Along with Bindi, Tuff Muff and Midget Stooges, Sourpuss was at the vanguard of young, female artists using music to evoke their everyday struggles with identity and self-empowerment. The blatant homogeneity of the scene became the target for a new wave of ferocious, young rockers.ĭalle's first band Sourpuss was born out of Collingwood's Rock n' Roll High School, a storied venue which gave female students somewhere to meet, collaborate and practice music. TISM, You Am I and Custard were the darlings of the city's musical output, one which longed for overseas recognition and was-obviously and unashamedly-male. In the mid-90s, Melbourne's rock scene was an awkward mixture of indie, garage and grunge fixation. "The Young Crazed Peeling" was a textbook summation of this pre-gentrified city, before then-Premier Jeff Kennett introduced widespread privatisation schemes and maniacal construction projects.Įven though Dalle has been living stateside since 1997, her musical upbringing was as Melbourne as permit parking, and much deeper than just "The Young Crazed Peeling". With widespread unemployment and a 2.2 billion dollar deficit, Melbourne was the perfect breeding ground for disenfranchised youth. Crime rates would also spike as Melbourne's infamous gangland killings were slapped across every newspaper front page.
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The unemployment rate hit ten per cent and Melbournians were left wondering how to pull themselves out of another economic shithole. Following the excess of the 1980s, high interest rates and the tightening of monetary policy sent Melbourne and the state of Victoria into a recession. Before gentrification hit the city like a rogue wave, Melbourne was experiencing a midlife crisis. 15 years ago, Brody Dalle and The Distillers were pinning it on the map for listeners to um-and-ah over its graffitied storefronts, grubby sidewalks and biker-owned pubs. These days Fitzroy is a hodgepodge of yuppies, delinquents and dilettantes.
I had no idea why this person was so mad at the world, but I liked it.
Dalle's lyrics also made a quick impression: "I'm a nihilist raised on violence / I'm a mirror fucking image of no control". The thrashing drums and buzz saw riff of opening track "Sick of it All" was intensely liberating, even for my short attention span which at the time focused primarily on Tazos and and footy cards. The album title and the front cover alone were enough to make me think I was culturally and artistically lightyears ahead of my third-grade colleagues. It wasn't long before I dragged my mum to HMV to spend my petty cash on The Distiller's sophomore record, Sing Sing Death House. At the time, Oasis was as heavy as I thought rock went, but The Distillers' seething and emotionally volatile brand of punk was Ritalin, and I was the hyperactive dweeb in need of a hit. Leather, chains, patches, piercings, tattoos and a motherfucker of a mohawk. Still, Dalle's style was magnetic in its own way. Unbeknown to me at the time, girls could shred guitar and scream their lungs out. And then there was the fact that the singer was a girl. For one, I didn't think music could sound so vicious and overwhelming.
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It was the singer who grabbed my chubby, pre-pubescent face and pulled me towards the TV screen… Brody Dalle-then known as Brody Armstrong-was unlike anyone I'd seen or heard before.Įverything about this person was alien to my suburbanite senses.
Watching the music video for "City of Angels" for the first time was a strangely beguiling experience: The dark, flash-frame-heavy visuals weren't anything spectacular-I'd seen some R.E.M. Punk Off and The Distillers changed that.
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