In a recent review of a live album by Brisbane’s Giants Of Science, No Anchor bass player and sometime M+N writer Ian Rogers expressed his reservations about the format. “While almost never as satisfying as albums proper,” he wrote, “they can, on occasion, be entertaining and informative documents in and of themselves.”

What follows is a review of one of Rogers' bands, recorded from the same show by the same sound tech, Murray Paas. Take your “almost never” and shove it, Ian: this release is just as vital, just as fulfilling as the two albums you've released with Alex Gillies under the No Anchor moniker.

Unlike the Giants live album, Press Start And Wait For Drone... - limited to 150 printed copies - wasn't planned. You won't read this in the liner notes, but Paas used No Anchor's set to test his recording equipment. As a result, there's no discernable hint of pretension or performance anxiety. It's simply the bass-and-drums duo of Rogers and Gillies slogging away at their brutal sludge-rock across five tracks and 33 minutes. Rogers quickly checks his set-up and begins eking out the ominous first notes of 'Steam', the title track of their 2009 album. Ten gripping minutes follow, wherein Rogers applies an array of effects to his bass guitar while Gillies keeps time.

"More fuzz!" suggests a punter from the crowded room. The call is ignored. 'Wolves Bite And Disappear' makes what must be one of its first live appearances, as evidenced among the muffed notes, missed effects cues and Rogers' voice breaking out on several occasions. Fuck it. If you want clinical perfection, listen to the recorded version, which they recently released for free. "Thank you," offers the singer afterwards. "I'd like to think that's what Wolfmother would sound like if they didn't suck."

You can't tell whether the audience laughs. Rogers fiddles with his instrument momentarily, before they debut 'Real Pain Supernova'. There's no time to waste. They're supporting, remember? There's beauty embedded within 'Drone Me Out', an eight-minute behemoth whose hypnotic, circular chord progression is backed by an erratic Gillies rhythm. Rogers drops into a fearsome slow groove in the latter half, one that inspires you to bump up the already-loud volume.

No sooner has Gillies applied the song's delicate final cymbal touch than Rogers begins fingering the spidery riff to set closer 'Everything You Say'. This is No Anchor at their best; simultaneously frightening and inspiring. Deft instrumental interplay. Originality. Vision. Determination. You clench your jaw and ride it out, nodding to the bassline, watching the cymbals crash; not really needing a visual accompaniment to the musical brutality, but appreciating their tense gestures and facial expressions all the same.

No Anchor trade in volume, distortion and naked aggression. This release is, to re-apply Rogers' preamble to his own band, an entertaining and informative document in and of itself. More fuzz.

by Andrew McMillen