Showing posts with label Tassie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tassie. Show all posts

Sunday, April 18, 2010

less. unless less is more, then more, no less...

Be it the humble hills of South Gippsland, a saw mill on the East coast of the Apple Isle, or the mean streets of Lundern, En-Ger-Lund, Aaron Cupples makes musical magic wherever he goes. His on-stage rock 'n roll resume includes the impressive notch of being lead gitbox-bloke for The Alpha Males, the former band of Austtralia's favourite nephew, that true-blue troubador, and all-round nice guy, Dan Kelly. While I knew that Aaron was an axe-man of note through his work with the Alpha Males, I only recently found that the man is a production wizard to boot...


On a recent road-mission heading up the East coast of Tassie, I put on the only CD in the glove box, The Drones' 2006 LP Gala Mill. I learn from cool-older-cousin Barney that the band recorded the album in an old saw mill not far from where we were, and that his old mate Aaron co-produced the album with frontman Gareth Liddiard. Radical. It's a great album, check out the song 'Words From The Executioner To Alexander Pearce'; a most epic interpretation of a good old gut-wrenching tale from colonial times. The Cannibal Convict. Intense. Awesome.

The point of all this you ask? I'm getting there, you rude cunt. Here it is: I've just been put onto Aaron's new project CIVIL CIVIC, thanks to his cousin, who happens to be my old high-school media teacher. Hey Clay. So yeah, with partner-in-crime-and-crazy-noises Brad Green completing the pair, the two are currently based in London, booking gigs and getting ready to conquer the world. Stylistically speaking, they're about as far as you can get from The Alpha Males' breezy indie-pop or Drones' doom-laden rawkenrawl. But.. they're fucking awesome.

Production genius..something..like I was saying...eclectic...genre-delineating...see..drums..it all makes sense..What?

Anyway, stick this in your indie-electronica crack pipe and smoke it:



Hell yeah. Sounds like... if you took the shimmering electric/electronic vibes of the very-rad Ratatat, then wore the sheen off a little with a lot more distortion? Someone else brought up Steve Albini's apparently-seminal 80s punk/noise/beats project Big Black. Seminal eh? Never heard of 'em. Next on the listening list, perhaps... that there wiki-scription reads as tasty as taco's. Ahem. Whoever or whatever they sound like, they sound fucking sick. UK music press heavyweight NME thinks so too, and with CIVIL CIVIC obviously having completed 'indie-brand management strategy' and 'using the viral marketing machine to your advantage' classes somewhere along the way - [erm, don't forget to order your limited-to-100-copies-and-only-on-retro-reel-to-reel-cassette copy of their debut 4-track EP. In the colour of the customer's choice, for fuck's sake. Hehe.] - there's basically no chance they won't be making headlines in no times. For a cassette, or a free MP3 download of the single version of 'Life Unless', head over to their blog here.

Friday, March 5, 2010

go over the sea...

no new pin number
no no no
no phone number
coming apart
dick smith, talk to the fuckwits

gamble ‘em
go... go.. go.
bandanna lad
carn ya little piece'a
hiss
thirty

that beer and fish
on the dock
it's fishy business
the shop floats
fresh as fresh
i am not
distillery
delirious
55% malt
fuck-me-dead-delicious

gorgeous girl, with a walking stick
stomp the hill
lean a tree
drink ‘em, eat ‘em
eat ‘em, drink ‘em

drugs with children, free and easy
smiling stupid
my dad
climbed the tower
on top mt. wellington,
no ropes or nothin'
i’ve lived in spain and england
this joint is the pits
fooled by the sea
could've fooled me
stay in school
inside jokes    

toothless helmut codeine rat
ouch in his eyes
of course
rat don't either
nothin' for nobody

on the way
a bus
a plane
spew on the sandsteps
stoned like the same old
 

same old
rain delay
read the world away

underwhelming
overhearing
unconvincing
airport security
cig in hand
phone the other
drugs
he’ll sort it out
be careful
he’s always careful
he's sorry

kindred spirit in the air
doof doof doof
picture of a skateboard
pockets full of shit
we'll get along great
drop through the cloud
a familiar film
turbo turbulence
new friends dead
no dropping safe
bank over the bay
arteries of light
slice the suburbscape

down but alive
an hour long wait
hit this city
the trains are off
a wallet feels woeful
a weird warm
the sky spits
walk down tram tracks
smell the steam
wander down wrong st
smell the smackusations

think about feminism
stare at your sex-objects
mate
hitching on main st
flag 'em all
not the yellow
soaked to the bone
need a pick-me-up
all ways but one

lift?
a man in a nice car
alert and alarmed
i used to run nightclubs
i’m too old
i'm gay for pay
i drive girls to jobs
i’ll drive you home
not too bad
free of charge
just keep it together