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Thirty years ago, I witnessed Al Jorgensen chug a bottle of vodka while getting a tattoo and waiting for the acid to kick in. Unrelated, it doesn’t sound like a lot has changed, and fans of this aggressive industrial music outfit should be pleased.
Hard to believe how affordable advanced lighting for your basement disco warren has become — you can transform the small room into a raging den of chill and/or libido, simply by purchasing a couple hundred dollars worth of lights and playing this.
Like many Australian things, this band is somewhat recognizable yet clearly evolved in a different context. There are many different influences interleaved, from the Caribbean to the Highlands to Eastern Europe and of course, a tinge of that Oz punk.
Nothing can foil the pigeonholing into a genre like a clarinet. The band uses this and other analog sounds to weave minimalism and maximalism, presenting recognizable indie or songwriter tropes before smashing them in their musical supercollider.
Using Lou Reed at his happiest as a baseline is a risky gamble, but one that has paid off for Wareham in various projects. In a solo setting it comes across as slightly overmedicated, pleasant indie rock that is never tedious yet also never grating.
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