Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Tauranga Music Sux????

Remember when Tauranga Music actually did suck and it wasn't just a catch cry of ironic endearment to get people to buy more overpriced sweat shop t-shirts, jizz socks and hipster badges emblazoned with phallic symbols? In an era way back when every band was stuck in a dated Nu Metal time warp spanning many a faded backwards baseball cap wearing perpetual summer that resulted in chronic back problems for those involved after slinging their 18 string guitars so very very low for such a very very long time. How the venues, all two of them treated those with aspirations to play music that wasn't of their favoured genre, Winz Hotline Call Waiting Party Hits Vol. 6. How the fans responded to your music with yawns, casual fake watch tan line looks, bored texts to no one in particular and the occasional pity filled half mosh near the stage but not quite in front of the stage. And that the former highlight of your weekend was playing pool at the Bureta Trust with your friend Steve who now lives in Perth and drives a truck.
No you probably don't because you are the demographic I hate the most. Scene hopping history avoiding trendoid dilettante dickheads.

The Origin:

Let me preface... In an era not too long ago the local music scene was in tatters. A scene as it were no longer existed.That is to say if it ever did. A bunch of disparate musicians attempted to write songs, play gigs and live the 2am Brewers Bar rockstar dream with only a pentatonic scale and a 4:4 drum beat between them . It was an embarrassment. Everyone was apathetic to the fact that here was a place with so much potential due to its geographic location and ever growing population and yet due to a lethal mix of idiocy, indolence, cynicism and premature ageing no defined culture of our own could seemingly ever grow or become truly formed. Sure there were attempts, jam nights here, showcase nights there, gigs anywhere that sold cheap beer and didn't have a covers band ruining all ears with songs that the soul should never hear. Yes a lot of shit was thrown against the walls but nothing ever stuck. It just ran slowly down the sides, into the cracks of the floor leaving a putrid smell that no amount of Janola could ever rid.

Enter Tauranga Music Sux.

Enjoyed these past couple of years have you? Was it fun seeing a band from China play in a pedestrian train tunnel with support from a man in a gimp mask purporting to be blind and the last slave of his race? Had a jolly good time under the harbour bridge with some of New Zealand and Australias best punk bands as they thrashed it out while a tiny inverter generator struggled and smoked but still chugged on like the little red caboose that could? Was it a hoot when you went on that Tauranga Harbour booze cruise, drunk way too much and nearly fell off the deck into the freezing winter waters and or when you partied in that closed off former mining tunnel near Waihi, with Die!Die!Die! only to have it almost shut down by the authorities right before they started playing until someone offered the head honcho a beer to pacify him? Or when you went to those festivals centered around phallic imagery that had pretty much every band your hipster friend Gerald name dropped in that pretentious conversation you guys had over Valerian tea when you stayed with him in Wellington about the state of indie music in New Zealand and how 'rad' it is?

Yep, I suppose you have had a pretty good time getting drunk, meeting people, making friends, starting bands, getting high, having your music promoted for you - good and bad, seeing bands that otherwise never would have come to Tauranga, getting fashion tips on how to be comfortable and classy from the best dressed man in Tauranga, being exposed to genres of music your tiny uncouth mind had never known from bands that you had never heard of but now which you claim as in your top five New Zealand bands right now...On, my time, my dollar, my hard work, my creativity, my plans, my vision, my stubbie/jandal/flannel cut off designer combo, my never ceasing raw vegan energy, my modesty, my naturally self effacing nature, my beautiful white light emitting god like super presence . Yeah I've done a lot for you cunts and all I have got in return is a bright red inflamed areshole from you lot ceaselessly licking it with such incredible vigor....

And so for all my ranting, my raving, my raping is Tauranga Music any better for it? Have I made a difference? And if so has it been for the better? Join me as I review and find answers to the question 'Tauranga Music Sux???'....

The Bands:

Honestly I do not know who you people think you are kidding. I remember you all...

You were the fat bogan muppets. Faces covered in acne from eating too many Burger Rings. Bones brittle, skin porcelain white from avoiding the sunlight as you vampire hid in your mothers basements. Slowly learning all the guitar solos on Master of Puppets. 'They are soooo hard. Kirk Hammet is such a great guitar player'.

I remember you all.

You were the ones that would plan your week around Krazy Jacks Thursday Jam night. Not so that you could perform a new riff in the company of able musicians that might help expand upon it and create something new and exciting but so that you could stand in a one man mosh pit centre left and bellow out the lyrics to any number of shitty covers while drinking another refreshing brew of all froth Buck beer.

I heard your bands.

They were all metal, most were Nu Metal and occasionally you leaned a little slightly into the abstract avant garde by spicing up your repertoire with some Death or Prog Metal. Even then it wasn't good metal. It was aluminium, it was copper, it was tin.

Your taste in music was crap. Your sound reflected it.

Thank fuck that this scene was in such dire straights that the only venues around were ones that featured covers bands playing Dire Straights songs because you were a big reason why Tauranga Music Sucked...
Now look at you. You phonies. You frauds. Suddenly everyone is into punk and alternative music. The 15 year Nu Metal eclipse has suddenly shifted and everyone has declared Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains and Black Flag their favourite bands. Wah-fucken-hoo. Local punk bands are making strides in Tauranga and outside but I don't believe you lot for a second. You are sheep in Scowlin Wolfs clothing.

Your music belies your true intent. The fact that your anger is derived not from the pained tortured screams of the soul but from a throaty strepsil needing throat growl tells me that you still hate Dad and really want to have sex with Mum. Your need to complicate a genre which needs little more than one hate filled verse and maybe a hate filled chorus with elaborate breakdowns - emergency, mental and otherwise, tip gripping shaft thrusting cum spilling sprawling solos of hardcore self onerism, bridges to over passes to pedestrian cause ways and underground tunnels and lyrics that reflect on life lets me know that you don't get this style and all you really want to do is unleash your Yngwie.

Get your tongues out of my bung and give it up posuers. I respected you more when you played what you wanted to play no matter how shit I thought it was. Go back to aspiring to play Summerfest and orchestrating plans to record a 13 song acoustic album at Torchwood Studios. Because while my ego appreciates the obsequious sentiment the rest of me despises your disingenuous attempts at noise.
But in saying that... To the rest of you that didn't get the memo, you know the one that says that 'I'm big wolf in town and that you should kowtow to my every whim' or did and chose to ignore it. Well fuck you. I am the God of this music scene and while the other dude that goes by the name 'God' created the world in 7 days and made man in his own image well I created a scene in 7 months and made the bands in my own image. So say goodbye to diversity, artistic licence and creative freedom. Play what I want you to play and then when you do let me complain about it without complaint because that is what I do because I am a media mogul... Call me Rupert Murdoch bitches....

The Venues:

Everyone loves ragging on this town and the fact that live music venues are scarce. I did and i quote myself now because I find myself endlessly entertaining and amusing... "Every great scene has numerous venues where bands can play. Tauranga has 2, they are not great." I am a funny man but in reality it was true to an extent. And if you ask the common Tauranga Musician it still is. But their ignorance is infamous...

Live original music venues cannot exist in abundance no matter how big the city is. Auckland really only has a few; Lucha Lounge, Whammy Bar, Dogs Bollix, Cassette 9 that host regular gigs. Wellington has Mighty Mighty, Puppies, Bodega and the San Francisco Bathhouse. Many of these bars even on a Friday/Saturday are not packed out. People would rather stay at home having a cyber life on Facebook, talking to naked masturbating men on chat roulette, watching 'the game' whatever the game might be and generally avoiding going out unless they absolutely have to because lets face it once you are over the age of 18 your desire to party has already waned because you're always tired. Why? Because your an adult and you have adult responsibilites like jobs, kids and maintaining your online presence. Oh and your old and look like shit in artificial light.

And so the bars that cater to originals music make do with the people the bands bring with them. Their friends and families all the while probably thinking to themselves that if they were to have a covers band or a DJ on a Saturday night their patronage would expand considerably. So to rag on Tauranga for its lack of live venues is a stretch. They are there and the options are probably greater than elsewhere. Many of the local bars due to a variety of reasons do not do great business so a Rosie O' Gradys, Brewers or G2 that find themselves located slightly off the beaten track are very responsive to any ideas to stimulate business. You just need to have the right promotion so that these bars take a chance on you instead of the Beatles tribute act. But none of you seem to know the first thing about that hence why you are sucking me dry with your pained cries for help.


As stated Tauranga has plenty of prospective venues. A crap ton of crap bands and a number of people now dedicated to coming out to see original music. And so for a town that used to go a whole year without having a gig worth seeing we seem to have at least one per week.

And why? How? Who? Oh yeah little ol' me...

Yeah if you haven't heard from the people queuing up to suck my Stan Walker then I'm pretty cool. I make the deals with the bars. I book your new favourite band, that one you heard about last week... from me. I coerce you and your flatmate that plays a little bass to start a new band that has a punk flavour and a new slant on the same 3 chords that have been misused in noisy music since the 70's. I do the promotion with the same shitty photoshopped wrestling poster and or cartoon picture of a penis doing something musical with a written blurb that screams insight, hilarity and intelligence. Yeah I can see why your lips want to be on my Mt Zion..

But you know this whole Charles Manson thing is getting a little tiring. If you want you can book some gigs? Just email/facebook/call a venue - ask for an available date. Get back to them with a list of bands who will be playing. If you haven't asked any bands then invite ones whose music you enjoy. Make a poster. Do an events page. Waffle. Invite everyone you know. Spam them daily. If the people come congratulations if not do it again until people do...

But don't get to good at it. This is my thing and my ego doesn't appreciate the competition.

The Fans:

I remember your type;

The newly arrived Tauranga immigrant, bitterly complaining that this town 'Doesn't have any culture!!!'... Constantly comparing it to whatever massive urban sprawl, student hub, foreign home of inner city leisure living from which you came. While never actually doing anything to stimulate change because you 'Don't know anyone.' after already deciding you didn't want to meet anyone as we all seemed like country hicks to you... Not that you could have stimulated change because your ideas were ones poached from your past life as a gluten free summer holiday muffin maker on Woof farm outside of the Coromandel not ones borne of desire and or true frustration.

And I recall the life long living in the house you grew up in Matua resident too internally weak to ever leave the comforting boundaries of Tauranga City for greener pastures and yet bitterly complaining about a lack of scene. Cutting the existing bands off at the knees whether you had heard them or not because you ' Just know they are the ebola virus'. Never leaving your house to support whatever bands do make the trip here 'because if they are coming here they can't be very good'. Yeah I remember your cynicism when proposals of change were made. Your scoffs. Your Yawns. Your hairy knuckle on the middle finger of your right hand.  
Who can forget the pot smoking bogan, reared on a decade of listening to Tool and who which abhorrently hated punk and the diy ethos that goes with it. How you thought the music didn't have any skill behind it because every song wasn't littered with a 30 minute simultaneous drum/bass/guitar/rhythm guitar/vocal/turntable/keyboard solo. And so whenever someone would come along with a stripped back ideal you would mock and laugh. Holding gigs that weren't in a bar, how amatuer they baited. Starting bands after learning an instrument for a week, 'how doomed to fail' they would laugh mirthfully in a stoner husk of smoke. Punk is dead...

And fuck the old cunts that gave up long ago citing that 'It was always like this, Tauranga will never change. Back in our day we tried but this town just doesn't accept original music'. Yeah those codgers that gave up playing in bands, jamming with friends, going out to gigs to instead take up something gay as fuck like making dance beats in their home studio or playing the harmonica.

And those who never tried. Who didn't even like music. Who were happy going to the Crown and Badger and listening to covers bands. Who thought Wash was Tauranga's greatest band ever. Who watched their freinds band play but only once and didn't take any friends due to being embarrassed about how shit their band was. Those who thought shit was shit and didnt get that shit can sometimes be the shit. Anyone called Owen. Those that left Tauranga who talk about moving back.

Yep fuck you all.

Cause this scene is pretty fucken indie cool now. And it's no thanks to any of you. But you are all a bunch of hyper sensitive attention starved self obsessed twats who demand constant validation so thank you for doing more to hinder than help the Tauranga Music scene over the past 20 years than anyone. Thank you for your banal counter productive ideas. Thank you for selling out your ethics and adopting a type of music you used to profess to hate. Thank you for getting motivated enough to put down your mouse and close your beats programme to start a band with all your friends over the age of 50 because as everyone knows the best angry music is made by those of progressing years. Thank you for coming to these gigs I have been putting on and then doing as you always did and ignoring the bands so you can get shit faced drunk, talk loudly and obnoxiously and then leave a huge fucken mess for the organisers top clean up. Thank you for not knowing who any of the bands playing are but raving about how great they were for months after you saw them for the first time. Thanks for seeing the same bands for a second time and then complaining about how they are over exposed and that you would like to see someone new for a change. Thanks for coming to only the gigs that have free entry and therefore your massive financial contributions to my ever worsening bank balance you miserly Dutch Jew mooch cunts. Thanks for stealing my ideas and trying to leach of my success. Thanks for being a pack of waster cunts....

The Future

For all my curmudgeonly complaints and half assed rants one cannot deny that the Tauranga Music scene has been pretty good to us these past two years. There are more bands than ever were before, some are even good. Venues finally seem receptive to originals music. And people actually leave their formerly hermetically sealed nests to see these bands. Out of town acts come here and not only that they list Tauranga as their favourite place to play and then bemoan their own cities scene no matter how established or greater in size than ours. People/musicians are working together for the greater good. Avenues are slowly opening up for gigs, recording, filming etc etc. Diversity of genres is expanding. But hate to be a downer but can't you see? Sadly a nexus has been reached and it's all down hill from here right...

The key reasons why this scene has thrived will soon be supplanted by new problems working to the detriment of Tauranga music.

Like a starving man eating more than his usual fill upon finding food,people have come out in droves to see originals music this year and last by virtue of the fact that in the pre TMS era there actually was no original music that was worth seeing. And so with the options gifted to them they have taken full advantage of this. Seeing bands they had never heard of but carrying the exotic title of having come from a far. But soon people will realise that just because a band  is from Auckland or Wellington it doesn't mean they are good. And while a lot of them are, the supply of the better bands is not inexhaustable. And over saturation of the good bands means an increase in apathy and a decrease in attendance. Local bands can also suffer this fate. While sporadic gigging of the past meant that one could always rely upon friends and family to guiltily arrive to see said band, now with over exposure people are loathe to come to any but the bigger, more meaningful events. Ones that usually rely upon an out of town act or gimmick. And so all local gigs rarely work as well as they once did.

Even if attendance drops, bands will still come here. The reputation that we have helped to build that Tauranga is a destination worthy of bands touring through has spread via word of mouth. And while this is very important for us to get acts that matter to play here it also means that musicians that should be actively encouraged never to play an instrument ever again will also want to come here. And while it was relatively easy to build a good reputation somehow crafting said rep to be a blurred one will be more of a challenge.

I appreciate many of the local bands. I do, I really do. But what happens when they leave, disband, get some chick knocked up and have to work on the port? Who fills the void then. The ones with potential ie those under the 18 years of age bracket are still leaving the moment their student loans are approved. And sadly due to restrictions  this happens before an age where they can be absorbed into this scene. So they head off to Wellington or Dunedin thinking Tauranga is a boring backwoods town and that we all love Jimmy Barnes and listen to the Rock while building decks in our back yards on a Sunday as a DIY project we under take with our father in law. And those that remain, they're a lost cause because lets face it if they stay here then their enthusiasm for life can't exactly be the greatest. So the youth won't fill the void. All talent or non talent either from the existing pool of Tauranga trash or recently relocated receptacle has been sucked dry. The fans are the bands. The bands are the fans.

The DIY, lo-fi nature of TMS has been very important in defining our aesthetic but due to the nature of change one cannot forever push an ingenuous product. Life constantly evolves so does music. And in this case it will. Bands that formerly relied upon self recording are venturing to studios. Most of us want and or are getting music videos made. And not lo fi $20 cellphone camera ones. Some venues demand a higher quality act, and so the tomfoolery and perfomance art that used to ensure is somewhat neutered.  Even we are evolving with websites, festivals that people attend, budgets, advertising. We are, we all are producing a more sophisticated product. Which while not necessarily a bad thing for growth can mean that we run the danger of blurring the definition of what we have built. Continuing down this track we run the risk of turning into what we used to profess to hate.

I'm getting older. We're all getting older. With each passing day I care less about music and more about real estate prices, sports I don't watch and or care for and nightly TV1 weather reports. I have seen almost every New Zealand band I ever wanted to see, half of them I wish I hadn't. My asshole is red n' sore from you all tonguing it so hard and is starting to blister. I've pretty much exhausted my supply of dick jokes/drawings/hate/creativity/innovation. My desire to move to the middle of the bush and do some whittlin grows with each passing day. And my own ability for music dwindles with each strum of the one chord i know.

And we are all like this. Youth is not on our side for the most part. We have achieved what we set out to do. That is to create something from nothing. A scene that not only thrives but which we can be proud of. Something unique and distinct in a world of perpetual repetition. But the united energy that is needed to keep this scene running will soon evaporate. People only work for the greater good without reparation for so long. Loaning gear, gifting time, discounting and donating is something that happens on the up swing. But this up swing has almost reached its peak. And what happens then? It goes down...

Which beckons the question? When the motion swings downwards what will TMS do. Will we bow out with honor forever remembered as the counter culture revolution it was? Or do we push on, selling ourselves to the dollar and the pin striped suited man?

Well, of course we are going to sell out... Think I did all this hard work just so you could all enjoy yourselves? Fuck that I wanna Ferrari...

Thursday, 3 May 2012

Tauranga Music Sux but New Zealand Music Blows

The sad and sorry state of the Tauranga Music scene has been well documented within the pages of this pseudo publication but as I write and rant and rant and write continuing to further mine the same basic material it occurs to me that Tauranga Music isn't so bad after all. Yes, we have no fans. No, there still aren't any real venues. Yes, 98% of the musicians are pretentious, talentless dickheads whose tunes are so repulsively bad they make Timbaland look like Chopin. And no, there isn’t any chance of a projected turn around. But we have our reasons for our numbing mediocrity and we are happy with our dilapidated state now that we have come to terms with the vast all encompassing artistic emptiness that shadows this city. Tauranga while a major New Zealand shitty in terms of population if nothing else was never going to be, nor ever will be, another Wellington/Auckland/Dunedin. We are not faggy, tea drinking, pointed nose, inner city dwelling, studio loft leasing, art and design studying, jazz appreciating , Sudoku doing, boat shoe wearing hipster homos. We are not skin moisturizing, hair gelling, European fashion label modeling, catwalk aspiring, Iphone carrying, Frankzappachino sipping, metrosexual musical manginas. We are not airy fairy, hoity toity, sun god praying, flower children, spinning on acid tabs marked with the dour face of Che Guevara , floating on the clouds, buzzing with the bees and back clasping with the native trees southern spiritual shamans of studential soul music. We wear stubbies, beat our wives, yell obscenities at the delayed provincial rugby coverage, only read softcore porn and only on the shitter, never recycle unless it is to help in our home brewing endeavors, listen to Hauraki exclusively when driving above the speed limit in our Hilux Utes, only know how to play the main riff to Enter Sandman on the guitar and count Bruce Willis as one of our personal heroes. We are Tauranga and we can't help that our music sux… We have good weather, we have clean air, we have green fields, we have beautiful beaches and we have good looking women. These elements are not conducive to good music as we are having such a good time living our free, easy, happy and natural lives that we just can't get all worked up when our girlfriends break up with us and how they’re now going out with our former best friend Sven 'Because he does real great surrealist art, cares about things…THINGS!!! And loves animals...'  Tauranga is the garden of Eden, apples, snakes, naked women, forest frolics. Music is our forbidden fruit but who cares when we have so much else to keep us entertained. As for the rest of New Zealand it's a barren, desolate, desert. What to do in a desert? Die, ride a camel, drink peyote juice, have a shootout, chew tobacco, eat a taco or face the elements and write some awesome tunes. Ones that depict the horrid nature of your subpar non Tauranga existence, but you are failing New Zealand and dismally so. Tauranga music may suck but New Zealand music blows....


New Zealand throughout its tepid history has been responsible for some absolute musical abominations. From some soon to be wiped out by festering European plagues Moa eating Maori thumping sticks against the ground and twirling a marshmallow on string to the invading armies of peckerwood Irish/Scottish highlands, lowlands folk song singing soused sailors back to the shitty range of poor imitation rock/hip hop/reggae/punk/metal acts we have now. New Zealand music has and continues to blow cocks left, right and centre, all just seemingly for the love of it.

Problem with New Zealand music is the flat out unapologetic plagiarism of it all. Find me an original, truly original New Zealand recording artist. They don't and never have existed. Ray Columbus was a key part of the mop top British invasion, singing about girls and trouble making mods only seemingly he did his infiltration from within. Auckland has always been my favorite English city. Everyone raves on about the iconoclasm of Split Enz, obviously no one remembers the 70’s and why they were snuffed out by punk. The Enz with their face paint, camp clothes, and worm infestation just caught the last rickety, luggage on the side, peasants on the top bus departing Glamville. All aboard? All bored. Had the Velvet Underground only had access to Hillbilly Heroin with a Robitussin base would they still have been signed to Flying Nun? Sure, the rest were. Suppose the Sex Pistols didn’t burn out and instead just faded away because they weren’t quite sure what the true spirit of anarchic punk was, would they then be called Sticky Filth? Katchafire have used Bob Marleys rotting corpse as a bong. Like Metallica before them Shihad have no musical direction of their own so keep aping whatever is in style at this point in time, hopefully silence soon becomes a big fad. Dave Dobyn is a cock slave goblin. Upper Hutt Posse would've been put on the block by the NWA then sold for a block of weed. Dragon, Hello Sailor, the Exponents are the kind of ‘feel good’ by the numbers pub rock bands you would expect to see but wouldn't want to see at any bottom feeder infested bodega around the world no matter how drunk you might be. The Feelers take the words 'Overrated no hit blunders' and make them all their own. ‘Cum my little penis’ and all over the faces of the tax payer who have funded their careers. Hailey Westenra only has a career because Charolette Church turned into a Welsh rugby player fucking baby popper.  I just turned on a blender while the kettle was boiling, pressed record on my Dictaphone and mumbled a little bit over top. Can I release this as a Dead C album? And will it be critically lauded in the next edition of Rip It Up?

But what New Zealand music lacks in originality it makes up for with arrogant pretension.

Please find me some New Zealand musicians and industry types that are grounded in reality, wizened to the fact that our music scene isn’t and will never be that of an America, England even Australia. We neither have the population, talent, appreciation of art, spirit of iconoclasm nor the financial backing that these larger, thriving and superficially more cultured countries have. Yes it is ok to have dreams, to think big but the majority seem to be living in another stratosphere. Government funding, Myspace and a local music quota for TV and radio have rotted their minds. They all think that because they have been given a $10000 grant to make a video, been played on BFM and have had a minor support slot at a 2 day festival in the backwoods that their music must be pretty awesome, they’re about to get signed by a major label and they're just one small step off becoming the next big thing on the international stage so fuck all those that have supported them in the meantime. No more low key unpaid gigs, no more indie labels, no more demo releases on Reverb Nation. Damage control set for douchebag. Well news flash you aren’t the next big thing you conceited fucks, your music is dross and a rip off of what was cool 2 years ago in lands far and away. Now you have fucked over the people that cared for you on the small stage so prepare yourselves for a life of retail servitude you talentless uneducated hacks cause I am sick of paying your way… And while you are at can you find me a bashful, self effacing, modest musician as well. “So and so has invited you to like his page on Facebook”. “So and so has posted a song for you to listen to on Soundcloud” If I liked your music I would’ve have validated it already. By virtue of the fact that I didn’t means that you should then leave me the fuck alone as I don’t care for the pap that you are peddling. And I understand that you’re an artist and you need to show off your work but let me discover it on my own terms. By inviting, forcing us to critique it you leave us mute to the honest opinions we might have had… “Should’ve come to the gig on Friday man, we rocked the joint in our super tight jeans that our Mums helped us put on. The ten people in the audience went spastic for our song about falling in love with a girl that could be a guy and might very well be a guy because there is a definite and slight pants bulge… Almost got laid by this 40 year old, no teeth booze hag that was waving her lighter and dancing out her crabs during our set. Had to settle for a handy from the drummer instead though…” I’ve seen you play, it reminded me of every other shitty New Zealand band I have ever seen that has the look, the moves but no talent or tunes. Stick to the day job. But you probably don’t have one you dole bludging, perpetual student, tax money leeching human parasite... Your insouciant dress sense doesn’t fool anyone we all know you have spent several hours picking out your attire for the day, several more spent on your carefully tussled hair and then put on a pensive pout to disguise how fucken jazzed you are by life. It doesn’t matter how good your music is, if you present yourself and your music with an aesthetic air of conceit then you are not a true New Zealander. We are not Americans. We are not Australians. We are not South Africans. We are modest. We are self-conscious. We are bashful. And for those that have forgotten this safe stereo type then let me remind you of the ghost of anti-pretention, he who rapes all the naughty musicians that develop over inflated egos and dress like fags. He who is the ghost of New Zealand past….My man, last of the real men, Barry Crump is gonna fuck you all. Hard. Late at night. When running alone…

New Zealand music is full of examples, bands that shouldn’t have made it but through sheer conceitedness and government funded propaganda have deluded a few of the easily brainwashed masses into thinking that they are better than what they are. Good luck on the world stage losers where actual talent can be found. Midnight Youth you are the biggest bunch of queers I have ever seen and not in the good 'I fuck dudes and decorate houses manner'. Your music stands for nothing and worse it means nothing. Art should have some resonance. Your music is basically an advert for fedoras. You will never make it overseas because there are thousands of other bands that do your music if it could be called that only of far greater talent, they're also younger and better looking. You only have a profile here because Kiwis are easily duped rubes. Accuse me of Tall Poppy syndrome why don’t you? You’re a wilted, half grown, poor excuse for a poppy and I'm gonna extract the seeds and smoke you fools in my den with my old Asian Fu Manchu moustache friends. God how I hope the Checks are enjoying the crippling debt placed upon them from their first album advance. Good luck making it back from the brink of collapse you next in line for the red faced alcoholic Exponents crown as New Zealand’s small pub cover band favorites. Worldwide domination? Not gonna happen when you keep aping the worst that music has to offer while mincing about the stage like the Rolling Stones. Rolling Stones suck but you do more. The Feelers, how is that you have had such a long tax payer funded career when at best you have had only one song that could pass for being moderately ok. How many CC's of jism have you swallowed and was it worth it? Your songs are bland, offer no real hooks and lack any sort of truly well-defined sound. You're a Battle of the Bands runner up at best. Pretension, carry yourself like a star and you will delude the rubes - this it seems is the way to milking the tax payer dollar in this country.

Yeah ok I’ll admit that it isn't all shit, New Zealand music has some bright points. I like Die!Die!Die! They remind me of a time before I heard Blindspot and Died!Died!Died! I appreciate Stink Magnetic Records and their acts, they are the right kind of shit. No pretension therefore worth a mention. Flying Nun had its moments before Rodger Shepard sold out for the scrilla and then came back to further ruin their legacy. Muzai for life. Fuck you Sherpa. Dennis Marsh is my Dad. I gilfed Dame Kiri. But overall the music is an unappealing choad.

Proof? How many of these New Zealand bands once away from the safety net of NZ on Air grants make it overseas. Scribe? Wow his career really went up and up just like his waistline went out and out. Shihad made such a dent on the world as Pacifier they came back to New Zealand changed their name back to Shihad and continued the self-satisfying anonymous good life touring hick towns for small pay offs. The Feelers will never, could never make it overseas. That is why they remain here rotting in the sun. Why oh why didn’t the Christchurch earthquake take them instead of all those English language students, there is no god. Can't explain OMC, no one can. Dobyn, Dragon, Exponents, Hello Sailor made it as far as Australia before being revealed as the farces they are. Op Shop know that if they aim any higher then they'll be running for Jason Kerrisons bomb shelter because they will have brought the rapture upon us. Australia can claim Crowded House , we don’t want them. Savage did his best to ruin 'Knocked Up'. Tiki Tane can suck my ass. And fuck Glee queen sidekick Kimbra not that I would, silly hipster whore…

It's weird to think that if it is all added up. Respect, international exposure, sales. Then the Dead C are one of our most well known and loved bands overseas. Why? Because they are uncompromising. They are who they are. They play what they wanna play. They stand alone, retarded as their noise-ic might be. How many other New Zealands are at their level on the world stage when considering that they have had no money put into their careers by the government? It is their career that should be a paradigm for aspiring New Zealand musicians. Do it your way. Sound different. Fund yourselves. Be realistic with goals. Not that any will because their egos have been over inflated…

Fuck you NZ Music Commission….

New Zealand Music Commission

What a fucken have this is… Before these idiots started ramming their New Zealand music ensconced cocks uninvited down our throats we had exposure to a wide range of music from around the world that for the most part due to our isolation had never been heard. Some shit, some good but almost all better than what came from our small fish in a small pond country. Only 5% of all airplay was directed towards New Zealand Music and with good reason. It blows. But with the do gooder faggery of the NZ Music Commission that figure is now up to 12%. And don’t think for a second that this is a good thing, a change motivated by undeniable evolutionary excellence in our music. Cause it’s not. If anything things are getting worse Black River Drive, I Am Giant, Luger Boa, Dane Rumble, Naked and Famous, Six60. Pap of the highest order. Pap that in the pre NZ Music Commission era would never have left the damp, moldy basement it was practiced in but has now invaded the national mainstream. A travesty…

The New Zealand Music Commission has much to blame for. From the tiresome, irksome and stupidly ubiquitous NZ Music Month, to the now defunct Labour government initiated artists benefit, ‘All the songs you hate and more’ New Zealand music Radio Stations, back slapping/dick jerking music awards and the ever increasing use of Kiwi music during TV shows, sporting events and advertising. These fucks have made it acceptable to like our own countries music. Well it’s not. It offers nothing original, nothing exciting. It adds nothing to our economy in fact it does the opposite. Because they all think they are the next Bon Jovi they refuse to work, living off their subsidized tours, benefits and the leftovers from their video recording grants all the while waiting for their invites to the next SXBSW Festival in Texas to come in the mail. When I pay tax I want it to go to some poor elderly lady living alone with only her tabby cat for company, quietly awaiting her next Meals on Wheels delivery while knitting a cardigan for an unappreciative grandchild who will quickly donate said cardigan to the local op shop at which point some indie fag will buy it for a dollar and wear it everywhere like the cliched hipster fucks they are. What I don’t want is my money going to Jeremy Redmore or John Toogood so they can eke out a living continuing to release the dross that fogs us all. But with the propaganda machine that is the government/tax payer funded NZ Music Commission making it seem ok for these mooch cunts to continue to bludge a few more dollars here and few more dollars there, well this just cranks my fucken gears. And I have worn out my clutch. What really gets me is these pricks claiming album/video grants are for the most part all signed to major labels anyway. Shouldn’t these corporate giants be the ones investing money into the careers of their signees? If it’s about helping the New Zealand bands that haven’t got exposure and deserve it then shouldn’t that 10k allocated for Dave Dobbyn be spread evenly amongst the fledging bands that may have a chance and are not just some old yoda looking fuck knuckle with a series of gayest shits strewn behind him…

And what’s fucken worse is you are deluding the next generation of youths into thinking that there might just be a future in music. There isn’t. Those that do, do so for love. Fuck covers bands, get a bricklaying job. How many crappy music schools in New Zealand are there these days? What the fuck do they teach except how to snuff out the natural flair you may have once had and replace it with the conventions of bland songwriting. ‘Play it strange’ but play it straight if you want to win. The Rockquest rewards those that have aped last year’s overseas fad musically and stylistically thus proving that New Zealand music is only good if it is borrowed from elsewhere. Does everyone have an indie label these days? Are we all signed without our knowledge and or consent? Does my mum have a double album coming out on her own indie label unbeknownst to her of ‘Sounds from the Kitchen’ which consists of her washing dishes and boiling a kettle for a cup of tea? Too much…too much. Our music is everywhere and it shouldn’t because it blows. We need to retrain these kids that music is for the depressed, the effeminate and the socially maligned. Which they would all become if just left to suffer in poseur poverty without their deep pocketed government sugar daddy perpetually looking out for them. The rest should be out throwing a rugby ball around cause we wouldn’t want the All Blacks to lose their mythical powers now would we? Well, I do…

The Fans

New Zealand music fans are the biggest bunch of mindless, walking dead zombiefied idiots. Dirigible to the core. Tell them what to like and they shall like it. An average New Zealand music fan can’t tell the difference between a fart and art. If they have heard it on the radio, seen it on Juice and it has a cheap and stupid hook with an accompanying video of a band playing in a dark forest as a lost girl runs about crying then that is all the recommendation they need. Newsflash dickheads, just because it’s on Juice or the Rock doesn’t mean it’s any good. In fact nothing associated with the Rock or Juice is worth a dash of my salty semen. It’s who you know and how much money you spend in this country, aye Michael Fay? Want funding well your lips better be firmly glued to Dobbyns cock. Want video airplay then you’d better have a buddy at TVNZ. Want to get played on mainstream radio, then payola bitches…What we see, what we hear isn’t necessarily the best on offer musically. These idiots don’t know that though, they just want to hear something with a groove and a simple vocal line that they can shout at the clubs and scream in their cars. Of course they get this on a platter because those in charge capitalize on their simplicities. Capitalism/exploitation? Good music even if given mainstream exposure would never be fully appreciated by these Muppets.  The have neither the intelligence and or emotional capacity for it to register. This is why Tikki Tane has a career.

But don’t think for a minute that you uber cool indie kids are getting off lightly either. While the average idiot on the street has the mild excuse of not knowing what is actually good due to limited musical exposure and therefore an under developed palate with untrained senses you fucks are just a bunch of dilettantes trend hopping around town from uber, cool hipster band to uber cool hipster band. If you are into music and appreciate it enough to go to live shows, buy merchandise and have a music collection then I will presume that you are mildly depressed and therefore attuned to what is good. But it just seems that this isn’t the case… Sonic Youth were alright. 30 years ago. I guess. But If I hear another Thurston Moore anti riff from some low cut shirt wearing mop top scamp that wasn’t even born when The Eternal came out in 2009 then I’m gonna gut some cunts. Dudes sounding like chicks, chicks sounding like dudes. Lyrics about how hard life is being a 20 something white guy working a 9-5 job at an insurance firm cause Mummy’s just told you that you have to pay board. Cunts in skinny jeans. Skinny cunts in jean shorts. Charles Lindbergh in Jean Battens skinny short cunt. GUT! GUT! GUT! I despise this indie music and the people that are into it. I hate your mismatch style. I hate your dyed hair. I hate your stupid piercings. Your ironic facial hair. That one badly placed tattoo of your favorite band which you will soon regret getting. Your vacuous conversations. Your vinyl collections, music doesn’t sound better on vinyl. It probably did to the people that grew up in that era because mono is what their senses are adjusted to but you are just transparently trendy. I hate Joy Division. Animal hats are stylistically not a good idea. Supporting causes you know nothing about sickens me. Championing bands no one has heard of then disowning them when they have 56 Facebook likes reeks of elitism. I hate all you indie kids….

Fuck music fans. Downtrodden, no sex, no friend faggots…

The Venues

So you’ve got a tour coming up. You contact a bar. Send an email. Never here back. You ring them. Get told that the booking agent isn’t there at the moment. Leave your number as they will get back to you. Never receive that call. Try again. Fail. Send your friend who lives in said city to go see them. Get told that the booking agent isn’t there again. Talk to the bar owner. Date is available. Make the booking. Told to send an email to confirm. Do so. 17 days later confirmation received. Wrong date. Venue hire = $300 or free if bar sales of $1000. Scratch head. Write reply. Eat a dick you fucken time wasting, avaricious cunts.

Who’s sick of dealing with bars, their staff, their soundmen? A bigger bunch of disorganized, ambivalent losers one could not hope to find. Tauranga doesn’t really have any venues so to speak but the ones we do have suffer from the same inexcusable bullshit that the rest of the country has. So sick of the hipster ‘Hey look at us we are so weird cause we have antique light fittings’ gimmick bars. So sick of the dirty rape dens where you can’t figure out which part of the bar is the bathroom cause it all looks like it’s covered in shit and piss. So sick of the upmarket trendoid cock fests where everyone is sitting around a table drinking their booze from a tea pot as a candle burns ever so silently. So sick of the people that go to these bars. So sick of the sweaty glad handing bar staff. So sick of the covers bands. So sick of the unoriginality of the originals bands. So sick of the idiots that get drunk to excess and cause trouble. So sick of the morons that want to hear some ‘Kings of Leon… whooo’ So sick of the sanctimonious music geeks standing at the back sniggering at every bum note. So sick of the moshing, the retro fitted dance moves, the polite clap and unenthusiastic ‘Yeahs!!!’ punctuating the end of every song. So sick of the uniformity of everyone, from the clothes they wear to what they say, to how they act. So sick of the apathetic youth, bitching and complaining that there‘s never any good gigs happening anymore so you put one on and then no one shows despite your extensive publicity because they were all drinking the night before in a garage in Hamilton listening to Metallica and playing darts. So sick of having to charge people money to see your shitty band just so you can pay the soundman who really isn’t worth the $250 you have to pay him. So sick of being sick of everything…

I’m never going out again…


The Media

Are there any documented cases of NZ Musician magazine giving an artist a bad review? By being so overwhelmingly positive all the time you are perpetuating the myth that our music is good. Grow some balls and say it how it is. Not all music is good. Not all musicians have to be encouraged. Like Midnight Youth. Often time someone just needs to prod these people gently and let them know that maybe just maybe music isn’t the right vocation for them. Again like Midnight Youth. Oh and your articles and industry advice are rubbish. Wouldn’t use your glossy super sheen pages to wipe my arse with…

Volume, Groove Guide, Rip it Up…didn’t you read my mailbox? It says no circulars. I understand that advertising is what keeps you afloat and lets you buy 50 cups of barista brewed coffee a day but if it’s at the expense of good articles then maybe you should forget the mag part of the zine equation and or just cave in and get usurped by the online publications. Not they are much better.  Dick Cheese on Toast. Under the Radar is so far under my radar sonar couldn’t pick it up.

Social media. This is the worst thing in the world. Now thanks to Cock Zucker and his book of faces we are being exposed to a variety of bands that we otherwise never would have heard of. Facebook is not even a good book. It may have a snazzy front cover and the first few lines of the opening paragraph may have some resonance but dig deeper and you will expose it for the time wasting, real fan eliminating, fake confidence catalyzing sham it is. Not that all the blame can be heaped here though. Myspace started this mess and they owe me big time for the Arctic Monkeys. You Tube needs to have its fuses melted for Beiber and Twitter just needs to shut up. Generation Why. Why do you have to post everything about your shitty lives? I just don’t get it. Do you have no real friends? Is this why you covet the attention of your online ones so? Do you know any of your online friends even? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…

Music television. What’s the point? Different channels. Same songs. Everyday! Censured. Balls….

Radio stations. “Rise and shine campers it’s cold outside…”

Simon Sweetman. The man with the reputation for saying it how it is... Only in this politically correct country can a half arsed skin skimmer of a review on Six60 get passed off as a biting indictment. But then again maybe that is what the people want? Saying that the Six60 are the leading progenitors of arse roots music and that I’m going to stab them with a rusty knife in their japs eyes so they cum rivers of corroded blood is perhaps a tad too much for the average NZ pussy. ‘BBQ Reggae’. Oh how cutting!!! Fuck you Sweetman, name dropper of name droppers, safe song lister of song lists, restrained reviewer of recycled rubbish. How is it that you get paid to act as a music journalist yet the only job I can get in this industry is one that involves Jordon Lucks mouth?

Dylan Tate was a drug fucked stoner retard. I eat hippies for breakfast with my GM milk, fat fried battery eggs and swine flu bacon…

TV3, stop pretending that you are the cool alternative to TV1 with your late night news broadcast that features eclectic music during your weather. News is a somber affair. Weather even more so, just talk to the old ladies of the Tauranga Bowls club. Stop killing it with your transparent attempts at gaining indie chic. I want my news morose.

And cunts writing apoplectic zines ragging on the state of New Zealand music, a subject they obviously know very little about but still want to rant unabated. Not so as to instigate change but more so to satiate their own raging egos because they are empty and cold inside and know that deep down they’ll never be as cool as Dane Rumble. You are the worst…


The Future

Tis a bleak one for fans of good music. We should prepare ourselves for an ever increasing percentage of derivative local music blasting from our radios, through our TV screens and broadcasted onto the pages of our newspapers. With the despotic hands of the NZ Music Commission pushing their agenda further and further into our mouths can we even expect to be allowed to listen to music from outside the national borders. Will we be living in a police state by 2084. Told what to listen to, who to like, why we should like them? We already are. But we don’t have to stand for this. We can rebel. We can take action. We can say no more!!!

It’s ok not to ‘like’ your friends’ band on Facebook even when invited. It’s ok to say ‘no’ when Shihad comes to town and you have nothing to on a Saturday night. It’s ok to change the Channel when an Op Shop video comes on Juice. It’s ok to sit in silence instead of listening to the radio. It’s ok to go to the Feelers webpage and leave rambling comments about how overrated they are. It’s ok to refuse to learn and sing the 50 versions of the national anthem we now have and it’s not unpatriotic it’s just we are sick of the overkill. It’s ok to listen to those imported contraband CDs from the back of your closet and that’s CDs not vinyl you hipster homos. It’s ok to think that an Apple is just a slightly acidic fruit and not something that has killed the record industry and ruined more parties than the reappearance of the returning from an overseas holiday early absentee parents. It’s ok to laugh at an 8 year old girl busking badly downtown. It’s even more ok to shake down said girl for her coinage so as to buy a falafel kebab. It’s highly acceptable to heckle, noogie and wedgie Jeremy Redmore if you see him in public. It’s promoted that you buy an instrument but refuse how to learn the fundamentals from a hack musical instructor so that you learn how to play it in a manner that becomes inherent to you. It’s ok to get a job that will actually help to contribute to society then only playing music in your own time. Its ok to play original songs and not covers . It’s ok to attempt to be original. It’s ok to fail at your attempts to be original, at least you tried. It’s ok to pretend that you are not from New Zealand. It’s ok to skip from April to June on the musical calendar. It’s ok to play what you want to play even if it is untrendy. It’s ok to really like something and without irony, a concept that you don’t really get but still constantly attempt. It’s ok to be in a band yet have no fashion sense. It’s ok to play music that girls will not like. It’s ok to make a video clip on your cellphone rather than sucking up tax payer funds for a video that only your Facebook friends will watch. It’s ok to start a band that has more than 2 members, even if your chic rating will dip. It’s ok to go to a festival spend all day in the shade awaiting the international acts you truly want to see. It’s ok to go to a party, replace the hosts Natures Best CD with your own Natures Worst CD. It’s ok to openly admit that you hated Georgie Pie and that you will never sign a petition to bring it back. It’s ok to live in suburbia and have a room with a door that closes and house that doesn’t get trashed every Friday night. It’s ok to buy international music magazines instead of Rip it Up. It’s ok to espouse freely on how Marmite is overrated. It’s ok to write and record songs but not put them online for the world to hear. It’s ok to release, if one must said songs on a format that didn’t die 30 years ago just because it’s the cool thing to do. It’s ok to care about other things of greater importance than music. It’s ok to start a band that doesn’t have a logo and a range of merchandise before they’ve had their first gig. It’s ok not to like Chris Knox. It’s ok to make jokes about his current ill health that allude to his entire recording career essentially as being one big stroke – that of his ego and the many piles of penis he has navigated on his way to being somewhere near the top of the bottom of the shit heap.  It’s ok to wear a pair of shoes that aren’t Chuck Taylors. It’s ok to buy a pair of jeans that actually fit you. It’s ok to dress for comfort and warmth instead of style. It’s ok to live in a big city but never see live music. It’s ok to live till an old age. It’s ok to read a book then not drop it into every conversation you have over the following week. It’s ok not to have paid $80 for a Flying Nun reissue t-shirt through Barkers. It’s ok to write a song that has a conventional structure and in a tuning that isn’t designed to make Thurston proud. It’s ok to live in a small town, your hometown, hang with the same group of friends you grew up with, marry your badly ageing childhood sweetheart, start a family, work the farm and not be consumed by trivial bullshit like art/music/culture – not everyone is cut out for being a poseur. It’s ok to watch the ghost of Barry Crump rape Shelton Woolright and then not report it as a crime.

It’s ok to hate New Zealand Music…

Next Issue: Tauranga Music Sux, New Zealand Music blows and International music licks anus…

Sunday, 11 December 2011

Deride the Shite Scene

 Who needs a good laugh? You do! For those that didn't get a copy of the inaugural Tauranga Music Sux compilation, Deride the Shite Scene then here it is. Click on the link for your listening displeasure....


 Track Listing:

1.) Tauranga Music Sux a Cock - T.M.S               
2.) Kinsella the Killer - Disc Jockey Joe Bloggs
3.) Sound Invasion - Zig Beatnik                         
4.) Indulge Magazine - Bob Mcbob
5.) A Hard On Sprays White - The Meatles          
6.) Not So Wise - Climbing Trees
7.) Booze, Spews, Bbqs - Blind Lemsip Jefferson 
8.) Doobie Smokin' - Spork
9.) Krazy Train - Sodomozzy Osbourne               
10.) If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em up - Bob Mcbob
11.) The Elements - Silver Lining                          
12.) Debase Oddity - Gavehead Blowme
13.) Never Going to use it - Gage Carter              
14.) Scooby Dooby Fuck You - The Pilot Goes Down
15.) Indie Kids - Malajustin Beiber                       
16.) Winz Bitch - Neo Yahtzee
17. ) Surfquake - Threat.Meet.Protocol.        
18.) Cock Slave Goblin - Rupert T. Candlestick
19.) Faithful Moon - Prof. Deadaddledbrain          
20.) Feel the Noise - Zig Beatnik
21.) 21..... - Rotate the Completor                        
22.) Bay of Plenty Bible Belt - Disc Jockey Joe Bloggs

Spread the virus.....

Monday, 31 October 2011

Rugby World Shut Up

Happy now NZ public? 'We' won the world cup. Yay. Now stop celebrating it like you all did the hard work. Cause sorry don't remember you ending your whitebaiting trip prematurely to step in for every injured Five-Eight and slot the winning penalty. Nor do I remember you taking a finger to the eye from a dirty French centre then selflessly battling on to finish the game Stevie Wonder like. Was that you defying TAB odds and your lunk head frame to score the opening try. Come to think of it I don't remember you on the field at all. Were you all on the reserves bench?

I let you have you fun. Even thought that by bringing the Rugby World Cup games to our shores it would be good for business nation wide. Didn't even complain that much when my tax/rate payer dollars were allocated to new stadiums, party zones etc. But instead of providing the stimulation that this country desperately needs it did the exact opposite. Turnover for restaurants, bars, retail stores outside of the rugby, big bucks, party zones like Aucklands viaduct were down accross the board as people decided to stay home and firmly entrench themselves in their lazy boys and turn their eyes square while eating colon cloggers and watching this silly little game. And a game it is. Not sport. Sport is two near naked oily men wrestling each other for their rulers pleasure while he eats grapes served to him by nubile slave wenches and looks on incousiantly A game is a cat chasing a ball round as its owner looks on with glee and eggs it on. Rugby is a bunch of men chasing a ball round as the public looks on with glee and eggs them on. Oil me some warriors quick.

And all these tourists that were meant to magically appear and start buying Kiwiana ephemera till our shelves were empty and their bags were full? Where were they again? Oh yeah. Tickets for the games, airfares, accomodation fees were all so much that by the time they got here they were all so destitute they had to take to the streets of the big citys begging for cash. And damn, they really did want that tacky Tuatara Key Chain they saw at Thelonious Junks Wonder Emporium. Their cousin Jimmy from Swanson would've loved it. But 'fuck you' must also go to the muppet business owners from places like Wanganui who optimistically told themselves that with the coming of the Rugby World Cup their business would boom. You live in Wanganui not Whanganui, you have no games staged for the world cup, even if you did no one would turn up to see them, not even the locals, the average tourist has no reason to go there unless they want to see what the world is going to look like in post apocalyptic times, you are not going to see any increase in revenue, you are destined to fail, you are Wanganui. Get over yourselves. Not just Wanganui but every locale that doesn't have a bar or hotel in the viaduct. Blame yourselves for injecting all that cash into renovations. Not the rugby world cup and its vistors. Let me do that. I'm the rambling heretic. It's beneath you. And your not very good at it because your brains have been turned to mush from Hamish Mackays lame commentry, wheat and hops and the Feelers less than rousing theme song.

"I'm so proud of the boys for bringing the cup back to its rightful home. It's about time we reclaimed our position as the best in the world." Jim Douchebagenstein, Levin. Why is such importance placed on winning this stupid little peice of silver. You won a tournament. Just. Barely. Beat some minnows. Dodged many of the larger more capable teams. Some that even soundly beat you earlier in the year. Best in the world? Lets see you back it up. Remember when Johnny Wilkonson drop kicked his team all the way to a Webb Ellis Cup in 2003? Best in the world? Not if you saw how England played in the year following this. Losers. The lot of them. All Blacks will be too.

Besides which the All Blacks should be the best in the world year after year. Surely we must be the only country that can claim Rugby as our national sport. Most South Africans are too busy playing soccer with the heads of former white appartheid leaders on dusty hard soiled plains to even know of its existence. Rugby is the little brother of other oval balled sports in Australia, AFL, NRL take precedence - probably because they aren't a convoluted mess of scrums, mauls and breakdowns. The Welsh are doing unspeakable things with leeks. The French being pretentious and eating Escargot by the Siene while reading Camus. The Irish blowing each other up while drinking Guinness and doing little jigs. Scots trying to lure pesky property price lowering monsters from their lochs with the mesmerising magnetic sounds of the bags that pipe. England playing polo on their lab bred super corgis. And a bunch of other teams from countries that have like 23 people who play rugby and all make it to their countries squads yet all have a Kiwi coach. If New Zealand was to win a tournament that has actual international scope like Soccer for example then and only then might I be impressed. Get your precious All Blacks to do it and I'll be doubly impressed. Might even have to go in to every retail store I can see and loudly proclaim that "My wife just left me because I've spent more time with Dan Carter and the boys than with her and the kids over the past month but that's alright because 'we' won the world cup" or "The bank just took my house because I couldn't pay my mortgage because I spent $15000 on a seat in the nose bleed section of Eden Park for the grandfinal but that's alright because we won the world cup" or "My overpirced, undersized, replica All Blacks jersey is so tight it has constricted the blood flow to my head and my skull has blown apart but that's alright because we won the world cup". Idiots.

The world cup is finished. We won. Stop gloating. Get off the front page of my newspapers. Get off the Tv news headlines. Make way for stuff of actual importance. Parochial super fans stop relating everything back to the world cup. New Zealanders what happened to our quiet reserved self effacing stereo type? When did you all become such a bunch of braggarts. Liked it better when you were sour faced losers complaing about the referees. Remove your car flags before I start firing cannonballs in your direction with my skull and bones pirtate flag flying in the wind as I erratically drive alongside you one eye on you, one on the black felt of my eye patch - none on the road. Stop playing Dave Dobbyn loudly, I hate Dave Dobbyn. Take of your All Blacks jerseys they need washing before you get scabies. In fact, burn them. Be safe. Burn yourselves. Small talk, direct it back to the weather please. Bussineses stop cashing in, don't, please don't do as your 'Junior Executive of Cashing In' says you should do and commemorate the victory with special limited edition champion Wheetbix, Steinlager, Durex, Janola, Water, Air, Carbon please. Just don't. Please. Give me some peace before the next four years have rolled around and repeat season kicks in once more. "Rise and shine campers it's cold outside...."

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Issue 5

Dear readership of 4-5 people....before casually flicking through the 5th and final instalment of my literary masterpiece 'Tauranga Music Sux' while no doubt watching some of the old ruggers on the doofus box -  please do take a moment to join me in thanking all of those that have made this possible. So the shit musicians, lame venues, crap bands, stand up and take a big never ending bow...thank you for being such a giving goldmine of acerbic, spiteful, comedic material. Keep reaching for the stars but barely lifting your feet off the ground you sad bunch losers. God I love to hate this town.... 
Zine 5

“Heeeeee haaaawww!!!!! John boy get your rattle snake boots and monkey hide over here a ways and join me for some of that ol’ readin’ gas the folks been talking about….Y’all see this?…here…have a look…This pamphlet been sayin’….spit ….that… spit…that ….Tauranga Music Sux…?....?...”
“Well aint that a cow lickin’, shoe cobblin’, hay bailin’ affront to our own personal sensibilities Cousin Jed. How dare some one insinuate that Tauranga Music is sub par to that of other townships…Has this here little inner city weasel not been to one of our yearly barn dances out at the Tauriko hall. Don’t he not appreciate the fine banjo slinging tunes of Rufus and the Rough Gut Rangers? Don’t he not get the simple yet forceful fun of Mavis and the Mountaineers? Don’t he not understand the social relevance of Tractor Tim and the Tiny Tug Boat Jug Band.???? These here city folk sure aint very smart like….”
“Don’t know what ya be finking there inside that little old acorn brain of yours ol’ cousin and also father and also brother and also uncle but I’s aints gonna be takin no guff from some shiny tailed, little, gonna take my farm then marry my daughter intellectual banker type from the big smoke. I am’s gonna be’s the only one here to marrys me my fast flowering virgin daughter. Hey Debbie Sue….get your pert little blossoming backside over here so John Boy and I can get a good ol’ look at the shit that I soon to be tappin’ like…and make it snappy little madam.”
“Sorry Poppa, been trying to milk all the cows, cook your breakfast, feed the chickens, process the eggs, rotate the crops, plow the fields, turn Mamma so that she don’t get no more of them bed sores that the Dr been so worried about, walk the dog and wash the clothes. But I can see you’re real busy like talking to Jed and attempting to read that Tauranga Music Sux pamphlet that you’ve been carrying around on your person for the past few days. Have you finished yet Daddy? Or is that first word still giving you trouble? It’s pronounced Ev-er-y…”
“That’s enough of your sass young lady….don’t make me wash out your mouth with a bar of jism soap again. We’ve been a readin’ and John Boy and I don’t like this here tone from this mealy mouthed little marmot and his malignant, masturbational words on music from these here parts….”
“But Daddy he speaks the truth, he spreads the gospel, Tauranga Music does suck!!!  Big Bertha playin her fiddle while Rhonda does some old timey piano honky tonkin’ to a bunch of line dancing hicks is so dated, so passe, Tauranga does need more than our backwater banjo bashin’. We need change, we need a new style, we need to expand our formulaic line of dance into more expansive, spontaneous patterns, but most importantly we need a new breed of musicians that don’t suck…”
“Slap…take that…Slap…and that….aint no daughter of mine gonna talk about our localities bards and bardettes with such a loose, filthy mouth. Woman you gotta start learning your place is out in the field, the kitchen, the bedroom, the workshop, the roof cleaning the gutters, the side of the house painting the window sills, the basement fixin’ our plumbing problems, the green grocers getting our food supplies, the bank sorting out our financial matters, the market sellin our farm products, the middle of the woods hunting for food for our kin, choppin’ wood for the fire, the neighbours house fixin their dinner, plumbing and financial problems and the middle of the ocean working in an off shore oil rig so as that we might get cheaper oil per drum to run our old rusting Tractor….Most certainly is your place not leaning on this here fence post talking the state of contemporary Tauranga Music with John Boy while getting a very sun burnt, potentially cancerous, crimson red neck, drinkin’ root beer and munchin on home made corn bread. Which reminds me, we are out of corn bread and root beer. So get back to work….enough of your larkin’ about….you dilly dallyin’…..lazy…no good….2 bit….whore….why I oughta slap the pretty right outta ya face….but I won’t…cause ….hee hee….I’ve got just the job for you…one that needs a womans touch….a pretty face….but not much smarts….go to the city… and try to find this here little author ant anus….this blasphemous bum fag….use your feminine wiles….infect him….make him sick with love….and then lead him to us so that we might deal to him with some Southern Tauranga Justice…Yeeeee Haaaawwwww…..But don’t take the tractor….walk….you could do with the exercise…. those thighs of yours are getting awfully fat…though they will be good for carrying my children….Yeeeee Haaaaaawwwww!!!!!!”

The Adventure Begins  

Debbie Sue packed her fox fur shawl and bear skin jacket into her rucksack and left the gates of the Clampett family farm riding a top her faithful Stead, the powerful, big dicked, former star of such bestiality classics as ‘Soggy Sea Biscuit’, ‘The Horse Wang from Snowy River’, ‘22” Black Beauty’ and ‘Sexretariet’ cause fuck walking- that’s for poor people, Ghandi and hippies. With her horse riding beneath her ample thighs she was happy to be on the open trail, happy to be away from the incestuous, predatory advances of her father, happy to be alone with her thoughts. Her mind quickly went to the person she was supposed to find, the writer of Tauranga Music Sux. She had read his zines and loved them very much. She loved his erratic, rambling, mostly incomprehensible writing style, the incomplete sentences, the doodles of doodles, the passionate hatred behind his words and his colourful and sometimes inventive use of cuss words. Oh she hoped that she would meet him and that he would be every thing that she dreamed of in a man. But never would she do as her father expected and bring him back to the deep south…of Tauranga where surely he would be lynched for his heresy.  She hoped instead that he would fall madly in love with her and whisk her away from her torrid, exhausting, unfulfilling life to a land of excitement, adventure and freedom. But how would she find him? She knew that the zines were once available at Tracs, Devenport Road but they had been banned recently after a central city out cry. Even in the liberal, cultured, big city honest truth is still very much verboten. But she would aim for Tracs anyway. There she may find some clues as to his where abouts. She set her GPS system and fell asleep, safe in the knowledge that her super Stallion, Wyatt would take her there….


Debbie Sue hadn’t had a chance to read Issue 4 of Tauranga Music Sux due to its limited print run and aforementioned retail banning. So when she arrived at the gates of the Tauranga CBD she was aghast to find that most of the buildings had crumbled into a rubble, smoke still billowing from some of the larger stores and buildings. As she rode she saw bodies littering the streets, rats a top eating a full 3 course meal of human. She stopped old Wyatt and jumped free, spewing up her early morning feast of viddles onto the street. As she tried to recover her balance she heard a soft nasally, whimpering coming from one of the destroyed shops. She could see a hand poking out, a cigarette dangling loosely from the fingers. Quickly she ran over and tried to free this person from their prison. Piece by piece she revealed a little more of the trapped human until eventually she saw the retarded, grinning, black ash covered face of a manboy staring back at her. “Buy…buy…you must buy a Cd…from us…Tracs…do you like Flying Nun…we have a great selection from their back catalogue…don’t go to JB Hi Fi…they’re over priced, don’t have listening posts and their staff have limited musical knowledge….save my business…do you have a cigarette?” he croaked barely audible, no doubt in a state of shock. “What happened here?” Debbie Sue asked while attempting to shake him out of his stupor. “Bombs….Bombs…’Louder than Bombs’ is the best Smiths album….” He muttered. She had no idea who the Smiths were, nor would she want to but she could understand the point he was trying to make. Tauranga had been bombed, that and she should buy a Cd and keep his struggling operation in business. “Who…who…did this?” she shouted, almost crying. “Who?.... No ‘the Who’ didn’t do this…..though if Pete Townshead did he’d never admit it….he’d just say it was research for an upcoming novel.” He garbled. “Not, ‘the Who’ -  you muppet. Jesus man there is no time for an Abbot and Costello greatest hits rendition, you must tell me who did this to you, to Tauranga, it’s an abomination.” The little man in the rubble replied “Abomination? Is that a 4AD band?” then he snapped back into consciousness “Oh wait…I remember…Tauranga Music Sux…they got everyone associated with the music industry in Tauranga; bands, shop owners, fans, journalists together at the various musicial hotspots of the city, the venues, the retail outlets and then blew everyone and everything up with orchestrated bomb blasts…they are trying to kill local music….did they succeed…oh shit…they did…who’s going to buy my Cds now...oh no…there aren’t any Cds left are there….fuck…now I’ll have to get a real job…noooooo…..” Debbie Sue did not like to see any animal suffer so she removed her Colt from her holster and put one quick bullet into the head of the now inconsolable crying manboy in the rubble. “I’m sorry manboy, but it’s over now. But I will avenge your death. Tauranga Music Sux will suffer for what it has done to your shop and Tauranga Music…” Searching through the ruins for any clues that may lead her to Tauranga Music Sux she came across one of the discarded zines with a link to the Tauranga Music Sux facebook page, if she was ever going to find the perpetrator it would be through this site.

Debbie Sue and the Seven Sporks

With the majority of Tauranga town leveled it would prove difficult to find working Internet to access the Facebook page but Debbie Sue was now motivated by severe unbridled hatred and anger for Tauranga Music Sux and vowed to herself never to return to the Clampett family farm until she had found the writer of Tauranga Music Sux and made him pay for his crimes against humanity. Tears fell from her eyes as she passed the craters that were once Krazy Jacks, Illuminati, Brewers Bar, and Major Toms. Why would someone do such a thing to these amazing super venues? She could visualise these places in their former glory – with the regulars going spastic for Rage Against the Machine covers at Krazys, Tiki Tane fucking the police and then getting fucked by the police at Illuminati, bands playing to no one except the bar staff at Brewers and hipsters pretentiously hipping and hopping to Bowie at Major Toms. Why? Why would someone do this? Yes the existing music sucked massive amounts of cock, and I mean cock by the tonnage but at least give it a chance to reform itself. Don’t just destroy it all. Hack down the bands, venues, fan-yes!!! Hopefully motivate them to better themselves. Force them to re-evaluate themselves and their musical output. But don’t just eradicate them all before they have had a chance to enact change. Give them the means and they will produce the goods, she optimistically told herself. As she rode she heard a shout…Morty startled jumped high onto his hind legs throwing Debbie Sue awkwardly to her back on the hard asphalt and galloped off into the distance. Quickly from out of one of the still standing buildings came a collection of about 7 longhaired scruffs. They carried the unconscious Debbie Sue inside their hiding spot and attended to her welfare with a mixture of hot and cold water applications, a variety of band aids, and some roaming fingers. When she awoke she was surrounded by the 7 ugly yet friendly faces of the odd ball collection of misfits that were her rescuers and nurses. “Huh…where am I…who are you…what happened…?....?...” she exclaimed drowsily. “We are Spork and you are in the land of Oz…nah I’m fucking with you….your in Kansas….nah… you’re in what remains of Bobbys Strip Joint in the Mt Maunganui CBD….can you smell the seed….you fell off your horse….we rescued you from the street before they came….” Said the head dwarf, Leamy. “Oh thank you, thank you…but who are they?” “They? They are minions of Tauranga Music Sux. They patrol the streets night and day searching for musicians, CD’s, musical equipment, memorabilia, stereos and anything that could be related to music in any way. If they find anyone or anything even remotely musical they will destroy it on sight and execute those that were in possession of it. We have had to be real careful. Our formerly ear bleedingly noisey Mr Bungle esque metal band is now a mere 7 piece Jethro Tull influenced goblins and dragons loving flutes and lutes folk band. But I guess that’s what we always were, now we have just been forced to embrace it. And truth be told we are loving it. But we must be quiet, very quiet so we practice only during the day when most of the Tauranga Music Sux patrols are searching the outer suburbs for garage band hold outs….say you look tired….hungry???” Leamy asked his guest “Actually yes, It’s been a long couple of days”….. “Duh, here have one of these…”…. “An apple, I love apples!!!”…crunch…thud…”Nooooo!!!…Fuck Dopey/Ashley did you give her the poisoned apple we were going to give the writer of Tauranga Music Sux in the event that we should ever met him?”an exasperated Leamy yelled at his band mate          “Duh…Gee I don’t know Mr Leamy…uh duh.” Mumbled Ashley “ Fuck!!! Bitch can’t blow us all while in a coma Ashley….Fuck!!!! Well I guess we are stuck with Ho White now until a handsome prince comes along to awaken her from her slumber with a kiss…well who wants to rape her prostate body in the mean time?” But then just before Richard Steele could commence with his first dibs dick dipping a knock came at the door. “Everyone hide” whispered Leamy. He looked through the peep hole…he recognised the face….it was Luke Thompson…. “Someone order a big slice of handsome prince?” Fuck yeah they did!!! Prince Luke came inside and saw what had to be done, he didn’t want to kiss her without asking permission from her dad first and he was chaste so he felt a little guilty about cheating on God but it had to be done because his friends from Spork really wanted fellatio and he didn’t want to let anyone down so he busted out his acoustic and sang a ballad about how he felt, then smiling at an imaginary camera as the last notes of his wussy fag song rang out he lent over and kissed Debbie Sue on the mouth. She awoke and instantly fell in love. A real prince had rescued her!!! How romantic. She leapt into her saviours arms. “Mmmm….Fuck me, girl lips, Christian boy” she growled. But girl lips Christian boy wasn’t ready for this and stepped backwards and fell into a pile of cymbals whilst screaming for mercy. “Fuck” Leamy screamed “they will have heard that… we have got to run” but they were too late the Tauranga Music Sux minions had been trailing Luke Thompson after a tip off as to his where abouts from local satanists D.I.C and busted down the door and used their vapourises one by one on the members of Spork and Luke Thompson turning them to a fine dust but they stopped when they saw Debbie Sue. What a vision…what beauty…what a face…what slammin titties!!! The writer and his penis would be very pleased to see her they thought, they would no doubt be rewarded for bringing him such a prize and so she became their prisoner.

The Writer

The Writer paced up and down the carpet of his new office a top the Westpac Trust building, surveying the damage to his hometown. What had he done? He thought to himself. Yes local music had to die. It was hideous. The bands were substandard, the venues inexcusable, the fans nonexistent. But to destroy the entire city as well was not part of his original plans. He loved this city, just not the people, the music, the urban sprawl the shopping centres, the elderly, the infrastructure, the noodle canteens, the boy racers, the tradesmen, the polytech, the families, the beach, the fisherman, the subdivisions, the rugby, the fat cunts, the teenagers, the children, the traffic congestion, the high rise apartments at the mount, the lack of native trees, the cost of parking, the violence and the council. Collatoral damage was to be expected but this, this is an apocalypse and now he has turned into that which he hates most an authoritarian, didactic, dictator to mindless, gormless, directionless peons. How did it go so wrong? Why did he take the local bad music so personally? It is just music. The domain of the self obsessed, arty farty, head up your arse, no compunction for anything of real merit, pretentious, penis eaters. Why care so much? Why take it all so personally? Just get over it. Get a new hobby. Move towns. Go overseas. Dumb yourself down by eating pies. His guilt gnawed away at him. He decided that he could no longer live with himself. He must end his existence. Without him and his ridiculous ideals the city will have a chance of  renewing itself, the lemmings will have to rebuild the city in their own way, maybe they will improve on it’s former staid nature, maybe Tauranga can become truly great. He took a 10 meter run up and started to bound. Ring…Ring…the intercom was going. He was quite preoccupied with his imminent death but he couldn’t let the intercom keep buzzing it was rude and unfair on his P.A. He stopped and picked up the phone. “Yes…Someone to see me?…something I might find interesting?….no I’m not especially busy…send em up….” The writer couldn’t fathom who would be coming to see him. Since the mini rapture he had cut himself off from the rest of the world. His guilt meant that he couldn’t find enjoyment from human company. He chose to be alone, suffer in his head and occasionally play beginner Spider Solitaire on his Laptop when he wasn’t self flagellating. The office door opened and a body was forced inside., It was Debbie Sue “Let me go…let me go” She screamed. Upon seeing The Writer she gasped “Who, who who, who who, who, who are you…I really want to know…..who are you, are you are you, are you?” The Writer put his hands to his head “No…no…shut up…shut up!!! Don’t quote those lyrics….anything but…just not ‘the Who’ from their interminable 70’s period. Fuck it sucked a big ass. Keith Moon was a bloated Nazi regalia wearing piss head and Daltry was busy off making crap films and Townshead was looking at child porn and the other one…fuck who cares…he plays bass…their music suffered…it raped cats…” Suddenly Debbie Sue knew who it was that she stood in front of “You….you…” she pointed at the writer and lunged “you did this, you are responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocents, the end of an economy, the destruction of local music, the end of Tauranga as we know it. You….you must pay!!!!” She picked up a lamp and tried to scone the Writer but he easily over powered her because she is a woman and therefore really weak and also not very smart. As they wrestled he stared at her, she was so beautiful, so full of life, so passionate. Everything he was not.  He was smitten. Her golden hair. Her tiny little inbred nose. Her massive child bearing hips. He was in love. Finally he wrapped her up so that she couldn’t move and asked her who she was and why she was in his office trying to scone him with a lamp. Upon spitefully telling him her story he picked her up by the shoulders and agreed with her whole heartedly….he did have to pay for his actions. He was a monster, a cad, a rotter. He would do as she asked and go back with her to the deep south…of Tauranga where he would be no doubt be punished for his genocidal, homicidal, actions. He would do it partly out of guilt but mostly out of the power of the poon and also cause he had some awesome Hillbilly one liners he wanted to try out on the locals… they would leave in the early hours of the morning, that is after the minions had located her faithful yet now errant probably busting human bitch box on the beach stead Wyatt. Now as night fell they rested on the office floor of the Westpac Trust. Well Debbie Sue did, the writer just rested his hand on his cock as he watched her sleep…

The Return to the South  

Debbie Sue was anxious to get back to the Clampett Family Farm. Her brush with the outside world was not the journey of fulfillment she had yearned for. She hadn’t found the vast sea of opportunity she had been hoping to set sail on. But she believed that upon her return things would be different, she would be treated with the respect she desired and so deserved for having brought the villainous Writer to his apologetic knees. But riding into her sleepy hamlet her hopes were quickly dashed by the audible, ear burning gossip of the local milk maids making snide comments over her seemingly ever expanding thighs. Debbie Sue started to sink. Then from out of nowhere her Dad rushed up to Wyatt and yanked her off the horse she rode in on.

“Where were yee. Ma tea was not made last night, your momma wasn’t turned 15 times during the night like she should’ve and the cows are so full of milk they are lactating all over the place. What ya gotta say about that missy”

“Poppa…but Poppa you sent me off to locate and bring to you the head of the writer of Tauranga Music Sux for his blasphemous words against local music. Which I did….see Dadday…see…are you proud of me…your little ol’ Debbie Sue”

“Oh right….good job…good job…whore…now go make me some Corn Bread….”

“Oi, fuck you pal” said the Writer “ Talk to her like that again and I’m going to get off the back of this here horse that I have been loosely tied to cause women cannot tie knots to save themselves because they are weak, useless, vacuous creatures and fuck you up. I am born and raised in Tauranga so I know the ancient art of Tauranga meat sack fighting so don’t think I’m bluffing….”

“Ahhhh The Writer man huh….spit….just the person I want to see now that I’ve been reminded that I wanted to see you. Big words huh….like to mock Tauranga music huh….what have you done huh….when did you last sell out Tauriko hall….when did you last appear at Carolines Country fair….don’t remember seeing you at Jakes Music Jamboree or Hanks Happy Ho down….your a nothing and yet you use your big words to mock those of far greater talent than yourself….huh.”

“I know, I know I’m a nothing. And you’re right I’ve never zonked the zone that is Zekes Zany Waffle House or Jebediahs Jandal Jukebox but I’m a student of music, I love it, I live it, I breathe it, I eat it with milk and brown sugar and so it pains me to see substandard output when there is so much untapped potential for something far greater. So I still stand by my earlier declarations….Tauranga Music does suck!!!! But maybe, just maybe bombing the fuck out of Tauranga and destroying all music was a tad too excessive. Gawd, I was just trying to help but infact I think am a big part if not the biggest reason why Tauranga Music Sux so much. If we all worked together harnessing our positive energies instead of humorously slaying all those that try and fail then we might be able to bring about significant change. I apologize for my actions and swear to do whatever I can to bring Tauranga back to its former way below average status…”

“Not so fast buddy!” said two voices in unison coming from the tree line of the hamlet. Two dark figures came slinking out from the shadows. It was Derrin Richards and Natures Worst. “Fuck you Writer, you did as we all wanted you to do and destroyed this music scene yet here you are now apologising like a little fag and saying you are going to reverse the damage. No fucken way!!! We have waited too long to see this scene crumble…. Now finally we are safe from the dross that is Tauranga Music so don’t think for even a second that we will let you undo your hard work. We will kill you first.” And at that they aimed their guns at the hapless writer as old Jed jumped clear of the action while holding onto his old straw hat with one hand and suppin’ his root beer thus moistening for easier digestion the Corn Bread already in his mouth with the other.


Shots were fired. The Writer clutched his chest, then slowly brought his hands up to his face but there was no blood. He looked up just as Derrin and Natures Worst were falling to their knees, behind them gun raised was Debbie Sue. She lowered her gun and smirked as The Writer looked on amazed.

“Why…why did you save me?”

“Because it is I that gets to kill you…not those two sycophantic schlubs.”

“But why???…can’t you see that I love you….r slammin’ titties!!!!...”

“Why? Because you killed the one that I truly, whole heartedly, very fleetingly loved….Prince Luke Thompson…We could have been happy together….knitting scarves for children with cancer, vaccinating Ethiopian orphans from Polio, singing to the deaf and doing performance art for the visually impeared…that is at least until I wanted premarital sex… at which point I would have had to get ma’ sexual gratification from ol’ Wyatt… because that little puss wouldn’t have wanted to do ma’ puss…. And fuck you for insinuating that I’m not dat smart like…Eat lead…”


“Die mother fucker!!!! Yeah boy. Westside for life. Smoke it fool.Fully.”

The bullets cruised through the body of the writer and he went into a dreamlike state of remembrance. Enercia, the Rockshop, Spork, Kiss Fm, Major Toms, Luke Thompson, Krazy Jacks, the Mellow Drops, Machete Justice, Brewers Bar, Winston Watusi  - they were all there and would forever haunt him in the hell he was destined to go to - Taihape. But he promised himself once he got to his eternal resting spot of fire and brimstone he would try and cut a deal with music mega mogul and the true architect of all good art  – Satan and aim to do something for Tauranga Music that would help rather than hinder any further. He would release a poorly designed, cheaply produced, inexpensive compilation of Tauranga Music imaginatively titled ‘Tauranga Music Sux:Vol 1….Deride the Shite-scene’.  It wouldn’t sell much because the music on it would aptly SUCK and would have really, really limited distribution. Not that that would matter as no one from this town will buy it anyway – support local music? Ha. But hey it should get some good publicity for all involved right after lethally litigious Lars Ulrich catches wind of this intellectual property stealing effrontery and sue’s Tauranga Music Sux boney ass right into the ground. And after publicising all these bands at his own expense T.M.S will be free, he will have done this town of Tauranga and the musicians within it a great service, he will have made them proud to be local, he will have made up for his earlier infractions, his conscience will be clear, he will have done good. Here on, free from his all consuming hate he will be able to take the tens of dollars in ‘Deride the Shite-Scene’cd sales profits netted from the hard work of the stupidly gullible rube musicians who didn’t even think to ask for a contract or a royalty point percentage because they play not for the cash or the kudos but because they ‘love music’ so much and buy a mega ghost mansion near the beach where he can now devote himself and all his future time to Swayze in Ghost apparition air fucking of that hillbilly cunt bitch for killing him rather than thrilling him, his other hobby; flag pole sitting and writing his new Zine ‘Hitler or Chaplin who did the half-stache better?’.

Fuck you all…..