bang that head that doesn't bang!

METALHEADS
the good, the bad and the evil
D: Bill Zebub 2008

Written, directed, produced, edited, starring and probably catered by as well, Bill Zebub comes on like a yankee metal slightly nuts version of comedian Bill Bailey at times but damn he’s good at it.
This film is a slice of the life of a couple of metal head schmucks who do nothing much at all but get wasted, dream about making money, look at girls, take trips, drink, look at girls, get wasted… in short, this is pretty much what most of us are doing.
Our main men, Bill and Rich are a coupla losers who need to grow up but don’t seem in any hurry to do that. Bill’s girlfriend Elaine is constantly giving him shit cos he’s got a little dick, no car and no future. In fact she’s even thinking that maybe she should “date outside of metal.” That’s how desperate she is! Rich, well he’s just there for the ride, that dependable mate with a car and some sort of common sense or at least more sense than Bill anyway. You know the guy, he’s at the bar now buying you a beer cos you’re short of cash and he’ll drop you off home later and he’s always around to get drunk with you and play some air guitar… that guy. So we’ve got Bill and Rich and Elaine. Bill keeps finding money laying around, things just don’t go anywhere but you’ll recognise every sentence and every person and then when Elaine kisses Rich cos she thinks that maybe he’s not a bad guy, well then things go a bit haywire but you sort of knew it would happen cos it did just Saturday at the bar didn’t it and you still aren’t sure what you’re going to say to your mate when you see him next. Bill ends up tangled with a mad metal head, who tells him he’s been “living with the volume turned down.” and now it’s time to get things rolling. It’s party time now, with naked girls, light bondage, stealing, drinking, revenge and Bill looking well out of his depth.
Meanwhile Elaine is fantasizing about a muscle bound, well groomed metal head with a car and a job but though her hand is getting right into it her heart belongs to that idiot Bill. Billy boy soon realizes that he doesn’t need the volume turned up that loud and goes back to his friends but it just ain’t gonna be a happy ending. There’s a real nasty, misogynistic sting in the tail of this movie that at first sort of disturbed me but I realized that it had to be there. If we’re honest, the whole metal scene is in general, bloketown. It is misogynistic, it is sexist, it is dumber than a box of politicians – that’s why we like it. We want naked women and beer, loud music, perennial adolescence and a shit hot guitar solo. Bill recognizes that but he’s not afraid to just make us just a touch uncomfortable about it too. There’s some great laughs in this film, there’s those moments where you go, shit, that’s me! There’s a lot of very recognizable people and ideas and actions and you’ll be sitting there shaking your head thinking “what a goose!” before you then realise that you’ve done exactly the same thing, or your mate has or the guy who plays in that band that you see every weekend has… For a low budget, labour of love, one man band this is pretty damn good. No one’s a great actor but there’s a certain natural feel to the whole flick and I get the feeling there was a lot of improvising as well. The girls are hot looking, the boys are dweebs, the soundtrack rocks… this is metal, this is the real world as lame as that world may be at times. No super heroes, no government conspiracies, no zombies, no future… I can’t recommend this dumb ass, no nothing, going nowhere movie high enough. Forget Hollywood, the low budget/no budget scene is where it’s all happening now.

10 out of 10.

a goddamn movie moment

DEMONS AMONG US
D: Stuart Simpson 2006
Accent Underground 2dvd set


A long term labour of love this Aussie independent horror film first saw the light in 2001 as a short film before Simpson expanded the storyline and started filming the long version in 2003. It took until 2006 to complete it with a volunteer crew, a cast of unknowns and more balls than Wendy O Williams.

Kicking off with an opening segue of yabbie races, roadkill, powerlines, dirt tracks and railway lines in washed out black & white with spatterings of colour you straight away get the feeling that this is not your usual horror/splatter fare.
The story starts with city slicker Joe Melton (Nathaniel Kiwi) wandering into the local roadhouse in Miranda Falls on Christmas Eve to stock up on catfood where he meets Kylie (Laura Hesse) and they do that flirty ‘new boy in town’ stuff (and I come from the country, Simpson nailed that scene perfectly) before Joe is then accosted by a local who in a tribute to F13’s Crazy Ralph babbles about the signs and the evil before downing a tinnie. Joe then goes home to feed his cats but they don’t come for their tucker before sitting down to start his article on the evils of advertising. Meanwhile Kylie’s workmate Sally Winters (cover girl Hollie Kennedy) can’t get hold of her mum on the phone and is starting to worry about her. Things start to get a bit weird here. Joe wakes up to see something bloody and disturbing, he runs out of the house, the scenes fall apart, the colours wash out, the picture starts to drag and roll and stutter and I’m sitting there thinking, I’ve had this feeling before, what is it? Before I can work it out though, young Joe has stumbled upon the Winters household only to find blood, guts, grue and the entire family massacred in their lounge room. Seems Sally’s brother Jack was killed just a few days before in a car accident and now he’s back looking like a poorly paid extra from a Marilyn Manson video and he’s chowed down on the family and Joe’s moggies! Joe runs into the night only to bump into Sally who has arrived home to find her family dead and the weird city guy covered in their blood. Fast talking ain’t gonna get him out of this situation especially when the local cops find all his dead cats and Sally nailed to a tree. Of course, being possessed by demons, Sally ain’t really dead but her initial discovery by the local coppers, based by the way on the two dingbats from Debbie Does Dallas 2, is a good laugh but a real waste of a good looking sheila. (much the same as Debbie Does Dallas 2) Luckily Joe manages to convince Kylie that things aren’t quite right out there but not before Sally pays them a visit. It was about now too that it dawned on me – the fucked up flickering vision, the gap toothed fading out, the hazy pictures, the black & white movies, the split screens and blank memories… this is exactly like the end of a three day bourbon bender complete with DT’s, blurry nights, stumbling around on unlit roads in the dead of night, too bright mornings, blood all over yr clothes, monsters lurking, faces fading in and out… this is a horror movie not for the drug fucked but the booze fucked!!
And when the local cop Sgt Harding (Peter Roberts) started talking to himself before reaching for a bottle of Jimmy Beam to neck, well then I knew I was on the right track.
And though the pacing and style made me occasionally think I was watching an SBS late night short film with the use of colour, the split screens and blurry vision not to mention the hand held claustrophobic camera work I forgave Simpson – its a case of knowing your limitations and using them to your advantage. And when was the last time SBS showed a Demon-Noir flick drenched in bourbon, beer and blood anyway?
And despite the artistic bent when the demons are unleashed it’s a frenzy of blood, guts and grue that’ll have the horror geeks popping their loads in very short time. Throw in Joe in a dress carrying a talking axe (just a touch of Bruce Campbell there) car wrecks, dead bodies, demons on park benches, the copper with a drinking problem, parasitic eels and an advertising guru bastard arsehole (Ed Winters played by Peter Roberts in a dual role though you wouldn’t pick it) and you’ve pretty much got country life in Australia nailed. Okay maybe not the advertising guru but hell he’s really just the arrogant bastard who always stands at the back yelling out advice at the footy or cricket, who could run the country and still be home in time for tea if only someone would listen to him but is never there to clean up or sell raffle tickets or help out on working bees or remember his wife’s birthday... every little town has a family secret they try to hide away, little monsters and demons they don’t want people to know about, it’s just in this town it turns out to be the bloody devil himself. This is supposed to be a film that is having a dig at advertising and marketing but to me it’s a movie about life in the country. Either way, it doesn’t throttle you with the message, just lays it out there for you to find.
Forget Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman, forget all those high falutin’ arty champagne sippin’ aussie directors – Christ those fuckers wouldn’t know how to have a decent bender anyway… this is the real Australia, this is the real deal. These bastards are gonna turn the industry up on its head, or at least they’re gonna gate crash the party, drink all the piss, crack onto the hostess and not remember a thing in the morning. And as for Stuart Simpson I only have one thing to say – you silly, twisted boy.

redneck lounging in newcastle

The Anti-Social Social Club
Saturday 4th October, 3:00 – 5:00, Festival Club Newcastle
The Anti-Social Social Club resides in the outside lawn at the
Festival club. Grab a deck chair and kick back.
Saturday: The Redneck Lounge,
where fun activities include recovering from Friday night, Country n' Western toons and beer-ku poetry.

Beer Drinking Rock and Roll

The Veebees – Get It In Ya + Fair Dinkum Rock’n’Roll CD
The Veebees – Crack Us Anotha! EP
The Veebees – Drive Thru Bottlo DVD (All thru Ocker Records)

Like their namesake beverage these bastards are light on taste, light on bubble but fuck they’ll do the job to ya!! In the tradition of such other ocker rock scum as the Cosmic Psychos and the Meatbeaters these bastards are even more bloody Aussie (if that’s possible) with songs about barbecues, drinkin’, goin’ to the bottlo, utes and my fave – drinkin’ problem (two cans, two hands, one mouth) . After listening to this I was so thirsty I had to tell the missus and kid to piss off to nanna’s, buy a slab of beer, stop off for some snags, get home and fire up the barby, dig out me vhs of the 2000 grandfinal between port and glenelg and relax for awhile in true ocker fashion. Fark, but it was nice. This is Aussie Ocker rock the way its supposed to be played – a sense of humour, a sense of place and no bloody keyboards or nu-metal shite or any of that fucking hiphop/r&b jism sucking, gold chain yank wank. Just loud and proud three chords (ok two) oi oi oi aussie aussie aussie get a dog up ya crack another can where’s the bloody remote go you liddle bewdy fuck I’m so drunk even y’re sister looks good rock and roll! And the bloody extras on the dvd are funny as fuck – worth yr money alone!
www.veebees.com.au

two buck video review

UNHINGED

D: Don Gronquist 1982

Gronquist cowrote, produced and directed this early 80s slasher entry but maybe he should have let someone else have a say too. An attempt at a gothic/splatter/scary movie this doesn’t quite work as well as it should.

Problem number one, boredom. Three gals go off in a beat up old car heading to a rock concert. So we start with driving and more driving and more driving interspersed with mumbling, then it rains, more driving and then finally a crash. Only its the lamest crash you’ve seen since… since… well probably since John Boy Walton had his infamous fall from grace off the back of the hay cart. Really, they drove off the road at a very slow speed and went into a ditch, I mean come on – this is how we get them to the spooky old mansion?!

Oh yeah, the mansion. See, the girls wake up in an old house after a local handyman found them and their car in the ‘ravine’ they drove into. One gal Gloria is in pretty bad shape and upstairs somewhere, the other two Terry (the heroine) and Nancy are just shaken not stirred. So now the gals are stranded in an old house with a crazy old lady and her middle aged daughter Marion while they wait for the terrible storms to blow over and for Gloria to heal. Well, we assume Gloria is healing since we don’t see her for the next 45 minutes. (maybe Don couldn’t afford the extra actress) The old lady has a pathological hate of men, has had since her husband (and Marion’s daddy) was caught with an underage child back in the day. Unfortunately the old duck played by Virginia Settle, chews up the dialogue and spits it out in a bout of overacting not seen since the Golden Girls were at their peak. Christ, she’s not even a good over actor, just irritating. She keeps going on about Marion having men upstairs at night which as it turns out is a key plot point later on but its so fucking irritating that you ignore it and her.

Despite their accident the gals seem to have salvaged their hair supplies and the 80’s hairstyles (straight outta video clips) are truly beautiful. Nancy in particular does herself and the 80s proud. Now nothing much has happened yet, despite the shots of lightning, rain and the dark dark house. Of course we soon have the eerie keyboards and someone outside the window breathing heavily (that’d be the rain, get inside you fool before you catch a cold) Its trying to be neo gothic but its just dark and dull. There is someone inside though because they’re spying on the gals in the gratuitous shower scene (thank you Don) and breathing heavily a lot. So heavily that it wakes Terry up but no one else hears it?! Yeah right.

Nancy wants to get to the village because she’s run out of hair products or something so she sets off through the woods only to be tracked by shitty synth muzak and a killer with a scyth! Finally some action and not too badly done in a cheapy blood squib and cutaway style. No more hair worries for Nancy. Back at the house, Terry finally goes up to see her friend before we discover that someone is lurking. In fact the old face at the window routine made me jump! Yep, they’d lulled me into a complete state of boredom and I missed all the cues… turns out there’s a brother, a simpleton of course, who has to hide in the woods since his mad mother hates men and refuses to acknowledge his very existence. Oh and lots of gals have gone missing. Gloria gets hers in a bloody axe attack which strangely enough Terry doesn’t hear. She does however end up discovering a room full of body parts and her pals in slo mo. Finally things are beginning to happen, it took over an hour but the last ten minutes damn near make it worthwhile.

JE Penner as Marion pulls out a stunner finish that I admit I didn’t see coming! Either I’m getting old or I was just so dazed with the bad acting and slow storyline that I just wasn’t paying attention. Finally the old duck’s whinging about the men in the attic makes sense. I just wish the film had gotten us there quicker. Hard to say whether I recommend this or not. Those last few minutes are great in a slasher 80s B-grade fashion but the first hour of over acting, under acting, tedious dinners and 80s hair really test yr patience. Fast forward thru the dull bits, watch some of the overacting to get an idea of what’s happening, pause at the shower scenes and then watch the killings. That would be the best way to do it. And maybe stock up on the Stone’s too. you’ll need it.

green ginger wine two buck video review

THUNDERGROUND (Busted Up 2)

D: David Mitchell 1989

Okay, when was the last time you watched a movie that had Huckleberry Finn, hobos, bloodsports, buddies and boozing as its story line? While you’re thinking about that I’ll run this baby by you.

A B-Grade Chuck Norris type (Paul Coufus) jumps off a freight train and hits a hobo jungle stepping straight into a bare knuckle blue which he wins quite handily before teaming up with Casey, a hobo hustler who turns out to be a gal (Margaret Langrick from Harry & The Hendersons no less!). Chucky Jr don’t know shit about the hobo life, but Casey does, Casey can’t fight, Chucky Jr can. So the two team up. But it has to be in that buddy/not really buddy type scenario of course. So what we have is a 1940s hobo flick but its 1989. You get the feeling that director Mitchell who co-wrote the script originally had written this as a 40s flick but when he was offered the chance to adapt it to make this sequel he just went “sure, why not?” Trouble is that don’t quite gell. And anyway, there’s no mention of the previous movie anyway so why bother. Chucky Jr might still be the same character from the first Busted Up (which by the way I haven’t seen) but there’s no mention of his previous life or how he ended up on the bum anyway other than a sort of life sucks mini monologue that doesn’t answer any questions or matter. So what we have is a sequel that isn’t. Does that make sense? Ah who cares? Anyway, Chucky Jr and the gal go on the road heading down to New Orleans where “the Man” a legendary bare fist fighter is said to reside. So now it’s a buddies on the road, bickering and all that type of movie as well as a bloodsports flick and then Chucky Jr starts to show signs of serious booze addiction and the Gal starts reading Huck Finn and shit, we got it all then! Literature, fighting, boozing, getting of wisdom and I might add some absolutely stunning cinematography to boot! Who’d a thunk it? So the twosome head off to New Orleans and meet up with a slumming M. Emmet Walsh as a conman who offers them a blue with The Man but only after they can get some stake money together. He then offers Chucky Jr a fight against a big black son of a bitch called Mongo for a thousand clams in front of a bunch of rich decadent locals. All Chucky has to do is lose the fight. Which he does but only after being a stubborn son of a bitch himself and making Mongo earn the victory. M. Emmet cons them anyway and they walk away with a measly hunnerd bucks. (expenses and a small handgun) But at least they’ve got a fight against The Man now. Oh yeah, The Man is none other than Jesse Ventura!! Hope to hell he’s a better governor than he is an actor. Ventura meets them in a crypt and explains the rules. Basically there are none. It’s a fight to the death, no rules, no spectators, their $91 up against $9,000, survivor take all. Jesse has yet to lose of course. So then we get Chucky Jr and Jesse Ventura beating the crap out of each other in some swamp (the thunderground of the title apparently) until finally… well, I think you know the rest. Anyway Chucky Jr and the gal ride off into the sunset, well okay they jump a freight train, with their meagre winnings and goddamn it if they don’t kiss. Yuck!!!

This is such a weird hybrid that despite the bad acting, slow plot and inconsistencies, (bruises that come and go, the strange 40s/80s thing, the white clothes that stay clean despite them bumming it) I still enjoyed it. Hell, in the end I was smiling, until they kissed anyway. Of course it might have had something to do with the half bottle of Green Ginger Wine I’d consumed as well but its just such a bizarre mishmash of ideas that I couldn’t help myself. And like I said at the beginning, when was the last time you watched a movie that had Huckleberry Finn, hobos, bloodsports, buddies and boozing as its story line?

Another $2 VHS review

DEATH SHIP

D: Alvin Rakoff 1980

A mean spirited and bleak movie from the days of yore that I found on vhs for a lousy gold coin at some country market recently, Death Ship has always been one of those films that I remember watching in the grand days of videos, beer and stinky finger.

George Kennedy plays a crotchety sea captain of a luxury liner on his last voyage before forced retirement with Richard Crenna as the new captain in waiting who’s by his side learnin’ the ropes. While Cap Kennedy grumbles and farts we meet the rest of the cast. A coupla precocious kids that belong to Crenna, his wife, a horny crewman and his babe, the ship’s MC and bad comedian and an old lady who’s there, well, because you need victims basically. Anyway, while the horny crewman and his bit get it on and Cap K and Crenna and the brood sit at the Captain’s table, a dark and gloomy ship is bearing down on them, with wheels turning, engines pumpin’, orders flyin’ but no sign of a crew. The liner is in darkness, the gloomy ship daylight but hell, that sort of thing don’t matter in a b-grader like this anyway. Anyway, the ship rams the liner, things go haywire and then its daylight and surprise surprise the raft of survivors is… Crenna and his family, the horny crewman, his babe, the old lady and the comedian. You can almost see victim written on their foreheads. Cap Kennedy pops up out of the water miraculously and then so does the dark and gloomy ship. In fact how does a big fucking freighter sneak up on you and drop anchor without you noticing? Anyhoo, they all clamber on board although the cap and Crenna and horndog have to do it the hardway when the boat drops the ladder halfway through. And comedian immediately gets hooked upside down and dunked over board to either drown or get chopped up by the propellers as the boat ups anchor and takes off. Cap K starts hearing voices in German and seeing things, having flashbacks and generally looking dirty and wacked out. The rest of the survivors tumble around trying to find the crew, clean clothes, food and all that other survivor stuff while ignoring the fact that the ship is moving, the lights come on, an old rekkid player keeps playin’, the phone rings, the doors shut by themselves… it takes longer than you would think for Crenna to get that “what the fuck?” look on his face. And even then it takes horndog to point out that there’s no one running the ship before he catches on. The old lady eats some 40 year old humbugs that give her the worst case of acne you’ve ever seen. Cap K finishes her off thankfully cos she was way overacting. The ship dumps the life rafts on em and then Cap K shows up in a spankin’ new uniform and informs Crenna that Kennedy is still captain of the ship. Whoo hoo, Cap K has got himself a new command. The babe ends up trapped in a shower that covers her in blood before Cap K throws her overboard. This is a great scene with the gal spinning and screaming cut with one of the precocious kids getting spooked by the german music blaring out of the speakers… damn claustrophobic and very effective. In fact the whole flick is gritty, dirty and claustrophobic especially for a b-flick, there’s a real clammy uncomfortable feeling about this movie. Of course watching on a very old tape that’s worn out and dirty itself adds to the occasion.

But back to the story – Crenna and horndog follow the captain and stumble on a white supremist’s wet dream when they find a room full o’ nazi paraphernalia and soon realise that this ship was some sort of interrogation/torture boat, sailing around the Atlantic while the hold was full o’ folk to torture and kill. Horndog loses grip on reality in the film room when the movie just wont stop and ends up in a net full o’ bodies (which we had a flash of right at the beginning of their journey on the bucket o’ rust) and Crenna pulls himself together enough to stab Cap K who’s informed him the boat runs on blood and his family is its next meal. Grabbing his family he finds a freezer full of dead seamen (ex victims maybe?) and finds a raft and life jackets and hallelujah his family is saved. But of course not before Cap K takes a shot or two at him. Takes more than a kitchen knife to slow ol’ Cap down. In fact it takes the ship’s engine room to do it in a scene that’ll make you grimace even though you don’t actually see anything. Lots of people bag this film but hell, everytime I watch it I get the creeps. It’s dark, damp, nasty, mean spirited and bleak and I don’t care about the inconsistencies, the ship is used beautifully and to it’s fullest to make you shrink back and feel like you’re trapped too. It’s out on dvd but hell I just love the old worn out tape, it just seems right. This is a keeper.

Really Good In Theory

This Saturday May 31st Really Good In Theory is back! A market day of local DIY zines, music, art and sundry fun plus second hand books, music, mags and more... a great day to mingle, buy, join in, meet folk and see what adelaide has to offer on the 'unprofessional' side of art. A badge i wear proudly. Paroxysm Press will be there will all his literary wares, Harry Butler with books, music and more from the DNA/EC Productions stable, Karl the perfect gentleman and many many more. It's at the Irish Club in Carrington Street in the city and kicks off at Noon. Click on the poster for more details and come along. its a cheap day out so get out of the house!

Drive In Movie

RATTLERS

D: John McCauley 1976

This baby is in a ten dvd set I picked up for $4 called Drive – In Dusk ‘til Dawn that I gather is actually part of a bigger set put out by some one called Millcreek Entertainment (well, their damn watermark/logo kept showing up during the flick anyway) There’s a real early 70s tv film feel to this flick and it aint helped by the direct to dvd transfer of a really crap copy complete with crackles, pops and frames slipping. The movie kicks off with a coupla all American Disney kids out in the desert playing, blonde hair shinin’ in the afternoon sun, jiving each other and looking for bones when they stumble into a snake pit and get their asses killed. Cue Title and then we jump to our dorky hero, Dr Tom Parkinson, (Sam Crews) snake expert and all round cheesy dork but with immaculate hair and a nice safari suit. He gets called in by the local sheriff to help out with their investigation. And when a whole family including the pets gets attacked well, then Dr Tom gets an assistant to help him, a photogapher sidekick who just happens to be a feisty chick with a feminist bent. Another snake attack on a plumber (with the snake sneaking up his leg – lemme tell you I flinched) then gives us the snakes in the bathtub… so that’s where Wes Craven got the idea. He did it better too or at least he had a hotter babe in the bath not a nagging divorcee who only shows her back. Anyway, as the investigation continues, we find out the army is involved. Seems they dumped some chemicals down a mineshaft and Dr Tom needs to find that mine. Of course the colonel wont tell him where cos the colonel is completely nuts. Luckily the drunk army doctor with the bad toupee helps out with some info and soon the doc and the girl are wandering around a mineshaft with a torch looking for snakes, dangerous snakes, dangerous killer snakes… duh! Of course they stumble on em too (well, one at least I think, it was pretty shitty filming/editing at that stage) and they have to run back out in a truly pisspoor segment of bad filming, bad overdubbing, just bad everything. After that of course Dr Tom mentions that he’ll have to go to Vegas to find out where the mine is. Oh yeah of course. And so this girl who gave us a huge rant at the start of the movie about women’s rights and the workforce and all this guff goes all weak at the knees because he mentions Vegas? Cue, two minutes of holding hands, kissing, and dancing together in Vegas (or at least some fountain and a woodgrain lounge somewhere) then its back to the desert to be attacked in their tents by rabid rattlers. But then an army guy shows up out of nowhere, blows them all away and drives away again. Doesn’t even stay to check if Doc and the babe are okay. Turns out the mad colonel dumped some nerve gas down the shaft that is sending the snakes whacko and seemingly giving them the intelligence to group together and climb up pipes and into houses and all the other shit they’re getting up to. Mad colonel kills drunk doctor, goes out to the mine shaft and blows it (and hisself) up after firin’ a few shots at Dr Tom and the sheriff and then the snakes are sealed in the shaft, the doc gets the girl and we can all go home after we hang the speaker back on the rack, rearrange our clothes and drop the empty beer bottles in the bin.

Is it an eco disaster flick or just a disaster?

Well it sure as shit aint no Kingdom Of The Spiders or Frogs or even Piranha (which by the by is in the box too) but it was just so corny that I had to watch it. I’m a sucker for punishment. And hey the snakes were real, I’ll give them that and that certainly added an edge to it cos those fuckers bite!

shopping old school style

The local video ezy is getting rid of a shitload of old vhs videos for $2 each (would have been less if the boss wasn’t there!) and what man can resist such bargains. There will be a slew of reviews when I find time to actually watch these babies (oh my aching liver) but here’s the list of treats I picked up.

Thunderground starring Jesse Ventura! Streetfighting men.

Hired To Kill simply because it was directed by Nico Mastorakis and Oliver Reed is in it. You know it will be bad.

Fat City – classic boxing movie with Stacy Keach. Maybe just about the best boxing movie ever made.

Semi Tough – Burt Reynolds, $2 why not?

Action Jackson – Oh yeah! Carl Weathers, Vanity – come on what more could you need?

Booby Trap – it’s 1998 and LA is a lawless quarantine zone!

Moonshine County Express – New World Pictures, John Saxon, moonshine, gals!!! Would have paid $3 for this

Circle Man – Vernon Wells. More street fightin’

Penitentiary – come on $2 I had to.

Cherry Hustlers – sure its cut down to R rating but its Vanessa Del Rio. I had to rescue her.

Shakes The Clown –Christ I nearly came in my pants when I saw this on the shelf.

Over the last few months I picked up a coupla other treats too – it seems no one wants their videos anymore. Well, that’s fine by me.

Death Ship – no not the wanky new flick this is the one with George Kennedy. Sleazy grimy and a dollar.

The Thing – John Carpenter’s greatest movie? Anyway, it’s a corker and again it was a lousy dollar.

Confessional Murders – directed by Pete Walker so its gonna be good.

Savage Streets – yeah I know its censored but hell it still kicks arse.

Young Warriors – some dumb 80s vigilante flick but hell it was three movies for ten bucks and I needed a third.

Boulevard Nights – classic and underrated gang movie that wasn’t as colorful as The Warriors or the Wanderers and so has been forgotten. There were three copies of this on the shelf. Does no one have any taste anymore?

redneck lounge goes live!

yes siree, next thursday 17th March sees the redneck lounge open its doors at La Boheme Grote Street Adelaide for a bit of country, southern rock, punk, lounging, beer drinking music as we launch not one but four different zines. Sprak!, Corrupt Me, Analogue Apocolypse and Feminista. $4 gets you in the door and gives you a choice of two zines. the others you can of course buy as well, we wont mind. there's a bar, zines to read, people to talk to and Mark Of The Beast and Kami are the DJs for the night. So expect a damn good time.

redneck lounging

REDNECK LOUNGING

I got Joe Walsh cranked up loud

a block of wood under one corner

of the turntable

to keep it balanced

blue singlet and cold beer

sitting on a deck chair

flicking through old boxing magazines

no one home but me

I was white trash once

but now I’m middle class

suburban husband

school concerts and Saturday morning sports

I don’t fall down drunk anymore

or throw cups of warm beer

at the band

and I would never

get behind the wheel of a car

whilst drunk

these days I offer coffee to my friends

as we talk about the better

private schools

and circle dates on the calendar

for playtime & sports days & family

commitments

but on days when I’m alone

I get the block of wood just right

throw three cans of beer

in the freezer

slide Joe or Lynyrd

out of their sleeve

and watch the needle drop

I walk over to that patch

of weeds and clover

I’m cultivating behind the shed

and I piss away that first beer

as Rocky Mountain Way kicks in

lounging it redneck style

until the front door opens

and I have to turn the stereo down

and put my collar back on

songs to get hammered to

STINKING DRINKING SINGALONG BOOZED UP SONGS.

I’ve noticed that whenever I overindulge in the amber fluids (be it beer or bourbon) I tend to play the same rekkids over and over… or at least until the neighbours bang on the walls … so here is my list of drunken, I really should go to bed now, I’m so fucked up I just dropped the cover on the floor, lets put that song on repeat I love it, teary eyed, smashed as fuck favourite pissed, maggotted, I really should no better songs.

Suicidal Tendencies – War Inside My Head (Join The Army)

Not only when I’m drunk, this song has come in handy on more than one occasion when my mental state has been, well let’s just say, unsound. I put this on as loud as the neighbours can stand (that’s the neighbours six houses up) and prowl around the garage punching my fist into the air until I’m exhausted.

Stan Kenton – Artistry In Rhythm (any good best of) The fucker invented rock and roll in 1945!– have a listen, the buildup, the chorus, the crescendo, the wind down… so far ahead of his time. If only I’d discovered this when my old man was still alive (I inherited his jazz collection), fuck we coulda got smashed together and punched the air instead of just me at home alone, punching the air while crying about it.

Bruce Springsteen – Badlands (Live Version) Hey, I’m a dumb shit country kid, working class, poorly educated, never made no bones about it… this song speaks to me, fuck… it shouts to me. And I shout back!

Kid Creole & The Coconuts – I’m A Wonderful Thing Baby (Tropical Gangsters)

Because I am.

Millionaires – Please Don’t Mention The Junta (45) Aussie 70s band who made the mistake of coming from Melbourne, wearing wacky costumes and signing to Mushroom right after Skyhooks. This song is white label one sided, don’t even know if it really came out. A catchy little political pop ditty with a South American beat well before womad would suck the life out of world music. Oh yeah, and highly fucking danceable/ stumbleable.

Body Count – Cop Killer (CopKiller) Come on, do I have to spell it out? Ice Mutha Fucking T bitch!! When he was still funny.

Motley Crue – Generation Of Swine (Generation Of Swine) The reunion album that died in the arse – too many cooks, not enough coke… but the title track kicked butt.

Flash Cooney & The Deans Of Discipline – Future Fox (Horror Glitter Transvesto Billy) With lyrics like “the only thing between us is a little pair of panties and almost twenty years” this is a staple singalong after a night at the pub looking at the nubiles.

BuckCherry - Whiskey In The Morning (Time Bomb) The song that will be played at my funeral. This band was first brought to my attention by Tony Grudge. He said they were great. For once he was right.

Boozoo Chavis – Zydeco HeeHaw (Self Titled) Boozoo claimed he invented zydeco and I ain’t arguin’ with him. This is the song I finish the night with, dancing badly around the room to the zydeco shuffle! Not a pretty sight.

Nickelback – Figured You Out (Long Road) Ok, ok so they’re crap but hell, when this came out it was the only song in the top ten that had a fucking guitar, a hook, real musicians and I can almost play it on air guitar! So fuck you and yr taste buds - this is what I play where’s yr list?

why do i watch so much CMC?

well here's a couple of good reasons!

Cassette Culture Part II

Ok so I’ve loaded up my genuine, original K-Tel Cassette Selector for the easy flick thru, high rotation twenty cassette pick of redneck lounging goodness, all scientific of course - some I play all the time anyway, some cos they just look right and feel right as I flick thru lookin’ for that heart starter pick em up that will get my head cleared, my day started and the neighbour’s dogs howling…

RADIO BIRDMAN – RADIOS APPEAR. Yeah Hup, that’s right… original cassette copy bought back in the day when I was like 15 and discovered this band and a whole new world opened up. Me and my mate Ganders would play this on my pissy little tape deck as we trekked out of town to the caves up in the pines. We had a little cubby hole with posters on the wall, dirty mags to read and this tape echoing off the cave walls and thru the pines. It still holds up pretty damn good in the shed too.

MANITOBA’S WILD KINGDOM – AND YOU? Handsome Dick, Andy Shernoff, Ross the Boss… it’s the Dictators in all but name! Attitude, balls and rock’n’roll. Just a dumb shit party album that gets yr heart raising and yr pecker rising. What more could ya want?

fEEDTIME – SHOVEL. The greatest band Australia ever produced? I can’t think of anyone else who comes near them, except maybe early Tatts and X. Solid blues grunt, gospel beast funneled thru this thumping rhythm section that takes no prisoners. Cant say I lounge to it cos it always makes me get up and howl.

CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL – 20 GOLDEN GREATS. Sure, we’re all sick of Proud Mary and Grapevine but shit this stuff still sounds great and I can listen to em anytime. One of the first rock bands (per se) that I discovered as a kid via my old’s record collection. I think I’ve still got the Proud Mary single in its picky sleeve rolling around in a box somewhere.

ROLLING STONES – STICKY FINGERS. Cost me a buck secondhand and worth it jut for “Cant You Hear Me Knocking” . I read somewhere that Gram Parsons and Keefy were very chummy around this period and it shows. Some real country pickin’ style filtered thru the stones art skool/ rich kid slummin’ it blues.

VARIOUS – DYNAMITE I had to have at least one genuine K-Tel release in the damn thing. This ‘un is as obscure as they come though and I found it at one of them bootslaes somewhere. Wizzard, Suzi Q, Nazareth, Mud – early glam, rock and Pommy one hit wonders. Clifford T. Ward? Who the hell is he?

T.REX – THE SLIDER Bolan was one of my first rock heroes. He still is. An original all the way even when he was a coked up fat prick. I still remember the day I bought this album, paid for with my own pocket money. It’s still arguably his best work and I play it all the damn time.

SLADE – WHATEVER HAPPENED TO? The album no one remembers. Heavier than previous efforts, the band had just come back from Amerikka, soaked up the vibe, came home and found that no one cared anymore. Pity, cos this is a lost straight out knees up rock and roll classic.

VARIOUS – LITTLE IMP An NME giveaway back in the 80s? that I found at a record fair so I didn’t even have to buy the shitty mag. 22 trax of solid R&B (the real shit not the kiddie porn they produce today and dare to call R&B), blues and early rock from the likes of Fats Domino, Louis Jordan, Amos Milburn, Patti Anne… not a dud amongst em and plenty of beer drinking songs strangely enough.

ALICE COOPER/BOB SEGER Picked this up for 20c at the scout hall junk sale. Someone’s home recording job with Welcome To My Nightmare on one side and mid era Seger on t’other. Cheap shitty brand o’ tape but its hanging in there even if Bob don’t get that much of a play.

CHARLIE DANIELS/ VARIOUS Same sale, same price. Best of Charlie, with all the good shit plus a pile of fifties rock like Hey Little Cobra and The Crusher. Decent brand of tape too. Love them sales.

HELIX – AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED 80’s canuck heavy metal band who knew how to knock out a coupla sub ac/dc riffs, add some fine hooks and then fade back into obscurity. (‘cept at the redneck lounge where they’re a staple diet. I even got this on vinyl)

NEIL YOUNG – WELD This was a double but I taped this myself off a mate’s rekkid. It’s the Hey Hey sides up to Cortez The Killer. Didn’t think much of the other sides. I just can’t listen to Powderfinger knowing what it inspired

MOTLEY CRUE – DOCTOR FEELGOOD The band might have been straight when they recorded this but I rarely am when I listen to it!

MOLLY HATCHET – FLIRTING WITH DISASTER. Molly gets (unfairly) blamed for killing Southern Rock but hell I still like this album. A stew of boogie, metal and southern boy roots. It’s just dumb enough to be fun. And it gets plenty of play in the lounge, plenty of play.

GLEN CAMPBELL – GLEN CAMPBELL COUNTRY Galveston, Phoenix, Where’s The Playground… all that’s missing is Wichita Lineman. I make no apologies for likin’ old shiny face’s great takes on Jim Webb’s classic songs. I’ll put up with his shiny happy people schtick any day to listen to Jimmy’s songs. And most of you do too, its just I’m the only one with the balls to admit it.

CHARLES MANSON – WHITE RASTA Prison blues from an old hippy who shoulda known better. At least he don’t play no beatles on this! There’s an ambience about this tape, it’s dubbed down so many times now and you can hear the prisoners going about there business as chuckles strums his geetar and tries to spread some kind of message. Last I heard they took away his rights to have a guitar cos it’s not good for him or it’s a weapon or some shit like that.

NAZARETH – HAIR OF THE DOG 1975 release that still kicks rock and roll arse. AC/DC and Motorhead are rightly revered for their rock and roll stance but what about Nazareth? No bleached hair shit, no fancy boy Jet retro bullshit, no metal dweebs who don’t even scare their mothers – this is straight ahead sweaty beerhalls and years of touring type rock and fucking whiskey drinking roll!! Took me years to find a decent copy of this cos they’ve all been flogged to death and then I found the tape and the record in the same week! Now that’s rock and roll karma.

VARIOUS – KINGS OF CAJUN VOL II Suds suckin’ dance hall, toe tappin’ party music. Boozoo Chavis, Rockin’ Dopsie, Clifton Chenier… When I’m in the lounge pissed and can barely stand they’re ain’t nothin’ I like better than two steppin’ to Boozoo.

METALLICA – MASTER OF PUPPETS The last good album these fuckers ever did! Bought this back in the late 80s and it’s still hangin’ on despite the years of constant play. I can’t listen to these songs without throwing that waver in when the tape tightens up and then lets go again. Bow to the Leper Messiah!

Cassette Culture

So we took beezlebubby down home to the country for a week so nanna could spoil her rotten and I could relax a bit. After the tree pruning, taking down the goddamn xmas lights and spider proofing the place. Which is still better than last time when I had to get up on the roof and clean five years worth o’ shit out of the gutters. (I thought that’s what the grandson was for – hell he’s eighteen now he’s gotta be good for something besides feeding)

The first day we hit town though, the goodwife, beezlebubby and I went out to my mate Gander’s property for a bbq. Ganders and his goodwife have got a coupla acres of rock and dirt, a house, a big shed, a calf and an old ram in the paddock out back of the homestead, chooks, possums, crows and a coupla teenage kids of their own and Ganders and I have been best mates since the first day of primary school and that was a long, long, long time ago now. First thing they had to do was show us the new John Deere. No not a tractor, a ride on mower. He was proud of that baby, showed us all the bits, talked us thru the purchasing process, haven’t seen him this proud since he was a kid and came round to tell me he had colour tv, the first in town in fact. I used to go over there to watch The Goodies cos all we had was a shitty old b&w that couldn’t even get the abc and the other channel rolled anyway.

Anyway after we cooked up some dead animal and sawdust (sausages) and ate of the salads that they’d prepared cos we were totally unprepared, Ganders wanted to show us what else he’d been buying. Seems his boy has left home, moved to the big town some 50k’s up the road for work reasons, though he was still home every weekend to fill up on food anyway, and Ganders well he’s been out at the garage sales looking for furniture and cutlery and what not for the boy. Though he seems to be really just buying more shit to put in his bigass shed. Knives and bowls and shit he don’t even know what it is (like the world’s smallest juicer?) but he did pick up an old Phillips radio for me cos I collect shit like that and it can sit in my tiny shitty ass shed (size does count when it comes to sheds!) and then he pulled out the piece d’resistance!

A genuine, original K-Tel Cassette Selector.!! You ‘member them don’t ya? They used to advertise them back in the 70s on the back of all the K-Tel compilations. The Record Selector and The Cassette Selector – finds your favourite music in seconds! I had a record selector but it was a piece of shit really, it didn’t hold gatefold sleeves properly and you had to get the weight just right for the damn thing to work or it wouldn’t flick forward properly but the cassette selector it looks the goods. After all, cassettes all pretty much weight the same right? Of course it doesn’t hold double cassettes but when did you last see a decent one of them? It’s always Pink Floyd or Frampton Comes Alive or some hokey 80s thing with a bonus remix tape. The last decent double cassette I owned was Osibisa - Black Magic Night and that has long since disappeared into some other bastard’s pocket. So now, I gotta select twenty tapes and get this baby set up in the music half of the shed on top of the family radiogram which sits in the corner waiting for me to fix it up, next to the stereo with the block under the back corner to keep the $20 record player balanced. Between the two stereos in the place there’s four tape players plus my old double deck unit that plays two tapes at once cos I left the damn thing in the tiny ass shed for about three years and the cockroaches chewed through something but hell that can be fun too but anyway there’s plenty of places to play the old cassettes and since the scout hall across the road has these regular like shitty ass garage sales where Ganders would think he’d died and gone to heaven, full of mismatched china and three legged tables and lots of clothes no one, not even the poor, would wear but most importantly cassettes, boxes of shitty tapes and dubbed stuff and religious rubbish and all for twenty/ twenty five cents each, well I got lots of tapes floating around. Some I grab to play some I grab cos at twenty cents that’s cheaper than new for a blank tape and some well… I just feel sorry for em sitting there looking like they need a new home. But anyway, I’m gonna sort through them tapes and slap 20 of em in the K-Tel cassette selector and then when I’m sitting out in music half of the shed I can just grab one and play it instead of looking through the three drawers of crap or under the stereo or behind the radiogram or wherever else I keep dropping, stashing, throwing the fuckers when I’ve got a sixpack and a coupla shots of Nelson County under my belt and the feet think they can dance even though the rest of me knows they can’t. and when I do you can be sure there’ll be a list here of what’s made the cut.

Twistin' by the pool

I might be grey bearded, old school, balding and better than you but I haven’t abandoned the modern world altogether. There are a few things/devices/cons that I don’t mind in this modern, technological, I spy, its gotta be digital and bigger and better and 36 months interest free, world - like the internet for a start – it sure makes looking at porn a hell of a lot easier and I can always check boxing results from damn near anywhere in the world as well as keeping up with TNA rasslin’ and other shit like that. And I got an mp3 player and I’ve got limewire (though I had some help from my 11 ½ year old daughter beezlebubby to get that damn thing workin’) so now can I download music off the wires… it’s just that I’m searching for Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Hank Jr., Joe Walsh (pre Eagles softcock era) cos I’m putting together files of pure redneck country southern boy blues for the Sunday arvo lounging at the pool sessions while beezlebubby and her friends frolic in the over chlorinated manmade waterhole where the boys bomb and dive, ducking each other’s heads and generally being loud and stooped trying to get the girls to notice them while the girls play cool and pretend not to notice but secretly giggle and nod and smile to themselves at the attention.

And I’ve got ZZ Top and Trace Adkins buzzing out of those tiny tinny speakers in my ears while I keep one eye on the beezlebubby and the posin’ boys ready to step up if need be to scare the little jack-offs away and the other on the mamas, still crammin’ themselves into the two piece bikini though they mighta gained a little more weight over the winter since they bought that little green number at last year’s post xmas sale. Not that I mind cos I’m at an age where the waif like, smack whore, bleach blonde and ribs look does nothing for me anymore anyway – gimme a woman with just a little to hold onto, a woman who fills out the top shelf, spilling some flesh o’er the edges of the (straining) elastic, someone who’s maybe lived a little, knows what it’s like to wake up swearing never to do tequila shots again before cracking a beer cos it’s the only thing that’s gonna take the edge of the morning. A full bodied, life lived type o’ woman in last year’s colours but who’s still got the know how, despite the hangover and the kids nagging to get going to the pool as soon as the sun is up, to pack some sandwiches, chips, watermelon and two bottles of softdrink into the jim beam esky that was a give away when you bought two 700ml for 52 bucks from some beer wine and spirits barn in the burbs and the bourbon wasn’t even for her last boyfriend, the one who fathered the little redhead boy who’s running around on the grass right now, no way, that jim beam was hers for Friday night when the girls get together while the boys are at the club picking Sunday’s team or when he’s on arvo shift at the car factory, and when the men folk get home the women folk are buzzing on spirits and coke and laughing lewdly, watching Friday night footy and that young gun full forward in his tight shorts or already asleep, snoring blissfully and that little smile on her face ain’t for you, oh no, that’s for the young gun full forward, who, in her dreams, is peeling off those tiny shorts.

And I watch those women from behind my $10 mirror shades cos I refuse to spend more than a blue note on something I know I’m gonna lose sooner rather than later, and they seem so relaxed, so ready for whatever comes there way, whatever gets thrown at them and I wish I could relax like that, just take what comes, step over the bad, soak up the good and truly lounge like I want to. Cos I’m still too fucking uptight despite the mp3 full o’ loungin’ country redneckin’ music and the ability to waste a full day at the pool (hell a whole week) without barely moving except when my foot or my arse gets numb from sitting in one spot too long. It would be something to pass on to beezlebubby who has all the technological know how already at eleven and a half but still can’t peel an apple properly and is only just working out how to make me a decent coffee. She needs some lesson in redneck lounging, hell her whole generation does! So me eyeing these women, watching them as they pour the drinks, one bottle sugar free, colour free for the kid the doctors have decided is a.d.d. or a.d.h.d. or some other bunch o’ initials but who really is just full o’ beans and bored by the rules… watching as she plunges into the pool, or lays in the sun, all that extra flesh glistening with sunscreen and water, the scraps of cloth straining in defiance of her winter bourbon and cokes and lunches with the girls – all that is just research, is just me studying the true loungers, just me learning to really let go and relax so I can pass those lessons onto beezlebubby, help her to chill a little and to roll with it. Of course, that vague idea I have of that internet site with the MILF’s that’d probably do it for the 2 for 52 bucks deal and cooler or maybe even the commemorative tin shaped like a car, is still fermenting in the back of my head too but, hell I still cant’ work out how to download music properly let alone set something like that up so I can’t see that getting off the ground. Anyway sounds too much like work and I ain’t goin’ there again. No, this is research pure and simple so we can all learn to lounge it redneck style and do it properly. And some song just came up on the player that I sure as shit didn’t download – who the fuck are fallout boy anyway?! BEEZLEBUBBY!!!

Damn I gotta learn to chill...

Back In My Day...

You know I used to hate it when my old man would raise his glass, take a long drink and then say, “Back in my day things were better.” Fuck I hated that, I still do but you know what? When I say, “Back in my day things were better.” I’m fucking right!

Cos that lame arse shit they’re trying to tell you is music right now… it ain’t! Not even close. If y’re lucky it might make a decent ring tone or maybe even a new car jingle that’ll having you humming along for that 45 second attention span all you little shits seem to have these days but it no way could you call that crap they dress up, ink up, slap a video clip to and then churn out to pimp yr dollar for, music.

Hiphop exists just to get dumb ass black kids laid and even dumber ass white kids thinking they might get laid – and it ain’t even threatening anymore, Christ its just sampled r&b popsongs with some bling thrown on top, skinny black boys trying to look gangsta, bitches shakin’ their fake breasts and you’ve forgotten the toon before the two and half minutes is up anyway. Punk, hah, a bunch of rich white boys who won’t come out of the closet, getting tattooed, putting on eyeliner and expensive t-shirts, waiting for that big break with some bleached blonde movie actress who’s fallen off the wagon so they can get their own reality show together, singing generic rebellious teen anthems about being individuals while all wearing the same labels and then trying to tell us they’re rebels!? Oh yeah, I’ll buy that (especially if they endorse it) Shitty singer songwriters who know both chords and are so lame they actually make Ben Lee sound threatening, Pop Divas who can’t hold a note without computerized help, backing tracks and a lot of overdubs, country singers who don’t even look like they shave let alone know what a honky tonk is and who have probably never played a footy cabaret in their lives…

So fuck all this new shit – I’m going back to vinyl (and no I don’t mean that cheap fake biker jacket you bought at the markets to get girls to talk to you) I mean vinyl records – big, black, shiny 12 inch slabs of grooves kinda vinyl, now that will get the girls talking to ya. Redneck glory like ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Joe Walsh before he turned pussy, old school punk like the Dead Boys, Richard Hell, Black Flag, some decent nigga soul and Motown grooves, art grant free noize loops and hell, you wanna hear a singer/songwriter? Pick up Tim Bukley’s Lorca album you limp dicked poseurs. He makes his son sound like the tofu eating, pussy whipped, lame ass 90’s ‘troubled soul troubadour’ wimp he really was.

Yeah, that’s what I want – real musicians, real feeling, real soul, real pain – a bunch o’ miscreants who had the choice between jail, pimpin’ their ass or rock and roll and made the right choice. I don’t want some lame arse anonymous producer/geek type sitting behind a desk remixing every fucking decent beat he can find into some generic mishmash of soulless, sexless robotic 3 minutes of fame for some plastic fantastic whose name we’ll have forgotten before the songs even over. Christ, when did I get so jaded?!

Oh yeah, that’s right… every time I turn on the radio, watch the tv or read the music press.

Jeezus, you can’t drink a cold beer with a bourbon chaser to that shit. No siree. When the redneck lounge opens its doors, it’s old school vinyl on my twenty dollar market bargain turntable with the block o’ wood under the back right hand corner to keep it balanced, jacked into the shitty amp/tuner that I’ve had for twenty years now that still works if you let it warm up first. And I’m droppin’ the needle on "Country Stampede" or "Atomizer" opening that first beer, flickin’ through the box of old Ring and Boxing Digest mags I picked up in Melbourne and I’m not even thinking about yr ringtone muzak.

Back in my day… don’t you fucking hate it when your parents are right?

welcome to the lounge

Yeah, I know that redneck ain’t a particularly Aussie slang word and it conjures up American type images and stereotypes but bogan lounge didn’t quite have the same ring to it nor did feral manifesto and hell, I am a fucking redneck, no denying it, just not the racist, dumbass, backwoods, backward stereotype mountain cracker that they portray us as on TV and in the movies. I’m an old school, shaved head, touch o’ grey in the beard, if you don’t dick me around I won’t dick you around, misanthropic, I’ll hate you purely on your lack of intelligence not yr skin colour, creed, religion, sexual preferences or aspirations type o’ redneck. And my neck is always red even when I wear a collar. And until recently I only owned two collars anyway, both polo shirts, both free, a coopers pale ale shirt and a port power shirt. I don’t particularly like the beer or the team but I’ll take ‘em when there’s nothin’ else left. Then I picked up a coupla more collar jobs – my Mt Burr Football Club Polo shirt that I paid money for and the Millicent Country Music Association shirt I picked up form Lifeline for $4. Them babies I wear with pride.

And now, I gotta admit, since the goodwife has continued her climb up the corporate ladder, the one I jumped off of some twenty years ago, well, I’ve had to buy a coupla more shirts, good ones for social occasions when I play the stepford husband and keep my mouth shut while nodding and trying to get some of that free beer in before she notices and warns me not to get too tanked. But only for those occasions you understand.

I’ve spent the second half of my life in the city after the first 21 years were spent in a town of maybe 500 people where every one knew everyone else and the grocery store was the post office, the newsagent, the toyshop and there was a bakery over the road where they baked on the premises and we went to footy every weekend and everyone else called us ‘zooeys’ cos we were animals and the parties continued on at our house until the wee small hours and you could leave the front door unlocked (at least for the first twelve years or so then some jd’s started making their tiny presence known) but when I got to the city I sorta forgot my roots. Hell, I was still proud of being a ‘country boy’ and all that. I mean I was a ‘zooey’ for fucksake but I was living in the big smoke now so I toned down my redneck roots, got rid of the flannelette shirts and the cowboy boots, didn’t listen to Slim Whitman or Johnny Cash (although JC was still cool apparently). I had to find some clean city type jeans and t-shirts that didn’t have crude sayings on em, even polish my damn shoes every now and then. But I still leaked redneck every now and then. I was blunt, up front and loud and I could hold my booze pretty well if not my mind or my mouth. In fact The Publisher, another country boy from the Tuna side of the state, and I have a theory that we did better with the girls than our city brethren and fellow drinkers cos country boys are plain blunt. We say what we think while our nancified city friends are too busy trying to weasel their way into the girl’s affections with lies and deceit or at least just being plain suck up nice to em. We just wanted to get back to the drinkin and partyin’ so we were up front about our dicks and our ambitions and more often than not it worked. We both regularly got women well above our stations, we still do and all we can put it down to is country charm cos it sure as shit ain’t our looks or our wallets, I can tell you that.

Now I’m at an age where I don’t seriously care what other people think though I still gotta be careful at the good wife’s work functions cos she needs to keep climbing that ladder so I don’t have to even think about puttin’ a foot back on it.

And hell why am I making excuse for owning a coupla Ed Harry shirts? I already know I’m better than you, have been for a long time now and the sooner you realise it the better things will be.