ben gel and the boneyard saints - The I-94 Bar
Is That Sarcasm You Taste On My Breath? - Ben Gel (Self-released)
Ben Gel's bands have a habit of punching the listener in the face numerous times before taking a shit on your dick. There's bags of intensity here, layered within this huge, battering rock'n'roll assault.
My last two reviews of Ben Gel for this site have been enthusiastic to say the least, and I'm afraid this review is no different. You need Ben Gel in your collection.
The last time I told you about Ben Gel, I commented that “there are a lot of notable underground rockers here in Adelaide who really should be household names - and Ben Gel is one ... Truth is this is another raucous, hammering EP which launches itself at your facemask and stuffs its virus down your gullet and drags you off to the racetrack.”
The Third Degree - Mushroom Planet (Planet Records)
Anarchy in TwentyTwenty - Ben Gel (BadAss)
The Glue - Tom Redwood (self released)
Diarrhoea Part 2: The Shittening - Geezergosis (self released)
Saint John's Eve - Michael Plater (Hypostatic Union)
Nina Simone apparently once said, “I'll tell you what Freedom is to me. No fear.” She meant, of course, the everyday fear. That no matter what she's doing, or where, she could be attacked or killed just for being what she was.
We're a pretty intolerant, brittle lot, we people. We really are. One of the several reasons I refer to COVID-19 as "the stupidvirus" is that it seems to have brought out all the stupids in our assorted societies. Our cracks and inadequacies are there for all to see, and people die because of vanity, of an inbuilt reluctance to face up to ugly or inconvenient truths.
As far as I was concerned, the night belonged to Leadfinger.
It ain’t often in this town that you wish you could attend three gigs at the same town. However, when I was young and malnourished, in the '70s to about 1983, there was sometimes one brilliant gig, and a handful of ‘hmm, may as well, nothing else is on’ gigs, and always about three or four parties every Friday and Saturday.
Adelaide parties of the very late '60s on were sometimes legendary… the ones which didn’t stop all weekend were rare but they happened from time to time. A band would come from interstate and play Thursday, Friday, Saturday nights, often at the same place, and I remember … uh, I may be about to digress.
The point is that in the actual '70s, you just would never have anything like this; two gigs showcasing 12 or so bands, all the bands good enough to dance to and fling beer over, some much better and some even better than that. So there. You can’t go back. But by fuck you should get out to more gigs. Sod the kids, bring ‘em along, put ‘em in a sound-proof booth like what Pete Townsend bounces around in and drip feed ‘em over the top.