(Author’s copy)
“It’s only make believe” – Conway Twitty cover (side 2 track 3)
I see that The Barking Spiders returned to the stage last week.
Unsurprising, given that it has long been rumoured that this mystery supergroup still shares members with none other than the legendary Cold Chisel.
Chisel were about to embark on their 50th anniversary tour, so maybe some of those shared members wanted to get rid of a bit of ring rust and earn a bit of petrol money to see them on their way?
Anyway, I haven’t concerned myself too much with this current tour.
My interest in the Cold Chisel canon stops at 1984, ironically before I had even heard of the band.
I came to them via Jimmy Barnes and ‘For The Working Class Man’.
Working backwards into his back catalogue I discovered a band in Cold Chisel that was far more appealing musically and lyrically than what solo Barnes offered*.
These days Cold Chisel seem to be looked upon as nostalgic pub-rock bogan anthems, and maybe they are to those just that want to get pissed and sing along (badly) to ‘Khe Sanh’ and ‘Flame Trees’, but there was a time when their music meant something more to this young lad.
Think around mid-late 80’s, country SA, about 100 miles from Adelaide.
Far enough away from the city to make it seem exotic (yes, even Adelaide) but still close enough that we could make a break for it when we wanted to escape.
Raw, powerful, and rough around the edges, I found that The Barking Spiders Live 1983’ is best enjoyed in cassette form.
Ideally it would be played in the tape deck of a TC Ford Cortina (light chocolate brown) but it tends to go well in most shitty first cars that were acquired for less than $2,000 (cash only).
(If those options are no longer available to you, it can be streamed below, just don’t expect the ‘full’ experience.)
What was the appeal?
It was dangerous, but Aussie blue collar (or blue singlet?) dangerous, as opposed to the rap of NWA or Public Enemy.
They sang about outsiders, escaping, moving on.
These were people we knew, or people we saw, or people we saw ourselves being.
We were standing on the outside looking in at rooms full of money and the ‘born to win’ and we felt that no amount of work could get us through that door.
We lived with small town TAB’s.
Although we couldn’t buy a .22 in those towns, we knew someone that had one.
Pieces of Eden?
They were all up and down the coast.
We were surrounded by people living and working on the same old merry-go-round.
When the weekends came, they would set fire to the town (figuratively) and then do it all over again.
We hankered for high school beauty queens, knowing they would end up with some rich guy anyway.
A bus ticket and a trip to a city hotel appealed as a way out.
We felt that out there in the shadows all sorts of people had us in their sights.
In a small town, if you want to step out of line, be a bit dangerous, you could feel like you were on the run.
Looking over your shoulder, peeking out windows, ducking into the bushes.
In the moment, you didn’t give a shit about tomorrow, you just wanted to get stuck into it tonight.
Time passes.
We get out of town, growing older, wiser.
We get a closer look at rooms full of money, and those that are born to win, and are happy to leave them to it, even when you can open the door.
(Yes, I didn’t need the score, went back out through the door, told the man I don’t want no more.)
The TAB in the small town closes.
You don’t know anyone with a .22 (and prefer not to).
Five grand won’t go far in today’s real estate market anyway.
High school beauty queens turn out to be potential bullets dodged.
City hotels lose their appear.
You find that stepping out of line loses much of its allure once you are allowed to do it in full view.
You need to give a shit about tomorrow because you have stuff to do at work or want to go to the gym in the morning and can’t afford a late night.
It may have all seemed appealing back in the day, but Conway Twitty was right.
*For mine, the lyrics penned by Chisel’s Don Walker are a far better reflection of working-class Australia than a stadium rock anthem written by the guy from Journey. What happened to the old ‘You Got Nothing I Want’ Jim?
More from Greg A can be read Here
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I had that on cassette too Greg. But I remember being confused as to why they had released this and not The Last Stand (which I think was available on VHS after movie release, but not as an album for some time). That Conway Twitty cover always stayed with me – I later came to love Twitty.
And I’m with you on Don Walker, our poet laureate.
Yes it seems the obvious option would have been to just release the movie soundtrack in 1984.
Releasing a ‘fake’ bootleg works if the band is still around to be in on the joke.
I’m not sure they were making the best decisions around that time.
Super stuff, Greg. Loved this.
I saw Chisel a couple of times in the early 80’s – one show at Festival Hall was particularly memorable
Cheers Smokie.
Enjoyed this Greg. Ian Moss singing ‘Georgia’ to close out the album is the clear highlight for me. What a singer he is. Having heard Don Walker interviewed recently, I wonder about the genesis of the band when he, a university educated engineer encountered Barnesy, with all his excess and unwieldiness. I’m pleased Don persevered!
Cheers Mickey.
The subtlety of Georgia stands out from the rest.
I am glad that Don persevered. Although the rest of band knew how important he was when they were prepared to up and move to New England in the early days when he went back there for his studies.
They could only hold it together for so long though.
Love this Greg A.
I came to Cold Chisel around 1990 so missed the ride.
Many moments in my life have a Cold Chisel accompaniment.
I’m with you and DBalassone on Don Walker.
And the voice of Ian Moss.
Such diversity.
On Side A of Breakfast at Sweethearts – I always love the juxtaposition of J Barnes roaring comedy out front of a colossal band in “Goodbye (Astrid, Goodbye)” with the next song: soaring tenor vocals of I Moss over the tinkling piano of D Walker on the lament of “Plaza.”
All being well, I’ll see them for the first time – under the big top at Flemington racecourse in a couple of weeks.
Cheers E.regnans.
Good call re: Plaza.
Another song that had faded from memory, but if I played it now would be able to sing word for word.
The original Last Stand VHS ended with a live version of Moss singing ‘The Party’s Over’ over the end credits and photo montage.
Brought it back down nicely after the raucous finale.
It seems to have been replaced with ‘Let’s go get stoned’ in subsequent versions. Not the same impact.
Enjoy the show.
Thanks Greg for a great piece and a flood of memories.
Cold Chisel is the best Australian rock concert I’ve seen. Tis a pity they couldn’t hold it together, who knows what they might have become and how Don’s writing would have grown over the years.
I saw them on three tours of Perth, first in 1980 (I think) at the Embassy Ballroom with No Fixed Address as support (they were superb, and as wild memories go, last year, with a friend who I was with back in 1980, we saw them again at the Out on the Weekend festival in Williamstown).
I haven’t seen a better Aussie rock concert than CC. Say what you like about Jimmy (and I agree his post CC work has been ordinary at best) but Don knew who he was writing songs for and Jimmy and him and the band were simpatico on record and on stage.
Ian Moss is a good singer. But, having seen him a number of times over the decades I wouldn’t call him great. (First time after CC we saw Ian Moss was back in the 90s at that pub on the corner of Brunswick and Alexander – coming from Perth we couldn’t believe it, a rock god at a small pub on a Sunday arvo)
ER, enjoy the concert! If but for, we’d be there.
Cheers
Cheers Rick.
Fair call re: Ian Moss (and Barnes).
I think they both worked best within the confines of Chisel.
Take them out of that environment and it just feels like some vital element is missing.
Kudos for recalling No Fixed Address as support.