Fucking brilliant. Primitive. Slightly awkward. Like bad early Nirvana, but with decent lyrics. Ugly, nasty stuff. But brilliant. Brave - particularly since this is an EP and no-one in Australia is buying fucking them now. So who are these idiots?


They're young, they're pissed off and you don't want them anywhere near you except on safely on a stage where, with any luck, they won't be able to get at you.

Guitars, drums, bass, annoyed fucked-up singer. Five songs. A Jesus Lizard cover. A Ten Million Dollar Anthem. Big. Loud. Rock and roll, but more like a fist in the face. And we deserve it.

Why am I excited? There's serious talent going on in the gut of guitarist/singer/lyricist Doyle. His pretend stupidity slides right in with that real punk disgust; what I really like is you also can't tell when or where they're from. They could be supporting Chrome in 1977 in the US, or blowing the Exploited (etc) off in 1982 in the UK or alongside Fear in 1980 (can't you afford a fuckin' haircut?) or ... yeah, ruining the night for Powderfinger or Midnight Oil.

The EP itself has a nifty insert with lyrics that ring true in a way you don't want them to, like some of X's songs. Their influences? I neither know nor care. All that matters is you get this down your neck.

Well, don't just sit there like a wet smelly furball. Buy it here. I can't wait for more, me. Live recordings on the net now, guys! We can't all get to ya, let's hear what you sound like for real. - Robert Brokenmouth

rollingrollingrollingrolling1/2 Drunk real fast, then onto the Jack.


If Raygun Mortlock were allowed within a bull's roar of a church, the preacher would deliver a homily ending with "scuzz be thy name" before he kicked their scraggly arses out the door. In an ideal rock and roll world, black humour and a heart with a matching colour scheme would go hand-in-hand. This five-track EP has both in equal quantities.

A four-piece originally from the northern New South Wales coastal town of Murwillumbah and now hanging around the spraytanned confines of Queensland's Gold Coast, Raygun Mortlock start with two dirty guitars, tuned down and over-driven. Saw toothed bass and nailed down rhythms sit underneath, with a pained vocal drizzled over the top. Raw and totally unrefined and hopefully a shock to the system of their new neighbours, most of whom wouldn't know rock and roll if it bit them on a siliconed tit.

These are songs about disconnection, depravity and violence. Subject matter like spouse bashing ("Wifebeater"), taking drugs and having a shoelace tied simultaneously around your dick and throat ("Shoelace") might seem at odds with a home-town best known for its annual celebration of the banana, but maybe that's the point.

Raygun Mortlock will never be part of the Australian Idol machine - and that's exactly what the tightly meshed guitars and bleeding vocal of "Ten Million Dollar Anthem" acknowledge. The other songs are more sonically ragged and that's not a bad thing. Slyly grim humour abounds.

The sole cover is a fearsome take on the Jesus Lizard's "Blockbuster" and it summons up as much menace as David Yow ever managed, as disordered feedback shards fall in the background.

Former X frontman Steve Lucas rates Raygun Mortlock one of the most genuine bands he's seen and had them backing him for a set of his old band's songs in Brisbane recently. Both facts speak volumes. - The Barman


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