Imagine having the opportunity to engage in profound conversations with the creators of punk and hardcore, spanning from its inception to the present day, diving into the most timeless and perplexing questions about life. These inquiries explore forging a path on your own terms, the art of creating something out of nothing, standing up for what you believe in, changing what you don’t like, the ethos of DIY, the power of community and purpose, and the highs and lows of life’s struggles and wins. Plus, the journey of transforming your life and the lives of those around you, while navigating this often tough world. There are moments of clarity, connection, insight, and profound beauty waiting to be discovered in the pages of Conversations with Punx, a book that formed in its own time over two decades.
When I (Bianca, Gimmie’s co-creator) was 24 years old in 2004, I faced a confusing, difficult, and heartbreaking situation. Seeking answers and tools to process and cope with what was happening, I turned to interviewing, something I had been doing since I was 15 through making punk zines. I found answers through deeper conversations with individuals from bands that provided the soundtrack to my life: Black Flag, DEVO, Agnostic Front, Suicide, Bad Brains, Radio Birdman, Crass, Straitjacket Nation, X-Ray Spex, Gorilla Biscuits, Ramones, The Stooges, Zero Boys, The Bronx, Misfits, The Slits, The Bouncing Souls, Minor Threat, Suicidal Tendencies, At The Drive-In, Special Interest, Bad Religion, Sick Of It All, Adolescents, Operation Ivy, Eddy Current Suppression Ring, Poison Idea, Bikini Kill, Youth of Today, Hard-Ons, Avengers, Descendents, Big Joanie, Amyl and the Sniffers, and many more. From these 150+ conversations emerged surprising insights. Maybe the wisdom, resilience, and humanity at the heart of punk can spark something in your own life too and change how you see the world.
This isn’t just another book on punk and hardcore; it’s a book on life. It’s not a documentation of a certain place at a certain time, because punk is dynamic and ever-evolving. It’s not a thing of the past; it’s happening right now in cities and towns all over the world. What you know of punk is not its only story; what you know of life is not the only possibility. Punk is a big wide world with a lot to offer.
Original photo: Jhonny Russell / handmade collage by B
On album Currency // Castration Naarm/Melbourne hardcore band, Geld, have found a perfect balance of ferocity and ecstasy. Capturing the raw intensity of anxiety and the transformative power of release, they’ve dialled it up, coalescing all they’ve done before into making a brilliant record, their best yet. The album never drags, and it’s not the heavy moments that hit hardest, it’s the points of difference that have helped Geld carve out their own identity and enables them to stand apart from the heavy pack.
Geld’s guttural vocalist, Al Smith, sat down with Gimmie for an hours-long chat. He discussed the band, their album, hardcore, and the isolation the band has felt. Al also tells of wild shows, having a boner for community, and of a tour where he could have died. Additionally, we discuss Turnstile, soapboxes, and mental health. He also speaks about a Naarm/Melbourne band deserving of wider recognition, and his involvement in other bands with new releases in the works: The Neuros and The Vacant Lot.
In a couple of years, I’ll have been chatting with punk and hardcore bands for 30 years. I’ve been doing it since I was teen.
AL SMITH: Wow. There’s so much stuff in the scene aside from being in bands, those auxiliary roles of photographers and writers that are important. It seems like there’s no one actually doing any writing much at the moment. What you’re doing is pure music journalism.
Thank you. I just write about something I love and share that with people.
AS: When I was young, I came from the suburbs and didn’t know anyone in music. The way that I would consume music and find out about stuff was through community radio. I had my Maximum Rocknroll subscription and I’d go down to Missing Link and get all the fucking zines and pore through it all. That’s not really a thing that happens anymore.
We started Gimme online during the pandemic and started doing the print issue too. In the first year I interviewed over 150 bands. We mail the print zine out ourselves, and it was really cool to see where it goes, a lot of regional places, which is awesome! We’d get nice messages from people that got it, saying that it really helped them feel connected to music and the scene, especially during lockdowns.
AS: That’s incredible. When we got interviewed to do our bio. Everyone at Relapse was like, ‘Look, if there’s going to be one thing, aside from the record itself, that you actually think about and want to get right, it’s the bio.’ Because every single publication is just going to rinse and repeat that.
I was vanity searching, seeing what people have been saying about the record. If someone does 200 words aside from them just posting the bio, that’s a lot of effort, it seems. It’s wild that that’s the landscape of music journalism.
On a grassroots level, it seems like people are just kicking these bios down the road. I was reading Gimmie, and it’s obvious you guys really care about music. It’s a dying art form to do actual hard music writing. What you’re doing is cool. We were really happy that you asked us to have a chat.
I’ve been wanting to talk to you for ages! I only knew you through your live shows and music, and you seemed pretty scary, so I was reluctant to ask. Talking to you now, obviously you’re not scary.
AS: [Laughs]. It’s all pretend!
Just before we started chatting, I was really nervous, despite doing this for so long I still get nervous before talking to anyone. To be honest, I feel kind of awkward anyway in social situations.
AS: I’m the same. With a one-on-one, I’m like aces. But if you get a group of four people, I’m shocking. But also, I could imagine it being a little confronting because you don’t know what this person’s gonna be like as conversationalist. Maybe you’ll be like, so how was making the record? And they’re like, ‘Oh, yeah, it’s fine.’ That’s it [laughs].
There’s lots of things I want to talk to you about, because I LOVE Geld, and other bands you’ve been part of as well. Why is music important to you?
AS: I was a bit of a loner when I was younger, and getting into music in early high school was a thing that I actually cared about. The only reason I wanted to start playing in bands is, I wanted to contribute to the cause. All these people that I love from afar are doing all these fantastic things. And it feels disingenuous to get so much out of something without throwing your hat in the ring. Like you with writing, or again, photographers, or people that love to book shows and stuff. It’s contributing to something. A huge part of it was, on a personal level, my own sense of agency.
Playing in Geld has been something where it’s like, we’ve all been in heaps of bands and we’re all a little bit older and we just wanted to do a band that was the synthesis of everything we like about being in a band. That includes friendship, the social dynamic to how its collected in an artistic standpoint. It’s weird to think about it because I’ve been playing music for, shit, maybe almost going on 20 years now! It’s now just, like, fucking wallpaper—one big thing.
When the pandemic happened and we didn’t have shows, that routine that we’re all so used to wasn’t there. For a while, it was refreshing because it can be exhausting going to shows and doing the whole thing.
When that period of lockdown was over and we could somewhat safely start going to shows again, I had this real come-to-Jesus moment where I was like, holy shit! I totally took for granted how much this enriches me as a person and how it’s like, magic. My mental health started to get so much better. I started going to shows and started playing shows again.
There’s that old adage: someone’s like, ‘Oh, I’ve got to go play this show,’ or ‘I’m going to The Tote again,’ or something like that. When it all came back, there was this refreshed air of positivity. I think a lot of people had the same experience as me. It was like, oh, this is actually a really important community that does offer lots to people.
It’s sort of always been the only thing that’s really made sense to me. It’s like an extra limb. It’s just sort of there.
I totally get you because I feel the same. We wouldn’t have stuck with this so long if it wasn’t important to us. Music gives us so much. You find friends through music. It’s gives you community. It helps you discover and express yourself. I found my husband through music. All the things that I do, it’s pretty much because of music. It can give a sense of purpose.
When I first got into the punk and hardcore in my teens, I became really obsessed with it. For a while, it became so much part of my identity. As I experienced more and grew as a person, I learned that there’s a much bigger world out there.
AS: Yeah. I’m always a little tentative to drink the Kool Aid too hard. Because the last thing you want to be is a really fucking boring person that is just like, ‘My personality is hardcore,’ that sounds kind of gross.
Totally!
AS: You can draw a direct line from punk and hardcore—by extension, music in general—to basically everything in my life. Like you, I met my partner through music. My entire friendship circle is sort of geared around this thing, and, again, something like the pandemic made you take a step back and realise, oh, okay, it is a pretty seismic change to take away something that you’re constantly doing; you just take it for granted.
At one point in my life, I enlisted into this thing because I cared about it from a personal level. It started to permeate into other parts of my life, like my social circle. I’m super lucky that I was around a scene that was a real diverse scene. A lot of people aren’t as lucky as us to be in a community that has different folks from different genders and backgrounds. I’m so lucky that I had heaps of women in my life—strong women—that were able to help shape a lot of my core values, that have sort of unconsciously come into me. I’m pretty happy with where I stand with my values right now.
Honestly, if you do the Sliding Doors-thing, and I went off and did something else, maybe I wasn’t going to have those values, and maybe I wouldn’t have this kind of mindset that I hold pretty dear. Along with having mates to get pissed with and being able to see sick bands, there’s also a certain moral compass that gets defined within people in a small community that is so diverse.
What are the things you value?
AS: I’ve got a real massive boner for community. Ultimately, at the end of the day, those are the things that are important: having a connection to people and being able to create and do things in this very holistic context. We all take it for granted from time to time, but it’s something that’s so enriching for so many reasons. I guess I’m the biggest lefto soy boy cuck there is! [laughs].
To be honest with you, it’s somewhat uncomfortable to talk about your values because I don’t want to be like, ‘Of course, I’m like a far-left leaning person that is very heavily centred around community.’
I know what you mean. I asked about your values because you mentioned you’re happy with them and I was curious to know more. I got many of my values sparked from being part of our community, even just through listening to punk bands, reading liner notes, and interviews with bands, I learned so much. For example, it made me take an interest in politics and influenced my dietary and lifestyle choices.
AS: Those kind of things can spawn from a superficial standpoint, like, ‘That cool person is doing that thing.’ But then after a while, you can look back at it and think about it, and it’s like, ‘Oh, no, this is actually something that’s pretty cool.’
I’m endlessly grateful that I fell arse-backwards into a community that was able to help me shape my ideas in a pro-human context. Because if I was to be ingrained in a corporate community or something like that, I don’t know if I would still have these same values. That’s kind of scary.
People scare me most days.
AS: Oh, that’s because everyone’s awful by and large.
[Laughter]
Don’t even get me started. That’s part of why I do stuff like interviewing people one-on-one or doing behind-the-scenes stuff. I don’t want to be out the front or the face of anything. I’m not interested in attention. I just want to put good work out into the world to counter all the negative I see and experience.
AS: Yeah, I know what you mean. Having a one-on-one conversation, there’s a lot more meat on that bone.We’ve done a bunch of interviews with us as a band, and you kind of fall back into canned answers. Questions are the same, and so you’re just saying the same thing, and it feels like you’re just reeling off a script a little bit. Not that it’s not true, but there’s only so much you can talk about when someone’s like, ‘So you’re a psychedelic hardcore band…’ That was coined one day, and we feel really uncomfortable about it.
I get that; I find labels pretty flaky in general. Geld have a new album called Currency // Castration. One of the first things I noticed, is the title is two meanings for geld.
AS: Correct. We wanted that title because it’s quite good from a visual standpoint; it looks pretty stark. Playing in Germany, basically the healthiest scene in Europe (it might have changed since we were last there, but it was so when we played seven or eight shows there), without fail, there would be some lovely but also equal parts punishing German person come up to me and be like, ‘Did you know that Geld means money in German?’ We were like, yes, we have access to the internet. That’s actually why we named it that. I would be like, ‘Do you know it actually means castration in English?’ And they would be like, ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ That’s been a running gag in Geld for a minute now.
To be a bit more serious about it, this record was also the most collaborative record that we have done thus far in terms of how many members are actually contributing songs. We also did think it was a pretty concise synthesis of what we thought the band was like, a good representation. For an all-encompassing record, it suits to have an all-encompassing name.
I don’t know if we’ll make another record that we feel is so encapsulating of what we want Geld to be, or what we think Geld is supposed to be at this particular time.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
Album opener ‘Currency’ and closer ‘Castration’ are instrumentals. ‘Across A Broad Plain’ in the middle is too.
AS: A lot of the time when we’re writing these records, what we’ll usually do is write anywhere between 15 and 20 songs. There will be no preconceived notions of what the record is supposed to be or what it’s going to sound like, or there’s no kind of conceptual identity to it. We’ll just keep writing and writing and writing and writing and writing and then after, if we feel like we’ve got enough of a base to work with, we’ll start trying to put things together and see, okay, do we have a record in this? That’s when the songs go onto the canvas and we just look at it and we’re like, okay, does it need anything more
Most of the time, we are like, okay, it probably needs some kind of interlude. It needs some sort of intro, it needs other things. So I guess for a lack of a better word, the ‘Currency’ and ‘Castration’ situation are an aesthetic thing, placeholder titles for interludes that we think are important to make the record feel complete and concise.
I noticed that song ‘Hanging From A Rope’ has the lyric: Across a broad plain in the new age. That song appears before ‘Across A Broad Plain’; are they connected in any way?
AS: Not necessarily. I just thought that it was a good line. ‘Hanging From A Rope’ is definitely the most effort I’ve ever put into lyrics of any song at all—I tried a little harder. Not that I don’t try with lyrics otherwise. If you’re singing about what you know… [pauses]. I’ve always felt really uncomfortable… [pauses again] what’s the best way to put this? I don’t want to dump on anyone. But I feel comfortable standing up on a stage and screaming about something that I can then look back at and be like, ‘Yeah, this is something I believe in and this is something that I can speak truth to power to.’
As a cis white middle-class man [laughs], there is a lot of shit going on in the world that is really fucked up, but I am also someone that is directly benefiting from it because of who I am and my background. So, it feels disingenuous to talk about like… what are the things that actually are going on with me. Most of it is inward and it’s my own mental health. My anxiety and things that are going on inward feel much more comfortable to me. Getting up on a stage and screaming about it, rather than talking about current events. I also feel uncomfortable with people time stamping songs.
‘Hanging From A Rope’ was from a lyrical standpoint is all pretty introspective, like most of the record. That’s always been a running theme in Geld. It’s not like we are nihilistic or apathetic to the things going on around us. But, if everything has been focused inwards, all of the anger comes from our limitations and the things that we struggle with personally, rather than us projecting out what is wrong with the world. Because as a bunch of dudes, I don’t feel comfortable with that. I feel much more comfortable talking about everything that’s wrong with me rather than everything that’s wrong with the world. I understand how some people would see that as difficult.
Everyone has problems. Everyone’s problems matter to them, and sometimes someone is going through something that doesn’t seem big to you but it’s massive to them.
AS: For sure. You never want to get into a fucking dick measuring contest with someone else’s problems because there’s no baseline, there’s no manual for grief and pain. If someone feels something, they feel it, period. That’s it.
It’s cathartic for me in my own mental health, writing about that stuff.
By you being open and sharing those kinds of things, it can help others that resonate with it. How many times have you listened to lyrics and thought, ‘Oh my god, this person gets me!’?
AS: Totally. Also from another angle, Geld has never set out to be a band that sounded different. We’ve all done genre bands before. We’ve all been in D-Beat bands and did a whole bunch of different kinds of music. Those bands are great, some of my favourite bands in the world are like hard, dyed in wool genre bands. But we wanted to do something where there is literally nothing that is not on the table. The only prerequisite is—to do something good. We all have this trust in each other to be objective about what is good, and what is bad, and have a really good bullshit filter. You can do whatever you want in the band.
In the beginning at least, that ended up isolating us a little bit because we were too much of a hardcore band for the punks and too much of a punk band for the hardcore bands. We felt pretty alienated. Maybe unconsciously, that permeated into the way that I’d write lyrics, because I would feel that. If the band is focused inwards, it makes sense for the lyrical content to toe the line with that.
There’s themes of alienation, isolation and anxiety on the record. A lot of songs are about your own mortality and time ticking away.
AS: Yeah. Bemoaning the concept of time being created. It’s a day of me just being stressed as fuck and thinking, ‘Who the fuck started this?’ Someone did it. I want to find that motherfucker and I want to beat them up because they’re the worst. Someone just went, ‘Aaannd, go!’ and that’s how our lives work now.
Yeah. Then you’ve got calendars and everything else that measures our existence, and keeps us on a schedule.
AS: [Laughs] Another thing, from an aesthetic point of view, when I deal with anxiety in an episodic standpoint, re: panic attacks, obviously they’re bad experiences, but the other side of the coin is that that’s one of the times in my life where I feel the most powerful. Because just in terms of pure energy that is being put out, it’s quite confronting to feel so much emotion surging through you. In the most uncomfortable way, it’s also cathartic.
I’ve always related the idea of all the hardcore bands and punk bands I like, when you can see sound, the aesthetic correlation; punk and hardcore sounds anxious. Everything is a tight spring that’s about to break. I’ve always loved it so much, it’s like techno. It’s about attack and release. That’s why people can mosh to it and people can dance at club nights. I see a like direct correlation between anxiety, pent up and then releasing.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
Yeah. I know that feeling.
AS: Isn’t that the best feeling in the world? Where you are seeing a band that is killing it and then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, you realise that your whole body is tensed. It’s just like, ‘Oh, I haven’t breathed in a while.’ [Laughs].
Totally! That was me at your show on the Gold Coast when you played Vinnie’s Dive.
AS: That was such a weird show [laughs].
It was the wildest show I’ve ever seen there. One of my all-time favourite live moments ever, is when you were talking to the crowd and told them, ‘Do better!’ Just after that, I saw a table thrown right into the middle of the pit. After your set, I saw at least five people bleeding.
AS: Sorry. Now we play on a lot of different lineups, a lot of them being HxC lineups, and they don’t really know what to do with fast music because we’re not a two-step band.
For the longest time, again, being a generally uncomfortable person, I wouldn’t say anything to the crowd. Because it’s staunch and it’s stoic and it has this nihilistic standpoint… I’m like, I’m not even going to speak to you. I’m just going to yell and yada, yada, yada.
And then after a while, Cormy [Geld’s guitarist] said to me, ‘Hey, you should actually say stuff and engage because it’s a good thing—you should do it.’ I was like, ‘That’s so stupid, I hate that!’ Eventually, it started to happen, and I started to actually engage and verbalise.
I always thought that the things some people said on stage was sort of time-wasting, placeholder things like, ‘Oh, yeah, thanks for coming out,’ stuff like that. When you see those hardcore bands, the singer going off on some fucking diatribe, I’m just like, ‘That’s so uncomfortable. I feel so weird about that.’
But it’s true, though, people actually engage with the words that you’re saying. People aren’t necessarily present of their own place at a venue and someone’s like, ‘Can you actually do something?’ They’re like, ‘Oh, okay, what? Sure!’ Again, it’s all pretend.
I was standing at the front at your show, and when that table got thrown, I was like, ‘Nah, I’m out.’ I’m going to go stand at the back now because I didn’t want to get hurt.
AS: I seem to remember me standing on that table and immediately regretting it because it was not stable.
So we were talking about you telling the audience to do better…
AS: Oh, yeah. Geld, we’re really big pro wrestling fans. It’s not a character, but… it would be disingenuous, especially for hardcore front people, to be like, ‘Oh, yeah, that is totally how I am all of the time.’ Like, no, it’s not. Even if it is honest with yourself, it’s like this cartoony amplified version.
For me, it’s quite liberating to admit that it’s just a fucking… I’m just being antagonistic because… I don’t care if people move. It’s not going to keep me up at night [laughs]. But it’s fun playing to it. I get a giddy little thrill of just poking the bear and seeing if it’ll incite some kind of reaction. And it did at that show—win!
After seeing that show, we thought the Jerkfest set you were going to play, would be similar so we sat up on a table to avoid the craziness. But it didn’t end up being as wild.
AS: I’ve gotten to this unhealthy way of gauging the quality of shows by how much chaos happens. That is a bad road to go down. Especially because there’s a lot of variables that go into people going crazy and you would just be like, ‘Oh, not many people moved, so I guess we suck!’ Being a hardcore band that doesn’t make people move, you think it’s a bad show. But that’s not necessarily it at all.
Do you have a show that you’ve played that was really memorable?
AS: Yeah, when we played in Boston in 2018, it was off the back of us doing Perfect Texture, the first record. People had moved at our shows before and we had some pretty crazy stuff happen, but it was the first insane show and probably because someone happened to film it. It’s on YouTube. I remember watching that back and it was like, oh, yeah, all of these wasted years seems like… it was really validating.
it was during the summer in Boston and it was just like it would have been at, conservatively, north of 35, pushing 40 degrees on stage. Soon after that show, I ended up getting pneumonia. We still had four or five dates on the tour. I’m about to say something that’s going to be a real big flex, but if I hadn’t known it was pneumonia, 100% would have cancelled shows. But I just thought I had the flu or a bug.
Every single night was hell. I was in the van shivering, freezing and sweating and just before we’re about to play, someone from the band would knock on the van window and I’d be, all right, let’s go do it! Peel myself out of the van and go and do it. I immediately get back into the van after, and be freezing. It was terrible.
The last show was in New York and I had a couple of days with my partner. Luckily, I got travel health insurance and I went to the doctor. I was honest and told him what was actually going on. He was like, ‘You fucking idiot! You very easily could have died! Pneumonia is straight up, like water in the lungs. You had water in your lungs and you were screaming!’ [Laughs]. In a toxic masc[ulinity], part of my brain, I like, ‘Oh cool.’ But then I felt so embarrassed, like, all humans are supposed to not kill themselves. I felt like I did really badly at that. It was embarrassing.
That’s so full on! Is there anything you do to look after your voice? Have you taught yourself ways to scream where it doesn’t harm you?
AS: Yeah, I think the latter. I try not to be an idiot about it because I have lost my voice on tour at times. Speaking of embarrassing moments, that is terrible.
Do you feel like you let people down when that happens?
AS: 100%. We played a show in Leipzig, and I had lost my voice. There was 250+ people at the show, and I was standing up in front of people being, ‘Sorry!’ It’s like, oh, god, no. I try and not overdo it. There’s ways to fake it without actually yelling. I’ve found a spot, because I haven’t lost my voice in a really long time.
You mentioned that playing the show in Boston, you felt really validated; did you feel validated signing to Relapse?
AS: Super. It’s so very validating! The nerdy suburban kid in me just feeling like I was listening to all of those Relapse bands when I was a teenager. All of us feel really over the moon with it.
Because of the pandemic, by virtue of time, we ended up, this is the longest we’ve ever worked on a record. We were working on the record for two years. It’s super validating, and it feels super rewarding to know that, the scope that Relapse has in terms of distribution and, how much effort goes into what they do; they’ve all been so fantastic. It feels good that something you’ve worked on for so long is getting the platform that is rewarding after that whole process.
You guys have been doing it for sometime! In the next couple of weeks, it’s the anniversary of your first demo.
AS: Obviously you know more than I do [laughs]. It’s been a while.
Your first demo came out in 2016.
AS: Oh, my god. Fuck. Yeah. So we’ll be skirting around 10 years soon.
The discography that we’ve had, we are hyper-aware that it’s atypical for hardcore bands to exist for this long, and getting to a third record is not the most common thing for hardcore bands. We’ve spoken about it a bunch of times; we definitely do attribute that to the initial mission statement of Geld being a band that we all want to be in and that we all are concerned about each other. We’re concerned about how we all feel about it. We’re concerned about being able to be as artistically and socially free as possible.
It’s meant that whenever we finish a record, we don’t have time off. We’ll finish the record, and then it’s rehearsal the next week, and we’ll just start writing the next record. The initial mission statement of ‘nothing is off the table’ means that it’s always enriching to write stuff. It’s not like, ‘Well, I guess we’ll just cut out this riff again.’ It’s, ‘No, let’s mess around and see what happens.’ That’s exciting.
We rehearse at Cormy’s house and have a bungalow that has been really poorly soundproofed. Cormy just had his third kid. There is another side, quite a familial side to it, because we usually roll up to practice, we spend time with Cormy’s wife and the kids. We hang out for a while, play with them. And then eventually we’ll just go and rehearse. We’ll rehearse for like a tight 2 hours and then bail. So we’re not at a rehearsal room on a Tuesday night being either hungover or just mentally bereft from the week ahead, being in a rehearsal room for like 6 hours. That’s so draining and unsustainable. We’ve put a lot of work into the personal sustainability of the band. That attributes to being a band for almost 10 years.
In that 10 years, we haven’t had a break. There’s been forced breaks of someone might go on holiday or something like that, but usually it’s, Thursday, every week we go to practise and do the thing. No one’s really over it. We’re just going to keep the thing rolling.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
You have something to look forward to every week?
AS: Yeah. I get to hang out with everyone. I get to see Cormy’s family. Cormy and I are the only people that drink at practise. That’s one of my socialising nights. I’m sort of belabouring the point right now, but we’ve designed the band around us being happy and being enriched, so we want to actually do it. We want to make it the best thing it possibly can be. We are in love with this routine and this process that we’re in.
Nice! One of the songs on the album is called ‘Success’; what does that looks like to you?
AS: To be able to do this, you could argue that signing to Relapse is one of those things that would suggest that we have grander ideas of what we want to accomplish. But I think it’s more so that we just want to be a success making records that we’re proud of; that’s the most important thing. And going on tour and all of the other stuff that we got going on, that’s all just icing on the cake.
Success is feeling like we have done our best. When we eventually stop Geld, we’ll be able to look back on it and be like, ‘Yeah.’ We’ve been really lucky to get opportunities like Relapse. Being able to look back on that stuff and be like, these are opportunities that we seized rather than chased.
Someone made a gag the other day, ‘If we wanted to be successful, why the fuck would we start a hardcore band?’ [laughs]. A successful hardcore band is the biggest oxymoron of all time. There’s the gag of being ‘hardcore famous,’ where it’s, ‘Oh, you sold a thousand records.’ We’d start a fucking hyper-pop band if we wanted to actually be successful.
You’ve got bands like Turnstile, who I love. They’re a hardcore band.
AS: Yeah. Turnstile is incredible! But they’re also incredible because they obviously did whatever the fuck they wanted to. They’re a really good example of a band that emotionally puts work into connecting with people. It makes old-head hardcore dudes really mad.
I love that. I love how Turnstile pushed hardcore to make something new. Glow On was one of my favourite albums the year it came out. To me it’s got all the cool bits I love from hardcore, but without all the gross bits of hardcore like toxic masculinity.
AS: Of course. Hardcore is inherently gross. [Laughs].
It seems disingenuous for someone to dump on Turnstile when it seems so (I’m starting to reuse words here but whatever) disingenuous, that hardcore as a style of music is this synthesis of emotion, and Turnstile have been so fantastic at that—they’ve opted for a different emotion. That emotion is still super synthesised and really full on.
Cormy went to see Turnstile when they played here, and he was like, ‘Oh, my god!’ and was in awe of the reaction that they incite. It’s still aggressive. You still see motherfuckers headwalking and aggressive stage diving, but there is an air of positivity to it. You’d be the biggest idiot in the world if you didn’t see that, and be like, ‘Yeah, okay, that’s pretty cool!’
The guy who mastered your record, Arthur Rizk, played guitar on a Turnstile record.
AS: See, this is some fucking Nardwuar bullshit, you know that! [laughs]. Did Arthur actually play on a Turnstile record?
Yeah, he played additional guitar on the Time and Space record.
AS: Really? I don’t believe you.
The info is out there, have a look. It’s there.
AS: I believe you.
I love the positivity that Turnstile have. Even though hardcore is an aggressive kind of music, I’ve gotten positive things from it. It’s been a positive force in my life.
AS: Exactly. That’s like, again, going back to that’s the way that I felt connected to people. And obviously Geld isn’t a positive band, but I would like to think that there is some level of positivity in the amount of emotion that anyone puts into anything.
The artwork for your album has a pretty positive and happy feel to it. Like, the colour choice.
AS: `I think we were talking about earlier, about us not wanting to subvert hardcore, but just do whatever our take on it is. If that happens to be something that is currently going on or what is a standard thing, we’d be like, ‘Okay, that’s fine,’ but at the same time, we never want to be that. One of my big pet peeves is people doing a style of music and trying to intellectualise it because it’s just, you know, ‘I’m playing hardcore, but I’m actually a smart person too.’ So I’m gonna do this in an interesting way, and it just ends up being super contrived and, like, really unnecessary.
The only time I think that we have wanted to subvert stuff is through, the artwork on records.
Album cover painting by Thomas Rowley
Yeah, I’ve noticed that with all the Geld artwork. I really enjoy what you’re doing with it.
AS: The main thing is that for Perfect Texture (and for all three records, actually), Thom the drummer for Geld, he painted the new record cover and he painted the Perfect Texture artwork. In fact, the Perfect Texture artwork is right there [motions to the wall].
You have it! That’s awesome you have the original.
AS: It’s not the original. You know Tom Lyngcoln?
Yeah, I know Tom.
AS: That bastard owns it [laughs]. Thom painted that, and then shortly after Tom Lyngcoln bought it, and we were like, ‘Oh, shit!’ We really wanted to use that for the record cover! So we had to go to Tom’s house in St. Kilda, and take a photo of it.
I love the music Tom makes.
AS: Yeah. We’ve just got so many good bands right now. Swab is one of my favourite bands in Melbourne. They deserve to be gigantic!
We love them too! Christina [Pap] is in my punk book I’ve been working on for a couple of decades that will be out soon. It’s been important for me to include voices that don’t normally get a chance to be heard in punk rock and the history of punk projects. Women, people of colour, queer and non-binary people. Lots of people could learn a lot from the punk community
AS: 100%. There is a weird kind of utopian level of idealism that permeates through punk and that doesn’t always shake out. Obviously, no community is perfect and has issues within it, especially when it comes to diversity and especially when it comes to hardcore. But there have been some pretty incredible stories from ultra-diverse people. It’s not all just white dudes having a yell, shirtless.
[Talk continues about the punk book]
AS: I’m pretty overwhelmed by this conversation. The attitude that you bring to all this is so infectious. There is definitely a purity to the way that you’re speaking about your book and the things that you want to talk about within punk and hardcore. It’s pretty inspiring, to be honest.
That’s the plan!
AS: Do you actually have any downtime ever?
Not really. But everything I do is fun. So usually it doesn’t feel like I’m working. My day job is working as a book editor with fellow Indigenous writers to tell our stories in our own ways. I just like making art and talking to people too. I like sharing things that I find exciting, like we do with Gimmie.
AS: Are you like me? Where unfortunately for my friends and my partner, I’m a bit of a Punisher when it comes to things I’m excited about? I have that feeling when I might be overseas or somewhere, and see something that moves me in a way, and I wish that I could transport a specific person that I’m thinking about to be there right next to me. So you can hold them and have them experience the thing that you’re experiencing.
Totally! That gave me goosebumps.
AS: Then it can transcend into something that’s a little bit more like punishing, where it’s like, ‘Have you heard this band?! You’re showing a band to someone and you’re listening to a song and you’re like, ‘This bit, ready?’ And then, ‘Isn’t this the greatest thing ever?’
Yeah, and then you rewind it, so they can hear it again!
AS: Oh, my god, yes! It’s like I have all of this stuff inside me right now, and it’s too much for me to bear on my own and I just want to give some of it to you [laughs].
All that stuff that you and Jhonny are doing, it’s obviously coming from a place of an emotional connection. That you guys are creating with the things that you consume and love and are wanting to actually permeate that emotion out into the world. That’s really cool!
Awww, thank you! That means a lot that you can see that. Well, I’m so excited about your new record. And it’s so cool that you’ve found a home on Relapse Records. I love when cool stuff happens for other people, especially when they work hard like you guys have. Like you were saying, the record is an amalgamation of all the things that you believe in that you have been working towards.
AS: Yeah. Bands always want to try and create the perfect package that will give someone all of the information that they possibly need to understand what you’re trying to do. I reckon we have done this on this record. But having said that, by the time the next record comes along, that could be completely different. We always threaten each other that the next record is going to be the ‘make it’ record, where I’m going to start singing-singing [laughs].
Yes! I’d buy that.
AS: It’s kind of like, okay, we’ve done the record that we wanted. Now, let’s just be really silly about it. I don’t think we’ll ever do it, but you never know.
It’s a really good feeling when you record, and it comes out exactly how you want it to be. Seldom does it ever happen. There’s a lot of accepting that maybe you didn’t get the best takes on something or maybe you didn’t spend enough time on mixing—you have to be happy with whatever it is. This album is the closest we’ve been to whatever the hell was in our heads.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
That’s cool! Is there anything at the moment that you’ve been super into or excited about?
AS: I have started boxing and I am training for a fight now. The biggest thing that’s not music in my life right now, aside from my partner and all my loved ones, is, I am all the way into boxing.
My grandfather boxed, in an amateur sense. When I was young, he sat me down in front of the Lennox Lewis/Mike Tyson fight ,and I have followed boxing and MMA ever since. I’ve actually been training with one of my mates, Kristy Harris, she was a bronze medalist at the Commonwealth Games.
She’s great! She plays in a band called Eyeroll too.
AS: Yeah. That’s who’s been training me. I got to know her because she bought some Geld stuff and we got talking. She’s close buds with Emily from Straitjacket [Nation], who also boxes.
Boxing, like learning the steps, is like learning a guitar riff. It’s body mechanics. Learning those body mechanics was my way of being like, ‘Okay, I’m into this, so I don’t have to worry about the fitness thing because I want to do it. Totally.
When you started playing music, you started playing guitar?
AS: I’ve been a guitar player mostly. I write a lot of the Geld songs. Well, everyone everyone writes a lot of the Geld songs now. The demo was mostly me. As the records have kept going its changed; I only have three songs on the new record.
What was your first band?
AS: Going back to high school, I was in a metal band called Trench Warfare. I played in a garage punk band called, Bad Aches. Then I played in a band called Gentlemen with Tom.
Recently, I’ve been playing bass in The Vacant Lot; it’s been great—obviously I’m a real massive nerd about Australian first wave punk. I can’t wait to record with them because it’ll be like the smallest part of me being involved in history of Australian punk. Obviously, Australia as a fucking massive colony fucking sucks. And having any kind of nation pride or civic pride is pretty fucking hard to do at times. But the one thing that I was speaking to Pip, my partner the other day, the one thing I actually am quite patriotic about is the particular brand of punk that Australia has created. It actually sounds like Australian, and it does sound like there is something unique to it. And that’s something that I’ve thought about quite a lot. There’s not much to be proud about about our country.
You did the band Rabid Dogs too?
AS: Yeah, I did that with Kate and Kirk. Yeah, I did rabid dogs with Kate [Curtis] and Kirk [Scotcher]. That was awesome. I was living with Lee [Parker] at the time, and we were listening to The Damned a lot, and we wanted to do a band like that. I don’t think it ended up sounding like The Damned. Then Kate moved to New York, and shortly after that, Kirk and I started The Neuros.
That’s my favourite band you’ve done. The 7 inch is amazing!
AS: We basically have an LP together now.
I can’t wait! That news makes me super excited! Anything else you wanted to talk about?
AS: Sometimes the most liberating thing is to say to someone, ‘Hey, I actually really care about this,’ and being excited about that, and excited about what you are, and what something actually means to you. There’s no shame in being excited about something. I’m excited about lots of things all day long. Who doesn’t want to wake up and be excited about something? Again, like when I was talking about getting out of the pandemic and people being excited to go to shows again, that people had previously taken for granted. Not realising what a fucking gift it is to be able to pay $15 and have an evening’s worth of entertainment that is literally world-class. It’s bananas!
I didn’t say it outright earlier, but a big thing for me about lyrical content and presence of being a singer in Geld, is understanding, like not wanting to make everything inward focusing when it comes to content. Because I am essentially, as an existential form, checking my privilege or trying to check my privilege. Because it’s difficult to complain from such a comfy seat that I have. I deal with my own problems, but at the same time, from a societal systemic angle, I got it pretty good. I’m privileged enough to not have to deal with experiences like that. And that’s terrible.
Again, I never want Geld to come off like I am…[pauses and thinks] I don’t have a plight. There’s no plight in me. I’m lucky, and I don’t want to take that for granted when I’m expressing myself because there are people that I know, that deal with things from a societal standpoint that are much more serious. I never want to minimise that by being too loud about issues that I don’t really feel like I have the right to stand up on a soapbox and talk about. Does that make any sense?
It does.
AS: People that know me or people that know Geld understand our politics, and I don’t want to use our platform for that. I have thought about doing a call to Country (Acknowledgement of Country) at the start of our sets and decided I don’t want to do it, because when I see a lot of white people doing it, speaking as a white person, I don’t want to claim any cachet from anyone else, from First Nations pain. Does that make sense?
Photo: Jhonny Russell
Yeah, and I respect that.
AS: Doing an Acknowledgement of Country in the community that we exist within, it’s not exactly an outrageous thing to do. But it’s just being conscious of the space I’m taking up and thinking about, why am I actually doing it to a whole bunch of people that already want a treaty? What is the subtext of me doing it?Am I doing it because I feel like I should? Or, am I doing it because I think that people will think higher of me for doing it? I know where my politics lie and it feels disingenuous, to me, personally.
I find it interesting that people talk about caring about mob and our struggles, and acknowledge they’re on our Country, but then how many of those people actually engage with us and actively support what we do or make. How many Indigenous people does the average person in hardcore know?
Yeah. For me, hardly any. I have a couple of friends that are mob, but what does that really mean? Nothing. Obviously I’m an ally, and I’m someone that cares about this stuff from a personal standpoint. But I never want my band to be a soapbox, or I never want my presence as a singer to be a soapbox for issues that ultimately have to do with me in terms of my responsibility, but also have absolutely nothing to do with me. Sometimes I can feel like it’s people taking up space.
Speaking honestly about myself, if I’m making an Acknowledgement of Country, I don’t feel like I am doing enough in my personal life to warrant that, because a lot of the time when someone does that, what are you doing aside from that?
That’s what I always think—what are you doing outside of mouthing some words. I appreciate words but I appreciate action in the day to day more.
AS: People can always do more than what they’re doing. If other white folks want to do, do it. I don’t think it’s problematic or anything. I think it’s cool, but for me personally, I just feel a little uncomfortable about it. I apologise if this is too intense of conversation for a Sunday [laughs].
No, not at all. I love these kinds of conversations, they’re important to have and I don’t see enough of them happening in the punk and hardcore.
AS: Totally. I really enjoyed chatting with you, seriously, though, it’s been actually really cool conversation.
Lydia Lunch has always done what she wants. She has an idea, follows it, finds friends that are the right fit to help execute it, or is happy to do it herself if the situation demands it. Then she moves on to the next place ‘of pure existence’. She doesn’t limit herself with medium or form or labels. Lydia believes that pleasure and joy are the ultimate rebellion in our often difficult world.
Gimmie spoke to Lydia ahead of her Australian tour with Joseph Keckler. We talk about performance, getting paid to rage, energy, her podcast, the documentary she made on depression, of being your own lover, and who’s the daddy!
Do you ever write from a happy place?
LYDIA LUNCH: Why should I? Isn’t that for pop singers to do?
I didn’t say you should but I was wondering if you’d ever tried?
LL: No. I have written a few fiction pieces. I’m happy to be bringing spoken word to Australia this time because the stories all have a different language. I write in many different languages, as I have many different languages in my music. I’m very happy when I can express, when I can perform, the different types of language I write in.
I’ve written about 3 or 4 fiction stories, and what’s interesting is that one of them, which was published in one of my books, people thought was the only true one in the book. I’m like, what are you looking at here, people? And, by the way, Joseph Keckler and I are bringing to Australia a book that we put together of some of my and some of his pieces, and we’re self-publishing just for Australia.
There are a few more humorous pieces only because they’re so ridiculously horrible—all about relationships, sexual adventures, and a little bit about female revenge. Let’s be serious here. It needs to happen [laughs].
How do you feel when you perform?
LL: Fantastic. The thing is, I’ve brought many people to the spoken word stage for the first time, and a lot of them are horrified and never want to go back up again, especially exhibitionist male musicians, never doing that again [laughs]. It’s the most powerful place for me to be. It’s far more powerful than having three guys or a couple of women behind me. It’s what I’m meant to do. So I really feel like an evangelical. Welcome to my church. First commandment, rebellion from false virtue. It’s Sunday here—welcome to my church!
Also, no rules?
LL: First rule is there’s no rules. Exactly. See, we are very much alike.
Yes. I get you. When you perform, are you intentional with the kind of energy that you bring or the mood that you create?
LL: What’s interesting in working with Joseph Keckler is he’s so smooth, charismatic, and romantic, in a way, operatic. Of course, I tried to be a little more subtle in the beginning of what I’m bringing because I’m harsh, I’m hardcore, I’m brutarian. The material I’m bringing, I hope, has a bit more humour and has a bit more nuance. But I am what I am. Am I much different on the stage than off? Well, I have an incredible focus on the stage, and I do tend to get a bit fiery, just like any evangelist. There’s not much difference except I laugh a lot more when I’m off stage; I like when people laugh. Don’t be afraid of laughing.
Lydia and Joseph
How important is spontaneity in your performances?
LL: Since I started writing for spoken word, it could seem as if I’m just delivering a conversation. They’re all very scripted, but of course there’s room for spontaneity and improvisation. You never know what’s going to come out of my filthy fucking mouth.
I know that in June you’ll be turning 65; does that mean anything to you?
LL: Can you believe it? Look at me! [laughs]. I always forget how old I am. I have to look it up; like, wait a minute, get the calculator out! I used to be the baby. I was 16 in New York when I burst upon the scene.
There’s a very big difference between my generation and the one that was before us, just in terms of how we look, how we behave, how we act, how we are. I’m not stopping. When I was 21, I’m like, ‘I will live to be the oldest living woman of rage.’ I’m getting there. Somebody’s got to represent. What are you, about 35?
No, I’m 44.
LL: You see how good we look? [laughs]. Look at us!
That’s because we’ve both lived a life doing the things that we love. There’s a lot to be said for that, and following your path and being of service to people through what you do.
LL: That’s what journalism is, it’s a service to inspire people to find out about something they may or may not know. It’s one of the reasons I have my podcast, The Lydian Spin. There’s 235 episodes to expose people to other people they might not know. Also people bring me people I don’t know either, which is great to be able to present them. Right now journalism is important.
As a teenager, there were great rock magazines that were very alternative, that helped me to investigate what eventually became very important to me. Like the Stooges, the New York dolls, etcetera.
As time goes by, is there anything that you value more now?
LL: How slow my pulse is. Look, if you come out of evasive trauma, you have to learn to…
I just finished a documentary on artists, depression, anxiety, and rage. I don’t have depression or anxiety. My rage I’m paid for; I take it to the stage. A lot of artists have those things so it was important for me to make this documentary. I feel like a magnet for so many people that have it.
Making this documentary, I realised why I don’t have it. I realised that at 9 years old, when I saw a very unjust thing happening to my cousins that happened to me, I’m like, ‘Oh, this not only doesn’t happen here, this happens there; this is global, and this is a historical injustice, especially against children or women.’ That’s when I really got the impetus to do what I do.
And so then there comes a point where you’re like, it’s not enough to just survive; to not appreciate is to abuse yourself of the incredible beauty and joy, wonder and pleasure that one can have. That’s something that is very hard for people that have had trauma to understand. It’s a very important point to make: you owe it to yourself to find pleasure. It’s the first thing that’s stolen from us, especially as women—don’t do that, don’t act like that, don’t enjoy sex. Fuck you! Especially in this time when the world is on fire, when the climate is out of control, when politicians are so full of freaking shit, where there’s conflict in 174 out of 196 countries. We need to to preserve our right to a pleasurable existence.
You’ve talked about how people need to look for fulfilment within themselves and not outside themselves. You seem to have a lot of self-love…
LL: I have a lot of self-love. I’m my biggest motherfucking fan! I wish that more people could become their biggest fan because to fill the void within, only the self will suffice. If you’re looking for any outside stimulus to cure those empty pockets we have, it’s not going to happen. What don’t you like about yourself? Excuse me? Who told you not to like that? You’re all you fucking have in the end, so you better fucking like it. And if you don’t like it—change it.
You can sound any way you want. You can look any way you want. Who’s better than you to be you? You have got to be you. That’s so important for women, especially as so many teenagers are committing suicide because of being pressured by internet bullshit. We need to, especially as women and others, be taught how to love ourselves, and how to fulfil ourselves.
A big problem with a lot of women is they’re looking for this perfect other to come and complete them. Well, you know what? There might be a lot of them. So why don’t you be complete first? And then you could just dibble, dabble. I’ve had quite a few soul mates, some for 7 years. I’ve had many relationships that lasted 2 or 5 years; ending them gracefully, because it wasn’t as if I was trying to fulfil anything in myself. I wanted just the best for both. Nobody can fulfil you. That takes some deep work. Ladies, get to work! Take it from me, you got to learn to love yourself.
I talk about it in the last chapter of my book, Paradoxia. Sometimes you have to learn to become your own lover. Talk to yourself. Masturbate. Come on, ladies. Put your makeup on or whatever. Take your panties off. Whatever you want. We deserve it. We owe it to ourselves. Sisters are doing it for themselves. Come on, get with the programme.
I really admire that, the way that you create. You come up with a concept or idea. Sometimes you find people to collaborate with, sometimes you don’t. You document it, and then you go on. I find a lot of people get stuck.
LL: Not everybody has so many ideas. People might have only 1 or 2 ideas. Some people, it’s like they’re a one trick pony. But then if they do that really well, that’s what they do. I’m a functioning outside schizophrenic. This hotel houses many monsters. They all want to be heard. The concept does come first. And then who makes the most sense to do it with.
Is there any particular thread that you found in all of your collaborators?
LL: They said, ‘Yes!’ It’s interesting because I’ve worked with some powerful women: Exene Cervenka, Wanda Coleman, Karen Finley, various other women. Sylvia Black, who I’m working with, and put a lot of women on the stage, especially doing spoken word workshops.
A lot of the men I’ve worked with are really sensitive, romantic, shy men. And they don’t fear me, because why should they? I’m there to protect them, because I’m the daddy! [laughs].
Original photo: Jhonny Russell / handmade collage by B
Phil and the Tiles are masters of the happy-sad song, the bounce of the music often belying the sentiment underneath. Like lightning in a bottle they’ve captured the human spirit feeling many emotions all at once in song. The writing on their debut fill-length Double Happiness is sophisticated, each member adding their stamp to make their unique, fresh sound. They’re not trying to be anything but themselves; a collective of outstanding individuals. Candid moments give a playfulness and brings levity on this destined for classic Australian punk album status. Lewis Hodgson from CIVIC said the band is, ‘For fans of the true shit, Germs, Sardine V, UV Race, Institute, Zounds, Crass and of course The Snakes.’ Don’t sleep on this album. Double Happiness brings us untold happiness.
Gimmie chatted with vocalist Reef Williams while on holiday in Vietnam. He explored the album with us: dedicated to dear friend Benaiah Fiu (from Sex Drive and Strange Motel) who recently passed. Reef also shared stories about growing up with hippie parents on the festival circuit, his time in the Byron Bay punk hardcore community as a teen, his first time singing live at a guerrilla gig in a drain with hundreds of punks, of living in a tent in a Berlin park alone for months during winter, and a job that inspired song lyrics referencing being splashed with human waste.
REEF: I’m in the hotel kicking back. I’m in Vietnam with my partner Erin, and Reilly [Gaynor], who plays guitar in Phil and the Tiles. Our drummer, Andre [Piciocchi], is here as well. We saw really cheap flights a few months ago, so we decided to come over.
We went to a water park yesterday, and have been doing all the tacky stuff, it’s fun! I’ve been here before and done like all the hikes and stuff. We’re just going to go to more water parks throughout the next couple of days. We’ve been to a few museums too.
You were at Vietnam’s #1 waterpark yesterday?
REEF: Yeah! It’s the biggest one. It’s kind of like Wet N Wild—it’s the ultimate amount of fun! We’re going to cruise out to these raves in the bush; it’s quite far inland. Things are really cheap here, the food is great, and everybody’s friendly.
Do you get to travel much?
REEF: I try to get away every six months, if I can swing it with work. I save up money, then travel, and when I get home I’m always starting from zero again. I’m getting to a point, though, where I’ll probably start chilling more and try to actually save money for later.
What do you usually do for work?
REEF: During the festival season, me and Reilly build compost toilets, at the big doofs and festivals. Like, Strawberry Fields. It’s four months of work over the summer festival season, and then in winter I’m doing gardening and landscaping.
You work outdoors a lot.
REEF: Yeah, I love it, It’s hard work, but it’s nice to be able to kick it outside.
How did you first discover music?
REEF: My parents, basically. I grew up like going to festivals with them because they had a market stall. They are kind of hippies. My dad is into stuff like The Clash and Bad Brains. That trickled down to me. Growing up going to festivals, I’d see a lot of live music, so naturally it happens to become my thing. I got to see bands like Violent Femmes.
That’s rad your parents have such great taste in music and you didn’t feel you really needed to rebel against it, as a lot of people do.
REEF: I was lucky. Obviously, when I was a teenager I’d have phases of rebellion. I’d just be a little ratbag. There was always music playing around the house.
What kind of things would you listen to, to rebel?
REEF: Aussie hip-hop! [laughs]. Like older 90s stuff is great. My parents couldn’t stand it. Anything popular, they would hate.
Is there any particular artist you’d listen to?
REEF: There was this rapper that has a really sharp, piercing voice, and it sounds really angry. I didn’t just listen to it to rebel, I liked it. My sisters hated it too.
I like drum and bass. My parents are more into old reggae and country, or rock ’n’ roll; I’d put my earphones.
Going to the festivals with my parents, I knew I always wanted to go to shows. When I was of age, I started going to my own shows. The first ones I went to were hardcore and punk shows around Byron Bay and the Northern Rivers area.
I didn’t know you lived up this way!
REEF: Yeah. I’m from New Zealand originally, I came over here when I was five. I went to primary school in Sydney. Then we moved to Byron and I went to high school there. At the time there were a lot of all ages hardcore shows and shed shows happening. All that really got me into punk. There was a band, Shackles, that had a shed in an industrial estate, around the corner from my parents place. They were a bit older, but they were always encouraging all the young kids to come and have. Everyone really looked after each other. It was a good scene for it for a long time. And then it dropped off, and I moved to Melbourne as soon as I turned 18.
What attracted you to living in Melbourne?
REEF: Do you remember Maggot fest?
Photo: Jhonny Russell
Yeah!
REEF: I flew down to Melbourne for it, maybe the 2015 one? I was only 17, I thought, ‘If I go, I’ll get in!’ [laughs]. I stayed with my friend, who was from Byron and had lived there for a year already. It was such a breath of fresh air. I knew that I was 100% coming back. Byron’s view and stuff is beautiful, but it’s as soon as I saw those bands in Melbourne, I knew living in Byron I would never get to see stuff like that live because they’d never tour. I was like—this is the place! I turned 18 the next month and moved; I got a Centrelink payment and moved down and lived in a spare room at my friends’ for a bit. I’ve been here eight years now.
I call Melbourne home. I wouldn’t say I didn’t fit in in Byron, but you know how Byron is, the people are different, it’s a small town. But I just knew I was born to go to punk shows and be in the city. As soon as I got there, I met a bunch of great people.
How did you get into making music yourself?
REEF: This band is my first band. I’ve always wanted to do a band. I’m rubbish at playing instruments. I randomly met our guitarist when he was on Schoolies in Byron. He was a few years older than me; I was 16, he was 18. Then, at 2016 Golden Plains, I was watching Eddy Current Suppression Ring play, I looked over and the guy I met a Schoolies was there! I walked over to him. But we didn’t really hang out for a few years and I kept running into him. We’d be like, ‘Let’s do a band!’ Eventually we started jamming at a friends house in the shed at Moorabbin. We were having so much fun, then things got put on hold because of COVID.
One of the original members, had to go over to America to work. They were away for a year. So Charlotte [Zarb from The Snakes] filled in. And when she came back from America, she got to play second guitar. That’s how we got to six people in the band. Hattie [Gleeson]’s left again, recently, because she’s studying Environmental Science, doing a PhD. She’s like, ‘I’m really sorry. I don’t have the time. I really want to.’ I was like, ‘Dude, don’t be sorry. You’re going to be a scientist! There’ll always be a spot for you in this band regardless of anything. Go do your thing!’ Now we’ve got Freya, on guitar now.
Your new album Double Happiness is about to come out—congratulations! It’s our favourite album we’ve heard so far this year.
REEF: Thank you so much, it means a lot. There’s six people in the band who all have different opinions and ideas, and we put it all into the music somehow, and it works. The genius behind it all is definitely Reilly. There’s no bossiness. Everyone puts in their own weird mixture.
Photo: courtesy of Legless
And that’s why it sounds different to anything else. We LOVE it!
REEF: I’m really happy. I never thought I’d be able to hold my own record. When I was 16, 18, 19, I never though it possible and it wasn’t even in my mind. Then you get it, and people actually care about the art we’re all making it’s such a great feeling. It’s a long process to get all done. It’s such a special feeling. I still can’t believe we did it!
I was always a bitch, like so shy, and I never thought I’d be seen in a band but then these guys really brought me on my shell. It was just laughing and jamming. Being a singer has helped me with so much. That positive reinforcement from people around me has been nice.
I’ve always been pretty extroverted and but quite shy at the same time. I wouldn’t say I’ve never really struggled really bad with anxiety and stuff, but singing and the band has helped me. It’s hard to put it into words. It helped me in not really caring about what other people think about me. I’m not trying to impress anyone. In your teens and 20s, you’re always trying to impress people.
When you stop caring about what other people think, you’ve got nothing to lose and that gives you more freedom.
REEF: Yeah, without double guessing yourself. All that stuff is the biggest thing that holds everybody back. They get scared. I know people that do so much great shit but they’re just like, ‘Nah, it’s not good. I don’t want to put it out there to show people.’ I always try to back my friends and encourage them because I’ve felt like that before. I’m so much happier now.
I was so inspired by the bands I’d watch as a teen, I hope we can inspire other people to get into and keep the cycle going. If one person starts playing guitar, that’s something. I just want people to create something beautiful in their life. Music is a really beautiful thing.
You inspire us! We’ve obsessed with Double Happiness. ‘Death Ship’ has become a bit of an anthem around Gimmie HQ.
REEF: It’s got that happy-sad feeling to it. It’s my favourite song on the whole album. He just did it all, at home by himself. When he sent through, I was like, ‘Oh, that’s gonna be great!’ You can interpret the lyrics in many different ways. A lot of it is about being lonely, and COVID and overcoming that. When I read it I thought it could be about love. It’s a special song. It’s a wave of emotion.
That’s a great way to describe it. Phil and the Tiles do that happy-sad dynamic simultaneously, so well!
REEF: It’s a good thing to aim for. You want it to touch you. That song reminds me of riding a bike at night with my earphones in. Like riding home from work or to someone’s house, or it’s late at night and there’s no one around, there’s just you, and the street lights—and you’re taking in the world.
That’s such a lovely vision. I interpreted the song as existential. That line: Ask yourself, what’s the point of all of this? Pondering life.
REEF: Yeah, in Melbourne when the lockdown was happening, when the song was written, it’s like, ‘What’s the point? When is this going to end?’ And then it’s lifted and bring it back. And then I think that’s what was going through [Matt] Powelly’s mind when he wrote the lyrics. This may sound tough, but it’s about being complacent with death; it’s like, ‘It’s not going to end, I don’t even care.’ It’s not a suicide song, though. It’s about accepting that this is how it is now.
The song ‘Not Today’ (the one before it on the tracklist) pairs really nicely with ‘Death Ship’.
REEF: That was actually the second song we ever wrote. We didn’t put it on the 7-inch. We re-recorded it. I proudly wrote the riff for that one, and everyone came together to add their bits.The lyrics of that song was written after I came back from living in Berlin. I just ran around hitching with my backpack, sleeping bag, and a lightweight camping tent. I ended up staying in a park for seven months. I was standing on my own feet, living in a tent throughout the winter; it was so cold. It was real sad; I was away from my partner. I had mates who would let me shower at their place, but I didn’t want to burden them. I had a gas cooker, so it wasn’t too bad. But I was so lonely. I kind of got stuck there. I was a step above being homeless. It was by choice, though. I overstayed my visa. They didn’t even look closely at my passport when I left, they were happy I was going [laughs]. Who cares if you get a three year ban or whatever. I had so many crazy experiences. I went to crust-punk squats. If they see the situation you’re in, they try to help.
When I got back to Australia, it was summer. I went from being cold and a crazy bit of depression to, ‘I’m back,’ like everything seemed so beautiful to me. The line about the veggie patch—I could walk into the backyard and grab something and make some food. Being able to wake up beside my partner was perfect, I had been at such a low point while away, beside them it felt like life was great again.
It sounds like you had a real period of growth.
REEF: I did. It was nice to come home.
While I was in Berlin, I had a solar power battery charger. I’d use free Wi-Fi to download podcasts, and a movie, then go back to my tent, make dinner. I’d cruise around on my bike a lot. I’d ride 50-80kms out of the city to go to this lake. It was a great experience but then it got really sad, and then it was cold; I missed being in warm Australia.
I wrote ‘Not Today’ the second day I got back. I wrote down notes, then came up with the riff, then we all worked on the song. I jumbled the words, and it was more of a poem kind of thing.
On that first day home, it was nice knowing I could live normally in a house, I could make money properly, I had all my friends around, and it was warm. The line in the song: I don’t want to sit by myself today; it was referring to the weeks before. I was feeling sorry for myself, and wanted to get outside and get amongst it.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
Just enjoy the day?
REEF: Yeah!
The album is called Double Happiness, which we love!
REEF: Me, Reilly, and Charlotte were in Sydney sitting around thinking, what would be a good name for the album? That same day someone picked up something from the ground that said Double Happiness. It was an empty pack of cigs, those cheap Chinese important ones. We took it as a sign to call it that [laughs]. It was going to be called And The Plot Thickens, but we thought Double Happiness sounds cooler.
By the way, I just want to say thank you for the amount of effort you guys put into Gimmie. It’s so good, it’s true passion. In my opinion, the best covering this weird little scene of ours.
Awww. Thank you! That means so much. We just cover all the stuff we love.
It’s all so great! The videos you guys put together too.
We love doing the live videos. It’s important to us to document bands in that way. Jhonny grew up in the country and when he was younger, he didn’t have access to shows. Also, with chronic health challenges we can’t always get to shows. So when we come across a live vid of a band we love, or discover a new band through someone’s vid, it means a lot. We also ship a lot of Gimmie print zines to regional places, and often people contact us and say that it helps them feel connected to a scene or they discover new bands from it. That’s what it’s all about, sharing cool stuff. I don’t know if a lot of people stop to think that not everyone has access to everything always. The cost of living also prices people out of being able to afford to go to a gig or buy a new record too.
REEF: Yeah. That’s awesome Gimmie goes to regional places. That in itself will inspire kids to do something, like I was talking about before. If one person picks up a guitar or starts playing music with their friends, that’s cool. I was lucky enough to have shows around, but it sounds quite sad and lonely not having access to that, especially when you want to be a part of it.
My dad grew up in the country, in New Zealand. He would get a tape and magazine once a month in the mail. It could change the whole way he would think! He lived in a really bleak place in New Zealand. Getting that mail was a little bit of hope, in his eyes. That’s what you guys do and it’s beautiful.
Do you know Short Sharp Shock? That guy does a bit of filming.
Yeah, we know his stuff. It’s great.
REEF: He’s really lovely. He’s another person that just documents and puts a lot of effort in.
REEF: That was the final end to all the lockdowns, so everyone was really keen to have fun. It was like my first time ever performing. There was so many people there. Everyone was so happy and in such a good mood. It was quite nice, how positive that show was. That show marked that lockdowns were finally over and that we can get back in the groove of things.
We really love the art on your new album!
REEF: It really captures the sound of the music. It’s real trippy. This guy, Noam Renn did it. He’s a tattooist. I’ve been looking at his Instagram for years. I love his paintings and knew he was the guy to do it. I went to get tattooed at his shop, and then he was like, Yes, I’ll do it.’ He nailed it! He did three different ones; he put a heap of time and effort into it. The one we chose that first that best is very trippy, like a DMT trip but with no colours, if that makes sense?
Album cover art: Noam Renn
Totally!
REEF: There’s pathways, weird stuff, and it looks leek a portal. It’s my favourite artwork I have, I’ve got it framed in my house.
Cool! I saw when he posted it on his Insta with the caption: snow falls into military temples.
REEF: He’s very smart and poetic. When I met him he told me about how everything he does is just for the art and the love. You can tell he is very genuine, he’s really lovely to have a conversation with. When he does, he’s actually listening to what you’re saying.
Do you have shows or a tour planned for the album release?
REEF: We have our launch on the 15th of March at the Tote. The next day we’re playing with Drunk Mums and a bunch of other bands down the coast. I think this is the year we’re going to try get on the same page, I want to play to as many different people as we can. Everyone’s got jobs so it’s hard for the six of us to figure out a time we can do it. Everyone is frothing for it. We’ll make it work. I’m excited to get out there and for people to see us. I’m so excited about the record.
You should be—every song is a banger!
REEF: Thank you! It’s a roller coaster, it goes up and down, up and down. There’s harder songs and softer ones. There’s a song that sounds kind of Tom Tom Club, really dance-y.
‘Ode to Phil’ is a fun song.
REEF: Phil was Lewis’ cat. I lived with Lewis [Hodgson, guitarist for CIVIC] all through lockdown. I loved that cat; he died.
Awww no!
REEF: The band is named after him. Lewis, my partner, and I were sitting there on a hot summer day and Phil was laying on the kitchen tiles to cool off. My partner was like, ‘Phil and the tiles – that’s a good band name. It went in the WhatsApp group chat, and then just stuck. He was a good cat. One of those cats that hung out the whole time. He had his own seat when you were drinking and stuff.
The song ‘The Watcher’ is a great one too.
REEF: I really like that song too. The lyrics are quite funny, I mixed two things. Part of it is from when we build the compost toilets at all the raves, after it’s over, we literally have big buckets, like, big wheelie bins of human shit. When you’re moving the compost bins you sometimes get splashed with it; we’ll look at each other and go, ‘For fuck’s sake!’ With the lyrics, I’m not talking about some weird fetish [laughs].
The other part is a couple of our Gold Coast friends Benaiah [Benzy] and Bor worked with this guy at this hat factory, who kept talking about writing a book about voyeurism. He’s cooked, man. The way they’d describe it was so funny. When I was writing that song, I remember that story. There’s always a weird thing happening in our lives, I’m constantly writing down funny lines and then will use them if it makes sense for the song.
Charlotte wrote the riff in that song. It was an old Snakes song she wrote years ago but they didn’t do anything with it. Charlotte always whips out cool stuff. I love that we all work together to make our songs, all six people’s input makes it what it is.
Anything else you’d like to share?
REEF: I miss Benzy so much. I’m currently in the works of putting on a fundraiser show for the end of April, to send money to his mum and family. This Phil and the Tiles record is dedicated to him. He was a real beautiful dude. How could anyone know what was going to happen. It’s tragic. There were so many people at the funeral. I was in a bit of a state. It was a beautiful funeral, a mixture of crying, and laughing about Benzy stories that were shared. He lived a fucking beautiful life and touched a lot of people. Rest in peace tonight, man. Literally the last text I ever got from him was: fuck off ‘Death Ship’ man, so good! He was always so positive about anything I did and he really pushed me with this band, and he never put me or anything down. He’d do that with a lot of people, he brings them up.
Phil and the Tiles Double Happiness out tomorrow on one of our favourite labels Legless – GET the album HERE.
Original photo by @martdanza / Handmade collage by B.
At Gimmie, we’re massive music nerds, and we love geeking out about music with friends. Since our first print issue, we’ve been asking musicians we love to share some of their favourite songs with us. We always get such interesting, surprising, eclectic answers, and we’ve discovered lots of cool stuff as well as been reminded of gems we hadn’t heard in ages. So, we’ve decided to do it more often via our site.
Charlotte Gigi, vocalist for the punk band It Thing, shares her favourite song of all time. She reflects on discovering a band she wasn’t initially ready for, whose vocalist sounds like a squeaky toy. She recounts listening to a song for over 5 hours while sleeping in a tent at a bush doof, and shares some of her favourite silly lyrics. Additionally, she mentions a song that changed the shape of her brain, a punk song about cats, an emcee that never sleeps, and more.
We hope you find a new song or artist to listen to on repeat—over and over and over—as us music fanatics tend to do!
‘The Electrician’ – The Walker Brothers
This is possibly my favourite song of all time. The strings are so lush, and just the most wonderful contrast from the intensity of the intro. I think the song is about a drawn-out torture process, which is really grim. But I love it when he sings, ‘Oh, you mambos!’
‘Medicine Bottle’ – Red House Painters
Once, I fell asleep in a wet tent camping, listening to this song in my headphones next to a bush doof. I kept waking up like every 10 minutes for 5 hours to various moments of this song, and it was the most comforting thing ever. The guitar tone is so rich. The lyrics of this song, although it’s quite long, are so memorable because of how impactful they are.
‘Shut Me Down’ – Rowland S Howard
This song was introduced to me by a beloved friend and housemate one winter. He played it a thousand times a day. I love the lyrics. Everyone who knows this song thinks it’s the best song ever. I don’t need to say much.
‘Dear Diary’ – Divinyls
I love how soft and dynamic Chrissy’s voice is on this track, and how she sings about Preston Annual Fair. This song is so feverish; she talks about having a vivid memory of a certain day, perhaps in childhood, and not being sure why. It’s like a photo.
‘Swamp Thing’ – Chameleons
This band is criminally underrated. I love the lyrics in particular: ‘The storm comes, or is it just another shower?’ The pacing is so great; the mood keeps changing from hopeless to hopeful. This is one of the best things to come out of Manchester, in my opinion, which says a lot.
‘Epizootics’ – Scott Walker
My big brother showed me this song when I was 12, and I was like, ‘What the…’ and totally rejected it, but it stuck with me. By the time I was 16, Scott Walker was one of the most important figures to me, and he still is. This whole album is pretty massively important to me; like, it changed the shape of my brain. And then I listened to Tilt. Anyway, I love the Hawaiian lady with metal teeth, I love the beats, the phases throughout the song. I love Scott Walker’s yawny-operatic baritone. You can dance to this all day.
‘I’ve Seen Footage’ – Death Grips
I’ve been in a little bit of a Death Grips rabbit hole lately. That’s all I’ll say about that. I like how MC Ride is on level 11 like, all the time. I don’t reckon he ever sleeps or sits down.
‘Unravel’ – Bjork
On YouTube, there is a beautiful video of Thom Yorke covering this, who is another one of my favourite musicians. He once said it’s his favourite song. It’s so cool to see your favourite artists being fans of one another. The cover gave me a new appreciation for this track, which is surrounded by huger, far less mellow songs on the album. Makes it hard to choose one to mention. I love the way Björk bursts into gibberish… she really uses her voice as an instrument in a unique way.
‘Strawberry Flower’ – 18cruk
I came across this perfect angsty Korean slow jam on the app Pandora when I was also a very angsty 14-year-old. I couldn’t find anything else on this band, but I’ve come back to it often since then. Recently, this entire album became available on streaming, which has been exciting because I never knew how the band sounded apart from this track, and I kind of love how shrouded in mystery this band has been for me for a decade now. And they’re good! Haha. I wonder what the members are doing now. I read somewhere once they disbanded and became rappers?
‘Ambulance Blues’ – Neil Young
I’m not like a massive Neil fan, but this particular song is really special. The lyrics are so profound, with genius phrases scattered through this almost 9-minute track. His vocals ring out so crystal clear. This song is kind of melancholic in a way that makes you feel nice.
‘Shield Your Eyes, A Beast In The Well Of Your Hand’ – Melt Banana
The first time I heard Melt Banana, I was not ready for them, and I didn’t like it. Then, I listened to them a few years later, and I was so ready, and I loved it. This track was my second introduction to them. Yasuko’s vocals sound like a squeaky toy at times, which is so cool. I really love this band.
‘I Against I’ (Omega Sessions 1980) – Bad Brains
HR’s vocals on this are just on another level. He’s definitely one of the more technically good vocalists in punk music. I like how paranoid and rabid he sounds; it’s so full of raw energy. Dr. Know absolutely shreds; his guitar is perfectly parallel to HR’s vocal through all the phases of this song, but this particular version… it is so good like whaaat.
‘Sunglasses’ (single version)- Black Country New Road
This track mentions Scott Walker, which is a huge win off the bat. The band is a 6-piece with the usual suspects and the additions of saxophone and violin, which are heavily utilised in a genius way on this track. I love the building intensity; it reminds me of Silver Mt. Zion. The lyrics are very unnerving with the guitar riff in the intro, and it used to make me really anxious. But I came around because it’s one of the best songs of the 2010s.
‘Teenage Lobotomy’ – Ramones
I just think it’s really funny. But the Ramones have like 40+ songs that are just as great, but ‘DDT did a job on me, now I’m a real sickie’ is such a silly lyric. The Ramones made making music accessible to so many people because they do genius on basics, and I love them for that.
‘Bocanda’ – Gustavo Cerati
This record is a great departure from his band Soda Stereo, who kind of put Argentina on the map musically. I love the trip-hop elements, his sweeping vocal. This track is so moody and visual; it kind of helps that I don’t speak Spanish and have lyrical insight to distract. A perfect song, like a warm bath on a rainy night.
‘Cat’ – The Sugarcubes
This is such an exciting song about cats! It has amazing energy; I’m not sure why that is. I love how it’s in Icelandic too – what a cool language. That guitar riff, especially on the outro, makes it a perfect punk song; it’s all so exciting! Björk’s voice is so intoxicating; she could sing about anything.
Original photo: Jhonny Russell / handmade collage by B
Tim ‘Shogun’ Wall is back with new band, Antenna. The Sydney/Gadigal Country native, that somewhat reluctantly rose from the Australian punk underground to worldwide visibility and acclaim with band, Royal Headache, is producing arguably the best music of his roller coaster life.
We’ve listened to the sneak peek of Antenna’s debut EP (which will be released in a month or so on Urge) over and over, and over. We also saw them live at the start of January when they played a random one-off show on the Gold Coast/Yugambeh Country with Strange Motel, and Boiling Hot Politician. The EP is ripe with energy and soul, of a man who’s experienced a lot of shit, and is still here, still working on things, still processing it all through art—it’s an emotional tour de force sparkling with highlights. It contains some of Shogun’s most exciting and heartfelt performances yet. There’s transcendence amidst chaos. All his influences and past projects are swirling around in this collection of songs. Across the album, guitarist Hideki Amasaki’s work soars as its backbone and defiantly provokes us to react. Indifference is not an option when it comes to this release. It’s already one of our top releases of the year, and it’s only February!
Gimmie sat down with Shogun a night last week, to talk about everything. He shared insights into his journey, discussing where he’s been, where he’s headed, and the significance of this year in his life—in some ways a feeling of make or break looms. It’s also a great reminder that us creatives and fans need to remember to look out for each other and support one-another. Life can be hard, but we’re firmly planted on the side of lifting people up, rather than tearing them down.
SHOGUN: I work a 9 to 5. It’s pretty gnarly, I do court transcription. I don’t really like it. When I fell off the Royal Headache bus, I needed to go and get myself a fucking job. My friend goes, ‘Oh, I do this, maybe you can do this?’ I was like, ‘There’s no way someone like me is gonna get that job!’ But a lot of people say that about a lot of jobs, don’t they? They assume there’s an inadequacy. Anyway, somehow I got through. After being there for a few years, they’re like, ‘You can come and do this permanently if you want’ and be a white collar stiff. I’m there in spite of all reason and logic, I’ll probably be there for the foreseeable future.
It’s not a bad thing to work a day job and do creative stuff. I’ve pretty much always had a job and then done creative stuff too. The job pays the bills and then the creative work is fun and I don’t have to ever compromise and do stuff that I don’t want to do.
SHOGUN: Oh, absolutely. I completely agree. I’ll be at a day job forever. Back in the Royal Headache days, I made a good living off music for a couple years, but it didn’t bring out the best in me, really. Looking back, you’re sitting around the universe for one or two whole weeks, just waiting for a gig and a couple of band practices and, you know, what they say about idle hands. I wasn’t the happiest or best version of myself then by any means.
I am very hyper and I do, even to this day, sadly, still get into mischief. I need routine, it’s good for me. It’s calmed me down a lot.
That’s so great to hear.
SHOGUN: I was really missing playing loud music and punk.
The last year has been a real transition. From being someone who felt definitely a little bit apart from the scene, somewhat bitter, sure, to then progressing to feeling included and optimistic. That’s been nice.
Despite contributing to the punk community for the past 30 years, since I was 15, there’s been so many times when I haven’t felt part of the scene too, so I get you.
SHOGUN: There’s different levels and gradient to it. I was a total hardcore zealot as a kid, I was straight edge, and right in there, in the mosh pits, mic grabs and stuff [laughs].
But then I rejected all that. Maybe it’s the sort of personal I am? I was so zealous and involved that I abruptly became really sick of it, or I found something weirder or more aggressive or more crazy. I went more into powerviolence and grindcore. Then was going to see techno parties and things like Passenger Of Shit and all the fucking Bloody Fist [Records] stuff. It was pretty amazing. I’ve always been part of scenes but then the Royal Headache thing, the whole irony was that, the band got so big.
There’s a few ways to get excluded from a punk community. Obviously you can do something really fucking dodgy so you can’t come back and everyone knows that. But what surprised me and what I didn’t know is, if your band gets really popular, it’s almost the same thing. It’s not as horrific, you haven’t hurt anyone, but the treatment is always almost the same.
I tried to form the ultimate punk band with Royal Headache—some Buzzcocks in there, some soul, a tiny bit of hardcore. It’s going to be great! You know, you’re going to love it! But then, something about the magnitude of the Royal Headache sort of fanfare actually alienated me from that community. Even though, that band was supposed to be my final gift to them. It’s nice to come back in and do it on a small and humble scale, not too thirsty to make any big waves. It’s just nice to be around loud guitars and fast drums again.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
It was great to see you live on the Gold Coast last month with Strange Motel.
SHOGUN: I hadn’t been up there since I was about 9 years old and I actually really loved it. It’s a beautiful community. I actually didn’t know that part of Australia really existed and it’s not like Sydney, Melbourne, or Brisbane—it’s really its own energy.
Yeah. I wish more bands came and played here.
SHOGUN: I was having the most beautiful holiday… until what happened [Benaiah Fiu founder of Strange Motel and guitarist for Sex Drive suddenly passed away after the show].
We still can’t believe it. We were talking to him and hugging him at the show only hours before it happened and then he wasn’t here anymore. You and I are a similar age, with the kind of scenes we’re involved in, unfortunately losing people too early, there’s a greater chance of that.
SHOGUN: Every time it happens it’s almost like you shed so much of yourself, you become a completely different person. It’s almost as if I’m taking like 17 fucking hits of acid or something. You feel spun by it.
Loss and death is a theme that has appeared in some of your songs. Like your project Finnogun’s Wake song, ‘Blue Skies’ was written after a friend’s passing.
SHOGUN: It was. Even though it’s not really mentioned in the song. Sometimes the unmentionable central fact informs the energy of the song, but you never explicitly talk about it because there’s no real way to express it.
Benaiah’s passing really reopened that wound. It had almost closed. I almost forgot the feeling of total grief. It was really good to get so close to him. I’ve known him for about 10 years, we got closer in the last few years. We were messaging all the time. We’d send each other lots of music, stuff that’s just coming out now. I was like sending him the Finnogun’s Wake and I asked, ’Is this shit?’ And he’s like, ‘Uh, yeah.’ And then I sent a new mix, and he’s like, ‘Oh, this is way better.’ He had my back and would get me psyched on it. Like myself, he’s a totally music obsessed, it’s always fucking number one. It’s like a quasi-religious thing.
Totally! Benaiah lived over in the next suburb from us. We’d have these really deep chats. He was trying so hard to do better and get away from the things that were brining him down. It makes it even sadder that ultimately, those things took him. He was looking forward to so much, like shows down south.
SHOGUN: Yeah. He was also one of the only people from the punk scene to give Antenna a show. We’ve been around for over a year now. He was one of the first guys to go, ‘Do you want to play with me?’ All the other shows we’ve done are just with randoms. He took a chance on us. I was really looking forward to doing a bunch of shit with him this year. I was hoping that would give him something to look forward to and work towards. He’s got all this amazing Strange Motel stuff getting rolled out.
When I see my younger mates in trouble, without taking on a patronising bigger brother role, you need to give them something to look forward to. It’s all still very raw.
Yeah. It’s the same with us. It can get really heartbreaking when you see people in the scene you love going down a dark path—we get it, because we’ve been there too—and you want to help. Benaiah’s death really hurt.
SHOGUN: I loved the guy. But I’m down here. He’d come down to Sydney and we’d party. That’s what the Sex Drive guys always do. They get fucking loaded. It’s a fun tradition. I wasn’t perceptive enough to the fact that there’d been problems. I wish I’d known more. Only in the last few days I’d heard it was getting kind of serious. It’s heavy stuff.
You’ve dealt with your own heavy stuff, like addiction.
SHOGUN: Nothing too hard. There was always lots of shit around me, but for me, just booze and some other stuff, nothing hardcore. No smack, and no Ice… [pauses] really, not a lot.
We’ve been totally thrashing the new Antenna EP on the home stereo, on the car stereo, on my phone going for a run, and it’s our favourite thing you’ve done.
SHOGUN: Thanks, man. Fuck yeah!
Photo: Jhonny Russell
It’s like all the things that you’ve done finally culminating and you’re making the music you always wanted to.
SHOGUN: Totally. I really appreciate that. I’m getting really gassed about it because I’ve had the nicest feedback. I sent to to Trae [Brown, vocalist] from Electric Chair. He’s an interesting, cool guy. He didn’t say anything for a couple of weeks and I’m like, ‘He hates it! That’ll be right. Fuck.’ Then he writes, and tells me, ‘This is fucking sick! I love this! You guys have to get over here’. He’s been thrashing it.
A couple of days ago we confirmed that it’s coming out on Urge Records in a month. It’ll be ready for our trip down to Melbourne mid-March. I’m psyched.
A song that really stood out on the EP is ‘Antenna State’. When did you write that song?
SHOGUN: Last year. I’ve been a little happier, maybe the last six months, but when I was writing those songs. I was completely miserable and really nothing was going right. But then I met these great guys; this amazing guitarist, Hideki Amasaki, he’s an incredible dude, a really killer guitarist. I thought, sometimes it’s a little cringy to go and start a punk band at my age. But I’m actually adequately angry and miserable enough to do this. Shit is actually going wrong enough that I can really throw it at a wall. Those songs were written at that time.
‘Antenna State’, without confessing too much, it’s all true. I don’t make these things up. All the lyrics, that was going on for sure. It’s a list, or like a sandwich or a salad of how many things in your life can go wrong at once.
I was quite mentally sick at the very start of Royal Headache and instead of getting help—serious help is what I needed— I joined a band that started really going, and touring everywhere. It was like putting a bandaid over a fucking shotgun wound.
This is all years ago now. I haven’t experienced anything like that in 9 nine years.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
I’m so happy for you!
SHOGUN: Sometimes I wonder it’s gonna raise its head and it’s gonna hit again.
I think it’s important to be more understanding of others, you never know what’s going on with someone.
SHOGUN: Yeah. At the show at the Gold Coast you were at, me and a friend were having a chat. He has an Indigenous background, he’s a graffiti writer. He’s saying, ‘Well, fuck, back in the day, we’d have to hide that shit,’ you know, like that you’re mentally ill or if your family’s from a different background. You couldn’t talk about that. Know what I mean?
I do. I’m also Indigenous and have struggled with mental illness, I’ve lived it.
SHOGUN: It’s cool nowadays that people do talk about that stuff more. Sometimes it feels like for us it’s come too late. Imagine if it would have been like that when we were younger. How it’s all out in the open. Maybe I wouldn’t have been in so much trouble. We got into shit having to hide our stuff and not having understanding in our community.
Yep. I would have cried a lot less, especially at school. I used to get picked on all the time. School was a nightmare.
SHOGUN: Yeah, same. Fuck, man, the early-90s, in middle class, suburban Sydney might as well have been the fucking 1940s. If you liked anything but rugby, like you liked music and you were poor, which meant you deserve to be bashed. Like what is this chain of logic here? Especially in my neighbourhood, it’s a real kind of straw man masculinity. It’s all about showing strength on the footy field, but when it comes to standing against something that you can see is obviously wrong, there’s a terror of sticking out. A terror of being being thrown out with the person that you’re defending; being thrown into the same wasteland.
I read somewhere that you said you’ve been singing since you were 5. For fun, obviously. It’s not like you were singing down at the local Italian restaurant or something.
SHOGUN:[Laughs] Yeah. I wasn’t in a little sailor suit doing musicals and stuff—but that would have been great! Like if I was doing Oklahoma or even just being an extra, like a cactus. I always liked singing. My parents used to be like, ‘Just shut the fuck up!’ But also encouraging. Some people have things that they’ve always liked doing. Some people do sport; I sing. I have always been a motormouth and someone who likes to use his voice. It’s got me in shit at times. It’s got me punched in the head a couple of times [laughs]. I like to make up songs.
What kinds of things did you like to sing?
SHOGUN: Definitely pop. I had two sisters and my dad used to work a lot, so it was definitely all about my mum had like Girls Greatest Hits. I’d sing to that, having a pre-pubescent voice with all the octaves and singing to shit like Belinda Carlisle, Whitney Houston, getting deeper into obscurities with stuff like the Eurogliders and Yazoo. I’d dance with my mum and sisters in the lounge room to all this shit and we were singing. Maybe that’s where my singing style came from; singing as a young boy in a female vocal range. Something to think about.
I could see that. Your vocals are really powerful and unique.
SHOGUN: I’m glad that you were able to to grab that out of it. I’ve recorded a few things since Royal Headache like Shogun and the Sheets. But Antenna has caught me at a particular moment, similar to the Headache stuff, I was that little bit more vulnerable and giving a little bit more, because I was hurting more.
It always amazes me when you when you somehow enshrine a piece of yourself or hide a piece of yourself within a recording. You encode it into the sound waves and people, like you, can actually pick that up. it’s always accidental. If you’re really going through something when you do that vocal track, people can hear it. You really mean it.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
I believe what you’re singing.
SHOGUN: I believed it that day. I remember doing the vocal for ‘Antenna State’ and I’d been struggling a lot with alcoholism that year, in spite of every promise I made to myself, it was just broken again and again. When I sung that, I was actually really fucking angry. I hadn’t warmed my voice up, I’d been smoking the entire night before. I thought, ‘There’s no way I can sing today,’ but it turned out to be the best one and we just kept it all, one take.
You were angry at yourself?
SHOGUN: Yeah, myself. I don’t like projecting anger onto other people, not anymore, not at my age. I know some young guys and they get so angry at the scene and everyone else and everything is always everyone else’s fault. It’s bullshit man, like you can only ever really be angry at yourself I feel because you put yourself in a situation where you’re vulnerable to get used. I don’t know, maybe it’s not as simple as that but it’s more positive to take responsibility. Because you can change yourself. You can’t change other people.
Sometimes you can’t immediately change the situations or what’s happening, but you can change how you react to things. I’ve learned, if you fight fire with fire, that doesn’t work.
SHOGUN: That’s the whole fundamental philosophical flaw in a lot of hardcore. As much as I’m probably a hardcore kid to the grave, that’s the thing about that kind of anger, especially when it gets really aggressive and beat down hardcore stuff. I’ve been around it as a kid, I was part of it, though, always the gangly weird nerdy kid in that scene.
Now I’ve sort of aged out of it. Hardcore is really changing so fast at the moment. There’s a positive macho scene. Where it’s tough, hard, and crazy and fucked up, but not as toxic. It’s inclusive and it wants to better itself. But it’s still a place for those guys who want to fucking trash shit and do graffiti and go completely wild—that’s really who they are in their blood, and they really need that release. I’ve calmed down. There needs to be a place for those guys, as long as they know that other people should feel welcome there as well.
Your music when younger was a lot darker. Even the new Antenna stuff you’re taking about darker things but it’s like you’ve hit a point where you’re maybe trying to embrace being more joyous. It in your vocal, like the mood of your delivery.
SHOGUN: Yeah, also at my age, learning to have a sense of humour. Antenna’s songs have got a real dark sense of humour. It was present in some of the Royal Headache stuff too. It wasn’t really like, oh, I feel sorry for me. More like, things are going to shit. Kind of in a Punch and Judy way, sort of funny; this burnt out punk singer and his life has gone to shit. In my head, Antenna is like a Netflix series about an ageing local musician. Incredibly entertaining [laughs]. Like you used to listen to that guy’s record and now he doesn’t have his shit together. I find this stuff deeply amusing. I don’t know if that comes through?
Photo: Jhonny Russell
I can see/hear that.
SHOGUN: This project has hit a nice balance of—life is hard/life is funny.
I think you nailed that. That’s why it resonates, because it’s fucking real.
SHOGUN: Thank you! Fuck yeah. That gets me psyched. There’s five more songs from that session that we’ve recorded. I think they are good, really good. There’s a funny kind of Judas Priest-style song, about a fictitious serial killer who lives in Marrickville. There’s also some hardcore songs. There’s a song called ‘Hellfest’ about my job; it’s named after that cheesy American hardcore festival. There’s a song called ‘Seed’, which sounds like early Lemonheads, kind of indie punk.
The best thing about Antenna is it’s not really totally my brainchild in any way. All of the lovely melodic music comes from Hideki Amasaki, the guitarist, who had all these amazing riffs written and that’s why I got involved. He’s incredibly gifted. He writes pretty much all of the music.
There’s some really beautiful guitar work on the EP! Between that and your vocals it really makes it something special.
SHOGUN: I love a collaborative creative process, rather than writing from scratch. I did a band called Shogun and the Sheets and had the best fucking musicians to do that with. But I realised the problem was it was inorganic. I was writing the music as well; I was writing the chords and I was arranging everything. It felt like there was something missing. It really lacked the excitement because it’s all just coming from one guy.
Like, it’s… [pauses and thinks]… not asexual, but what’s the word for those plants that reproduce on their own? Doesn’t matter, we can Google it later [laughs]. But it was inorganic and there’s was no sense of fun and surprise.
I used to write all the time, I’ve slowed down a lot. I feel like your brain certainly changes at my age and you lose pain, and you also lose vision, the brightness comes with that and that’s where song comes from. You feel things less intensely, you’re able to control yourself a little more, but you’ve lost that part of yourself, which is where the music comes from. I wanna do everything I can before that door finally closes, ‘cause I can definitely feel it closing.
I know some people make music forever, but let’s be honest, those artists that keep making music after they’re 50, some its’s okay. But most of them, I think we can all agree that after they’re about 40, it goes downhill pretty fucking fast.
Everyone can say, ‘Oh, this guy from the fucking Buzzcocks just put out a record!’ but I’m not gonna run out and listen to that in a hurry.
I like the new OFF! record, Keith is 68!
SHOGUN: OFF! would be a prime example for me. They’re not terrible, but as a big Circle Jerks guy, OFF!’s like… [smirks].
I LOVE Circle Jerks’ Group Sex! Itwas one of my gateway records into punk. So I get it. But I disagree and think it’s possible to make the best thing they’ve done now.
SHOGUN: Group Sex is perfect! Antenna is influenced by Circle Jerks in some ways.
I noticed the ‘Wild In the Streets’reference on the new EP.
SHOGUN: That’s great! I absolutely cannot get enough. I’m such a nerd for Bad Brains, Circle Jerks, Black Flag.
Where’d the song ‘Don’t Cry’ – with the Circle jerks reference – come from?
SHOGUN: It came from the gut. Having been around different communities of guys, all chaotic, let’s not pull any punches here—lots of hard drug use. Lots of crazy graffiti writing. Lots of total, total disaster. I was surprised when Benaiah’s death hit me so hard because, fuck, it must be death number 10 of a friend related to drugs. There’s been so many drug deaths.
The last thing that really got me was a couple of years beforehand, my friend Alex [Wood], who used to play in my old grind band Dot Do Dot had a brain aneurysm that was drug related. There’s been a really grievous energy with a lot of guys I’ve known. I don’t know, if I’ve had the most positive community around me. It’s always the craziest fucking guys and the most like fucked up dudes; a lot have died, some of them have been like canceled. I don’t know why I’ve been drawn to, and attracted this. Maybe I’m a little extra for like the cool kids. I wind up around these guys, and they’re doing speed, fighting, and doing graffiti. The irony is, I’m not so much like that myself. But I have always felt like that’s where I belong. Around the craziest, most brutal people, I feel comfortable and they’re good to me. They’re my brothers. It’s fucked up, but that’s me.
We really love the song ‘Lost’ on the EP.
SHOGUN: That was an interesting one. That’s not anything too recent. It’s reflecting on a break up that destroyed me so deeply. Much more than it should have. People need to move on and get their shit together. There was a symbolic value I’d inscribed into that relationship. It’s almost like I wasn’t really there for about two and a half years, and all I could do was drink and couldn’t fucking sleep. It wasn’t really about her; we’re still great friends.It’s more what happens when you’re too dependent on a relationship because there’s really something missing profoundly in yourself.
It was pretty bad. I parted ways with this person, this was during the Royal Headache days. That was actually the beginning of the end of Royal Headache. My best friend died of an overdose and then this person left me and it’s like a detonation process happened. It’s like I wasn’t really roadworthy anymore. The next three years is a blur—I don’t think anything good happened.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
We also love the hook in ‘English Three’.
SHOGUN: The lyric is actually: Don’t hold me or touch me. I didn’t say it properly cause I was drunk. So it sounds like I’m saying: Don’t hold me, touch me. And it’s kind of really creepy [laughs].
The song reflects on some low points, but the music’s kind of jaunty. I can look back and laugh at a lot of the shit that happened. A lot of it was so fucking gnarly and sketchy, it was pretty fucking off.
You posted in your Instagram stories the other day: 43 and still in it.
SHOGUN: Yeah, I’m still going. The Benzy-thing really shook me like, and there’s been some other dramas. It was realising that life can be an endless downpour of shit.
Some things are better, like I’m financially stable now, which goes a long way. Financial instability, and just not having routine and all that shit is what makes people get into trouble. I’m definitely still going through it in a few in a few ways. But if I keep my head down and stay in and make sure I’m not associating with too many younger cats who are just like completely fucking wild, I’ll get better. From here on in, I need to stay healthy enough to do music, it’s all about damage control and nights in. It’s not really in my character, but since I’m doing music again, rather than responding to it, like I would 10 years ago, by going out and fucking partying because I’m back in music, I think I’ll probably go the opposite way and become a bit of a hermit. That’s the only way I’m gonna stay healthy enough to really get it done and keep on providing quality stuff for people to enjoy. It won’t be trashed. I can’t stand mediocrity in music.
Note: more of this chat will appear in the up coming punk book we’ve been working on – details coming soon!
Original Photos: Jhonny Russell / handmade collage by B
People have been talking about Red Hell, calling them ‘the hardest band in Naarm’ and ‘innovative and wild,’ since the release of their debut album last year. It started out as a project from Shaun Connor from Ausmuteants, forged in Fruity Loops and from his love of electronic music and hardcore punk. It has since morphed into a fierce live band with drummer Alejandro Alcazar and guitarist D taking the material to the next level. The self-titled debut is dark and subversive, fused with a special brand of humor while taking a jab at the atrocities in the world, steeped in internet culture, conspiracies, and nods to anime. There’s more than what’s happening on the surface to draw you in.
Gimmie chatted with Shaun and Alejandro about the album, their Canberra origins and the scene there, as well as asking about what they’re listening to. Excitingly, there’s also a Red Hell album number two in the works!
ALEJANDRO: I haven’t done much today. I went to the gym and then I made dinner. That’s about it. I listened to music, nothing I can remember right now. I don’t usually have days off, so it’s quite nice. I’m a chef.
SHAUN: I’ve sat around at home all day, this is my second last day in my job. Because I just did the bare minimum, I’ve just been absolutely taking the piss at work because I move into another role next week. I made some pasta for dinner.
Red Hell played a show on the weekend?
SHAUN: Yeah, it was really good. New hardcore band, Belt—solid hardcore. Two bands on a lineup, that’s the ideal. I don’t really want to watch more than two, and I get to be home before 9:00 PM.
What was the idea for Red Hell in the beginning?
SHAUN: I was doing a lot of demos for Ausmuteants on Fruity Loops and was going in a certain direction. I’ve always just written with Fruity Loops. All these demos had this electronic edge to them. I ran in that direction. Active Shooter was another name idea for the band [laughs].
I just had this idea for a digital punk band, a digital hardcore band that sounded like some of the Ausmuteants demos that made it out on some really obscure compilation that got put out on a tape label. If you look hard you can find it online. I’d always write these demos in Fruity Loops and then we’d learn them as a band—Red Hell is an extension of that direction. Then I ask Alejandro and D to join.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
How did you first meet?
SHAUN: When we were teenagers.
ALEJANDRO: I definitely remember the first conversation we had back in Canberra interchange. You were coming from the bus stop. I was going towards the bus stop and you stopped me. I was wearing a Sonic Youth Washing Machine shirt. You asked me ‘What’s a good Sonic Youth alum to get into?’ I said, ‘All of it!’ Then we played a gig together at a youth centre. I was in an indie pop band and you were in an indie pop band.
SHAUN: Yeah, that was my Year 10 band, that I did with friends from school. It was called, Go Go Attack Squad. But then before that, I was making tracks in Fruity Loops and putting out CDs that I’d just print myself. It. You can still find those tracks around if you look really hard. But I’m not going to give anybody any hot tips because they’re horrible!
Okay, I’m going to go look really hard now.
SHAUN: [Laughs] It’s stuff I was doing since I was a kid. I’d just make tracks in Fruity Loops and then just put 15 of them on a CD and try and sell them to friends. I’d print out a little cover. It was total compulsion shit before I did any kind of rock bands. I only really got into guitar music when I was 14, and everything before then was just all electronic.
That’s cool, you usually come across people that have gone the other way, guitar music to electronic.
SHAUN: Yeah. I was like obsessed with Warp Records. That was my bread and butter listening from 12 to 14, before getting into Ramones in Year 10.
What about you Alejandro?
ALEJANDRO: I started off playing guitar and then did a bunch of stuff with friends. I had a friend from primary school, we used to busk at the local shops together. Then in high school I started a band with some friends. I started playing drums because a friend needed a drummer and they asked me to do it. I don’t think I’d ever played drums before, but I did for a very long time. I stopped playing guitar and have been focusing on drums now, so it’s kind of weird.
SHAUN: Was that, Are The Brave All Dead?
ALEJANDRO: Yeah. That’s the first band I started.
When did you have these indie bands?
ALEJANDRO: Maybe when we were in Year 8, like 2001.
SHAUN: That band was sick!
How you come up with the name Red Hell? There were other names?
SHAUN: Yeah. I kept thinking about the concept. This will sound really silly, but there’s like an unreleased Ausmuteants song that’s about being part of a terrorist group that paints things red. I dreamed that and then wrote the song. It works with all the other themes I had in mind.
All the themes are general interests. I’m not going to commit to this mass murder bit 24/7, but you can generally find things that I’m thinking about, or how I feel about things. Not in a direct way.
All of the tips to South Asian religion is stuff I’m actually interested.
Let’s talk about the album.
SHAUN: ’666’—Satan’s cool. Selling drugs is cool. Just a cool vibe. Sell a drug that makes you kill people. That’s freaking sick.
[Laughter]
SHAUN: I don’t know if you have anything else to say Alejandro? [Laughs].
ALEJANDRO: Umm… Shaun wrote all the music and then me and D listened to it. They’re all terrifying songs to hear, for a bunch of reasons, topic-wise. Then actually listening to the music and trying to figure out what Shaun wants me to do with a live drum kit over the electronic elements. Every song I heard was—daunting. Humorously, terrifying!
SHAUN: Alejandro has the hardest job in music. It’s brutal.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
There’s a lyric in the song that mentions a ‘Savage Gardener’ that I really like.
ALEJANDRO: [Laughs]. That’s a good one.
SHAUN: ’Drones’ some of the lyrics are just straight up… like, I read Theory of the Drone, which was a book of political theory about drone warfare. I was thinking about it a lot. It’s a pretty scary piece of technology, it changes the texture of warfare. Especially reading articles about drone pilots, you’d think that they’d carry some kind of extreme vicarious trauma, but I mean, not really. It’s like the same kind of fatigue you get from doing shift work. It’s so wild that this job that is basically just sitting in a chair and interfacing with the computer, it’s a pretty sort of drab shit to work office job. But what it produces is murder. That’s wild to me. Very compelling imagery.
Yeah. I was watching a documentary once and they were talking to soldiers, like guys that drove tanks in warfare, and a lot of them were saying it almost like they’re in a video game. It blew my mind that killing people was akin to a game for them.
SHAUN: War is probably pretty fun, hey! [laughs]. I don’t remember the article exactly, but there’s one that’s about how war is the best game and the actual experience of it is pretty sick when you’re in it, because everything’s so heightened. You’re sexually heightened, sensually heightened. Just something else I thought about a bit.
‘Enemy’ is adversarial stuff. Pretty thrilling to write lyrics about murdering people [laughs]. There’s some pretty hectic lines in that. Trafficking children. Come on, now. I’m a normal guy. You know, I’m not out there trafficking children. But when [Jeffrey] Epstein was at the forefront of the news, I was thinking about that a lot.
Thinking about how this is something that’s in everybody’s face right now. It’s fairly undeniable that this is how kinds of power consolidates itself, by sexual abuse and human trafficking. It’s done to solidify ties in the same way that businessman go to the strip club together. But it’s a really extreme version of it. I could only really conceive of it as something demonic, some deep-seated demonic influence in the halls of power.
How did you choose the track order?
SHAUN: I feel a bit embarrassed to say this, but they’re in alphabetical order [laughs].
I don’t know if I’ve seen that before.
SHAUN: Why not? Maybe I’ll do it again on Red Hell 2. Take them or leave them [laughs].
We really love the next track on the album ‘Kali’.
SHAUN: This is dipping my toes into some fairly edgy online Ideologies. It’s an obsession. It’s an old Hindu concept, but currently it’s an obsession of Alt-right circles. This notion that the age we’re living in now is kind of like a degenerate age. Again, compelling imagery. If you compare descriptions of the age of Kali Yuga to other ages, it sounds pretty bad in comparison. You got a cool God, carrying mad weapons.
Representing age of darkness and violence, misery, and The Age Of Quarrel.
SHAUN: Cro-Mags!
Yeah, it made me think of them.
SHAUN: There’s all kinds of little hardcore references dotted in there. It’s the music that I love.
I know you don’t usually write personal songs…
SHAUN: Not really, nah. It’s got to be a bit or a concept. ‘Martyr’ is just deep inside the mind of a spree killer. A lot of references to contemporary Internet subcultures, some anime that I like.
The music for that, I figured out how to do slide 808 on Fruity Loops, so I really wanted to put those in a track. That was probably the major production discovery, actually. The slide note in Fruity Loops. Put the slide note on an 808—fucking awesome. [Laughs]. Every track has a slide 808. Nice—shout out to drill music!
How did you record it?
SHAUN: The CD is all just tracks I made in Fruity Loops. Hell yeah!
I met up with Jake [Roberston] at the old Ausmuteants practise space and then did all the vocals. Mixed it myself.
The next record, Red Hill 2, that’ll have drums and guitar. I’m confident it will be better than this one. I’m confident that the next one will rip. I wrote most of the first one during the pandemic in my little bedroom. With drums and guitar, it’s more of realised sound, getting that on record will be good. I’ll happier with the new one. Not that I’m unhappy with the first one.
I don’t know if you can tell, that the general sort of rigmarole of doing bands and putting stuff out… I’ve been sitting on these tracks for ages. I don’t want to bother too much with promotion, running an instagram. I’m pretty lazy in that way.
You don’t have to promote things. You can just do it because you love it.
SHAUN: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like just making a demo for group chat, that’s just to send to friends, is still the most fun thing.
How’d it go when you transferred it from you making stuff of Fruity Loops to a live setting, with live band?
ALEJANDRO: IIt was long and arduous. It’s difficult, but we got there. Trying to figure out what to do underneath a song that’s already finished with a lot going on, this is from a drum perspective. I remember a few of the early practices, trying to figure out the song structure and what to do.
First off, I started playing a lot of stuff, trying to keep up with it. Then it made more sense to do less but keep myself interested in it rather than just playing exactly what the drum or the drum tracks are playing. The songs are definitely something different, a different form, live. We got to where we wanted to be.
SHAUN: D is such a shredder live, lots of cool riffs.
ALEJANDRO: A lot of Drop D.
SHAUN: Stomping on that DS-1! The songs are way better live.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
When do you think we’ll see Red Hell 2?
SHAUN: Middle of next year [2024]. CD only, Red Hell is an anti-vinyl band. I still keep a crate or two, but it’s really expensive. It takes ages to press. The whole fixation on vinyl, it’s a real rock dog thing. There’s entire genres of music that don’t put out vinyl; like no contemporary rap music has come out on vinyl for ages.
I was reading an old rap blog, and this guy was like, ‘You can’t really DJ rap music on vinyl anymore unless you play old stuff.’ I’ve always listened to MP3s. There was a period where I got into vinyl because it’s what hardcore records came out on. You still buy wax, right, Alejandro?
ALEJANDRO: Yeah, but they are expensive. They take up a lot of space. I hate getting up and flipping over the side, but I do like them a lot. CDs are cool. I like CDs. I have a lot of CDs. But yeah, it’s just so much easier to get a CD done over pressing vinyl.
Would you press your music on vinyl if someone else did it for you and took away the stress of manufacturing etc?
SHAUN: Yeah, maybe if it was intended for dance floor use or something like that. Like on a weird breakbeat label [laughs].
A CD feels cheap and disposable, and easy to pass around. There’s something about that I like. For ages, I was sending people the tracks in a mega upload link, and that was how you could listen to the album. You had to download MP3s. There’s something cool about how fast digital music gets shared. I’d rather lean into that than this big long form format that isn’t meant to be chopped up or passed around or pirated.
I’m the happiest when I see music that I’ve made being passed around on Soulseek. I’m still a major Soulseek user. I don’t know if you have these kinds of feelings Alejandro?
ALEJANDRO: Nah [laughs].
SHAUN: I just listen to music from Soulseek. Sorry to all my friends whose music I’ve stolen. People think that piracy is something that ended because most people moved to streaming services. But it’s better than ever. Everybody’s internet is really fast now and storage is cheaper than ever.
We thought about doing a USB, but it’d come in like a Ziploc bag, like how you buy drugs or contraband. That’d be something cool to get in the mail [laughs]. But I quite like CDs.
Can you tell us about song ‘Messed with the Best’?
SHAUN: It’a Hackers reference. Look, it’s more threats of violence. Just a very dependable formula to keep on writing rhyming couplets about murdering people. It’s just so easy, so fun.
[Laughter]
How about ‘Oppenheimer’ – the father of the atomic bomb?
SHAUN: Hell yeah! [laughs]. That was maybe the first one I wrote chronologically and I was like, ‘Okay, yup, this is the formula.’ I can just keep doing this. No need for a chorus. I’ll write a long verse that’s it. This is the tempo. This is what the drums do. Write a B section, then the verse continues. Maybe there’s a quiet bit. Alright, cool, this is the formula I’ll keep running into the ground. Red Hell 2 is similar but it’s got drums and guitars—executed on a bigger scale.
Are the songs more collaborative now or are you still writing everything Shaun?
SHAUN: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they should be more collaborative.
ALEJANDRO: [Laughs].
SHAUN: Shit! We’ve maybe five songs deep. I’ll write a demo and then everybody will learn it. D wrote some lyrics. They haven’t used them yet, they were pretty good! I’ll have to go find them deep in the group chat.
What were they about?
SHAUN: Havana Syndrome [laughs].
Photo: Jhonny Russell
How about ‘Redline’?
SHAUN: This is where it would have been good if I put the songs in sequence. ‘666’ is about selling the drugs that make you kill people. Then this one is about taking the drug that makes you kill people and then killing people. Really its from a scene in the anime called [Serial Experiments] Lain, where this dude eats a microchip that is drug-like and then kills someone. It’s a nightclub shooting scene related to drugs. That’s where I bit all the imagery from.
Next song ‘Remote Viewing’ is about the process of remote viewing. The CIA were looking into it. Its this psychic technique, where you try to view other places. There’s a lot of stuff about how to do this online.
The final track is ‘Torture’.
SHAUN: It’s about waterboarding some dudes, it’s pretty hectic. Our friend Emma, who is also ex-Canberra. That was one of the tracks that tipped it over for her. She was like, ‘Oh, I don’t know if I want to play in this band.’ I was like, ‘Well, I don’t want to rewrite every song.’ Shout out to Emma, we’re cool and everything. It’s a cool punk tempo, fancy drum beat. Cool outro.
ALEJANDRO: It goes really well live. It goes hard.
I love all your banter between songs live.
SHAUN: I love having a yarn. That’s what the people want to see. They want to see someone talking shit.
[Laughter].
We enjoyed when we saw you at Jerkfest and you were doing push ups and flipping the bird at the same time during the set.
SHAUN: Listen, when you read this, Tino, I’m still fucking coming for you. Fucking bashed bro.
[Laughter]
Who did the Red Hell cover art?
SHAUN: It’s my friend Rel Pham, an internet friend. We met on a Discord server. A very talented illustrator. He has an installation at the NGV—a glowing room of computer fans. I did the audio for it. It was a pretty weird experience to be booting up Fruity Loops in this weird back room at the NGV to do audio for this massive installation. I’m on the computer I’m using now, it’s an office computer from 2008, very underpowered computer that can just run Fruity Loops.
Album art: Rel Pham
What have you both been listening to lately?
ALEJANDRO: A lot of metal and jazz. I watched a Fat Boy Slim set from four or five years ago at Revs. I watched it twice. The first time I enjoyed it, and then the second time I watched it again to watch the people’s reaction to it. A lot of hugging. It was pretty good to watch!
SHAUN: I got a super Eurobeat compilation. Its Initial D – Best of Super Eurobeat 5. I been rinsing that on my bike, riding around town, pumping the Eurobeat, it’s a good time [laughs].
What’s one of the best bands or artists you you’ve ever seen live?
ALEJANDRO: The first time I saw Lightning Bolt was really great. I was with a really good friend of mine and we were obsessed with them. We went and saw them in two different cities, but three times.
SHAUN: The first hardcore show I travelled for was Limp wrist in 2000. That was sick. One that I think is relevant for Red Hell, was seeing Sir Spyro play Laundry bar, he’s a legendary grime DJ. There was Spyro and three emcees. There were, ten dudes there, five of them were in track suits and they somehow knew all the lyrics. It was the hardest thing I’d ever seen. More recently in Melbourne, I’ve been enjoying Donk World and Dance Party Records, those two nights are really fun.
Will you make it up to Queensland?
SHAUN: Yeah, why not? Canberra later in the year too. It’s like a victory lap, the triumphant return to Canberra.
ALEJANDRO: We are all ex-Canberra. We’re all from the same suburb in Canberra, which is really funny to think about.
What was it like growing up in Canberra? Was there much of a music scene there?
ALEJANDRO: Yeah.
SHAUN: There was one scene of people who went to shows. Then hardcore people, and some interplay between. That’s what was cool about it.
ALEJANDRO: It’s the same crowd of people. Canberra was diverse.
SHAUN: Dream Damage [Records] years were sick when they were popping off. The Fighting League was mad, Alejandro’s old band was sick but not really appreciated outside of Canberra. Canberra had a really interesting little scene
ALEJANDRO: I guess coming from a small town mentality, you just don’t care what people think of you or you want to do stuff with your friends that’s fun and interesting. I’ve noticed that people from Canberra have a certain type of humour, which doesn’t really fall well on other people’s ears. That comes out musically, somewhat.
SHAUN: Yeah, I think to, say you grow up in Melbourne, you could just go and watch Melbourne guitar band every weekend for all of your formative years, and then you could then just start a guitar band and then you’re in the Melbourne guitar band lineage. The depths of your musical references is like the last six years of Melbourne guitar music. It’s not like the worst thing. It’s something to be celebrated. I like anything that’s unique and hyper-local.
But if you start bands in small towns, the influences you draw from are probably going to be kind of random, because there’s no dominant scene or vibe, really. Because Canberra was so small, I don’t think there were two bands that sounded similar at any point when we were growing up there.
ALEJANDRO: True. It’s also so small, that competitive nature makes it that everyone doesn’t sound the same.
SHAUN: It’d be seen as totally silly if you sounded like anyone else. That would be so funny.
Photo: Jhonny Russell
What drew you to Melbourne?
ALEJANDRO: I’ve never liked Sydney. I like going there, but I could never live there. I don’t like the way it works. It’s good to visit. I have a lot of friends there. Good on them for living there. I’m not a big fan of Sydney. After a while, Canberra gets pretty small, and your friends start growing up and getting married, having kids, and get boring—I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t mean boring in a bd way. I hope they don’t ever hear me say that. I got out twice. I left when I was too young, and then I went back, and then I moved back again. This time I was more aware of how to live [laughs].
SHUAN: I moved for a romance that didn’t really work out. I probably wanted to stay in Canberra forever.
[Laughter]
Anything else to share with us?
ALEJANDRO: Stay hydrated.
SHAUN: To everyone who’s reading this go to buyredhill.com—buy some Red Hell products. Sign up to the Red Hell mailing list if you want to hear and learn more about the Red Hell lifestyle.
And—fuck Dragnet, and anybody who loves them.
We heard there’s a beef with Dragnet.
SHAUN: Fuck them! They were on the radio talking shit about me today. It’s shocking, they were lying. Last time I saw Jack Cherry [vocalist for Dragnet], there were kids around, and I didn’t want to bash him in front of kids. They’re not really a band to be trusted. I’m a bit ashamed about all my Geelong connections from the past, just because of what’s been conspiring.
Original photo: Jack Cress / handmade collage by B
Brendan Wells, bassist-vocalist for The Uranium Club, is sitting inside his car outside of the library around the corner from his home, using their Wi-Fi to Zoom chat with Gimmie. It’s October 2023, and it’s exciting times! His band is putting out a new record, Infants Under the Bulb, in 2024, and they’re headed Down Under for the first time ever. We’re chatting with Brendan for a punk book we’ve been working on that will be out soon. He kindly spent two and a half hours chatting; we were nerding out so hard on creativity, punk, and all kinds of stuff that we didn’t even realise the time passing. We started when the sky was light and finished when it was dark. They’re the kind of conversations we love. To celebrate the album, tour, and how much we LOVE Uranium Club, we thought we’d share a little of the chat with you guys early.
BRENDAN WELLS: I had a really cool first experience with punk. I grew up in Des Moines, Iowa. Me and my friend were getting into punk and interested in it; we had gone to the Vans Warped tour. But then we found out that they held local punk shows at the city botanical gardens in the conference rooms. You could rent out a room for the evening.
Looking back, I’m so impressed by that because it was all just high schoolers: the people taking money at the door, running the show, running the PA, being in attendance, and playing in the bands. That felt so close to where I was or who I was. I was in 8th grade at the time, so probably 13 years old. And these people were between 15 and 18.
The next week at school, I remember seeing somebody who had played in a band and thinking, ‘Oh my God, there are rock stars that go to my school’ [laughs]. I had never had never felt so close to something like that.
I read a thing from Golnar Nikpour, who was a coordinator at Maximum Rocknroll and who has done bands and zines. It was a conversation about punk. She was talking about being from the suburbs of New York City. She had said, ‘It was two hours away from New York City,’ which to us might have well been a million miles. I never even saw New York City until I was 20-something. When it came to music or punk or anything that I was interested in, it felt a million miles away.
I loved skateboarding. In the skateboarding magazines I would read, everything was coming from San Diego and Los Angeles; California doesn’t look like Iowa. The architecture doesn’t look like Iowa. The weather doesn’t look like Iowa. Finding those local shows was just the first time that it felt like anything close to my reality.
At that local show I went to, the guy that put it on made a CD-R compilation of bands from Iowa. That night I listened to it and it completely blew my mind. It definitely changed my life entirely.
Photo: courtesy of Anti Fade
It’s inspiring when you find your local scene and see people your age or slightly older doing all these cool things. I remember when I found my local scene, all ages shows, and local zines covering our scene. It was life-changing. It makes you feel like maybe you can do it too!
BW: In a sense, yeah. Also, in another sense, looking back, I never realised that we were doing those things. Now, listening to stuff where you can hear an interview with somebody from a punk band, they can talk about, ‘Oh, the first bands that I saw were these bands in high school, and we started our band.’ These are bands that we all know about because they have involvement and a legacy or we know of where they’re from. But me and my friends, playing music in our basements, nobody has ever or will ever hear of those bands.
At the time, I had no thought that we were doing the same thing as other people. It was just what we were doing for fun, like skateboarding, writing graffiti, drawing, or making music. I didn’t feel like there was any connection between that and the rest of the world—that was my mindset at the time.
Now, looking back on it and thinking, ‘Oh, man, of course,’ I grew up to want to be making music and art because that’s what we were doing, even though there was no audience for it, nobody’s watching. We were just like making each other laugh.
Sometimes when there is no expectations or pressure from outside, I often find with a lot of bands, they have some really great records, and then people start caring about them and something happens and their output isn’t as great. Maybe it’s me, maybe my tastes change? Maybe I want something more or fresh. I don’t know. I always wondered why that’s often the case with bands.
BW: Yeah, I’ve wondered that as well. There definitely is a pressure to perform, and even though it goes against sense to say, ‘Okay, people are interested in what we’re doing, so we should…’, you try to figure out what they want and give it to them instead of understanding that they already like what we’re doing. That’s come up in my mind a lot for sure.
A place that’s brought me to, is to think a lot about limitations. A lot of us have the idea of perfection and we want perfection, but what we end up doing or what we end up having is our version of trying to do that.
Or like people get into vintage drum machines, so they can look up and find out what drum machines were used on what songs by Suicide and then if they have enough money, they can look on the internet and buy that exact thing. Then you make a song wth it, and great, your song sounds like Suicide. Buy what if you want to sound like Suicide but all your have is a Casio keyboard or something inexpensive, just what you have available and within your mean? Then you’re going to get something that’s going to be a unique thing based on what you’re lacking, basically; it starts to sound different, though. The things that your limited by is where the voice comes from. That kind of thing has been on my mind a lot lately.
I’m always thinking deeply about stuff and why stuff is the way it is. I always have a million questions.
BW: Absolutely. II feel that same way as well. Recently, I’ve tried to pinpoint that as the idea of curiosity and not losing your curiosity. As I get older, I think because I’ve experienced something like this before, that I know everything or that I’ve got it all figured out, but it’s always good to keep learning. Curiosity always surprises me. I hold on to, and I’m incredibly grateful for, curiosity.
I’m endlessly interested in the process of creation.
BW: I’m interested in the creation, inspirations, and motivations, even more so than the physical product that comes at the end, like the process. I think you can learn so much about yourself in the process of making things, and a lot about the world and how you wear your place in the world. And in interacting with other people, especially being in a band, that’s definitely where my connections with other people come from. Relationships that are based on, we both like the same sound of music, that’s a great thing to be able to connect on. Especially when before you didn’t have that.
My favourite kind of creators are ones that are truly original, like DEVO. We’ll be seeing them soon. Last time I had the chance to see them, I was having a little bit too much of a good time and didn’t really appreciate them.
BW: Oh man. So this time you finally get to see them! I got to see them in 2012. It was in Des Moines, the city where I grew up, which is an hour and a half drive from Iowa City; a college town with a history of hippie academics and that kind of culture. Then in Des Moines, the show was outdoors on a bridge in the middle of downtown. A lot of people showed up with their own lawn chairs and sat to watch! It was one of those situations where you could just walk up to the front guardrail in front of the stage, there was no fighting to get there. It was an experience. They were amazing.
They’re playing at a theatre, near my work. I work in a library.
BW: Cool!
I know you used to work in libraries as well!
BW: I did!
I love working in libraries because it’s a community-based place and people come there to get knowledge about all kinds of things. It means a lot to me to work in a community space rather than for a big soulless corporation.
BW: Oh yeah, absolutely. Working there was like a way to experience and learn about community outside of punk, which was very eye-opening for me. In my early 20s, and to have decided the only place in society that’s worth anything is in the punk community and being in the punk community, but then I met people who I identified with outside of punk. Working at the library and seeing how it serves people and helps people, and they weren’t even punk! [laughs]. Libraries are amazing institutions. I worked at the library between two and three years, shelving books, sitting at the front desk, helping people print.
I was at the main downtown branch of our library last week to pick up some books of record covers, specifically this book about the design group Hipgnosis, who did Pink Floyd and stuff, looking for inspiration for the new Uranium Club album cover. This little section, these books, made me so excited and interested to wanna get back to library work. Being somebody who shelved books, I could check them out and saw so many exciting interesting things. Being in that environment is very inspiring.
I’m excited Uranium Club have a new album coming out!
BW: I feel like it’s incredibly lucky, and I’m so happy that Uranium Club has been a band for almost 10 years now! I feel like bands can break up at any time. I feel incredibly lucky for being a DIY effort the whole time. I’m very, very excited for a new record. Yeah, it’ll be out in February. We’re playing Australia! I’ve been trying to get the band to go to Australia almost the entire time that we’ve been a band. That’s been my goal as a musician for the longest time.
When we had one record out, we played with Ausmuteants here in Minneapolis. That was when I first started trying to make it happen, talking to Jake Robertson about it. It really seemed like it would happen but then the pandemic got in the way. Now, Jack from Vintage Crop reached out to us. We thought it’d be great to have a record out on an Australian label for the tour. It’s great working with Billy from Anti Fade.
We love Billy! All the cool stuff his label has been putting out forever was a big inspiration for starting Gimmie.
That’s cool. I’m very excited for Australia! For the longest time, a lot of my favourite bands have been from Australia—so feels like a magical place.
We have the some of the best bands in the world! It’s so great that we’re here in the middle of it all, on the ground, and get to really document it—it’s our community. We value being a part of it so much. The world is so inserted in what’s happening here.
I hope the record store’s not closed, I’m going straight over there to get a copy of Gimmie. I can’t wait for Australia! See you soon.
The Uranium Club’s new album Infants Under the Bulb is out through Anti Fade Records – pre-order it HERE. Check out all the other cool stuff Brendan does HERE. Don’t miss the Australian shows!
Original photo: Maclay Heriot / handmade collage by B.
The raw rock ‘n’ roll energy of The Unknowns and the infectious power pop of The Prize are exceptionally well-matched on their new release—a 7-inch featuring two tracks from each band: The Prize’s ‘Hotel 44’ and ‘One Day at a Time’, alongside The Unknowns’ ‘Heart in Two’ and ‘One Night Only’. Drawing inspiration from the rollercoaster of touring life and the complexities of relationships, this collection captures both the struggles and euphoria experienced along the way.
Gimmie sat down with Unknowns’ guitarist-vocalist Josh Hardy and Prize’s drummer-vocalist Nadine Muller, who were indulging in some day drinking, to discuss their recent activities and upcoming plans for the near future.
NADINE: We’re getting drunk now, at 12:32 on a Wednesday! Josh just moved to Melbourne.
JOSH: Me and my girlfriend moved down about three weeks ago. It’s been really good so far. I spent so much time here so it’s pretty fitting I moved.
NADINE: I’ve been hanging out with this guy a lot. We’ve been rehearsing a bit now with the tour starting next week. Josh and I have had a couple of jams too.
JOSH: We’ve been rockin’!
[Laughter]
Photo: Maclay Heriot
How much prep goes into tour?
JOSH: Not much [laughs].
NADINE: We’ve got someone filling in on bass for this tour so we’ve been rehearsing a bit more to teach them the parts. We’ve been doing two or three days a week, we usually just do one. It’s always fun.
JOSH: We’ll probably rehearse the day before it starts. It should be alright, I think.
Is there anything that you worry about going on tour?
JOSH: I guess lining your ducks up, making sure you remember all the songs, and how they go.
NADINE: I feel excited about this one after just getting back from Europe because it’s a lot less stressful. Travel time between shows isn’t an eight or ten hour drive in the van. It’s gonna be pretty easy in comparison to what we both just did a couple months ago.
What’s some of the coolest things you saw while on tour in Europe?
JOSH: This time I made an effort to wake up earlier and go check out cities we were in. It’s pretty easy to go places and not check out much. You just see venues and service stations
NADINE: That’s all I saw.
JOSH: This time in Paris, it was the first time doing touristy stuff, which was nice. I didn’t see the Eiffel Tower, but I saw what’s that big archway thing, Arc de Triomphe.
NADINE: Did you get any trinkets?
JOSH: I didn’t.
Did you Nadine?
NADINE: Our guitarist, Ausi, was collecting lighters everywhere we went. He ended up with 25 lighters. Our (he and I) flight got cancelled on the way home. We got stuck in Phuket for 24 hours. When we were boarding the next day, my name got called over the speaker, they said, ‘They’ve pulled your suitcase aside. There’s some stuff in it, we need to go through it.’ I was like, ‘Okay.’ It was really stressful. I got driven in a little van down to a security room under the plane. I was like, ‘Oh my god, what did I leave in the suitcase?’ They took me to this room and pulled out this suitcase and it was Ausi’s. I was like, ‘Well, that’s not even mine.’ They’d put my name on his suitcase.’ You’re only allowed to take one lighter on a flight. They kept putting it through the screening machine and kept pulling out lighters and there ended up this like table full. I got back on the plane and he’s like, ‘What happened?’ I was like, ‘You’re the fucking lighter collector. You almost got me stuck in Phuket!’
So, he lost all the lighters?
NADINE: He got to keep one—a Paris one.
How did you first hear about each other’s bands?
JOSH: I listened to Mr. Teenage, Nadine’s old band with Carey, Joe, and Nic—they released this 7 inch I really liked. I thought it was fucking cool. Then Nadine started The Prize so obviously I listened to that as well too.
We started talking via Instagram two years ago and realised we had very similar tastes, and that our bands needed to play shows together.
NADINE: You guys were friends with my dad from The Chats touring with the Cosmic Psychos. And then The Prize’s first tour was with The Chats.
JOSH: For the Get Fucked album.
NADINE: It was a lot of fun!
JOSH: We’ve been talking about doing a split release for ages. We discussed it a year ago, then life sort of happened. But we finally got around to putting it together. It’s good that it’s finally happened and it’s coming out. It’s a classic old school kind of split: two songs each band a side. Ben [Portnoy] from C.O.F.F.I.N did the artwork, which I’m stoked about. No A and B-sides.
NADINE: Two A-sides! We just got back from tour [in Europe] and we hadn’t written the songs for it yet. We had 10 days to get it written, recorded, mixed and mastered. It was a good test for us, because usually we can sit on a song for ages and chip away at it and overthink it. This time there was no choice. Just—get it done! Both songs were about being on tour.
JOSH: Those songs that I wrote, probably about a year and a bit ago, it was the same sort of thing; I wrote them coming straight off a five-week tour of the States. They’re about being away for loved ones for so long. We recorded it in February last year.
We’ll have the records, hopefully, the day that the tour starts on the Sunshine Coast. It’s creeping up.
Photo: Maclay Heriot
What are you been listening to lately?
JOSH: I’ve been listening to a lot of like Nervous Eaters. I also got this record from this band called The Klitz, like Blitz, but the Klitz—a Memphis no wave-y garage band with an all-female lineup and it’s produced by Alex Chilton [The Box Tops & Big Star], which is pretty cool. Been listening to that a bit.
Being in Melbourne now, I’ve been buying heaps of records from Rowdy’s and Strange World. Strange World are really sick, because the prices are reasonable and he’s doing bistro for Crypt Records and all these cool labels. They’ve got heaps of cool stuff in there at the moment.
NADINE: For a couple of months now, I’ve been listening to the first Blondie record. I just keep putting that on.
Roky Erickson too. Josh and I did a Rocky Erickson cover the other day, ‘Nothing in Return’. As a two-piece band.
JOSH: I had a friend that saw him 10 years ago and apparently Roky had this guy side stage that would run out after every song and have to tell him what chord the next song starts on. Roky would have no recollection until this guy would like tell him.
NADINE: I saw him play Meredith festival 10 years ago. I was side of stage. I watched some footage from it and you can see me dancing, it’s amazing! [laughs].
What else are your bands put to for 2024?
JOSH: The Unknowns are going to Europe in October, which will be exciting! And we’re writing new songs. I’ve pretty much written three quarters of a new record. Mostly, we’ll play shows in Australia and save as much money as we can to record it this year, so it comes out next year. We’ll see how we go—that’s my goal.
NADINE: We started recording an album a couple of months ago and we’re just finishing it off now. So hopefully it’ll be out mid-year.
JOSH: What have you been up to?
I recently interviewed Lydia Lunch, which was amazing. She’s known for being confrontational but she was incredibly nice and lovely to me.
NADINE: Mr Teenage supported her once at The Corner. I was really intimidated to meet her afterwards. She was pretty staunch, but she was nice to me. I feel like a lot of females from that era have a reputation of being staunch. They had to be. You watch interviews from like the 70s or 80s or even early-90s and the way that a lot of interviewers spoke to them was kind of, I don’t know…
JOSH: Condescending?
NADINE: Yeah, fully! I’ve seen interviews with Debbie Harry and the interviewer talks about her putting on weight. It’s like these women had to go with the ‘fuck you’ attitude because that’s what they received. They had to be prepared for whatever someone’s gonna throw at them. I feel really lucky being a female in music now, that all those women did the hard yards, and now I can walk into something and be like, ‘No one’s gonna fuck with me.’
But when I was a teenager, I was playing in my first band, an all-girl band—this memory really stuck with me—I did a radio interview and we were off-air for a minute and the guy was like, ’Is there anything that you don’t want to talk about?’ I was like, ‘Well, you know, my dad’s in the Cosmic Psychos and I don’t want to talk about that.’ I was 17, and I was always really paranoid and self-conscious about people being like, ‘You’re riding your dad’s coattails.’ I don’t care anymore, though, because I’m thankful for him exposing me to music and playing drums.
As soon as we went back on air the guy goes, ‘So, your dad’s in the Cosmic Psychos!’
Artwork: Ben Portnoy
No! That’s terrible he did that to you, I’m sorry.
NADINE: Then that guy came to our show that night and after we played, he came and apologised. He’s like, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought you guys were going to be shit. You’re actually good! Sorry I put you in that position.’ That’s something on a very small scale of what I imagine a lot of women in music have had to deal with.
JOSH: Punk was so male-dominated. I’ve got a book that was released by this American lady and it’s about all female punk bands from the late-70s to the early-80s in America. Nikki Corvette did the introduction and that’s what she was saying, that you had to be fucking staunch to do stuff because it was so male-dominated. She said you’d get kicked off line ups or put down the bottom of bills just because you’re female— it was so fucked.
On Gimmie, since day one, we’ve never pointed out someone is a female musician—everyone is a musician.
NADINE: And that’s amazing. That’s a great approach. It should always be like that.
It’s so fun playing music, and we’re so lucky we get to do what we do. I stopped playing music for years and then when I started again, I felt like I found myself again. Music is the best. It forms so many connections: with the audience, with other bands, with your band—that’s healing.
JOSH: Sometimes you have one shot, so I figure you may as well—go for it! I’d rather do it and things go wrong, and learn from that, than talking about how you could have done something.
THE UNKNOWNS ‘Heart in Two’
THE PRIZE ‘ One Day At A Time’
The Prize/The Unknowns split 7-inch out on Bargain Bin – GET it at the BARGAIN BIN 2024 TOUR or via Bargain Bin Records. Follow @the_unknowns_ and @theprize___. Catch them on The Chats’ – Bargain Bin Tour kicking off this week.
Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie Zine 