by Chris Coplan (@chriscoplan.bsky.social)
Until he died in 2022, my dad had a cassette of The Rolling Stones from circa 1989. When I asked why he didn't get a new album, or at least update the format, he offered this:
"I don't know. I just like what I like."
It's something I thought about while listening to the self-titled EP from Game Set Match (aka Will Cooke of Cammy Cautious And The Wrestlers). Conceivably, Bill Coplan could've liked these Aussies’ grime-laden garage punk that's equal parts Iggy Pop, Osees, and Jay Reatard. (Even that handy "recipe" ignores the innately Australian tendency to be full-on, simultaneously scary, serious, and sensuous.) But mostly because this EP defines that laissez-faire approach to life and art in a way that’s hugely interesting.
Even across a four-song, nine-minute offering, Game Set Match’s musical scope proves especially hyper-focused. There's just enough variation to discern each song, but the conceptual goal emphasizes chaotic immersion above everything. (Basically, I could easily discern tracks, but I’m busy having a damn good time dancing into walls.)
Where GSM best adhered to dad’s "lifestyle" actually lies in their thematic "messaging." While nothing’s especially profound, there's a sharp self-awareness – this reckoning of exactly what you're capable of and concerned with in life. And while that doesn't amount to all that much, the passion and dedication abounds. Don't be surprised if this is music for getting drunk with strangers in basements, because in that space, there's still something genius.
Opener "Hang Out With You" is a bare-bones ode to that rather lazy but important act. The fellow hangee doesn't matter – the band could befriend anyone with that New York Dolls-ian charm or Suicide-esque angst. In some ways, it's the driving force of the EP, the most intense display of pure emotion — and it's asking to basically get drunk at someone's loft. But what “Hang Out With You” lacks in depth, it exceeds in passion and universality.
Meanwhile, "Mundane" is about that most universal theme of how life is a derivative slog, which makes sense as to why the band channeled Television-esque disdain to temper their otherwise frenetic tendencies. But there's one line that stands out: "What do I have/in the palm of my hands/All this time/nothing in my grasp." While not exactly revelatory, it expresses relief and serves as a mantra. It’s this catchy recognition that if you seek that which you need in life, it's already there in your weirdly sweaty hands.
And speaking of oddly insightful gems, we come to "Want To Lose." This further simplified ditty features the line, "Don't want to lose the melody/don't want to lose the memory." The song really is all there is to be had — without it, the world basically dissolves. It's an ode to the magic of creativity, but it's also a cutting encapsulation of their otherwise limited opportunities for people and musicians alike.
And, finally, we come to "Know Her Just The Same." If we're talking mantras, the EP's finest is "The city knows my name/and I know her just the same." Don't mistake that for weird hometown pride; rather, it's another recognition of what rests in the band's collective palm. No overt enthusiasm or endless love; just a recognition that you know these streets and alleys, so why ever rock the boat? It’s not them frothing at the mouth to travel the world — just a preference for what's always worked and nothing else.
If you're the armchair psychologist type, maybe you've already discerned all you need from these songs. That GSM are a bunch of party-hardy losers with neither a hope nor care in the world. And, admittedly, that's not exactly novel in the realm of rock 'n' roll, with nihilism and desperate existential flailing par for the course. They are, like their musical heroes of the past, happy to be living at 1,000% speed amid a life that is, at best, 40% full.
There’s no disparagement whatsoever; it’s an honest and authentic life indeed. However, there's still something there – the vintage sound that's still refreshing in its technical execution and dissemination; the honesty and clarity that borders on the zen-like (or, at least how Andrew WK is zen-like); and finding joy and direction in the choice to live solely on the fringes. In that way, GSM have taken my father's words to their extreme — life is what you like, and everything else is living a lie worthy of death.
And, sure, that's also not novel within rock music — or is it? Because as we’ve seen recently across politics, media consumption, technology, etc., there's a large-scale paring down of late. It’s people doing away with what doesn't work (social norms, AI), embracing what does, and finding the joy in a life lived meagerly but enthusiastically. Sure, some of us don't have a choice for a billion different factors, but GSM have made this prospect massively tantalizing.
The band have managed to, in less time required to cook butter noodles, given us a roadmap. And, surprise, it's a blank page to be filled with the people, places, things, and ideas that are undeniable. Maybe you could strive for more and rewrite your circumstances. But you could more readily—and with heaps more authenticity—accept your situation and celebrate it with drunken singing and cheap power chords. There's an honesty in holding the world in the palm of your hand, even if it's one crummy leather jacket and some stupid friends.
Funnily enough, "game set match" is a declaration of victory. But it's also the rallying cry of finality – the game is over, so move on. Victory is fleeting, but so are the losses, and what matters is that you showed up. Not the effort or the accolades; just that you battled with snarled teeth and closed fists. You don’t need trophies to be a champion — just the drive to make noise, be seen for who you are, and know that no one can deny your eternal piss and vinegar.
My dad would appreciate it, and that's totally enough.