Japunga (with Headkase and Fulcrum)
Her Majesty’s Bar, Brisbane, Australia
Saturday, 26th July 2003

HMB—formerly, and informally, known as the Basement—is a rock venue, something which might make it a bit of a relic in these enlightened times. However, in a city as big as ours it is quite viable for clubs to specialise. The Basement has attempted to get a broader clientele by putting a lot of fiddy cent urban music onto its playlist, and dedicating Thursday nights as “Tha Cribb”. Humorous indeed.

Seriously though, Basement, you need to bust a cap in this half baked concept before people stop going there. If I want to hear hip hop and the like, which I sometimes do, I’m perfectly capable of walking to the Dome.

Headkase are the most original metal band I’ve seen in some time. Combining thrash metal and keyboards has been done before, but the demented circus sound of Headkase is vastly different from the poxy ‘choir’ patch used by too many black metal bands.

Six members being too big for the stage, one of the guitarists had to stand in the mosh pit. That’s how you know you’re in a relatively humble venue. After the concert, Nutty, pissed as a newt, keeps the same look on his face as when he was onstage, howling those incredible vocals. Perhaps the wind changed. Regardless, looks like these are good times for Headkase.

I’ve seen Japunga a few times before and I’ve never really ‘got’ them before now. The lyrics go within the standard metal theme of adversity and triumph over it. Their guitars are downtuned, with droning riffs which seem to only use the notes that downtuning a guitar makes available.

Despite these sonic boundaries that they have set for themselves, it is an unfriendly sound they do well, due to the overall tightness of the rhythm section and the impeccable drumming. The album, which has barely left my CD player since I got it, sounds eerily similar to Sepultura at their peak, which isn’t a shabby comparison at all.

Rating: ***½ three and a half asterisks.

As promised, the Rydges hotel on Lake Esplanade, Queenstown, is popular with young people. Specifically, young Australian students—not a family to be seen. The town itself has all the shops and creature comforts you’d want, all eager to help obliterate your travel budget.

The Remarkables are a popular destination for skiiers and boarders, both beginner and experienced. While the other two were keen to take their new found skiing skills up to the Certain Death run straight away, I was content with the (overcrowded) Probable Injury slope, honing my pizza and french fry fundamentals to perfection. Three days of skiing isn’t enough, because you start to get good and that’s when it becomes enjoyable.

After having to buy things like gloves and thermals, which will be utterly useless back home in the Sunshine State, I’d want to be doing some more skiing in future.

After surviving the icy roads back to Christchurch on the 11th, we hung out there for the evening. Props to Riverview buffet restaurant.

The 6:55am flight on the 12th took us back to Brisbane, where I got to cool my heels for about an hour before getting another plane to Sydney for the Something For Kate/Death Cab For Cutie concert. It would turn out to be a 23 hour day.

New Zealand, you were superb, and I hope to see you again one day. For now, I’m going to just hang out and stop spending money for awhile.

At first glance, it seemed like Wanaka was one of those resort towns with more motels, bars and estate agents than people living there. Driving around the town at 11pm looking for somewhere to buy goods, I was left wanting, but I did discover that there is in fact plenty of suburbia surrounding central Wanaka.

Half-finished houses prove that plenty of people are jumping on the bandwagon, and if I were to come across a big wad of cash anytime soon I would probably join in.

This morning we survived the short but perilous journey from Wanaka to Queenstown, bypassing the more solid Cromwell route in favour of the more scenic mountain road. Truly, we have entered snow country. And it’s full of Aussies.

I am the cold master. At least that is what I thought before I came to Z. Don’t get me wrong, I brought enough woolens, thermals and kevlar body armour to sink a battle ship, but I didn’t think I’d be needing it til I got to the snow.

After hanging cools in Palmy North, the night of the 4th was spent in the nation’s capital, Wellington. A stroll through the city revealed a much more happening city than I remember it being fifteen short years ago. Despite warnings from the crew, I set out for the aforementioned stroll wearing two t-shirts, trousers and shoes, and nothing else. Keeping in mind, of course, that I am the cold master.

The rest of the evening was spent at the motel watching the ubiquitous Sky television, and sneezing like buggery.

Next day we got up bright and early for the ferry over to South Island, and after we picked up the new car—a 2002 Pulsar, much nicer than the other car—we set course for the western town of Greymouth, where I sneezed like buggery some more, and watched the ubiquitous Sky television.

Continuing down that general west coast highway type road on the 6th, we found time and time again that the towns we intended to stay in, weren’t worth staying in. Originally we had intended to stay in Fox Glacier, but as we arrived there at lunchtime, and this is a road trip, we eventually rolled into the ski resort town of Wanaka, just a stone’s throw from Q-Town.

Auckland certainly was interesting. A city large enough to have the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, atop which James personally shat himself. The traffic sucks, and this makes the drivers really, really impatient. Either that, or they know we are Australians, and focus their rage specifically at us.

After spending a considerable amount of time trying to find the Sizzler in Manukau, we discovered, to our utter disbelief, that it had been converted into a Denny’s.

On the drive south, we would encounter the only Sizzler left in the country, in that bubbling metropolis, Rotorua. Unfortunately the kiwi vision of siz doesn’t include a salad bar containing anything other than salad; furthermore, the cheese bread is not free.

After braving the stench long enough to get some photographs, we rolled onto Taupo where we stayed for the evening. Stumbling out of bed, bleary-eyed, and considerably later than the required 10.00am checkout time, we paused to smack some golf balls into a freezing headwind at Lake Taupo before rolling on.

We landed in Christchurch on Monday evening, which had become Tuesday morning by the time we had changed our watches forward two hours. What we saw in the air, was later confirmed on the ground—Christchurch is the most planned city in the southern hemisphere. Streetlight patterns show long straight lines or sweeping circles. The bus to the airport follows an arterial road that goes dead straight as far as the eye can see. Every fifth street corner has a church or other ecclesiastical building.

We flew Freedom Air to Christchurch and then Qantas to Auckland. Really the only difference is you get free snacks on Qantas. They’re both cramped 737s with no skills.

The first thing I noticed about Auckland is how much it is like Sydney. American fast food everywhere, and lots of New Zealanders. We saw the skyline at night from atop the Sky Tower, the tallest building in the southern hemisphere.

Many photos are taken, but I have taken the stand and refused to photograph a store called “Baan”. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see the point.

Smo out.