one fellow's political coverage, music ramblings and general hijinks across decades under a range of guises at several locations often in a state of awe.
Interview with Brian Hooper
There is a song called Fake on the new Beasts of Bourbon album, titled Gone, which has Tex Perkins screaming ‘don’t know myself, don’t own myself, I’m a fake’. The power, venom and dirge of the Beasts’ traditional blue-collar sound permeates Perkin’s personal attack on himself, Fake being a song which could well be his retaliation to anyone critical of this, the seventeenth year of the Beasts of Bourbon’s collective mindset.
Having been on the receiving end of widespread dancefloor hugging and acclaim for each of their last few albums, Underground Lovers’ lead singer Vince Giarrusso tells ADAM CONNORS how they pulled out of the record company apparatus for their new album to keep their sound as pure as their swirling, sweeping sounds.
If you squint, just a little, the deserts of Texas and the deserts of Australia could look fairly similar to the untrained eye. ADAM CONNORS spoke to Mark Pirro, of Dallas’ Tripping Daisy, about yet another similarity.
Warm, generous in mirth, ensconced in simple riffery … Rebecca Gates, the once fanzine editor, record store clerk and college radio gun from Portland, Oregon, is certainly ‘chuffed’ about the peculiar rise of her now-jetsetting outfit, The Spinanes.
“Chuffed? Yeah, chuffed is a great word for what has happened!”
In the period of English music fondly remembered as ‘shoegazing’, Lush trailblazed with their distinctive multi-layered female vocals hugging and caressing all in their path. In 1996 they have returned and bass player Philip King tells ADAM CONNORS how their sound survives after the downfall of most of the early 90s supergroups.
Interview with Donna Matthews
When Elastica brushed, nay slapped, the testosterone from the stage at the various Big Day(s) Out this year, they had the Britpopping punters lapping at the railing for any number of reasons.
Interview with Lisa Gerrard
I was dressed in pyjamas when I first confronted Dead Can Dance – the imagescape of 1993’s Baraka was flowing over me with The Host of Seraphim, from Dead Can Dance’s 1988 tome, The Serpent’s Egg, invading my soul. The theatre was full, but I think I had been standing throughout the whole trial. For the images of Baraka are truly a trial for any mortal. Environmental degredation should make any bastard shirk.
Continue reading “Dead Can Dance, Capturing the Spiritchaser”
