A heavily disturbed man requires three inimitably capable women to prevent him running screaming sidelong into traffic with a plastic bag shrouding facial paroxysms of late-capitalist victimhood. The crowd’s little brains are all porn-addled and prescription-pilled, picking open the scabs of the ills they helped create, checking emails between songs for an alert that it’s National Skin Cancer Action Week. Shellac of North(ern) Victoria, the situationist Pixies nurse the wounds of social demise, and as Legal Ghost rolls around you realise it is one of the most haunting songs ever written in this filthy falsehood of a state, Liddiard in busted jack-knife Zulawski possession full-throttle and a durry out the window of a truck slamming into native wildlife. I dunno man, Sometimes that’s all there is to say