It’s around Belconnen in the suburbs of Canberra when the news started to come through: Trump was winning the election. The air was thick with hyperbolic predictions and apocalyptic economic scenarios. On the Internet, embarrassed political commentators tried to slash through the impossible hubris of imperial promise, while grinning ideologues declared the triumph of normal political discourse.
There was respite in earshot: the new album from Kit Convict and Thee Terrible Two. Simple, pithy, on the money, like a cheap political slogan that actually means something. The prophetic allegorical tone of Napalm on the Streets, enlightenment drinking Cobra’s Blood, demographic cleansing strategy in Sterilised, targeted law enforcement strategies in Divvy Van, covert state surveillance in Pigs in Disguise, incisive political analysis in Neanderthal, the fatality of hope in Dancing in My Crypt and the prospect for civil unrest in Trouble is Brewing.
And then it all made complete sense. No one knows exactly what the next four years have in store, but no one can ever take away primitive three-chord garage rock. Long live Kit Convict and Thee Terrible Two.
By Patrick Emery
