The Scientists was always about confrontation. The three-chord snotty punk of the original Scientists – Salmon and fellow Perth punk alumni James Baker, Boris Sujdovic and Roddy Radalj – went against the grain of the tinny pop and lumpy ‘70s stadium rock that saturated the radio. The re-born Scientists of the early 1980s settled in Sydney, choosing the primitive sonic styling of The Stooges and Suicide over the muscular surf-rock typically found in the local independent scene. Having re-located to the UK by 1984, The Scientists sneered at the Gothic obsessions of post-punk and continued to explore the abrasive alleyways of punk rock where wannabe pop angels feared to tread. By the time The Scientists unravelled in 1987, Salmon had steered the band into a jarring, provocative sonic world. And then it was over.
A Place Called Bad aggregates The Scientists’ catalogue, in all its offending glory. The first disc is all garage pop excitement, replete with Salmon’s Heartbreakers/Dolls riffs and James Baker’s proto-teen angst lyrics. Has there ever been a better enunciation of adolescent romance than Frantic Romantic, or frenetic exposition of extra-terrestrial inebriation than Pissed on Another Planet? The second and third discs chart The Scientists course through the primitive estuaries of swamp punk: the definitive Swampland, the dark psychological recesses of This Is My Happy Hour, the repressed suburban anger of Rev Head, the lysergic sociopathy of Murderess in a Purple Dress and the punk rock cognitive dissonance of Human Jukebox. The final disc is a treasure trove of live recordings, including a track from the 1978 Loft recordings in Perth, a full set from Adelaide University in 1983 and tracks at Le Tote from the same year.
There’s a school of thought that says great art must be provocative. But to label The Scientists’ music ‘art’ is to wander dangerously close to pretension. The Scientists was, and will always be a punk rock band. It’s that simple.
BY PATRICK EMERY
