Aaaaah Rocket Bar, what a wonder! (a wonder of what I’m not entirely too sure.. but I do often “wonder” all the same!). The fun times you and I have had over the years! the countless tales, the speak of legend! Sure, we don’t meet eye to eye all that often anymore (not since all the scenster fled to the Ed Castle: and my prized “permanent door listing” along with it), but back in 2007? duuuuude THIS was the place to be!

Rocket Bar. You’re a refined quality in establishment that’s close to unmatched in all of Adelaide. Yours is no retrofitted comedy club, gutted warehouse, crumbling cottage or moth eaten old gentlemen’s club. Oh no! yours is an experience unique and purpose built! Yours is a venue that speaks of heightened modernity, of distinguished tastes, of inner urban class, low lamp lights, cumfy couches, fashionistas and thin stemmed glasswear. Yours is a live stage and PA setup that’s second to none, a dancefloor forever pumping and plenty of nooks and crannies to hide all the bodies in. Who cares if you’re directly opposite a stripjoint, fuck full of wankers and host to the most “cheerful” evil eye glaring barstaff this side of a Saturday night at Jive (hi Luke!). We’ll happily wait in line outside for hours, well after your posted doortime, waiting for the place to open (when there’s seemingly no-one inside.. even after the first band’s started at 9:30PM); for the slightening chance to taste your sweet victory. Oh yes! for tonight, THIS is where it’s all happening! Here photographing this lamp by the bar for the six billionth time (because surely I don’t keep photos like THIS on file). Here where the magic happens! yipeeeee!

Tyger Tyger

I could hear this opening act coming from a mile off tonight, or more accurately from the corner of Hindley and Morphett Street as the wafting refrains of “10ft Of Rope” signalled that I was running late to this party, despite passing it by a mere 10 minutes earlier to discover the place was still shut at 9:15PM (a mere 45 minutes after doors were due to open at 8:30PM) as written on the freaking poster I DESIGNED for this event: fuck I love Rocket Bar! (are they running one hour early? are they running one hour late? fuckit! lets flip a coin and force everyone to wait outside regardless.. weeeee!). Yup, never underestimate Rocket Bar’s ability to fuck with your scheduling and from the looks of THESE idiots on stage tonight it appears I’ve arrived 3-4 songs late to one helluva party to boot too (awesome!). Tyger Tyger. They’re an odd beast to behold as an opening act, and one that appears very much ill at ease with their place in it too. This is a band that LIVES to be the centre of attention, lives to be the headliner, lives to battle them all: and when you’re dealing with the dreaded ice breaker slot like this one (and your spotting nothing but penguins and polar bears out there), you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. Still let it not be said that they weren’t upto the insane challenge of winning this crowd (or more accurately stealing it). Whether it be thanks to a few too many “pre-show cocktails”, Travis’ yet to be diagnosed (yet bleedingly obvious) bout of ADHD, or the sheer boredom from all the other members present playing their same old schtick and balls for the six billionth time: Tyger Tyger were on FIRE, out of control, running with scissors and pissing up the walls tonight. Featuring songs mashed into each other, rambling hispanic interludes from Travis, interrupting band members, odd acapella renditions and a kitchen sink of the batshit insane: it was probably the messiest set I’ve ever seen (since their LAST opening slot) but a mad trip all the same.

And for the record this is also the 13th time I’ve seen them play this year (and the 2nd time I’ve captured “Buttons & Levers” on video) and initially I was worried I’d actually run out of shit to write about these arseclowns. So much so (and anticipating such an emergency) I’ve even been keeping a stockpile of insults on them JUST in case. Everything from a comprehensive back catalog of insults at the expense of Travis (an easy target), new song titles even MORE insulting than “Come Like 1000 Doves” and “Front Seat Of Car” (you really don’t want to know what my perverted mind could come up.. weeeee!), to lashing out at all the OTHER band members for other entirely stupid reasons: Nick (his hair), Mick (his rainman impersonations), Mannix (his disregard for puberty), Tim (take your pick) and let’s not forget Shane their all important bongo player (because if we don’t mention him by name we’d almost forget he’s even playing out there) but when you’re dealing with a band that’s forever coming up with new and baffflingly stupid ways to amuse themselves like with THIS set tonight: you NEVER run out of reasons for a return visit!

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Skipping Vinegar Girl

A few seemingly unrelated thoughts and images immediately spring to mind when our touring act from Melbourne (and de facto headliner here to promote their album “Sift The Noise”) hit the stage tonight. I’m thinking soil erosion, red dust, brown water, the drought, utes doing burnouts, patchy phone reception, bank closures, flying doctors, white cattle skulls, yellow teeth, missing teeth and chewing tobacco. I’m thinking domestic violence, deep cut mining, nuclear testing in the 50’s, third world communities, missing British backpackers and souvenir teatowels with roadmaps all over on them. I’m thinking one rusted sign squeaking on a hinge, unlocked doors, next door neighbours 3-5kms away, bad TV reception, rattling window slats, whistling breeze, windmills and dead trees. I’m seeing teenage pregnancy, incest, racism, poisonous snakes, increased salinity, thinning hair, leather red skin and an oversized hat, burning car wrecks, cow tipping, mulesing, Channel 9, The National Party, Johnny Howard and me slowly going insane quite like David Lynch in the thick of it all. Yeah I dunno why I’m thinking all this shit either, as clearly Skipping Girl Vinegar with their Sunday School smiles and their alt country drawl have absolutely nothing to do with anything I’ve just mentioned. You may recognise them by their ridiculously catchy Triple J high rotation “One Chance” with a knee slapping beat and a banjo; or if you’re like me you simply think a loaded shotgun and the movie “Deliverance”. Either way, they’re bringing good ‘ol fashioned hospitality back to the big smoke tonight! YEHAAAW!!

Skipping Girl Vinegar are an effortlessly endearing and easy going “alt-country” groove that sounds rather like a disarmingly sunnyside version of Johnny Cash, Paul Kelly, Ryan Adams (and any given country and western act playing a weeknight in Tamworth) colliding with The Shins and Death Cab For Cutie for that “indie scene” accessibility. Every song is sung through beaming smiles, bouncing beats, boundless enthusiasm and the sneaking suspicion that any minute now they’re gonna bust out the tambourines and sing a song about “a good friend of ours called Jesus”. They’re all about old fashioned values: their CD tonight is being launched like a well loved book, complete with it’s own library bag and borrowing card (and if you sign up to their mailing list they even send you POSTED letters with stamps on ‘em and shit! woweee!!). Yes I know, I’m as frightened as you are; but they’re just so damn earnest and eager to be here, and their music’s so disarming in it’s easy going charm you can’t help but smile along with them. Skipping Girl Vinegar: they may be complete and utter dorks, but we freaking loved it!

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Special Patrol

Moments before our last band hits the stage, FEMA arrives on the scene (fresh from being three years too late to tending to victims of Hurricane Katrina), wonder briefly if anyone at Rocket Bar tonight needs any emergency food, shelter, clothing or assistance in the wake of cyclone “Travis” earlier tonight; only to spot Tim their bassplayer packing up his trombone after a brief stage invasion for Skipping Girl Vinegar, only to run from the scene screaming right back to the USA (and yes I do realise that cyclones are actually known by girls names and yes, I really AM being that clever.. tee hee!). Special Patrol. There are many theories to explain this follow up band, most involving too few (or too many) chromosomes at play and a shitload of alcohol, but my current favourite stretches back to a few years ago and one of those short-lived fads all the “cool kids” used to be into. You may remember back in the early 00’s when all of a sudden they all dropped out of the club scene, ditched the drugs and embraced their inner “nanna”. Almost overnight these tragic scensters were all about lawn bowls, bingo, book clubs, croquet, knitting, wearing cardigans, sensible shoes and drinking brandy. Acoustic nights sprouted up in every live venue almost overnight. It was madness. It was hysteria. It was taking a few pills a day to stop all that and going home well before midnight. Yup, as far as short-lived fads go it was probably the lamest of them all but it’s so nice to see that bands like Special Patrol never left it behind, and to this day are STILL flying their freak flag high for ALL things over-the-hill! YEAAS!!

You won’t see any whizzing glowsticks, oversized sunnies, fluoro, assymetrical haircuts, skinny jeans, silver leggings, geometric v-necks and grinding teeth (unlike any other night at Rocket Bar) but with an acoustic guitar and a campfire singalong to boot they’re everything this place needed as an antidote (short of a fullscale hazmat team, holy water, wooden stakes, silver bullets, and a nuking from orbit). They’re Death Cab For Cutie, The Shins, Augie March and a high spirited cover of Bruce Springstein’s “Dancing In The Dark”. They’re guitarists rotated more regularly than Spinal Tap goes through drummers (I hear the new one’s from Jump! You Revolutionary and even more insane he ain’t all that shit!). And they’re lamb dressed as mutton but no less welcoming with a side of peas, carrots, mash potatoes and gravy. This is Special Patrol and this is them blowing the roof off this dump! OOOH YEAH! your nanna will love it!

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