by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
If you know me (and, statistically speaking, you don’t), I adore Australian punk music. I’ve written about it several times across a few different publications, but it’s generally my shimmery niche genre. It’s hard to explain what it is about that country and its history, geography, collective psyche, etc. that makes its punk music so damn fine. Why it speaks so loudly to my heart and mind amid a sea of punkish cacophony. Luckily, there’s Gee Tee.
The brain-child of Kel Mason (formerly of the super great band Draggs), Gee Tee has been "blowing drooly-punk minds for the past few years with a rash of out-of-print records and ridiculous videos that have bounced around the proper channels of the internet underbelly." Sure, that’s Gee Tee’s words, but it doesn’t make it any less true -- and that’s especially true now that they’ve released a new album, Goodnight Neanderthal.
Is this ten track LP the greatest Aussie punk record ever released? God no, but, perhaps even more importantly than just such an accolade, it gives us a kind of language and/or framework for why punk from the Land Down Under truly is the koala’s roar.
All great Aussie punk either sounds like it was recorded in 2014 or 1981. This record’s no different -- the production quality plays with your sensibilities with a lethal efficiency. "Grease Rot Chemical," for instance, has that chunky bass and lo-fi synth that confuses the brain and alters one’s perceptions. Sure, it gets a little unnerving at times, and it’s not always consistent, but it grounds this record in something resembling a sense of history and context. That, and you always feel like you’re on the defensive trying to sort out your place on the timeline.
At the same time, though, this record emphasizes a sense of total impermanence. From the fact that the longest song is 127 seconds to an album runtime of eighteen minutes for ten songs, Gee Tee don’t want to make too grand of an impact. There’s some clear upsides to that -- it forces you to engage head on -- and some downsides (it takes several listens to readily consume this bad boy). The shortest song, the 97-second "Stuck Down," barrels at you with fiery momentum -- and when it sizzles out, there's a longing left that feels exciting if not a little empty/hollow.
If nothing else, Aussie punk music is funny. Their American brethren, for instance, are a little too sophomoric at times. The English, meanwhile, are often more focused on showy displays of angst and anger, but the Aussies have that perfect blend of the silly and the transcendent. "(I Hate) Drivin In the City," for instance, turns a lame gimmick into a sly commentary on personal freedom. I don't know what a "Rock Phone" is, but toss some painfully jangly guitar, and it's LOL-worthy for sure. The humor ain't always obvious, but it'll still smack ya in the rear.
Similar to the album’s sense of humor (again, it takes a little time), you may also initially think of this LP as another ‘80s-indebted synth-punk affair. While it’s most certainly that (with gusto!), it’s also so much more. "Bad Egg" brings in a little more hardcore energy, without making things feel menacing or any less silly and playful. Meanwhile, "Heart-Throb" emphasizes the synth for something far more obscure and experimental. It's not about overdoing it, but playing with the confines of their sound to elicit some weird ideas and novel responses.
From the janky sound of the synth, to the endless rolling sensation of the tracklist, the album feels a little like driving a really old jeep down a sharp hill. Is that often thrilling? Yeah, it's why this album feels so compelling, but can it also be a little unsettling? Sure -- it’s often hard to maintain one’s sense of gravity, and that uncertainty can quickly shift from thrilling to feel more annoying and even bordering on the derivative. Luckily, this theme park attraction is often over before that sensation fully sets in, and the novelty remains through the tenth or twelfth listen.
The true lynchpin of this record is just how catchy it is from pillar to post. It's the driving rhythms; Mason's blend of stoner detachment and oddball enthusiasm (see his vocals on "Within the Walls"); and even the structures of the actual songs ("Cell Damage" feels like someone heard a couple Stooges songs and recreated them solely from memory -- truly profound stuff). That catchiness can cause short circuits, and often feels like the only thing with true heft and mass. Yet it's about overpowering listeners and leaving them charged with white-hot heat.
This may be a cultural thing, but it's hard to tell how Aussies feel about things. This record continues a trend among their punk bands where it's tough to discern optimism from cynicism. Are they just that absolutely jacked no matter how terrible things get, or is something being lost in translation, as it were? Regardless, this LP obfuscates sentiments and emotions in a way that's both compelling (it seems quintessentially punk to perform such magic) and irritating (it makes every expression feel monotone). Enjoy parsing through this emotional snowstorm!
To say this album is an experience is a bit of an understatement. It will lift you up as much as it'll tire you out. Energize you with novel approaches and also frustrate with some derivative tendencies. It might even assure you of punk's future and remind you just why nostalgia is rampant across the scene. Either way, it's an important record -- if only for the whiplash of ideas and energies it springs upon listeners like a can of fake snakes. If you’re still not sure, just take my word for it.