Band forms; songs are written; band members part company; songs migrate to new band, usually - but not always - via the songwriter. It can be an interesting test of a song's mettle, not to mention the songwriter's. Will a drive to out-do former bandmates take things to a new level? Will lightning refuse to strike twice? Will it be the same, but different? Will it be different, but the same? Will the situation turn grown men into giant titty-babies? This week we turn our attention to an interesting dead-end of Australian powerpop, a hand-me-down by the name of The Big Beat which had remarkable longevity, bouncing between Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney in the latter half of the '70s. Before going on, we note that much of the detail below comes from Dave Laing's excellent liner notes for the reissued Young Modern LP (buy it here), and his accompanying interview with John Dowler at the I-94 Bar. We've referred readers to the latter at least once before for context on Melbourne pub rock; consider this another nudge if you didn't take the hint the first time around.
Spare Change allegedly formed, at least in concept, among Adelaide ex-pats in Amsterdam. Back in Adelaide, the band coalesced in 1973 as a pre-punk powerpop unit, as much in thrall to the MC5 and the Flamin' Groovies as the art rock of Sparks, songs by all of which featured in the band's early repertoire. The initial line-up included John Dowler (vocals), Chris Langman (guitar), Bob Kretschmer (guitar), Tony Murray (keyboards), and John Wilkenson (drums). Wilkenson was soon replaced by Graeme Perry, and this would remain the definitive Spare Change line-up. After a solid couple of years playing Adelaide pubs, Spare Change relocated to Melbourne in early 1975, becoming a fixture of the Carlton scene. There, the band recorded The Big Beat, penned by Murray, which was issued as a single at the tail end of 1976 (b/w Classified Ad, Champagne CHS 601). Aided and abetted by Henry Vyhnal, the band continued recording until March 1977 with the intention of an LP release, but broke up before that eventuated. The posthumous Lonely Suits LP (Cleopatra CLP 202) was eventually released in late 1979, and included both sides of the earlier 45.
In its first incarnation, The Big Beat presents as infectious, melody-laden pre-punk powerpop, but compared with Spare Change's influences it sure does sound like it has a stick up its arse. Dave Laing described the overall effect as "pretentious and stilted"; we hear a catchy and relatively simple song cluttered by compositional tricks, highlighted by the series of brazen truck driver's gear changes which bookend each chorus. Purists may say that semitone modulation around the chorus isn't a true gearstick workout, but they probably haven't heard The Big Beat's gears crunch as its key pivots from A to B-flat and back again. Add to the equation some very literal drumming which only picks up when the chorus kicks in ("The Big Beat comes on loud and strong..."), and someone is guilty of over-thinking things a touch. Usually that someone is us, but here the evidence points closer to home.
After Spare Change called it quits, Dowler returned to Adelaide determined to pursue "a more straight forward guitar-based pop style" indebted to Big Star and the Flamin' Groovies. In November 1977, Young Modern - featuring Dowler (vocals), Mark Kohler (drums), Andrew Richards (bass), Michael Jones (guitar), and Vic Yates (guitar) - debuted as support for Radio Birdman at Adelaide's Unley Town Hall. In May 1978, among newly-penned originals, the band demoed an updated version of The Big Beat - an unusual case where the vector between bands is not the songwriter. Like Spare Change before them, Young Modern moved to Melbourne and recorded their first single (She's Got The Money/Automatic, Top Gear MA-7216, 1978), before relocating again to Sydney where the band folded in June 1979. Again, echoing Spare Change's discography, the posthumous Play Faster LP (Local LOCAL 5, 1980) was cobbled together from Young Modern's lone single and the '78 demos.
The second time around, The Big Beat benefits from a more direct approach. "Ultimately, Young Modern played like punk never happened", says Laing in the Play Faster reissue liners, but comparing the pre- and-post '77 arrangements is instructive. Gone are the unwieldy key changes, and in comes more propulsive 4/4 drumming; punk it's not, but it's hard not to hear punk's influence, if only by osmosis of the prevailing mood. In addition, the less polished recording and performance are likely to make it the preferred take for listeners with a punkier ear.
The final chapter is one about which we know relatively little. After Dowler's return to Adelaide in 1977, it appears that the remaining members of Spare Change recruited Carlton stalwart Rick Grossman (bass, ex-Bleeding Hearts), and continued under the name Parachute. True to form, Parachute recorded two songs in 1978, neither of which saw the light of day until compiled on Missing Link's Round and Round the Melbourne Club LP (ING 003), a 1981 compendium of otherwise unreleased Carlton bands. Both songs were old Spare Change numbers, The Big Beat of course being one of them. As another updated take, it's interesting to note the similarities between Parachute's and Young Modern's versions; no key changes, and a new-found rhythmic directness. After years of gravitating towards Young Modern's reworking, we've recently come around to this version as a perfect compromise, retaining melodic elements from the original but played with renewed verve (though still noticeably rooted in the Carlton milieu). It also has the speediest tempo of all the three, and most importantly, is the only one to weigh in at the three minute mark. "We can really only imagine what Tony Murray's The Big Beat...would sound like with the full-blooded recording [it] deserve[s]", says Mr Laing. Well, imagine no more.
The Slunks (slunk is a cow's afterbirth, or an aborted calf covered in such) were a Mt Gambier party band in 1978, formed entirely so the members could learn to play. David Munroe (a.k.a. Dave Graney), an Aussie Rules playing timber worker, had travelled up the East coast of Australia, witnessing the nascent Sydney punk scene, and Rose Tattoo (and the Mangrove Boogie Kings). You can read about his impressions in his most entertaining memoir, 1001 Australian Nights. Having got a taste for the life he returned home and put together a vehicle in which to escape. The other players were Martin Wells on drums, Liz Dealey on bass and Steve St Stevens (a.k.a. Steve Miller) on guitar.
The Sputniks formed in Adelaide around April 1979 - Graney, Miller and Dealey having moved there and met up with Clare Millionaire (a.k.a. Clare Moore) on drums and Philip Marks (ex-Foreskins) on guitar. Over the next year, before a move to Melbourne, they proved themselves extremely hardworking and put together an impressive list of achievements.
Starting with a first gig in June they toured South (to Mt Gambier and Naracoorte), plus a Spencer Gulf tour with the Accountants, playing Whyalla, Port Augusta, and Port Pirie. Funded by proceedings from these tours, and live work in Adelaide, they recorded a single at Noumenon Studios in October. Our Boys / Second Glance was released in December.
Early 1980 saw the band getting a residency at the Union Hotel, where they endeavoured to get other bands to play, reportedly with mixed success. Live they played mostly originals, mixed in with Doors, Bowie (Queen Bitch), Buzzcocks (What Do I Get?), and 13th Floor Elevators (You're Gonna Miss Me) covers. Moore took front of stage for a version of In The Midnight Hour which was always popular. Admirably they had at least one new original every time they played.
March 29, 1980 saw their last Adelaide show, and in early April they moved to Melbourne. Gigs aplenty followed, amongst them The Bottom Line, The Exford, Paradise Lounge, Hearts and the Duke of York. Despite the year of hard work the foundations of the band proved shaky and by October Marks and Dealey had returned to Adelaide and the rest began to become the Moodists; starting with this ad in Juke magazine:
A fantastic Sputniks band photo can be seen here and the top few photos on this page are also our boys and girls. Graney and Moore's long list of musical collaborations is well documented elsewhere but you should also cock an ear to Dealey's later work, starting with the Acid Drops' brilliant Surfin' Prostitute Beat 7", through the stellar The Wailing House 7" with the Twenty Second Sect, who also put out several LPs.
But back to the Sputniks record. Played loose and sloppy, and with an endearing high energy, the rudimentary musical and songwriting skills don't stop this from being a great record. Of course, those deficiencies effectively add to its charm. In particular, Dealey's bass playing on Second Glance is a thing of joy; but the whole song is infectiously great from go to whoa.
The record was never issued in a sleeve but 100 copies were sold with badges attached to the diecut. We don't know how many different designs there were but feel obliged to show you this standout version:
The real it-never-ends action on this one revolves around the purple vinyl copies. In case we didn't mention it before, here at Wallaby Beat coloured vinyl rarely evinces much more than a shrugged shoulder; we just don't care. On the very odd occasion though it can cause us to break a mild sweat. The story went, and still goes, that a small batch of between 7 and 12 copies was made and circulated to the band's members and friends. Here 'tis:
And here are the two tracks. As always we thank Harry Butler's DNA fanzine for its excellent contemporaneous coverage of the early Adelaide scene - many of today's details come from Issues 4-16, and the Juke ad from issue 48.
The "short, stocky, slow-witted bald man" from American Pickers may very well be the most objectionable personality on TV right now, and I say that fully aware that we're on the cusp of an American/Australian Celebrity Apprentice season crossover. Perhaps it's a case of Freudian projection, akin to seeing the scumbag collector impulse staring back at us in the form of a Kim Wilde picture sleeve collector, or closer still, self-loathing at the demon of Ruts completism turned outwards. Whatever the psychological drive, every time beardo Picker opens his pie hole about the desirability of a vintage oil can, I roll my eyes, groan audibly, and pray for the fat fuck to be seen off the property at shotgun-point. Tellingly, it is the exact reaction I observe from my wife when I bring records like this into our home.
Exhibit A in my defence: that sleeve. A wasted Danny Graham, looking like he's just woken up after spending the night in a dumpster, trying to pass off a Polaroid self-portrait as the cover of Space Oddity. And then, in case his eyes and the name of his label didn't say it all, Danny emphasises the point by spelling out his name in dope leaves. Clearly, music is not the only kind of DIY at play here; another record in our secret stash. Your honour, the phrase "buy on sight" was invented for records like this. The defence rests.
"That sounds like Play School music", I hear disapprovingly from the next room as the gavel comes down on Put The Blame On Me. It's not an unreasonable verdict. Like an asthmatic David Virgin, Danny Graham's breathy vocals do have a certain child-like quality, the tentative delivery evoking an image of Danny with microphone in hand, bed sheet over his head, trying his best not to wake the neighbours. Given that this LP was recorded at "Bedroom Studios", that may well have been the case. That tone pervades the LP - laidback, predominantly acoustic, bedroom singer-songwriter stuff. The liner notes for the recently-released Left Of The Middle compilation describe it more optimistically as "uniquely mid-'70s acid-folk art rock", adding that "there is no other Australian artist remotely similar to his singular sound". An asthmatic David Virgin notwithstanding, we largely agree. Ordinarily the kind of record that would make us run a mile, Danny Graham's personality shines through on every song, and the LP's low-budget, home-recorded loner charm has turned it into an enduring favourite. Though not without missteps, its many great songs far outweigh the occasional lapses into turgid MOR.
Danny's second LP (Sinsemilla SINS0002/YPRX 1852, 1981) will similarly prove to be a "love it or loathe it" proposition, though it's an entirely different kettle of fish. We're not just talking about the aquatic-themed cover, either. Titled Promotional Copy Only in the grand tradition of our old friends the Guest Stars, the album sees Danny in rock band mode with what could best be termed a new wave approach. Again, that description undersells it somewhat, as the songwriting is unique and decidedly, er, left of the middle. Not only that, Danny emerges from under the covers to deliver some truly staggering vocal performances, the likes of which haven't been heard here since our favourite vocodered Brisbanite, Ross Lovell. Check out Dragon Fire for the best example of his new-found "let it all hang out" yelp. Someone hand the man some Ventolin! Elsewhere, there is much to like in stoned lyrics such as "Does time spiral or repeat on a curve?" and "When our eyes meet it's like the mingling of molten metals", and as on the first LP, the musicianship reveals Danny to be an accomplished and creative guitarist.
This time around, recording took place at "Basement-Bedroom Studios" - literally a more underground offering than the first LP (and fittingly, a tougher one to track down). Interestingly, about half of the songs on Promotional Copy Only use pre-recorded drum tracks sourced from DrumDrops, a series of LPs designed to allow guys like Danny to avoid the obvious displeasures of dealing with a real life drummer. Fans of basement-recorded oddities may recall R Stevie Moore's C90 cassette from 1980 built around the same approach. Here, Danny's use of DrumDrops gives a telling insight into the motivations behind this LP - beats are taken exclusively from the "British side" (as opposed to the "American side") of DrumDrops 5, featuring drum tracks labelled Fast Punk Rock and Straight Ahead New Wave.
Danny's last release (Sinsemilla SINS0003/13155, 1981) is also the easiest to acquire. Whereas the earlier LPs surface rarely - and are even more scarce without seam splits, sticker scars, water damage, and writing on the labels - this final 45 can typically be found with some digging and a little patience. Featuring two songs from Promotional Copy Only in rerecorded versions, the single should appeal to fans of that earlier record, though for better or worse (one vote here for the latter) it is noticeably slicker in its production.
So what became of Danny Graham after this release? Good question. We'd like to think that this link may provide clues to his whereabouts, and at the very least, evidence of Freudian projection from Danny himself. But unfortunately your worship, the case is largely circumstantial.
February 2014 update: In July 1981 Roadrunner magazine took a few minutes off from sucking major label arse to pen the following review:
September 2014 update: The first Danny Graham LP has no drum breaks or funky horn lines, so when our friend Mark found a copy he onsold it forthwith. Luckily, he saved scans of the press release tucked away inside:
We've spoken before about the relative placement of the powerpop protagonist and the distant object of their desire. John (Francis) Kennedy was unable to lift himself from worshipping the ground upon which his gal walked, thus prompting his question to himself in the song title, which we've always shortened to Am I Pagan?
Kennedy was a bouff-haired (but, unfortunately, not boof-headed) popster who plied a trade in earnest Elvis Costello influenced pop in Brisbane from 1980 to 1982. The vehicle was his first band, JFK and the Cuban Crisis, with school friend James Paterson. Paterson, in a contemporary piece in X-Change fanzine, pitched the band as inhabiting a space in Brisbane between "new wave jukeboxes and arty, underground bands". Talk about missing the point, or at the very least, placing yourself on the wrong side of history.
Their first release was a cassette called Over The Underpass + Under The Overpass... (hear a version of Juliet Jones from that here). Then there was this. All mealy-mouthed piss-taking aside, we're featuring it because the song is good. Tight, clipped rhythms from drummer Steven Pritchard and bassist John E. Xero's typical musical bass playing underpin a good melody. Kennedy's voice is a bit of an acquired taste but again, the song is good enough to look past that. Perhaps somewhat unusually the verse slightly outshines the chorus, musically but also aided by the notion that in the verses he's putting up a fight, before the slightly downer profession of loserdom in the chorus.
Following this the band, or at least Kennedy and Paterson, moved to Sydney. While we can muster a slight endorsement for the Careless Talk Costs Lives 7" on Waterfront (1982) after that you're firmly on your own.
We've already covered Tommy Leonetti's major contribution to the Australian punk rock canon, but the ex-pat American club entertainer cum late-night chat show host has another claim to fame, this time in Australia's class of '77. Leonetti was the inspiration for Norman Gunston, the gormless, toilet paper-clad alter-ego of comedian Garry McDonald. Gunston first appeared in 1973 as a minor character in The Aunty Jack Show; however, it wasn't until 1975 and the first season of The Norman Gunston Show that the character really took flight. Interspersed among set pieces (co-written by Bill Harding of The Mavis Bramston Show) and genuine musical acts, the show spoofed the variety format with two elements that would become Gunston trademarks: "ambush" interviews, and demolition jobs on popular songs. Examples of the former abound on Youtube - Gunston's interview with Sally Struthers is often cited as a highlight, but we're more partial to this encounter with Karen Black as an example of the Gunston oeuvre. In addition, it would be remiss of us not to direct you to this amazing confrontation with Keith Moon. Equally amazing but not as side-splitting is the footage of Gunston making a nuisance of himself at The Dismissal, but we'll leave you to explore that on your own.
Australian press.
Gunston's musical hatchet-jobs were compiled on a 1976 LP called The Popular Ballad Animal, but as 1977 dawned the savvy McDonald saw punk rock as ripe for parody, and this single was the result. If I Might Be a Punk (But I Love You Baby) comes across as an old fart's impression of what punk rock sounded like, well, it's because that's largely what it is. The song was penned by '60s refugees David Pepperell and Ross Wilson: Pepperell had been in The Union, and later co-founded the legendary Archie and Jughead's import record store which eventually became Missing Link; Wilson, despite promising counter-culture credentials with the Pink Finks and Sons of the Vegetal Mother, is best known for his tenure in Daddy Cool and Mondo Rock. I Might Be a Punk's decidedly Carlton-sounding musicianship and sluggish pace add to the old-school feel, and Gunston's characteristic vocal and harmonica solo hammer home the novelty punk terrain. But despite all that, we're pleased to report that it has aged pretty well. The middle-eight is particularly strong - it almost sounds...convincing!
New Zealand press.
I Might Be a Punk was released in May 1977 (which, incidentally, makes it the first Australian "punk" record to follow in the wake of The Saints and Radio Birdman); it stayed in the local top 100 for 10 weeks, and reached a peak of #57. Mushroom must have been sufficiently buoyed by that success to decide that a New Zealand release was in order. That pressing was issued sans sleeve, and these days is seldom sighted, at least from our vantage point north of Norman Gunston's home town.
I Might Be A Punk (But I Love You Baby) [Download]
A live version of I Might Be A Punk later appeared on the Nylon Degrees LP (Mushroom L36700, 1978). Though musically inferior, it's worth hearing for Norman's attempts at gobbing and his accompanying commentary: "When I first performed that song, I must admit I felt a bit of a prick - y'know, when I put the pin through my nose".
First, that sleeve. As always in these situations we go to Spinal Tap for help - "What's wrong with bein' sexy?". The sleeve references the single's B-side, She's Got Tattoos, and it's unclear if the tatt is real. Val, the owner of the legs, gets credited for "enduring what I am sure must have been a very embarrassing experience." Said flipside is really awful though, so today we just bring you the A-side.
Funnily enough Adrenalin is not a metal band, rather they appear to have been a suburban pop/rock band, based near Manly on Sydney's North Shore. Probably dipping their toes into all sorts of styles, they wisely chose to leave for posterity one of their punkier numbers. Bringing to mind the "speedy, almost slapstick punk" of the better Thought Criminals tracks, the song flops about before coalescing from time to time into a simple but effective chorus line. The use of violin is also interesting, giving another differentiation point to the UK82 sound prevalent in Sydney at the time.
As far as we can ascertain this was it for Adrenalin. Drummer Neil Rankin still plays around in Beatles tribute band The Beatels (also the current gig for Marcus Phelan of the Works), but the rest have more or less sunk without trace.
Orwell probably held more currency as a reference for punk rock when 1984 was in the headlights rather than a speck in the rear view mirror. It has certainly been a while since we observed a Rewrite Squad or an O'Brien and the Newspeak Dictionaries on a gig flier, but we can't really blame the kids for not relating to a dystopian future set ten years before they were born. Or, as Severed Heads/Terse Tapes main man Tom Ellard observed recently at the Sydney Festival, in the age of Facebook perhaps everyone's cool with Big Brother now. It wasn't always the way. The Thought Criminals of course excelled at deft Orwellian references - besides the obvious, the band pilfered Nineteen Eighty-Four for its label name, production credits, song titles and cover imagery. Similarly inspired but less comprehensive - and, Bloodstains Across Australia notwithstanding, less widely heard - are Melbourne's Proles.
Proles was a popular choice of moniker for punk bands of the late '70s and early '80s, and fittingly, the Melbourne version sounds a tad less distinctive than their like-minds-in-thought-crimes north of the border. Taken under the collective wing of News (a big brother band, so to speak), their influence is obvious not only musically and lyrically, but also in the packaging of the Proles' one and only single - screen printed sleeve and label blanks, albeit with a less ambitious design than News' Chop Chop Chop/Fuck Fuck Fuck 45. Police is our pick of the two tracks, following the News template of driving punk with neatly melodic guitar lines. Though not blessed with a guitar player as inventive as News' Jarryl Wirth, nor with Wirth's speaker-shredding fuzz, Police still packs plenty of power and is remarkably catchy to boot. It is paired with Underaged, essentially Banned From The Pubs as written by 15 year olds, and set to a more subdued (but still cool) musical backing.
On this single, the Proles were: Mark Chrisfield (vocals); Paul Greuders (bass, backing vocals); and brothers Darren (guitar, backing vocals) and Wayne Smith (drums). Alas, no Winstons. The band existed from September 1977 to February 1979, and though the single was recorded in the months prior the band's break-up, it was only released posthumously at the turn of the decade. Copies in circulation at that time have the sleeve/label construction mentioned and pictured above, while those from a later quantity find lack the screen printed sleeve (some come with a recent photocopy) and have a printed and pasted on label design (below). Darren Smith would later surface in the Zorros, whose single on Au-Go-Go we will revisit in due course.
Kim Fowley visited Australia and New Zealand in 1979, via "British" Samoa: "All I found was a two track studio and someone reciting poetry in Polynesian, no hit records." That was in Samoa, not Auckland. He set up shop in the Melbourne Hilton and took out a full page ad in the local rock press announcing his arrival and calling on local unsigned bands to kneel before him. One of two bands he most took under his wing was Beathoven. Formerly Tasmania's top pop group, they had moved to Melbourne and had made hay on the high school lunchtime concert circuit. They had in fact broken up and only returned from Tasmania when summonsed by Fowley. He "ran out of adjectives describing them," Glenn Baker later reported. Two of the demos he recorded with them appear on the Here We Come LP (Raven, 1984). Princess In Disguise is pretty dull, but Rock'n'Roll Tonight is much better, even allowing for the cringeworthy ocker to-and-froing between band members; "Hey Wombat, where's the sheilas?" Unfortunately Fowley couldn't convince the local labels of his their genius - (Hilton) bummer.
Nonetheless in 1980, after a name change to The Innocents, this single lobbed up on Australian RCA. Theoretically there's a lot to dislike on this record: a disco bassline, a debt to the Beatles, an even bigger debt to the Four Seasons (thanks to the i-94 reviewer for picking that up). However the glorious chorus lifts it above and by the end you've forgotten the inauspicious opening verse. A good record, for sure, but you have to think Fowley would have shat his leather trews had Branded not already moved from Melbourne to Sydney.
The Raven LP is kinda tough to find these days but you should be able to pick up the comprehensive double CD No Hit Wonders From Down-Under fairly easily. Between the band's website and various other bloggings there's hours of reading for anyone who wants to delve further. Which brings us to our little addition to the story - the formerly apocryphal Japanese pressing.
A 1990s article on the band in an Australian collectors magazine mentioned a rumoured Japanese issue but was quite sure it didn't exist. The precursor to the band's website linked to above used to have a discography which wasn't certain either. Rest assured it exists, and rest even more assured we have it for you. Still on RCA, it's a 1982 release, making it two years later than the Australian issue. We first pulled it from the fertile stacks at Sydney store Ashwoods some time in the '90s. Since then we've only seen two other copies show up, and we have been looking. Which, when put in our equations, and factoring in the rise of the internet, makes it "quite rare". Despite the handsome seaside skateboarder sleeve (is that Shogo Kubo?), it seems Inosentsu were even less successful up there than down here.
Read all about them.
March 2020 update But wait.... somebody noticed. A local variety show performed a song and dance number to a version of the song.
DJK stands for Dave Scotland (guitar, vocals), Joe Lee (bass), and Ken Wylie (drums), three-fifths of Canberra's Baby Grande. The Baby Grande story makes for an interesting read - we encourage you to do so at the relentlessly centre-aligned Canberra Musicians website. The gist is that the band formed in 1974, first in a pre-Scotland incarnation as the infinitely preferable Far-Q-2, then as Baby Grande in 1975 when the line-up was finalised. Oh, the other members? Their names may be familiar: Steve Kilbey (vocals, bass, synth), and Peter Koppes (guitar).
Initially an intellectual take on glam rock, Baby Grande evolved as the summer of hate dawned in the UK; Koppes quit, and at Kilbey's behest, the band amped up the guitars and pursued a direction more aligned with the Pistols and the Dolls (note that Kilbey's take on "daggy" local guitarists in the Canberra Musos piece is consistent with our own). Through connections and coincidence - notably, EMI Australia being wrongfooted by the UK parent company's directive to sign the Saints - Baby Grande found themselves under contract with EMI, and in January 1977, five songs were recorded with (I'm) Stranded producer Rod Coe. Unfortunately, the session was rejected by EMI for lacking commercial appeal, and the recordings remain unissued to this day. Dejected, Scotland, Lee and Wylie jumped ship.
Kilbey's post-Baby Grande trajectory is a matter of public record - after a dalliance with Tactics, a realignment with Koppes led to The Church and worldwide acclaim. The remaining Baby Grandes quickly regrouped as DJK Band, and issued this self-financed single in an edition of "about 500" copies (note the sly nod to former glories on the label). It's a worthwhile record, and one that gets better with each listen, but absent Kilbey's stewardship it lacks any trace of punk; instead, Venus Flytrap evinces a regression to inventive grillfat with glammy overtones. It's a description that applies equally to the lyrics - we'll leave you to listen for yourself, but let's just say that "a venus flytrap in a bed of daisies" is Canberran for "dude looks like a lady".
How could you go wrong with a song called Kill The Warden? That's what we thought when we first picked this up in a Newcastle op shop in the 1990s. It's a tasty grillfat tale of prison murder, with blood and guts and oh, a hooky chorus!
Meccalissa existed from 1974 until around the time of this release in 1979, when they became DV8. In fact, some copies of this have DV8 stamped on the labels (see below). From what we've heard of the DV8 records, you don't need to hear them (Dead Baby from the Stab In The Dark live LP is OK, but not as good as this).
