A Reminder of My Island

Occasionally my homeland touches me on the shoulder, whispers in my ear like the wind down a cold early morning inner city Sydney backstreet, "you remember me?"
A friend sent me a link to a video by The Drones, who I had never heard of before (I live at the North Pole). The Drones are from Melbourne, have done four CDs, seems like lots of tours. Judging by the muscular timber of the screeching guitars, treacle-like bass and train wreck rhythms they have studied hard Australian Pub Rock 101 (or maybe just lived it). Topping it off is the slightly demented vocals of singer Gareth Liddiard who spurts rough broken glass glossolalias concerned with the crustier side of life.
While I feel I have moved on from the genre, The Drones represent to me the bone thin gutter intellectual scene that one met so often in the early 1990s in the inner city cellars and bar rooms of the twin metropolises Sydney and Melbourne (Brisbane was even stranger, with a madness that too much sunshine can bring). I hear the burnt Australian shadows of The Birthday Party, Beasts of Bourbon, Kim Salmon and the Surrealists and even The Go Betweens and AC/DC in The Drones.
There are downloads if you wish to take this further.