tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89092761181928845082024-02-08T05:02:45.086-08:00Tauranga Music SuxTauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-55202342870072295862013-10-29T15:22:00.003-07:002013-10-29T15:22:43.506-07:00Tauranga Music Sux????<br />
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.<br />
No you probably don't because you are the demographic I hate the most. Scene hopping history avoiding trendoid dilettante dickheads.<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Origin:</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
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.<br />
<br />
Enter Tauranga Music Sux.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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....<br />
<br />
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???'....<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Bands:</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
Honestly I do not know who you people think you are kidding. I remember you all...<br />
<br />
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'.<br />
<br />
I remember you all.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I heard your bands.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Your taste in music was crap. Your sound reflected it.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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....<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Venues:</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>Gigs:</u></b><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And why? How? Who? Oh yeah little ol' me...<br />
<br />
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..<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
But don't get to good at it. This is my thing and my ego doesn't appreciate the competition.<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>The Fans:</u></b><br />
<br />
I remember your type;<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Yep fuck you all.<br />
<br />
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....<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Future</u></b><br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
The key reasons why this scene has thrived will soon be supplanted by new problems working to the detriment of Tauranga music.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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...Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-56347411899903770412012-05-03T16:51:00.000-07:002012-05-03T16:51:48.890-07:00Tauranga Music Sux but New Zealand Music Blows<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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....<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<b><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">THE MUSIC<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But what New Zealand music lacks in originality it makes up for with
arrogant pretension. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fuck you NZ Music Commission….<b><u><o:p></o:p></u></b></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">New Zealand Music Commission<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Fans <o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The have neither the intelligence and or
emotional capacity for it to register. This is why Tikki Tane has a career. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fuck music fans. Downtrodden, no sex, no friend faggots…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Venues<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m never going out again…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Media<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dick Cheese on Toast. Under the
Radar is so far under my radar sonar couldn’t pick it up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Music television. What’s the point? Different channels. Same songs. Everyday!
Censured. Balls….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Radio stations. “Rise and shine campers it’s cold outside…” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Future <o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s ok to hate New Zealand Music…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next Issue: Tauranga Music Sux, New Zealand Music blows and International
music licks anus…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-59294623637045287062011-12-11T04:56:00.000-08:002011-12-11T05:14:05.028-08:00Deride 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....<br />
<br />
http://www.mediafire.com/?x6zb6ddryrrr696<br />
<br />
<br />
Track Listing:<br />
<br />
1.) Tauranga Music Sux a Cock - T.M.S <br />
2.) Kinsella the Killer - Disc Jockey Joe Bloggs<br />
3.) Sound Invasion - Zig Beatnik <br />
4.) Indulge Magazine - Bob Mcbob<br />
5.) A Hard On Sprays White - The Meatles <br />
6.) Not So Wise - Climbing Trees<br />
7.) Booze, Spews, Bbqs - Blind Lemsip Jefferson <br />
8.) Doobie Smokin' - Spork<br />
9.) Krazy Train - Sodomozzy Osbourne <br />
10.) If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em up - Bob Mcbob<br />
11.) The Elements - Silver Lining <br />
12.) Debase Oddity - Gavehead Blowme<br />
13.) Never Going to use it - Gage Carter <br />
14.) Scooby Dooby Fuck You - The Pilot Goes Down<br />
15.) Indie Kids - Malajustin Beiber <br />
16.) Winz Bitch - Neo Yahtzee<br />
17. ) Surfquake - Threat.Meet.Protocol. <br />
18.) Cock Slave Goblin - Rupert T. Candlestick<br />
19.) Faithful Moon - Prof. Deadaddledbrain <br />
20.) Feel the Noise - Zig Beatnik<br />
21.) 21..... - Rotate the Completor <br />
22.) Bay of Plenty Bible Belt - Disc Jockey Joe Bloggs<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Spread the virus.....Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-23053128029245450312011-10-31T16:08:00.000-07:002011-10-31T16:12:34.210-07:00Rugby World Shut Up<span lang="">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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...." </span>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-5207562877853189652011-09-11T02:19:00.000-07:002011-09-11T02:19:31.507-07:00Issue 5<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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.... </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ"><u><b>Zine 5</b></u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ">“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…?....?...”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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….”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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.”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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…”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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….”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“But Daddy he speaks the truth, he spreads the gospel, Tauranga Music does suck!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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…”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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!!!!!!”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Adventure Begins<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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….</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Tracs </span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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’ -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Debbie Sue and the Seven Sporks</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“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.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Writer</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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…</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Return to the South<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Oh right….good job…good job…whore…now go make me some Corn Bread….”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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….”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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.”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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…”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Bang…bang…” </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Why…why did you save me?”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Because it is I that gets to kill you…not those two sycophantic schlubs.”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“But why???…can’t you see that I love you….r slammin’ titties!!!!...”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“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…”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Bang…..bang….</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Die mother fucker!!!! Yeah boy. Westside for life. Smoke it fool.Fully.”</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- 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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– 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’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?’.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Fuck you all….. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-91361732701811290642011-09-02T18:20:00.000-07:002011-09-02T18:20:16.072-07:00Issue 4Number 5: almost in the can, set the scene with this zine....<br />
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<u><b>Zine 4:</b></u><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Well I give up. We hated the scene we had and so we invented one, it was alright but even the imaginary bands, journalists, fans, venues were afflicted with an acute case of cocksuckeritis. And what’s more, after yearning soooooo hard for a music scene or in fact any sort of culture in Tauranga for soooooo long it has become apparent after my Charles Dickens like flash forward that I wouldn’t really care for what would happen to this town if it suddenly were to turn into a mini New York or London. You see I don’t want a community of glad handing, high fiving, mentally retarded musicians in my backyard, my hometown, my town which has my home in it with a backyard. Thing is for as much as I hate all the rugby playing, boy racing, sweater knitting, surf board waxing, beer drinking, night and baby clubbing scum of this town they at least fit the aesthetic. It is a beautiful city with rolling green sports fields, smooth asphalt roading, massive passive crashing blue waves, cheap beer and even cheaper women. They belong, whiny over dressed malnourished, anemic, oh so fay musicians don’t. You see even if the music created in Tauranga wasn’t utter pap its incongruity would still be glaringly obvious. Tauranga isn’t meant to be a cultured town. We are jocks. We are illiterate. We are wannabe Australians. We are jandals. We are Stubbies. We are Venereal Disease. Tauranga Music Sux can see that now. We are believers. And we apologise for our earlier infractions. Only one thing to do….make amends. We have to start again. We have to embrace our inner moron. We have to kill all and any aspirations for culture that may be lingering in the undergrowth and most important of all we must destroy what ever feeble attempts at music there are. You see, if there is nothing that even hints at something intellectually stimulating then we will want for nothing more. We will surf the waves of whores at the Grumpy Mole while waxing our pants boards dressed in our finest hand knitted cashmere sweaters before exiting town doing burnouts in our awesome lowered Honda V-tech Integra heading for a home where we can beat up our children while watching the All Blacks crush Russia at the World Cup and we will be happy, we will be content, we will be true Taurangians….</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Dear crazy dude from Norway:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Hey, you vain, questionably good skinned, strong jaw lined yet off set by a gaping bum chin, Nazi Norwegian fuck! Like a Tauranga Musician you are a plagiarist of the lowest order….. Ya see. Dude stole our plan, though with his basic English language skills he misread some things. We here at Tauranga Music Sux don’t hate Muslims, we hate musicians. While a Muslim might blow up your bus, train, office block, plane and or camel. A Tauranga Musician will just blow! They will blow out your eardrums with really, really awful music on the most ludicrously expensive equipment that they have bought on an H.P they never intend on paying therefore burdening the financial system just a little more. They will blow up their own ego’s to unjustified and unwarranted levels after playing to an unpacked house at Krazy Jacks and then they will blow your camel – uninvited! How rude. Also I was talking about Tauranga not Oslo fag. And another thing, killing children that’s a bit low is it not Adolf Shitler? Killing musicians with child like minds however is ok. We did write that so maybe you got confused you poor ol’, crazy, right wingin’ gun lovin nut. But whatever here's the actual plan for the annihilation of Tauranga Music that obviously I can’t do now because I don’t want to be seen as a tribute act or anything….shudder.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 1:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Start a fight club with your imaginary friend and sleep deprived self, get a bunch of curious on lookers hooked on you brand of self harm. They will watch and loudly cheer as you drink bottle after bottle of wine and beat yourself senseless – don’t forget to work the body. Confused heathen idiots will think you’re the 2<sup>nd</sup> coming of Jesus cause you can turn wine into blood and will follow your every word because Taurangians love a good old barney and a dude that loves to fight so much that he fights himself must be the hardest and most Tauranga of them all. But beware they will want to know what the first rule of fight club is - tell ‘em it is not listening to Tauranga music. Punch anyone in the noggin that does while doing a Brad Pitt impersonation with your shadow doing a Edward Norton in the background. Now you have enough numbers let your Tauranga Terrorism begin.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 2: </span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Arm yourselves. While musicians are just puny, unathletic dweebs for the most part they all usually seem to have a thick necked, over sized, incontrovertibly inbred bass player that could probably swat a few planes with his gigantic paws straddled atop the Empire State building, Naiomi Watts in hand. Also they have heavy weapons in their instruments, not they will be able to brandish them with much force as their vodka and lime R.T.D’s are low in protein and their lungs are fucked from too much only in situations of potentially accrued coolness public<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>chain smoking – ‘Smoking Cools’…must be Norwegians. But don’t go apeshit and get a bunch of guns and knives or anything, Tauranga musicians are not your typical strain of human bacteria they are a more stubborn and harder to kill virus. They withstand bullets, they deflect knives, they laugh in the face of Muslim bomb blasts. Why? Answer: they are Vampires. Real Vampires. You hadn’t noticed? The signs are all there. Pale skin, moody, greasy hair, bad teeth, lisping, drawling, mentally never ageing, Anna Paquins always hanging around them, they only come out from their dark lairs late at night, feeding on the creativity of the more talented, sucking out all their ideas in order to self energize and while most forms of music will die the genre that is known as ‘Tauranga Arse’ is seemingly immortal. It will live forever. The signs are all there. Worried? So you should be. So get your holy water, your garlic, your crosses and prepare to incinerate some vampire arse and hopefully one of them is Robert Pattinson because the cunt needs to die.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 3:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You will want to get all of the Tauranga Musicians in one place as ours is a city overwhelmed by an urban sprawl that would put Los Angles or Mexico City to shame. Our HQ is on the outskirts of town, I saw Auckland about 3km off in the distance the other day. Their music sux too. Door knocking and asking for anyone that might play an instrument and or wears plaid, tight black jeans and condom beanies pulled just above the ears would take years and by then they might be on to your crusade, they could even leave town infecting another city with their mucus music or worse they could stay here amongst us without their instruments walking as normals in squelching jandals, ball sack a flapping in the wind as it protrudes from their stubbolas. No we must kill them all in one swift go. We know it will be a test. We know that we will probably die or be killed in the struggle, we are out numbered but we must sacrifice ourselves for the greater good. WE ARE TAURANGA!!! But how to get all the musicians of Tauranga together in one area? While Tauranga has more crap bands per capita than any other city in the world we also seem to only have one of each genre. And because of these discernible difference in taste and sound, bands from Tauranga tend not to play with each other…they just play with themselves. They do not watch each other, even if they are on the same bill they will somehow conveniently miss each others performances, they don’t know each others names, they might facebook each other but that’s only so they can make themselves look like they’ve got tons of fans, they don’t hang out and there is no regular forum or venue for them to get together and gab. So how do you bring these disparate self obsessed pseudo people together? FREE LIME AND VODKA R.T.D’S.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 4 : </span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Dear Friends. Tauranga Music Sux invites you along to a night of wild entertainment that revolves around your awe inspiring greatness. You will get to play live because you are undoubtedly the best band that has ever existed and everyone wants to hear all of your awesome songs. THERE WILL BE FREE LIME AND VODKA R.T.D’S!!!! Come to the worlds best venue, with the best sound, the hippist fat cat fans, the classiest toilets, the one, the only Krazy Jacks this Friday night. It will be awesome and I promise that there won’t be any other musicians there that you socially awkward fucks will have to talk to. Love Tauranga Music Sux.” </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Send out the above crock of shit to every original, covers band, busker, orchestra, bedroom bandit, one man, two man, 30 piece band you can think of. They will attempt to read, they will fail, some one else will read it to them, they will hear none of whats said except for ‘free RTD’s’, they will be there.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 5:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But don’t forget it is not just the local musicians of this town fucking up music for us. It’s also the journalists, the fans and the snobbish bands from elsewhere far too good to grace our town with their fedoras and big city sheen so they can play in front of hipper, less yokelfied, attention lavishing dilettantes and industry types in yuppie-ville – the outrage. So let me address all these fuck like fucks… I’ve said it before but we’ve got no real music journalists outside of ourselves and to think we are just as much of the problem as everyone else but don’t fear we are self aware and we will disappear and become one of the happy morons who have no cares and drinks lots of beer but only once it is definite that no music shall we hear. But what masquerading dipshits we do have could be enough to stimulate some sort of interest in music post Tauranga audio apocalypse. So the two we have must perish too. Graham Clarke, do you not remember getting aurally raped by your Grandparents as a young man with their never ending stories that were worse than the movie of the same name. Word to the wise no one cares about the past especially when it involves Tauranga Music. If you could chuck in a mass murder, rape, and a potato famine or two we might feign interest but with the facts you have your readership is going to number in the single digits – kind of like this zines, dick – eat it. Winston Wapoosi on the other hand lives in the present but sadly he is a hack and doesn’t offer a valid alternative. So stop pretending you are the voice of Tauranga music when you’re nepotistic articles never cover anything from musicians other than those you are buddies with and that big nosed, talentless Jew fuck Bob Dylan. I can’t believe you get paid to do your articles – how much jism have you swallowed, get it pumped bro before ya drown. And the fans limited numbers there may be get my goat as well. Stop complaining about how crap the local scene is, stop reading our poorly written zines and start your own bands, better yet fuck off to back to Wellington or where ever it was that gave you the idea that Tauranga was fit for your scenster ideals, make your own changes and or shut up. In fact, just shut up, stop turning up to gigs all together, we’re on to you, we know you don’t even like music, we have never seen you in the music stores, your cd collection probably consists of Gin Wigmore and we know that Ramones shirt you wear is just for reasons of style. So we presume you just want to befriend the musicians because they might offer some of that highly sought after big city introspection, creativity and culture in a town that has none, well newsflash even in the big cities musicians are among the dumbest, vacuous, unaware pieces of shit you’ll ever meet. Yeah they’ll have cool clothes and mastered, superficial tastes in all the books, movies, albums that the cool bible dictates that they should have but try scratching the surface and all you’ll get is some regurgitated crap from various media outlets that they try to play off as their own. And fannys, the dancing, moshing you idiots insist upon unleashing at every outing - no one wants to see your multiple sclerosis like moves when trying to send a text on the dance floor and we in the crowd don’t want to get hit the face with your hair as you metalla’mosh yourself into a frenzy. We just want to see the bands. And maybe pump a fist or two while inaudibly singing a mistaken lyric or 3 or 4. And you faggots, you rubbish bands from Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch; reason why you fucks never pull any crowds here is because you seem to steadfastly refuse to advertise your gigs. Ya know there are music stores you can send your posters to; newspapers that advertise gigs, local bands that can support you that will bring with a ready made crowd, bars that aren’t in the industrial anus of Tauranga, crap journalists that might give you a brief sentence before rambling further about Bob Dylans seminal classic ‘Dud on all the Tracks’, fans with M.S that will give you a shakey hand job if you be their friend for the night. You fuck yourselves over with your poor promotion then write off Tauranga to all and sundry as a town with no potential. You make your own death beds and while there may have been a time when we would have optimistically argued with you now we don’t care – stay away. We don’t want you near us and hey, we do know, even if you won’t admit it that you all came from tiny towns and stifled cities like ours. So you live in Auckland now and only listen to the Velvet Underground but I can remember when your fedora was a baseball cap your cardigan was a hoody your tight jeans were baggy jeans your chuck taylors were globes and your long but not too long hair was all gel spikes and your favourite band was Limp Bizkit. Fuck you frauds. An example needs to be made. A warning shot needs to be fired. So here's how it is… Tauranga music fans and journalists will only come out and do some serious posing when out of town big media validated bands like the Midnight Youth, I am (a) Giant (penis) and the (scrotum) Feelers come to play so we must invite these 3 bands – these paradigms of New Zealand musical shiteness to come play here. The die hards, the casual fans, the needy, the friendless, the pen pushers will come out in force to see these bands. Hold the gig at Brewers Bar for this Friday. They will come. Spastic dance moves will abound, poorly written prose will flow, garbled pontifications will emanate the soon to be cock filled mouths of moron musicians, hair will get in the faces of text obsessed people behind, drinks will sink, rubes will be unawares of whats to come. The plan will come together. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 6 :</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">We like music, we really do but if we are serious about our manifesto then the music retailers have to go as well. Which is a shame but sacrifices need to be made. Tracs is probably New Zealands finest independent CD store after Slo Boat records in Wellington but does anyone even know it exists? Since that super duper fuck your family chain JB HI FI moved into Bayfair anyone that might have had some predilection towards good tunes have headed in droves to this piece of shit mega store. These are the same people that if in a big city, all wide eyed and smiles plied would see a store like a Tracs that has been around for years and say how quaint it is and tell all their friends how unique the city is because it still has mom and pop stores – fuck globalisation. But in Tauranga they would see this same style of shop and call it ratty, ugly, they would rather save a few pennies by heading to internationally owned JB Hi Fi. Fuck that, support the little man but not Marbecks because they are a chain of arching jism. Because of these fucks Tracs is dying a slow painful death, it saddens me – but like Old Yeller frothing at the mouth something tells me that it needs to be put out of its misery, even though we don’t want to do it. And JB HI FI? JB HI FI just needs to be put down – rabies or not.While we are at it fuck the Rockshop, Music Planet and Bay City Music for selling the instruments that started this whole mess. They are the enablers, the pusher men. They need to go too… </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Dear Music retailers of Tauranga. Tauranga Music Sux invites you to a special presentation by world renowned Motivational Speaker Anthony Robbins at Taurangas equivalent of the Sydney Opera House – Baycourt. You won’t hear much as the P.A is crap and the acoustics are shocking, you’ll probably get a sore back from the crap seating but you might just get some tips to beat the recession and save your business from bankruptcy. Failing that FREE WINE AND CRACKERS because I know you old cracker businessmen love wine and biscuits. Baycourt. This Friday. Come. It’ll be fun. I’ll save you a seat or two for your middle aged paunch…</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 7:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">It’s Friday night, everyone is soooo excited and just a wee bit nervous. The bands are waxing their goatees -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they look well tough,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they are warming up their fingers with mild stretching for a night of monster goat horns and teasing their hair into a calculated ‘just woke up’ scruff, not that they are trying to look good – they are musicians, they are insouciant, they don’t care what you think…unless you don’t like them or mock them. The Multiple Sclerosis music fans decide not to take their worm tablets for the evening as it may give them an extra bit of slither but they do get pumped with some Wigmore and practice some vapid conversation about their real expensive Indie Music endorsed frames which they don’t actually need as they have 20-20 vision. The retailers are drying their eyes with their depressing account ledgers, help is on its way thank gawd. The journalists aren’t doing their jobs very well and are listening to Bob Dylan while reading a thesaurus so they can use some really big, incomprehensible adjectives for their next review. And we at Tauranga Music Sux are grinning maniacally, while taping garlic to our bodies, sharpening our crosses and putting our holy water vials around our necks. Then we had a coffee and watched some Ellen cause it’s gonna be a long night…</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 8:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Krazy Jacks is filling up, RTD’s are menacing the musicians livers, Jack is unsure how to cope as it is for the first time in the bars history it is actually living up to its moniker…it’s Kraaaaaazzzzzzy. Across town at Brewers Bar, The Feelers are opening up with some old verified classics off Super System, Winston Wapoosi decides that instead of describing their sound as being powerful he will say it is thunderous, he is glad he read that thesaurus. The idiots are dancing in full spasm, they are glad that they didn’t take their medication though their anus sure is starting to itch; could they talk about that with the musicians they wonder? A bunch of Christian bands are playing at a scout hall, we forgot to invite them to Krazy Jacks but really no matter how many cds they might sell Christian music doesn’t count. A few hipsters too cool for Brewers and Krazy Jacks have congregated at Major Toms to listen to David Bowie on constant repeat, they don’t notice as they are too busy talking over each other with stories about how they once had tea with the guitarist from Blur in Camden, strangely they are all telling the same story but no one is listening to each other though their strangled chortles and fluid head nodding would say otherwise. The retailers have spent their last few cents on a programme from the Anthony Robbins Fun Fest at Baycourt, if they don’t get any decent tips tonight they are selling their vital organs, it has been decided. Tauranga Music Sux minions have surrounded and barricaded the doors of each venue of note awaiting the arrival of their leaders, The Writers…..</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 9:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The great music journalists ChildMolester Bangs, Nick Cunt, Johnana Peel and Munter S Thompson had gotten together one day over peppermint tea after realising the sad state of affairs Tauranga Music had fallen into. They ruminated aloud that they could continue to write about Tauranga Music and pretend that their was no great epidemic, they could try and convince the masses that the bands that currently existed were top notch or they could stand up and take account for music in their town by being honest. They trusted their instincts and went on a moral crusade slandering everything in their sight. Nothing was sacred. They hoped that by being so bleak, so blunt that the musicians, the fans would in turn be honest with themselves and their terminal lameness and either retire from playing/listening or return, motivated with a new improved, self respecting style that wasn’t just a hopeless pastiche of everyone and everything else. It didn’t work. Tauranga Music Sux was criminally overlooked, these sensitive souls wouldn’t take the criticism on board, they got defensive at these slights and if anything started making worse music to less people. The writers grew more despondent. If the zine wasn’t the answer they again brainstormed then what is? “Genocide?” Munter offered. “Yay Genocide” they all cried in unison. And so here we are on the Friday night, for the end of the Tauranga Music world.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Christians are incongruously and ironically singing positive, life affirming lyrics over Death Metal songs, the Major Tomsters are now showing off the sweater they bought from Save Mart – they are all wearing slight variations of the same thing, the Krazy Cats at Jacks have started fighting over who gets to sing Rage Against the Machines – Killing in the Name Of for the 678<sup>th</sup> time that evening, Winston Watusi decides that while he could use the term exciting to describe the Midnight Youth he could also use exhilarating – he does! How exhilarating. The retailers are jotting down notes as Anthony Robbins babbles they are soooo happy, their business is saved they can keep their kidneys. Everyone is having fun until….</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Stage 10:</span></u></b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">A message suddenly comes blaring out of the P.A’s cutting off the music, motivational ramblings of each venue, the peons are shocked and think god is talking to them and in a way he was…</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Dear Music oriented idiots of Tauranga you had your chance to evolve but like the Dinosaurs you continued to live uneventful lives with your scaley skin, gigantic tails and small sharpened teeth. Time has now come for you to all die. We apologise for the inconvenience but we at Tauranga Music Sux can no longer take any more belated Nu Metal, any more covers bands – we hated the Exponents, we didn’t want to hear someone else playing it,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the complete lack of jazz at the annual jazz festival, the twat kid on Devenport Road busking with a sign saying he can play parties – god<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope he is here playing tonights party – did someone invite him? Tell me someone did, all the metal – you losers aren’t tough, you aren’t hard you are the geekiest fucks ever and we all know that you grow your hair long and wear it over you faces because you have self esteem issues and that you only grow a goatee because a full beard would be too patchy and maybe even a dreaded neck beard, you fag punks – got me a mohawk, got me a studded jacket, got me a sneer, got me some unoriginal tunes, punk was about non conformity idiots, reggae – if you smoke dope you will lose braincells, experience some memory loss but worse you may start to like reggae, if Jah were real I’d punch him in the face though at this point I’d just settle for Damien Marley, you dickheads who run the jam nights but don’t actually jam on anything you just play covers straight, song for song, no variations, jam is malleable, think about that when spreading some on your burnt toast in hell fuckers, you pussys in garage bands that never play live – who cares if you have no talent, some of the best music came from people that really should not have been allowed any where near a musicial instrument but you’ve had your chance, you over produced slick packaged losers that think that if you have a glossy sound we won’t notice that your music has no substance, the venues – get a better p.a, hire a booking manager who understands that if you get in bands from out of town you will have a better chance of pulling a crowd, don’t wait for some untested local to come to you then complain when their music doesn’t live up to expectations, what did you expect, the music fans – buy some cds, don’t download everything just because it’s easier, have some sentimentality, support local business not some Steven Jobs type,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the retailers for not moving with the times – incorporate technology into your businesses, have downloading stations if that’s what people want, sell coffees, have more pop culture shit if it gets people through the doors, in store demos, album release parties, 2<sup>nd</sup> hand sections- people love thrift during a recession, the journalists – learn how to write, stop your cronyism, realise that Bob Dylan blows, the hipsters- shut up and get out of the op shops – I want to buy some cheap cutlery but you keep taking it all before I can get any because you think it’ll look cool on your wall cause its old, what am I going to eat with now, my fingers? Can’t afford the new stuff, the out of town bands for ignoring us on your nation wide tours – check your maps Magellin, there is an east coast. And finally us – the smug, portentous, vitriolic, all knowing yet knowing nothing, cynical yet oddly optimistic, tall poppy, small poppy, opium poppy seed syndrome carrying writers of Tauranga Music Sux. We are the worst. We need to die too. But y’all first….Goodbye.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The people inside each venue started screaming and rushing for the exits, when they found that they were all sealed some broke down crying others persistently tried to ram the doors but to no avail. They were trapped. Oh why, oh why had they persisted with drinking low in protein RTD’s they screamed. The Christians prayed to their imaginary friend. The hipsters prayed over each other while casually smoking a Malboro Light and bobbing their heads at nothing in particular. Winston Watusi was scared until he corrected himself as he realised that a better term was terrified, the out of town bands at Brewers tweeted to all on their NZ ON AIR paid for I-phones that Tauranga was now a music free zone in hopes that they would be spared – of course they wouldn’t, the retailers were relieved as they had been dying piece by piece on a daily basis with each decreasing day of sales, at least this would be swift. The muso’s at Krazy Jacks started to feel woozy and realised that the RTD’s were not infused with lime but garlic, they were cross with themselves for being so stupid as to let their drinks be spiked until they remembered the symbolic power of the cross, they looked each other and screamed, they could not escape the power of the cross, it was every where, they were immediately incinerated at which point the holy water sprinkler system kicked in eradicating any that remained – the Musicians were dead, ding dong the witch is dead. And while this was all happening the writers stood at the window of their 17<sup>th</sup> story apartment looking at the destruction as synchronised bomb blasts went off leveling the buildings of all the former Tauranga musical retail and nightlife hotspots along with the fans, journalists, out of towners, hipsters and Christians inside. They all smiled. Then someone said “Hey, we should play Where is My Mind by the Pixies” “Nah that’d be plagiarism! Oh fuck it who cares”. Then they woke up. It was all a dream. The end.</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-29196549573767181032011-08-29T00:40:00.000-07:002011-08-29T00:40:01.607-07:00Issue 3<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Friends, fans, foes, fags. Lets recap. Issue 1 dealt with the fact that Tauranga Music sux. Issue 2 dealt with the fact that Tauranga Musc (still) sux. Issue 3 deals with the fact that Tauranga Music Sux </span><span lang="EN-NZ">Sux</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span><span lang="EN-NZ">Sux</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span><span lang="EN-NZ">Sux</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span><span lang="EN-NZ">Sux</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span><span lang="EN-NZ">Sux</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> in a perpetual echo. But for first time readers you may ask ‘Whys its sux yo’? Well in #1 we established that every band in Tauranga past or present due to a variety of factors have shown no discernible talent, originality or any more of their penis than just their sad flacid tip- inexcusable. And like Neve Campbell were flat chested and not very good at performing. The venues were like body hair and non homsexual clothes on a male member of Generation Y – non existent and the general public were all fans of Zumba, had blue rinse perms and were looking forward to Russia vs Japan at the Rugby World Cup - idiots. Zine #2 decided that the Tauranga scene wasn’t worth dwelling upon anymore because like a Friday night at that party your friend was having while his parents were out of town that was going to be real happening because he had ‘invited’ heaps of people but in actuality it was just you, him, your shit kicker mate Brett and that fat mildly retarded chick from next door – nothing was happening nor was it going to. So we invented a scene. It was awesome. Shit was going down like that of the compressed fecal matter in a splayed, skinny, effeminate, white, recidivist convicts colon. Bands were forming, fans were foaming, venues opening, age, apathy were no longer a beastly burden. It was sweet like the tender kisses of your gigantic black cell mate as he fondled your ball sack and nibbled on your ear while you tried to fend him off without really trying that hard as you kinda like it but you’re not gay yo. So as issue 3 begins, we ask, has Tauranga music changed? No! It still sux ‘uh huh huh’. Hey Ho, Let’s Go back to the dream and see what happens to the scene. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Record Label<span> </span><span> </span></span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">With the sudden appearance of so many awesome bands on the Tauranga scene brightening the hearts, minds and taste buds of the patrons of Tauranga’s premier music venue C.B.BEE.GEES it was inevitable that within time someone would step in to try and document these tasty tunes by releasing their albums under a collective banner. And so it was that the two failed musician friends but more importantly true music fans, who we shall call Jonathon Poneman and Bruce Pavitt but not the ‘Jonathon Poneman’ and Bruce Pavitt’, decided to start a record company that wouldn’t ape the self serving capitalist scourge paradigm of the corporate giants but instead help expose the wide range of awesome bands suddenly coming out of Tauranga to the world in a nicely packaged, recorded format at their own cost and without financial expectations. Why? Because they really liked the music, strange huh. They named their label Sub Pop but not the ‘Sub Pop’. Bruce and Jonathon quickly signed up the cream of the crop, from highly sexed Buddhist noise merchants Dalai Lama Sutra to sore throat ameliorating Delta Blues master Blind Lem’sip Jefferon to law enforcing rock n’ rolla Robo Cop Diddley to prog punkers the aptly named Punk Floyd and seminal groin hair rap crew the Pubic Area-nemy. They got their friend Jack Endino but not the ‘Jack Endino’ to produce these bands because he worked cheap and unlike every other faggot producer in Tauranga didn’t record everything digitally while demanding 57 takes for each song and another 58 over dubs for every guitar line and vocal melody while barking orders at you not to touch the mixing desk as he positions his 59 microphones in various locations around the studio while clutching his ear and doing hand signals at no one in particular. Cock. But with Endino’s crusty analogue techniques; record it with a dictaphone onto a cassette that used to have some Nana Miskouri on it, his No-Fi style managed to create a sound that for the disparate genres being recorded was rather similar in dynamics. For the album art the pair asked their friend photographer Charles Peterson but not the ‘Charles Peterson’ to do the photography because he had a grimey feel to his work that was lacking in the saccarhine bollox of all the ocean, baby, whale, tree, sunset, picture taking pap other camera happy fanny fartists persisted with . Upon combining all the music, recordings, photos, bands they realised that they had something, something worthy of the growing scene, something that was a musical point of difference. Yet, something that was similar in sound, similar in aesthetic, similar in ideals. They had their own style. But what to call it? They thought and thought until Bruce turned to Jonathon and said “We shall call this music coming from Tauranga, this sound like no other, with ideals and aesthetic all our own – Grunge. But not the ‘Grunge’.” And to that Jonathon replied “Perfect, it sums up the whole scene….”<span> </span>Then they made out.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Journalists <span> </span></span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">After steaming up their window glass Titanic style, Bruce gazed into his lovers twinkling eyes and verbally ruminated. “Our bands all have C.D’s out, their concerts are packed like sardines in a sardine can that has one too many sardines in it, our Loser shirts but not the ‘Loser’ shirts are selling like hot cakes yet we and more importantly the bands aren’t getting any publicity from the media. What the fuck? This is a spirited ground level explosion unseen except for in overly maudlin documentarys made by annoyed directors who due to being square rubes missed the actual initial, dizzying, exciting events of whatever they are filming and so are trying to rewrite history so that they have a more active part, filmed so it seems far greater in importance and relevance <span> </span>than what it actually was thus validating their epoch, the one that they sorta, just, kinda were involved in as the bestest ever so they can laud it over future generations that their time was not worth their time. Yet they pay us no attention. Could it be because Taurangas sole music journalist, if you can call him that is a Bob Dylan obsessed hack more interested in covering the lame events of his over the hill cronies in their gay, jazz, electro blues, ‘please die’ bands than anything from people that have a chance of succeeding in the music industry or building some thing of far greater importance than Blues Brews B.B.Q’s,<span> </span>R.S.A covers gigs or some arse fucken over produced performance at Baycourt by some touring gimps from the big smoke, Whoopee, Auckland, Wellington. Yay. Well. Fuck him! Fuck the man that we shall call Winston Watusi and I do mean the ‘Winston Watusi’<b><u> </u></b>for his lazy attempts at music journalism. And might I say your taste in movies sux too. And your alias blows. And my dad tells me that your blow jobs blow. So what we need to do is get some one who isn’t going to be partial to cronyism, old age ennui and with actual credibility that doesn’t just write a trash once weekly article in a newspaper so badly written they have to give it away, yet still no one reads it except for maybe my highly educated, Harvad graduate yet to be house trained puppy before it squats and takes a steaming shit all upon their piece of shit newspaper therefore playing a game of shit jenga that they are going to lose because they are shit, so shit flies won’t even land in it. Sheeeeeeeeit! Maybe if we were to pay a journo from a big time publication to fly to Tauranga and see what is happening with their own eyes maybe they could be persuaded to write an article exposing this amazing scene and then the world can read about it and our bands will become rich, famous and covered in the latest in groupie fashion ensembles. Plus our our duty as facillitators for others, the bands, people that are far more talented than ourselves will be fulfilled. Yay.” And so Bruce and Jonathon contacted Melody Maker but not the ‘Melody Maker’ and offered to pay for one of their writers to come to Tauranga for a week or two to see their bands and then write about it. The Melody Makers office were only too pleased to send one of their authors and for this job they specially chose the young, annoying, gets on the bosses tits with too much talking about how great he is and forcing his way on stage to play his own insufferable music when at the gigs of the bands he is supposed to be reviewing because he is a drunk, egocentric, mango man. His name was Everett True but not the Everett True. For Everett this was his first time out of England but not the England and was instantly taken with the smooth, exotic accents of the people of Tauranga and their strange delicassies like ‘fush n chups’. Obviously years of attending gigs minus ear plugs had ruined his hearing. He liked, loved, masturbated into a sock over the music he heard, mostly because he was drunk and the bands treated him like a god because he knew how to read and write. Woaaah! He could also magically create fire with something he called a Lighter. Double woaaaah! And when he ate he closed his mouth and used a knife and fork. Triple Woaaaah! Everett didn’t ever want to leave, he loved Tauranga, its bands and the sunlight that he had heard about but never seen before leaving England. He loved how he was treated like a god and that when he played his horrible punk covers with an out of tune guitar and atonal voice people still egged him on and applauded his performance as it was still way better than anything else ever seen in Tauranga. But he had an article to write and a future history to create in which he can hearld himself as the Captain Cook of the Tauranga music scene and not just some rotund, little douchebag who happened to be in the right place at the right time... </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Expolsion<span> </span><span> </span></span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Well Everett flew home and wrote his little article and did as journalists do and used more synonyms than a thesaurus, with more grandiloquence than Dennis Miller and so impressed and confused his poor brain fogged readers with his hyperbolic tales of awe that the people went gaga but not Lady Gaga over the Tauranga Scene. The bands were welcomed as heroes when invited to tour Europe. C.D’s flew off the shelves, literally as Sub Pop but not the ‘Sub Pop’ had put wings on them and little propellors so they could reach distant lands quicker. Bands looking for a piece of the action moved to Tauranga en mass and changed their style of music to fit in with the desired sound. Everyone, from bands to fans to fashion designers adopted the Tauranga dress code, Jandals, Stubbies, and a novelty T-Shirt with an incredibly unfunny slogan on it like ‘I love Vagina as long as it’s not my Grans but even then if I hadn’t had any in awhile I might be tempted if I’d had a couple and the room was dark and she didn’t smell too much like moth balls on that particular day’. Hollywood took notice and all of sudden films were being set in sunny, artificially beautiful towns, with dying C.B.D’s and poor traffic management. Their actors played the parts of uneducated, pre-teen, parent hicks dressed in the perpetual summer garb ubiquitous amongst the aforementioned musicains and fans. The premise of these films dealt with such Tauranga-centric themes as more DVD’s and Playstation games in the Public Libraries than books, Noodle Canteens every 200m’s and the lack of anything to do that isn’t defined as spousal abuse. Magazines from the Womens Weekly to Rip It Up and Tetris Monthly all either had articles or entire magazines devoted to Tauranga music or they wanted to but most probably couldn’t get access to, as let’s face it these bands were now big time . Big labels from Sony to EMI<span> </span>swooped in and attempted to sign away all of Sub Pops but not the ‘Sub Pops’ acts with mega money, multi album contracts that the bands who being disloyal, ungrateful, avaricious scallywags jumped at. And advertisers were having a field day raping the integrity of the scene to sell every thing from Tampons to Wontons and Plankton. But due to over exposure everyone was starting to get a little tired of the Tauranga Music Scene. Yes the music was still good and it was better than anything else heard in the preceeding years but it was every where and the lustre was starting to go. But then, from above….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Band</span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">When the initial seeds of the Tauranga Music Scene were planted the members of Nirvana but not the ‘Nirvana’ or the other ‘Nirvana’ (you know, the psycadelic folk fags from the 60’s) were still sifting for gold in the streams of the once prosperous mining town of Waihi. Playing in their parents garages with what little spare time they had before having to leave their houses pick in one hand, pipe in mouth, pan in the other early next morning. So while the musicians of Tauranga got better and better, famous and famous-er, herpes and herpier Nirvana continued to hone their craft in their tiny corn bread eating, banjo strumming town. Until one day they realised that they were better than all those big smoke, yuppie, you’re so flash in your stubbies and jandals bands from Tauranga. So they sold their ingots of gold bought a van and relocated to the mega city. Their sound was just the injection the scene was in need of. Fresh, loud, powerful with strange dynamics and interesting lyrics the band quickly ascended to the top of the musical pile. Members; introverted, angst filled, guitarist song writer Kurt Cobain but not the Kurt Cobain, goofy funny guy bassist Krist Noveselic but not the Krist Noveselic and powerhouse drummer and soon to be faggot frontman of another integrity-less commercial cunt face band Dave Grohl but not the Dave Grohl were heralded as the greatest band on earth. Their first single <span> </span>Smells Like Teen Spirit but not the Smells Like Teen Spirit went straight to number 1, it was instantly hailed as a classic and an anthem for that generation. Kurt Cobain was lauded as a hero, spokesman and icon <span> </span>for youth everywhere. They were the new Beatles, bigger than Jesus, bigger than god, bigger than the being that created God and way bigger than they being that created Gods, God, God. But the fame would become too much. Kurt sensitive soul that he was couldn’t deal with his new found celebrity status, the intrusion into his private life and the plethora of morons and trend hoppers that now liked his music. On April 7<sup>th</sup> after becoming increasingly depressed and suicidal he blew his head off with a gigantic burst of semen built up in his wang from years of abstaining from sex because he didn’t want to pump his filthy, whore, aids carrying bitch wife Courtney Love but not the Courtney Love, while sucking himself dry after surgically having a rib removed the day before. He was 27…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Aftermath<span> </span><span> </span></span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">With the passing of Kurt Cobain but not the Kurt Cobain the musicians, fans and scenesters turned, looked at themselves and said was it all worth it? We all wanted a scene in Tauranga so bad we forgot to look at the bigger picture and the potential ramifications of having good bands, labels, clubs, publicity, fans. We killed Kurt Cobain. We invited in the media, advertising, hollywood, music label vultures. We killed the music scne. Everyone felt so guilty that they tried to forget the Tauranga Music Scene straight away. The advertisers went back to milking nubile hot chicks in wet white shirts. The directors went back to spending millions on CGI effects and big trucks that go bang and muscle headed meat sacks that go ‘DANG’. The music press found some other sound that was just a rehash of something that happened 20 years earlier and lauded it as the next big thing. Bruce and Jonathon forgot their ethics merged with the major label that killed their scene and started releasing music for money from a real shit musical comedy duo called the Flight of the Concords, I repeat the Flight of the Concords, the Shite of the Concords and some indie wank. The fans grew up. The labels left. The venues closed down. And the bands broke up. Everyone was demoralised. ‘God we just wanted some good music to see on a Friday night without having to go out of town and maybe enough prestige that bands might deign to tour through our woods, but this we didn’t want this’ they said. It was a sad state of affairs and left many wondering if it might have been better if there never had even been a Tauranga Music scene. And maybe they were right. They also wondered if music would ever prosper again on the streets of Tauranga. And for a long time it didn’t but within time the sweet sounds of Exponents songs, Reggae, Dub Step, Nu Metal began to emanate from the amazing night clubs and bars on the Strand. The status quo but not the ‘Status Quo’ was back and everyone was happy. Idiots. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">Next Issue</span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">If I can be arsed…</span></span></div>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-56558117864690680032011-08-18T07:14:00.000-07:002011-08-18T07:14:42.534-07:00Issue 2<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ"> Here's zine number 2 you parasites. As you will see this scene wasn't interesting enough to warrant a 2nd issue but fuck dammit I had shit to say... </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ"> Zine 2:</span></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Upon the release of the first issue of ‘Tauranga Music Sux’ the local losers after buying this piece of literary genius… turned, looked at themselves and their feeble, pitiful excuses for art and after feeling a little insulted and sorry for their sad selves and the time wasted on sub sub sub sub sub sub sub par efforts said ‘Ya know what? Why do we mope? Dude got a point. We do suck. We are all interminable, talentless, unoriginal butt cheek spreading marmite eaters. We gots to change.” And change they did. Weeks on from the release of the zine new bands were appearing out of the once deadly quiet burbs, dormant bands that might’ve had some potential before being killed by Taurangas disdain and the resulting apathy were reuniting with new and killer material in an effort to seek the glory that was surely coming, others from around the country were moving here to save this once moribund music scene, bands were finally bringing their tours to these parts or at least driving through on their way to Auckland to bottle old grannies on bikes for some mid road trip sport. Things were picking up. Cds were being released, good ones. New venues opening up, big ones. Fans were coming out, not moronic ones. Tauranga was fast becoming the next Seattle, Manchester, Wanganui. Actually I’m lying, it was as shit as ever. The bands didn’t change. They remained the derivative hacks that they always were. But ‘Tauranga Music Sux.’ <span> </span>had a soloution. If these stubborn fucks wouldn’t change. If they insisted on continuing to anally fist us with their poosic. And if the local music lovers gave them reason to do so by validating their inane attempts. Then fuck ‘em. So to those that actually like good music then let them, like Tony Sopranos mum be dead to us. And for us that want, yearn, long for a decent music scene in Tauranga then it is time for us to stand up and take action. It is time for us to invent our own scene. But don’t go out and start a band or anything, after all you are from Tauranga you’re music will be pretentious, weak, empty, shallow, spork, dross. Instead let your imagination take over and invent the scene that you want. We have…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Oh my god did you hear? No. There are so many awesome new bands moving to Tauranga. Are there? Yeah, I just said. Really? Yeah you fucken douche. Why, this place sucks? That’s what I said. So, Taurangas going to have its very own scene? Yuh. Tits. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Jazz Festival</span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">In years gone by the Jazz festival has been a fuken farce. An excuse for old dilettantes to hit the Strand, get their red face and booze breath on with some cheap wine which they would like to smell, swig and taste but they are far to simple, uncouth, and aged to be able to. They pretend that they know Jazz and that they were Jazz before Stan Getz was but in reality they don’t Jazz at all and infact they don’t even see that they are getting swindled each year when instead of Tauranga bringing in actual Jazz Musians to give their festival an authentic New Orleans feel they actually just get a bunch of faggy faux blues guys, ex Lenny Kravitz sidemen and soul shmucks. Blind Boys of Alabama, Trombone Shorty, Midge Marsden? Whose definition of jazz is this? Rubbish. But this year - 2011 it all changed. Sick of the ruse, the Tauranga District Council finally owned up to the fact that they had no idea how to organise a festival let alone a music one so they went to the only peeps that even knew jazz was a musical style and <span> </span>invited them to run proceedings. And so it was that Tauranga Music Sux took over the committee and let it be known that if Tauranga was going to do as every other town in New Zealand that has no identity does and have a Jazz festival then they’d better do it correct. Using the finances that would otherwise be wasted by the council on essential infrastructure, lowering rates, improving traffic congestion Tauranga Music Sux decided to invest in the worlds best Jazz Musicians; Puke Smellington, Kungfouis Armstrong, Sarah Michelle Geller Fitzgerald, from T.V’s ‘Fraser’ Kelsey Grammers faux brother Niles Davis, super lungs Kill-ie Holiday, bass player extraordinaire Charles Dingus and and acid jazz master Cellphonious Monk<span> </span>All the big names were invited and in turn they all said ‘Fuck yeah, we’ll be there daddy-o. We’ve heard of your little festival and it’s about time you invited some actual jazz musicians to validate the Jazz quota and know what daddy-o? Keep my appearance fee, Tauranga rate payers don’t need to waste more money on something that no one will appreciate on an artistic level, plant some more trees, get some more books for the library, kick out all the snu fucks from the historic village and restore it to its former beauty, pay those fat cat councilors more cause they really need it as they do so much.daddy-o’ and they did, they played and played. Jazz hit the streets of Tauranga. And in turn the residents of Tauranga responded, in unison, arms locked, as one, as a whole, a united force with bottles and glasses raised high in the air… ready to throw at the invaders. “Hey, oi old black guys, this aint jazz.” “Wheres midge, we want midge, we want midge” “Stop playing so many different chords. My tiny frazzled mind cannot keep up.” “Booo,boooo,boooo” “Oh fuck, I have shat myself because I’m an old incontinent fucker”. Scared of the crazed masses the jazz musicians hid in one of Charles Dingus’ massive double basses until the deluge of crap stopped raining down. Eventually they emerged from their cover, tears in their eyes and looked around at the streets of downtown Tauranga, littered with broken bottles, piss everywhere, windows smashed, bodies lying in the street and said to themselves “Tauranga finally got it right, they finally managed to capture the spirit of New Olreans, just a shame that it was the post Hurricane Katrina version but it’s a start.” And with that the jazz greats left arm in arm scat munching and beboping all the way to the next over populated, under cultured city in need of an excuse for a big piss up. <span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Tribute Acts:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Covers bands were once the worst aspect of Tauranga Music. Avaricious, no talent hacks playing a generic set of predictable wishy washy songs bound to please their mindless audience. See any covers band in Tauranga an they’ll all be playing the same pleb pleasing set list of<span> </span>Exponents, Exponents and Exponents. Tauranga Music Sux despises them. And no you don’t have any integrity and it is not better to play than to not play at all. Money, crowd response, they really shouldn’t matter if you are a true self respecting muso playing for the love of your art. But if you don’t have the talent to write your own material then I wont deride you completely, not everyone is born as gifted as Jordan Luck. Go on play some covers but don’t marginalise yourself completely just for a little shrilla. Play what you want to hear, not what the average fat, drunk, pussys so wide it houses refugees cunt bitch on the strand wants. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">But thankfully not every covers band is as soul-less as the majority. There is one that has bucked the trend for mediocrity. They are Taurangas very own tribute to the Beatles. The Meatles. But have they done what is expected and ripped off the Beatles wholesale? No the Meatles have done what every tribute act should do and injected some colour and personality into their act. Hailing from Lovetheirtools, Thingland, the Fabforeskin and their brand of penis inspired Meatlemania is sweeping Tauranga by storm. Lead by the songwriting team of Small Dickartney and John Bellend and accompanied by the talented guitarist George Hairyschlong and the below average, but a hell of a nice guy drummer Dingalingo Starr the guys with the foppish pubic hair bowl cuts have just released their latest album ‘Beat their Meatles’ to glowing critical reviews and public response. When asked if satisfied with their latest offering the laconic lads offered this “ Well, we think that we do but we don’t but we do think that it is as good as A Hardon Sprays White or Chubber Soul or Let it Pe-nis or the seminal classic Sgt Peppers Boner/Nuts Rub Hand. But we think that we do but we don’t but we do that it’s a good album in its own right.” At which point they ran off at an accelerated pace as I chased valiantly only to have the situation reversed and to be chased by them as comical music played all while being pursued by a dude dressed as Gorrilla. <span> </span>When asked why it was that they bucked the trend of tribute acts and covers bands everywhere and decided to expand on the myth of the Beatles rather than outright copy? After doing some more daft, cute for the 1960s silliness they had this to say “Well most think that we do but we don’t but we do that we were disgusted with the banality of tribute acts everywhere and decided to inject some life into the whole thing but that was untrue” said Bellend in a slow whimsical pace. “You see this…” said Hairyschlong before getting cut off by Dickartney because he is the boring, marginalised one “….time we had a gig in at the Cavernous Vagina Club but we went to the wrong address and wound up at a mad scientists place.” Dingalingo didn’t say anything, he is a drummer, an idiot, a chump, a putz, he has a big nose and works at Tracs. “So the Mad scientist let us in anyway and offered us tea and scones and bangers and mash which was all very nice and then he showed us his latest experiment which was a portal that would allow human beings to travel to another location. So this scientist, Brundle I think his name was offered to transport us to where we were meant to be playing that night. So we all hopped in the portal but unbeknownst to us there was also a penis in the portal with us, so weirdly our DNA got mixed with that of the penis, turning us into part man part penis. A very similar premise to the plot of ‘The Fly’ come to think of it.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">And like in ‘The Fly’ slowly the penis DNA was overwhelming the Meatles becoming stronger than their own, by the end of interview they had infact just become dicks. They would now truly fit in as Tauranga Musicians. <span> </span><span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Saviours:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">But tribute acts and touring Jazz greats are not enough to make a cities music scene vibrant. Really you need some good solid orginal bands but before that you need a venue for them to play in. And before that you need some people that might actually like music. Luckily things were about to change, though in some cases maybe not for the better. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Fans: </span></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Having gentrified every small town, suburb, city in New Zealand the hipster faggots had no where left to over populate with their hemp clothes, smurf figurines, fire twirling, unicycles and Jack Kerouac books. Till someone said, “Tauranga – I know we’ve been avoiding it as it is the black plague, there is no history, and what ever heritage they have gets obliterated with each new migrating Auckland businessman yuppie cock sucker or myopic, I’m still young, I’m still fresh, I’m happening, I’m living for the future not my imminent death retiree soil warmer. But ya know what fellow I have no creativity and ability for iconoclasm, ironic, retro, scene jumper they may have cheap houses with ethnic types.” “Oh goody then we can pretend we are poor, maybe even immigrants. Then our friends can do the same. And we will all be poor immigrants in our real expensive clothes bought from designer fashion boutiques. Then there won’t be any actual poor people left as we have made the housing costs rise, so we will get bored and have to move to where the poor people have relocated to. Won’t they be so glad to see us and our symbollicaly raised fists of solidarity.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">And so the artists, the musicians, the fashion designers, the students all moved here on mass. And they were all oh so happy in their ex state houses waking up each morning smelling the beautiful intoxicating meth fumes wafting from the open windows<span> </span>of their Black power neighbours P lab. Waving at the elderly lady carrying her 12 bags of shopping without actually offering to help. Striking up conversation with their Indian convenience store owner using the few words they picked up from their 2 month stint at an ashram in India way back when they were going through their spirtual phase. But they weren’t content, they needed culture. They needed music….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Venues:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">So the hipster goons went to town but alas their was no club that would cater for their eclectic tastes so they pooled together and put in all the money that they worked so hard to get from their dads into buying a club of their own. But how do you advertise to other uber cool types that your club is the place to be? They needed a business plan. But luckily every hipster bar is the same. Get a venue a little away from the upmarket places, because the rent is cheaper and it helps the patrons develop their outsider, downtrodden, rebel mindsets. Decorate with only the oldest scungiest furniture possible – but don’t get it from the Sallies, no your dad has deep pockets or failing that why not burdedn the financial system some more and take out a real big loan that you have no intention of paying back or max out you’re 5<sup>th</sup> credit card so can you can buy the same furniture only 50 times more expensive from an antique dealer. Put some brand new but made to look fucken old framed pop culture posters on the walls. Hire some poser with studs, a tacky neck tattoo and bad dye job combed to the side to hide behind the bar. And then prepare to open. But you’ll need a good name. Something recognisable, something with history, something amusing. CBGB’s? Damn already taken. Hows about C.B.BEEGEES. Done. The doors have opened. Locals, out of towners, wannabe coolios have flocked. Regulars have shaped their asses on their recently appropriated stools. Bar tenders deified. Now all we need are some tunes.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Bands:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I’m a Tauranga local. I play aggressive, original music with backbone and integrity in a band, I have no where to play I’m going to give up on the dream and just go back to playing my PS3 cause there is nothing else to do in this town. Oh wait….<span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Miley Virus and Malajustin Beiber are two of the most promising bands to come out of Taurangas burgeoning underground music scene. Made up from locals. Genuine Taurangians. They have made it their priority to kick ass on mass. Rhymes are a gas. Their music is all their own, a vibrant mix of everything that doesn’t suck. They have mad style that you just want to adopt as your own but you can’t because you’re kind of fat, with a weak chin and you only look good in sweat pants and polo shirts, actually you don’t even look good in those. Their own identity and personality ooze through in a sound that is unlike any other. In fact it is indescribable. Though think of your favourite band and then improve on it ten fold. I have just described it. Their youth and vibrancy is incredibly refreshing in a town that is renound for its average age of 103. They have more fans than a shop that sells fans, yeah I did. Fuck you. And vagina sweats for them. Therefore they are everything that Tauranga bands shouldn’t be.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Last Friday saw Miley Virus and Malajustin Beiber play their 3<sup>rd</sup> consecutive sellout show at the aptly named Beegees themed bar and music venue C.B.BEEGEES. Residents of Tauranga that would otherwise be at home diddling themselves, playing online poker or at an old high school friends house that they don’t really like but use as a crutch due to their failure to make new pals watching the rugby were suddenly motivated to escape their banal lives for a few hours to discover what real exciting music was actually all about. And what a treat they were in for. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">First up were the awesome Miley Virus. After starting at the advertised time and not diservicing their audience by playing their worst material first in an effort to build to a stunning climax at the end of their set. The Virus ripped and roared through all 6 of the songs that made up the material of their debut e.p ‘Hannarchy Montana’ plus several other new ones that the crowd responded to with equal unabashed positivity. Never in Tauranga’s sorry history has a crowd responded to a local band (let alone the opener) with such fervour, dancing, moshing, twirling, macarenaing, rattling and rolling from start to finish without walking off to the bar, macking on some uninterested bitch, taking an extended toilet break, going outside every 20 seconds for a cigarette or to answer imaginary texts on their really expensive cellphone that will be lost by the nights end. Hypnotic from start to finish the collective members of Miley Virus set an incredible platform for Malajustin Beiber to aspire to. Expect them to go far. Maybe to even get there own show on the Nickelodeon Network. Rockstars that just want to be normal kids god dammit. I’d watch it. But who’d play the father figure? Some ex mullet headed cock sucking country pop starsshole no doubt.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Like their support act, respectful of the crowd that had come to see them and the music they didn’t fuck round for an eternity setting up their equipment. They didn’t spend a few minutes extra getting liqoured up. They didn’t try lining up a semen squirt for later. They just hit the stage, no sound check needed and played. Having been whipped into a frenzy by The Virus, the crowd was rabid for the headliners. A deluge of knickers were thrown at the band, a deluge of drugs were thrown at the band, the usual deluge of tomatos, midgets and batteries were not thrown at the band. They played and played and played some more. And then abruptly stopped. But wait. Then they came back for an encore. Because it was demanded. No! Ordered. But the crowd wanted more. So they came back for a 2<sup>nd</sup> encore. Then a 3<sup>rd</sup>. Then a 4<sup>th</sup>. Then a 5<sup>th</sup>. Then a 6<sup>th</sup>. Then a 7<sup>th</sup>. Then an 8<sup>th</sup> . Then they ran out of songs but that was alright because the people of C.G.BEE.GEES were spent, but they had had their monies worth and had ample conversation for the water cooler on Monday. And with this one gig it was final. It wasn’t a fluke. The first 2 shows were no mistake. It was saved. It was on. Tauranga music was finally a force to be reckoned with. Imaginary Tauranga music no longer sucked. Shame about the real stuff though….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Issue 3: Letters to the editor, Tauranga music gets international publicity, the record labels come a calling and spork still smokes pole.<span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8909276118192884508.post-78570911223782260332011-08-15T18:19:00.000-07:002011-08-16T05:06:55.874-07:00Issue 1Dear Tauranga Music Idiots.<br />
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I wrote this zine a number of months back - I was severly disillusioned with the Tauranga scene or lack there of so I took the old DIY punk route and wrote a crappy little zine covering the main points about Tauranga Music and why it sucked. Because my zine was banned from the retail outlet where I used to leave it for public consumption I have decided to reprint Issue 1 here so that you may read it and try to understand where I was coming from. As you will see, initially I didn't really want to slander any of the local bands outright by naming names and ragging on you fucks too much. It's not entirely your fault that you suck so much - most of my disgust was directed towards the sad state of the scene as a whole. We have no real venues, the fans that do come out and see local music only do so if they are already friends with the bands - these fans have really limited palattes, don't you strive to do something daring and original without these stunned mullet fucks gawping at you with the dumb fuck 'what just happened? play some GnR' eyes , out of town acts rarely make their way here anymore it's like they know that we have been tarnished with the musical plague and if on the off chance they do come then none of us go out and see them anyway, there are more covers and jam bands than those playing originals how fucking sad is that - is progress playing Rage Against the Machine covers? and why does it get a better reaction?, our original bands just aren't very original, I've been guilty of it - we don't just reference our favourites we seem hell bent on imitating them!, worst of all as bands we insist on glad handing each other and saying how great we all are and yet none of us go and see each others bands when we have a gig on because we all know how insipid it all is even if we are too scared and or polite to say so, and the media is a joke - you may hate my negative nancy thoughts but at least I'm actually writing about local music and not living in the past and or sucking up to my jazz fat cat pals. So yeah that's the condensed version of my gripes that spanned 4 zines and which I was just about to finish doing because I was sick and tired of this rubbish scene, my sanctimonious 'know it all' ideals (I am to blame just as much as anyone here), the understandable lack of readership (it is a very niche market after all) and all you whiny, faggot, overly sensitive musicians but now before I move to the country to strum my banjo and tend my cattle I might just have one more zine and a couple of baiting tweets left in me because you are all proving yourselves to be far queerer than what I originally thought but hopefully by directing your hurt feelings and hate towards me and my little zine you may be able to build towards something greater, you may access true emotion and originality, you may be able to build that scene in Tauranga that I always wanted but was to cynical and lazy to actually follow through.Go on kids, run out and play.... <br />
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ZINE 1:<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Every music scene has some unspoken unifying bond. Seattle had a bunch of moaning, long haired poofs too gay to actually cut trees but still wearing logging attire playing a mix of punk and metal that eventually got diluted into the wank that is now known as Pearl Jam. L.A’s, semi, NO! fully retarded big haired, get laid psuedo musicians pumped out a party hard brand of metal that appealed to fat chicks and fags and sucks to this day and will continue to suck in perpetuity. In Manchester everyone called each other geezer and played in dance infused bands that would later go on to influence Oasis – cunts. No one had clothes in San Francisco and they all wore crabs in their pubic hair. Closer to home; Auckland bands wear Miley Cyrus jeans and think they’ve made it when their Kings of Leon sounding music video of them looking pensive in fedoras gets played on C4 and some fat chick at one of their concerts offers the lead singer a hand job ignoring the fact that C4 sucks and the chicks fat and a whore who would give your mum a hand job if she were in a band and a fedora. Wellington has a real bad infestation of gluten free, dairy free, taste free, talent free, muffin eating, cardigan wearing, bicycle riding, environment saving, miserable, liberal, pretentious hipsters playing a wide range of music that all manages to sound the same – ball-less and soul-less. Dunedins got history. All the bands in Christchurch have been crushed or are playing in a seismic crater. And Taurangas musicians are no exception….what’s their ‘unspoken, unifying bond’ you ask? Well Tauranga music just plain sucks…..</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The bands:</span></u></b></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Whether you’re in one of the many ‘I was a bullied geek in school but now I’m a respected tough guy because I have long hair and an ill kept goatee’ death metal bands or a mohawk weilding, 1977 dreaming, anarchy, espousing, stud brandishing punk rocker sadly unaware of the true ethics of punk playing a horrible mash of 90’s skater punk with a John Lydon sneer or perhaps you might be the big bunch of saddos that don’t realise that even the grunge bands were ashamed by what their sound became or just some christian douche bag ripping off John Mayer, strumming his gay little acoustic guitar, pretending he is way deep and far more emotionally capable than what he actually is so that in a highly transaparent way he can get his dick sucked from some quixotic little piece of ass or alternately some old fucker failing to realise that his glory years have well and truly passed him by and still trying to rock out when he should just start playing jazz and blues or your some old cunt playing jazz and blues that doesn’t realise that he isn’t black and therefore not qualified to play those genres of music or you’re a no talent hack calling yourself a musician when you just play other peoples insipid songs to a bunch of booze fueled idiots yelling at you to play some ‘Exponents’ in a gay bar in a gay town on a gay Saturday night and thinking you’ve reached the pinnacle of the music industry or your some fag one man band unable to find anyone willing to play your amatuerish dross ripping off the entire history of weird outsider music in order to get your insufferable music played by someone that’s not your mum or your in a reggaae band – ‘hey REG you’re GAY’ or your just starting a band in Tauranga and you think that you have real potential and that your gonna make it big just as soon as the other musicians and music fans hear your derivative songs or your in high school and you have real talent but you know that you’re gonna leave Tauranga as soon as you get the chance so you never play in this sub par town therefore depriving those that would actually appreciate what you do from hearing it or you think you’re Mr Bungle but you actually just sound like Jethro Tull if they played an incoherant jumble of every genre imaginable in one song that goes for 50 minutes, progression nah just regression or you play in a garage and start a new band every two weeks that never plays live unless you count that party you put on that wasn’t really a party at all but a BBQ that no-one came to and those that did just talked over you anyway or you have a band with real potential and you debut but everyone is apathetic and you think it’s because your pathetic so you never play again but in actuality you were real good, the plebs just didn’t like you because you didn’t play any ‘Exponents’ songs. Whatever you play, who ever you are, where ever you do it if you’re a band from Tauranga you suck. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The venues:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Every great scene has numerous venues where bands can play. Tauranga has 2, they are not great.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">“Dear Editor, I’m new to Tauranga and I’d really like to see some fresh live music where should I go?”</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Well if you like dubstep, covers, reggae, jazz, death metal then go to any bar on a Friday/Saturday night in the CBD and you’ll find something that should satisfy your limited tastes.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">“Nah, I like good music”</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Well, occassionally Brewers Bar has a touring band come through…we had Jimmy Barnes over New Years, yes the Jimmy Barnes!!!! Wow!!!! And about 4 years ago DIE! DIE! DIE! Played in front of a monster crowd of 5 people. 2 of whom were local alcoholics oblivious to the music and the fact that their livers are about to explode.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">“Barnes sucks and what about recently, do no good bands stop in Tauranga? And what about the locals?” </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Well DIE! DIE! DIE! Returned mid last year at this trendy, christain inhabited bum hole called Major Toms. Which would’ve been great but noise control spent longer writing their cease and desist notice than the band got to play. Other than them there was the Dead Moon in 2002 and the 3Ds in the mid 90’s. And the locals – ha!</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">“So if I want to see good music, what do I do?”</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Move towns. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">Album reviews: </span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Typical Talentless Crap by Just Another Useless Tauranga Band.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">‘Typical Talentless Crap’ is the debut album from Tauranga’s finest exponents of reggae, dub step, jazz, death metal infused Exponents songs ‘Just Another Useless Tauranga Band’. Made up from members of the equally terrible ‘We Played, We Sucked and We Come From Tauranga’ and the atrocious ‘Tauranga Musicians United Against Musical Excellence’ features Dingus on Drums, Cunnilingus on Bass, Funnelingsemanintomythroatandnoseingus on Lead Guitar and Tunnelingintogapinganusingus on Guitar and Vocals. These hacks unskillfully and seemlessly switch between the incredibly untuneful to the absolutely embrassingly, painful, sometimes within the same song but mostly just within every verse. The lyrics are cliched, the production non existent, the members look and act like proto pastiches of your favourite rock demi-gods, the instrumentation has all the ability of a primary schooler playing a kazoo and strangely the album cover just features a warning label stating ‘Parental advisory recommened as this contains material that may offend the ears of those who appreciate music’. Unmatched in Tauranga by their sheer lack of power and talent ‘Just Another Useless Tauranga Band’ looks set to conquer the rest of the Western Bay of Plenty such as the musically deficient strong holds of Te Puke, Katikati and Maketu within no time. If tempted to use this CD as a beer coaster, do not! It isn’t worthy. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">The Predictables with support from Heard It All Before live at Krazy Jacks.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Not wanting to spend a minute longer than what I absolutely had to in the dingey shit hole that is Krazy Jacks, Taurangas premier (by virtue of the fact that they are the only) live music venue I arrived deliberately late therefore missing nearly all of Heard It All Before. Two squat loser geek fucks that I probably stole lunch off in high school (not that they needed it by the looks of things) greet me at the door asking for ID. I offered my fist. Entrance was granted. I made my way to the bar but decided not to drink incase I got hepitits from one of the filthy regulars. Heard It All Before noticing my disdain and the audiences ambivalence to their musdick kindly finished without assaulting my ears for too long. I leant back and waited for The Predictables to set up. I needed a piss but figured I would probably get man raped in the toilets so I held it in. One of the members of Heard It All Before joined me at the bar waiting for service that would never come for his overpirced, borderline flat beer. He turned and looked at me for validation for his bands efforts. I couldn’t stomach the thought of such affirmation. So, I looked at the ground for awhile until I finally decided to give him some feedback. “Hey man I just wanted to tell you that your music is atrocious, no I mean that I’m not just saying that because I’m sober and haven’t been drinking. I truly from the bottom of the heart mean that. You are just the crappest band I have ever heard. Your songs sound like any pub band I have ever heard. You have top of the line equipment but somehow it fails to mask your many flaws. Your look is so generic and I just want to punch you for being such wannabe douche bags. Your songs have no hooks, no kick, no originality, no balls, all I hear is white noise. I think you won’t go very far and advise you to stop with all the bad work. No seriously I totally mean that – you suck, I hate you. Fuck off. Die.” And with that pep talk I slapped him on the back and let him go off to finally put an end to his teenage dreams and follow his true calling in life as a brick layer. The Predictables still hadn’t set up. An hour had past. Stadium rock bands set up in less time. Finally they started. The words rotting corpse, sewerage system, tokoroa and Jo Cotton immediately sprung to mind. Song 1 finished and the crowd of 3 people immediately sprung into a spontaneous chant of non-core, non-core, non-core. But unabated the Predictables continued. Till that is… I hopped on stage unloaded my now aching bladder all over their amps, sound board, power leads, faces so that their gear and gig was ruined. I fried my balls off. But took one for the team thus saving Tauranga from another band in a long line of bands that shouldn’t exist. Cunts. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The fans:</span></u></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> To have good bands, you must also have good fans, without the Dead Heads, The Grateful Dead would have just been Jerry Garcia soloing out of his gourd for 70 minutes each show, while everyone hit the bar. No Bromley Contingent to add substance and power to their vitriolic subversion of The Sex Pistols, well they would’ve just been the Yardbirds with worse haircuts. And Tauranga has its fans of reggae, dub step, exponents covers and jazz but there in lies the problem….</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">With no one liking good music in Tauranga, how can we expect there to be good bands being produced in this region? Why would the best bands extend their tour to here if no one is going to come out to see them? It won’t happen. How does the next generation of potential musicians get exposure to what’s cool hip and wild when their brothers brothers still listen to Korn? They’re fucked.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Problem is that Tauranga is a city driven by psuedo yuppies who cannot make it in the larger cities like Auckland so they strive to turn what was once a lovely little beach town into a café, mall, nightclub driven miniture version of the city they couldn’t make it in. Anyone with sense and intelligence leaves as soon as they are legally able to and they are not getting replaced by other enlightened types coming to this cultural utopia. Anyone else that remains probably falls into the category of drunk, dumb or thug – they have no room for music; good or bad. They are too busy producing ugly kids which they can then put in a washing machine or run over with a piece of shit V8 bought on credit in their own drive ways. The rest are at the beach or getting laid or both. Fuck them – good music is way more important. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-NZ">The Soloution:</span></u></b></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Young, usually tertiary educated types are the ones that are responsible for culture in a city, however if that means that Tauranga should have a fully functioning university replete with toga wearing, couch burning dick heads keeping me up all night with their cries of ‘lets go to town…come on lets go to town’. Then I’ll live without. The polytech is bad enough. </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">If it’s actually dismal weather that is responsible for the music then fuck that, I like my sunshine and flowers.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">If it’s a few old cunts that have seen the world, heard the sounds and want to pass on their knowledge to a younger generation then bah no one cares what the elderly have to say and fuck balls does Tauranga need any more hospital clogging, noise complaining, life endangering old people.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">So the soloution? Well if your own scene sucks, invent one.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Issue 2: Tauranga suddenly has new bands, venues and poon up to our eyeballs. How? Imagination bitch… </span></span></div><br />
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Tauranga Music Suckshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07139441927383859172noreply@blogger.com0