Return from Oz

The confessions of an ex-pat wannabe fleeing the reign of George and the rains of Katrina.

By Gabriel Mindel

PULLING INTO A club in Columbus, Ohio, there's no house music, and no warmed-up preshow hustle and bustle. After driving eight hours in pouring rain, we're standing with our faces turned to a network news program, puddles forming around our feet. We finally realize the severity of the storm that we've passed through. It's horrible, and it makes the idea of playing a show seem absurd. For weeks we'll be driving around the country, dogged by the grotesque postapocalyptic imagery beamed from the Gulf Coast. Katrina seems to be ushering in the end times. We pull into a gas station in West Virginia, and people are calling their families and friends to come get the cheapest gas in the county before it goes up another dollar or two. The thought that the country's economy is going to collapse before we even finish our tour seems entirely reasonable. Considering the kind of people we have running this country, with their uncaring, militaristic nonresponse to the social collapse in New Orleans, I don't know if I want to be here when the shit hits the fan.

I'm thinking it may be time to leave.

We had already booked a three-week tour in Australia months ago. A bit ambitious for an unknown noise band, but it seemed like adventure was justification enough. Now I was open to the possibility that I was laying the foundation for my future home. I had no real idea what life in the southern hemisphere would be like. In my mind Australia was just like the United States but smaller and more tropical, with a social welfare system also in its favor. I was hoping to find clans of art-damaged rockers roaming wild in the streets. Isolated and removed from the geopolitical bullshit, I dreamed I was heading into my noise rock Valhalla, where guitarists battle it out with feedback for all of eternity.

Isolation, part one

The reality of it was, sadly, neither accurate, nor wholly other. It was, in many ways, everything I imagined it would be, but there were a few complications that balanced the scales. For one thing, there is the stark reality of maps. We're discussing islands. Continent it may be, but Australia is more or less a coastline filled with just fewer than 20 million people – the population of New York. Relatively speaking, it doesn't take much to make it big here because big just ain't that big. The downside is that you notice your glass ceiling pretty damn quick, and you can be sure that island fever will be setting in. Melbourne is 8,000 miles away from San Francisco, and 10,000 miles away from Berlin, making it more remote than Siberia or South Africa.

The only hope most bands hold is to make it in the US or Europe, a sort of mythic quest where many try and few succeed. Most DIY acts coming from either side of the divide lose thousands of dollars on their trip. As with most anything, Americans take it for granted that we have cheap access to music from all over the world. Most bands from Australia sell off all their gear to buy tickets, only to be handed a whole lot of "who gives a shit" from clubs, audiences, and promoters. Thankfully, as Americans we weren't returned the favor. Folks seemed both curious and genuinely grateful that an underground American band had traveled this far. Being American didn't necessarily earn us warm feelings, but at least it earned us a bit of courtesy.

Rock geography

There are four cities you can play in Australia. They form a triangle, with Adelaide, Brisbane, and Melbourne occupying the corners and Sydney in between the latter two. This isn't to say there aren't small towns with punks, hipsters, and freaks eager for music, because there are, and we played there too. It's just that in Oz you have the equivalent of Seattle, Portland, SF, and LA, and there's no "rest of the country" to be conquered.

That said, each city has its own character and challenges, and each gave me reasons to dream of coming back. Brisbane is diverse and full of punks – tropical and infested with fruit bats, naked geckos, and ibises wandering the streets. There's an inner-city pool ideal for drunken a.m. swims. Sydney is fun the way LA and NY are too much fun; it's what they call "flash," and the freaks and activists that make it great seem to be struggling for a reason to stay. We missed out on Adelaide, though we did play Byron Bay, which is a perverse marriage of Cancun and Marin County. Now Melbourne, there is the archetype of a Rock City, as in "Detroit ..." or "We built this city ..." There is quite simply great music all around, and the media and money haven't ripped it all apart. Rent is cheap, and venues abound, plus a bit of that less-tangible magical lure that brings scores of talented eccentrics into a mash of unbridled bohemia.

Isolation, part two

I was about ready to stay. Then I remembered a ticket to Australia had cost $1,200, and most of the people I was hanging out with were on the dole. Staying in Australia meant saying, "See you later" to all my friends and family ... much later.

From America the world seems absolutely open. Though most Americans are just struggling to survive, should they endeavor to continue to do so, there is access to wealth and opportunity that enables one to hustle together a livelihood out of nothing, or to buy a plane ticket by selling homemade CD-Rs. Of course, our quality of life is another question. My friends in Australia were shocked by stories of people with open skulls giving false names at the emergency room or of people working 50 hours a week and still being in debt five years after finishing university. "What does America spend its wealth on? Why doesn't it have free school, or healthcare?" Well ... we have a war on terror, you see, and....

Standing at the exit of SFO, staring at the smog over the horizon, I still couldn't decide. Would I rather have my world shrink but be at ease in it or have it be limitless yet always at the edge of falling into a void? Once you've seen how big the world is, can you ever go back?

Gabriel Mindel's top 10 Australian discoveries

The breadth of amazing music I discovered in Australia was staggering. Of course, I no more discovered this music than the Aboriginal people were discovered by Captain Cook.

Since the first Beatles records washed up on those southern shores, Australia has been cranking out staggeringly good music available to anyone who's willing to look. Your best bet for finding all of these and more is Missing Link Records, out of Melbourne (missinglink.net.au).

1. Whitehorse Impossibly heavy slow-motion metal. Like other new music ensembles (Jackie O-MF, Sunn0))), Vibracathedral) this band is more about a way of playing than working as a consistent group. Throat destroyer Peter Hyde conducts, supported by a Who's Who of local punks, noisers, and metalers. (www.getonthehorse.com/whitehorse.htm)

2. Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood From the jungles of eastern Australia, these wizards of Oz (sorry) climb out of the cosmic-communal pot farm to play the occasional gig in town, sometimes as 6majik9 or Terracid. Lots of trance-inducing acoustic and electronic jams suggesting a total devolution back to pre-Folkways days. (mymwly.blogspot.com)

3. Pisschris Raging crust punk. Total D-beat mayhem from members of Schifozi, ABC Weapons, and Whitehorse. It's not just about Sweden anymore.

4. Lakes Totally raw post-punk keyboard raves and rants. Similar to Australia's legendary Primitive Calculators, as well as your more standard Joy Division/Screamers/ Nocturnal Projections-style art-punk. One man's all-out scream, Casio, and drum assault. Sooo good.

5. Oren Ambarchi A legendary improviser whose subtle guitar and percussion work is held in the highest regard. Now he's touring in Sunn0))) and putting out records on Southern Lord. Weird world we live in. He also owns a great record store in Melbourne. (www.orenambarchi.com)

6. Gray Daturas Deep, droned-out doom-metal bliss. A totally inspired merging of Sabbath-worshipping stoner metal and shoe-gaze wall of guitar skree. Beautiful and heavy. (www.greydaturas.cjb.net)

7. Agents of Abhorrence Totally perverse tech-grind trio. Absurd guitar playing by none other than Mr. Blarke Bayer himself, Ben Andrews, making his other group, My Disco, seem laid-back (in a seriously tense way). An ABC Weapons pad pummeler and classic hardcore vocals make it all a bit too good to be true. Rumors of an Iron Lung split LP are well-founded.

8. Kiosk Total queer teen explosion. A touch of fashion and trash, with a good score of underage drinking, plus a gutsy "fuck it" kind of attitude all gets mixed into a total mess of punk. Too much fun for an old-timer like me. They'll be opening for the Gossip soon enough.

9. Stryborg The most raw black metal I've ever heard. Makes Darkthrone sound like Ratt. They, along with Ruins, are making a case for Tasmania being the new capital of all things grim.

10. Castings A motley crew of city slickers and country dwellers playing a psychedelic mix of acoustic and electro percussion, processed howls, and odd guitar mangling. Minor Threat T-shirts and Birkenstocks were both on display. Third-ear brother band to the Occult Sisterhood. (www.geocities.com/castings_music)