The Continuing Adventures Of Your Own Personal Jesus

Years before the Dole Army existed you could buy books like this, and the one written by some clown who’s last name was Barbour (I think) in all good and bad book shops around the place. I once met Barbour (God, what was his first name? Neil?) when I worked as a Professional Mouse Strangler at a radio station here. Barbour (was his first name John? Nope…) used to wander in, go to the toilet and write details of how and where to buy his self-published books on the wall. He’d also leave a steaming pile in the bowl as he didn’t believe in flushing (wasted water) or, one presumes, wiping his arse (waste of paper) which was evident by the lack of paper. To amuse ourselves we’d send in a work experience person who’d generally scream at the sight of a blind mullet winking at them and saying, “How ya doin’?” Good times indeed. Anyway, Barbour (ahhh screw his first name, he was a wanker anyway) used to live in a tent in the hills and used to argue with members of the DSS about his residentia...

Promises had a career that lasted slightly less than The Knack, but, unlike The Knack, all of Promises are still alive and their music just isn’t as fondly remembered. You can all sing My Sharona, even if you don’t want to, but you’d be hard pressed to sing Baby It’s You. But at least The Knack wrote their own songs, each time someone hears Isn’t It Time by the Babys and thinks of a girl with huge norks, John Waite dies just a little bit more. But then each time someone hears Hungry Eyes and thinks of John Waite, Eric Carmen throws another dart into the wall and vice versa for Missing You. It all comes around. Promises exploded onto the television in the ‘70s via a great video clip that showcased the band. The lead singer/keyboard player, Benny, wore what appeared to be black leather hillbilly overalls, which he then gave to Willem Defoe – don’t believe me? You’ve never seen Streets of Fire? For shame! The guitarist, Bjorn – sorry, Jed (no, I’m not making that name up), well, he co...

Give the man his due, he may indeed be a fat, loudmouthed borderline bigot who specialises in calling little old ladies names these days, but back in the day he was trim and lean, and now you can understand why. These rare documents are actual running sheets for two 1964 ‘Variety Shows’, one of which was hosted by Fat Francis. I love the first one posted, they got away with playing Yakkety Sax early on in the show, hopefully that resulted in a pile of people chasing buxom girls about the place and slapping any bald headed little old man rather vigorously on the head. Probably a good idea to get that crap out of the way early. No names on the running sheet leap out at me as being of any importance, but that’s what happens. You could easily grab any form of a concert sheet or gig guide from any point in time and sit there going, “Who the fuck was Brenton Roberts?” We can’t all be Exploding White Mice. The second sheet is incredible. A 1964 5AD ‘Variety Show’, this one would hav...

I love the Greasy Pop label, always have, always will. My main regret is that the bulk of it just isn’t out there on CD yet, let alone digital, so my iPod is bereft of those wondrous sounds of Adelaide. And, frankly, that’s what Greasy Pop was, and still is – the sound of Adelaide, past, present and future. To be sure there are some Greasy Pop releases out there – most notable amongst them being the Dago’s Pizza Box, but my copy of that got nicked a few years back, so a trip down to Big Star might be in order. I had a pile of singles and E.P.s here at one stage, but, again, they went ‘missing’. I’m not looking at anyone, but I don’t speak to one of my ex girlfriends, and she has an incredible record collection. Work that one out. I was happy, this weekend, to find the Burnside Ballroom flexi disc in a collection of singles that included some Johnny O’Keefe and Charlie Ventura Quartet. That’s right, amongst the She’s My Baby and Basin Street Blues lurked a little plastic flexi single ...

Oh Honey, Will You Lub Dis Coon? By Lindsay Lennox I’se waiting neaf your winder just to tell you Honey dear Dat for lub ob you my Honey, Oh my heart full ob fear But now de moon am shin-nin’ and dere’s no one nigh to hear Oh Honey, will you lub dis coon? Oh my heart has felt like breakin’ When I’ve seen your smile so sweet Tho’ you neber once hab smiled on me but on dat nigger Pete Still I hopefully now come to lay my heart dear at your feet O Honey, will you lub dis coon? O Honey Honey, tell me or my heart break soon O Honey, Honey, Honey will you lub dis coon? Oh my heart am beating fast, for your answer sweet at last, Oh Honey, will you lub dis coon? If you will lub me, Honey, I will true and faithful be I will ne’er forget de vow I make You are so dear to me Oh say you wont refuse de ring I’se brought tonight for thee Oh! Honey, will you lub dis coon? For no coon will prouder be dan me if you will be my wife I will lub thee and I’ll shield thee Oh my Honey ...

Who were Soul Factory? If you know the answer to that then you’re a better man than I am Gunga Din. Until these documents fell into my lap I had no idea that this bend ever existed, and frankly I’m still nowhere near knowing who they were or what they really sounded like. The only information I can track down is contained in these three clippings, that the band contained members from other, better known bands and acts such as George Harrison, Billy Preston, Little Richard, Tower Of Power and others, and that they were big in New Zealand, supposedly. Beats me. Formed in 1974, according to the clippings they didn’t play ‘namby-pamby disco’, they played ‘hot funk’. Yes, Virginia, there is a distinction between the two, but I’ll leave that for you to work out. What amazes me about this band was that they managed to land a contract with Lion/Nathan Brewery in New Zealand to play a six month stint in the north island, before moving down to the south island. From there they looked to cross ...

A while back a close pal of mine asked me what I thought the most perfect album released was. I answered, as I always do, without any hesitation, “In my own worthless opinion, What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye is the best album ever released.” My pal took this in but still thinks that Exile On Main Street is a killer. And it is. To use the cliché, it’s a motherfucker of an album that still holds up, and the recently released outtakes are incredible. They’d be any other band’s hit singles. Then I was asked, what’s the most perfect song ever released? I began to ponder, but in my pondering I already knew the answer. Then it hit me like a studded cattle prod up the Gary Glitter, and it said, “This is an opening verse that Mick Jagger WISHES he was good enough to have written.” We can dance if we want to, And leave your friends behind. ‘Cause your friends don’t dance And if they don’t dance Well they’re no friends of mine. Good music comes in all shapes and forms, but ultimately it’s ...

And I quote from the comments on this fine piece of country music, "It's like an atomic bomb of shit detonating directly on my eyeball."  Amen brother, amen.  May no-one ever allow this man near a microphone again.  Fucker scared all of my cats when he started wailing, dogs were howling four streets across and several little old ladies phoned the police and reported an escaped lunatic who they believed was acting like a werewolf. Having said that, ladies, if you're looking for the perfect gift then go no futher than this: It's a shame that Benny Hill didn't think of this, he'd have a field day with it, as it was he had to be content with smacking the shit out Jackie Wright and thus inventing the expression, 'slaphead', which is now in common usage to define bald headed old bastards who refuse to wear a syrup, much like all of my brothers.

Looks good, doesn't it? An Australian Beatles Programme for the 1964 tour, you know the one - the only time they ever visited the country and the source of an ongoing feud between Ernest Sigley and Robert Francis. But seriously, this isn't the original programme, it's a lovely reproduction that was issued in 2004, to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the tour. The reproduction is perfect in every way, and to ensure that people aren't fooled and ripped off into paying the few hundred that an original programme costs, it actually has text detailing the reproduction on the rear cover. Still it's a great artefact to own and if you can't afford an original, then this is the next best thing to have. How much do they cost?  Depends on who you buy it from and where you find it.  Amazingly I found three brand new ones this morning at one of the many trash and treasures that are held around Adelaide for a whopping $5 each.  That's right, three of them for $15 al...

Back in my former career as an Occupational Egg Beater I had the chance to present a radio show here in Adelaide on a major radio station. The show ran every Thursday evening and I’d talk about all kinds of crap and interview all kinds of people, some good, some, well, not so good. As always, the best stories came when we went off the air and were over at the pub, but, as any Lunchtime O’Booze will tell you, that’s generally when the good stuff is spilt, both in and out of the glasses. As we’re dealing with many things Adelaide, I’ll share a couple of the stories that were told to me off air. One such story involved the band The Masters Apprentices. I’m not going to name names here, but one evening we had three of the Masters, two via a phone hook-up and one live in the studio. The Live Apprentice was a damned good guy indeed, very happy, quick of wit and somewhat pleased that we’d managed to dig out some really obscure stuff of his to showcase over the past few months. Good gu...