Viagra Boys: Welfare Jazz | 4ZZZ Brisbane 102.1FM

- There is something undeniably alluring about Viagra Boys’ car crash charisma. From a musical standpoint it is well assembled, intelligent punk. From another, it is an aural incarnation of scumbag magnetism. Laden with strung out daydreams, substance dependent yearnings, a constant narrative thread of outsiderism stitches the songs and record together. Along the way it extends the hand for you to join in their way of life and against your better judgement, it is so awfully appealing.

Prior to this record, Street Worms and Common Sense EP revelled in their own artistic filth but here on Welfare Jazz Viagra Boys are developing a civilisation all unto themselves. Sure, drug-assisted escapism remains a staple, but you start to pick up the barest hint of a desire to make a life that's removed from towns or cities, adopting a life on the land ethos.

Ain’t Nice romps and stomps to open the album with arrogant aplomb: chest beating about how pointedly anti-social our protagonist is. This is baked into a pugnacious drum and bass groove, a feature Viagra Boys will rehash, rework, and rejig to ugly perfection. When the chorus hits, bleeps and bloops make their presence felt like the band is playing on decrepit old equipment they found in a Cash Converters. Towards the end of the track awkward saxophone honks like a distressed cockatoo half run over by a b-double. It’s slap-hazard in the best possible way. Jam band aesthetics permeate through nigh on everything put before us. A change in dynamics and an added melody or two are really all the indicators, from section to section. Into The Sun is a ramshackle plod before the silky smooth Creatures waltzes in. A more subdued instrumental makeup spotlights Sebastian Murphy’s slovenly, detached murmur. He has the charm of a karaoke champ and here Murphy croons with odd beauty. Still emblazoned on a basic groove, the synthpop / new-wave palette is a-ways from everything coming before it, but shows how infallible this band has become.

Throughout the record, we get interludes and abstractions that stumble into frame, deliver their piece, and slump off dejected. Saxophone meanders around in a lost daze on Cold Play and diatribes about lone wolf personas are spat by Best In Show II and This Old Dog, which ties neatly to the whole mindset of Viagra Boys: they’re best left all to themselves and you can all fuck off. Touching on canine capers again, Secret Canine Agent turns my very favourite form of punk into an undercover spy scenario. Many different dog breeds, a bunch of nonsense about your four legged friend being your personal universe informant and sounds pulled right of a song by The Spits; this is a nutter gem on an already bonkers record. To continue the swerves, we close out with the cover of a John Prine and Iris DeMent song, which I’d admittedly not heard before this album so I thought the band had just gone off on one. The nasal drawl of Amyl And The Sniffers mouthpiece Amy Taylor matches Murphy’s blubbering mumble to cover both ends of the abrasive adulation. In addition to being a fantastic and unexpected cover, this song wraps up Welfare Jazz with a positive spin.

Despite kicking, screaming, rebelling, and getting more loaded than your old copy of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 on Playstation 2, our protagonist has made a life with their honey far removed from the social constructs that plagued them for this album and a myriad of releases beforehand. In a way you're happy for them and with the songs being as damn good as they are, it’s fair to say this will be a story arc we can revisit for many years to come. We came to party with the gutter punks, but next time, I think we’ll be visiting their cabin in the woods. Just don’t expect more than two cups for your coffee. Can’t teach an old dog new drinks, mate.

- Matt Lynch.
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<a href="https://vimeo.com/468060859">Viagra Boys - Ain't Nice</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/snask">SNASK</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.