Polaroids Of Androids

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Bed Wettin Bad Boys @ Oxford Art Factory (Gallery Bar)
19/08/2010

Those "Polaroids Of Oldroids" wankers. What a bunch of slack cunts. I mean, they stand around at bars with beers in their hands, pretending they aren't sad aging nerds, telling anyone that cares to listen that Bed Wettin Bad Boys are one of their favourite Sydney bands. But they never put pen to keyboard and converse with the Googlebot Universe about how much they lust them. They need to seriously have a good hard look at themselves and set aside some time to high-five the kids in their own backyard, who are busy prepping for an afternoon of bucket bongs and brilliantly sloppy punk music.

Bed Wettin Bad Boys are a great fucking band. I was there when they first started out. It was fun, but also a bit shit. They then got better. Heaps better. Quickly. They even once played at that giant coliseum called The Metro Theatre, where they opened for Dinosaur Jr and playing to about 40 confused early-birds and 10 loyal fans. They spat on each other and carried on like the total legend cunts they are.

And last Thursday night it all came together perfectly. The group's decision to expand from their usual formidable trio into a foursome (Shortty from Royal Headache took over drumming duties) made all the difference and a line-up configuration that hopefully becomes a permanent fixture. Three bros at the front slamming guitars like beers on a Friday afternoon was a beautiful sight to see. Also, no member has ever seemed completely comfortable when it was their turn to take over on drums, and this relatively small adjustment seemed to have a fairly large impact on not only the crowd's attitude towards the show but also the band's.

Side note: I wrote that above paragraph amidst the show's morning-afterglow, then (obvs) mulled it over for about a week. In hindsight, I kind of agree with Morris' point that a large part of the group's ruff charm was shelved for the evening. That said, I thought the more 'complete' four-piece style gave the songs a fresh breath of life (and grunt). Peaches and pears though I guess.

Triple shred.

Lone Wolf, with it's brilliantly hoarse vocals, is always going to be a personal fave. As was the other standout pop track off their debut 7", We Don't Wanna Know. Ben's(?) Stone Cold Steve Austin sleeveless shirt was another fantastic element of their performance, even more-so with the later revelation that it's not an ironic fashion move but he's actually a bit of a die-hard wrestling fan. Trivia buffs.

And on top of everything, there was a great vibe in the room. Plenty of love and pretty much rad cunts wall-to-wall.

Photos courtesy of Dimity. Check out her fantastic blog for plenty more.

Live recording of the set (via Sydney Tapes).