Ghosts Of Television

There are many attractive bands in Sydney, but Ghosts of Television isn’t one of them. They bear a countenance similar to a suburban high-school cover band, with all the applicable fashion stereotypes accounted for. There are real nerves up on the stage – a constant looming threat of combustion. It’s a five-piece of outsiders, but not because they’re romantically reclusive, strictly anonymous, or even that socially inept. Witnessing them perform is like ploughing a weaponry obsessed high-school kid with a half-bottle of rum and handing him a microphone.

It’s amazing, though. At heart they’re a sharply aggressive, confronting punk rock act, the type you always wished existed when you were a kid – something that can simultaneously purge and implant demons. Musically speaking, Ghosts Of Television would only be half this effective if it weren’t for the electronic elements: sinister keyboard passages waver on the outskirts of the rhythmic centre, implemented in a similar fashion to black metal outfits like Emperor or Burzum. If a reference to Scandinavian black metal in regards to a Sydney indie rock band sounds ridiculous, then it’s about to get even stupider. The vocalist actually sounds like Varg Vikernes. His voice is a trebly, hoarse whine that can sound either devastated or devastating, and it’s hardly surprising – indeed, kind of obvious – when he launches himself into the scarcely-there audience and proceeds to kick and scream on the dance floor. It’d be farcical if the music didn’t aurally bleed catharsis, but it does. It’s a surprise that no-one joined him.

by Shaun Prescott