After the usual encounter with the world's number one door bitch, we score a couple of beers and hook right into The Tenants' purist pop incantations.
Looking resplendent and very 80s in their matching white pointy shoes and ties, they care not about the lagging early crowd. No crowd, No worries!...
Tight as fuck, they are true rock doctors, with just the ample amount of pop injections. Fun is what it's all about, and it's fun they deliver...rock solid to boot!
Popcorn rock Gods for sure. Keep that passion flag flying boys!
Its been a while since I've had the pleasure of copping the Nitocris dusting, but Andie's spiffily incisive drumming kicks the Nitocris rock punch off beautifully.
Rumbling, explosive, penetrating riffs that jump on your bones and slide all the way to the warm spots. Rock Godesses? You betcha!
It's no longer just straight rock though, as their recent self titled album so beautifully decreed.
Mood weavers, headspace crawlers, dynamic manipulators and more! Hedonists from the darkside...angels from the bright light. Fly me to the Nitocris moon! Special stuff indeed!
With the predominant flannel and cheap leather slowly filling the Metro theatre, Sydney gets their chance to say farewell to Newcastle's heroes of the panel van set , The Screaming Jets.
It's an Oz-rock star entrance, and a powerball rock slap in the face from the outset.
Loud, gnarly,ragged rock that borders on epileptic with its frenzy. Shaken, heavily stirred and served steaming hot! If it's your true classic rock show you came to see, then The Jets don't disappoint.
A sweating, writhing, seething mass of noise that ramrods all in its way. Sure they aint this dog's cup of jaded tea, but you''ve gotta admire the passion... and the punch.
They may not score any more hits this millenium, but The Screaming Jets are living proof that cock rock will never die!
Mark Fraser- redbackrock.com
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