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!

The Show goes off to the calisthenics

It is now 6.30pm on a Sunday night and the final of the 14,458 events that make up the South Street competitions have finally ended. Just in time for the beginning of the Amateur Highland Brass Debating and Musical Interpretation for Organ Solo section to open, heralding the beginning of the next 18 months of South Street 2009.

We pause a moment to reflect on the grand institution of Ballarat's hallowed South Street competitions... where young women folk are told to stand up straight and not wince when the makeup shotgun gets pointed their way.

Show With No Name podcast November cleanout

And yes, it has been a bit weak in the pants with not putting up audio, and thankyou to the two guys in Creswick who found my email and sent the photos of their arses in respect for the creative process.

So anyway - let the good times roll and the deebs bounce.

Here's the stuff...



Part one, in which in which Lenny and Mick chew over the new Rollins rant, pick over the bones of the new Guns n Roses album Chinese Democracy, peer in trepidation at the latest sex film starring Gene Simmons and wonder why Ballarat Council is not supporting its posties with better, tougher motorbikes.

And after the halftime oranges:



In which Mick reveals the new cooking tips from Gordon Ramsay for Australia; Lenny explains how he's being assailed by bread products; the Vatican apologises to John Lennon for him saying God is a wanker and the lads discuss the Christmas bargains and fabulous entertainment yet to arrive upon our doorstep.

Slaughter on Sturt Street, or Bakery Hill Blues

Oh... the synchronicity. The strange and beautiful Ballarat madness of the December calendar where, in the same week 154 years ago in the town where some blokes had stood on a hill and asked about getting a fairer deal from the guys they were paying all the taxes to... (then got a right bollocking one morning after a largish pissup at the Stockade)... the hyper fit/fat/fried/funky/fucked up folks of fair B-Town did crushingly kick their former local government representatives in the goolies.

The fleeting moments - so special. Seeing that awkward, bustling handshake between former Mayor Quimby and The Constable on WIN TV. It was all in the eyes... Good luck with the charges, Quimby... yeah - and the Constable was one of the very few from the Good Old Dick 'Cock Swingin' days of yore, when the money flowed free and it was about trade trips to India and Community Fact Finding trips to East Timor, who didn't get a bollocking.

Of being told by one of B-Town's fair citizens that it was Punchin' Jude Violin who was to thank for the 'monstrosity' on Bakery Hill, Australia's holiest of democratic turf... no, not the Mickey D's (which tends to find its way into every shot of the big Eureka flag on the roundabout)...the huge Gay Tent City store. That's Ballarat for ya.

Miss Desperate High School Musical Housewives got in, too - and she apparently used get all switchblade and West Side Story with Violin not long after joining the Party... makes you wonder what phone calls Balla's last serving Liberal senator might be making to the Olde Money about his Nouveau Cached Uppe Riche young apprentice...

And Dusty Ned from the Sex Pistols - who lost his seat but maybe kinda knew you can't become a mayor if you're a bankrupt, and um... who knows? Maybe you're ahead of the fashion and bankrupt elected officials will come into vogue, but... true to form he stayed on message, saying it was those fuckers who read the newspapers wuz wot got 'im in the end. And I agree.

Here's what the Ballarat City Council website has to say about the matter when you go looking for the new team...

This file has been removed from the system.
Page last updated: 28 November 2008, © City of Ballarat 2008

It's been a big week... and it's only Wednesday...

Happy Eureka Day, all you great Australian trouble makers

Show No Mercy

Well it's good to be back in the Show With No Name Dimsim Research Kitchen. And my, haven't things been hectic in B-town. This is one of the bestest and funniest local elections I've never seen - and I've ignored a lot of local politics in my time on this rock. Regardless, I would like to dedicate this clip to Steven Jones, the mayor with the most punk rock of all names and the beard with the most ZZ Top/Ned Kelly allusions in government in the 21st century. We salute you...



(hang out for the pose and strut to the mic at 3:30 that could have turned Ballarat around... that's all Jonesy had to do... reform Chiodo, get Dirty Frank a beaten up old Flying Vee to knock out his licks... and knock it out for the masses in the Titanic bandstand on Sturt Street.)

Thanks, Jonesy, for blaming 'the media'.

Personally I've never listened to Mr Hooper on 3BA but I hear there's fun had in trying to get on to Buy, Sell, Pay Off or Swap...

...oh yeah. That new media from your friendly neighborhood ShowNoName podcast and such is comin' too... just getting the soy sauce on now, should be a mp3 encoded jiffy in just a few...