THE ALLMAN BROTHERS "RAMBLIN' MAN" . . . . ANOTHER 'SOUTHERN' BAND THAT OVERCAME ENORMOUS TRAGEDY TO BECOME CERTIFIED LIVING LEGENDS . . . . TALKING WITH MIKEEYRAT ON THE WEEKEND REMINDED ME JUST HOW EPIC THESE DUDES REALLY ARE . . . . DUANE ALLMAN DIED ON HIS SPORTY THEN A LITTLE OVER A YEAR LATER, BERRY OAKLEY WENT OUT IN THE SAME WAY . . . . OVERCOMING THE KIND OF LOSS VERY FEW BANDS EVER MANAGE TO ACHIEVE.

My second band once did an entire Queensland tour with The Fabulous Thunderbirds, fuck, it was brilliant, sitting sidestage watching Jimmy, Kim and co chew through song after song, just awesome. Got to hangout with Jimmy over the week and talked about tons of stuff, a really sweet, super cool guy with real Texas style and charm and fully down to earth . . . . the thing that has always stayed with me above all else was what he said about his virtuoso brother, Stevie Ray, he said SRV's greatest fear in life was dying on the road like so many Texan and Southern musos had done before him, I kid you not. Sure enough, about six to eight months later, there it was, a clean and sober Stevie Ray Vaughan dies in helicopter crash, fuck !!!

There is a tragic litany of bluesmen, country crooners and rock and rollers from the southern states who have fallen foul of this almost hoodoo jinx going back to Hank Williams, Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper, so many bands have been touched by this bizarre curse it is mind bogglingly sad, The Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, SRV, Ozzy Osbourne and the list of others that I can't recall right now . . . . despite their double dose of death the Allman Brothers are still around today in a pretty legit lineup and still cranking out the style of music they helped invent, I'm guilty of bagging them in all my post punk, anti hippie, shallow diatribe bullshit but the truth is patently clear . . . . I love em, the sound, the vibe, the look and the incredible desire to move forward in the way that their absent buddies would've wanted . . . . Southern Men, we need em around.

"GOLD COAST CAFE SOCIETY" OR "40 KLMS FOR SOME FOLK IS A LONG RIDE" . . . . THE MAIN DRAG OF THE TOWNSHIP OF CANUNGRA, 2.30 P.M ON A SUNDAY, FOUR HOURS EARLIER AND IT WOULDA BEEN GUTTER TO GUTTER SOLID BLING AND GLITTER . . . . STUFFED TO THE EYEBALLS WITH ALL THE INTREPID SOULS OUT FOR THE BIG THRASH, AN INCREDIBLE AND ARDUOUS 38 KILOMETRES OF HARD RIDING HELL . . . . I MEAN, WTF, A HALF HOUR DAWDLE FOR A COFFEE ??

Please, don't get me arse about on this, I'm not some thousand mile every weekend, hardcore, hard ridin dude, but when I'm going for a thrash on the weekend, I'm not going to be spiritually fulfilled by a half hour piddle for a fucking coffee when the sun is shining and the scoot's barely warmed up, what's the bloody point of having a bike if that's going to be your definition of living the dream . . . . I often ride during the week as part of my day gig, sometimes on a day's round trip I might stack 300+ klms on the Purple Penis, other days it might be only 50 or so, but come the weekend, all I can think about is gassing up and planting my fat arse in the saddle and getting gone for the day at least, if not an overnighter . . . . the idea of meeting up with the lads and toodling up the mountain for barely forty minutes just to nip it in the bud for the sake of a coffee and a pie, then turn around and head home, has always seemed utterly fucking ridiculous to me.

This is where many of the longhaul, weekend warriors gather in my neck of the woods, resplendent in all their finest factory clobber, their bejewelled steeds sadly doing the cooling metal 'tinkle-tinkle' tethered to the invisible hitching rail, whether they're on Harleys, Hondas, Hyabusas or Hyosungs, Beemers, screamers or in-be-fucking-tweeners, they all do the same bloody thing and then head home. I reckon all of us enjoy not only the riding aspect of being on two wheels but obviously the attention it draws from Joe Public, anyone who says they don't is flat out lying, but wouldn't it all feel incredibly shallow if the only people you're playing up to are the same vacuous souls week in week out, always the same boring destination, just so you can be home in time for lunch and the afternoon sport on telly . . . . fuck off to that shit !!!!

On this particular mid arvo two weeks ago, I had pulled in for my 'coffee' on the way back from a pleasant couple of hundred klicks since seven a.m and the majority of 'them' had long since departed, the dude who was on the billet bacon slicer parked beside me asked if the Penis Mosheen was 'a genuine shovelhead' and then tried to turn it around when I pointed out that it was in fact a 2010 Skirtster . . . . the only bloke in the place who was actually a serious, long term rider was the old greybeard you can see sitting down, his one owner '85 Evo had just been loaded into the back of a ute with its guts hanging out of the crankcases and he was trying to avoid Billet Boy as he waited for his missus to come and rescue him. Turned out that Jock was a local who recognised me from the Doghouse back in the mid nineties and we ended up exchanging phone numbers and made a commitment to catch up for serious ride as soon as he has refurbished the exploded Evo . . . . we also confirmed by mutual agreement that a morning jaunt for a coffee was not going to be on the agenda.

TED NUGENT "CAT SCRATCH FEVER" LIVE ON 'MIDNIGHT SPECIAL' . . . . AH YES, THE MOTOR CITY MADMAN, STAUNCH ADVOCATE OF GUN CONTROL AND BIG HAIR AFICIONADO . . . . WHEN IT CAME TO GUITAR SLINGIN, COON-TAIL FLASHIN, HEADBAND WEARIN, BOUFFANT BLOWIN, BOOGIE BASHIN BADNESS, TED WAS THE KING . . . . WITH FUCK-ALL MAINSTREAM RADIO SUPPORT HE WAS PULLIN THE BIGGEST CROWDS IN THE ROCK+ROLL CIRCUS AT HIS PEAK.

SILLY SONG TITLE ENTHUSIAST PAR EXCELLENCE, POOR OLD TED NEVER SAW THE PUNK BEHEMOTH COMING AND BY THE END OF THE SEVENTIES, LIKE SO MANY OF HIS BIG HAIRED, BIG FLARED, SATIN CLAD, DINOSAUR KIN, HE'D BEEN RENDERED ALL BUT OBSOLETE . . . . STILL, I'VE ALWAYS HAD A WARM GUN IN MY TROUSERS FOR THE DETROIT ROCKER WITH A PENCHANT FOR ANIMAL PELTS AND FIREARMS.

GOOD, HONEST STUFF NEVER GOES OUT OF STYLE, IT JUST GETS FUCKED UP BY THE FORCES OF MASS MARKETING AND ADVERTISING DICKHEADS . . . . IT BECOMES A FAD, THE NEW BIG THING, THE DOMAIN OF HIPSTERS AND FASHION WANNABES . . . . AND THEN IT FADES FROM VIEW AND THE LATEST 'SCENE' TAKES OVER . . . . BUT WHEN THE BUBBLE BURSTS, SOME OF US CONTINUE WEARING THE SAME THREADS, DOING THE SAME SHIT AND BEING THE SAME PEOPLE WE ARE.

"SAY MAN . . . . WHERE'D YOU GET YOUR MULESKINNERS FROM ?" . . . . SAY WHAT ????

TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO OR THEREABOUTS I GOT A PAIR OF RED WINGS FROM NERANG SADDLERY, I DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE CALLED 'MULESKINNERS' OR 8113's, THEY WERE JUST GOOD OLD FASHIONED BOOTS AND IN MY PREFERRED FINISH, OILED SUEDE, THEY COST AROUND $100.00 WHICH WAS BIG BICCIES BACK THEN AND WERE COMFY AS ALL GET OUT FROM DAY ONE . . . . SURE ENOUGH, EVERYONE PUT SHIT ON ME FOR WEARING 'SPASTIC' OR 'POLIO' SHOES, ASKED ME WHERE MY CALIPERS WERE, CALLED ME A DORK OR A MYRON AND GENERALLY TOOK THE PISS, THEY LASTED UNTIL THEY LITERALLY ROTTED APART SOMEWHERE IN THE MID NINETIES, I ONLY GOT EM IN THE FIRST PLACE BECAUSE THE LEGENDARY AND SIMILAR AUSSIE 'T-BOOT' LACE UP I WAS LOOKING FOR WASN'T AVAILABLE ON THE DAY . . . . ME AND CHOOK NEVER GOT THE WHOLE 'COLORADO'/'TIMBERLAND' SCHTICK THAT WAS RAPIDLY BECOMING THE THING TO BE SEEN IN BY THE OFFICE JOHNNY CROWD AND THE SURFIE BOY ELEMENT, WE WERE INTO BIKES AND CARS AND FUCKING ABOUT WITH EM, NOT LOOKIN LIKE SOME GANGSTA RAP DUDE WITH BAGGIES AND BUTT-CRACK . . . . AND THEY WERE TIMELESS, FUNCTIONAL, COOL SHIT, WE KNEW IT AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERED, FUCK EVERYONE ELSE.

PAIR #3 . . . . APPARENTLY THEY'RE CALLED 'MULESKINNERS' NOT BOOTS . . . . FUCK ME !!!

NOWADAYS THERE ARE BLOGS ABOUT EM, EVERYONE'S WEARIN THEIR WINGS, THE LOFTIEST SCOOT RIDIN GODS TO THE LOWLIEST TRY HARDS, YOU'RE EITHER A HERO OR A ZERO DEPENDING ON WHO'S MAKING THE CALL, APPARENTLY IT'S BEEN DECREED I'M NOW A HIPSTER, WHEREAS BACK IN THE LATE EIGHTIES I WAS A DWEEB OR A DORK FOR WEARING THE EXACT SAME BOOTS . . . . I SURELY DIDN'T WEAR EM FIRST, BUT NEITHER DID THE SELF PROCLAIMED ARBITERS OF CONTEMPORARY COOL AND HARDCORE, THE NEW JACK CITY BIKER BOY CHIC CLIQUE, THE SELVEDGE DENIM SECRET POLICE, THE INNER SANCTUM OF THOSE WHO HOLD THE DIVINE RIGHT OF THE SPIRIT OF THE SIXTIES, NO MAN, FUCK YOU AND THE BOOTS YOU WALKED IN ON . . . . I WONDER IF ALL THE DUDES OUT IN THE BOONIES AND THE BACKWOODS, ALL THE OLD TIMER MECHANICS AND GREASERS ARE FEELING JUST A LITTLE RIPPED OFF OVER THE LAST FIFTEEN, TWENTY YEARS, THEY'RE THE ONES WHO WERE TRADITIONALLY  HOOFIN IT ON RED WINGS AND CHIPPEWAS, T-BOOTS AND BLUNDSTONES . . . . YEAH, WE'RE ALL JUST CHEAP, COPIEST WHORES IN THE END, NOTHING'S NEW, NOTHING BELONGS TO US . . . . AND YOU DON'T GET TO STAND ON TOP OF YOUR OWN LITTLE MOUNTAIN PROCLAIMING  ORIGINAL, HOLIER THAN THOU, SELF RIGHTEOUSNESS WITHOUT GIVING YOURSELF AWAY AS JUST ANOTHER PHONY, PHAKE, PHASHION PHOLLOWING PHUCK . . . . COME ON DOWN BEFORE YOU FALL AND HURT YOUR PERIOD CORRECT PERFECT POSTERIOR.

BROTHERS GRIM AND THE BLUE MURDERS "ON THE METER" . . . . DIRTY, TWISTED, SEETHING, BOTTLENECK SLIDIN, SEXBEATEN, HARD DRIVIN, BLEARY EYED, SWAMP WITCH BLUES . . . . IMAGINE 'THE GUN CLUB' GETTIN JIGGY WITH EARLY AC/DC WHILE BEING PLIED WITH BAD ACID AND SHITTY MOONSHINE . . . . THINK OF ROOTS BLUES MEETS INNER CITY GRUNGE . . . . HELL YEAH, ITS THAT KINDA THING, TURN THE MOTHERFUCKER UP . . . . GET GRIM OR DIE TRYIN !!!!

SO . . . . YOU WANT SOME 'REAL' BLUES MUSIC . . . . WELL, SUCK MY SNAKEBITE !!!

JUST IN CASE Y'ALL FORGOT . . . . AUSSIE KICKS MUSICAL ARSE . . . . THESE GUYS ARE YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF PROOF POSITIVE . . . . STRAIGHT TO HELL IN THE BACK OF A CAB . . . . C'MON THEN . . . . WHADDAYA GOT . . . . THOUGHT SO . . . . FUCK ALL !!!! 

"1970 STROKER SHOVELHEAD CHOPPER KICKSTART" ['MRKICKSTART11'] MORE COOL SHIT FROM THE EPICENTRE OF THE MODERN LONG BIKE . . . . MAYBE IT GOES BACK TO THEIR AFFILIATION WITH LONGBOATS, SHIT, I DON'T KNOW . . . . BUT I DO KNOW THAT THE SWEDISH CREW HAVE HAD A THANG GOING ON WITH THE OVERLY LONG FOR OVER TWO DECADES . . . . 'HAZY DAIZY' SPORTS A BIG INCH TROUBLEHEAD, A CRAZY LOW IDLE ON TOP OF RON JEREMY LIKE LENGTH.

Back in the early nineties I had the misfortune of riding a Trumpy chop with a front end not unlike that on the uber groovy 'Hazy Daizy', it was a piece of shit to start with, crapped out mid 70's Tiger motor in a late 60's donor frame, a poorly spoked sixteen inch pig wheel on the bodgy as fuck rigid arse end, nineteen up front, excruciatingly badly executed engineering where the ridiculous front end was vaguely attached to the headstock, 18" apes that musta been a metre wide, no semblance of braking ability, and this was just the good side of the equation . . . . our workshop was charged with the sacred quest to get the shitbox running as close to an actual motorcycle as we could, our two resident ace wrenchers and avowed chopper haters gave it their best and at least the old single carb 750 was able to hold idle, change gears and make forward progress, after a fashion, but there was only so much that could be done with the rest of the thing allowing for the virtually non existent budget of its lucky and loving owner . . . . you can't polish a turd.

As the youngest member of Classic Bike Tune and the non-mechanic/parts dude, I was given the decidedly dubious treat of taking the fucker for it's shakedown ride around the block, much to the undies soiling laughter of my partners Ron and Dave and the shop apprentice, Grub. It was without a fucking doubt the most miserable and unenjoyable two wheeled experience of my thirty odd year old life . . . . it was nigh on impossible to shift gears, it wouldn't turn, it didn't stop, it made my arse bleed, it burnt my leg and generally performed like the primitive piece of excement that it was, at this point I was so turned off by my first 'chopper' moment I swore I'd never entertain straddling another one as long as my now bleeding arse pointed to the ground.

Well, twenty years later, I've ridden a few more of these fandangled things, they still handle like a semi on ice, my arse always ends up screaming and one of them burnt my calf so badly I could smell the flesh sizzling, but unlike the diabolical mechanical abortion that I attempted to poke around the block at Taree Street all those years ago, they have been well engineered, meticulously built and a truckload of fun to almost ride, and more importantly still, despite their handling shortfalls, they look the absolute and total fucking bollocks . . . . and by the end of the Aussie winter 2013, I'll be riding my own, not with the extra length front end like the perfectly purple 'Hazy Daizy', just two inches slightly over, but a chopper it will be nonetheless . . . . I can hear Dave and Ronnie cacking themselves right now . . . . and I couldn't give a bag of frosted cocks.

"HARLEY DAVIDSON 1947EL KNUCKLEHEAD CHOBBER BOPPER" ['KNUCKLE4036'] . . . . ONCE AGAIN THE LADS FROM THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN TAKING AUTHENTICITY TO ANOTHER LEVEL . . . . BUMPED INTO THIS ONE A WHILE AGO AND HAVE KEPT COMING BACK TO DROOL EVER SINCE . . . . I DON'T GIVE A RAT'S ARSE WHAT YOU WANNA CALL THE THING BUT IT'S ONE KING HELL COOL BIT OF KIT IN MY EYES . . . . LABELS MEAN FUCK ALL, IT'S JUST TOO GOOD.

Way back before the whole post-Hollister, mainstream media proliferated view of those who were labelled by the straight-laced AMA as the '1%' of the riding population, most hot bikes of the Hoggly variety looked basically like the raw-boned, bare essentials, bastard child featured in this vidjo . . . . everyone knows the story behind bobbing and then ultimately, at least according to the popular consensus, chopping, and when it comes to an illustration of the former, this little fucker rates right at the pointy end of the pyramid of cool . . . . everything that was deemed useless and dead weight has been jettisoned leaving nothing other than what's required to get the job done when it comes to nailing it wide open and going beyond broke, the bobbed rear fender sitting atop the mean arsed grooved slick is the total horn, the perfectly positioned pipe, no cables, no front brake, the axed tanks, risers, the semi knobby up front . . . . not to mention the stance and the brilliant lines of the frame against the springer/bars set up and the balance between rear and front wheels, this thing stinks of nothing less than the business end of the knuckle stick, yeah, I like it . . . . a lot !!!!

THE STRAY CATS "RACE WITH THE DEVIL" . . . . DON'T EVEN START ON THE ROCKABILLY REVIVAL HATING THING, CHECK YOURSELF BEFORE YOU WET YOURSELF . . . . THESE GUYS WERE JUST BORN OUT OF TIME, BLOODY EXCEPTIONAL FROM BE BOP TO LULA . . . . PLUS IN THIS CLIP YOU GET FLOODED WITH LEGIT PERIOD DRAG RACE ACTION . . . . BIKES, ALTEREDS, SLINGSHOTS, TOPOLINOS, BUCKETS . . . . THE SHIT AS IT WAS AND AS IT SHOULD BE . . . . GONNA BALL !!!!

GIDDAY ALL, HOPE EVERYTHING HAS BEEN JUST DANDY IN BLOGLAND WHILST I'VE BEEN OFF HAVING A LIFE . . . . NICE TO TAKE A QUICK BREATHER AFTER MY FIRST YEAR OF FUCKING ABOUT WITH THIS HERE THING . . . . I'VE ENJOYED EVERY MINUTE OF IT BUT REALLY JUST NEEDED TO STOP BLURBING AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FOR A WHILE . . . . ANYHOO, BATTERIES ARE RECHARGED AND THE GEARS UPSTAIRS ARE ALMOST MESHING CORRECTLY, I'M BACK !!!

JUST ANOTHER DAY SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF SUFFERERS PARASITE . . . . FOUR FRIENDS, A MESS OF GRITS AND A NICE ARRAY OF BEERS, STEERS AND QUEERS . . . . PERFECTION.

SKYLAR GREY FEATURING EMINEM "C'MON LET ME RIDE" . . . . . HERE I AM AGAIN, SPEAKING THE UNSPEAKABLE, LOVING THE UNLOVABLE AND DIGGING WHAT'S DEEMED UNDIGGABLE AT 'HARD-MAN H.Q' . . . . FROM MY PERSONAL "CHICKS I'D LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH" FILES . . . . SUPER SARKY SEXY SOCIAL COMMENTARY FROM THE THINKING BLOKE'S HILLBILY PRINCESS . . . . GRRLS IN FLANNEL . . . . HELL YEAH !!!!

SERIOUSLY . . . . WATCH IT, LISTEN TO IT, DIG IT . . . . IT'S COOL . . . . IF YOU CAN'T . . . . FUCK THAT !!!

TAG AS . . . .  REALLY SAYING SOMETHING . . . . MAKING MINAJ AND AGUILERA LOOK SUPER SKANKY