Pink, Naked Nihilism

Hobart off-kilter punks Naked have crafted an oddly mesmeric record (on Tenth Court Records) in Pink Quartz, a hard-edged suburban gnashing of teeth. It goes from the impassioned growls and howls of 'Boys In Blue (All Ye Faithful)' to the bristling sparse early Bluebottle Kiss rock of 'Critical Half-Arsed' and the brooding maelstrom 'This Charming Man'. There is a wiry brutalism at work here, at times cathartic, at others bottomless, never content or still yet never offputting - Pink Quartz exists perfectly in its own atonal, shuddering world. The lyrics swing from angry to wry, sometimes moaned, sometimes strangled out (with lashes of humour throughout - the closer 'Paul Walker Overture' in its entirety, like Tyvek playing at being Hank Williams before slipping into Sleep doom). The perfect example of the wonderful weirdness is 'Sprinters Of The World Unite', a day in the life of a delinquent, starting with a dead dog and containing hurled bricks, stolen pizzas, beach arrests, birds catching worms and low-security prison. The vocals is a monotone singsong, punctured at one stage with imploding violin by Sewers' Josh Watson. It's its own thing - go with it.

What do you do with something as unwieldy as Pink Quartz? Chew it up, swallow it down, and through bloodstained lips ask for seconds. Grab this excellent record here.

To Infinity And Beyond...Hobart

I have written about some of the weird and wonderful noises echoing out of the Apple Isle that is Tasmania, dangling down across the Tasman from the Australian mainland, festering in their own fermenting juices, insular and exciting. One of the main bullhorns spouting the wonders of this places is Wrong Place Right Time Records, and a little while back they released a wrap-up of 2015 in Hobart called Neighbourhood of Infinity. It’s suitably named after a Fall track, and chronicles every facet of warped wonder to emanate from the place. A few you might recognise from these hallowed halls, such as the food-obsessed All The Weathers (the deliciously bent ‘Beans’), Heart Beach (the warmly forlorn buzz of ‘Tegan’), Native Cats (the lyrical staccato/soapbox scree ‘Scratch Act’), Bi-Hour (the downward broken-industrial spiral schooled by an insane headmaster that is ‘Truism’) and Treehouse (jangling and stumbling through the early dawn, a jocular jig and inebriated slip to ‘Hammer At The Door’). But the delights are just as gripping from other quarters – the slow insidious crawl and shadowed incremental cacophony of Wasted Idol’s ‘Seventeen’; the bubbling stargazing spectrum hum of Filthy Little Star’s ‘Keep On Whistling’ (reminding me somewhat of the pastoral experimentation of Soda Eaves and the aforementioned Native Cats in part); the ground-out post-punk bawl and plaintive moths-in-the-wallet despair of Naked’s ‘Beer’; the sneered punk squall of Powernap’s ‘Burn This City’. It’s all wild and weird and necessary. Grab it here.

Going For Gold Weathers

Just to show how skewed the scene is in Tasmania in Australia is Wrong Place Right Time Records. The Native Cats, Bi-Hour, Steven Wright (of Bi-Hour fame), Naked, RBP, Treehouse, Mess O' Reds - they have shone a light on them all. The latest release they have unearthed, excavated, dusted off and thrust into the light is 6 For Gold by trio All The Weathers. Kicking off with the irascible, off-kilter clusterfuck that is the baiting, bracing 'ABC', with Georgia's hyperventilating howl demanding centre stage, things bleed into more sinister realms with elongated tracks 'Wipeout' (with screaming, desperate sax solo) and '1838'. Think of bands like Bent or Girls Pissing On Girls Pissing for a semblance of the desiccated, rural gothic avant deconstructions on offer here. There is even a little of the Raincoats/Trash Kit about their shout-and-response fanaticisms and altered-state percussion, all done with tongue buried alive in the cheek. 'OH And Yes' though is the epitome of the band in my opinion - a heady mixture of chaos, texture, expulsion and implosion. Always deliciously unhinged, regardless of (all) the weathers.

Buy 6 For Gold on vinyl here. All the Weathers play tonight in a church (St George's Church in Battery Point, to be exact) alongside Adventurers, All The Best and Filthy Little Star - sounds bloody amazing.

Heart & Away

Tasmania is a isle off Australia that is pretty much its own world. The beauty, the laidback nature, the alcohol - it all is so self-contained. It often feels like that with the music scene too. If The Nation Blue hadn't moved to Melbourne, would they have struck the chord that they have? Had Sea Scouts been a mainland band, would they be in their rightful place as one of Australia's best visceral bands instead of being something of a footnote? Bands like Drunk Elk and Treehouse may maintain their intrigue because of their fleeting advances on the rest of Australia, yet it feels that every time you make it to the Apple Isle it's a chance to submerge oneself in the fertile waters of their creative community and there is always something new to discover.

'Away', the new single from Hobart trio Heart Beach, is an example of this. After putting out a bunch of tracks since 2013, they are finally committing to putting something physical out into the slipstream in the form of their debut album, yet the thumping anthemic nature of 'Away' is more than enough to sate the appetite before that rolls around. The lyrics also indicate a restlessness the belies the plodding drums and soaring feedback - "Can you stop me know?/I want to get out/I've been here before, before...."- and when the urgency hits, the complacency and malaise somehow intensifies - "I was late today/I don't really care/It's always the same, the same..."

Nothing new here, really. And yet...and yet...there is something tangible and tactile about all of this - an earnestness that is juxtaposed by a tonal warmth and an exuberance just simmering under the surface. We have been listening to this song on repeat for the past two days, and this is likely to happen into the weekend.

In The Treehouse Zone

Tasmania's Treehouse came on my radar back in August when they supported Per Purpose on their 'Eureka' single launch. The fact that a goon sack and discordant guitar flailing complemented each other in their set meant I had connected immediately with Treehouse and their fuse-blasting fare. Now Vacant Valley are reissuing the band's debut Interzone on luscious 12" vinyl. This is loud, scuzzy, droning pop that is as ardent as it is flippant - throwaway nuggets of digestible, discernible knowledge, bashed out by dudes with too much time on their hands, for better or worse. Their live shows a set on a knife-edge, either elevated into an effervescent maelstrom of noise and light, or nosediving into a chasm of unrelenting chaos and despair. Well, I say despair - things are never that bad when there's an inflatable pillow of piss-yellow grape juice around... Luckily the trio come prepared with tracks made for either outcome. Interzone then stands as a shapeshifter of a record - setting the mood as the mood sets you. Corruption of two halves.

Pre-order the Interzone vinyl here.



And here is a clip of another Treehouse track, 'Dead Weight', recorded by Josh Watson (Sewers) at Matt Ford's Puerile Palais (I'm sure his slap-up den of dankness has a name much more suited to the house shows he throws, but this'll do for now) the afternoon before the aforementioned Per Purpose show. Good times.