The Died Pretty v. Ed Kuepper, Enmore Theatre, 08/02/08

This was a nail-biting affair. Part of the Don't Look Back series, which sees local and international bands going head to head in a shortened form of the game (performing a classic album from start to finish). Not to be confused with the IPL's recently announced EP series with high profile recruits Chad Morgan and Wendy and the Rockets.

The Prettys went into extra time to try and prove their superiority after a slow over rate and premature pitch invasion threatened to subvert the competition. Fortunately, sanity prevailed, although this had nothing to do with the poor level of officiating by the Bangladeshi in the white coat, and a victor was declared at the end of the affair.

Ed Kuepper presented an impressive lineup of hardened performers (ex Laughing Clowns, Saints, Sunnyboys), who with (corn) relish and an element of Waugh-like singled mindedness brutalised the "Honey Steels Gold" Album from the pearly nineties. Midway through the innings Kuepper launched into a full-blooded thuggish assault on the title track, which took spectators (and commentators) aback and left them wondering whether the Pretty could respond to such a Kluseneresque performance.

The Prettys were undeterred. With the original lineup from the classic "Doughboy Hollow" era, Ron E. Peno took up his customary opening position and proceeded to charismatically win over the spectators, while Brett Myers thrilled with Gower-like flourishes of his Stratocaster. By the end of the performance, grown (and heterosexual-looking and acting) men were yelling out, "We love you Ronny!"

This correspondent must worryingly report that the whole affair was conducted with the utmost cordiality. Being only twenty two years old, one can merely rely on rumour, hearsay, inuendo and the dubious accounts of those chardonnay-quaffing, latte-drinking, self important elites (you'd never come across a regular Australian bloke in a pub trying to give his opinion on anything) that there was ever anything other than the boorish, mean-spirited, unintelligent display that we currently expect from our national performers. We won't recount here the delusions of that seriously discredited lawyer masquerading as a musical authority and critic, Roebuck, who with his political equivalent, Chomsky, are now languishing in superfluity (that's some Italian lakeside retreat).

Mind you, what else would you expect from long-haired, drug-taking, jobless dilettante musicians - no wonder they never made it into the Top Forty.

Your correspondent can gladly report that an eventual winner was declared - rock n' roll! Though I don't think the fucker did a thing all night - relied on past reputation more than anything. I called it a fair dinkum draw - the crowd were demanding a replay, but some bloke in a suit was saying that they'd already booked a fashion parade and that it was logistically impossible to reschedule.

Bring on Sonic Youth and The Scientists!