When The Meanies first stepped across Melbourne’s sticky carpets, local government was even more of a fiscal and administrative mess. What is now Yarra Council was separated into Collingwood, Fitzroy and Richmond Council; if any of those councils had an event, it certainly didn’t celebrate snotty punk bands of The Meanies’ grotty standing.
But that was then, and this is now, and The Meanies were back at The Tote tonight as part of Yarra Council’s Leaps and Bounds festival. The sound coming from Kremlings was egregiously loud – so loud, in fact, that we took a sonic sojourn upstairs to the re-opened Cobra Bar to see Hank Haint. Just why continental Europe seems to produce more one-man bands per head of population than the United States, the UK or Australia is baffling: maybe it’s because it’s so cold in the winter it’s easier to stay in your bedroom and play music by yourself; maybe it’s ‘cause it’s hard to find decent supporting musicians. Either way, Haint was in good, albeit sloppy, form. The riffs were there, the precision rough and ready. But that, according to lore, is rock’n’roll. From there it was back downstairs to see Batpiss. Batpiss, a friend remarked mid-way through the set, are the future. It’s an aural battering with punk-rock passion; there’s not a prisoner to be seen in the band room, and the future is looking bright enough to don the shades.
Los Tones are on stage in Cobra, and we know we have to see out the set – if only because The Meanies would understand. Los Tones play three-chord garage rock with empathy and attitude. One moment we’re basking in moddish glory in a smoky London venue; the next, we’re walking down Venice Beach with the sounds of The Standells ringing in our ears. Your hips are shaking, and your mind is awaken to the possibilities of garage-rock. These guys have to go places. It is their destiny.
And then it’s the main event. Back in the day, Link Meanie was every conservative columnist ideal type punk-rock layabout; in 2013, he looks like a guy selling pocket calculators in 1982. But the electric-shock contortions in his body are still there, and the wild look in his eyes has barely been tempered by the passage of time. Wally Meanie is the backbone, the full backline and architectural foundation of the contemporary Melbourne rock scene; if Wally isn’t there, it probably didn’t happen.
There’s a moment when the late ’80s/early ’90s punk-pop zeitgeist appears before us like a punter launching themself into the crowd. The Meanies are fast and furious, and deliciously melodic. 10% Weird, Never, Sorry About The Violence. It’s as fresh as the day it was written, and sharp as a tack. Tonight, there was no better place to be than The Tote.
BY PATRICK EMERY
LOVED: The Meanies apologising for the violence.
HATED: When the Fat Yak ran out, leaving us at the mercy of that draught stuff.
DRANK: Fat Yak, until the river ran dry.
