Andrew Mueller reviews The Ramones live at the Enmore Theatre Sydney, 9th December 1989

One has to assume that Mueller got these Australian review gigs as a result of having already flown back home at his own expense rather than IPC whisking him on a first class flight to Sydney to review The Ramones and The Jean-Paul Sartre Experience, a band with a name worst than Dumpy’s Rusty Nuts. But then Stephen Sweet took the picture so perhaps IPC did splash the cash afterall.

So this retrospectively posted on 17th June in honour of meeting Mr. Andrew Mueller in person on that very date.

And when I say met, I suppose you could read ‘mugged’ or ‘door-stopped’ or whatever the word is when you recognise someone in the street and shout “Andrew!” before you’ve really thought through what you’re going to follow your opening salutation with. God bless the jet-lagged Mueller for not telling a rambling drunken stranger to fuck off.

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Steve Sutherland reviews Bandwagonesque by Teenage Fanclub, 26th October 1991

Steve Sutherland reviews Bandwagonesque by Teenage Fanclub, 26th October 1991.

And when I say “reviews”, I really mean “compares”. Despite the persistent cries of plagiarism this was still a huge Creation success at the time and the start of a lighter poppier sound (when a grungy/shoegaze direction was prevalent) which would eventually become Britpop.

I was never that much of a fan of the Fanclub though and besides, I always thought Grand Prix was better. After that record they slowly slipped off my radar and I’ve genuinely not thought about, or listened to a Teenage Fanclub track for years and years. So memory jogged, and as is now customary, I go to wikipedia to find out if the band have split up or are still together. And stone the crows it seems that in this case it’s the latter. Now I’m not sure if my surprise about this just proves how out of touch with music I have become and that Teenage Fanclub are musical colossus’ selling more records than they ever did before, or if, as I suspect, the band are struggling on for lack of anything better to do, somehow eeking out a living based on former glories. Time marches on and pop’s a fickle mistress.

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