Bindoon Rock, 1989 - Entropy series cont...
Mark Seymour for On The Street
Mark Seymour
Beasts of Bourbon, somewhere in Perth 1988
Eardrums still howling from Tex Perkins deep-throating a mic at an ungodly 10,000 decibels—pure, sweaty, sonic carnage. No escape, no mercy, just Spencer P. Jones and Kim Salmon detonating a wall of sound that rattled bones and rewired synapses. Best consumed in a crammed, smoky dive where the walls sweat nicotine and the air tastes like bad decisions.
Vince Jones, Harbourside Brasserie, 1990
Got booted out of the joint for the heinous crime of a "noisy shutter"—cheers for that, Leica. Vince, ever the elusive jazz specter, wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat. He’d made his stance crystal clear before—once in Perth, snarling “piss off” while riffing with Grabowsky. The man had a talent for making photographers feel about as welcome as a saxophone at a silent retreat. But hell, someone had to document the madness. Jazz in that era wasn’t going to capture itself.
Monica Trapaga, Basement, 1990
Jonathan Richman, Paddington Townhall, 1990
Linked up with Greg Perano, who was moonlighting in the beat press, to chase down the real-deal touring acts—the ones worth sweating through a gig for. Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole, sure, but Jonathan Richman? That guy was a cosmic contradiction—both a million miles away and whispering in your ear at the same damn time.
BigPig, my loungeroom Paddington, 1990