Almanac Music: The Angels – The beer soaked counter meal of music
We were, what, 16? Young, dumb, full of cum. And the Angels were playing. A pub band that were so good at being a pub band, they had caught the attention of a pub nation, and were now too big to play in pubs. The straightest bat you ever saw – no frills, Aussie rock. The beer soaked counter meal of music.
The venue was a mid sized dive. Good for mid-sized bands. Sunnyboys, The Damned, Anti Nowhere League. Full alcohol, over 18 only. I’d already been bashed by skinheads, and kissed by a stripper there.
Rob and I were like that, not wild, just stubborn. Morning paperboys, looking for something, never letting logic stop us.
There must have been a door policy; no women. Or an Angels policy. The venue was a sea of bikie gangs and blue-collar yobs, towering over us. Everyone, a sea of bodies, pushing somewhere and back, room after room, carrying drinks, looking solid, serious.
The bar staff were insanely under the pump, badgered by rows five deep of testosterone, they cut to the chase, and only served VB cans. No need for busboys, no glass for the regular fights that broke out. No way for people to neck each other.
Such simplicity.
“Two cans mate.”
“Four cans mate.”
“Just the one can mate.”
“One? What are ya!?”
Angels fans drank. It was a chicken and egg thing. The floor was a tide of green tin. Not an inch of carpet visible.
“Impressive,” Rob said.
“Let’s make tinnie angels…” I laughed.
Rob was having none of it. He was shitting himself already.
We made our way to the band room, feet dragging through ankle deep VBs.
SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK…
Everyone was too big, we couldn’t see a thing. A week before we had used our morning paper round bikes to go to a double at the drive-in, and been picked up by a couple of rough girls in a black panno. We didn’t let much stop us.
“To the front?” I asked.
Rob beckoned – After you.
SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK…
A few rows off the stage, the tinnies were half way up our shins. The band was great, no edges, just sweat and energy! Bodies were flying everywhere. It was exciting, terrifying.
Standing in a line beside us were six of the tallest, solidest men I had ever seen. But the last of their group, the seventh, was short and stocky. He turned, looked at us, and yelled something furious.
Rob and I went stiff as boards, looking straight forward.
“Is he still looking…” Rob asked, finally.
I peeked through the corner of my eye. He was staring, waiting, pupils vibrating with intensity.
“Huh. Yep.”
“Do something.”
“You do something!”
“What did he call out?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
“How can you not-“
“Music’s so loud! All I heard was-”
“Quick…!”
“I don’t…!”
“I’m not-“
Panicked, I turned to face him and yelled; “Gaugh gaugh gaughgle!”
The man’s head pulled back, eyes plate-wide. Oh!
He shook his fist at us; “GAUGH, GAUGH, GAUGHLE!”
Rob and I were ironing boards.
“Shit, did you see-“ I whispered through the side of my mouth.
“I saw, I saw!”
“What do we…?”
“Look.”
“No, you look.”
I looked, he was still glairing.
“GAUGH, GAUGH, GAUGHLE… GAAAAH!” I rammed my fist back, and even thrust my pelvis forward.
Oh…! Oh…!
“WHACKLE, BRACKLE, FRAZZEL, GAH!” he shook a mighty fist at me.
Whatever he was shouting, we couldn’t understand a word. The band was just too loud.
“Quick…!”
“I don’t…”
“You…”
“WHACKLE, BRACKLE, FRAZZEL, GAH! GAH…! GAAAAH!” I raged back, thrusting and jabbing my fist. Pretty much giving him my best haka.
OH…! OH…! RIGHT, THAT’S IT! his expression said, and he started marching towards us through an avalanche of VB cans.
SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK…
Past one huge, burly mate, then another.
SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK…
Three, four five…
Up close, veins popping, he grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me in, nostril to nostril.
“…YEAH MATE! THEY’RE FUCKING FANTASTIC!”
Scared, confused, I slapped my arm around his shoulders, and we turned to the stage, shouting and whooping at Doc Neeson. Me and Rob and our seven friends, having a ball!
One of them went to get drinks, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, SHHK, and brought back nine. He handed one to Rob, one to me, and said, I shit you not; “… Little fellas.”
“I can’t afford to get into a shout,” I yelled to him.
We had used all our paper round money just getting in there.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he told me.
And we danced and drank, almost front row, brothers in arms with mighty louts, to the Angels.
Invincible.
We’ll do our best to publish two books in the lead-up to Christmas 2021. The Tigers (Covid) Almanac 2020 and the 2021 edition to celebrate the Dees’ magnificent premiership season(title is up for discussion at the moment!). These books will have all the usual features – a game by game account of the Tigers and Demons season – and will also include some of the best Almanac writing from these two Covid winters. Enquiries HERE
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Great band live Matt. Saw them play at the MCG in ’77 (?) supporting David Bowie. Blew Bowie off the stage!
Ta Matt, I saw the Angels a fair few time, 1980, to 1984. Early on I found them exciting, good value live act. After a while I found them predictable,you knew when ‘Doc’ Neeson would make his moves,what he’d do. Their Alberts stablemates Rose Tattoo had a lot more spontaneity. Extremely loud, but never predictable.
They were good days for music, for Aussie acts. Truly, ‘Rock’n’Roll was King’.
G’day Col. David Bowie played the ‘G’ in November 1978. Around the time he Angels classic, ‘Take a long line’, was charting.
Glen!
Fantastic MZ! Who hasn’t had a version of that encounter! love it. The Angels were a terrific pub rock band that’s for sure. Not sure about the no frills though. They were one shandy away from being theatrical. Part of their charm actually. Toughest crowd I’ve ever been in was to see George Thorogood. Great concert despite being shit scared for most of it. Cheers
Knowing that they started off as a jug band and then an almost Ol-55, I had them pegged as bandwagon jumpers from the get-go. Which was probably a bit silly considering my Bowie leanings.
R I P “doc” Neeson the Angels have never been the same without him
Remember the young men with the black t shirt with Brewster, Brewster, Neeson on the back? If you tried to read it they’d snarl what are you f*ing looking at?”. Much later these same men would proudly show their wives and daughters what a real Angels concert was about.
For young women, when Bruce Springsteen took a girl out of the crowd to dance with her during “Dancing in the Dark”, every woman in the room knew it could be her. When Daryl Braithwaite sang his saccharine song he was singing directly to her. When ABBA did their paint by numbers lyrics, every woman in the audience was Agnetha. The air was thick with wishes and fantasies…
But for young men, we were alone and unwanted and we knew it. And the Angels, and possibly Johnny Rotten, tapped into this. There was always a threat of violence. At one performance, one of these lads threw a bottle at Doc Neeson’s head and knocked him out.
Hi all. Great comments and recollections! George, I thought that was really well spoken mate!
BEST AUSSIE BAND EVER. PERIOD.
I own every album they ever made.