Forget about AC/DC, The Birthday Party, The Go-Betweens, Dead Can Dance, Crime & the City Solution, Lubricated Goat, Men at Work– the Little River Band even. The Chats are the best band to ever kangaroo hop its way out of Oz, and you’ve probably never heard of them.
Rank hyperbole? For sure, especially considering The Chats have only released two EPs. But the amiable trio are winning fans and amusing people with their endearing–and self-deprecating–songs about food, darts, being sick, and other seemingly mundane aspects of day-to-day existence. They’re Australia’s answer to The Adolescents, and probably the first punk rock band to write a song about the injustice of being interrupted during a cigarette break.
The Chats owe much of the attention being paid them to their hilarious YouTube videos for songs like “Smoko,” “Pub Feed,” “Identify Theft,” and “The Clap.” Lead singer Eamon Sandwith’s combination bowl cut/mullet–he’s claiming mullet prejudice has led to his being barred from a Queensland bar–is chuckle-worthy all by its own.
Some of the fun on 2017’s “Get This in Ya” is figuring out what these dingo rustlers are talking about. “Smoko” is slang for smoke break, “nambored” pissed off. “Punt” is a mug of beer. “Fangin’ a feed” is a vivid metaphor for wolfing your food. “Golden Oak” is a brand of goon, or cheap white wine to the rest of us. “Crook” is shorthand for pretty shitty. “Maccas” is Aussi speak for McDonalds. As for “chucked down,” your guess is as good as mine.
The Chats are the antithesis of your average punk band. They’re not out to search and destroy–they’re friendly blokes who play darts and enjoy their pub food. They’re Everyman with a guitar, and even their ideas of gross injustice run to the trivial–if the Beastie Boys complained about mom throwing away their best porno mags, The Chats are pissed mom stole their darts. Even their fuck offs are good-natured..
The seven tracks on “Get This in Ya” include “Smoko,”an angry rant about being interrupted during one’s smoke break. (“I’m on Smoko so leave me alone”). On “Bus Money,” Sandwith bemoans the fact the he spent said money on, variously, a six-pack, a sausage roll, shitty pills, a Bic lighter, a “five buck scratchy,”and I could go on. On “Nambored” a fed up Sandwith says he can’t take it any more, but rather than shouting anarchy heads to the nearest Maccas.
On “How Many Do You Do” Sandwith boasts about his dart skills, makes ominous mention of his “fucking crew,” then extends to all a friendly invitation: “Why don’t you come and join us too?” “Temperature” begins life as a plaint about the common cold–Sandwith’s “crook as a dog”–before segueing into a lewd come on (“Have you got a fever/Will you like me feel ya?”).
The EP falters towards the end with two tracks that fail the funny test. “Casualty” is your run of the mill “leave me out of your WWIII” rant; “Left Right,” a done-to-death anti-conformity diatribe. The boys would have better replacing ‘em with “Pub Feed” and “Identify Theft,” both of which are available elsewhere.
Iggy Pop wants to be your dog. The Ramones wanna be sedated. Everybody and his pervy uncle wants to make love to you. All The Chats want is a bowl of chips with tomato sauce down at the local pub. Is that too much to ask?
GRADED ON A CURVE:
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