29 November 2024 - 0 Comments

"I once knew an amateur geologist who travelled to Blenheim regularly on fossicking expeditions. ‘Marlborough has the best rocks’ he’d assure me excitedly. I took his word for it.

Being an amateur rock enthusiast of sorts myself, I’ve been down here long enough now to have kicked over more than a few stones and I have to admit - what I’ve found hiding beneath has more than impressed me. We punch well above our weight in both music and the arts. T’would seem the retirement capital of New Zealand has more to it than meets the eye.

Big Scout were a pleasant surprise. They still excite me. Equal parts ferocity, mania and an elegant, considered kind of chaos competing for space in their sound. Jocular and acerbic. What’s not to like?

And what a pleasure to watch this three piece grow and evolve over the years from an above average garage band into a post-punk force to be reckoned with. Gigs at the much lauded and fondly remembered ‘The Plant’ where we watched them become what we’d hoped they might one day be, trips further south where they rattled sabres with Christchurch’s best, then all the way north to open for British act Sleaford Mods on their NZ tour - the trajectory was only ever up. So it seems a shame to pen this intro for what may well be their final release, Push Up.

Listen Here

Push Up sees a move away from the tongue in cheek take on small town New Zealand life we heard on debut album Council Sport and comes at us with both barrels raised and cocked in a searing attack on the backward, ‘harden up’ mentality still taken to men's mental health here in New Zealand. It’s a song on a mission. As front man Gregg Slatter put it, ‘the lyrics are essentially a greatest hits of the bad advice that came my way whilst working through my various anxieties, the tension in wanting to tell everyone and everything to fuck off. Like, I hadn’t already thought of that… ya c*nt!’

The message comes through loud and clear, driven home like a final nail in the coffin the song's protagonist is fighting so desperately to avoid.

Slatters trademark angular and aggressive guitar work shapes the song, unrelenting as always, punctuated by squalls of feedback and driven along without compromise by the criminally underrated rhythm section that is Jim Tannock on bass and Matt Hellriegel on drums. Propulsive, purposeful and pounding as the song grinds and works its way toward an untethered crescendo, Tannock and Hellreigel are the backbone every band wants - but few ever make it work this well. Tannock carries the verse with a simple and understated efficiency while allowing the raw and almost unhinged emotion of Slatters vocal to take centre stage and really bring the message home. ‘But I don’t wanna talk about it. But I don’t wanna die.’ It’s a message we’d do well to reflect on well after the song's dying note.

Recorded by Trevor Montgomery at his Nelson studio, Secret Handshake, it was then passed off to Harry Lilley whose stripped back, less-is-more production only serves to heighten the sense of tension, menace and barely restrained anger that underpins the song. Lilley was a smart choice for these guys both for what he brings to the table but equally for what he doesn’t. He’s content to let the music and the unbridled aggression speak for themselves. It’s a formula that works.

With this release, the lads sign off for now. Young families, career changes - life stuff. They’re putting it on the back burner to take care of what matters. Practicing what they preach. If this is the last outing for these lads, it’s a fitting one. A motherfucker of a song. Get on it."

- Reverend Jonny Heathen

Comments

Return to News Archive