Reuters world replica

date

24th November 2004 ad.

agent

UMOOKU CHILTONE RECORDS

source

eye witness

Primitive Calculators reissue iconic long player.

In which a man bears witness to the reissue of The Primitive Calculators 1979 self titled album.

After a lifetime of rejection by the so-called rock establishment, Chiltone Record's Melbourne rep snaffles an invite to a real cool musical event.

story - what's my scene?

Contemporaries or just desperate men?

In happier times when The Moths, or at least a particular post calculators incarnation of them, were still together Dave, Steve, Lee and Richard were over to discuss band stuff. Later Dave put on an early burn of the proposed Primitive Calculators CD. Mostly the result in endlessly sifting the Calculators archived past in the form of cassette recordings. My first ever listen apart from the Pumping Ugly Muscle track on Can't Stop It! I was impressed. Very modern for it's time I thought not to mention a new insight into possible musical directions for The Moths. "We oughta get a keyboard player" I thought to myself. "Maybe even a drum machine", which was never an option while a real drummer toughed it out.

Months later I get an invite to the actual event. "Hey that's pretty cool being in 'Dogs in space'" says a drunken mate one mainland visit. "Indeed, I'd better rattle together some dosh". I play the demo of the proposed Hey Mook CD. He loves it. "That sounds like the band. This is great, don't sell it short". It never got me anywhere. Remember these wise words and remember to bring CD for DJ. Very regional. Obviously. Everythings's from somewhere, sometime. This is a slow slow game. It was all set. Fire up the CD burner.

Dave is all excited. The guy from the Godz has made contact over the internet. "We were such big fans".

Early evening. Post work. AC/DC Lane, formerly known as Corporation Lane. There's an irony. I'd been here before I thought. Wish you were here. All the old crowd is here I think. Smoking in the back lane with you. "This is Denise" "Hello ..." This is awkward. "You were in the band eh? That's awesome. Please sign my CD." That's right. First out of the box and one more to come to give to some deserving punter. Signed and all.

"Is this Rock and Roll Heaven or are these these just old survivors living in purgatory" a punter howled. It's a funny thing nostalgia. Especially for things you never actually experienced. Though I did see Eric Gradman and Machine and The Boys Next Door in Hobart. Who? Not The Moths. Junk Logic. I used to manage them I did and now it's all coming back. My little dream came true in the end. A small foothold in the Melbourne scene years after the event. Too late for prisoners. No surrender plan.

The D.J. shows no sign of sticking to plan. Wouldn't have been approppriate anyway, in fact I think I'll just let all this happen and watch the slide show roll. I have let the next CD loose on the world as is my want. Barely a fortnight and I'll be back in Hobart. I love CD launches.

For me this is a tale of two cities. In my dreams the place I called home is a Zone Three fare away and a kip on the couch before I go back. Once this place was a great mystery and is forever a hard nut to crack. Even for those as legendary as the Calculators it is still a hard name to trade on being as enigmatic as The Little Band Scene would suggest.

It's Denise again. This time she's sitting on the edge of the stage. She reads from a little book. The slide show has a set of images of a young girlish Calculator and her mate taken in a photo booth. Another place, another time. "Anyone here from Springvale?" A few hands go up. Anyone who ever lived there has left it seems.

Another slide image. Fuzzy, nostalgic washed out black and white. A backyard. Young people with musical instruments run in from the back lane. Suburban rock. The legendary old caravan and halftime at noon. Could have been last summer when The Moths played Brunswick.

So the burden of doing the business stuff for the band has again fallen on her shoulders. Not forever though. Did the rite of passage thing and went overseas. Band broke up. Still does the website. Tonight is dedicated to Jim, their beloved mentor. I am loving the history. An old poster for a gig at The Exeter Hotel with Whirlybird pops up on the slide display. Coulda been there.

The band apparently doesn't get together anymore. The gig is getting bankrolled by Guy from Chapter and his young prodigies, The Glitter Kids, who have been reeled in to play a few covers plus a few numbers of their own. So I am told this sound is fairly authentic. Uncompromising debt free. Atonal to some but when that pulsing beat that can't be stopped gets you there there's no going back. Sounds plausible. I remember bands like that. This is where it all started. Techno, Electronica and all that and what's more we are all baby boomers. I need assistance. Stuff Gen X up your jumper.

I suspend my disbelief. For a while I forget what a grind this business is. Much nicer to be here riding someone else's train.

Eventualy the music ends and the DJ takes over. Strictly vinyl. Very cool. Very retro. But no snacks. Pity I drove. Feel like getting drunk to remember.

For those who like to socialise this is not a night for me. I get avoided by an old flame. This is awkward. As the night goes inward I proceed outward. Now this place has a history with me in it. I thought about past days with The Moths. The impossible dream of it all. Actually I feel a tad proud, I imagine the old days and a little voice tells me this ain't over yet.

I say my goodbyes. I go to the gents. The kind of graffitti you would expect and me without my texta. The strains of WIRE 154 come through the wall. Ah that takes me back. No naff music in my day cobber. I take magazines for another day. Mental note - Must send Guy the Reserves. My scene can beat your scene any day of the week

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