I have a distinct gender bias to the music I listen to, have had for years now – and I still can’t keep up. I don’t even listen much to anything outside of pop music these days (define that how you like) and I still can’t keep up. I have always been overwhelmed by the volume of alternatives available within my own limited spheres of music. Fuck death and depression when there is shit like this still happening, still being created out there in the world. Jesus, but this is glorious even if the dweebs do round off the song about 10 minutes too early, just as it’s getting going and becoming Coloured Balls epic. Jesus, this makes me want to drink and brawl and fuck and fight and argue loudly with whoever the fuck comes into the vicinity, and go twirling round numerous beer-soaked dance-floors and laugh at that fucking excuse of a beard on your face. Jesus, this makes me want to tackle that fucking right hand turn single-handed. Jesus, this makes me feel so homesick – no not for fucking Brisbane but for my core city of Melbourne with all its rain-washed grimy streets and sun-burnt rock formations in the middle of the fucking beyond. Disgust and disillusionment given vent in a way no male American rock band has managed in two decades now. Anger, isolation, fuck you attitudinal beauty. Out of tune, out of time, dissonant and a glorious sprawl of ugly loose-ends and shimmering dissonance. Tropical Fuck Storm – You Let My Tyres Down Not for John Robb and his merry bunch of swaggering, dissolute reprobates though.ġ4.
Pain, humiliation, death – this is all that life promises me as I edge closer towards 60. So good, all I can do is gape at the hollowness inside my hollow inside and wonder why some of my friends are so great at growing old while others (well, me) are so crap. (It’s their second in recent years, and the other was almost equally as fine.) Playing out of their skins.
I had a couple of main noise bands in the 1980s – UT, The Birthday Party, Membranes, Sonic Youth – and one of them has returned after a near three-decade gap and made the greatest album of their lives. This is high praise, from me, from my former self certainly. I would go over the recent review I wrote about it for Classic Rock, and dwell on each and every word, but. (Let’s not call it a career, eh?) Of their lives. Doubtless my 23-year-old self would disagree with me – he always was a cantankerous bastard – but I feel that out of seemingly nowhere The Membranes have made the greatest album of their career.
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