Disclaimer: this is going to be very biased. I have emotions.
(also read my fancy Brian Jonestown Massacre review here!)
Hi dearest readers. Let me start off with a “have you seen the 2024 Glamfest lineup announcement???” Slaughter is en route to Australia for the first time ever! I’ve loved Slaughter ever since I read about groupie twins and their sexy encounter with Dana Strum in Pamela Des Barres’ mini-book One Night Bands and have since been blasting my Slaughter playlist while telling people Mark delivers the glam equivalent of Josh Kiszka. One of my friends hates the Greta Van Fleet vocal style and I’ve since been on a campaign to show him that it’s a rock trope that predates his own existence. Here’s my Slaughter playlist:
George Lynch is also packing it up with his final Australian visit in Lynch Mob’s headline. I’ve never gotten into them but I’m a George Lynch believer because of his maddening contributions to Dokken and evident influence on my favourite guitar hero Warren DeMartini. If I don't make my life goal to have dinner with Warren (I conceived this wish when a concert photographer I was chatting with told me he had dinner with Ozzy- Ozzy Osbourne, yes, but he casually told me “Ozzy”- before), that I would at least get to see his greatest mentor etc. It’s a cruel world but I’m still holding on to that DeMartini dinner in my mind.
Notable smaller acts consist of Ablaze from Melbourne, who I’ve been told produce quality hard rock, and Sister’s Doll. When I was hanging outside the back of Enmore Theatre waiting to jump on poor, old Extreme those three all-brothers-though-you-wouldn’t-guess-it-by-looking-at-them band members were there too. They have awful eyeliner (there’s good eyeliner out there, this isn’t it) and awful marketing graphics but I wouldn’t mind seeing them live.
In my very busy life, which I spend not blogging but doing serious things like interning in music PR and stuff and directing content for SURG FM (aka career moves) I do not get paid much. Sometimes, when I’m writing about shows, I can dodge $100+ tickets by applying for a media pass or getting put on the doors by local bands who express their gratitude, but alas no one pays me to publish and with transport costs I often break even or come out at a loss. And, I intern for free so this year has been one of chronically tight budgets and busting my ass in hospitality to even afford to progress in this industry. Truly, it makes you realise how inaccessible a career like this is unless you start off with the funds or connections to meet the people and get the experience you need.
But this weekend I’ve made my first profit by working the early doors at FANGZstock. It was nothing insane, but I am grateful. I started off with nothing and worked my way through so many people to even get in this position. I’ve gone from knowing virtually no one in the industry to being able to squeeze the shoulders of a singer and ask him how is mother is. And all with crippling social anxiety. I still want to vomit! But I want to vomit less! I sat down with myself and negotiated my fucked up mind and my wild ambition and here we are. Congrats to myself, what a killer year. I feel like Russell in Almost Famous talking about “real people”- I’ve only adored everyone I’ve met. In my future memoir I’ll reveal all the dumb stunts I pulled but for now it’s for me to know. I went from south-west Sydney to serious, Alice Cooper-style.
So this is less a gig review and more a diary of personal thoughts. Unfortunately, as I now know the aforementioned “too many people” I can’t dish as much dirt as I’d love to. The gossip is all stored safely and soundly within myself and one can be assured I won’t post any dirty secrets to the internet ever.
Saturday, I sat in the doorway of the Lady Hampshire looking out into all-too familiar Parramatta Road and coping the heat of the 43 degree day. I checked people off the guest list, signed bands in and sold door tickets. Said hi to the people I knew, waved in those loading in big black bags of gear and put our custom bands on the wrists of dedicated gig goers from midday to 5.
Well? and Lady Lazarus I saw perform from my door spot. I thought Newcastle-based Well? were absolutely fantastic, with blistering energy and engagingly syncopated tracks. They brought in some soundbites that kept their style away from damned over-retrospection and shifted moods deftly in tracks like my fav “Atom Bomb”.
Lady Lazarus were the typification of “angry feminist lesbian punk” which I was unsure whether to like or to think done before. I decided my positioning 50m from the stage was probably not helping their case and that I would have eaten it up in my usual circumstances. It wasn’t revolutionary, but any punk that survives these days usually isn’t. Punk’s initial value was its otherness and shock factor. I don’t think anyone’s too scared of it now. The all-woman band were tight sonically and had a great attitude which I appreciated.
I finished my shift at 4:49, passing off to the much more storied door person Charlie and joined my friends at the stage for a helping of Starcrazy. They’re great, what more can I say. I love a strong riff in which they had many. Bass is always doing more than the average boring default. Starcrazy has many lovers, young and old, and I’ll forever be one of them.
I swapped sweaty tank tops with the temporary bassist of Neighbourhood Void so she could wear all black with her band and watched them pump out some energetic grunge numbers. Same issue with grunge as I do punk- it’s done to death and unless you’re putting a spin on it or really have something new to say I’m pretty uninterested.
A little trick one can perform at the Lady is taking a piss mid set. The bathroom filters out most of the instruments in the mix and anyone can make out the isolated vocals while squatting. It should be the ultimate test to see if singers cut it.
Mac the Knife was appreciated by some in the crowd but I- cynical as I am- didn’t feel too warm about people using other fame to boost their unrelated music careers. My friends said it was good but I took their set as an opportunity to finally eat something and sat scoffing hot chips and tomato sauce while listening to my internship boss DJ the Lady courtyard.
Closure was ok, not for me. Loser coped some drunken heckling but maintained good form. There were calls for “drum solo” and “bass solo” until they announced they had a ballad up next and someone yelled out “ballad solo” over band laughter. I wasn’t thrilled by them either and noted how many three-pieces were performing that day/night. My weakness for guitar heroes and that excess hooky musicality was not being favoured with these bare bones line-ups.
I retired to one of the Lady hightables and just took a moment to appreciate where I was and how I got there. FANGZ’s drummer was spinning his sticks and hitting the waist-high stool in front of him in anticipation of his set. Women in hotpants and flares were floating round with rosé. Emmy Mack from Redhook was gearing up for a DJ set. I was tracing my steps to this scene and had to take a moment to credit the blog. I wouldn’t have landed all this without my trusty online diary.
I took a spot at the front to hype up the coolest band my internship manage. FANGZ were just off supporting an Australia-wide Pennywise tour and brought that desperate energy home with them to Sydney. The crowd were savage and considerably more drunk by this time which might explain why I had to bat away an unintroduced rando who kept trying to embrace me throughout the set (he later told me I was “sick”. Mate, what’s making me sick is your rank BO and touchiness, fuck off). Their singer’s vocals come off just like they do on record and, though I wouldn’t have dared take a bathroom break, I knew with certainty they would have passed the Lady Piss Test. They covered “Freak” by Silverchair and jokingly got the crowd chanting “Bad Medicine” between originals. They championed narcotics, public drunkness and got a whole crowd thrashing. Some guy was lifted to hang from the ceiling and I got all sweaty just outside of the pit. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I’m a dancer and not a mosher (unless it’s Knotfest).
Quick goodbyes and I skipped down Parramatta Road in my straw cowboy hat and dancing boots as happy as ever to my car, driving home to Type O Negative because I could. I have a few more shows left in 2023 and I know it can only get better from here. 2024 is going to be my bitch, just y’all wait and see.
love, love, love
sina