JED WHITEY
Thursday April 18, 2002
@ the Green Square Hotel, SydneyThis show was the opening scream of defiance from what is being billed as "Mongoloid Tour 2002", in support of their sensitively entitled debut album "Mongoloid Cagematch" - an album which according to their record company "starts with the pedal to the metal and finishes with it on the bitumen". I'd heard good things about this band from time to time, but due to prior commitments managed to miss all their gigs on their previous expedition from over in the far west.
Nearly missed them this time round as well, but I made a special effort because I was intrigued by their selfless dedication to the fickle bitch that is live rock'n'roll, as evidenced in their pleas on the Divine Rites list for help in getting replacement gigs after a couple of bookings fell through ("We'll play anywhere, anytime, with anyone. Don't care about getting paid, just care about getting on a stage"). If rock is a disease, then clearly these guys have got a festering infection that's more than just septic, it's terminal.
"We ain't Birdman... but chances are we won't fracture a hip walking on stage", they'd announced sarcastically in their pre-gig publicity and they sure had oodles of attitude to spare when they hit the stage. Their ultra antagonistic "Are You Ready To Hate Us?" commences with "Someone started a rumour, that we're better than you/If you weren't such a loser, you'd know that it's true" and doesn't retreat an inch for there ("I've got a high I.Q./You've just got B.O."). Neither does their live show.
This is a band that defies easy categorization. The Barman's "stoner-punk-metal-slacker-rock" classification in his review of their "Superfly Bigmuff" EP a while ago is as apt as any I can think of. After starting out like a four piece Onyas who've decided to keep their pants on, they roamed through Hellacopter bravado, generic bone crunching dual guitar driven seventies cock rock (only minus the leather trousers and wot, no smoke machine?), snotty mid-seventies Brit punk, a touch of hardcore (mercifully without the annoying shouted vocals that normally go with it) and a full throated, fret shredding, Detroit infused fury that conjured up a triumphant cross between the late, lamented Yesmen and Turbonegro.
Showmanship? Oh yeah. Guitars up in the air, feet up on the foldback monitors, Status Quo/hair metal synchronized rockin' back and forth (but a triffle tongue in cheek - obviously they realise that all those hair swishing head movements turn into an amusing self-parody when the hair has been cut short or virtually shaved off).
One thing that generally separates the pretenders from the professionals is how they cope with a broken string. If there's just nervous tension over an embarrassed silence (what, in literature, they might call "a pregnant pause") while the string is replaced, then the band needs to have a think about the nature of its true calling. If, on the other hand, the show doesn't let up, then there are obviously some real troupers on stage.
Should one of the guitarists manage to break a record shattering five strings over the course of an hour and the band still maintains momentum throughout, then they're practically goddam living legends. With the aid of everything from an impromptu rendition of "Beat It" by the remaining trio and tales of their travails on the long journey from Perth ("we ran over two 'roos in a '76 panel van to get here") to handing the recalcitrant guitarist the microphone and forcing him to act as the lead singer instead, Jed Whitey maintained so much momentum that not even a tank trap and a battery of howitzers could have stopped them.
Requests from the audience? Yes, there were a few. Basically the band just thanked them for their interest and then told them to fuck off, although the guy who persisted in calling out for "Rock'n'Roll Saved My Life" eventually did get it as an encore. With a repertoire that includes numbers as welcoming and sociable as "My Band Is Better Than Your Band", "We Used Your Record As A Drink Coaster" and "I'm OK - You're Fucked", no one was complaining, or even particularly surprised at the band's stance.
In a partial break with Aussie album launch tradition, copies of "Mongoloid Cagematch" were available at the venue on the night, at least on vinyl. However pressing of the CD has been held up at the manufacturing plant, so there was nothing available for those of us who are turntable-impaired. After this show, I'm sure hangin' out for it. - John McPharlin
