Happy Australia Day!

Well, today is Australia Day – and my first one, at that! I've got to give props to my adopted country; everybody has been incredibly warm and inviting for the first four months of my stay. True, the paperwork hasn't gone through all the channels yet, but patience, I'm told, is a virtue. But still – I'm really enjoying it here, and I have been made to feel at home.


That being said, I'd like to showcase some music from the 1986 Richard Lowenstein film Dogs In Space. Set in Richmond, Victoria (an outer suburb of Melbourne), this examination of the 1978 Melbourne punk scene – starring Michael Hutchence of INXS in his first leading role – doesn't, unfortunately, hold much water in the story-telling department. Chockfull of wooden performances, stilted dialogue, and a whole lot of nothing happening throughout its 103 minutes. BUT – and this is a huge 'but' – the music! My gosh, the music gracing the soundtrack, put together by Lowenstein and Ollie Olsen (who was part of the scene back in those days; a member of the post-punk band Whirlywind), is pretty much playing nonstop; so it more than makes up for Hutchence's "acting" (which pretty much amounts to rolling around on the floor in a heroin stupor 75% of the time, all the while "speaking" in hardly anything but barks and grunts). Hutchence: brilliant singer, crap actor. But I digress.

Featuring pulse-quickening tracks by late-'70s acts such as Iggy Pop, Thrush and the Cunts, Primitive Calculators, Ollie Olsen, Gang of Four, Brian Eno, and Boys Next Door (Nick Cave's band before it transmogrified into The Birthday Party), the soundtrack to Dogs In Space is fucking fantastic. And if one is interested in knowing more about the scene personified in the film, one can check out an ABC 1 documentary entitled We're Living On Dog Food, which takes its name from the Iggy Pop track that opens Dogs In Space. So without any further ado, here are some of my favourite tracks from this well-meaning film. 

First up is "Win/Lose" from Ollie Olsen. I love the bit in the film where he sings it in the main house's living room, backed up only by a tape machine!

Here is "Pumping Ugly Muscle" by Fitzroy-based Primitive Calculators. Some brilliant anger going on in this track, with a lot of cathartic screaming and wailing!

What can one say about a band called Thrush and the Cunts? Great hooks, interesting name. Here is their seminal track from the so-called "little band scene", "Diseases." 

Here's "Shivers" by Boys Next Door, which would then become The Birthday Party. Goddamn, look how young Nick Cave is! And dammit, he makes this song fucking ache.

During the closing moments of the film, where Michael Hutchence's character's girlfriend has been buried (she died of a heroin overdose), we're treated to "Rooms For The Memory," a track written and performed by Ollie Olsen, and sung by Hutchence. This collaboration would result in a short-lived side-project called Max Q – which almost broke up INXS, seeing as Hutchence did the recording behind his band's back.

And last but not least, here's "Endless Sea" by Iggy Pop. Now, I know he's not Australian. However, that being said, this song – which plays in the background while Saskia Post's character has her fatal overdose – so completely works in the movie, I just had to include it. And there you go, as I leave you with Iggy. Have a fantastic Australia Day, people.

Recycled Post! Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.

I swear this album just gives me shivers, it's so good. I've been incredibly busy juggling through the hoops set up by the Australian government in regards to immigrating, so I have to admit that I haven't been posting as much this month as I normally would. Don't worry, some new stuff is on its way! But for now, here's my review of "Organisation" by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark -- probably one of my favourite albums of the '80s. Cheers, have a lovely day, blah blah blah. Talk soon.



Atmospheric. Majestic. Sombre. A dark-hearted cocktail of heartbreak and misery. With no further ado, I'd like to tell you, dear readers, about Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's second album, Organisation. Released in October 1980, I would be tempted to say that this is probably their bleakest release, especially coming so soon on the heels of their much poppier eponymous debut (which, in essence, was basically a faithful reproduction of their live shows up to date). What's rather interesting about Organisation, now that I think of it, is how the entire affair begins: with the energetic and quite poppy "Enola Gay." I'm pretty sure everybody, at one point or another, has heard this classic anti-war track. As we all know, Enola Gay was the airplane (USAAF B-29 SuperFortress) that dropped the atomic bomb "Little Boy" on Hiroshima, Japan on the 6th of August, 1945, instantly vaporizing (and slowly killing) 140,000 citizens. Even due to its grim subject matter, it's certainly the catchiest single on the album. Such a juxtaposition - noodling synths, an immensely hummable tune, and snazzy drumbeats layered over lyrics such as "Is mother proud of Little Boy today?" and "Aha, this kiss you give, it's never ever gonna fade away." And now that that story has been told, it's time to move on to the rest of the album.

When the German experimentalist band Kraftwerk (more, much more, on them later) played in Liverpool, UK in the October of 1975, a certain spark was ignited in the imagination of one Andy McCluskey, who, immediately after the show, knocked on the backstage door and introduced himself to the band. According to Wolfgang Flür in the BBC Four documentary Synth Britannia, McCluskey had said, "We've just been shown the future - we're going to throw out all our guitars, and buy nothing but synthesizers TOMORROW!"

And how that inspiration shows, in Organisation! Andy McCluskey, his long-time partner in music Paul Humphreys, and the permanent replacement for their drum-machine (lovingly entitled "Winston"), Malcolm Holmes, came together and created an interesting hybrid of pop music, electronic experimentalism, and industrial chic - all thrown together with a punk-rock ethos of, in Humphreys's words, "just go out there and do it, already!"

So they did, and, in the heyday of synth-pop, they put out a piece of art that's nearly unprecedented in its audacity and originality. It practically goes without saying that the surge of brilliant synth-pop that launched from the UK was mightily helped by acts such as OMD and others that sprouted like wildflowers from the bleak Northern towns during the rubbish end of the '70s, when Victorian slums began to be ripped down and replaced by the narrow and grey concrete high-rises of modern-day England.

Take a fine track like "Statues." The KORG sends a seamless stream of smooth doom in the background, as finely tuned harpsichord synths pluck and bend in the fore. An organ-borne clickety-clack drumbeat pulls gently, as the most forlorn and defeated vocals I've ever heard sag like dead orchids.

What is faith

And when belief

And who knows how

These things deceive;

I never said,

And though I tried

If I could leave,

I'd sleep tonight.

 The song's just bloody haunting. There's such an imminent gloominess that lurks underneath everything, like a fungus you know grows under the most beautiful of gardens. And how the notes just hang there, and how, as the song fades into the ether, McCluskey's vocals just wail in pain, "I can't imagine how this ever came to be." Fade into nothing. Written as a post-humous dedication to Ian Curtis (15 July 1956 - 18 May 1980), I'd like to think that Ian himself would have been so fucking proud.

I'd like to make a quick side-note on how damn catchy "The More I See You" is, before I move on to the highlight of the album - "Stanlow." "The More I See You" is a subtle and somewhat funky marriage between Kraftwerk and Gary Numan. This immensely hummable track practically dares you not whistle its charms after hearing its lovely lilts and turns. It's also the only cover on the album, based on the 1945 single by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon. Like I said earlier in this paragraph, it's as catchy as all hell, and sometimes I'll find myself attempting to play the imaginary keyboard on the edge of my desk! Great love song, filtered through the emotive lens of early '80s synth-pop.

Which brings us to the final song on the album (unless you happen to purchase the remastered 2003 version, which has six extra tracks on it, including a nifty re-working of their first single, "Electricity"), "Stanlow." It's certainly rare to hear a love-song devoted to an oil refinery near Liverpool Bay, Merseyside, but here you have one. At six minutes, forty-one seconds long (of which the first two and a half minutes are comprised almost entirely of samples taken from within the refinery itself!), this is ... well, it's fucking amazing, is what it is.

I - I just can't do it justice. I'll let the final lyrics set the tone.
A morning comes just as it left

The warmer feeling seldom owned

And tonight all I see alone

And as she turned we always knew

That her heart was never there.

What does it all mean? Frankly, I've never been to Stanlow, nor have I experienced what it meant to have it in such close confines during the waning years of the '70s. But it must have been one hell of a landmark, to be honest, to have inspired such a beautiful, heartfelt paean. And, just when the lyrics and music fade away, the intense, heartless churning of the machine takes over once again and slowly disappears, as if into the River Mersey.
And this is one hell of an amazing album. And that, dear readers, is what I think of when I think of Organisation.

And I leave you now with OMD performing "Statues" in 1981. Enjoy, dear readers, and have good dreams.

Congratulations To The Church.

We here at Second Drawer Up HQ would like to take the opportunity to congratulate Steve Kilbey, Peter Koppes, Marty Wilson-Piper, and Tim Powles (drummer Richard Ploog's replacement, after his tragic psychological meltdown) of Australian band The Church on their induction into the ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) Hall of Fame this last Wednesday the 27th of October, 2010. It's been one hell of a ride for The Church, with a career chockfull of highs, lows, changing fortunes, drug addiction, musical successes, and commercial failures. I have to say that The Church has never been anything less than interesting -- personally, I count them as one of my favourite bands of all time. From their beginning in 1980, with the audacious debut Of Skins And Heart, the new-wave and synth-y Seance and Remote Luxury, the massive success of Starfish and its runaway hit single "Under The Milky Way," the psychedelic musical maelstrom of priest = aura, and to lackadaisical but still quite charming Gold Afternoon Fix, The Church have always gone their own route; they've always done things on their terms, and damn the consequences. They're true mavericks, in the truest sense of the word, and I salute them. Carry on, may you prosper onwards, and always have a trick or two up your sleeves. I'm very proud of you!


And now for a couple of my favorite songs. This is "Constant In Opal." One of Kilbey's greatest strengths is his razor-sharp wit, and way with words (You can watch his speech here - it's just freaking awesome). The clowns creep me out a bit, though.

the church

"constant in opal"

remote luxury

Ah, "It's No Reason." What a gorgeous, gorgeous song. I love the women's voices in the background - one could lose oneself in this tapestry.

the church

"it's no reason"

seance

This, "The Unguarded Moment," was their very first hit single. Goddamn, if the guitars don't excite you, then you just might be a zombie, mate.

the church

"the unguarded moment"

of skin and heart

And, here's probably my favourite track of theirs, "Destination" from their 1988 album Starfish. Here it is being performed live for an Italian TV show - pretty awesome.

the church

"destination"

starfish

Electro Classic Jukebox: John Foxx.

Following his departure from Utravox! in 1979 (Midge Ure would take over the singing duties in 1980 after his own departure from Visage), John Foxx declared that he would "like to be a machine," and then, like Jonathon Frakes in Star Trek: The Next Generation, made it so. Retreating with engineer Gareth Jones to an Islington studio "the size of an eight-track cupboard," he followed his Kraftwerk and Gary Numan dreams and recorded the first of his two solo records, Metamatic. (The name, if you're curious, refers to a "painting machine," first unveiled in 1959 at the Paris Biennial by kinetic artist Jean Tinguely.)*

Released in January 1980, Metamatic was an abrupt departure for Foxx. As the old joke goes, he completely threw out the guitars and brought out the synths! It's an exciting record, written by a man who had read Crash by JG Ballard just a few too many times (funnily enough, JG Ballard seems to have been a major influence on many of these pioneers of the synth-pop sound - his dystopian futuristic landscapes, usually only about five minutes into the future, really spoke to their newfound "outsider" status). Full of allusions to cars, speeding, concrete, vast empty stretches, and roadworks, one can say with absolute honesty that Metamatic moves. It's always in motion, and that's what makes it so damn cool.

For my money, I'd like to nominate "Underpass" for outstanding song on this record. We've all seen underpasses in real life. They're not pleasant places, for the most part. Listening to this song, you can picture the grimy concrete of the pilings, hear the traffic roaring above your head, see the murky illumination of the fluourescent lights, and see the homeless lurking in the shadows in makeshift tent-cities. In other words, it's a great place to get mugged. Without further ado, here is John Foxx and "Underpass"!

Just another fun little note. The engineer on Metamatic was one Gareth Jones, then just starting out with his career. John Foxx's second (and last) album was called The Garden. Afterwards, he opened up a studio of his own, called Garden Studios. It was here where Depeche Mode recorded Construction Time Again. Who was the engineer? None other than Gareth Jones.

* Thank you, Wikipedia!

Review: Organisation.

Atmospheric. Majestic. Sombre. A dark-hearted cocktail of heartbreak and misery. With no further ado, I'd like to tell you, dear readers, about Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's second album, Organisation. Released in October 1980, I would be tempted to say that this is probably their bleakest release, especially coming so soon on the heels of their much poppier eponymous debut (which, in essence, was basically a faithful reproduction of their live shows up to date). What's rather interesting about Organisation, now that I think of it, is how the entire affair begins: with the energetic and quite poppy "Enola Gay." I'm pretty sure everybody, at one point or another, has heard this classic anti-war track. As we all know, Enola Gay was the airplane (USAAF B-29 SuperFortress) that dropped the atomic bomb "Little Boy" on Hiroshima, Japan on the 6th of August, 1945, instantly vaporizing (and slowly killing) 140,000 citizens. Even due to its grim subject matter, it's certainly the catchiest single on the album. Such a juxtaposition - noodling synths, an immensely hummable tune, and snazzy drumbeats layered over lyrics such as "Is mother proud of Little Boy today?" and "Aha, this kiss you give, it's never ever gonna fade away." And now that that story has been told, it's time to move on to the rest of the album.

When the German experimentalist band Kraftwerk (more, much more, on them later) played in Liverpool, UK in the October of 1975, a certain spark was ignited in the imagination of one Andy McCluskey, who, immediately after the show, knocked on the backstage door and introduced himself to the band. According to Wolfgang Flür in the BBC Four documentary Synth Britannia, McCluskey had said, "We've just been shown the future - we're going to throw out all our guitars, and buy nothing but synthesizers TOMORROW!"

And how that inspiration shows, in Organisation! Andy McCluskey, his long-time partner in music Paul Humphreys, and the permanent replacement for their drum-machine (lovingly entitled "Winston"), Malcolm Holmes, came together and created an interesting hybrid of pop music, electronic experimentalism, and industrial chic - all thrown together with a punk-rock ethos of, in Humphreys's words, "just go out there and do it, already!"

So they did, and, in the heyday of synth-pop, they put out a piece of art that's nearly unprecedented in its audacity and originality. It practically goes without saying that the surge of brilliant synth-pop that launched from the UK was mightily helped by acts such as OMD and others that sprouted like wildflowers from the bleak Northern towns during the rubbish end of the '70s, when Victorian slums began to be ripped down and replaced by the narrow and grey concrete high-rises of modern-day England.

Take a fine track like "Statues." The KORG sends a seamless stream of smooth doom in the background, as finely tuned harpsichord synths pluck and bend in the fore. An organ-borne clickety-clack drumbeat pulls gently, as the most forlorn and defeated vocals I've ever heard sag like dead orchids.

What is faith

And when belief

And who knows how

These things deceive;

I never said,

And though I tried

If I could leave,

I'd sleep tonight.

The song's just bloody haunting. There's such an imminent gloominess that lurks underneath everything, like a fungus you know grows under the most beautiful of gardens. And how the notes just hang there, and how, as the song fades into the ether, McCluskey's vocals just wail in pain, "I can't imagine how this ever came to be." Fade into nothing. Written as a post-humous dedication to Ian Curtis (15 July 1956 - 18 May 1980), I'd like to think that Ian himself would have been so fucking proud.

I'd like to make a quick side-note on how damn catchy "The More I See You" is, before I move on to the highlight of the album - "Stanlow." "The More I See You" is a subtle and somewhat funky marriage between Kraftwerk and Gary Numan. This immensely hummable track practically dares you not whistle its charms after hearing its lovely lilts and turns. It's also the only cover on the album, based on the 1945 single by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon. Like I said earlier in this paragraph, it's as catchy as all hell, and sometimes I'll find myself attempting to play the imaginary keyboard on the edge of my desk! Great love song, filtered through the emotive lens of early '80s synth-pop.

Which brings us to the final song on the album (unless you happen to purchase the remastered 2003 version, which has six extra tracks on it, including a nifty re-working of their first single, "Electricity"), "Stanlow." It's certainly rare to hear a love-song devoted to an oil refinery near Liverpool Bay, Merseyside, but here you have one. At six minutes, forty-one seconds long (of which the first two and a half minutes are comprised almost entirely of samples taken from within the refinery itself!), this is ... well, it's fucking amazing, is what it is.

I - I just can't do it justice. I'll let the final lyrics set the tone.

A morning comes just as it left

The warmer feeling seldom owned

And tonight all I see alone

And as she turned we always knew

That her heart was never there.

What does it all mean? Frankly, I've never been to Stanlow, nor have I experienced what it meant to have it in such close confines during the waning years of the '70s. But it must have been one hell of a landmark, to be honest, to have inspired such a beautiful, heartfelt paean. And, just when the lyrics and music fade away, the intense, heartless churning of the machine takes over once again and slowly disappears, as if into the River Mersey.

And this is one hell of an amazing album. And that, dear readers, is what I think of when I think of Organisation.

And I leave you now with OMD performing "Statues" in 1981. Enjoy, dear readers, and have good dreams.

Electro Classic Jukebox: Visage.

Visage, sprouting from London's Soho district in 1978, was at the forefront of the New Wave during the heyday of the post-punk movement. Consisting of Steve Strange, Rusty Egan, and Ultravox's Midge Ure and Billie Currie, alongside Magazine's John McGeoch and Dave Formula, it can be safely said that Visage was certainly the "supergroup" of their time and genre. From 1980, here is their most popular single, "Fade To Grey." Check out the sexy French vocals in the background, courtesy of Brigitte Arendt from Luxembourg, who was dating Egan at the time!