Tell me, was the Jim Jones Revue one of the highlights of the Big Day Out (2011) or fucking what? They were utterly on fire, all Jerry Lee and compressed brutality … I thought the majors would scoop them up and take them to war …

Well… almost. The band broke up after years of battle, but Jones, retaining Gavin Jay on bass, picked up Joe Glossop on keyboard, Phil Martini on drums and David Page on pedal steel and theremin … why?

Well, when the main songwriter is … I think “trangressing” might be appropriate here rather than “progressing”… from one place to another, it’s not fair on the band he’s gathered to try to shove them down a hole they don’t want to go. If you thought JJR were shit hot, wait’ll ya get a load of this stinky skanky beast.

It’s difficult to believe that Chris Masuak is only in the second half of his 50’s when you examine his output. It’s been a diverse and solid career, spanning almost four decades.

He was in his late teens when he joined Radio Birdman. He was half of the sound of the “twin-guitar attack” that assaulted Sydney with its array of proto-punk influences, to forever stake Birdman a claim as one of the most influential bands the city has produced.

Then there were the post-Birdman bands. The Hitmen never had the songs, in my opinion, but they always delivered as a live act. Masuak’s guitar playing was the stand-out.  Chris was still in his early 20’s and still forging his own style. It lay somewhere between the technical brilliance of Mountain and the pop-rock sensibility of The Dictators.

“The Lucky Girl” is a seven bottle CD. This is a brilliant, fabulous record (yes, she has vinyl as well) and if there was any justice in the world she’d be making a triumphant return to Australia after touring the stadia of the USA and Europe, coming home to pack the Rod Laver Arena four nights in a row. If this were only 25 years ago, the industry would be elbowing each other with intent to get ahold of a moneymaking talent on a par with Kate Bush.

That good? Well, don’t blame me, I didn’t make it. You need “The Lucky Girl” like you need your thumbs; not having “The Lucky Girl” is the equivalent of having paws. She’s currently recording a follow-up. But why seven bottles?

It seems every Australian city had its underground "punch-above-its-weight" scene in the ‘90s. Hell, all of Charlie Marshall’s Melbourne band members here had serious form. That said, just because there’s a track record doesn’t mean there’s always gonna be magic. There might be concrete. Or salad instead.

In Marshall’s case, it’s magic. If you recall Harem Scarem in the ‘80s, well alright. But this ain’t that, and now ain’t then. If you’re a Nick Cave or Kim Salmon completist, you’ll snaffle this anyway (the presence of Warren Ellis and Jim White of The Dirty Three should send warning bells, and surely Brian Henry Hooper needs no introduction.) Same applies if you’re investigating Hugo Race ditto (Bryan Colechin of The True Spirit) and Darren Seltmann of The Avalanches.

Adelaide is filled with musicians who are muso’s, musicians who have been around the block, and musicians who are scary and won’t go away. Ben Gel and Co, and The C-Bombs, are locals who are scary and won’t go away. 

Talent squirts out of these discs like … er, I’d better not go there. These two CDs are four-and-a-half bottle discs. I’d give them more if I could; fuck though, it’s Adelaide, our water is crunchy. 

Ben Gel has been building a following in neighbouring Melbourne; The C-Bombs formed from the ashes of Grudge and have created a bloody monster. Both outfits resemble outlaws; I mean, they’re serious underground legends here, and for damn good reasons. You don’t want to be sober in front of these blokes. I’ve reviewed them together because both bands fit on the same bill very, very well.

Too much Lux is never enough for some people and Finnish band The Country Dark are clearly lifetime members of the Interior Fan Club. This is Album Number Three for the five-piece from Somewhere Near The Arctic Circle (where the fuck is Kuopio anyway?) and just like the output of The Cramps, it’s laced with humour dark enough to eclipse the sun during the depths of a Scandinavian winter.

The Country Dark play rockabilly-trash rock with lashings of twang. Appearances count for something when you mine that groove and from the cover picture of a hand with a dismembered pinkie to song titles like “Useless (Like Tits On A Boar)” and “Two Dicks In One Hole” (it’s a detective story, you porn fiend) it’s evident what you’re getting.