tony millman

_{Ripley Hood in front of Brando Rising. Robert Brokenmouth photo.}

In which your scribe receives news and loses it a tad. This is a very partial review… I missed quite a few things … oh, dear.

So, an Adelaidean in Melbourne negotiates buses, trams, and other hurdles (including a Lebanese cab driver who’s lived here for 40 years and still has an accent like a wheel of cheese to a plastic butter knife) to arrive at a record shop.

With a Budget flat-bed truck outside. 

I'll tell you about who these characters are in a minute. But first, “Lurid Tales…” is brilliant.

What a huge sound. Big breakers of broken chords... huge, ripping silences. God, I'm hooked.

Really, I cannot emphasise this enough, “Lurid Tales…’” is a huge, majestic achievement. It's mature, gothic, simple, complex. And I'll be listening to this not just for weeks, but for years.

“Lurid Tales…” is both not at all what I expected Melbourne’s Michael Plater to be involved in, and exactly what I expect from him. And no, that's not a contradiction.