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.