RETROSPECTIVE
- Plug Uglies (Laughing
Outlaw Records)
I never had the opportunity to see The Plug Uglies play live. An institution
of sorts in their home city of Sydney, The Plug Uglies were infrequent visitors
(at least that I can remember) to my city of birth, Adelaide. The name, and
the reputation, is however very familiar. The 
comparison
I’d make is with The Bedridden, originally from Adelaide and subsequently
residents of Melbourne. The Bedridden were however a folk based rock band
(which itself became stricken with internal strife, addiction and ultimately
human tragedy); The Plug Uglies are (were) rock’n’roll in tradition
and flavour but they share with The Bedridden an ability to impart on the
audience a desire to get up and get down.
The Plug Uglies were a band with a considerable, and enthusiastic, live following;
their recorded output was more sporadic – a couple of EPs, some singles
and a bunch of demos that never made the light of day (beyond the band’s
devoted local following). Their peak period (the late 1980s and early 1990s)
came at both the best and worst time – on one hand it was the time of
the growth of the national Triple J youth radio network (before that station
became a parody of youth culture better suited to an episode of the Young
Ones) and independent music began receiving gratuitous attention. Yet on the
other hand that exposure only tended to increase the noise floor. Independent
pub bands looking for commercial favour were a dime a dozen, and rose and
fell like dot com companies in the late 1990s (who remembers Ratcat?)
Laughing Outlaw Records has now aggregated the band’s recorded
and unreleased tunes for release on CD. It’s a very welcome addition
to anyone’s catalogue of Australian music. The music isn’t groundbreaking
– it’s dominated by a frantic, skiffle rock with a tinge of gypsy
folk excitement – but Roger Norris’ voice is that of someone who
can actually sing (as opposed to growl, shout, moan or screech). It’s
not a particularly Bar-like reference point, but it reminds me strongly of
UK fop-pop '80s star Lloyd Commotion – except where Lloyd might’ve
looked longingly into the distance while pondering love lost, Norris is on
the table enjoying life while it stays sunny.
The CD comprises the band’s contemporaneous releases – “Knock
Me Your Lobes” (released on Waterfront in 1989), a few singles
– plus three tracks recorded live to air on (the pre-national) JJJ in
1989 and a bunch of tunes recorded in 1991. The latter tunes were intended
to for release as an album, but unfortunately never made the light of day
until now (Norris’ liner notes note that while shopping around for a
possible label deal: “One guy told us to get the fuck out of his office
and threw our tape in the bin. He went on to become a very successful record
company executive.” I think I can guess who the person in question was
– as I’m sure most people can).
Beyond that amusing throw away anecdote Norris’ liner notes are an honest
and humorous narrative of the band’s origins, playing history and subsequent
activities. The humour is tinged with tragedy – original guitarist John
Gorman committed suicide in the late 1980s, and guitarist/bassist Michael
Hiron died during conception of the CD release project – and behind
the stories of copious drinking lies the reality of a social lifestyle that
probably became more physical habit that social pasttime. That lifestyle is
depicted perfectly in “Dipsomania”:
When I woke up earlier this evening
it felt like my eyes were porcelain
This feeling, its familiar strangeness,
drove me back to drink again
It’s a
theme that comes up elsewhere in the band’s songs – “Mr
Parkinson” (which seems to be a portrayal of an aging alcoholic in an
inner city hostel), “Lumberjack Jack” – and at a pinch (with
some poetic licence and liberal imagination) you can see alcohol just about
everywhere in the band’s songs (the “The Don” is noted as
being recorded and mixed “in a drunken haze” – the background
noise confirms something was affecting the band’s psyche at the time).
Yet that might suggest the Plug Uglies are nothing more than a drunken rabble
– which, based on the quality of the songs on this compilation –
is a very unfair (not to mention inaccurate) inference.
The band’s not always committed to rapid pace – “The Body
is Dirt” eases off consistent with the lyrics, a collection of vivid
images that suggests an acid trip going off the rails, while “Sea Shanty”
is reflective, bordering on morose. John Willsteed – bass player in
the latter era Go-Betweens appears (consciously or subconsciously) to have
imparted his former band’s patented brand of post-punk pop on “Johnny
Panic”. “Grubby Supper” has a ballsy rock beat that suggests
the smile was begin to wear thin on the band’s individual and collective
face(s) in favour a grim realisation that life in music wasn’t getting
any easier.
The tunes from the ‘unreleased’ album of 1991 (especially “Hey
Roy” and “Lumberjack Jack”) are a rollicking ride of fun-filled
intensity – Violent Femmes on a cocktail of beer, vodka chasers and
amphetamines – and it’s hardly surprising that the pace couldn’t
be sustained. The final track “Pounding Grace” is ostensibly about
catching a train; it might be pissweak pseudo-intellectual interpretation
on my part, but the train story may well be a simple metaphor to describe
a journey from nowhere to oblivion that mirrors the band’s artistic
travels.
There’s a sense of entertainment, frivolity and excitement you get from
the songs on this album – but tinged with real life tragedy and the
unavoidable flipside of human and social excess. This is a snapshot of a band
that might have been bigger on the commercial and popular stage; but had it
been so, its legend would not have been so large. This is a very welcome release,
and a fitting tribute to the band’s legacy.- Patrick
Emery
