Friday, September 6, 2013

Tax , Eastlink and Crude

Yeah. Another Crude installation in Melbourne town, a retrospective slog kick starting with yes....yet again, 'summer part one' , a buoyant sizzle of a guitar tone, two lines of basic harmonisation-cum-twiddly-dee. Crude navigates into granular sound territory and wraps up with the rub-a-dub hydraulica that is  'hey hey commando'  Standard cruddy slap'n' suckle, but the play act is refining itself, and a few Melbournites are starting to get it. The stirrings of an apostleship. Perhaps.

Here I was at Bar Open, first act of the evening, playing alongside  the guitar heavy Eastlink and Tax.
Bar Open is one of this towns better venues. Better bitter blasting weather sods southward for draughtsman and gas. So piss on my Friday, because it is now the freaking weaking. Beeeyitch!
Absolute-fucking-lutley. Go right Australia! Do it for your Dad. You stupid, stupid logs of shit. Quad. Quad. Quad. Quad.
Hey there, Georgie girl. What. The. Fuck.  Is. Up. Necks up was the serious fuckers we call Eastlink. 
Soap. Think hard guitar , reverberant an' brooding, lead by a nasty drumming vocalist. Nicest guy I know. Someone actually carrying that torch. When we say 'the nineties' it aint a little poke in the ribs, it's a flabby conduit . A complement. Preston festers under right leaning business slushy.These band really rule it. And so, dear martyrs , does Tax. Here's tax in 2011. And here's Tax now on Soundcloud
Think Unsane meets Crass? Head of David? Early Bruce Russell?  Silverfish? ( Post script....I must confess ,,,I was dragged off before I hear Tax  .Shameful stuff... Not even one song.  Love and marriage, an institute you cant disparage. So I listen up to their recordings before doctoring a review. I made the mistake of calling Justin Fuller the bass player, a mistake that was made clear to me at work on Monday. ) Justin Fuller nails guitar dag dam slammer slammer. Tax fax my unctuous head back home. Cut to the chase, this is what no abuso-muso dare allude to no mo' - they don't wan' volume, they don't wan' distortion, no no, we must remain chaste, plain, pliant, and subservient to the bitching professional residents who've all bought a piece of the arty 'edgy' inner city. 'We want the 'culture' but only neatly packed into a comfortable time slotty..only on our snivelling corporate/coprophiliac terms...just like always, Henry'
Doing it. Just doing it, the radical subjectivity induced by age, reinjecting relevance into the guitar noise of the late 80s, I actually hope Australia goes Hard Right so we might stimulate some real musical rebellion , all the best bands were bands under the strictures of neoliberal government, amphetamine reptile ruled my early 20's , no apologies there squidward, lemmings all, urban legends, bristles, parasitoid insects, brutish dogeatdog times, there is no end to the mining boom, it carries on unchecked for centuries, mine the fucking moon ! Nationalise poos and wees! Execute the bottom liners! Bang a gong! The rich always like to think they somehow 'earnt' their money in a total vacuum, without any assistance, subsidisation, no help from the money of others. Public private partnerships, think Myki. Think Victoria. Think John Key. Think Drink. Think crime gangs as powerful as entire nation states. Because that is how it is and will be. They're in Afghanistan to secure the opium routes for their pals. You mark my words Mr Straight. Hey there Nsa man. I know you know I know you know I know you know I know.

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