JJ Adams at the Hitmen's 30th Birthday Party

ZEUS, GODZILLA AND THE HITMEN: THEY HAVE SURVIVED

SANDRINGHAM HOTEL, Newtown, NSW. Friday, May 21, 2010

Words: J.J. ADAMS
Photos: RICHARD HIGGINS

It’s amazing what friendship and respect will lead you to do: Barman, you owe me! But how could I let you down - and how could I miss the 30th anniversary party for The Hitmen, a band I have respected and championed for decades?

First to the night’s support act The Dead Rabids, a band with a hide thicker than a Wollongong politician, a cynicism more barbed than a refugee hostel’s fence and the most visually mismatched trio since the late lamented Eastern Dark (a drummer who looks like he has lost his way to a jazz club, a bassist who looks like he has escaped from a rockabilly convention and a singer who looks like everybody’s favourite punk uncle).

I must declare a conflict of interest here: as I write, a lively (read: 'manic') kitten named Bobbi is simultaneously trying to eat the computer cord and pull a series of wrestling holds on a saintly ginger cat four times her size named Tyson. Bobbi is named after her rescuer and donor to me, one Bob Short, my fellow i-94 Bar scribe and singer/guitarist/towering presence with the aforementioned Rabids.

I’ve seen the Rabids in action some 10 times now, in venues ranging from record stores to inner-western theatre spaces, an open-air amphitheatre and the usual assortment of beer-stained rawk rooms. And they bring to mind Jerry Garcia’s great comment about the Grateful Dead: “We’re like licorice. You either like us, or you don’t.” You either get The Rabids or you don’t. You either admire their mix of solid musicianship and fluid “we’re having fun…join us or fuck off” attitude - or it drives you from the room.

Being a loather of the Bland But Popular school of music, the Rabids are right up my alley. They’ve taken time to grow on me, but while I’m pleased to see the punk jukebox of Ramones, Stooges and Clash covers increasingly being replaced by originals, I could die happy just to hear them cover “You’re Just A Button On A Shirt”, a rarely heard Oz original which would fit right in with their say it loud and sing it proud anthems“Get Fucked” and “I Wouldn’t Piss On You”. The Rabids are fun, fearless and unlikely to ever grace an ARIA stage - which is just fine with me!

The Hitmen are also like licorice: in fact, over many decades I’ve rarely encountered a band who are so loved and so hated in equal measure, the latter usually by people who’ve never heard them or who have a longstanding enmity against one or more of their members. To whom I say grow up: life’s too short to hold a grudge!

I suspect the reason the Barman asked me to review their 30th birthday was that he figured I was one of the few punters around ancient enough to remember their FIRST show – and he’s wrong! I know it was at the King’s Cross Rex and that their second was a 21st birthday, but my first memory of seeing the Hitmen (or Johnny and The Hitmen as they were known then) was at the Narrabeen Antler on a weekend afternoon with about 20 other people there. This was in the days when they had female backup singers (instead of a mainly male audience echoing their every word) and performed a mix of material, including soul.

Then ex-RBers Chris Masuak and Warwick Gilbert, fresh from The Van Of Hate, joined and the Darlinghurst crowd first snubbed then accepted then snubbed them. But taking advantage of the larger number of suburban venues that were around for adventurous bands in those days (remember the San Miguel at Cammeray? Or the Comb and Cutter at Blacktown? The Village Inn at Rydalmere? The Bexley North?) The Hitmen found their following – and to their (unacknowledged) credit, used their position to introduce The Sunnyboys, Flaming Hands and a myriad of other inner city indie bands to audiences who might never otherwise have encountered them. Lately they have done the same with Niagara.

Along the way there were numerous line-up changes and near-disastrous brushes with fate (Kannis’ Night Train soul outfit’s horrendous 1983 car accident just one) but also the growth of a loyal fan base which now spans the generations and who were here at the Sandringham en masse to celebrate their shared survival.

Following a break after the Rabids, during which the Barman’s CD mix appropriately called “Bands the Hitmen Taught Us” entertained the gathering crowd, Johnny Kannis (aka Zeus and JK) kicked around a few balloons, threw a few streamers and announced “The Party Starts Now!”, the first of two long sets (broken by a short Hitmen video interval) during which the band rummaged through their impressive treasure chest of high-powered goodies to bring us the faves (“Death Grip”, “Corridors of Power”, “Oh No!”, “Didn’t Tell The Man”, “Big Love”, “Bwana Devil”, “Pay Up Or Shut Up”, “I Don’t Mind”, “It Is What It Is”, “Rock’n’Roll Soldiers” ) the obscure (“When Worlds Collide”) and the rare (“King Of The Surf” and a blistering cover of “Ice”, the melodic Masuak/Medew/Robertson diatribe against a too cool girl which was a fave with those of us lucky enough to catch the Masuak era Screaming Tribesmen).

We had “It’s So Hard” interspersed with snatches of “TV Eye”, “New Race” and “Do The Pop” plus “Shake Some Action” (thanks Hitmen for your cover turning on this musical novice to the Flamin’ Groovies!). There were special guests Mick Blood (who performed the beyond classic “Strychnine” plus the Lime Spider’s more recent classic, “Slave Girl”) and the Psychotic Turnbuckles Grand Wizard joining in for “California Sun”, which has been covered by many but few so well as JK’s gang.

There was singing in the crowd (JK doing his walk amongst the masses), dancing on tables (JK again, although not as spectacularly tonight as when he was carried on tabletop through a teary-eyed audience at a packed Annandale Hotel), unexpected announcements (the imminent departure to Europe of Chris Masuak, whom Hitmen fans have seen through decades of metamorphosis from tousle-haired surfer boy to his current shaven-headed, besuited Professor of Cool), and the obligatory Elvis cover (“Suspicious Minds”, performed with now not so little brother Sammy Kannis) while the band powered on.

There was even a birthday cake, although this writer wasn’t sure why it was for the 30th birthday when a simple calculation suggested the band had been around longer (but who’s counting?) And try as she might, she couldn’t remember The Hitmen ever putting less than 100% energy and dedication into one of their shows. The critics might sneer, but against all the odds they have survived when many of their more acclaimed contemporaries are now just a track on a “whatever happened to?” compilation.

And Godzilla? Sadly a no-show, but with Kannis singing better than ever (he now knows the physical importance and artistic benefit of pacing himself) and – Masuak or no – a band performing at their best, he’ll be back, and so will the Hitmen.