Show With No Name playlist Late July

Well, it was emotional. Chinese politics, Melbourne film festivals, The Cramps' classic Bend Over I'll Drive lined up alongside Elvis Costello's Clean Money, the new logo for Melbonicus 5, tales of Scuzzo the Clown and of course the quite startling revelations of reknowned sportscaster Broop MacEnVaney.

The Show With No Name continues to battle the soul-killing and arse-chilling B-Town Black Depths of the Cracks of Satan's Anus known as Winter with a fierce resolve, gooey gusset and weakly clenched fist raised to the grey heavens.

Here's the songs that made the end of July so special in Ballarat:

Wagons - Drive All Night Till Dawn
5678s - He Was a Mau Mau
Cheap Trick - He's a Whore
KISS - Watchin' You
Blondie - Kung Fu Girls
Gossip - Spare Me From the Mould
Porno for Pyros - Pete's Dad
Ed Kuepper - Here to Get My Baby From Jail
The Cramps - Bend Over, I'll Drive
Elvis Costello - Clean Money

Halftime oranges served

Frank Zappa Band - The Illinois Enema Bandit (live)
Van Halen - Romeo Delight
Steel Panther - Death to All But Metal
AC/DC - Let's Get It Up
Aerosmith - Dude Looks Like a Lady
Archers of Loaf - Harnessed In Slums
Nancy Sinatra - Run For Your Life
Painters and Dockers - What's Left For Me
Fireballs - Fireball Baby (live)
Fishbone - Alcoholic
Ross Ryan - Blood On the Microphone

Oh yes... the Archers. Buggered if I haven't wanted to play this song on the radio for a good 10 years now... just another indie rock anthem from the turbulent 90s that makes one yearn for simpler times...

Wrongfest comes to Ballarat TV

The Show With No Name is proud to present the newest addition to the Ballarat television family - finally, after 78 years of behind the scenes work, our longtime stalwart of the local entertainment industry Mr Dirty Bongo Monday is to be hosting a new program incorporating health education, exercise and a good singalong - live from the Sebastopol studios of BTV6.

Here's a sneak preview:

The Dog Report 2. Seeking the prequel.

Hello there fellow inebriates!

Once again, welcome to the Dog Report.
This week the ever speckled Dog Report brings you the brand new and slightly puffy ORC scale, where you, dear listener, can now kick in and get that venomous hair off your curly bonnet by joining in our poll of ....

Ballarat's Hottest Over Rated Cunts (or BHORC! Use vomit as a handy reminder!)

It's very simple and works like this.......


Example 1. The Rolling Stones.

The Rolling Stones are a bunch of arch-ORC's.
Any bunch of English dip shits who make plagiarism and mediocrity the corner stones of modern music deserve to be strung up by their sagging, aged balls and strummed mercilessly by cannibal death Gypsies with spiked tongs.

The only reasons people like the Rolling Stones are-

1) If a bleeding tit monkey was given a can of coconut milk and a box of fuzzy felt for enough time, it too would eventually write Honky Tonk Woman and Dead Flowers .

2) You are a repressed person of pale appearance, who wishes they had some genuine culture but aren't really sure about all that poverty and flies and shit and simply wish you were a smacked out box jockey but duly worried that too might interfere with lunch on Thursday with Mum.

3) Instead of a brain, God gave you frozen horse sperm.


The Rolling Stones are a bunch of dog raping ORC's
9.5/10


Or you could go like this-


Example 2. Kevin Rudd

Kevin Rudd is a fucking ORC.
Yep! Sure It's all gone Animal Farm out here in Sunny Oz (and by that I mean the legendary High School Porn movie and not some wacked out shit about Communist Chickens running the Alfalfa trade) but is really any better than before?

Lets cast out minds back shall we, as fair comparison, to our last beloved leader........

There we all were, huddling in the Mortgage Ghetto, while Anne Frank Real Estate made out like a bandit.
Sure, we locked up the Darkies when they came over here, claiming they'd had their freedom saxophones shoved up their asses by the squares.
Sure, we marched into war with some buck toothed Texan then gave ourselves a jolly good hard time about what an un-Christian act it was to destroy other religions.
Sure, we hated how the Baggy Green Eyebrow Lord turned love into shiny new ten cent pieces, compassion into Hardiplank and kindness into stale urine, but at least we could hate him like the mean ol' Grandpa he was and be safe in the knowledge that soon the Aorta fairy would come and stab him hard in the guts with a broken bottle of Cooper's Sparkling.
Because we knew, as a Nation, that the old prick was gunna die soon and that we could all watch the dimming light in his eyes, have a joyous collective wank and then eat all the Kahlua flavoured Fantails we could fit in our sassy gobs...


But this new floppy haired prick........
He's like some weird dude your Mum brings home "after the divorce", who is nice to you while she's in the room, then gets cold and weird after she leaves, leering at you, slightly disgusted by the way you clutter up the joint like a discarded hymen.
You suspect he's doing horrible things behind your back, shoving his cold, dripping spaghetti balls up your Mum's clacker at night in order to get his twisted rocks off, then taking her out to dinner where he secretly pisses in the soup.
You get this feeling that he takes off his human skin off at night, then goes down to the lab where he tests lipstick and jokes in Mandarin on restrained rabbits, who get electrically shocked if they laugh or pash each other.
The odd feeling that he's already sold your organs to Wilson Tuckey to use as pig bait, but has decided he'll keep your brain alive in a jar to poke with Hb pencils or to house water scorpions, rancid skittering beasts in that burrow into your frontal lobes and lay eggs in your childhood memories.
Creepy........but no one will believe you...you've been to the Police after you saw him eating kittens in a phone box...they just laughed......you talked to your friends but they were too pissed on lotto tickets to care.........you rang that local talk back show and cried "He's Evil! He's Evil! So what that he apologised to the Abo's! All they got out of that was jack shit and a box of pencils!" but they shut you down with a Suzi Quatro song and you only got a single pass to Jerseys Boys, right up in the back row, where the ghost of Frankie Valley had a vapourous shit.

It begins........................

Kevin Rudd is a fuckin' spooked out ORC
9/10

and so on and so forth...........

So! If you've got an ORC deserving a rating, then start tapping away at whatever you've got (plumbing, dance shoes, Vic 20..) and lets have at it!

'Til next time......


Mick" Vlad the Impaler played the button Accordion.' Dog.

The Dog Report

Howdy do, you little bran muffins of funk.

Thanks for coming to the meeting. Lets get the agenda underway shall we?

1) The public outpouring of bullshit over Michael Jackson.

Lets see now ....war all over the joint......water running out...faiths threatening to shit down each others necks...freaks running the country....people being lost at sea on leaky smugglers boats...everybody too fat to get to the heart attack help station......rampant alcoholism.. mass extinction of wildlife.....Tooheys.....

Ahhhh...but lets face it....who the fuck can be bothered giving a toot about this trivial shite when some bizarre, skinny, self absorbed hermaphrodite carks it after going loop-o-bananas from eating too many whitery man magic pills over the last 30 years?
Granted you don't often get the combo of dainty robot hoofer and yipping funk terrier everyday and I will admit for a while there he was the shizzle (If you like your shizzle in a six inch shizzle-lite combo), but may I also refer to the saccharine ton of burbling pap that was the last 20 years of ol' Jacko's career?
Granted, my heart is more like a chain smoking oyster with Alzheimers that a pop pump station of lurve, but really.....you're putting this one gloved nozzle up as the greatest entertainer of all time?
And why not?
Because Star Wars was a magnificent docudrama! And Pee Wee Herman was the funniest comedian ever! And A-Ha were the best metal band ever! And the Rolling Stones were actually ABBA on smack! (Hmmmm...I might have to check that one...)

For my two cents, Jackson was like some weird, gull-winged experiment car that was cool for a while but got more and more bad retro as the years rolled on.
Perhaps the truth is that evolution was rooting about with some plasticine in a wind tunnel and thought it might be cool to whip up a funky JacksonWagon in order to tell God to get fucked at the next motor show. (It was the 60's you know.......)
Sadly, like any veteran vehicle, when it costs more to fix than it's worth, what choice do you have but to let the rego run out and wheel it off to the great wreckers in the sky?

I'm just glad that all those weeping kiddies, (and their fat Mums), out buying the Michael Jackson Platinum edition boxed sets are sending their cash to a good cause and not wasting it propping up a family of debauched miscreants who'll probably invest it in pimping Jacko's littlies until they run out of cute.
(That little girl at the funeral will apparently shit in a bag for you if you've got 10 grand. EBay comes alive!)

Word to the wise though- Billy Ray Cyrus has already cornered the market on World conquering progeny, so stick that up your ebony hole with an ivory hole poker, Joe.

2) Stawell Gift.

Yippee! More sport!
It's always great to see a bunch of country hacks running around knowing they'll never make the Olympics, or be of any earthly use to anything, outside of keeping the manufacturers of short shorts in the pink.
Now, I don't care who runs the sausage sizzle on this one. When it comes to dick heads running around in a circle I'm just over come with the urge to scream "Go you bandy legged bastards!"
It's just great to see people who know they'll never crack it for a top spot in anything, (other than 2nd place the Koroit Burping Competition), donning the togs for a quick zoom up he back straight.
It's also good to see that Ballarat has got it together to draw some white lines on the City Oval and has applied for funding to asses the feasibility of eventually acquiring an action team to draw up plans to create a document that strongly advises for a consultancy body to take positive action on approving a first phase plan of possibly creating a think tank to head up a proto-document assessing the need for a committee to get some string to run through at the end.

Those square-headed rubes in Stawell could never get that together! Look at the Civic Hall!
In the time it took to approve the paper work needed to rort the town senseless, all Stawell did was build a hospital and provide free lunch for the poor!
Buncha fuckin dim wit country cow squeezers! Getting things done is no way to get things done!
If it's one thing we Ballarations know how to do it's fuck around like a bunch of Cornish tin miners on a footy trip to Thailand!
More event stealing! We'll fuck any shit up! We don't care where it comes from!
Onwards to Pyramids and a space program I say!


3) JJJ Hottest Turdburger

So Nirvana wins the Koroit Burping competition......
Not bad for a corpsicle, a guy who has released a plush toy called the Dave Grohlliwog and a guy who could work at the Sebas servo for all we know.
Let me just say this again......rock and roll and all it's subsidiary holdings (the shampoo, the ice cream, the baldness therapy sessions etc.) is dead.
It's a corpse to be poked out of pungent curiosity when you're rafting down the river of your mid thirties.
It's a bewildered, tired old Nan sitting in a rest home waiting for a major label to come and change it's shitbag.
It's a tyre marked road kill, spurting a little more infested guts each time the big ol' eighteen wheeler of re-release comes trundling along the Nullabor.
It's a senile wombat bloating in a ditch being slowly consumed by re-mix GenY bacteria.
It's a tired old hooker turning blue in a Shepparton caravan park after coughing it's cunt up for YouPorn.
It's like getting nostalgic about shitting your pants in high school (Those were the days! And what a great puff from the old poop shoot Nevermind was!)

Hottest 100......where was Haircut 100 you might well ask?


Until next time,


Mick "Winter is like death trying to bot a durrie" Dog.

Stawell closed, Ballarat Gift to be opened

It's official: Ballarat is so bereft of ideas of its own it's taken to grabbing whatever is happening up the road at the neighbours' joint.

Thanks to some B-town oldtimers in the Premier's Department the folks at Stawell got the "you're on your own, tiger" mail from the Guvmint, and approximately 35 seconds later a press release went out from the Shitty of Ballarat that they'd help by moving the whole lot to Sturt Street.

We're a bit excited about the Ballarat Gift. So much so we took to the streets of the interwebs and asked people what they thought the Ballarat Gift involved:

"The Ballarat Gift is being able to walk home from the pub and not be beaten to a pulp" - Len

"Will you be allowed to use a shopping trolley and beat anyone to death who gets in your way?" - Tim

"The Ballarat Gift will be the greatest public assembly in Ballarat since the last time an Adelaide footy team made the AFL finals" - Jamie

"A Ballarat Gift is where you get beaten up outside the pub, but they don't kick you in the head or steal your gold claim." - Matt

"I think the Ballarat Gift is something you're born with. Makes it easier to get Centrelink payments." - Tim

"Heh heh! I remember when high school teachers had to stomp out flaming bags of Ballarat Gift left on the porch." - Mick

"The Ballarat Gift: a winter's day above 10 degrees" - Jamie

"The Ballarat Gift: being able to kick on in the backyard at a party in a t-shirt no matter what season." - Steve

But what route will the runners be taking in Ballarat?

An early leaked report states that the Ballarat Stawellen Gift will indeed be run at night - along Lydiard Street, down Policeman's Alley, past Karova, through the carpark at Big W and Dan Murphy's, through the Mall, intothe Safeway carpark - an obligatory dimmie stop at the Hamburger Cart - and then in to the police station.

If you can make it that far without being beaten by vicious teenage thugs on a Smirnoff Ice frenzy, you get a souvenir hand-picked by Ballarat historical character Bendy Vendy.

The question we have to ask right now is: can you run a footrace holding a bunch of begonias?

Stay tuned - our Deep Sole has promised much more inside news from the depths of our elected representatives!

Show With No Name playlist July 14, 2009

Aaaaand... we're back.

Whiter and more manlier than any Triple J Hottest 100 of All Songs On the iPods of Accountants. More annoying in our dedication to publicly broacasting classic rock tunes than Radio Dave, and far sketchier in our income details than Dodgy Butch the Second Hand CD Pimp...

It's the Ballarat institution that's been putting bums on radio since 1914; a collected 367 years in show business that thrusts deeper than anything Gavin the Boot Rooter had a go at in his time.

After the appropriate amount of mourning for Jacko "I'm an Individual" Jackson, we've hit a new timeslot on the airwaves - 8pm till 10pm Tuesday nights - with a new range of cocktail friendly tunes.

The podcast is on its way! Catch up with the other podcasts here

Playlist Tuesday July 14
Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Midnight Moses
23rd Elvis - Destination Midnight
Frank Zappa - Cocaine Decisions
Andrez Williams - Chrysler 300
Sunnyboys - Trouble In My Brain
You Am I - I Can Hear the Grass Grow
Fugazi - Sieve Fisted Find
Funkadelic - Super Stoopid
Scientists of Modern Technology - Technology Illiterate
The Anti-Nowhere League - Streets of London

Half-time oranges served

Iron Maiden - Fear of the Dark (live)
KISS - Shout It Loud
Fat Thing - Beaufort
TISM - The History of Western Civilisation
Capsicum - Don't Fuck With the Wongs
Split Enz - Give It a Whirl
Thin Lizzy - Bad Reputation
Pere Ubu - Waiting For Mary
Roky Erikson - It's a Cold Night for Alligators
Dead Milkmen - Punk Rock Girl
Joe Jackson - 5 Guys Named Moe

It's great to be back, in the heart of the hairy black Satanic anus of winter!

Monorail on Sturt Street, volcano theme park for Buninyong

A leaked Ballarat Council report shows plans are being drawn up to connect Black Hill, Sovereign Hill and the circumference of Lake Wendouree via an ultra modern monorail system. Another theme park submitted was a “Moonbase Alpha”-style resort to be constructed on the dry bed of Lake Wendouree, complete with a giant perspex dome, although rumour has it, that perhaps the lake would be better served with the construction of an Atlantis or Venice based theme park, taking into account that the lake will eventually be filled with grey water by 2010. Local band “Toxic Mermaids” is lobbying for the former.

Not to be left out, Buninyong has presented a submission for some major works to be done inside Mount Buninyong. The Buninyong Shire Council is seeking Government sponsorship as well as private Japanese investors to excavate inside the crater of Mount Buninyong and dig kilometres deep into the Earth’s crust in order to construct a “Journey to the Centre of the Earth” type theme park and underground resort.

A final “Lay on the giant Atlantean Sacrificial Bowl and experience gravitational force that will take your breath away..." -type ride is yet to be approved by Council liability experts

Some of the highlights will be a ‘ghost train ride’ through a catacomb of lava vents and chambers, a Giant Crystal chamber maze, lit by its own phosphorescent light, an echo chamber, an underground forest of Giant Mushrooms next to an underground sea (plans to utilise the Central Highlands water table), complete with self generating storm and whirlpool, plus a replica of Atlantis as well as giant prehistoric dinosaurs. A final “Lay on the giant Atlantean Sacrificial Bowl and experience gravitational force that will take your breath away, as a larva surge rockets you up Mount Warrenheip’s volcanic vent before you shoot skywards and land on the back of the Trojan Horse at Kryal Castle” type ride is yet to be approved by Council liability experts.



In a audacious regional marketing coup, tourists are also being offered an excellent day trip from Buninyong, to the community at Lal Lal Falls, with an announced 10 billion dollar investment from Rose Hancock to convert Lal Lal Falls, its Gorge and surrounds into a glistening all natural health spa and retreat. Construction has begun around the gorge with fairytale castles being carved from the very walls in the style of Middle Earth from the JRR Tolkien/Peter Jackson series of blockbuster movies. The water table is being tapped to add extra sparkling liquid to the equation in the form of many extra waterfalls within the gorge.

Loud grating music has been banned from the area and Enya
has been contracted to play at the resort 6 nights per week, for the first 5 years as soon as it opens.

The focal point for the retreat will be at the top of the falls where it has been discovered the Fountain of Youth actually exists. The locals have already been breeding their children to be predisposed to almond shaped eyes and pronounced pointy ears. Babies are being surgically enhanced to grow into replicas of Gwyneth Paltrow and Orlando Bloom. Loud grating music has been banned from the area and Enya has been contracted to play at the resort 6 nights per week, for the first 5 years as soon as it opens.

After taking in all of the above revelations and proposals, this seemingly invisible Rocket Launching pad, constructed under the very noses of Ballarat residents, has served not only to benefit Ballarat and the surrounding district as a whole, but to unite a tired and apathetic town, bringing new life to its ailing economy, as it blossoms into a truly 21st Century metropolis.

Part 2 in a new series exposing the business of development and construction-lead recovery in Ballarat. Coming soon: Hospital Emergency Department to be Sponsored by Tattersall's

- published by Vinnie the Skip for and on behalf of the Shadow

For more up to date inside news in Ballarat, stay tuned to the Show With No Name, Tuesday nights on Voice FM - or podcast whenever we get around to it

Giant pad soaks up interest

Taken by a roving Ballarat news breaker, this incredible photo of the Government’s new Titan Rocket Launch Pad nestled unobtrusively in the heart of Ballarat atop the Black Hill Recreation Reserve, is indicative of the secretive nature of the Rudd Government’s Top Level Strategic Arms Initiative.

This amazing photograph was hurriedly snapped when a flock of Black cockatoos accidentally perched on the rocket base’s cloaking sub-station which was expertly camouflaged as the flag post (the transmitter) atop the raised bluestone ‘lookout vantage point’ on the pinnacle of the Black Hill Reserve. The amount and weight of the birds shorted out a vital transducer coil and briefly exposed the secret base to a number of astonished onlookers.

For approximately 30 seconds the entire pad and rocket, apparently primed for launch, was visible to the naked eye before backup generators kicked in and the whole facility faded back into invisibility against the surrounding environment.

Elsie Talmadge of Clissold Street said she often wondered why there were so many stunned birds flailing about on the ground on the walking tracks around the base
of the hill.

Upon enquiring amongst local exercise enthusiasts, our news breaker (who we shall call ‘The Shadow’ to preserve his anonymity) discovered some very interesting information. Apparently most people that live in the Black Hill/Brown Hill area had no idea that a full sized rocket launching facility had been constructed right next to their backyards.

“We used to hear a lot of trucks and banging and machinery,” says Tommo McCuthbert of Newman Street, Brown Hill “but Marjorie and I just thought it was the rail yards or road works over the back”. Elsie Talmadge of Clissold Street said she often wondered why there were so many stunned birds flailing about on the ground on the walking tracks around the base of the hill. “Now I know why, the poor things were flying straight into the side of that rocket and knocking themselves senseless… It all makes sense now!”

Young Willy Freeforall, who regularly plays in the reserve on his BMX bike with his mates, told The Shadow that several of his friends had apparently been struck by lightning on a clear blue autumn day whilst biking in the location. Willy said the doctors at the hospital concluded that it must have been freak lightning bolts that caused the horrific injuries to the young men. He went on to say that the doctors had previously said the burns were consistent with the kind one would get if one ran into a 10,000 volt electrified cyclone fence, but they dismissed the notion as implausible.

"The Valley will act as a funnel, protecting the richer and more expensive neighbourhood above and behind the facility whilst obliterating everything at the open end at the same time.”

Today, Ballarat City Council denied any knowledge of the secret rocket base, as did the Victorian State Government. A representative from the National Defence Department was remaining relatively tight lipped about the subject, but did concede that if there were to be a rocket launch facility in the centre of Ballarat, it would definitely NOT be functioning as a military operation with any nuclear predilection. “Any facility that close to a populated area would only ever be used for purely scientific deep space research purposes, repairs to the Hubble Telescope or to ship vital instruments and domestic products such as toilet paper up to the International Space Station.

Doctor Joseph Herganschmidt of the University of Ballarat Physics department, upon sighting the incriminating picture; expressed concern for the safety of the residents of Black Hill and extreme concern for residents and their homes in the Brown Hill area. “When this first rocket is launched, because of the geography of the valley where the facility has been constructed, the resulting enormous back blast will vaporise the majority of the houses in the Brown hill area. The Valley will act as a funnel, protecting the richer and more expensive neighbourhood above and behind the facility whilst obliterating everything at the open end at the same time.”

Opportunities to really hook into the whole Star Wars/Star Trek marketing machine are becoming apparent. A “Thunderbirds the musical” production is in the throes of scripting at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

Real Estate developers said it was a good chance to ‘wipe the slate clean’ in the old and run down suburb, giving investors the chance to buy up deceased estates and share in what could well be the new multi-million dollar ‘Toorak’ of Ballarat. “If anyone from Brown Hill survives the launch, they can be relocated and accommodated in cheap, clean, modern temporary housing further out of town on the Western Plains…somewhere like Cardigan…or Trawalla.”

Tourism experts predict a swift turnaround for Ballarat’s ailing tourism industry. “We’ve already seen an upward trend in local businesses and this will just keep continuing. Opportunities to really hook into the whole Star Wars/Star Trek marketing machine are becoming apparent. A “Thunderbirds the musical” production is in the throes of scripting at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

Submissions to council have been made to construct a life size replica of the ‘Jupiter ‘2 from “Lost in Space”. The fully functioning sculpture will replace the aging Poppet Head tower at Sovereign Hill when the theme park makes the complex changeover from the Historic Australian Colonial Theme to “Space World” in a bid to attract Gold Coast tourism. Sovereign Hill management are in talks with the expert owners of the Wycliffe Wells Roadhouse in the Northern Territory, on just what kind of ‘Alien’ exhibits should be planned and budgeted for.

The diorama display of scenes from the torturous voyages of colonial ships to the new land will be replaced with diorama scenes depicting the development of space flight. Starting with famous moments from the initial voyage of the USS Enterprise, through her various crews and culminating in scenes from the arduous, long journey back from the distant Delta Quadrant with Captain Kathryn Janeway and her intrepid crew aboard the fabulous intergalactic starship, the USS Voyager.

Part 1 in a new series exposing the business of development and construction-lead recovery in Ballarat.

Coming soon: Monorail on Sturt Street - is Ballarat ready for the future?

- published by Vinnie the Skip for and on behalf of the Shadow

For more up to date inside news in Ballarat, stay tuned to the Show With No Name, Tuesday nights on Voice FM - or podcast whenever we get around to it.

Ballarat's missing Logies coverage recovered

At last. The tapes thought lost in the Incident Went It Almost Went South were recovered, debaconised and reconstituted in beercans are here in their full flavoured original edited condition.

Ballarat's own Lenny, MicDog and Floppy Cocksure give it up on what went down at the 2009 Logies.

Hear from those at the B-Town6 V Table of course and feel the pant-tearing analysis of the winners, grinners and top money spinners - the stories that went on in the ad breaks and behind the scenes at the Australian television industry's pie night of pie nights.

Part 01


Part 02

Ballarat's only radio podcast is back

Greetings, thankyou for the cards (none), the calls (none) and the hookers'n'blow so deserving of a high quality showbiz team that are so central to life in Ballarat and the wider western Victoria region.

What, with one member succumbing to lung ebola, another finding explosives packed in his lower intestine and another having his scapula smashed by a ballpeen hammer in a freak Easter accident, it's been touching to know the community has been there, hanging on edge

Through it all Len's been the rock.. the roll, the country (pretty sure that's what he called me) and something of the punk by keepin' the band kickin. Ballarat's turning to its dark side... the months where bands are formed, relationships are broken up, bottles are drained and the lights stay on... a long hard winter needs good'n'hard radio.

And the best little radio podcast in the wilds of Australia is the B-Town Show With No Name...

April bums in Q-Bar edition

Whereby the intrpid duo of Len and Floppy Cocksure investigate the hidden mystery behind Ruddo the WonderTort's new high priced meals dispute; a revelation of the lost Rick Rubin/Slim Dusty recordings and a sneak peak at Slim's version of a Nirvana classic; the dangers of wandering in to a Ballarat takeaway food shop, pointing at the roasted chickens and yelling "THAT'S NOT THE GOOSE"; guest spot by Ballarat showbiz supremo and stalwart Dr Tony Hardstart.



Leading us to the reunion of aformentioned members and the return to form...

Back in the saddle - episode 1.



In which Jesus drops his gaspers. Professor Tad Shabster addresses the Ballarat DeceptivelyStupid Bastards Society when his public speech on alcohol and public health develops into his new theory and invention for underwater flight. The hidden history of false killer whales in 90s Australian folk music; the new Minki system for clubbing your way on to Victorian public transport; the new beer ad to be filmed in Ballarat and the promise of barrell rolling on Sturt Street...

And then, after the cheezels were handed around - part 2



Tracking down The Ballarat Prune Strudlers' meeting and behind-closed doors action; the Smear Jesus for Ballarat festival; the lost story of St Interruptus in the story of Jesus and the disciples and the lost story of of just trying to snap off a length while a hundred people ask you meaningless questions; outrageous scenes in a local church sermon... it just gets a bit odd there for a bit... and the link between Australia's traditional exploding balls of test cricket, the Pope's midget handlers and the Humpty Doo football clubroom...

Show With No Name podcast pre-Easter discharge edition

Here 'tis served meaty and fresh to all our outta town Mexicali greebos, B-Town beer slingers and bus-drivin' cohorts out there: some of the latest slices out of the Utility Dim Sim Research Area from the Show With No Name, broadcast most Tuesday nights on radio 99.9FM as they are ingested and experienced via the majestic O'Brien Rooms recording studios in Ballarat.

Part 01
Just before Easter the fellas give us a quick whip around some of the mighty festivals that have happened outside and around the village of Ballarat, including the Heidegger Festival; a discussion speeding judges and why they might want to lie in order to get out of a traffic fine; the involvement of European wasps in so many Australian speeding incidents; the Ballarat muppethespians weekend master class of dancing; the special preview of the new Willie Nelson film; controversy brewing in biblical circles over the the Pope's comments on condoms (although we are indeed anticipating giving the new Pell mechanical dinger a red hot soon); and a look at the Vatican's new plans to shield itself from the descending moral chaos by blasting off from the Earth until it gets better



Part 02
Humphrey and Fat Cat together on a new hip-hop tour; a bumper year for films and the new French sound recordist detective opening in Ballarat's alternative cinemas this week (and the surprise the re-appearance of Wally Walpimuir); the long history of philosopher plumbers and detectives in crime cinema and the wider role of European philosophers in rock; the sad news about the rise in Doug Parkinson's Disease in ageing Australian musicians and the effort to rehabilitate the Dave Grey wing of one of the key medical centres; the special case of Leo Sayer and the cop buddy series Sayer to Sayer, the rise and rise of new Australian reality show You Make Feel Like Hanson; and the final recognition of Kank Wolverang in the Logie nominations, along with the special mention for Herbert and Sherbet Berbet... and you know Don Lane is evoked not long after. Let 'er rip!



And so we kick on into Easter - until then, drive the nail that little bit further!

Roll back the rock, it's Easter time in Ballarat

There are some things that just get funnier as time goes on. One of them is how intensely bizarre the whitefolk of B-Town get in their desperate clinging to some sort of patchwork collection of beliefs, traditions and annual 'festive' gatherings.

Exhibit (a) I give you Easter in Ballarat. Here we have not music festivals - like Apollo Bay, Mortlake, Mildura, Meredith or the Town That Makes Us Shelbyville, Bendigo.

We have a special festival that's even better than live, living culture and artists belting it out to a beat that makes the kids dance.

We have the Sonrise festival.

Just to clarify:

Bendigo = Paul Kelly, Augie March, Tim Rogers, Tex Perkins/Charlie Owen/James Curickshank & Matheson

Ballarat = This Easter Saturday celebration is a FREE community event with a carnival atmosphere providing fun, food, entertainment and a message of hope for the whole family hosted by churches from across the city. Includes Free live music, jumping castles, giant games, prizes and giveaways. Also free fairy floss, popcorn, snow cones and sausage sizzle.3pm - 6:30pm - Lake Wendouree near Apex playgroundThis event is supported by the City of Ballarat, Community Grants Program.

More news as it comes to hand... I'm returning to the cave.

Ballarat City sucks balls. No, actually I don't think they could organise that either.

The Bushfire fiasco can also go on the list if of-

1) Outdoor cinema Summer cinema suggested to Council. Nuthin' nuthin nuthin.....suddenly idea poached and put up at the Bumroot Race Course in Autumn.
I hope you all catch horse flu, you bastards.

2) Ballarat art gallery gig - Last year 6000 punters through door. 150 artists working together.
Joy. Fun. Hope. People actually going to see Art and enjoying life.
This year- ahh...nope sorry, not part of agenda...we can scrape together a coupla grand and see if Dennis Walter can sling us a cheap Cd.
Utterly fuckin' pathetic.

But why is this?
Is there some fuckin curse that hangs over us? Are there some vengeful Asian Gods who are exacting revenge for the shit treatment of their countrypersons?
I don't know.

I do know that I have sat in on meetings with well meaning types (about 10 in number. Mostly middle aged business running types) who spent a YEAR trying to organise an afternoon of music for a festival.
After a million meetings and a lot of "yes, yes... aren't we doing a great thing for humanity!" type bullshit they still couldn't get their shit together to book a stage and hire a power board.

I also know ( as in I've had this said to my face in as many words) that the local council's agenda is this "Does this event or product make us look good? No? Then don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."
Inhabited by self serving dinosaurs, they have all the generosity of someone farting steak sanger on you when you're broke and hungry.

The problem is this-
This town is jam packed full of self serving/I've got mine/whats in it for me cocksnaps who are faded, jaded and never really made it, who carved out a patch, strung razor wire around it and glared at anyone who dared walk past the letter box and tenaciously inhabited it like Wolverines with Aspergers.

When you meet these people, the people who who are given hundreds of thousands of dollars to improve or instigate cultural life in this town, you quickly boil it down to a bunch of idiot poofs, over weight morons or failed artists who moved into bureaucracy so they could still "be in touch" with the arts.
They are nightmares to work with. Arrogant, unimaginative and stupefied.

To add to this cocktail of unspritzed tap water, Ballarat people have an ongoing and awful history of simply not being able to work together.

For example-
Bendigo has both a nation wide Bank and a Telco. Ballarat has blown a gillion dollars trying to figure out what to do with the Civic hall is, after years of bullshit is no closer to an answer. Managed to rip itself off for a few millions while it was at it.
Bendigo has the Easter Dragon festival. Huge. Ongoing. An actual tradition that has been kept alive. Tourist Mecca. The Ballarat Begonia festival is a tired, run down, neglected nag that has been systematically used to piss off every one ever involved in it. This year it was organised by one amazing lady on a budget of three beans and a cow. It's just fuckin' sad.

To busk in this town you can only get a three day pass.
No year long ticket. Or monthly. You actually have to go into council, denote the time, place and day you wish to play on, make sure the local busker limit for that day has not been exceeded ( 'Coz, you know, Ballarat has been swamped in the past be pan handling music types and something HAD to be done. This is all pre-Doyle too) and renew your license through the same process if you want to do it again the next weekend.
And that's just to justify your need to beg by dolling it up with Don McLean covers.

Moreover when you do plan an exciting new event on a larger scale, the amount of paperwork and meetings and money involved means nothing can proceed without every slimy, senile money grubbing arse hole wanting their slice.
$200 bucks for a guy to come out and say "The power is in that power box. Here's the key. Pay up or I'll never help you again. And I'm the only game in town so count yourself lucky it's not $500."

Endless banal meetings. It's like having to apply for a visa if you want to have casual sex.
Every move and interaction talked about and described before you can get you freak on and even when you do all of this T crossing, I dotting shit, you don't actually enjoy the erotic moment 'coz you're too worried about your over sized bedspread blowing your public liability.

I've been trying to get things up and running in this town for ages. I've had some great successes and some monumental failures.
But do you think I've ever had one bastard ever come up and say "Mate, that was great. I'd like to give you a hand to do something else". Nah. Not fuckin once.
Has any money type ever arranged a meeting and said "Good job! Lets see if we can't do some more stuff like this!". Nope. Never.

So, unsurprisingly, I'm back on the bread line with the arse outta my daks.
Again.

Working in this fuckin town trying to make it an interesting place to live is a thankless and uphill job.
This bush fire thing is just another casualty to add to the list of mean-spirited horror that seems to infest this fuckn town.
If it wasn't for such a good cause I'd hope they choked on their budget microphones.
But i I'm deprived even that delightful schadenfreude and am now coerced into wishing them the best of luck.

Damn and Shit.

Til next time

Mick "I'd move if there weren't dragons beyond Ballan" Dog.

Reasons why Ballarat sucks so much arse

Thanks for Mr Dog for the stirring recollections from his shattered psyche of the Golden Plains Fester. I second most of those emotions. I see those try-very-hard types over at the Nation's Aunty have put together a visual history of sorts of the weeekend. Sadly, no evidence of the circle of junkie succubi who infested our dear mate Indiana's campsite...

I'm just strapping on the Cameo codpiece, Dr Hook eyepatch and Max Merritt glass eye now for the return of the Show With No Name tonight; the break in transmission has left me inspired to make new radio and begin a new series - read exclusively by Ballarat's media who have GoogleAlerts turned on and probably those two guys in Creswick who've tuned in to our show for the past couple of years. And Paddy-O. Godbless you, man. And all who sail in you.

Reasons why Ballarat Sucks So Much Arse
I'm going to run a comparison of the level of live music, festival action and general shit-togetherness of the town Ballarat/Springfield likes to think of as its own Shelbyville-rival. That's right folks. After living here for some years I am here to say Bendigo shits on Ballarat for getting it organised. Fer chrissakes Ballarat can't even organise a bushfire benefit gig without it turning in to a roundtabled arse-licking frotage in-house circle jerk for the mental midgets who still think they're the Cool Kids from school.

Jesus, all you had to do was put on a few bands and let all the B-town fireys who'd spent weeks over the other side of the state get free admission...

But you couldn't even get that right, you sad feckers. Ballarat, your time is up.

But I digress. As I said - the Show is back on tonight, 99.9FM after the Nuffy Request 5 Minute Special, 6pm until 8. Be there or wait for me to get my crap together and upload the audio on demand.

Golden Plains stole my dingo.

Yo Ho little fishies,

Ahh....The Ribald debauch that is Golden Plains. Or Golden Showers as some quicker witted degenerates have dubbed it.
Indeed, as one great old man of rock has said "This is for the children of Woodstock!"
Whether he meant the freak fest of 60's legend, or the cut price Bourbon sold by the bucket I'm not sure, but luckily we can get a little goodness from Column A and a little sauciness from Column B, provided Column B hasn't been drunk by fridge hobos.

Any hoo...here's the run down of bands that were doco'd by the SWNN team (which means Me. And I'm not that reliable, given I'd just out Hunter'ed Leary at the time).

The Harpoons - I was asleep in tent
Deaf Wish - Think i may have rolled over and heard something. I dunno.
Dan Deacon- Still snoozing but he seemed like a pratt. Yeah fuck it. Lets go with that.
Brant Bjork and the Bros- When will he be famous? You have to ask. My first band of the Fest had all the charm of a hairy children's bulldozer. The bass player looked like some sort of chromosome deficient pan handler and ten points to a band that can play a riff for 15mins and still get into it. Mind you, if you shaved the lead singer you could re-fur a balding Lama. No worries. Good to see some sludgey, fudgey rock goodness. Were nearly as good as my steak sanger. Maybe they should've poured sauce on the drums. Just a thought.
The Black Seeds - Yeah yeah yeah...boom chika reggae nerds try and make N.Z funky. Good luck with that kids. Standard issue rasta pasta. With Bonglignaise sauce.
Black Mountain - The best bit about these electric fuzz tides was arguing with camp members as to whether the lead singer was a bloke or a shelia. Any bands that confuses everyone gets a tick from me. Loud enough to make you sign "My ears are bleeding amniotic fluid!" which is what you want at a Festival. Good solid affair.
Mogwai- Ever wondered what would happen if you turned everything up as loud as it would go, linked all your effects pedals together twice and then stared moodily at the floor for 40mins? Then Glasgow may be for you! Bunch of electric tsunami humping bum fondlers. Thank you. Off you pop, back to Shitville.
Of Montreal- Dunno. Crashed.
You Am I - These bastards woke me up. I''m hating them for that alone.
DJ's- Sounded like someone crashing helicopters together.

Woke up bright as a button on Sunday (assuming the button was pretty fucked up and had probably fallen off an op shop cardie to start with) and got into the culture again via a pie and a can of cut priced German beer (what the fuck is hopsextract?)

Luluc- Yup. Pretty. Good music to find your brain again too. Mind you, don't know what i would have done with it had it been located. Coherence is a liability at these gatherings.
Dan Kelly and the Ukeladies- I fuckin' hate ukuleles. End of story.
Jim White and John Doe- Ten grand to tell funny stories and then try and figure out what your gunna play next? Ten grand to ring up a mate and say "Do you know the chords to Sweet Home Alabama and I'll yak on about some hobo being stabbed during a chitterlings fight in a swamp with a blind banjo preacher with a girl who snorted coke off her own boobs in a Cadillac during a hurricane? Course you do my son!". I lasted about four songs and then went and had a lie down.
Bridezilla - Don't know. Eating.
Pivot- Still eating. Sounded fuzzy from camp.
Old Crow Medicine Show- Yup. Tops. Jangley, clangly bluegrasshole dudes who put the Old in Golden. A nice change from ethereal whisperers and infernal buzzery. Just shows Australians are possum guzzling hillbillies at heart.
My Disco- Was in a tent laughing at a shoe
Quintron and Miss Pussycat- Good reports but I had been booked by musical maverick JonesCo to run a small off-broad way festival in a tent. All went well. Tickets on sale soon. No idea about other band.
The Church- Shit then. Shit now. Some dirty looking bagwan guitar player put in a blinder but Steve Kilby is a knob. First song was about God or some shit. Get ya hand off it Steve-o.
Tony Allen- Billed as a top Afropop drummer who was going to turn this sucker out, but ended up as dithery lounge act. The easiest cash made by a Nigerian dude outside of a Internet scam.
The Drones - Ha! Good stuff. I'll go as far to say these guys should be talked about along acts such as ACDC, The EasyBeats and Flash and the Pan. Top blood-sweating schitz smash folk. Worth price of entry alone. I heard three songs then went and had a shit. Strangely, that was a very high compliment.
Gary Numan- Old man Numan cranked up the pop moves and exhibited struts and pouts thought to be extinct. Nu-man does nu-metal to nu-kids. He's like the Ikea Nick cave. Flat packed under the bed for too long. Hope for us all (assuming we all hope to be ever so slightly paunchy versions of nineties synth crunch.....mmmmm...synth crunch...where's my handbag?......)
DJ's- More airport misdirection from DJ Arse Clown and The Crack Pinger Crew..

And that was it!
Special thanks to JonesCo for the eight ball tournament, to Ray's for knocking out the big, cheap tents and to those crazy kids who like to muck around in chemistry class.

Kick on til' next time.


Mick "I've glad I'm past three-ways with nutty strangers" Dog.

Show prepares for apocalypse. And the Sebastian Bach solo album.

You know the world is coming to a violent, corpulent, screaming and writhing end when:
a) there are bushfires marching in on Daylesford and you are sitting in a bar in Ballarat with the heater on
b) your dearly beloved asks you to buy the Sebastian Bach solo album

We haven't heard from the good pastor Danny NullAndVoid lately... but out these parts around Ballarat and thereabouts, people are worried. The deadshits we employ as the town's media don't remember, but March last year was hot as hell. We were just getting up a head of steam blaming those bloody Greenies for the bushfires... but this weather thing is a bother. Shame that no-one mentioned that bit about global warming. Oh.. that's right. They did. Still, at least Cousins is back playing footy.

And a great thing to see Ballarat give a totally lukewarm, sad halfarsed gig to raise money for the bushfire victims. You've confirmed everything the old Gen X mob thought about you sad little iPhone clutchers as you disappear up each other's arses... or Facebook profiles. Whatever comes first.

What the hell is going on here? At least The Lash has been unleashing some missives on Youtube, it's great to have him back.

Show With No Name Late February Oscars Beatles Ledger

No, really. It all ties in.



The Show With No Name brings back the news that didn't make news at the Oscars; the Noeline Brown gown worn on the red carpet; the true story behind the films which got nominated (and those who were napalmed with boogie); the conspiracy film about the Monkees and the Zep, and Sean Penn's portrayal of the dyslexic milkman in Kilk; Gary Vaseline and the fashion critiques; theological controversy over Jesus films and the Hillsong 11 rugby team - and DD Ramone and Joaquin Phoenix collaboaring with JC on a hip-hop explosion. Finishes with the Show's Uncut Director's edition audio straight from the acoustic stage at the Academy Oscars Night...

And in the delightful number 2 slot:

Ballarat's shiniest take a big swig, grab hold of the issue by the grasbys and give it a red=hot: the new reworking of political cartoon commentary on television following the awkward depiction of the President in a New Yawk Squawk newspaper; how Dr Cosby Zaeus, Sarah the comic relief moose and the White House renamed as the Fuzz Box, with Billary Clinton as special guest will change tv as we know it; John Lennon meets Ernie Sigley (as read by Mick and Len in Ballarat's awesome cultural organ the Courier); the new Mexican reality gameshow featuring a dead legendary bassist and a Beatle widow: Jaco Ohno; the new qualification tests for police officers; Steve Bisley and the confusion with Melanie and her new rollerskates... the Sidney Poitier remake... it just gets confusing with the story about Rene Kink playing the Humongus in Mad Max 2...



It's all true. It was broadcast last Tuesdy on 99.9FM across western, centraland intestinal Victoria.

Show With No Name brings back 80s metal

It's the only caller we've ever had in 5 years of broadcasting... the dude who heard Stay Hungry by Twisted Sister and rang up with his acidwash jeans in a knot. As a result, we're changing the playlist from Sophisticated Older Dude Who Rocks A Bit to something more like Haggard Hasbeen Living High On Dreams of Decades Gone.

Here's some inspiration:



Show goes to air in 40 minutes... apart from Lenny's diktat - "No Poison. Ever." And that thing about Sammy Hagar, we should have some goodness for western and central Victoria - 99.9FM if you're able!

Show With No Name podcast February 17ish

Bringing back the respect.

That's what we're doing.

The Show With No Name has been riding the rails for the last couple of weeks, and brings back the goodies better'n a bag of steaming dimmies from the Glansburger Cart late on a friday night.

Buckle in, pour yourself a steaming hot mug of fizz and allow Len and Mick to well and truly kick it in the guts, Barry:


Part 01



The awesome power of the Spading of the Oldest Dong in the Shop; the legend of Ballarat's Eureka Dong - and the foundation of the democratic tip or crack settling of local elections; Dennis WalterDisney's magnificent tribute to the contents of cut price cereals at the Sydney Myer Brisbane Bowl in 36 hour marathon entitled 'Breakfast in the Bowl'... it gets emotional with the Dennis/Nick Cave moment.

And in music news - the move of Scottish rock bands into porn, and the controversy over a particular band over their song, bumkit solos and the DVD(A) shenanigans in a hotel room. The history of the Buggering Sound, and the link between Bill Oddie and Big Country.

Part 02

2009. The oh-nineties. Will the tens be tense? That's where we start in part 02 of the return to the O'Brien room in Ballarat for this Show With No Name.

The new hirsute tattoos, Queensland Kerri-Ann's special Alice Cooper design; the Ballarat Lurid Thatter's new production of a rare Stravinsky production, and the history of small theatre companies creating truly Australian magnificence in performance; the new television crisis on the Biggest Loser, when one of the contestants is revealed as being three dwarfs in a fat suit - and then it gets weird.

Stay for the thousand bags of chips eaten under an armpit...

Ballarat's other radio program, the Show With No Name - putting bums on radio since 2005.

Australia Day in Ballarat: for we are girt by idiots

Livin' easy, lovin' free, season ticket, on a one-way ride.

Askin' nothin', leave me be, takin' everything in my stride.

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme;
Ain't nothing I'd rather do

Goin' down, party time,

My friends are gonna be there too


The B-Town groovers are back - here be our installment upon the national character on this most specially patriotic of days. The racist attacks on unwitting families of brown skin are up; the throaty roar of V8s ripping it up on Sturst Street and the distant explosions of illegal fireworks peppers the night air... it's Ballarat, and it's Straaaaaaaaaaaayan.

Upon opening the account for 2009, please let us welcome Ballarat stalled wart Floppy Cocksure to the microphone; a long devotee of Grainery Lane and handy back pocket for Sebastopol in his day, he brings an emotional sensititivity and rugged colon to the program, we hope you make him feel welcome.



For upon this Australia Day the Show With No Name delves in, roots around and rips out the very heart of what it is to be an Aussie in this pant shaking return to the Pod for this trusty band of adventurers. Listen as we hear of Australian of the Year Bert Feen, the match-up between a Muslim cleric and an alcohol company's promotional bear and marvel at the tales of the days of old: when young bright faced kids would get their teeth broken in for the war. It's nostalgic, it's patriotic, it's... the Show With No Name... putting bums on radio.

Apocalypse Shepstock: will we see Len and Mick again?

It's been emotional, it's been real. The Show has been taking a break since last week and this, in honour of the passing of the Great and Mighty Shep Huntly from his 30somethings into the year known as the Big Four Oh.

Mick and Len are, as we speak, off to indulge in a weekend-long orgy of tattooed chicks, fire breathing, old Balla bands reforming (someone say something about Sheep Weather Alert?) and rice (you know what these old rock hippies are like).

There's been some advance footage uploaded via the Satellite With No Name here:



So - happy birthday, Shep! Give it a redhot and kick the fark on in the long-held tradition of B-Town groovers. The Show With No Name will be posting online over the next few days as we work through the last of the New Year's stash of goodness!