Bleak, industrial blues. That’s what you’ll immerse yourself in on this six-track EP. It’s one part Suicide, one part Delta blues, and fuck any compact with the Devil - if that was a soul left behind at the negotiating table in return for a bus ticket to the crossroads, it sounds like it’s being picked over by vultures.
Written on the road and recorded with minimal affectations, it’s a collaboration between Anglo-Italo blues rocker Stiv Cantarelli and studio collaborator Roberto Villa. And a drum machine.
We’re not claiming to be a “hip” or “cutting edge” forum at the I-94 Bar but here’s the conundrum: No-one other than the readership of similarly backward-looking but worthy publications like Mojo or Shindig is going to know about The Galileo 7. And that’s shit.
At the risk of sounding like a haughty communications lecturer talking to a bunch of undergrads, the more media fragments, the more isolationist its bubbles become. Which means, dear Barflies, that YOU have to dig deeper to find stuff that’s not disposable, commodified or bland.
The Galileo 7 is none of the above.
If you are just surfin' around the net on the lookout for this week's dime-a-dozen Richie Rich, aggression free, smiley-faced, redundant, Ramones tribute band with the obligatory Lewis leather apparel and Betty Page hair-do's, this might not really be your thing. But if your chakras are open to some really far-out psychedelic, cosmic consciousness, vibrating at a higher frequency, maan, this might be your new trip-room soundtrack.
Junkyard Prog, Freak-Jazz, Magic Mushroom instrumentals from other solar systems, other dimensions, other times. Kooky, Otherworldly, Stoner-Pop reminiscent of the Hendrix Experience, Blue Cheer, MC5 jams, King Crimson, solo Steve Vai records, it has an interplanetary sensibility, this guy obviously still communicates telepathically with Sun Ra, and Captain Beefheart, and Brian Eno and Lee Scratch Perry, ya know what I'm sayin'?
Urban Guerillas have been around since Noah was in a nappy, forming in Adelaide before moving to Sydney and plying their brand of stick-it-to-the-man-and-his-system, agit-rock around the pubs and clubs. They’ve been pumping out records like nobody’s business and this EP is the latest in a long line.
Whether you’re into politically flavoured music is a matter for yourself - the MC5 thought it was a great idea for all of five minutes but Mao wouldn't buy them muscle cars - but it’s the raison d’etre for these guys, and you have to admire their resolve to stay at it.
Not to be confused with the late ‘70s Grand Hotel scene punk band of the same name, Urban Guerillas made a name for themselves on the back of an anti-imperialism song called “Here Come The Americans”, and they’re still singing about similar things today. How’d they miss out on a Midnight Oil support?
Sure sounds a lot like ‘em. Has it really been 31 years since their last new release? That question’s rhetorical, by the way.
Ups and Downs were a Brisbane garage-pop band that was swept up in the signing madness of the 1980s, captured by a major label and transplanted to Sydney where they enjoyed fleeting success. All these years later, they’re more or less intact, but it's an accidental and organic reunion.
As far as dipping a toe back in the water, this EP is just short of complete immersion at the deep end for Peter Simpson. You can hear the Dubrovkniks guitarist-vocalist has put a lot of himself into these five songs and it mostly pays off.
It seems like a million years ago (it’s actually 37) since Simpson arrived in Sydney from Perth in a briefly successful but long-forgotten band called Teeny Weeny. He went on to play in the Dubrovniks (via The Spectre’s Revenge), experiencing fame if not fortune.