Ah, Mr Bibby. Please take a seat. What seems to be troubling you? Sexual dysfunction? Family problems? A general sense of crushing anxiety? All of the above? I see. Okay. Well… Take these pills, we’ll write out this prescription for you, see how you go… and come back next week.
The third album from Perth, Australia’s scuzzy slacker eccentric Peter Bibby is riddled with modern problems. Musically, it falls between Butthole Surfers, fellow Antipodeans Amyl and the Sniffers and Pixies.
Bibby squeals, hollers, roars and moans from the darkest corners of his psyche, and with crunchy drums and surprising musical left turns (brass, piano strokes) from “Dirty Dave” Taylor and “Strawberry Pete” Gower, there’s enough Rorschach test rock to keep psychologists in business for the next five years. Sometimes, he sounds like Bobcat Goldthwait fronting Black Sabbath. Other times, he’s a backwoods Richard Hell.
Undereducated is an anthemic ride, Your Mum an epic, country-psych paean to maternal issues and Whyalla has an unexpectedly sweet singalong chorus. It’s this strange dichotomy that keeps the listener on their toes, the gravel tracks Bibby throws himself down on and the seam of vulnerability alike.
The lyrics swing from puerile to confessional, which seems about right when you consider the environment and influences in Bibby’s ouevre. As the world burns, he’s observing it all through a fish eye lens.
Ridiculously good fun if you are in the mood for getting dirty, then. Pass the beta blockers.