bee, Drag Racin'", "Maverick Girl", "Raw", "This Little Monkey", "Psycho Kitty"…there's nary a dud on here. Now if they'd included the (still-unreleased) studio version of "I Wanna O.D." (the best song the Doll Rods ever had by a mile) the album would surely equal perfection. Still, for me, this album is, well, tits. The cover, with sunglassed Mick devouring the girls on a hot dog…it's so camp and the colors so vibrant, easily one of the most memorable album covers of the decade. And to view it on the full-color gatefold LP that almost bankrupted In the Red Records is all the more tantalizing. I'd challenge anyone to argue the Doll Rods were ever better than on Tasty. Matador is where In the Red bands go to die and it was clearly shown on TLA. After that they seemed to play the same set in Detroit for the next three years.

As I listen to the album ten years later, I detect a whole other layer of complexity to it all. There's a braveness to the tempo on these songs. The temporal Link Wray slob of "Raw" is begging to be sped up, but the Doll Rods soldier on with what could almost be called an anti-tempo. Same could be said about the plodding, chiming "Motor City Dragway." In the same way Flipper killed hardcore music by playing as slow as possible when everyone else in the underground was battling to be the fastest band in the world, the Demolition Doll Rods debut album is a proud middle finger to everything else happening around it.

As a teenager I'd thought that Tasty was a loose concept album about drag racing as no less than three songs deal with the subject. With perspective, it's clear that while drag racing is rote lyrical fodder for garage rock, its meaning takes a subversive bent with the Demolition Doll Rods. With the confrontational cross-dressing outfits worn by Danny Dollrod, (including, but not limited to, pasties, g-strings, wigs, make-up) the duality of the word drag and its conflicting definitions in terms of racing and dressing becomes the perfect summation of the Demolition Doll Rods and Tasty itself. The fact that Dan had wholly intentioned this and that just yesterday admitted he doesn't remember anyone ever making the connection previously is all the more beautiful.

The lyrics to "If You Can't Hang" capture it brilliantly. Dan sings "If you want you can call me a fag" as if without a care in the world. In that one line, where he succinctly pays no mind to one of the harsher put-downs one could level to an American male, he stakes a claim against all the misogynistic, empty and tired mid-nineties garage rock cliches (think naked devil girls, flame decals, songs about beer) and renders them impotent. To not only attack but destroy the basis of an entire genre under the guise of that which they hold sacred...drag racing, is unheard of. It's akin to waltzing into enemy territory in broad daylight with your colors flying high and taking the motherfuckers out with their own weaponry.

This record deserves far more props than it has ever received. It put all that bullshit Estrus Records, Coop artwork, hot-rod driving pathetic garage schlock into a coffin and paved the way for more-cerebral, ultimately more pleasing bands of the era to take foot. And for that, I think we all owe the Demolition Doll Rods a small thank-you.

It's rare to have an album still be fresh and interesting and revealing new facets after ten years of listening, but Tasty does all those things. In my opinion, it's still the best album of 1997.

2. Retreat From the Sun – that dog
I still regret going to see the Melvins at the Shelter when I could've seen that dog opening for blur (talk about the lowercase utilizing band pairing of the century) at Clutch Cargo's. I actually thought the Melvins might be on their way out. Anygay, I bought this at Musicland (or was it Sam Goody by then? Does anyone know?) during their legendary "dog" sale. If you don't remember, anything remotely dog related was automatically $7.99 or $9.99 or some fairly low price. So if there was a song that had dog in the title or was a picture of a dog on the cover or anything dog anything you got this super deal. Big huge posters of dogs all around the store, signs notifying customers of said promotion plastered every three feet…it did seem to be the most subversive a national music chain ever got. Anyway, I bring the disc up to the counter and somehow, the skin wastes there tried to ring up the CD at full-price (which was usually $16.99 there). I politely reminded them of the omnipresent sale going on and I got my discount. Seriously, how many copies of Alice In Chains' self-titled album did they sell during this disastrous promotion? Whatever. The music here is classic. I still love it…"Hawthorne" and "Did You Ever?" both still particularly enjoyable. "Minneapolis" is filled with cultural landmarks (the Jabberjaw, 7th St. Entry) that would become familiar in my coming years. "Long Island" is shimmering and stellar. I remember seeing the video for "Never Say Never" on Mtv. Oh youth…the harbinger of infatuation and dedication.

3. The Colour and the Shape – Foo Fighters
The first time I heard "Monkey Wrench" on the radio is one of the few true "holy shit!" musical moments I've ever had. I literally had no idea what would come next with that song…the weird stops, frolicking guitar weedle, the final verse screamed impossibly without Grohl taking a breath. "Doll" was perfect on teenaged mixtapes and "My Poor Brain" (apparently known on early live tapes as "Chicken Derby") is how I imagined arena rock could be good. Still a good album, but I've kinda soured on the production in my old age.

But the b-sides here kill…

I've written here before how badass the song "The Colour and the Shape" is and how cool it was not to include the title track on the album. Add covers of Vanity 6's "Drive Me Wild", Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street" and Gary Numan's "Down in the Park" were all treats back then and collectively solidifying when compiled for the quickly overlooked/forgotten tenth anniversary reissue of this.

I saw them live at Clutch Cargo's on this tour. It was the first live show I'd witnessed where I was a little let down, thus preparing me for years of seeing local openers play before the Dirtbombs.

4. Honky – Melvins

Merely on the list because it is a Melvins album. I dug "Mombius Hibachi" as the ascender to the throne abdicated by the live absence of "Honey Bucket." Anyone around here know that Dan John Miller of Blanche makes a cameo in the video for said song? Search it out on YouTube. "Lovely Butterflies" is pretty swank too. But this album would most definitely not make my list if I made it with ten years hindsight.

5. Ghettoblaster Vol. 1 – V/A
The inclusion of two "Dirtbombs" tracks (really demo shit Mick was doing for Warner Brothers) makes this aces. "Wheatland" is inspiring in it's two-chord magnificence and retarded drum fills. We keep threatening to record this and as much as I want to, I don't think we'll ever top this version. "Encrypted" is cool too. The Hentchmen doing the Oblivians "90's Girl" and their own "Yesterday's Trash" are both vital. Jim Diamond's Pop Monsoon "Personality" is the best thing he's ever done. They gave away free copies to the first 25 (50?) people in the door for the release show. I wasn't there.

6. Ghost of Tom Joad – Rage Against the Machine
I guess I thought there was a lack of decent full-lengths this year. I resorted to the free 7" the Rage fan club mailed me. The cover version of the Springsteen call-to-arms is re-crystallized as genuine and moving here.

7. Hype Soundtrack – V/A
I was going by the 7" boxset, not the CD issue. And for me, you could really just limit it to the first two slabs…U-Men, Soundgarden, the Wipers, Mudhoney and Nirvana. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? How awesome is that shit? I don't care it's all old, re-released junk. The combination of those bands alone on a single release in 1997 warrants their inclusion on my list. Colored vinyl too? Forget about it.

If I had known about the CD release at the time…shiiiit.

8. Singles # 1-12 – Melvins
I think I was just pissed that I didn't know how to get in on the Melvins Singles Club. Still missing a few of these singles and decent offers will be entertained. The first one, "Lexicon Devil" b/w "Pigtro" is the best of the bunch. And "Theresa Screams" is beautiful in its own demented way. But really, two Melvins albums on my top ten list? I could've joined a cult at that point. The singularity of my musical vision was only rivaled by my undying loyalty and dedication to the artists contained therein.

9. The Jet-Age Genius of… - Goober and the Peas
Bought this one used at Hot Hits original Roseville location. You'd be surprised how good some of these songs are…"Loose Lips", "Cordially Invited", "Moanin'" and "One Last Kiss" are all legitimate…whether you dig the schlocky humor or not. Never saw 'em live but the vids proved it was a riot. Honestly worth the money you'll have to pay to get on on eGay. But what about the boxes upon boxes of sealed copies in Dan Miller's garage?

10. Ask For It – Hole
I dug the Wipers cover ("Over The Edge") ignored the Velvets cover ("Pale Blue Eyes") and totally frothed over the demonic live spout of "Drown Soda" (rhyming "soda" with "Minnesota" blew my mind) while covering the Germs and Beat Happening with the medley assault of "Forming" and "Hot Chocolate Boy" is one of my favorite moments of anything ever. But honestly, had I been aware, the (w)Hole compilation My Body, the Handgrenade would have easily knocked this EP off the list.

(the actual hand-written list courtesy of the Smithsonian National Archives)

If I had to make the list today, it would read something like this…

1. Tasty – Demolition Doll Rods
2. Wolf Songs For Lambs – Jonathan Fire*Eater
3. The Colour and the Shape – Foo Fighters
4. Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space – Spiritualized
5. Retreat From the Sun – that dog
6. Dig Me Out – Sleater-Kinney
7. Broad Appeal – The Hentchmen
8. OK Computer – Radiohead
9. Planet of the Wolves – Guitar Wolf
10. My Body, the Handgrenade - Hole

What would your Top Ten of 1997 look like?

Australia 2002 Print Tour Diary Part Two...

As promised, here's the second part of my tour diary of the Dirtbombs inaugural Australian visit in November 2002. I think I've over-compensated with the scans of ephemera, but at least it breaks up the text nicely. A link to part one can be found on the right-hand side of your screen. All writing originally appeared serialized in four parts in Wayne State University's student newspaper, the South End. I have no idea why they let me write this shit.



Friday in Sydney was spent returning to Egg Records and buying all the stuff I passed on two days prior. Rich, the cordial man behind the counter, gave me a bunch of records on the Citadel label, the premier Australian garage imprint of the 1980's. Hit a few other hip boutiques to buy presents for my mom and sister...because that's the kind of nice guy I am. Ate another doner kebab and could feel my arteries clogging.

Second show at the Metro in Sydney was exciting. I tackled fuzz player Tom during the last song whilst bassist Jim poured beer all over us. After our set I slept on the cigarette and beer soaked floor of the dressing room, only because of the lack of couch. Had two different people comment after the show that I had good hair. What a joke. I thought it was great because they didn't say anything about my drumming, which is nowhere near the "good" level of my hair.


Saturday morning I got a call from Jim telling me I had to check out the spider in his room. I arrive to see something the diameter of a White Castle hamburger. It was a huntsman spider, apparently because it hunts men. You've never seen a group of supposedly "grown" men scream, flinch and act so girly in your life. We ended up trapping it in a pot and throwing it off the 5th floor balcony, but only because he scared us so.

Show that night was the Wollongong RSL (see VFW). Slept on the floor of the main room, only because of the lack of a couch anywhere in the building…anywhere in the country for that matter. Tour manager Tim had the day off to attend a wedding (I'm pretty sure it wasn't his). I want to take this time to mention that Tim looks nothing like a Tim, but his timidity and good manners make him more Brian-like.

Stage tech Gareth took the driving/soundman duties while Andy from You Am I was cool enough to tune guitars like a smart stage tech would. With nothing better to do, I fell to the evil grasp of the pokies (see slot machines). It's hard to put to words the feeling of playing penny slots in Australia, realizing that each credit is less than one cent of good ole' American money, but I wasn't complaining when I walked away (as K. Rogers would say "know(ing) when to fold 'em") with $20. Fuzz Tom managed to make $250 that night off the pokies, but then again, I'm sure he drank just as much that night.

Wollongong is out in the sticks, so the crowd was filled with yobbos and bogans (see white trash). Best part was that they totally dug the show like a bunch of moles. I climbed on top of a 5-meter speaker column during our last song and started dancing. I think it was the twist, but it just as easily could've been Mickey's monkey, the jerk, or the hullabaloo. While perched in my funky dance nest, Tim from You Am I commandeered my drums and held down the beat until I jumped over the kit and scared him away. Signed my first drumstick ever that night...those things sure are cylindrical.

The drive back to Sydney was laugh-filled. I kindly asked Jim to moon a car as we were passing it and Gareth, who's been more silent than Calvin Coolidge on this tour responds with "he won't be able to fit it all in the window." The rest of the band was laughing like the Cosby kids.

Sunday was movie day for Ben. I watched "Jaws", "28 Days", "Say It Isn't So", and some made for TV drama explaining the horrors of teen gambling (I know, I know...but they were only penny slots). That's really all I did all day. What a waste. Monday was spent on the 10-hour drive from Sydney to Melbourne, so damn near nothing happened. Got to our hotel and met up with Bruce Milne, the man who released our latest album, Ultraglide in Black, here in Australia. I was quite impressed. He's done records with all my favorite bands...Sonic Youth, Mudhoney, the Gories...needless to say he was quite cool.

I awoke Tuesday morn to the loudest rain I'd ever heard. It would flood the Tote, the club we were set to play that night. I spent the morning exploring the Melbourne suburb of St. Kilda, with some record shops and vintage clothing stores. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm sick of these places. I didn't buy too much. Jim, a man quite partial to the Asian ladies had a plum of a time at a local Vietnamese restaurant. While staring at the beautiful young lady behind the counter, he wanted "prawn and pork rolls" but instead asked for "porn and pork rolls." Sigmund Freud is laughing somewhere in hell.

The Tote was a nice change of place. It being our first scheduled headlining gig, it was a much smaller venue and felt more like a show we'd do back home. As we walked into the club, some deep cut off of Ultraglide in Black was playing on the jukebox. This whole tour has been awkwardness after awkwardness of walking into a room while our record is playing, or on a more exciting level, hearing it on the radio. Which brings up another point...Australian radio is amazing. In the two weeks we've been here, I've heard the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the Velvet Underground, Sleater-Kinney, the Dirtbombs (duh) and countless other artists who never get the joy of airtime in the states. Our country has lots that can be improved upon.

The Tote had carpenters reinforcing the stage because of the flood and huge heaters drying out the carpet. The show would end up being sold out at 350 heads. The first half of our set went off without a hitch. But as soon as Jim Diamond grabbed the guitar for his usual wanking on "Little Miss Chocolate Syrup" the amp took a shit. So Jim sat there holding a guitar that was making no noise and generally just looking like a dumbass. We did an impromptu version of ESG's "Moody" to keep things moving. Gareth to the rescue managed to borrow an amp from the opening band, and we then covered the Who's "Can't Explain" with relative ease, seeing as we'd never covered it before.

We destroyed our equipment during "I Want, Need, Love you" a song by Australian unknown band the Black Diamonds, and I scaled some cross beam in front of the stage and began screaming nonsense into the mike. Encored with Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" which finds me on lead vocals and Iggy Pop impersonations. I was dumb enough to pin Tom down on the ground and unbuckle his belt. As he wiggled away I was able to tug his trousers down just enough to expose his lilywhite ass to all of Melbourne. I was about this close (pinching air) to sticking the microphone up his butt. They ate it up like chocolate cake.

Having a stage tech is weird when you push your drums down, because when you come back out, they're all put together. That being the case, the fans wanted another encore and we gave them what they wanted.

Traveled to an animal sanctuary early Wednesday and scoped some of the native wildlife. Saw kangaroos (who incidentally do NOT wear boxing gloves), wombats, wallabies, duck-billed platypi, Tasmanian devils and hooded honeyeater (which pat claims he's been called). Wednesday night found us at Corduroy records recording a 45 direct to acetate (recordings are usually done to magnetic tape). Jim and Mick wrote the song "Pray for Pills" a few minutes before we recorded it and it came out ok. The flip was another ESG cover, this time their song "My Love For You". Yeah, it was all good.

After recording I got to see where they actually press records, the only place in all of Australia that does vinyl. Too cool. Had to wake at 8:30 am Thursday to record a live set for PBS radio. We were all too dead to know any better. Our performance was half-assed. Jim, Mick and I then rushed over to do a radio interview with RRR across town. Was "chuffed" as the locals say, to see that our album was their designated "album of the week". Too cool. Spent lots of money at Au-Go-Go records but am still sick of record stores.

What follows is a continuation of my differences list.
-Australians use the word "bloody" alot. Unfortunately, "ouchy", "gooey", and "milk-chocolaty" are used with less frequency.
-It is illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving in Australia unless you use one of those hands free headsets. Thing is, once your friends see you wearing it, they won't really want to talk to you anymore.
-XXX pornography is only available in the Australian capital city of Canberra. Lucky for you, lesbian kangaroo fisting videos are available everywhere.
-Australians can get by with one word sentences like "shocking" or "unlucky" while most American one word sentences are "fuck", "shit" or "bootylicious".
-Vegemite is great to relieve sunburns and remove stains from your tiles, but by no means is it to be used for human consumption.
-Do not mistake a Kiwi (New Zealander) for an Aussie. It's the equivalent of saying Detroit is really from Toledo.
-Forget everything you've heard. Dingoes do not eat babies. They eat vegemite.

Sound check on Thursday was a bummer. As I climbed onstage, my jeans got snagged on a loose nail and ripped…when earlier that day I was marveling at the fact that I'd maintained said jeans for so long. Shows me to marvel. So after we check, I scoot back to the hotel and change into a different pair of Levi's…because I had done my laundry earlier that week like a good boy.

On the way back to the club I grabbed Thanksgiving dinner. The ¼ pounder with cheese meal avoided the depression associated with eating alone at McDonald's because I chose to eat and walk to the club at the same time. My milkshake tasted kinda funny and I realized that people should be more vocal about even the slightest difference in taste about anything. Something along the lines of "Hey, if I die from some weird bacteria in a few days, that milkshake I had at McDonald's yesterday tasted funny…tell the feds to start there."

Opening band the Sailors had a "gimmick" in that they pretended they were gay. I use pretend loosely because I'd later find out two of my band mates would end up making out with two Sailors later in the night. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just saving myself for Pelle from the Hives. Our set that night was well received, the crowd with their head-bobbing and toe-tapping letting us know we were doing our job.

Early in the set I noticed a red blotch building on my left leg. Turned out that I'd cut the knuckle of my pinky finger and that every time I hit my hi-hat (which is on my left) my hand would land on my thigh and deposit like the Red Cross. Just great…two pairs of jeans ruined in one day. So after the show, I skip out on You Am I's set and walk back to our hotel. The houses in Melbourne are so pretty, like a hybrid between Key West gingerbread-style and New Orleans French terraces. Quite beautiful.

Once I returned to our hotel, I pulled out my mad laundering skills and soaked my jeans in cold water. With no detergent to speak of, I worked it out with a bar of soap. Presto chango…when pulled out of the dryer the next morning there would be no signs of blood. I know my mom is proud.

Woke up too early on Friday so we could sound check at the Cherry Bar. Owned by the drummer from Australian hard-rock stalwarts the Cosmic Psychos, this show was added to our agenda only a week earlier to replace a show that had been cancelled with You Am I. The unique part about the Cherry is that the owner's mother, Janet, is in charge of hospitality. So the whole time we sat and chatted with the sixtysomething transplanted Scottish woman who addressed me as "love". Would you believe that a boat ride from Scotland to Australia in the 1960's took five weeks?

The whole band ended up falling asleep at the Cherry waiting for the sound check, and once we were done there we headed out to dinner with You Am I and their road crew. Everyone in the band and crew were just as nice as possible and made the whole tour a delight. Went to the club after dinner and found the fellows from Corduroy Records putting together the "Pray for Pills" single that we'd just recorded two days earlier. They had cheap photocopied covers with pictures from the recording session and hand-stamped labels. It was a limited edition of 100 hand-numbered copies. The folding, numbering and bagging of the 45's was fun to do backstage. We probably gave away more than we sold, but that's usually how band merchandise works.

Russell, drummer for You Am I, gave me the records on his Illustrious Artists label, and even though I dislike their rendition of Outkast's "Miss Jackson", the Vines second 45, entitled "Hot Leather" is honestly good. Believe me because I'm the first person in line when it comes to trashing the Vines. In honor of the good folks who brought us down for the tour, all us Dirtbombs wore You Am I t-shirts for our last show with them. As soon as we exited the stage, we were quickly shuttled to our show at the Cherry Bar.
Ah yes…two shows in one night, just like the Beatles, even though they were known to play the much easier five shows a night. The Cherry show was just one big party. The club was sold out and we just messed around on stage, playing songs we'd never played live (Marvin Gaye's "Got to Give It Up") and even letting Davey Lane from You Am I join us for a few songs. It felt like we were playing in a high school basement and that we could do no wrong.

We left the Cherry at 5 a.m. and were quickly driven to our hotel where we packed and showered. We'd left our hotel by 7 a.m. and had no trouble at the airport. Said our goodbye's to Tim and Gareth and even gave them hugs…but only because they're so cuddly. Our flight left at 10:45 a.m. Saturday. Auckland to Los Angeles was me sandwiched in the middle seat and sleeping a total two of 12 hours. Tortuous. But the worst part was that the cabin services director turned off "Stuart Little 2" in the middle of the big chase scene. You'd never seen a group of supposedly "grown" men act so disappointed. Arrived in Detroit at 7:30 p.m. Saturday to temps of 50 degrees less than what we'd left in Melbourne. In the end, I'd lost a Wednesday, but I'd gained a Saturday.

-Australia doesn't have MILFs. They're called yummy mummies.
-Fanny is not slang for your butt, but rather it's slang for the female genitalia
-People magazine in America contains all the relevant news about your favorite celebrities. People magazine in Australia also pertains to celebrities, but only if they're not wearing any clothes.
-Australia was started off as a penal colony for England. That being said, keep your belongings close to you at all times and speak slowly when telling a joke.
-A bottle of beer is called a stubby. The big seller at You Am I's merch table was stubby holders.
-Many Australians look down upon the episode of "The Simpsons" that takes place in Australia. This further cements the notion that they have no sense of humor.
-Netball is a sport played by women in Australia that's similar to basketball. The main differences are that the baskets have no backboards and that players are restricted to certain sides of the court according to their position. This is actually how basketball started for women in the United States, but we soon climbed out of the stone age and gave women the right to go anywhere on the court.
-They don't have bell peppers in Australia. They're called capsicums.
-Australian slang for Americans is "seppo cunts". Seppo comes from "septic". Cunt is just their idea of poetic license.
-Australian slang for English people is either "pom" or "pome". It's heavily debated whether is comes from uniforms worn by English prisoners originally sent to Australia (emblazoned with the words "Prisoner of Mother England") or whether it's short for pomegranate. I propose that they just call them "Queen-loving drunkards with corn teeth". You have to admit it has a ring to it.
-Australia has speed cameras on its freeways. They take a picture or something to that affect at one location and take another 50 miles (or so) later. They have a formula figured out that it should take you x minutes to travel that 50 miles, so if you arrive in less than x minutes, you receive a ticket in the mail.
-Sambo is Aussie slang for a sandwich. That being said, I propose pasta be nicknamed wop and that rice be called chink so that they piss off everyone equally.

captions (in order of which they fart down the screen)
1) the first time the Dirtbombs were ever graced with tour-encompassing backstage passes. I don't think we sincerely needed them once the entire tour. You Am I's laminates read "Sinner" while everyone else on the crew, opening band, etc. read "Saint."
2) a real live ticket for the Tote show. Thought to be extinct.
3) one of my better-timed photo captures. Mick hurtling down the stairs of Melbourne's Au-Go-Go records. I bought lots of shit there...bootleg Sonic Youth 7"s, an issue of Careless Talk Costs Lives...all the choice stuff was upstairs and I felt privileged to be allowed there, as it wasn't open to the public. (the same actually happened at Red Eye Records in Sydney, I now recall) But I got nothing as remotely as cool as an unnamed friend who, a few years prior, would grab copies #'d 1-7 of the Gories 7" on Giant Claw almost 10 years after its release Lucky.
4) scan from a physical copy of the December 9 2002 issue of the South End because the scan of the photo is long lost to the binary recesses of this archaic desktop. It's actually a photo of a poster for the shows at Prince of Wales
5) live photo from 2nd nite at Prince of Wales. I have no idea who took this pic, I just happened to find it in the aforementioned recesses.
6) posed photo from 2nd nite at POW with Dbombs all dorked-out in matching t-shirts. Rejected for inclusion to the booklet of our 2xCD singles compilation by the record label for "taking the 'if you don't already have a look' idea to its heterosexual limit."
7) live photo from the Cherry Bar show the same night. Photo taken by the same person who probably emailed these to me 5 years ago and I'm apologizing here for forgetting who they are and will give proper credit if you just let me know who you are.
8)a juicy treat for all y'all wondering how these crazy budgets work. I really dug the interview with Sean Astin in Rolling Stone where he openly talked about his finances. Whey everyone else gotta pussyfoot? The only dough we got for this tour was our per diems and maybe some minimal profits off the t-shirt sales (at this point, I don't remember exactly). Notice my mom's hand-written note that "Baker will see you in Melbourne" along with my personal reminder to guestlist Bob Bacic and some name Potter scribbled down at an airport.