Sunday, February 17, 2008

How long can Karova survive?

There's a story about a man who runs most of the pubs in this town, and of an evil franchise who've just arrived... and of one podgy rockdog stalwart who stuck it out.

Stuck it out like an Anzac on the shores of Turkey, forever raising the middle digit, rigid and stiff...

Stuck it out in the pursuit of honest rock and roll, friendly barkeepers and a cold beer in a world of push-button plasma-screen wank videos with a dancebeat, fuelled by Bacardi breezers and underage drinkers high on faux-eccies and a sense of doing something naughty.

Despite being threatened, cajoled and flat-out outsold by the Forces of Bland, our man continued to book original bands and didn't screw the punters for their dough. That period has ended, and he's now sitting somewhere quiet with a book, enjoying this thing some people call 'daytime'.

Does life go on as usual at Karova? The quote about the new owner is that he wandered up to the bar and said "I've had a listen to that Triple J... some of it's not bad."

Be afraid... the Pseudo Echo tribute bands and Get Your Tits Out Tuesdays promotions are surely not far away...

How many album sales does it take to get to number 1?

I found out something interesting last night. Was dining with a character known as Systah BB over a sandwich and 8 or 9 litres of quality grape moonshine from a local still, and she asked me how many albums did it take to get to number 1 in Australia.

She asked me about the new Timbaland album - which zapped to number 1 on the Aussie album charts a week or so ago. How many albums did I think it takes to get to that esteemed level?


How about.... (old fasioned drum roll by Animal from Hey Hey, if you will)


Yep, 3,000. In fact, if you could call a half-cold pie sold at the MCG during a crap footy match an album, we'd top the charts with 'D'ya want sauce with that' no probs....

And people are still questioning whether the music industry is viable... hmmm. Speaking of people who drip from their mouths, I was handed a DVD of classic Ballarat 80s band Tabu the other day. Nice one. We might just have to see if we can't get some of it on air for this coming week's Show With No Name. We think Lenny has been contracted by Britney's people to help the young lass deal with her insanity.

I'm guessing the answer will be "don't stop till you get enough"...

Hubbeda Hubbeda

Hello Fans,

First of all I'd like to thank Dr Le Skip for his sterling work vis a vie this fancy shebang. My Stars!.
I remember when I first started out in this Music caper, we still had to carve set list out of bluestone.
If you wanted more fold back, you asked your girlfriend to move her table closer.
Back when amplifiers required a permit and flying goggles.
When you had to ask your Mum if you could empty the rest of the Milo into a tupperware container if you needed something to close mic the snare drum during your bagpipe solo.

Back when a young Herbert J Hardware was just a skinny young kid with nothing to lose exept his the keys to his hillman and his virginity (footage available at
When Len had just come back frome the now legendary "Never mind the Horlicks" tour, tired and phantomly pregnant for the third time.
Back when a young Vinnie Le Skip had just worked out if you plugged your Mr. Microphone into the toaster you could make the fridge sing "Fuck the Police" everytime someone went for a icypole.
My how times have changed.......

Yes, it has all changed.
Why, the other day I thought my neighbour was mowing away excess kittens, only to find the Australian music scene alive and well, with all these young hopefuls using their brand new DudeTools(Tm) software to play their enemas backwards.
Frankly, all I can say is I'm glad all of this "Learning to play an instrument" malarky has finally gone the way of other out-dated crap, like not videoing yourself rooting some slapper from the disco milk bar or going out speedless to collect the mail.

Yes, I'm all for this "getting to the point" style of music.
Lets face it, no matter how many Deep Floyd or Black Zappa albums you hoard in your mini van, you can only moan about your Wang Dang Doodle at various volumes for so long.
It's high time a bit of limelight was shone on these crazy teens who visionary perceptions about "My New Pants" and "No, You Shut up" are going to make all those tired, old, dead "Musical" fucksticks (cluttering up the so-called record stores) march back to their patchouli smelling graves where they bloody well belong.
Huzzah I say.

It's lovley now that instead of going to see some bunch of yowley bastards, shouting inflamitory rhetoric about freedom (an overrated topic if there ever was one) or cracking a "Joke" (a concept the smug French can keep to themselves, thank you very much) or, God Forbid, play music that couldn't immediatly be used to sell the new Corolla (Whats the point? We all drive. Music that doesn't move vehicles is hypocrital and frankly damaging to our industry).

I just feel lucky I've lived long enough to be able to download as much music as I like with the same ease I can order a load of scoria.
It's such a comfort not having to deal with all of this humanity cluttering up the joint.
So much nicer to be able to not really have to expend all that energy on caring what I listen to, a practice that was the bane of my younger years, inciting nothing but fripperous passions and some sort of misguided belief in a better world.
Yah boo sucks to that nonsense.

No more staying out with a bunch of naked characters dancing for pies at 6am.
No more driving up and down coastal towns to play for starry eyed hippettes, for whom spring had given a final teaty glow to their salty cleavage.
No more laughing like fools until you sank underneath your beer doona on some mate of a mate's couch, just as the Sun was coming up while the birds sang like feathered fuckwits.
No more dancing in a flithy arm pit, being getting splashed with the earnest sweat of the youthful damned.
No more clanging away at some cheap instrument in the misguided opinion you were having some sort of fun and being amazed when some ciggerette eating publican thrust $20 and a pot in your hand at the end of the night.

No. None of that foolishness. I'm very happy that I (and millions of others) can happily have some music when we want it, without having to leave the lounge room and risking getting dirt on my me.

I'll also be pleased when all of this "Band" nonsense finally goes the way of the Wooley Elephant.
I don't care who you are. I've been around and all of this "fun" just gets the kids hooked and detracts them from housing loans.
How are people going to live in quiet streets with this razzle dazzle racket keeping them awake?

Bring back Mr. Bjeke Peterson.
He had the right idea about people gathering to listen to this yee har music. Shooting is too good for 'em.
Surely we could open a salt mine somewhere and bulldoze these ne'er do wells into the ground. St.KIlda perhaps? I've head it's very respectable down there now.
Not like how it used to be.
Sometimes I shudder as how many nights I spent there feeling like I was doing something "cool".
Just makes me want reach for my new Ipod with built in Thermos. Ahhhhhh......lovley....nothing like breathy 20 somethings fingerpicking a song about cocoa to sooth the faint nigglings of rock from my teeth.

Once again my thanks to the whole team at "The Show with No Name".
Hopefully we can add to the non-threatening aspects of modern life with our easy listening play list and out carefully worded commentry on various dinner party faux pas!
It's been lovley!


Mick "MInd my comfortable pants!" Dog.