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.

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!