Will Airbourne Ever Get The Global Acclaim Of Flume Or Sia?

Apparently, there’s an interesting point where fashion and the cultural cringe intersect. When we happily flag-wave about our good Aussie musical battlers making an impression overseas, our boy Flume and our girl Sia among others are proudly hoisted, but do we stand and applaud a band who regularly get played on World Wrestling Entertainment events? I think not. Are we embarrassed by the decade Airbourne have just kept working it? Maybe. Are they my cup of Woodstock and cola premix? Certainly not. But, rightly, It’s All For Rock N Roll (Spinefarm). Meat, potatoes, bare-chested guitarist, four-square loud thump. It’s perhaps up to you to decide whether it’s more worthy that their last album debuted at #3 in Germany, made top ten in the UK or that the Motorhead organisation let them use the famous ‘Bomber’ lighting rig in this tribute to the late Lemmy. Vacant down-turned microphone position a nice touch. 

We can also do it locally. Damnit, I like Bad//Dreems.  And yes, they’re a perfectly reasonable choice to open for Midnight Oil in their Adelaide hometown. Sure, they might come across as a bit bogan, but if you listen there is a fair bit of the real suburban blues and observation in there. Problem is some of we ‘intellectual’ bleeding heart softcock lefties here in the People’s Democratic Republic of Albo, or three blocks from Brunswick St, or whatever the Adelaide equivalent is, sneer at those whose few pleasures include drinking cheap corporate swill beer because it’s, well…cheap; and watching the SANFL on free-to-air telly because it’s, well…free. Feeling Remains (Ivy League) is them simply doing the business again. Just tops. Caution: Also includes some Dylan Lewis. 

That’s not to say you can’t take the piss affectionately. John Darnielle’s worldview as expressed through The Mountain Goats banner has always been delightfully askance, even when titling an album Goth, as he just has. And so, the strolling wry conversation of Andrew Eldritch Is  Moving Back To Leeds (Merge/Remote Control) and wistful dreams of The Sisters Of Mercy main man going home. Or not. The black-clad constituency of the subject will likely not quite get it, but we can still laugh and point as their kohl eye makeup starts running. 

Or let us go to where a punk attitude collides with Australia’s happy acceptance of our slackness. Yes, you can play fast and messy and be a bit laconic at the same time. Raave Tapes are in the territory of love gone wrong – or probably more correctly, love fucked off. 2 U xoxo (Rare Finds) dovetails his/her/its/their leaving with that odd bastard child of touch and tackle football, Oztag with everybody perspiring mightily for their art under a baking and cloudless Australian day, the sweat hiding that something in your eye. Or not. 

And so, through life’s experiences, the punk kids start growing up. Even Skegss are becoming a bit reflective and thoughtful admitting “We’re not getting any younger…” although the arcing slide down the hill of Got On My Skateboard (Ratbag) has a touch of the Forever Youngs accelerated to a near punkish level to it, there’s still the feeling of this being them heading home at sunset as mum’s calling them home for dinner, and they might get a chocolate milk before dinner – and the wash away their bong breath. It rolls along, and then stops – probably because they’ve reached the screen door of the house, and dad’s asleep on the couch cradling a tinnie.

Relatedly, across the ditch Clap Clap Riot are Tired Of Getting Old (Universal NZ). Not as summery as the above, but that probably due to its surroundings. This is more grumpy, but accepting of the situation – even if you are shitty about it. There’s a scruffy charm to what they do, some messy edges, and a guitar solo that seems to drop a few stitches, but still keeps you warm as the cold winds of time sweep in from the Tasman. 

Mixing some older and newer influences as some tradition comes with some modern fiddly guitar and electronic noises, Particles are the fairly freshly minted collaboration of Dan D’arcy from the somewhat unrealised Little Bastard, and Skarlett Saramore of Fait Accompli and a bunch of other bands which have seen her in the gig guides of Sydney for some years. Tennis (Independent) is the obvious product of such people who know their way around this rock and/or roll thing, although forgiving a song with that title having the lyric “The balls in your court…” in its discussion of a love match going back and forth (sorry…) might be a little harder.  

But band name of the week probably goes to Big Walnuts Yonder. And various among you will be simply impressed by the elements of this combo, even beyond the name: Mike Watt of The Minutemen and that last go-round of Iggy’s Stooges links with Teros Melos’ Nick Reinhart as front persons and invite no less than Nels Cline – yes, the Wilco one – and Deerhoof’s drummer Greg Saunier to make Raise The Drawbridges? (Sargent House) a glorious bit of guitar squirt and squelch, perhaps with a political undertone. Enthusiasts of any or all of the above names will very likely find something to like here.