CRUSTY SEAMEN - Meatbeaters (Turkeyneck Records)
Clocking in at eight songs, it's a mini-album or an EP, but the brevity of "Crusty Seamen" won't be a problem if you play it back to back a few times. It might be the best 30 minutes you've spent since you pushed Aunt Maude into the pool and sat on the side with your foot on her head. Meatbeaters take a piece of four-by-two to rock's flabby arse on "Crusty Seamen" and smack it into next week.

As you can tell by the schoolboy humour in the album title, Meatbeaters think subtlety's a waste of your time and theirs so they totally dispense with the concept. Their music sounds like the Cosmic Psychos arguing with the Onyas over the last six pack in the garbage bin full of ice at Rose Tattoo's backyard barbie. There was never a question that things were going to be ugly. Just how ugly depends on how deep you had your arm in the numbing water when the first king-hit landed.

If this was a conventional review, I could tell you how "Misunderstood" howls like a cow under the weight of three butchers as it's put into the offing machine at the non-halal slaughterhouse, or why the guitar runs on "Cracking Skulls" sting like your arse the morning after when you drunkenly put too much chilli on your 3am kebab.I won't because you could probably do a better job. It's loud and distorted, crudely recorded and if that sounds like your gig, you're probably already handing over the cash and getting your arm stamped. Ever heard of the Powder Monkeys? Comparions like that aren't used cheaply but you can bet these guys have the whole back catalogue in their collections.

"Lunch" makes it clear it's not an invitation to dine. Crude but effective. "I Walk Alone" is not to be confused with the Exploding White Mice song. It's a grinding melange of dirty guitars and sort of audible drums that sounds very wired. It seems as heavy as a kleptomaniac trannie's handbag after a tour of the Canberra Mint, until "Big Momma" kicks in. "Fuel Injected Fist" is one of the best of the bunch, with distorto bass and scuzz-fucked wah-wah guitars.

These guys only make a record every three decades but it's been worth the wait. File with Boondall Boys and a handful of other bands who get their joillies from kicking rock and roll's corpse before crashing on each other's lounges and raiding their mates' beer fridges. Are they Blokes You Can Trust? Put it this way - they're Adelaide boys. I wouldn't leave them alone with the cat in the loungeroom after I go to bed and neither should you. - The Barman



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CARRY ON TUGGIN' - The Meatbeaters (Pressed Ham)
Paying attention? This album by a band from local serial killer capital Adelaide that hardly anyone outside Australia will have heard of celebrates obscene volume, filthy guitar sounds and a blaring bottom end. For these reasons alone, you should love it.

The Meatbeaters still dress like homicidal Water Buffalo Lodge members wandering out of the pub after commiserating about their failure to pass the basic skills test at the local basket-weaving workshop. They make a noise that's rude and crude enough to blow your average Danzig T-shirt-wearing would-be thrash band right up a dead elephant's arse and out the other end.

The Meatbeaters are unashamed fans of the Powder Monkeys, the Tatts, the Onyas and the Cosmic Psychos. The dirty stuff. Each of their songs burn with the same intensity that all of those bands delivered. Then they drop in a good dose of carnal humour, a trait they share with fellow Oz yob rockers the VeeBees and a long line of precursors.

This is smart-dumb rock and roll with its three big chords locking horns with dark clouds of electrified energy blowing in off the Great Southern Ocean. Every man for himself and lock up your sister with the braces and cleft palate.

"Name Of The Father" entwines Sonic Smith's fifth notes solo with scalding rhythm guitar. Whoever plays lead on these songs (Kid Ock or vocalist Slammin' Stan - or maybe they share the role) invariably drills rather than thrashes. The playing's tight and doesn't leave many spaces. If it did it probably wouldn't leave you with bleeding ears.

The Meatbeaters' assault is hard and relentless. Only "Slappin' My Balls" varies the formula with a bass intro ushering the guitars in before the Beaters lock into formation. They take it down and build it back up with Slammin' Stan wailing away righteously on vocals in the middle of a guitar ebb tide.

One of the band members emailed to find out if the CD had made it through the lucky dip that is Australia Post and if it passed muster. My reply of "it's a motherfucker" prompted the response: "Is that good?" I certainly hope so.

Even with its paucity of lighter moments, "Carry On Tuggin'" never wears thin over the course of 37 minutes, Motorhead fans take note. And The Meatbeaters' ragged take on The Wipers' "Over The Edge" (the only cover) might even shade the original. - The Barman



Hey, this kicks ass, these guys are really stoopid and really good.

There's a fuckin' excellent balance here;they have TONS of Australian attitude (a la Cosmic Psychos, Onyas), mainly in the lyrics. And, musically, they run right over Motorhead - but in their own car (they're not just copycats).

It's very cool, with song titles like "12 Inches of Love", "Going the Growl", "Wanker", "Never Miss the Bowl", "You Can't Lose Here", you have a fair idea of what to expect.

Meatbeaters also have that unique heaviness that's inherrent in many Aussie punk rock 'n' roll bands. Take "Cunt Of A Band" (C O A B)", for example. It has a Powder Monkeys vibe in the heaviness. Man, just sign these cunts up to the club. - Ashley Thomson

Order a copy from here.


OK, appearances aren't the be all and end all, but they are a big part of rock 'n' roll, and you just gotta dips yer lid in the direction of the Meatbeaters for getting that part right. Three boofy blokes in nondescript T-shirts and Water Buffalo Lodge headgear on the cover, and the inside pic looks like the Long Bay Jail Glee Club. Artwork shithouse enough to frame. Plus song titles like "Wanker" and "Blind Drunk". You just have to take notice.

In case you were wondering, the music lives up (down?) to expectations. Nine low-brow originals and a fiery Stooges cover ("1970"). Chunky riffage and mildly Lemmyesque vocals, both courtesy of Slammin' Stan, give these nicely under-produced tunes a raw, unpolished presence. Stan can play up a shitstorm.

The Meatbeaters are apparently outgrowths/the afterbirth of the KT-26s and the Iron Sheiks, two hi-octane Adelaide outfits who may be in the past tense these days (and maybe not). If that's not enough of a clue to how they sound, try the Cosmic Psychos with less fuzz bass. It's almost too obvious a point to make that "Never Miss The Bowl" is a fine companion piece to "The Man Who Drinks Too Much", but I'll make it anyway.

The production we mentioned as "unpolished" a para or two back, but let's takle it a step further: If you're a fan of the noise you'll mark it up a notch for scads of guitar leakage. Bassist Kid Ock and drummer Splodge (gotta love Adelaide names - it they sure beat "McPharlin") anchor it nicely with solid, unadorned playing but resist the obvious temptation of driving it too fast or falling into lazy boogie feels. That said, Motorhead would be pretty chuffed with a song like "Going Nowhere".

Sounds like it was recorded in a loungeroom (as it undoubtedly was). Shit, I'll invite them over to play in my loungeroom some day - but first I'll just padlock the fridge and ensure the cat and a roll of duct tape aren't lying around in close proximity of each other, otherwise things could get messy. - The Barman



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