Hey, wow, I've celebrated being back home by catching an awful cold, spent much of yesterday asleep (after idiotically going for a run in the morning and making everything much worse). So, pardon the typos. There may be more than usual. I'm still in a bit of a fog. Meanwhile my Dusted review of Venom P. Stinger went up last week (and it's still up because, apparently, we are on an occasional updating schedule).
"Venom P. Stinger churned the most corrosive, skuzz-crusted kind of punk, its fervid evocations of various sorts of madness jacked up on unrelenting, speed-maddened marching band beats. It was pure punk in energy, aggression and noisiness, but the band had some unusual elements. Jim White, later of Dirty Three, was already finding eccentric, abstract ways to keep jackhammer time; his drumming is both rigidly on beat and feverishly imaginative. Mick Turner, who also went on to Dirty Three, unspooled a hallucinatory free-formness from his altered rockabilly licks and blues-rock vamps; he is an element of chaos in a boxed-in, one-two punk structure. Both White and Turner added an extra dimension to the clatter that surrounded Dugald McKenzie, and he himself was almost surreally intense, maniacal and unpremeditated."