By Greg Brooker
If a list was put together of the best underground acts from Australia during the late 1970s and 1980s, there’s a pretty good chance that a significant proportion of the acts were in some way linked with Australia’s great underground rock supergroup the Beasts of Bourbon – a name that reputedly relates to the “alcoholic ambiance” that settled wherever the band laid their collective hats.
The Beasts of Bourbon were born of Tex Perkins’ burden of filling a series of gigs that had been booked ahead of losing a band. Perkins drafted in one or two people he knew, who then dragged in their friends, based on the fact that they could play music, have fun and drink a lot while doing so. This is the stuff of legends. Continue reading
By Max Dropout
The astute acquaintance tucked away in the recesses of that little social book, as black as my heart, would probably vote Max Dropout least likely to litter any sort of gay climate with whoops and hollers in response to the age old question, “Where my party people at?” No, I am not one of these so-called “party people,” foolishly waving their hands this way, that way, or any way for that matter – and if I were to, in fact, wave my hands about in any direction, I certainly wouldn’t do it as if I didn’t care We all have our hurdles in life to clear, and oft times we bound over them without any sort of trouble. However, for some of us, there comes that instance when perhaps our bounce lacks a certain, let’s say for lack of a better term, “panacea.” Whatever the reason, it’s your business. All that matters is that the lack of spring doesn’t quite allow you to clear that jump — your toe catches that hurdle, sending you chin first into an unforgiving patch of gravel. After the sting of the ground and the shame mingle a bit, you get up, bleed a little, get the wind back in you, and you either finish that course, or, you do like I do and go sit on the grass and cry like a little girl. Continue reading