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!

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.