The Thousands

At times, Avant Gardeners sound a lot like The Pixies. Other times they sound a lot like Joy Division. What they don’t sound a lot like is another dishwater wuss band. Honestly, when did bands in this town get so goddamn wet? Did I miss a damp memo? Here’s some free advice from Uncle Stan: nobody cares about your feelings, your band isn’t good enough to be "subtle" and people who still listen to Art of Fighting never get laid.

Seriously, if you really think your lyrics are at all meaningful, what’s the use in mumbling them into your shoes? It’s summer, for Christ’s sake. How about a bit of argy-bargy? How about some volume? Goddamnit, how about a little bit of sweat?

Let’s talk about Hit the Jackpot. Let’s talk about Terrance Dicks. Let’s talk about effing Roo Shooter. In fact, let’s talk about the family tree of Adelaide indie luminaries that comprise Avant Gardeners, who at best sound like The Who, and at worst sound like a droning cacophonic nightmare – proof positive that so-called indie music ought have less to do with Jeff Buckley and more to do with Kim and Thurston.

Prove that I lie.