Everett True

Song of the day – 129: Ouch My Face

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Let’s stick with the raw-assed rock for now.

After all, it was what I (mostly) made my name championing. Here’s something sweet – all squealing and implied menace, like a partially-stuck pig given the keys to the abattoir and the opposable thumbs to use them; or a breakaway sect of Babes In Toyland fans let loose in a field of overloading Marshall stacks. Here’s something sweet – that I found among the same jetsam and vomited vestiges of polite society (i.e. the CDs that are sent to me because no one else accepts them) that threw up Boo Frog yesterday. The female vocalist is brattish and as irritating as fuck (but this is, of course, high praise indeed around here), the guttural backing male vocals and swirl of sequenced guitar hints at the occasional grounding in some metal underbelly (Sepultura’s, probably) that I would never dare to scratch these days, not with my propensity for addiction. No, I sure as fuck don’t want to get naked with them. Song titles are song titles are exclamations of disgust like ‘Don’t Take A Knife To The Graveyard’ and ‘Junk Punk Baby’ and… oh fuck, they’re not from Brisbane, are they? Could be: there’s an edge that sounds oddly Australian to me. Post-Riot Grrrl, quite clearly. (Or rather, Riot Grrrl – as it never went away.)

Let’s cheat, and look – shall we?

Wonderfully, the second highest search result for the phrase Ouch My Face throws up this on YouTube.

Here’s the highest.

Ha, score one for the “written rock critics’ John Peel”, as one rather insane person on Facebook called me the other day. Ouch My Face are indeed Australian (Melbourne is listed, but I think they might well have formerly lived here), and list Yoko Ono, Sonic Youth and Sepultura as their top three influences. Riot Grrrl by any other name. Or, as Rolling Stone rather stupidly put it, “Experimental punk-metal that you can dance to”.

They’re way better than they suspect. Trust me. I used to be a critic.

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