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.

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!

Show With No Name podcast September turns October

You can download the podcast of part o1 of the Show With No Name or what the hell, listen to it here, who cares what the people in the office think...

The Show With No Name versus Malcolm Turnbull, vein by braille, colour orange juice and all-night telly, bird fight in Federal Parliament, the Kank Wolverang box set, Desd Parkinson the People's Illusionist and more...



And there's the download and RSS for part two - Dessy Rae Spainchter and the moving of Smeaton; the origins of the word bivouac, the blues had a baby and they called it rock and roll - and then went to a picnic with jazz and funk; the new PornStation2, having your virtual face torn off with a tiger before dinner; finding the rim of a Commodore buried where your mail box was supposed to be.

Kick back and kank the volume on the lappie, G...



This is how it sounded booming out of the remains of the BBB public radio transmitter in Ballarat, folks... honest. If you're driving down the Western Highway after 6 on Tuesday nights, tune to 99.9FM and pray they're out there...

Lenny hits the whole podcasting thing

Man the interwebs! Gang the kank walk! Lenny's strapping on the virtual waders and preparing to assail the wide vistas of the webotron. We're polishing off the i-tuneophone for you children of the i-Cult so you can i-tune your devices in, but here's a quaint old mp3 player of this week's (meaning last) slices of the Show... as broadcast from the remains of Triple-B (now renamed in a friendly Christian community fashion as the Voice) from a loungeroom on Drummond Street, South Central...



And get your RSS podcasting code thingmy to put in your iPod here.

Lenstock: Peter Lalor stables, Grand Final Day.

Here's a few of the acts from Lenstock, one balmy Saturday evening in the Ballarat as the crowd started really piling in the doors after 6ish (about the third eccie was being popped around Hawthorn)

Firstly, Pig's Arse. They make the White Stripes look like Yngwie Malmsteen in complexity. Note that Ollie displays his skills in being able to knock back the entire pot of beer just in time for the lead break. Gold for Australia.



Secondly, irrepressible Adam Simmons. Only in Ballarat do you find one of Australia's greatest jazz musicians standing in a pub getting a room full of lagered-up rock and roll veterans to sing a drover's folk song they've never heard before...

Then, Earl Leonard. One man and a guitar knockin' it up while the band tastefully organise themselves behind him. Tasteful and elegant as the room gets slowly more liquored up on a quickly emptying bar fridge and the company who'd come to kick on...

Then, (after a beer, a snag, a chat) those delightful deliverers of the disturbed and droll drumbeats of dystopian doom, the beloved Brand X came on to give it a red-hot and kicked it well and truly in the guts...

Lenstock: Ballarat kicks on through Grand Final Day

It was grand. It was a kick-on. Below is a first taste of what it was like in the Stables on Grand Final night in B-town, when all of Ballarat's rock and roll survivors from the turbulent 90s gathered to kick on in honour of a true soldier of the Great Fight Against Boring...

Thankyou so much to everyone who organised it - first place getter Rockin' Ronnie - who got the bands togther (and off again) the whole day (while pausing to knock out a high voltage set with the 23rd of Elvis); Roddie Ramos, who made the stage look space-rock-a-go-go (and was nice enough to get up and beat the living bejesus into the Fat Thing's set), Suds McNulty who brewed a special slab of beer for the occasion, Big Beats Bad Boy Corey on the barbie and wryness, Shep "No Bullshit Bids" Huntley whipping the ker-lassic t-shirt auction into shape... and there was the bands.

The bands. We love you all. We forgive you, man of the broken lead on the Gibson for the Rye Catchers. That epic set-up time. That edgy drummer who kept nailing sweet little hardcore double bass/snare riffs. And then, the sonic horror. Those shallow Generation Whatevers know it in GuitarHero talk as the 'bit where the bottles start hitting you' - but here, in Ballarat, we love you for getting up and having a crack. It was rock, the crowd was loaded, and the night was magnificent. And I am so broken.

For now... A quiet Sunday arvo and some time with a cup of tea and a media encoder... Stay tuned for more... including these guys, featuring the man himself - Kan- ... er - Len, ripping the guts out and flaying them in sacrifice to the Gods of Rock themselves.

For those about to rock - or wooga wooga

Can't begin to tell y'all about the awesome rock-throbbing power of Camp Street the other night, with Ballarat legendary goth kings/queens/royalty Immaculata in the Helen MacPherson Cancer Stiff Theatre on one side and Tassie's bad boy duo betterknown as the Beasties from Hobart stylee (otherwise known as The Scientists of Modern Music) on the other in Ye Olde Karova, you couldn't go wrong.

After the sad post-AFI baby-baby rock of Talk Radio, the earnest college kooky rockness of Neon Love began the night properly, to be followed by those two little rascals bangin' the electro vibe like Dr Who with a strapped-on Angus model Gibson SG... with bonus dance moves. What's not to like? These Scientists of Modern Music received my thrustily put $10 for a CD and all is well.

While we've been hard at the Youtubin the switchboard has gone wild, hence we've had to include the Sebastopol-Redan remix of the Frank Callahan Lal Lal sessions tapes right here and now due to the pressure of the public persuasion (yeah, it's cut short to a minute or so):




we hope that's suffficient for the hard rock appetite of our devoted listeners.

meanwhile, we're talking about a new way of getting down Humffray Street and a new way of employing the energy of youth for our mutual entertainment.

Ballarat's old jazz musicians come to play

It's beautiful - finally, the lost Frank Callahan tapes are coming to light, and yes, there's even footage of the classic psychedelic Lal Lal sessions that have been spoken about only in whispers in the teahouses and senior citizen's clubs of B-Town.

We can reveal to you here that yessir, he can boogie. Ladeez and gennilmen... with thanks to one of the longlost Balla-diaspora, a woman known only as the Queen of Rock (there is none higher) - the lost Frank Callahan: the Lal Lal Tapes episode one.

Show With No Name playlist April 8

The Light an Olympic Torch for Sally from Home and Away Tribute Show
We promise. We never heard of the video. Anyhoo, tonight we rocked out good and hard for a couple of epic, historic moments. Sally from Home and Away has left, leaving a Grand Canyonesque hole in the Australian minor celebrity grid (just think! now everyone will demand their own mini-issue of TV Week).

Husker Du - Sorry Somehow
The Bellrays - Change the World
The Saints - Erotic Neurotic
The Dirtbombs - Leopard Man at C&A
Kiss - Watchin' You
Big Mama Thornton - Hound Dog
King Curly - I Am Coming Back
Alice Cooper - Cold Ethyl
Frank Zappa - Zomby Woof
The Hives - Outsmarted

The 7 O'Clock Do You Remember the Episode Where Sally Went Nude Car Surfing Slot
Motorhead - I'm So Bad Baby I Don't Care
The Monarchs - Loud
Dead Kennedies - Drug Me
Butthole Surfers - Some Dispute About T-Shirt Sales
The Supersuckers - On the Couch

The Who - 5:15
Soul Asylum - Get On Out
Prisonshake - Bedtime Beats You Senseless
Detroit Cobras - Slummer the Slum
Nebula - Do It Now
Sonic Youth - Youth Against Fascism
Painters and Dockers - Die Yuppie Die
Wayne Kramer - Boys Got that Look
The Von Bondies - It Came From Japan
Bay City Rollers - Shang A Lang

What they hey - here's a band I never heard of doing a cover of a toe-tappin' Ministry number... dedicated to all the people on television.

Ideas for Ballarat 2020

There's a gathering in Ballarat today of 150 people selected as the best, brightest, most visionary in the local land, sitting down and knocking out ideas for their local member Catherine King - for her to dutifully bind together in a specially labelled ring-binder, cover in pithy post-it notes and place on the ever-expanding desk of Prime Tin-Tinester Kevin Rudd.

I managed to call the media guy for Catherine King and asked if anyone could pop down and have a chat. Or even have a listen to what was being said. The short answer was... no. Apparently what these people discuss and chalk down for the future of Ballarat is not for Ballarat people to know. Knowing what the popularly elected member for Ballarat will do with the opinions of these fellow electors is not for the electorate to know.

In light of that, here's my basic questions/discussion tips for Ballarat's future in 12 years time.

- stop electing pitiful dickheads to your local Council and then complaining about the pitiful dickheads at the local Council.

- why is it a small cabal of former private school rowers can command the Council and State Government to pour millions of dollars into refilling a lake that has gone dry?

- how come one ex-police officer can control nearly all of the licensed venues on one block of one town?

- why is it the Begonia Festival can drain the council of so much money when so many people of Ballarat think it's shit and never go?

- how much money did the Council sink into the Sovereign Hill Music Festival, and why didn't they book any local artists?

- if there's such a skills shortage, why then does the newly opened UB Tech have such a low number of students?

- how can one cinema manage to maintain a monopoly on cinemas, and why do they insist on showing only shit films continually, with only the briefest of schedules for anything vaguelly grown-up?

- do you really think the superpipe is going to fix all your water worries?

All these questions and more... but my feeling is we'll get muddled gravy of bureaucratese feel-good, with some basic keywords: "sustainability" "fighting obesity" "lowering petrol prices".

Meanwhile... the ship continues to flounder.

BMX Brand X ride again

And the verdict? The Brand X boys let loose with a mighty roar of rock that threatened to drown out the Sunday arvo's reverie right across the town. I went a block away to a servo to get a can of drink and could hardly hear myself in the shop. Noice. The teenagers were all suitably surly and unimpressed. The band who owned the P.A were... adequate. 10 Second Riot is a great name for a band. Now they just gotta write some songs to match.

The bands set up on the edge of the skatebowl apron, and bychrist did a couple of the riders give it a red hot go. Props to the guy who continually tried to pull off the 720 degree spin and continually came within a pube's length of nutting himself. Big-ups to the poor little bugger who found out who wins in a game of Razor Scooter versus BMX. Seeing what looked like a 3 year old strapped into a camo-green helmet and wraparound glasses calmly trot out on his mini-scooter while all about him insane teenagers on BMXs flashed past with nary a care gave me hope that a new generation of youngsters without fear is on its way.

I'm talking, of course, of the inaugural Fuck this All Ages Gig At A Venue Bullshit Let's Just Set Up and Give It A Crack at the Skatebowl gig last Sunday, which for all purposes, went very nicely. Always nice to see some coppers running the barbie and handing out snags to the very people they're used to hassling. It was so easy, so stress-free, so easily organised there is no possibility of it happening again this year. Why would ya? Someone said it might happen again next year....

Me? I set up the Dodgy DJ kit in secret and patched into the P.A system. It all went rockin, until I was given the nastiest, most terrible thing a DJ could hear. "Could you turn it down? Some of the kids say they can't hear each other speaking." Outrageous. This is what 11 years of unmitigated evil in the shape of a man built only of eyebrows and fundamentalist Christian dogma brings.

Tomorrow we have another Show With No Name. Somehow I'm going to have to work in the classic Break the Ice by John Farnham. The very keen will know it's John's contribution to the classic BMX film Rad. In fact, here's John in all his glory for you right now - hope Lenny's not watching....

Do you wanna DJ me gig?

That's not what he really said. The man known as Jones rang. He said there was a gig at the Ballarat skatepark. His band, the Best Boy Band in Ballarat, were gonna play. Condition was, the guy who owns the P.A. and he has a band, too.

Thinking this could go anywhere, I wondered....


Because the Brand X are a bunch of guys in their 30s holding on to the dream of fuckin' loud, fast, funny music.. I heard these guys the night I met Hot Thighs, my gorgeous girlfriend. First thing I thought was 'hillbilly fugazi'. Which is pretty accurate, except any accusations of being straight edge...

But this other band? Could be a bit soft... And when you're old, you want to let the skaters know that loud, ugly music is a family. And the elders must be respected. Ladeez and gennilmen, this is how the Brand X take to techno...


It's a four hour gig. One of the bands plays really fast, quick songs. Umm... and it looks like the 'DJ rig' is going to be a portable CD stereo patched through a mixer into the P.A.... cheap? punk? p'shaw!

And take that fuckin' mp3 player outta here, kid! I'm tryin' to patch me record player into that gas barbie!

Resurrection shuffled: or getting hammered is traditional for Easter in Ballarat

Another weekend reading the Springfield versus Shelbyfield pissing contest of The Age and The Australian, considering again that perhaps all the best writers of culture have given up trying to be published on dead tree in Australia and are wandering about online, mostly. And then there's us. *tumbleweed*

Musically, the good, bad and ugly list this Easter looks like this: Paul Stanley says he will quit kiss, which only goes to show what kind of sway Len's editorial on last week's show has. My bringing out of Heard It On the X was the precursor to the announcement that ZZ Top are recording again, so I guess it's my turn to line up at the Disappointment Ride for my chance to watch once favoured legends squander their once-shiny legacy.

Yes, my mulleted teenage bad self was there when ZZ Top played at Olympic Park in 1987. Me, my two mates and about 10,000 bikies.They were awesome. Billy Gibbons helped bring me to the psychedelic and freaky in blues and rock and roll music... - ah, the Deguello album - but their gradual decline throughout the 1990s does bring back the classic modern musical dilemma: just where do you go after your psychedelic retro-hotrod becomes a push-button spaceship?

No, what we've seen this Easter is the arrival of the rock'n theme song for Presidential candidates. One of our spiky-haired brethren from Twisted Sister (no, not Dee...) has whipped up a version of I Wanna Rock - except it's I Want Barack.

Yes - how fucking stupid. But is it stupid enough to win more votes? I think so. Which means not only will this get really ridiculous as the major media outlets seek more creative ways to ignore 5 years of carnage in Iraq, and desperate old rockstars seek a way to be relevant again (Bono. Say no more.), but also as with most American political stunts and trends, Australia will either get a shitty copied version of this very soon, or a really good ripoff of it in about three to five years' time.

So here's my early picks for remakes/repostings/corpse raping of OzRock for Oz Politicians:

Kevin Must Be There - Eurogliders

Maxine - Sharon O'Neill

The Phillip Ruddock Blues - TISM

Kochsucker Blues - David Koch goes for Indendent MP with the Beasts of Bourbon

It's A Wong Way to the Top - the massed drummers sacked by AC-DC

What About Pete - Peter Garrett with Shannon Noll and the Hard Knocks Choir

Of course, I live in Ballarat. Where Steve Jones is the mayor. The farking bass player for the Sex Pistols, if you 'aven't 'eard... Although curiously, the Clash's Janey Jones could get a work out... Anyhoo.

At least hearing Sweet Home Bazz Obama sure will be funny... I'm sure. What we need is circuses made out of bread. I'm hungry.

Show With No Name playlist march 19

Easter. Jesus. No breaking stories on the lack of water this week. Although fans will note that the power of the Show With No Name endures, with the report that Van Halen may well be back on the road.

And a discovery: we found out the guy who hosts the 'lifestyle show' from 4-6pm before us was the bassist in the band who supported KISS at their legendary 1980 gig at Waverly Park. Lenny and I consider ourselves to be hard to impress - consider us impressed. Very. Especially when he backed up that tale with one about being a session bass player who knocked back royalties in favour of the one-off payment for his work on a little number called What About Me.
Big Al, your credibility just went up a thousand points on the Show With No Name... so inthe name of respectable lawyer-types who still hold a flame for metal, and with Easter on the horizon, we rolled in the rock:

Prisonshake - Bedtime Beats You Senseless
Rev Horton Heat - Prophet Stomp
Blur - Globe Alone
Harem Scarem - Animal Tracks
Rancid - Time Bomb
The Sparkles - Hipsville 29 B.C
Spanky Wilson - You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover
Bzark - Be My Parasite
23rd of Elvis - Waco and The Outsider (live Karova desk mix)
Boris Sudjovic - A.Harry & Mainstays theme
Dead Milkmen - Punk Rock Girl
Teenage Radio Stars - Sweet Boredom
Thin Lizzy - Jailbreak

Seven O'Clock Rock**:
Suicidal Tendencies - Posessed to Skate
The Bronx - Cobra Lucha
Ramones - Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment
Misfits - Where Eagles Dare

Detroit Cobras - Bad Girl
Flamin Groovies - Golden Clouds
Circle Jerks - World Up My Ass
TISM - Extreme Sports Can Kiss My Arse
Frank Zappa - Stevie's Spanking
Martha and the Vandellas - Nowhere to Run
Butthole Surfers - Goofy's Concern
AFI - Wester
ZZ Top - Heard it On the X
The Clash - Janie Jones
Joe Jackson - Happy Ending
Alice Russell - End of the Road
Richard Cheese - Crazy Train
Bay City Rollers - Bang Shang alang

**dedicated to all hardcore fans who hang around petrol stations near skateparks

Hot Autumn ideas for Ballarat Festivals

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Ballarat festival ideas

Shit! Goddamn! Make mine a cheese and ham! Mick Dog's revelation of another fantastic attempt for Ballarat to sink a shitload of money into something other than the behemoth of boring, the Begonia Fester-Vale, ignites a spark of interest in the cloistered explosive fumes of my pants. A festival, you say? Not like at Sovereign Hill, where a tonne of money was dumped on a sad and pathetic retelling of the tragic story of Australian music in the 1980s, as re-enacted by the people who were actually there (was it true the staff of Sovvie Hill were PAID to watch James Reyne?)

How to get the folk of Ballarat on board and supportive of something more complicated than queuing for dimmies at the Hamburger Cart, yet not as awkward as standing around on Camp Street watching councillors get drunk and Ballarat artists get short shrift during the Commonwealth Games...

Here's the grab bag of festival ideas we could - or yet might have if the collective genius of the Middle Aged Caucasians Without Soul has its indomitable way in Ballarat:

Crimean War Festival: everyone has to dress up as their favourite character from this charming 19th century fracas between Russia and the Poms, Frogs and Turks. The highlight is a restaging of the Siege of Sebastopol, with Ballarat's own namesake of this historic place heavily bombed, and then invaded by the armies of Wendouree and Redan in their fleet of P-Plate Commodores.

The Plugger Festival

A festival of quietly spoken, barrel chested large men who can kick footies a fuckin' long way. They will all gather at a footy ground and begin drinking in March. In April, one will say "jeez, I'm a bit hungry" and then the 8 weeks of barbque food festival will begin. Sausages of the World, Celebrity Steak Sandwiches (I'll have the Terri Irwinburger) and Exotic Onion Cutting With Chainsaw displays ensue. A sideline program of dishlickers and a parade of beefy blokes in utes driving past giving a passive 'owyuzgarn?' will also bring put back the 'big bastard from the country' that's been missing in Ballarat's marketing.

Single Mums on the Tear

Finally, a week long shindig for all those young women who found out just being able to shoot a wad into the back of the net doesn't neccessarily qualify a man as good fatherhood material. Instead of just wandering mindlessly around Stocklands Wendouree or the Mall with your screaming brats, here's the chance to get together with other mums and really discuss those big issues of whether Breehanna has become an over-used name for the effects of unwanted pregancies and maybe cop a rough shag from some miscellaneous speed freak from Colac. Music from live Britney and Bon Jovi tribute shows and, of course, an invite out to every tattooed dirty bastard across the state that there's plenty of desperate-for-any-action types gathered in one spot, so we can begin the process all over again 9 months after this event.

Stupid people and the impending massacre in Ballarat

My favourite author of all time is a bloked called Harlan Ellison. Your fuckin' uneducated fault for not knowing who he is. He's doing some interviews with people because there's a movie coming out about him. Knowing Australia we'll get the usual 5 second-crap press release rewrite, about 8 months after the fact - not unlike SBS TV news finding out that Terry Pratchett has dementia last night... like it was fuckin' news.... (can't even find the story on their website, that's how important they thought it was)

Anyhoo, I read this interview with Harlan on salon.com and I thought this particular quote resonated best, although sadly, it may mean the end of Ballarat as a heavily populated regional city if Harlan ever moves here:

"I'm an elitist because I think there are too many stupid people in the
world. But one must not pity them; one must take an AK-47 and kill them. You
just need to kill as many stupid people as you can find. Go out in the streets
and ask them if they have ever heard of Guy de Maupassant. No? Bam, you're dead.

Have you ever heard of Bessie Smith? No? Bam, you're dead. Beyond that, I
think it is really smartass of me to be cranky at people for not being as good
as I want them to be. I have, I suppose, a very peculiar love-hate relationship
with the human race. As a concept, the human race seems to be a very workable
idea. When you get down to the individuals, most of them need a ball-peen hammer
to the middle of their forehead to make them move even as a slow pony. I figure
any species that is capable of writing "Moby-Dick" and painting the Sistine
Chapel ceiling and putting people on the moon does not have to settle for novels
by Judith Krantz, McDonald's toad burgers and movies like "Dumb and Dumberer."

What is that Latin phrase? Spero melior -- I hope for better things. I have
a very low tolerance threshold. It's one of my many, many flaws and I get cranky
with people..."

Show With No Name playlist March 11

OK, so the Van Halen thing didn't quite work out. It was always going to be a short term deal... but speaking of breathing life into a rehabbed body, Lenny was just a little bit chuffed with the news that Ace Frehley was back out and touring again. KISS may well be playing to an audience of broom pushers, waiters and freebie holders at the Grand Pricks, but we'll be holding out for Melbourne shows of Ace and his new crew of drug-free, boozefree (we used to call them straight edge, dear...) young hotshots. Bring the fuckin' Ozone, baby...

So anyhoo - in the wake of Golden Plains it was a mixed bag this week in terms of music choice. I'm still a bit flutter-hearted over the Dirtbombs and those insane Taswegians the Scientists of Modern Music. We did help promote another massive story from the Courier about needing rain to break the drought... awesome stuff.

23rd of Elvis - Way Before That
Frank Zappa - Muffin Man (live)
AC/DC - Beating Around the Bush
Roky Erikson - Standy for the Fire Demon
The Monkeywrench - Bring on the Judgement Day
Big Star - Life Is White
John Zorn - You Will Be Shot
Dirtbombs - Everlovin' Man
Leafhound - Freelance Fiend
Richard Cheese - Rape Me
Cosmic Psychos - Shove
Andre Williams - Sling It Bang It, Give it Cabfare Home
Prisonshake - $20
Guns n Roses - Anything Goes
The Fireballs - Big Black Hearse

7'oclock Rock
Sick of It All - This Day and Age
Henry Rollins - Stop, Look and Listen
One Inch Punch - Insult Your Intelligence
The Vandals - Behind the Music

Ace Frehley - Rip It Out
Lobby Loyde - Heavy Metal Kid
Aerosmith - Mama Kin
Blondie - Dreamin'
Spencer Davis Group - Time Seller
Flaming Lips - Mr Ambulance Driver
23rd of Elvis - Outsider
Ace Frehley - What's On Your Mind?
5678s - Guitar Date
Ace Frehley - Wiped Out
Bay City Rollers - Bang Shang Alang

Oh, by the way, did I mention down at Golden Plains I was told AGAIN the story of a plucky promoter who thinks they can get Led Zeppelin to play Kryal Castle?

Oh! And we got our first international shout-out from our man Jeckles at shittyblogradio. Always so nice when the folks responsible for voting in the next man with their finger on the world nuclear trigger smile upon us peasants of the Pacific... big ups!

Stick your begonias up your arse; we're at Golden Plains

Our humble state of Victoria has few rivals when it comes to shit-awful/boring-as-sand festival events, but few of these can better the absolute creamy fly-covered turdness of Ballarat's Begonia Festival. It takes a special kind of journalist to whip interest out of this shallow grave of ratepayers money, and we salute the hardworking womble who chiselled out this particular irony-free zone in the Courier, Ballarat's august paper of record. All errors of grammar and syntax have been kept from the original publication, and I've highlighted the bits that nail the sad, decaying corpse-eating pit of sadness that is Begonia Festival 2008:

Traditionally the festival is based around the flowers, art,
craft and stalls. But this year younger children could not get enough of
the "We Built This City" cardboard box arena and jumping castle. Not to
mention the mobile entertainment vehicle simply known as The Bus, which came
complete with Internet access and console games.
About 250 children had visited the cardboard box area in just the first few hours it had opened Saturday morning.
Box City "safety officer" Nathan Gurney said safety was his middle name.
"I have got cable ties for tricky corners, a texta for making signs and then a spare texta just in case," he said.
"We haven't counted exactly how many boxes are here, but there is at least 2000."
Children were encouraged to stack boxes as high as possible, before knocking them down and starting again.
While children had fun with the boxes, the Begonia Festival was of
course about the begonia's. Festival volunteer Graeme Strachan said "bus
loads" of tourists had stopped to admire flowers inside the Robert Clark
Conservatory which this year came complete with an Aladdin theme. Mr Strachan said the drought had failed to dampen the size, or colour of the flowers.

Ladies and gennilmen, it don't get much better than that. I missed the parade, but again, the laser-sharp reportage of The Courier mentions this year had more floats than ever. Ballarat folk who were there say this is because most of the city's garbage trucks and Council vehicles were tacked on to the end of it. Apparently you could SMS a vote for your favourite garbage truck. Instead of whinging about the hijacking of more than $200,000 of public money to feed the sad egos of a few people who insist there be nothing interesting allowed to happen in Ballarat, just down the highway we were losing our minds to two insane Tasmanians with synths and vocoders

It was Golden Plains the 2nd, and yea, did it rock verily. Here's the shortlist summary:

Ween: overblown, overhyped and over here. Two hours onstage and you still can't play Gabrielle? Sure, you're a shit-hot guitarist. But if you can't do something more than play your own jukebox in double the time allowed the other bands, you are boring. Fuck off back to novelty songland.

Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings: plagued by a dodgy microphone but nailed the funk/soul banner to the wall and made everyone dance a funky salute to it

South Rakkas Crew: when will they learn? Dancehall djs are fine, but don't ever walk onstage at the Supernatural Ampitheatre and think you can pull this 'put your hands in the air' shit. We will call it as we see it. And you are wankers.

The Dirtbombs: Everything that is good about rock. Totally awesome, two drummers, awesomely huge sound, tight as fuck with a proper traincrash finish. A joy to behold.

The Vines: will the crowd stop giving this guy shit about antidepressants and being bipolar? Probably not. But the crowd danced. The old folks remained impassive.

Jens Lekman: somebody call TISM. I have a new target for them.

Buffalo Tom: OK... but making jokes about Altamont? *yawn* And he fucked up the chorus on Taillights Fade. Seriously, mate - you only had to get one song right. Is that too much to ask some hasbeen college rockers?

The Panics: great stuff. It's true what people are saying about them being the new Go-Betweens. If only he can keep from sounding like whassiface from the Whitlams, he'll be alright.

Pikelet were a tasty discovery early on. Kind of like Bjork, but from Northcote. Chick plays accordion, makes her own live loops and sings. Never seen a band all recline on banana lounges while the singer does a solo number... these guys were interesting.

Beirut got bigged up to me by the aforementioned Systah BB. She said not to miss 'em. I say: what if Morrissey joined a Balkan-gypsy band? The girls sighed. The band were great, but never hit that vodka-fuelled gypsy speed metal vibe that I like with that kind of music.

The Bamboos: the night after Sharon Jones, the skips had a crack at this "funk and soul" thing, and these bad boys from Melbourne danced up the pitch and belted it waaaaay out of the park. I'll never see the Bar-Kays or the Mar-Keys, but by Christ I saw the Bamboos knock it out with total sharp-suited aplomb, ably helped by Kylie Auldist on the mic and - I shit you not - a freestyle rap sesh from the TimTam Genie.

Jay Reatard: just when I thought I was going to die from either the heat or boring music, these guys played a set of furiously fast and stupid punk rock. And the bass player was playing a four string Flying Vee - how rock is that?

Jane Badler and Sir: most of this was spent explaining to sad young folk what the tv series V was all about. Her music sounded like something you'd hear Sunday arvo at the rehab clinic. The musical equivalent of a trip to Wobbie's World - it's never going to be great, but it's important you at least see how crap it can be.

Iron And Wine: great, but I wish I was sitting down and it wasn't so crowded. Which is a stupid thing to say at a music festival. Perfect music for hot days amid the gum trees.

Scientists of Modern Music: two little guys from Tassie goin' ballistic. What can I say? I hate keyboard driven Pseudo Newman tunes (that's the fusion of Pseudo Echo and Gary Newman, y'all..), but these guys were stupidly infectious and fun.

Meanwhile, in Ballarat's Botanic Gardens.. Councillor Hudson encouraged residents to come along to the Lake foreshore to soak up the festival atmosphere. "We have a great entertainment line-up in store this year with everything from Kylie Minogue's pop anthems to tributes to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Junior with The Rat Pack Show," he said.