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...

Hello Dear friends and people who owe me money,

(You know who you are and by reading this I've accessed your account and I am downloading your genomes. Ha!
Mick Dog -1 Reality- 0. Suck shit God! and yer sneaky little Viva La Evolution friend with his swanky banjo hit "Mama, you all is one baldy Ape ).

Anyway.....to make a short story far longer than it should be, I'm frankly perturbed and persnickety about how unfabulous this 21st century bizzo is.

Man alive....when I was planning for this century I started by throwing out the Suzi Quatro eight tracks, turning my flares into a bird feeder and getting ready for what I thought was gunna be one pimp century with none of the 20th C's bitch jive.

I thought to myself "Yeaha!.....what with Miles having broken through the 40minute beep barrier who knows what funky jiggery is gunna bop my bee'd brain. "
I was all cut and thrusted, waiting to hear new spicy jalapeno sounds from swashbuckling beat fezzers who'd take up the Holy Torch of Outsoundishness and really set my brain 'a whirrin,

However...........
Eight years on and I'm still licking Elvis......and this isn't even one half of one nth of a nanoscoot of the worst of it all.......so lemme just clear up a few things until the knitting needles finally meet at Club Oblongata...

1)The New ACDC album
Hmmmmmm......didn't Holden bring out a "New" Monaro? Didn't every body look at it and say "What a bloody shopping trolley.."
Sure... it had the Monaro badge on it and some fat bloke in tight overalls did a wheelie in it, and sure, it revved up a virtual BBQ of tyre rubber and made that deep throbbity noise that makes the faithful steam their smalls, but deep in our hearts we knew that what ever this bloody piped-upped grocery wagon was, it was not a Monaro.
Not even close.
Nah. Nada. Nope.

Badge whatever ya bloody like but that thing ain't a fuckin' Monaro.
But it made you want a Monaro, made you wanna suck back a cold tinnie in a Monaro and make comments to your mates that the young lady walking by, with her straight hair and her crisp Madder Lake album, was a good looking sort and when you sat in a Monaro you were the Kings of the Wood and you could say "Sure...my bloody relo's were a bunch of tissue box stealing convicts who got sent to the land of flies and buggery, but fuck you coz I've got a fuckin Monaro".

New Monaro? I'd rather pedal around on the shin bones of Bon Scott.


2)The Young Kiddies
I had a young kiddie in their 20's look at a picture of Karl Marx and say "Who's that Boong?"
Can't tell the difference between The Father of Communism and some Darwin derro on the bot? Please...have a seat you poor dear.....I've taken the liberty of plugging it in for you....


3)The Declining State of Funk and it's perpertuance by people who have less groove than G.W.Bush's spoken word album "Don't make me laugh. Coz I won't. ".

Ahhhhh Funk.
Wasn't it creamy and delicious? When you first heard it, didn't you go "My Goodness! I had no idea I could root for this long"?
When J.B sang "Say it loud. I'm black and I'm proud" didn't you want to shake the crumbs out of the toaster and rub yourself hip?
And when something in your life was getting to be a tired scene, didn't you and your mojo just slip on some rumpy, rumpy bass response and git your membership card at the Library of Allright renewed?

Wasn't everything juuuuust a little bit better with Funk?
Wasn't that Solar Eclipse just a little shinier? Wasn't living in a cardboard cut out of John Belushi a little more zazzier?
Didn't you marvel at how the same set of sloppy monkey genes that you had mooching about your own personal bustop had been re-arranged through the Power Of Being Crazy Alive into that spirit jiggling aruba that made being not O.k with things O.k?

Why of course you did.....we all did.
And we loved it. We thought it would never end. We'd sing and dance forever and a day.
Ma Baker would always keep cutting the soul cookies and we just hadda just keep hanging round the window sill hoping for the hot sound of a new cooling cookie? My Lord we did.....and we were richly rewarded.

O.k.....now cut yourself a looong line and snozz yourself forward a few years.....

Did you get up wiggle it (just a little bit) when Audrey Shrinkbot and the Frank Ifeild Funk School Graduate Diploma Group of Pre-approved Groove released "Get up offa that thing and find a variable mortgage rate"?
(Now let me think....I'd just done the dishes and was helping Jaidyn with his homework...no I don't think i did)

Did your Doctor ask you at casualty where you got that sexy pelvis after slamfunking your night away to Gritty Saucebottle's soul stirring blockbuster " Tear the roof off the child proof Aspirins"?
(Oh heavens no....I'm pretty sure I was listening to 774's "How to save money by marking the days on the calendar when you need to have a shit and holding on 'til the dollar hits 67 cents to the Farnham")

And did your lover just wanna lick the pure animal sauce that smoked out of your pores after you got front row tix to The Harry Butler Trio's " I wanna be nice!" Tour? ( Well..actually things have been a bit tense lately.....I suppose I do work long hours and after reading the Helen Razor's book "Stress yourself to Celibacy", I can really see how much time I wasted being happy when i could have been just quietly bearing things)

Shame reality. Shame, Shame Shame.....

You had every chance of using the 2000's to lose some weight, give up smoking, getting to the gym and you did.
You cut out the fat, swapped the thrills for carrot water, and traded places with respect so you could pretend you were your own Dan Ackroyd.
You made it O.k for uptight honkeries to feel good about singing and listening to that chinless pap that passes for Groove while I'm spitting out curdled spume suckle from this low fat titty of Fonk and frankly (To quote Pope Hardstart the First) I'd rather listen to St. Gavin taking the Shine off a pair of Heels than this wheedling trickle of self satisfied bumsnot.

'Til next time

Mick "Tonga is funkier than us. Tonga for fuck's sake!" Dog

Good day sirs and Madam. No show this week as Vinnie the Skip is nude and wild in the country. Whilst this is happening I would like to make it perfectly clear that The Show will go on! I think? Will it? I think so? Cant see why not? Risk listening to it and find out! i'm sure I left a joke around here somewhere?

Show with No Name: the end?

Could be. Anyway, here's the latest.

Show With no Name: Ballarat's shiny glitter turd ball

There's nothing greater than having your elected representatives spark off a philsophical debate; tjere's nothing warmer than that feeling of engaging with the bigger questions in life other than How Did A Bunch Of Rich Guys With Rat Cunning End Up Getting Greedy and Criminal - so when a Ballarat councillor who's resigned saying this is the worst council in history ends up on the front page saying the report showing how Mayor Quimby carved up Springfield and earned a few dollars off the monorail will get spun but you can't polish a turd...

Well that's when Mick and Lenny spring into action. Local history is their specialty. The Legend of the Giant Jesus-Shaped Glittering Turd Ball of Sturt Street and Steven Hawking's role in analysing the role of Ballarat's local councillors in the actual operation of a city council responsible for millions of dollars' worth of stuff for the ever-lovin rate-payin' descendants of Eureka... well, that's how we finish part 01 of this week's edition, anyway:




Also, here Len give an insight into what it's like having a man from Religion visit your house and promise you a life free from pain (and later on remembering when people would play the gorilla bones for the Pope); along with an investigation of car trouble under the current petrol scheme - in particular the fine art of hitch-hiking at Bathurst and getting Skaifey to pick you up on Conrod Straight.

And a big part two
Oh yes. It Just Keeps On Coming. Take a deep breath and wade amongst it as Lenny ponders the fashions of the 90s and an age when the shirts would go out and have a better time than he.




Of course, television news. Pork-Zan the Jungle Man and a long line of surrealistic euphemisms; the links with Sting, Jaimie Oliver and the horrible Obese Ear Syndrome, bringing in the Only Leans Beats diet craze; AC/DC performing on the back of Billy Connolly at Ayres Rock* in the long awaited new Denim Tampon tour; Martha Reeves projected on the back of Robin Wiilliams at the MCG; Prince playing North Techh and Lenny's admission of the Boot.

*A Pam Ayres limerick festival at Colac. No relation to Uluru, a sacred Australian landmark.

Show With No Name - October 7 crash edition podcast

Yeah and verily did the latest chunks of cooked audio come squelching out of Ballarat; hear now as we swing in to the dark days of What The Fuck and Everything's Changed again. Stock markets be buggered - what about that poor bloke in Geelong who got the tattoo for Premiers 2008?
OK, what about the fuckoff cyclone about to bear down on the other side of Mexico - (the other side from the major gathering of whitefolk in Texas, New Orleans etc, it's not news...)

So, the show. Lenny on ace of spades. Mick Dog on bums. Vinnie on buttons and DB on the tin lid. The Show With No Name throttled out of the Clunes O'Brien Memorial studios just before the shit went down on Wall Street and beamed it around Western Victoria (or as far as Mr Poon's shop, we're not sure) and it sounded like this:



Consider the American election as only some miscellaneous fellas from a room somewhere on a hill in Ballarat could: as a Looney Tunes production of mammoth proportions entwining Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross, My Ding a Ling and that moment in rock few have spoken about: the Obama-lama with Clarence Clemmons.
Music news: Robery Hairy Palmer's comeback foiled by a random beating of the Skaggs brothers by Rastafarian sausages; our favourite World War 2 Greek pastry films and Westerns, such as the Magnificent Souvlaki; and the perennial ecceliastical cryptic crossword clue develops into a discussion of Popes in catalogues and the good old days, when Jesus would run out onto the ground at the MCG and take his place at full forward... Ahh. Kevin Bartlett. What a bloke.

And part 2 of this week's radio squirt:

The second part of the second week of October, when the TV guide beckoned and all that was found was the Ballarat Steak House bringing out a film, following the huge success of their ad*. Eric Bana in a Gold Rush alligator romantic restaurant comedy. And the horror of an ad found in the Courier. Nevermind Henson in the primary school, what about the Search for a Super Moodel, where slutty cows were made to do not normal things before the shooting and Supertramp. And then it gets weird.



Then, the economic hard talk - the battle against daylight saving - who is pocketing the difference? Is this where the world's finances have gone wrong? And finally - Ballarat teenagers again forced onto cultural slavery, doning their strange panted costumes and press-ganged into a performance of Bolshoi, Bolshoi, Bolshoi - seen by all as complete and utter bolshoi.

As for music? Somehow, the Circle Jerks off the Repo Man soundtrack are getting dusted off.

in a sluggish economy
inflation, recession
hits the land of the free
standing in unemployment lines
blame the government for hard time

we just get by
however we can
we all gotta duck
when the shit hits the fan

Ah yes. Leading one to knock out Fugazi's Merchandise quite a bit more again these days. Bless the punks and the hardcore, for they truly did keep the faith...

When we have nothing left to give
There'll be no reason for us to live
But when we have nothing left to lose
You will have nothing left to use

We owe you nothing
You have no control
x2

Anyhoo - thanks to everyone who tuned in via the ancient signal transmitter nailed to Warrenheip from 6 till 8 Tuesdays, 99.9FM!

*You can actually hear the screams from outside people's houses when this comes on.

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...