I want to go to Australia. It seems like such a cool place, full of wide-open desert expanses, people with funny accents, and all manner of crazy marsupials. They have frilled lizards, Tasmanian devils, and most of the birds are flightless. Plus, there all sorts of creepy things crawling around, like giant redback spiders, poisonous snakes, and Nick Cave. And there's always that charming Yahoo Serious fellow, a true renaissance man of the cinema. I wonder what ever happened to him.
I've always wondered why such an interesting place didn't produce more great bands. You've got the Saints, the Birthday Party, the Dirty Three, and more recently, the Avalanches. But besides that what is there? Silverchair? Rolf Harris? Well, I'll tell you what else there is. There's Radio Birdman, the godfathers of Aussie rock. For the last half of the 70's, these guys totally rocked, and now Sub Pop has generously ended their two decades of silence in the states with this new compilation. Friends, they've aged a lot better than Paul Hogan.
From the very first moments of the opener, "Aloha Steve & Danno," it's abundantly clear that Radio Birdman were a talented bunch. Guitars duel for supremacy over stabbing organs, elastic basslines and Ayers Rock-solid drumming, as vocalist Rob Younger barks the refrain: "Book 'em, Danno, murder one." The song is so vital and ferocious that it's easy to forget it's written about the characters from "Hawaii Five-O." The lead guitar even plays the Ventures' "Theme to 'Hawaii Five-O.'" And unbelievably, it never sounds like novelty.
It's things like their ability to shamelessly reference things (their very name is a phrase nicked from the Stooges' "1970") and get away with it on the strength of their sheer manic energy that made Radio Birdman great. The band's primary songwriter and guitarist, the Detroit-born American expatriate Deniz Tek, deftly brought together myriad influences into a primal stew of great rock n' roll. Naturally, the chaotic Detroit rock of the Stooges and MC5 always loomed large in the mix, but there's as much Yardbirds, Dick Dale, Bobby Fuller, Chuck Berry, Blue Oyster Cult and Link Wray in there as anything else.
And thanks to the sparkling remastering job by the folks at Sub Pop, this material sounds like it was recorded yesterday in an overpriced L.A. studio. The compilation pulls together all of the band's debut album, Radios Appear (the title comes from Blue Oyster Cult's "Dominance and Submission"), in addition to two tracks from their Burn My Eye EP, a smattering of selections from their sophomore effort Living Eyes, and three blistering live offerings from the More Fun EP.
The compilers have unfortunately failed to sequencing these tracks in chronological order, but the mix is so consistent that it rarely detracts from the listening experience. And perhaps the only thing more consistent than the mix is the quality of the material. Every song is good, and it's mystifying as to why the band never had more success. Though constantly gritty and muscular, there's an innate sense of melody that guides every song directly into your memory by the second or third listen.
The flypaper riffs of "Hand of Law" will lodge themselves in your head before you even get to the chorus, whose traditional anti-authority stance makes sense coming from a band from a former penal colony. Warwick Gilbert's rip-snorting bass chews up the low-end like there's no tomorrow. You will listen to this song in your car. And you will like it.
"Snake," from the 1976 Burn my Eye EP, beats the Clash to their own punch, and makes you wonder if Joe Strummer didn't cop a vocal move or two from Younger. The other song from that EP present here, "I-94," evidences Tek's homesickness, with references to the interstate and American institutions like Eskimo Pies. Elsewhere, "Love Kills" makes a passing reference of "singing 'We Will Fall'" at a Stooges show.
But one of the compilation's highlights easily comes with "Man with Golden Helmet," originally the closing track on the Radios Appear album. Ron Keeley's ride cymbals and Gilbert's fluid bass propel Tek's leads and Chris Masuak's textured strumming in a manner that modern listeners might equate to Radiohead's "Blow Out." But the real shock comes when Pip Hoyle's piano takes center stage for an extended solo that trades between classical figures and Little Richard exuberance. This track exemplifies more than any other that Radio Birdman were not just a punk band, but another thing entirely, a dexterous unit whose regrettably short existence managed to produce some transcendent music.
It's clear from the selections here that Living Eyes, recorded away from home in Wales, was a darker record, full of the violent imagery of "Smith & Wesson Blues" and the feedback meltdown of "Alone in the Endzone." The live tracks that close the CD, culled from a 1977 Sydney performance, capture the band in all their raging glory, full of piss and vinegar, but also raging with pop sensibility.
Unfortunately, it seems as if Radio Birdman were the right band at the wrong time, and they never managed to turn their strengths into success. This compilation may finally set the record straight about one of Australia's greatest bands. They were raw and refined, political and fun all at once-- rare traits for a single band to possess. Their legacy is impressive and worthy of investigation for just about anyone who's interested in first-wave punk, or just good rock and roll in general. Now if only someone could resurrect the legacy of Young Einstein.
