Saturday, August 21, 2010


I voted for the Australian Liberal Party today.

Look, I don't particularly agree with many of their policies- ''Stop the boats'' for example. I'm from Perth and I can safely say they've got no chance with that one! We're water babies here in the sunburned country and no draconian policy changes are going to get us to take our tinnies to the wreckers. Even if Tony Abbott is charismatic as hell!!

No, the reason T.A. and that fat pirck got my vote was because under their governance, I see a genuine possibility of them re-introducing compulsory military service. And for a generation as soft and doughy as this one, that can only be a good thing.

Do you ever wonder why your parents gave you such a hard time? Ever wonder why they made you eat those celery sticks and hid the 2 litre Coke bottle from you?

Well, they knew.

Ever wonder why your footy coach made you run that extra lap or told you to lay off the oranges at half time?

He also knew.

Kid, they all knew your generation would be the frailest in this country's short history and simply wanted to safeguard you from the crooked fingered-puppeteer you've sadly become.

So, how do you think that makes them feel? The fact that they've failed you as parents?

To be honest, it's not really their fault. Your shortcomings as a human being can be put down to environmental factors and a set of clearly identifiable human weaknesses.

You grew up in an age of easily-accessible punk records, mp3 downloads, informative blogs, one-day alternative music festivals (or as I like to call them, gigs with too many bands on the bill), events staged at places called ''DIY spaces''... I mean, these things could turn even the hardest, cauliflower eared, busted-knuckled son of a bitch into a silk bag jammed full of Fischer Price stuffed toys.

You see, your interests have barely developed beyond collecting marbles and licking the egg beaters. Your skill set is one braincell above writing your name in crayon. If they still sold Bubblegummers shoes, you'd pay a premium for the opportunity to wear them.

And this is why I pray. Every night.

This is why I pray to the lord, Jesus Christ, that tonight, the Liberal party wraps itself around this country and beats us out of this malaise.

I pray that their midnight death squads and secret police departments infiltrate the hearts and minds of future generations, before it's too late for them! Our generation is beyond repair. We've discovered Ebay and Terminal Boredom web zine. We're in no man's land. Let us die with whatever modicum of dignity we have left. Tell our housemates to help themselves to our Stagg Braised Steak and Onion tins and to take the rest of the rent out of our bond if that's cool with the agent? Wrench our gold crowns and our over-priced rare singles from us. Tell our parents we're sorry for covering our bedroom doors in Garbage Gang stickers. It's only now, with the cruel blows of hindsight, that we realise just how bad it was for the paintwork.

Folks, I'd like to share with you my hopes and my dreams.

I dream that future generations of young Australians discover jogging, not blogging. That Vans slip-on's are replaced with combat boots. That every Big Muff pedal on the planet is ceremonially destroyed with a sledgehammer and melted down to provide the raw materials for state-of-the-art military attack vehicles.

I heard mutterings at the polling booth today that the recruitment office is going to be temporarily housed in the front bar of the Tote Hotel and party volunteers could be canvassing the inner suburbs as soon as September.

I also have it on very good authority that the warehouse conversions of Fitzroy, Collingwood and Northcote will once again become fully functional warehouses, manufacturing plants and distribution centres for the party's intense arms-production strategy. Massive re-sale prices are anticipated in ten years as a result of this residential conversation scheme.

The Liberal Party's plan is to create more physically demanding jobs, less opportunities for intellectual stimulation and larger amounts of hard industrial waste.

Look, toxic run off is fine, as long as it's a by-product of war time industrial advancement. If the threat of nuclear war forces us to use our Nuggets box sets as kindling during five years of nuclear winter, then I say, destroy our natural flora and fauna and lets never look back.

We must pour harsh chemicals into pristine natural habitats until this generation puts down their Fender guitars and starts making some real noise, ie- BOMBS, FREIGHT TRAINS, TANKS, HEAVY INDUSTRY and WAR.

Friday, August 20, 2010


Guess what?

If you don't like MADBALL, you need to get a job.

When MADBALL talks about being angry, depressed, crazy and violent, they actually mean it.

These are seriously fucked up individuals who only act nice when they need something ($, promotion, tail, drugs...).

MADBALL represent a place and time that we'll never know (New York in the 90's).

MADBALL represent a lifestyle we'll never know (Crime, gang-involvement, prison, the constant threat of violence, friends constantly dying, skewed-Catholicism...).

I'm obsessed with MADBALL and the world they inhabit. I'm obsessed with who they are and all the bad things they've done.

I spent so many years of my life thinking I was smarter than listening to bands like MADBALL. I was wrong.

I've seen MADBALL live a few times and they've always been great. Watching MADBALL is like watching outtakes from the up in smoke DVD. They thank god and sing songs about killing people. They dedicate songs to bands that are not even playing the show. They go offstage and get wasted. They bash cunts.

If you buy modern weird/garage/post/abstract/vagina/cream/young/expensive-punk records, watch out! Cos I'm gonna come round and drive my motorcycle over all of them!

Real men. Good hearts. Bad Brains.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Friday, June 18, 2010


Arriving at the mighty Etihad Stadium, I was confronted with a rough sea of tatts, tank tops and teeth (missing). I tell ya, AC/DC fans are a mongrel mob of welders, boiler makers and brick layers- and that's just the women!

Waiting in line, surrounded by fibreglass barriers and ill-equipped, scared security guards, the ACKA fans were close to boiling point as they desperately waited to breach the turn styles. I could hear several different Bon-era tunes being drooled simultaneously with similar levels of tone-deaf charm. Once inside the arena, it was like entering some sort of disgusting roman labyrinth- Bald heads, varying states of undress, sweat, fists, spent drink receptacles, screaming, machismo, near-violence and tension.

Outside the quaint corner hotel in Richmond, a crowd of about one fifty line up politely, waiting to file into the loving embrace of a like-minded celebration of all that is high brow. I haven't seen so many freelance journalists, community radio show hosts and people currently ''between jobs'' since the last Melbourne garage rock show I went to sometime in 08. The discussion I overheard made me wish I done better in school.

''Eugene you stately gentleman you. Have you heard the new Miles box set?''

''Sebastian my good man, I have not had the pleasure of hearing it, but I have read everything about it. You see Eugene, and everyone else within earshot of this conversation, I read books. Furthermore, in pre-performance discourse, I must always espouse the musical and social importance of Miles Davis, lest I appear poorly informed or ignorant.''

''Oh yes Eugene, you are always approaching difficult issues with a terrific level of understanding and context. No wonder you have so many subscribers to your blog''

Back at the dome, the walk to find a decent vantage point was akin to a dash across no man's land. Broken vestiges of humanity on all fours doing the Technicolor yawn, others copulating in the stair wells, rampant drug use- you would've been forgiven for thinking you were at a Collingwood home game. I managed to find a half-decent vantage point, which in stadium rock terms, means a decent view of the giant TV screens just as the band walked on stage.

Prior to the Neck's performance, the audience were milling about comfortably in their linen trousers, reflecting on a hard day spent at the record store and generally fraternising in a safe cultural environment. I'd like to see the bar staff's stock sheets from the evening, as I don't think the bar's red wine sales have ever eclipsed beer sales like they did at this event.

The AC/DC set was an absolute pearler. They wanted to be there. As I was watching them perform, a 40-something woman stood beside me and jumped all over the railing. This woman looked like she'd been gutting chickens for the last 25 years and she had the smell to match. With arms flailing, and beer going everywhere, she continued to yell like, well, a mad woman. A man of about 20 joined her on the railing. He also began screaming profanities.

''How fuckin' unreal is this? Fuck yeah. Mate, this is fuckin' awesome...''

He then put his arm around the woman's shoulders, took her off the railing and as they walked away, he said to her,

''Come on mum, let's get a beer over at this one.''

When you think about, The Necks and AC/DC could almost be the same band. They're both old. They're both at the pinnacle of whatever they do. They both continue to release flawless albums. And both of their fan bases are idiots.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Contact & Paypal

New Stained Sheets contact point:

Monday, March 29, 2010

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Now available through Missing Link

Issue 3.1 now available at Missing Link (basement of 405 Bourke Street, Melbourne, between Elizabeth and Queen Streets).

"There's a new ish of Stained Sheets out now (32 pages this time) which a few of here are involved with. It costs FUG ALL and has pieces on VENOM P. STINGER, THE TRAITORS (Melbourne 1979),THE BITTERS, COCK SAFARI, TOUGH TROUBLES and more. Anyone who Mailorders stuff from us gets one (just like our shop Newsletters from times past) and there's quite a bit of reading in there we reckon so check it out".