The Celibate Rifles: Roman Beach Party

For me, The Celibate Rifles are definitely one of those Australian rock bands to slip through the cracks. Turn on Triple M for instance, our countries premier ‘rock’ radio station, and whilst you’ll hear copious amounts of AC/DC, Midnight Oil, INXS and an occasional Church song, it would be a shock to hear a Rifles track; a band not registering that huge hit associated with success of a lifetime of an artist.

Whilst underwhelming record sales and international interest halted them from piercing the cultural fabric, as time has gone on after their initial period of primary activity during the eighties and early nineties, the band has become somewhat of an obscure entity and sit invariably as the unofficial disciples of Australian underground rock royalty alongside Radio Birdman, which was my direct pathway (funnily enough) to the band and the memory of maybe seeing a track or two on Rage way back when.

Whether or not the quota of excellent left-centric branded punk rock descended down from the Detroit-esque Stooges garage sound, which had been filled out by the likes of The Saints, the Scientists and the Cosmic Psychos whose legacies are seemingly all the more prominent, the Rifles’ (a well known play on the Sex Pistols name) brand of scintillating punk rock was all class, gritty, workmanlike and, sadly, heavily overlooked. You simply won’t find this band on any best of Australian list.

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Formed in Sydney 1978 with the core line-up of guitarists Kent Steedman and Dave Morris, it would be Damien Lovelock (a decade or so older than his band mates) who would really bring attention to the outfit becoming somewhat of a mouthpiece for alternative-rock in the country at the time. The band with revolving drummer and bass duties throughout their ten album career would capture the attention of critics such as David Fricke and record live albums at CBGB’s which was a lifelong tick in the box for Lovelock.

The band had a reputation for being Midnight Oil’s punk rock little brother, sharing an audience throughout Sydney’s Northern Beaches, however potentially working against them was the ‘take the piss’ nature, generally taking an anti-rock star stance on all proceedings, which no doubt has the ability to impact your path to a wide audience and the shaping of your legacy.

Whilst being active for forty years, the pool of releases are all worth your time, from 1983’s promising debut, Sideroxylyna, branding themselves with sharp punk ditties motor-city style, and purposeful observations coursing through Lovelock’s lyricism, to the more mature 1989’s Blind Ear (which featured the band’s most popular hit, Johnny) in which some Australians would qualify as a classic. Then there was their third decade of activity in the ’90s with Spaceman in a Satin Suit (1994) which would artistically flourish in a time of post-grunge drudgery.

With another instalment of our Lost Albums series, it’s hard to look past the bands 1987’s release, Roman Beach Party; perhaps their most influential and important album. Released on Hot Records alongside records by The Triffids and Ed Kuepper, Roman Beach Party is a frantic, blow-your-doors-off alternative-rock masterstroke.

The album opens with the driving track, Jesus on TV. A two-minute heart starter, at thirty-three seconds the party is a started quickly pre-marinated with Lovelock’s sardonic snarls and Steedman and Morris’ dry guitar chords pepper the rest. Lovelock doesn’t waste a word with using the platform to throw shade at social conventions and institutions, and it works as the marriage between the shit talk and exciting minimalistic rock band template, propelling The Celibate Rifles above their contemporaries.

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Downtown is a slightly off-route sound, slightly jagged but it’s all about vibe and groove until the ending which takes perhaps something Tom Verlaine may have released, however injected with speed and energy. On Ocean Shore we see the band enter into a sun-drenched beach lethargy classic that is an ode to the hot summers of Sydney (“It’s a hot one”).

In another turn, Beach Party continues to take the listener on a odyssey of diverse sounds. Perhaps the most radio-ready track or single comes in the way of Wonderful Life’, a narrative heavy tune with a anthemic, singalong chorus. The remainder of the record is filled up with killer punchy gems which all pass the ear test and lyrics that’ll satisfy those with subversive sensibilities which only the ’80s could have produced, with the likes of more modern cult Aussie bands in Eddy Current Suppression Ring and the Peep Tempel would have dined out on endlessly, which have no doubt carried the torch into the twenty-first century.

The record ends with a cheeky little nod to Hendrix with Frank Hyde (Slight Return) – a completely effortless instrumental that could have expanded well beyond the three-minute duration.

Pub rock it is not. Roman Beach Party represents a lot of the great music in Australia that went and continues to go so far under the radar it’s a crime. What is also a crime are these Australian best of lists, and The Celibates Rifles not even getting a whiff of attention in them. 

A band at their peak who maybe got chewed up in the space time continuum, but those who know, know.