Old Mates Is What They Is, Ey?

One band that seemed to both be confined by and outstrip the ill-fated "dolewave" genre pigeonhole was South Australia's Old Mate. It may have been in the name; it may have been in the droll drawl that lead Pat Telfer (Bitch Prefect) delivered his sometimes-weary, sometimes-jacked-up lyrics. But just as many of the bands that were tarred with that brush over the last two to three years have moved on by incorporating stranger tics and tricks to their bag, Old Mate's new album It Is What It Is (out through SDZ Records) explodes, its core aesthetic spreading in every direction like the impact of a paintball on a white wall. Don't let the kangaroos boxing on the cover dissuade you from acknowledging that we are entering a whole new world.


'Medicine Man' is a gargantuan jazz blues number - seriously. Sure, it's used and abused and flung in the corner to dry, but the 12 bars, the solos, the howling space, the husky vocals are all present and accounted for. It's a strange opener - it's a strange choice, considering the band's back catalogue - but then nothing should surprise you with these guys (remember the other half of Bitch Prefect is the chameleonic Liam Kenny...). From then on we are taken to one surrealist vignette to the next, in a battered limousine al Carax's bizarrely brilliant Holy Motors film from 2012, with Telfer the ever-present ringmaster of the macabre. 'Requesting Permission' is back on terra firma, a downer jangle with dour vocals a la Brisbane act Dag, with a melancholy that reminds me of the solo work of Neil Young in his early years - really - or that first recipient of the Grant McLennan Fellowship back in 2007, Charles Curse. But this isn't the needle and the damage done. We step up with 'Something', a vocal that sounds like Macka from The Onyas having a go at an acoustic number. It isn't overtly funny though - the tempo, the backing vocals, the 'hey hey hey hey hey heeeey, hey' lending a desperation to proceedings. 'February' is a lament in a netherworld saloon - the Gothic drawl reminiscent of another dormant Aussie act, Nikko - holding that plodding, maudlin beat for its entirety, and drags you down with it.

Then we hit a sonorous contemplation with 'Stressin'', a lysergic percolation of languid rhythms (for some reason Im tracking back to some of those subterranean grooves the Stone Roses often doled out) in what is generally an instrumental track, except for some growled, rolling-around-the-mouth vocals (and yet another video featuring that post-Soviet kid in the nightclub, which really looks like a sequal to the film Orphan); the sax burbles into the fervour underscoring 'Know What He Wants', a fine addition here; 'Him' re-enters the Young orbit, albeit in a warped fashion, offering layered nuance that promises more than it gives, with lyrics that imply never learning from mistakes; and closer 'Truth Boy' evokes another crooked minstrel of the Australian musical landscape, Nathan Roche, although there are no Sydney references in sight, just some Aussie sardonic sneers...

It Is What It Is is a bizarre and inexplicalby attractive record. The title tells it all, thus making this review, or any really, redundant. Old Mate, Telfer, the music - it is what it is. Deal with it - get it here.

Psy Ants Bite Their Tongues and Disappear

 

Psy Ants were part of the first ever Sonic Masala Presents… shows back in October 2011. I had originally asked Per Purpose to play, but Joe (drums) was in America with Kitchens Floor. Glen the guitarist instead offered his “other” band, which was of course the noise rock trio, and they tore the place apart with a visceral performance that polarised the audience (the other two artists were the broken folk of Charles Curse and the wonky indie sweep of Nova Scotia – hence the beginning of the eclectic lineups that were inevitably to follow). I managed to catch them play one more show after that, but that’s it – the band have called it a day, preferring to focus on other bands.

At least we managed to get something physical out of them in the form of Bit Tongue Prik (out through Vacant Valley). It’s all saw-toothed, angular anger and bile, melodrama for the schizophrenics, shapes shifting in rust-gilded twitches and spasms. It’s ugly stuff indeed, David Yow masturbating over decapitated images of the Rapemen. Its broken, no reason to fix it, just listen, eat glass and move on.

Grab Bit Tongue Prik here.

Psy Ants – Spike
Psy Ants – Deny Flesher

Charles Lays Down His Curse Once More With Feeling

The first Sonic Masala Presents... showcase was little over a month ago, but it warrants another mention due to the great performance by opening act Charles Curse. The artist (AKA Greg Charles) released a great little album a few years ago on Olde English Spelling Bee called Rain In Skull, and finally the second instalment of this always interesting musical walkabout has dropped. Stomac is a incredibly raw collection of tracks that is as exhilarating as it is unhinged, its murky, rust-covered production combining with off-kilter vocals, cracked folk trappings, noisy interludes, warped sonic manipulations, crappy drum machines and oddly syncopated beats to create something that is truly grimy, original and often stunning.

Here's Charles' take on the whole shebang...

"From 2008-2011 a monstrous catharsis of recordings and layers of tracks, in a strictly improvised nature, were recorded onto Garageband with a view to mix and compress into higher quality files, but alas, my Mac got stolen in June 2011. As heart breaking as suffering machine grief is, especially when your prized photography, film, and fresh sonic pieces are taken away, (not backed up, stupidly) the positive aspect out of all this business was that I had previously sent WHNZ a lo-fi punk-damaged eclectik (sic) brood of songs, with a view to improve them in format and increase clarity and boost production. But the best one can do in crisis is to make do with what's left after the smoke clears, and as a result the tracks are going to be released in strict punk rock skronk hiss clouds and whacked aural blowjobs, thanks to the long roped patience of the label and their empathy towards my reluctance to just release any old shit. But after my last release Rain In Skull, which was a heavily conceptual, organik (sic) mind trip into a young man trying to deal with fatherhood, with a strong emphasis on a smooth, clear psychotropic journey, this recording is like a fucking White Album - throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. Or even a Big Star third type thing. Actually I have no idea what it sounds like. I can't listen to 'em anyway! It's a throw it out, big hairy balls to the icy breeze, a bile that sounds like 52 different bands. It's a mess. It's punk rock. It's a 180 degree turn from the prog-claustrophobian slickness and shine of Rain In Skull. It is what it is. Enjoy STOMAC — instantaneous bursts of angst, humour, vagueness and audio verite, it's fuckin punk all right you cunts."


Language, cuz! Put out by Ukrainian label WeHaveNoZen, Stomac is a free digital release that you can rip and roll here.

Charles Curse - Reunion Boycott Blues
Charles Curse - Light, Light (My Pink Bits Are Infinitive)