Out-takes from an interview done for GAPE Zine Issue #1, spend some time with Perth post rockers Rag’n’Bone as we chat about Radelaide, scunge and the Perth scene.
Why Rag N Bone?
KIERA: So I guess we were going through a few different options – we started jamming way before we ever had an idea for a name – and we were like, “oh yeah, we should come up with something!” So we had Summertime Dark, was an option.
AXEL: Still could be honestly, it’s not too late to change. What have we got to lose?
KIERA: But I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the rag’n’bone man or the rag’n’bone men… how they used to collect heaps of junk and people’s food and bones and chuck them in a cart and wheel them down the street… and I dunno, we just felt that that was appropriate for our music because it’s a bit of a mix.
AXEL: Unfortunately though, there is a rapper in the UK called Rag’N’Bone Man.
SARA: And there’s also like a Dutch dude, Danish dude who’s like a folk dude? He’s solo. Maybe the next time we release something we should do a split…
It’s not so unusual to see a heavy act take over The Bird these days, but The Pissedcolas, always uncommon faces in the scene, like to remind us of the limits of our sound equipment once in a while. Their newest release, a 12″ vinyl offering, will extend this to the stereos of their fans, but to launch it this drone/psych/garage/distortion group took roost in a packed Bird with a host of other bands. Continue reading LIVE REVIEW: The Pissedcolas at the Bird, 21.08.15
The vitriolic Nottingham duo returns to form after a short revue with Key Markets, an album probably meant to take aim at some notion of consumerism. Does this represent the bitter taste at the back of lyricist John Williamson’s throat following the commercial success of its predecessor,Divide And Exit, the 2014 outpouring of bile to universal acclaim that brought Sleaford Mods not only into the national spotlight, but turned them into music industry buzzwords on the international stage?
Probably. It’s hard to make out – Williamson’s lyrics stagger in jagged, unfocused zigzags like a blinded bull. Williamson quickly falls into a droll, irritated hum, akin to a mass of hornets not quite disturbed enough to leave their nest. With Andrew Fearn’s stripped back instrumentation, kit and a wet, sloppy kiss of a bass, the album rolls over you like a train over tracks, creates a drone, a haze, and sends you off, that sound-blocking you do at your retail job to avoid thinking too hard about your bleak at best future in a receding economy.