By the second tour, the crowd had a lot more younger folks. We still had the three-month lag where records and music magazines arrived by boat, so we always knew that what we were now seeing and hearing was, in fact, three months behind. So, I think the Australian music lovers who focussed on what trends were happening overseas, got used to sitting back to wait to see how the trends developed. 

By this time, the new-wave of music in the UK had become an ordinary part of the backdrop of mainstream music and, unless you were into the sort of simplistic and templated buzz-saw punk which seemed to be sprouting everywhere in the UK at the time, the UK mainstream had splintered into so many different areas of extraordinary creativity - and the Australian industry - an ever-expanding behemoth in those days - could pick and choose which outfits looked more marketable. 

Needless to say, much of the commercial stuff was as putrid as granny's toothglass and falsies after a night on the port and lemon. 

However. In the older pubs clad in flock wallpaper, sticky carpet, stained yellow walls and ceilings (due to steadfast decisions to only use air-conditioning to get rid of the thick wall of smoke at the end of the night, as one of two methods of getting the punters out of the door), bands played. 

The members were sometimes older. Sometimes they were only a few years older than me. Sometimes they were my age and ferociously precocious for their age. I could name a swag of Adelaide names but there's no point - they're not well-known to the rest of the country. Some of these folks escaped early - Janis Freidenfelds (you might remember him as Johnny Crash), Ash Wednesday, Dave Graney and Clare Moore 

Adelaide's underground was a flourishing, intensely creative, swirling hodgepodge of musicians, writers, photographers, artists, actors, students, loony-tunes, deadheads, talent, genius, predators, prey, dickheads and many, many misguided ordinary folk.

Well, that's kind of how I recall it. It was exciting because there was a huge sensation of forward movement, of participation in something far, far larger, yet went un-noticed by the likes of Murdoch's The News and the (unbelievably, now) better The Advertiser. 

Everywhere I went, every gig, every exhibition, every restaurant, every play ... there were busy and intent creatives. 

At 60-years-old now, I've been to too many funerals (and unavoidably missed far too many). Over the last 30years or so, while many people faded or migrated away from the underground, many still maintained it. Others died. Some, you wondered how the hell they survived so long. I know you have (and have had) specimens of this sort interstate. Others, you're horrified and angry at their death, and your loss. 

For today's piece, let Ross Martin and Caz Ward stand in for the whole. They were there, as integral as anyone to the scene for most of the 1980s, part of a splinter group which was part of a splinter group (as we all were). They were important to us all because of their personalities, because of their positive determinism, their pursuit of the value of creativity in their lives. 

I can't tell you where I first met Ross or Caz, but I first got to know Ross to talk to properly at a party at Nathan and Dorothy Dale's. (The Dales are an entire splinter movement which, should it be removed, would create a large pit in the scene. Don't go, you cats, don't go). We found ourselves talking again at a New Year's do, and again at the Barry Adamson gig (astonishingly few of my friends were there, just so dead weird). 

And there are other memories, as you will see. Two people cannot stand in for a whole scene - it's unjust for one thing. But for me, these two people symbolise ourselves. Neither death unpreventable. But they happened anyway.

So. A review of a CD which may never have seen the light of day, except that the band members - who could easily have simply shrugged their shoulders and moved forward instead of back - decided to Get It Done Regardless.

A few weeks ago, my band Smallpox Confidential (Mark II) played a gig at the Ross Martin Memorial. It was beautifully put together by Ross and Caz' friends and bandmates; opened by low-key low riders Raw Spud (Messrs. Wylie, Cashel and Geldart), followed by the remaining members of The Beautiful Black paying tribute to Ross and Caz.

SC followed and, while I was visiting the local hospital waiting room, trying to avoid the attention of the rough sleepers and roaming meth-heads, the gig finished climactically with Fear and Loathing, and Lumpzucker.

This CD was released late last year, after Ross's death. Completed by the band in the wake of this double tragedy, it's only now that I've got around to hearing it. The 17 tracks (all but one original) were recorded in 2011 and 2012; the band broke up before everything could be finished. 

It's a great shame that it's taken so long for these songs to see the light of day. For me, the only way to approach them is to do what I usually do, empty my head (yes, I know, not that hard, thank you) and listen.

And react. 

The songs are captured over two CDs (that is, a double LP); whether the band would have released a first LP or not is open to conjecture. Certainly the songs are there for a fine debut.

Am I tempted to give a fiercely “top notch” review? I suppose. But I'm not going to. The Beautiful Black were a strong rock band with solid songs, and they may not appeal to everyone. And I'm not going to say it's brilliant and essential to you. It's essential to me, and it's a magical part of the Adelaide underworld of which I'm a part. Musically?

Truth is there's a few songs I don't much like. But: the rest are bloody good. Unlike the usual Adelaide thrash or rock god merchants (we have a lot of those), The Beautiful Black had melody, nuance, power and ... songs. Dave Omsby's bass has a liquid power which shoves the songs along, Ross provides the band's silky pulse, and twin guitars twist in and out courtesy Shane Rowe and Neil Mackenzie. Naomi Cain's occasional violin adds a magnificent European depth and density. In Caz they had a personality of a singer with a pretty good range and a convincing display of self and barely-stifled fury.

There's a maturity about the songs, too (heh, unlike those played by Raw Spud and a few by Smallpox); there's a regret for a life worn away, failed and disturbing romances ... Four which stand out on the first side are “Hard Times”, “Hill of Grace”, “Wicked” and “Noble Rot”. But you'll have your own favourites, and I'll leave you to discover the rest.

Caz wrote the lyrics to these songs, and they're pretty scouring. Those of us who were fortunate enough to know her knew her as a combination sweetheart, force of nature and ... as I indicated above, one determined lady.

Ross was an equally distinctive individual, with an expression which was at once both introspective and inviting. Both Ross and Caz were huge talents which really didn't get enough of a run-out into the world.

He knew his songs were full of holes
It hurt his hears, it rocked his soul
Thrilled the crowd but left him cold
It's so goddamned rock and roll

four

Buy it