You go to Jim Dayleigh?

And it's been awhile

Since I could hold my head up high
And it's been awhile
Since I first saw you
And it's been awhile
Since I could stand on my own two feet again
And it's been awhile
Since I could call you....

These are lyrics by Stain'd.................but what I am getting at - is that there has not been a blog for some time meow, and that is because I have been snorkelling in laksa broth, in Asia.

I know what you’re thinking; Well who the fuck am I going to steal sweet jokes from to impress my boyz down the club on the weekend without this blog? I know. Trust me, I know – and from all accounts it has been dry around this joint recently, humour wise. But I am back. With vengeance.

Being a male dancer is hard, but Asia is easy. Easy to have a good time when you are young a free. Sure, its pungent on a man’s nostrils, it begs for the hygienically daring, they slam down domestic pets as delicate cuisine and it is loaded with Ladyboys – but it is actually the bestest damn place EVAAAAA (say with mouth opened wide) AAAA. I can prove this with photographic evidence also.

First stop: Thai-rand. Where to weather is barmy, the food is questionable, the nightlife is tremendous and the chicky babes are in fact, men. It’s so common for a man to have his twig and berries severed off, and boobies implanted, that it is completely reasonable for someone to sidle up to an ACTUAL woman, and just to be sure, say “are you Kathoey (Lady-boy)?”. Imagine if you did that here? You pop on your GoPro camera (why not), you go down to the Paradise bus exchange, and you roll up to the first lady you see and just go... “Excuse me miss, but is it accurate that you are in fact......a man?”. Wow. I mean, If she didn't at least attempt a punch to the face, or a pile-drive to the face I would be very surprised/disappointed. Better yet, ask a man if there is a possibility that he might be a woman? Greeeeeat way to swallow your teeth no?

Yeah so, Thailand is great. They sell these large buckets which are comprised of half a bottle of vodka, and two Redbull syrups. After searching high and low for my marbles one night, I was informed that the red-bull energy drink was actually invented in Thailand – in this: its purest form. The product was then manipulated, carbonated and re-patented by a dude from Amsterdam, who is now on the Worlds’ elite rich list. Sooooo what I was actually ingesting was some thai palpitation shifter shit, that driiiives a man....Insane. Clinically mental. You will be exhibiting unprecedented behaviour, it will even shock yourself. “Nutts” the schmoe I was travelling with actually commandeered an elderly ladies’ food stall trolley, eating her products and offering them to passers-by for a reasonable fee, he was also giving the finger to people he had never met, pressing his finger against their noses.......and none of this could be recollected in the morning. It’s like LSD or something, in a syrup, with speed? I dunno. But I lost my shoes and shirt.

We were also lucky enough to have our spines rearranged by an ambitiously over-crowded speed boat, which was our chosen "transport" to the Thai island Koh Penang - for the infamous Full Moon Party. Days later we learnt that the previous year, this very same transport vessel had capsized - resulting in the horrific night time drowning of 14 people......the lucky ones swam to a nearby island only to be ushered off by local tribesmen who wear nay but a banana leaf. To look at; the Full Moon Party come December is 20,000 Aussies, Dutchies, Poms and Andy Roddicks thrashing about in an area fit for say, 800 people? In this jam sandwich, there are obstacles that are so damn illegal that its offensive. Twenty metre long ropes doused in flaming kerosene for people to hurdle, flaming hoops to dolphin dive through for a "laugh", cargo nets to climb and slippery dips that just fling you into the poo-storm of tourists. Meanwhile dozens of international DJs spin haaaaard dubstep, for people to "Dub out" to. Unfortunately my words can only do this event so much justice. But, hopefully you catch my drift. Or drifties. Bro.

The next day I was haemorrhaging from too much arsenic juice (redbull) when a miniature asian lady woke us, as if she were drunk, and had lost her house keys. It sounded like the stampede in Jumanji. Then it occurred to us that we had ordered a wake-up call for our flight, without sussing whether there were actually phones in Koh Samui. There aren’t. You just get some bizarre Thai woman screeching in that asian tone that makes you raise your eyebrows with your eyes closed. You know? So, blinded by hungoverness, we B-lined for the airport, which is just a slightly more quaint shantee. After intravenous McDonalds and a stopover in smash-dick (Bangkok) we set foot in Phnom Penh.

Combodge rocks for starters. It coils a sloppy one on Thailand, But you be the judge. Phenom Pen15 offers a nicer, less Clipsal 500 version of Asia. Better people, shops, food and foreigners.  Plenty of expats, and many a French colloquial bars and restaurants. Feeling that? Its flaunt with good times only. With the exception of S21, the Khmer Rouge “Torture Museum” courtesy of Pol Pot. After going here you should have no choice but to sprint home, grab the TV remote and desperately trawl for the most light-hearted comedy you can find, otherwise you will just slump into a deep, deep depression. Heed this advice. The city is also situated on a river, which is picturesque and wicked for hooking up with dudes... I mean chics.

*You are also meant to sleep with one hand on each kidney here, as it is the world leader in black market organ trading. J

Further North lies the ancient temple city of Angkor Wat, which is garnered by the town that offers Cambo’s best nightlife, Siem Reap. Angkor wat is where Angelina Jolie plonked her knockers on those ancient stone temples with tree roots inter-twining all over them yeah? You know you are a shit-balls tourist when you ask your driver if you can see the “Tomb Raider” temple, they wear a smile – but you can tell the driver just thinks you are another Marty Blower. Siem reap is also where I got my botty towelled  by a drunk dude speeding on a scooter. Because henry wanted to go this particular direction to go to the male brothel or something.

Cue: Henry Nutt for explanation....

- salutations.

firday night, siem reap...December something.. disposing of our horrific hangovers by searching through the ancient temples of Ankor Wat, Ankor Thom and the Bayon Temple, we decided that perhaps a quiet evening was in order. "what should we do?" miles questioned. "lets go to the markets!" i replied. miles rolls his eyes, as he now accustomed to the fact that all i want to do is look at markets and try to get ripped off. "lets get dinner first" he replied. i then looked at him and said "yuuuuuggghhhh maaatee"....(said as if your throat is very dry and you have been up for 4-6 days) so we made our way to the infamous "Pub Street" courtesy of our adorable Tuk Tuk driver "helvut" "or "heavut" or something. i called him helmet. he was cute...miles said he head looked like that of an old dried cashew. i didn't see the resemblance, but thought he was delicious nonetheless.

Arriving on pub street, where the damage had been done the night before. chills run down the spin as you wander past clubs and pubs you ventured the night before. noticeably a little place called Ankor wat? (original huh?) were miles and i settled in and i choofed my newly adopted cigar addiction. Look, we got on it....we drank a few beers ok? we drank a few beers to the tune $0.75 a pint or a jug for $2.50...what was i supposed to do?  as time went by and i very slowly spent $20, miles and i decided to get some air, and look at another place...this place was literally over the street, called "temple" (again, original..bless them) we strolled in to the bar and noticed a burley man with the "David Brent" style goatee waving at us. to our confusion we head over. "Are you'se ozzies? ya look like ozzies??" the man proclaimed. "ah yeah man, we are. how are ya?" we replied a little annoyed at what we had just heard. "fuckin good maate! im aaron and this is Chris, (pointing to his much younger friend) and this is my bird (i forget her name, but she was cambodian). miles and i look at one another, as if to think something is out of place. why is a 30 something year old man hanging out with a young 20ish year old man and a maybe 20ish year old SIem Reap Local? miles got chatting to chris, who was actually a terrific fella, and i got stuck with me new best mate....aaron. after some idol chit chat, he informs us that he works on the mines or whatever, and was basically in asia to get on it. "beers are $0.75, whats wrong with the world!! Nothin!! cocktail jugs are 3 bucks! whats wrong with the world!! nothing!! see my bird here?? $50 bucks for two days! whats wrong with the world? nothin!!" this was an actual quote from aaron word for word...as my eyes widened to the information my brain was slowly piecing together, aaron had selected a young lady to be "his" for two days....if there is anything wrong with the world. its aaron...surely... we went back to ankor wat? and drank 250 beers that was that...

i forget what i was supposed to be telling you... oh yeah miles and his scooter. yeah. so we get pub street and select a restaurant. its called the red piano, i remember this as angelina jolie ate there once...and they dont let you forget it. we each had a cocktail to sooth our hung tummys and ordered western meals. if we were ever going to order asian, being this hung was not the time. miles ordered some polish dish or something and it was out lickidy split, i ordered spaghetti, im left to assume they made it from scratch as it took nearly 45 mins to arrive...would this later effect the events of the evening? who knows. after i watched miles eat his meal, he patiently watched me eat mine. we then got the bill..$11.40 and made our way to the night markets, as miles had promised. in walking there i noticed a neon sign pointing to night markets, ones we hadnt been to before. miles wasnt so keen, but i wanted to buy another 5 casios... we set off in a new direction chatting away, asking hypothetical questions to one another over and over. we came to the cross roads where over there road lies a bridge, over the bridge...night markets. after being in tie-land for sometime and also cambodia, we have somewhat got used to crossing the street. eyes forward. nice and easy, give the scooters a chance to swerve you, as ofcourse. there are no such things as road rules in asia...red lights are just suggestions...

we looked left, looked right, looked left again....looked right onces more and commenced crossing, i took my first step out looking left, and saw a scooter steaming around the corner heading our way "woaaahh" i said as i took a step back and watch it sail past my body. as i watched it pass me, miles came in to sight. he was looking right for other scooters, when he looked left, it was too late. he had a honda 4 stroke parked up his ass... when a scooter going 60 hits a man weighing 90 nothing is pretty..the noise of OOHHHEEEGGGHHH like an upper cut to the cut, then a full grown man doing a 540 degree turn 1.5 meters off the ground, as the scooter spins out of control why still carrying what appears to be a dead siem reap local...he wasnt dead....however he was the drunkest man id ever seen, and both concerned were lucky to be alive. 

spare a thought for old Henry though. no man needs to see one of his best mates do front flips over scooters...no man...although the incident would have made for great footage, i maintain that my facial expressions could indeed rival the collision its self. let me explain, do it at home if you wish....legs shoulder with apart, knees bent 30 degree's. arms out elbows bent, as if someone is about to throw you a basketball. slap your self in the nose so your eyes glaze over and open your mouth as if someone is trying to throw a smarty in there...thats what i was like for nearly a miniute...i was 1.5 meters away from the crash but 5th on the scene to offer my aid...i didnt sleep much that night....why didnt i order what miles did? we would have finished 45 minutes early? the drunk guy would still be at the pub, why didnt we go to the other night markets? we never would have had to cross that street....anyone seen donnie darko? thats the shit im on about...

i did however enjoy miles being noticed in the street up to 2 hours later...people pointing and shouting in kmere to their friends "the man that defeated a scooter"... yeah thats right, he defeated a scooter...and that man is my pal miles wilson...

so yeah, sorry to ramble, hope its a good yarn. im Henry Nutt, my birthday is on the 19th, so add me on facebook and wish me a happy birthday. if i dont know you i can delete you after, im just in it for the numbers. cheers. Big Easy.

.......Buns here again.

“You want go to PEE PEEEEEEEE...!?!?”

You have to shout this in an asian-english accent, it’s radical.

Next we found our sorry balls in Hanoi, where we stayed in some dudes flat. The punch line here is that this flat was sold to us as a “hotel”, but was in fact a front for fat white kids (us) who have no idea where their sphincter is. The best part is, once we were checked into this phony place, we opened our lonely planet guide-book to the exact page where it stresses how careful foreigners need to be, as it is the number one destination for phony accommodation. Some overzealous cunt with a massive whitehead smack-bang in the middle of his chin; which I mistook for a chin stud, commandeered us from the taxi. The taxi pulled up outside the correct REAL hotel, only to have us whisked away by this puny, over enthusiastic fiend who knew our names, and had a “spray it don’t say it” attitude. Pellets of foam would literally hit you between the eyes as this smiley sack attempted to flex his English muscles – only in an bid to sell us a drastically over-priced day trip to Ha Long bay. We didn’t bite. So he had us check-out immediately. Turns out the cabbies work in cahoots with these fake travel agents/flat owners. I still have every organ though. Thumbs Up.

How many words do you think this blog is? .......Winner gets a rubber band to the neck.

So after a week in Hanoi, racking up counterfeit goods, and a day trip to the Ha Long Bay islands, things wrapped up after three weeks with a plethora of Bloody Marys, and a very nostril drying, upgraded flight home. Bizznak class baby, and rightfully so.

Chimpanzee that! Monkey news?

The Shiny shiny boyzzz have been busy, new press shots, new songs and a whole new light shed on 2012. I for one, am excited. A new single will be out shortly, coupled with a film clip and a swag of interstate tours. Keep your peepers on the facebook, and this here bible/blog. Things will happen from time to time – I promise.

Lots of love and kisses,

Buns.

Something for the visually able:

 Hanoi

 Ankor Wat? Bar

 Henry Nude through frosted glass...

  Aaron and his bargain GF, henry being coooool.

  Markets...... getting duped. (Casios)

  Chesney.

 Exotic.

  Ha Long Bay

  Sexy Photo 1

 Sexy Photo 2

Cheers to Michael Clements for his stella Photography work.

Nothingness

Do Wop Shoo wada wada....


Alright fellas?


Good to hear.


Firstly, In ground breaking nudes – The Briohny Bites are featured in the Triple J unearthed artist spotlight this week, along with Brisbanes “The Mank” – which is a sccchhweet name, I once did a Uni elective with two dudes who did an animated spoof of Mary Poppins entitled “Manky Gobbins”, which is perhaps why I am remotely fond of that particular band name. Manky Gobbins – huge effort. Good news.


In other exciting news, we five kings of orient are...getting set to release our new single, ideally unleashing it in early January; in time for the summer cricket series, the outdoor festival pot-pouri, the Glenelg Jazz festival, 3rd degree sunburns and biddies that be wearing short-shorts where you can see a little bit of bum-bum at the bottom. See? It’s well calculated and it may even feature on some 16 year olds “summer shenanigans”  i-photo montage. Fingers crossed aye? *nod*


On Sat-dee before taking to the stage before Papa Vs Pretty and The Vasco Era, TSB KRU (RIP drift Pig_113) are also doing a photo-shoot. One like Kyle Sandilands might have done before live-to-air he exclaimed:


“Some fat slag on the Telegraph website, sorry, has already branded it a disaster. You can tell by reading the article she just hates us, and has always hated us. She trawled through the twitter comments and pulled out all the bad comments and ran them. What a fat bitter thing you are, you deputy editor of an online thing. You’ve got a nothing job anyway. You’re a piece of shit.”
He then went on to say how he thought her "titties" were too small for her blouse.


He didn’t exactly “Hold back” on the female journalist did he? Good on him you know. Down with chicks – up with bro’s!! Maybe a possible chant? Start a hash tag – see how we go. Cool.


I started writing this blog with no intent, plot or punch line on offer – but I’m doing Ok I think.


Some good points of recent:

•  I noticed someone’s status update the other day querying why people who use hands-free accessories on their mobile phone still hold the handset 20cm from their face? GREAT POINT.

Might as well toss the ear piece? Oh wait, you’re a twat. I should have known from the pencil beard.

• Another thing that has kept me awake during Big Bang Theory – Do fish get thirsty? If so, THEN what?

ALSO


Re-sealable cheese never re-seals. Ever.
 I. Am. Feuuuming.


Another thing I have noticed recently is how quietly devastated people get when you “get their name wrong”. I am good with names, good enough anyhow. It’s rare I get a name wrong – because I usually just go with the “eeeyy here he is...” as if we are TOO GOOD pals to even use our names, it’s usually a failsafe system – use their name if you know it – or be olden-day Italian if you don’t. But lately I have been blurting out incorrect names to people who I DEFINITELY know their correct name? For no reason. Sure, I’m usually indulging in an ale when it happens, but still – it’s awkward at best. Like, you’re in a little conversation of maybe four people bouncing around Dad jokes, everyone trying to trump one another – until someone drops a doozie and everyone goes “ooooooohhhh yeah boi” etc. Except I go “fuck Yes Johnny boy” when his name is Dave? But, but I know his name is Dave? But there is no coming back from that. No Shawshank redemption. He thinks you’re a wanker – because he is convinced now that you aren’t as tighter mates as he thought, whereas you are. But you said the wrong name for no apparent reason. You can apologise, and claim you KNOW his name is Dave – but it will be to no avail. Why is that? Surely it has happened to Dave before? I dunno. Shit.


Lately I have gotten right back into Basketball. Mugsly Bogues style. Me and a tight knit group of homies found 8-foot rings nearby. Need a confidence booster in your life? Get down to an 8-foot ring and LET IT RAIN. Hang on that shit until it squeeks like a Payneham Possum. Even better – execute the dunk on the back end of an alley-oop. You won’t regret it. I PROMISE. Money.


Toot Sweet: Get on Dom Alessio's Podcast, he offers some very gratuitous words on our new single Blue Toes, what a ledge. Tune in around 4:15. 


If you have read this far - you are a dude.


Buns.

Festival Rap Up....

"Mazel Tov"
That’s what a man said to me moments before I boarded the K.I ferry – AKA: Sealinks “Mayfair” in their monopolised bizznak. Yee who is the brains behind that operation needs a firm hand shake – with a nod and poo-face expression. But I’m getting sidetracked....

The weekend gone-just-now saw The Shining Tights embark on a 48-hour fantasy world adventure, one that was to be remembered. Things got off to a flyer. I had my party shirt on, other twonks had their party shirts on, and my plus one – Captain Fun had his on too baby. We were donning shirts that would have made Pablo Escobar put down his rolled up hundred dollar bill for a gander. Yessss, offensive and vibrant - People would walk past and nod at us, as if to say...”I’m a fucking wiener without one of those get-ups aren’t I...” to which we would offer a salute, or some kind of disapproval at their “every-day” threads.

The Cape Jarvis boondocks gave us our first insight into the local clientele.  Big Burly men with large beards, lacerated forearms and Rossi boots that they received on their 13^th birthday – but they still wear them because its damn-well queer to get new ones. Amen to that brudda. We joked that these blokes were so manly and badass, that when they reference people like us, they begin the sentence with “You fucking pussies....”

For example:

“You fucking pussies catching the ferry or what?!!?...”

Not in a derogatory way, but merely a timely reminder that we have supple skin, some of us use men’s skin lotion, we are not familiar with how to skin a “roo” in the time it takes your mate to reload your 38 calibre rifle and also, almost all of us have repped some kind of hair wax product at some stage in the not-too-distant past. These were the sort of dudes that you just look at – and feel like a loser.

None-the-less, the locals were actually refreshingly nice, polite and well mannered. They are still at that point in rural development where you still greet everyone with a smile and a wave – or a raised index finger if you pass them on the roads. So – after 600 grams of assorted smiths savoury snacks and an old-fashioned Special Patrol sing-along, we arrived at the Vivonne Bay barracks/watering hole/festival. After Barts and Chissy-poo plummer spoke to security like they were being interrogated by the feds, knowing full well the barrage of sloppily hidden alcohol in their vehicles, we meandered down to the “artist camping area”, yeah you heard. Bitch.

After doing mega drifties in the dirt for a while I endeavoured to erect my free-of-charge Canadian Club promo tent I was given by my old boss, in exchange for a stubby of Hahn Super Dry. Still in its packet, me and Captain Fun made the rookie error of assuming the unopened, unused tent would be a “breeze” to put up, at 10pm at night, on a rocky outcrop in the depths of Kangaroo Islands Funnel Web breeding grounds. Oh and it was windy. Oh and it turns out I’m a massive retard at understanding the basic logistics of erecting a tent. Cue: Chris Plummer – hiking and outdoor enthusiast, who quickly pointed out the fundamental issues of our attempt, and deemed the tent useless until the morning when we can give that shit a crack again in the light.

Unsure of our sleeping arrangements (we live life on the edge) we waddled on down to the main stage area, where we were welcomed by the soothing vocals of Matt McHugh and The Beautiful Girls – AND his band. See what I did there? Aye? What a fucking lad. Anyway, basically everyone had hundreds of beers by the stage and around the campsite, wound up in a drunken state in their tents, and in my case wearing another man as a backpack. I was straddled like a horse most of the night. Until I awoke to a HUMUNGOUS white thing in my face. I kicked and punched in front of me like an attention deficit child whose turn is up on his mates play-station. Only to realise the whiteness before me was not heavens gates, but was the drooping roof of my shoddily erected tent. Which has slumped right down onto our faces. It Scared the anus off me.

Saturday: I made the treacherous journey down to the actual beach, where old-mate Occy and his pals were carving toobs n shet. I was hung, and the heat was sweltering. But dipping my head in the sub zero slush puppy or “the ocean” at Vivonne Bay hastily re-instated by thirst for ale, and assorted female targeted vodka drinks. Huddled under a red-backs nest...I mean tree, me and the cavalry got back into it. With vigour.  But the heat was relentless, rivalled only by our aspirations to see how many pints of water we could skull. Eleven – if you were wondering. And eleven times more replenished as a result. OK?

So.... yada yada, we took to the stage and ripped bumbums. Loaded with both a new tune and a cover, we managed to wangle a pretty respectable set together – even if I do say so myself. This level of dopeness and showmanship was promptly met by the likes of Messrs, The Salvadors and Big Scary – who helped concrete a musical display that had perhaps not been rivalled yet earlier in the festival. A feel good vibe spread throughout. Some home-boy even climbed the jager meister tent, only to soon after be wearing half a litre of capsicum spray as goggles. Although this was probzzz the only example of miss-behaviour. The vibe was too free otherwise you know bro? Right on, right on.

Late Saturday night, things escalated fast. Mutual friends who had never met each other before were making waves in the dirt, in a tight embrace and what have you. Don’t worry – this “hell funny” recount will have visuals later, just keep reading. Me and Tom Opie of The Salvadors (Adelaides bestest band) and two pals, even crossed the bunting into to the General Admission tent city, which is difficult for people like us of such status and poise. We heard the deep murmurs of 90’s Swedish trance from 500 metres off. We made a flying V, and powered into what was revealed to be an ENORMOUS shanty style trance party. Pitch black, distorting speakers, gross music and people whose struggle to fight the MDMA pulsing through their veins was getting the better of them. We lasted about 45 seconds, then power walked back through the filth and general ticket holders campsites – back to the safety and serenity of the Artist camping area. Things get hazy, but I do remember Alex Polski Algurkee Rajkowski losing consciousness whilst attempting to strum Pink Floyds “Wish You Were Here” to a small crowd of onlookers. Good times, jot it down man.

At this point I have completely forgotten the point to this story/blog/rambling. For that I apologize. But you know what? You can suck my plums. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAIIIIINNNED? Exactly.

Please forward any complaints to alex@theshinybrights.com

It has been a bawl. This is the best Blogs-breath cafe EVAAAA. I know.

Until next time......

“A man does what he must - in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures - and that is the basis of all human morality.”
- Winston Churchill

Completely unrelated. But Cheers.

Buns.

DA Wavves @ Vivonne Bay

My poo tent attempt and....ladies?

Lippy from The Shinies, Craig from Messrs and Captain Fun share a tight, late-night embrace...

The crowd beckens for RADBAD..

Captain Fun reveals his sensitive side, care of Buns's photography skills...

More evidence of my num chuck skills..

This arab ceremonial head wear was a MUST for Yee who tells a good joke...

A Poor mans photoshop hybrid of RADBAD and two legends from Bad Dreems....Oh and the third person? That's my second chin - Chinzerelli. He's OK.

The Salvadors got motherlovers going in a BIIIIG way...

Sometimes you need to have a long hard look at yourselves, right?

Shut-up.

Chissy Poo's handy work...

Jeeeeez this blog is good.

Special props go to The Daylight Braves, who we missed - but were there in spirit. Love.xxxxxx

Daylight Bravado!

It is usually the Rectus abdominus muscle which is damaged in an abdominal strain I have heard, and just as you are winding down your abdominal rehabilitation from laughing SO long and hard at my frequently "on-the-money" blogs, it's time for another one....

But this time my puddings, its different. For this this here blog THIS time is a.... (drum roll - pun intended)....MUSIC REVIEW. 

BOOMSHUCKALUCKA.

CAN'T BUY A BUCKET.

PUT'S UP A BRICK.

(NBA Jam Sega Megadrive)

Close friends and long time legends turned adelaide-music-scene-juggernauts The DAYLIGHT BRAVES have recently released a swag of catchy psych-rock numbers on their debut EP, Liquid Sun. The lads laid the choons down care-of Adelaide Guru Matt Hills, after doing an admirable dash around the Adelaide circuit, a trio of Melbourne gigs, and a banger at Sydney's infamous World Bar.

I have always had a solid for these boys, they are always on the same humour page in the awesome book - they play their instruments like fucking Vikings and they have a cunning and unique brand of music which I would pay/get-on the-list for any damn day. In fact I have been so enthused by these plonkers in the past that I have put my hand up to do their lights on several occasions - which was no doubt a contributing factor to their more than decent Graybags Spoz Spozzington reviews in the past. Don't mention it. They can thank me in vodka-pineapples at another juncture (with one of those teeny tiny umbrellas). 

Liquid Sun highlights include the swirling and uplifting guitars of Summer At Last, which caught the lobes of Dom Alessio and harkens to the likes of Cream or Tame Impala, but with a daylight braves stamp all over it, rolling basslines, clever drum beats and angelic harmonies. Shits tight. Solemn boy also bleeds musical maturity with the implementation of shakers, and a relaxed vibe that makes you wanna binge on acid and marry-jew-ana, and plough your face into a mound of incense or something. But for me, my BFF comes in the form of the darker "Absent Ground". Its pulsating, it's badass, its catchy and it  goes Anders Brievek live. I have showed it to a few older fellas at work who pop it in the "Doors" category - which is a huge compliment coming from those older closet music lovers who seem to know everything about everything, and some. This tune is FETCH (yeah I like Mean Girls - back Up). It has an almost demonic undercurrent driven by the pulsating, monotonous bass lines of Tom Sizzler Stevens, something reminiscent of The Arctic Monkeys' Nick O'Malley - with a clever bridge, and haunting double tracked vocals from Dan Beacom - and a guitar solo that will leave your faced screwed up like a fart you cant quite squeeze out yet. I'm a fan, not as in an oscillating three-pronged propeller next to my bed in summer, as in a dude who reckons these tunes are the NUTSACK. Get on it, download their tunes and play them in summer, at dusk - whilst staring at the clouds for the perfect experience. Liquid Sun. Tally Mi Bananas? 4/5 bananas.

One banana was subtracted because I want more Absent Groundism, more poo-faces, and less surfs up. Although their surf song is Dang catchy. That's Just Buns I guess. And he aint no poop eater. Ya Hear? Kay.

Cheers.

Stay tunes for TDB's review of our new single. I know, the suspense is killing you. Apologies. 

Bunion.

Catch TSB's and TDB's at The K.I Surf and Music Fest November 3-5 at Vivonne Bay. Don't be a bender and get a ticket.

LINEUP HERE

Money!

My Milkshake brings all the god damn chicks to the yard.

I fought with myself over typing that, my ethnic side got the better of me. Even though I have no ethnic ancestry.... but I do like feta cheese. I legitimately heard a guy say this at the 24 hour K-food express on Saturday night,  he had bumbling biceps with veins like fire-hoses. He was intimidating.

OK? Good Start. Great Start.

I know you are all wicked jealous of my witty banta, on Friday at work a colleague threw me a stress ball, that was shaped like a choo-choo train - but was by all accounts too firm to be used to actually reduce stress? Which begs the question - what is it then? To the untrained comedic mind - it was a dead end conversation. But for the veteran cogs of  pun geniuses - it was quite the opposite. For example, I turned to my pal Dan at work whilst squeezing the train like a beating heart and said......"Hey Dan, I'm TRAINING"...Bang. I mean, that is just effing classy. To his very well-earned credit he responded swiftly, offering "Not a bad effort - you were on the right track..." This pun ping-pong went on for the best part of half an hour. Notable contributions included "you would be steaming..." and "careful you might get a COAL-SORE"... I know right? Tremendous.

This game soon moved onto something requiring much more intellectual integrity. We have all played it in our junior years at some-point, and it is one of the few games that can earn you the badge of being a "Real Man". Its where you sit about 1.5 metres from the person opposite you (this is in an office where you can hear a mouse fart) and one of the two participants is required to withstand a pelted stress ball in the FACE. For some reason, I can guarantee you will be giggling like a girl scout. Its sparks the sort of laughter that results in tears. Like, do you know how hard it is to tense your face?? with impending danger? It makes you look absolutely ridiculous. Like Sylvester Stallone after he just smelt a fart, whilst sucking on a lemon in glaring sunlight or some shet. It is honestly one of the funniest things you can do with five minutes and an opponent. You will thank me. See?? This blog is different. It's a pioneer. We give, you take. It's like a cooking recipe website - but more bad-ass and fucking sweet.

These sort of shenanigans filled my weekend. Like on Saturday night whilst we were out at a licensed establishment, and we chose to play "quadruple points A to Z"..... Yeah, we know how to party. Its simple, you just go around the circle and say four words in a row, starting with the same letter, and attempt to offer a sentence that actually makes grammatical sense. Forget chatting to babes and jamming jager bombs - this is what the new wave of legends are up to. Answers like "Desperate Donkey's Do Dominos" were thrown out there - at which point the player promptly offers an argument as to Why this sentence is acceptable. "They do. They do do dominos - I've bloody seen them do it at the zoo" sort of thing. The more cider they consume, the more adamant they become that each others quadruple-A-to-Z answer is the best/worst/worthy. The game ticks every box..... Thanks Buns, no worries my students.

Until next time. Take care of yourselves..... aaaaaaaand each other.

Thumbs.

Blinded By The Lights

To aid the previous blog, here is some exciting scenes from The Streets on Monday. Geezers.

Many Happy Returns.




TSB

Farklife and other exciting features...

Roses are Red, violets are blue

Long weekend turns me to poo-poo...

The End.

It’s been a while – keeping well? YEAH I wanna sit down.

The weekend has vanished in a cesspool of elbow sprinklers, southern cross tattoos, footy-footy-footy and debilitating injuries. It’s OK, I will explain.

Them Ahhhh Shiny Brights played on Friday night with long-time RADelaide indie Vikings – CITY RIOTS. With the two of our bands repping busy interstate schedules of recent, coupled with A Shinys hiatus, it has been many moons since we have actually had the pleasure of playing along-side these boys – who were also supported by Adelaide’s Lyla. Not heaps has changed since we played with them first-up at Jive – They have gotten bigger, they are still tight-like-tiger, and are still gnarly human beings. I even let out a high-pitched “oh my goooood”, like Kim Duthie might, when they broke into Match sticks/She never wants to Dance. Always been a fan. Good guys. Good tunes. Great Band. Strong Cocks.

We also had the opportunity on this evening to ignite our long-weekend binges – which I was excited about, but the bouncer at Sugar wasn’t.... Cool.

Sat-Dee saw the injection of sport into the weekend which set the arm-bending pace. Hours later Regos back fence was on fire, Chris was wearing a corporate telephone headset whilst giving a haircut and rego was growing increasingly angry at those hiking style/casual shoes that he had spotted.  I was busy bringing the rain – having a swell time shooting hoops. And by that I mean Basketball – not men’s bums. OK?

How does a serial killer come into this story? This is how....

...I know, great read hey?

The wee hours of Sunday morning had me at Jive. Checked in – accompanied by 60 chunes. I made a trip to the bar for a daiquiri..I mean beer. It was here that my pants were moistened by the site of SNOWTOWN lead actor Lucas Pittaway AKA four-time first degree murder convicted Jamie Vlassakis. Here my night took a turn, my focus shifted from long-arming to following this sweet actor around Jive. His hair was slicked back into a mane. YEAH. As if to say “Yeah, it’s me”. I couldn’t take my eyes of him. He busted me looking at him like fifty times. But Fuck him – it’s not my fault he plays a serial killer really well.  He was actually palming off woman. I know how that is! Am I right? So fly. Lucas opted for a woman in the end, fair enough I guess. His loss though.

Farklife was on Monday. I was already at the Post Office in struggle Town too. It took all my cahonies to muster enough Morale to see the day out. But I did, because I am a fucking Ledge. Top acts/suprise packets for the day included DFA 1979, The Streets, Crystal Fighters and Little Dragon. Impressive to say the least – even when in some instances it wasn’t expected.

But what was expected was the countless arse-clowns with their shirts off. Full time flexers with Carpe Diem tats and enormous Prada sunnies. Painful – but at least they weren’t at the acts which actually had people playing instruments. If they were, they were lost. Which was funny. A girl also seemed to have broken her neck – this backs my earlier claim of serious injury. Apparently she nailed her head coming down from a crowd surf. But nobody knows what actually happened. But the chinese whispers were also amusing. I also saw our mate руководишь from one of our previous blogs there. I walked 100 metres right angles across to avoid a beat down.

Thanks for your readership.

Buns

Jump on here to download our new tune too - a FRESHER one will be up very, very soon.

http://www.triplejunearthed.com/TheShinyBrights

Hey...

Top 7 things that are irritating Alex right now.

1. Guys in suits on phones.

2. White leather loafers

3. Blonde tipped hair.

4. Those shoes that look like football boots with no studs

5. It's spelt capsicum...not capsicun.

6. Dubstep.

7. Dubbros (bros who like dubstep, normally seen in a low cut singlet)

Cheers.

Here is a lovely blog about an old song of ours. Weird. But we will take it....


http://partyaids.tv/the-shiny-brights

http://www.triplejunearthed.com/TheShinyBrights - go here and vote, apparently you get bigger muscles from it.


Alex/Buns

From Russia With Love

I now hereby bequeath our very first Tandem blog….

So Saturday night Buns and Alex went out after the Shiny’s “gegg” at The Gov in Adelaide. The show was good; we were asked if we knew any Pearl Jam by a guy in a Hawaiian shirt with flames on it so….joke’s on him I guess.

Anyhow, we ended up at a cocktail bar where there was talk of delicious and yet moderately priced drinks. We got out of the cab with a good friend of ours (for the sake of anonymity we’ll call him Bill Murray) and polished our drinks. Our efforts were nearly quashed when we were confronted by our mate Milosz. Now, Milosz was the most Russian bouncer we had ever seen. His accent was straight out of a movie. His tracksuit was definitely fast. The fastest. He would eat smoked herring on rye bread for breakfast, with black tea, whilst rubbing vodka into the wounds on his knuckles. He would let a sloooow groan as he did it too.  “…..eeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…..” Then he would go and bash some ice-bergs.

клоунов метеорного decided we were “too keshool” for this particular establishment. He did that Russian azzzz thing, where you just offer a quick pan up and down, with a face like you have just smelt someone else’s shit – then flick your chin in the air whilst you attempt to mutter the English words “too casual”. We were like those two geezers in snatch that take ages to realize the pikie is saying “DOGS”. But sadly for Milosz/Borris-the-blade/Eristoff - I dwell with one of the bartenders, and he reluctantly granted the three most inebriated plonkers entry into the bar – effective immediately.  He had a pooey face on him the rest of the night. Only until I was draining it in the toilet, half expecting the “Serbian strangle hold” from behind, and Milosz commended me on the African-American rap superstars on my t-shirt. Turns out he likes Eazy-E. He whispered it in my ear while I was weeing. I was shitting myself so badly I was just like “……..same”. But WHY does he listen to deceased, hard, hard gangster rapper Eazy-E? Anyone? Does Russia even allow rapping? Just in general?  Appreciated, nonetheless.

The three of us went on to frolic shamelessly and enjoy a number of delicious cocktails at a three-for-one price. We discussed everything from Milosz’s punching ability, to our own lack of punching ability, to how deliciously priced and fundamentally intoxicating the cocktails were – when coupled with my (Buns’s) stellar wit. Eventually Bill met a nice young lady, Buns and Alex played wingman to the tune of a 100% success rate. YEAH.

I hope everyone likes the swinging from second-to-third-person writing style which this particular blog offers. Cheers.

We arrived at our next port-of-call where things started to get pretty Monica Lewinski, and by that I mean loose and hazy. Bill decided to leave with his newfound temporary lover. Buns and Alex wished him well, and hoped he had a really great time. Upon arriving at the David Floor (d-floor) we decided that it was time we did some rug tearing/shape-cutting/usher impersonating. We cut rug like a discount flooring depot. We were copping hard props from random dudes who all looked the same. We slashed prices. EVERYTHING MUST GO, we shouted. Eventually we went to the bathroom and realized that we would need to hang onto the wall if we were to get out in one piece, or at least dry and with some sort of dignity.  Mission accomplished. Veterans. We kept slashing prices.

We both sort of lose track of the evening here. At some stage, and in some sort of vessel – we arrived home at our respective jay-o’s.

Buns: Forgetting that I had offered my abode to my two newly acquainted best buddies; Sam and Dale from Ben Salter’s band, I stumbled inside in a loud and obnoxious fashion. Only to be re-informed that the lads were asleep soundly on the living room couches. To Sam’s full credit – he got straight up and continued to pound beers with me until sunrise. A large evening. One of fruitful times. Tschus.

Rego: I am unable to recall, but it involved yelling at the toilet.

Many, many Thanks.

If you haven’t seen enough spam regarding our new single Blue Toes – then click here for a free download and a boner.

Buns + Rego

               

August Blog Video

It's that time again, yeah yeah I know - the suspense was killing you, you were on the edge of your seats etc. etc.

Apologies, and you're welcome.

"......Bust my ass??..."

Many Happy Returns,

$ TSB $