"MONSTER SESSION 3"
COSMIC PSYCHOS
+ LIME SPIDERS
+ THE ONYAS
+ THE KELPIES
+ SCREAMFEEDER
+ ASYLUM
+ ASTEROID B-612
+ NANCY VANDAL
+ NUNCHUKKA SUPERFLY
+ FURTHER
+ MOPE
Manning Bar, Sydney University
Saturday, March 19, 2011Words: THE BARMAN
Photos: EMMY ETIEShare If you're expecting a blow-by-blow exposition of this day-long festival, then you've come to the wrong place. This was a laidback affair, a social occasion for a good cause (raising money for research into multiple sclerosis) and I made a point of forgetting my notepad. Plus it rained so hard, en route to the gig and on the way home, that the scribblings would have been illegible. The dog may have eaten the notes too.
OK, truth is I had a few beers and caught up with lots of people, but I know it was a seriously great day so be content with these casual musings. You're getting them partly because someone asked...
It's all in the timing with these festival things. Mine was arranged so that I'd lob just as Nunchukka Superfly took the stage. Others must have been thinking of getting there once their set had finished because the area immediately in front of the stage was to be populated by five people and a dog.
It's fully understandable why some people don't "get" Nunchukka Superfly. Sometimes I think their music is so wilfully obtuse, and such an aural "fuck you" to those that would rather be cajoled and caressed than challenged, that it flies past faster than a busload of Pommy backpackers on eccy en route to a Bondi Beach Christmas Day recovery dance party.
Ray Ahn's bass runs are thicker than the neck of a gym junkie with a serious 'roids appetite, and Blackie sometimes struggles to screech and/or indulge in cartoon-ish leering over the sheer volume of his own stun guitar. You're never left in doubt that you've seen something seriously tight and more than a little twisted. Like shots of Arak rice wine, sometimes small doses are best.Nothing succeeds like excess and Cosmic Psychos have served up plenty of the same down the years. While Ross Knight keeps is the anchor and only surviving original member on bass, I'd almost forgotten that Mad Macka was in the guitar seat these days. While not being a waif-like Paris model myself, there's something comforting in seeing Macka in constant profile during his time on-stage. The obviously generous backstage rider he's been dipping into does nothing to make his wah-wah washed guitarwork anything less than stinging.
Ross Knight turns up the fuzz bass.
Opening song "Nice Day To Go To The Pub" (from the new album – one copy of which only I spy at the merch desk) makes an obvious mission statement, and there's some bile-laced dedications to a former record label boss before "David Lee Roth" gets a going over. Fans always keep an eye out for the Psychos and they still reciprocate with three eyes of their own, brown in colour, at the end of the bracket. Cosmic Psychos are truly a force of nature and everybody's favourite "Lost Cause".
Eddie Vedder is in town on a solo tour and it's more than a rumour that he's going to make a guest appearance with the Psychos. Now I don't give a rat's arse about Eddie or the overblown stadium rock act that is Pearl Jam. No fault of theirs' that they got big but they were already too bland for my tastes. I saw 'em on a freebie at Eastern Creek in '95 and support-of-choice Cosmic Psychos actually blew them away. But if an American rock star wants to turn up and have a wail – and in the process, give the Monster Session some global publicity – then I'll shelve my ingrained biases and raise my glass.
Unfortunately, Mr Vedder arrives too late to allow everybody enough time to agree what song he'll do and he remains at side-of-stage, looking on. The next night he invites promoter Monster Sessions Glenn Koek to join him at his gig and writes a donation cheque for $5000, so the bloke's now OK by me. OK?
Don't Mess With Mexico: Bill Gibson with Asylum.And so to Asylum. The band, not the place. I can't say I had more than a passing exposure to these Gold Coast refugees back in the '80s so my appreciation of their set suffers from a lack of enthusiasm. Asylum seem flashier than the cloudy memory banks recall but they turn in a fairly solid set of tough, power-chord laden rock and roll, ably assisted by a Mexican wrestling mask-wearing Bill Gibson (The Eastern Dark and a thousand others) on guest vocals for a while. Their "TV Eye" was two steps removed from the original but rocked regally.
God knows The Kelpies have been through their share of shit over the years - some of it not even self-induced. Singer Jim Atkins was dealt a cancer card many years ago and isn't in the best of health today. He struggled manfully to stay the distance, but most of us wouldn't have known without being told.
Jim Atkins on the prowl out front of The Kelpies.
Ash Thomson wears his heart on his sleeve but what won't fit there, he puts on his chest.
The Kelpies are right on their game, storming through classics like "My Wall" and "Television" as if they were still a bunch of lean, mean, young punks. Mark Easton races around with a balaclava seemingly grafted to his skull while Ash Thomson is powerfully precise behind his kit. The Kelpies succeed because they sound nothing like a two-chord thrash band.
The Onyas are a fun time. I've seen 'em a bit and have a couple of their records. I'm not sure I could reel off the names of many of their songs but they do (tob rock) they do very well. Mad Macka makes his second appearance of the day and is doing well to stand up. He might be wearing the wobbly boot but plug that boy into his amp and watch him go. He spends part of the night standing in the pit with Mark Horne of Hell Crab City setting up his mic stand.
The set's a little samey after a while and not as wild as last time I saw them, but if they weren't on a bill like this and were the fare on a Saturday night at your local, you'd walk away well pleased with ringing ears and a bellyful of pissy, benevolent warm feelings.(Speaking of which, how does a student bar get away with charging six bucks for a can of beer? I'll wilfully cough up if a portion is going to charity but it's always the same at this place.)
Still standing! Onya, Mad Macka!
Lime Spiders began life as a bunch of Nuggets-obsessed, paisley-wearing acid punks from the wrong side of the inner-city/suburban Sydney divide, and grew into a hard-arsed, armour-encrusted killing machine. The day-glo posters and under-age shows were just a ruse to make them seem more friendly, so if they moved on and you didn't then you'll just have to get over it. Tonight's set was proof positive (if it were needed) that the only occasionally-sighted contemporary Spiders are more than a hard rock handful.
Lime Spiders come alive.
When I was young (obscure cover version reference there) "My Favourite Room" was one of my favourite songs, so you know where these comments are going. They saved it for last. Mick Blood is still laconic to the point of looking like Mr Casual's relaxed little brother, but there's mistaking those razor blade vocals. He squats next to the drum riser, leans on the mic stand and prowls his turf with characteristic detached menace, firing vocal torpedoes.New-ish drummer Tom Corben probably doesn't need dad's nurturing on-stage eye once behind his traps as he's well-established as a member of this band, and nails those tubs to the floor with a deft touch. Old stagers Ged Corben (guitar) and Tony Chief Bambach (bass) take up their appointed places like veterans down-to-kill while newer recruit (relatively speaking) Dave Sparks adds guitar beef to the already hefty Angus burger of a mix.
"Out of Control" sounds as dense as molasses. "Volatile" is in there. And they kept us waiting for "Slave Girl". Sorta knew they would. If it didn't quite sound like it was rustling up the dead like it did in the old days it was probably because it was coming at the end of a pile-driving set.
A briefly reunited Asteroid B612 grind the odd gear early on but are seriously motoring by by the end of an all-too-brief set. It's the line-up with Brother Grahame Spittles on vocals and he's flown in from the US of A to be part of the fun. He's as animated as I've ever seen him and in fine vocal fettle. Johnny Spittles is still the director, relishing being back on stage with these guys. It's like they never had a break and chestnuts like "Gasoline" and "Straight Back To You" are unfurled and run up the flagpole so convincingly that you're a numb-nutted, limp-dicked oxygen thief if you aren't standing at attention and saluting by half-time.
I've never bought into the contention that the Asteroids were pallid residents of a half-baked, Sydney-centric Detroit ghetto. They're more at home playing the Groovies in their Stones phase than doing The Pop, and if there's a healthy dose of the Five in their being alive it's only because both bands have sipped deep from the punchbowl of Chuck Berry.
After that, I have to give Nancy Vandal a miss. Too many bad jokes aren't going to do it for me. Screamfeeder get the bum's rush too. Nothing personal.
The other half of the reason for writing this is to plug the fact that Melbourne gets its own Monster Session on May 21 at the Espy. Cosmic Psychos, Bored!, X and the Lime Spiders are at the top of the bill with plenty of other worthy acts underneath. If you're from Melbourne and still care about rock and roll (and plenty of you do) it would be a crime to miss it.
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