The Return Of TISM: Melbourne's Icons Make Their Live Comeback

TISM. Image: Tyler Jenke

Review: TISM supported by Our Carlson at Prince Bandroom, St Kilda, 19th November, 2022.

Who would’ve thought seeing TISM live would be such a hassle? Actually, come to think of it, it is indeed rather fitting that act of seeing TISM live is accompanied by such difficulty. Hold on, maybe I should dive into this rambling review with a touch of context.

It was back in 2020 that TISM once again became a semi-active concern, with former Shock Records head David Roy Williams helping to launch a campaign of reissues and retrospective releases that collected the works of the country’s most engimatic band. Given that TISM had been silent as an entity since they walked offstage at the Earthcore festival in November of 2004, rumours swiftly began to circulate about the possibility of their first live shows in years.

At first, the official party line was one of disappointment, but as the campaign continued, rumours among the inner circle of the group’s dedicated fanbase began to swirl about a potential reunion. In June of 2022, the tree of rumour officially bore fruit, with TISM being announced as performers for the return of the Good Things festival. As the group themselves had once hinted as part of an unreleased song; TISM were back.

Immediately, all and sundry began to appreciate the familiar experience of being a consumer of music in a world in which TISM again existed. Personally, I jumped at the chance to interview the band, before repeating the experience just weeks later. Approximately 50% of those interviews could be deemed a good idea, while both would likely have been deemed 'nightmarish' by budding writers.

While this reunion was mighty boon for the Good Things festival, fans again began to wonder if this meant TISM would slip back into their old habits and play a classic warm-up show ahead of the event. After all, it was customary for the band to bridge the gap between periods of silence and their return to the stage with a secret show or two under a fake name. Fans urged others to be on the lookout for gigs from the likes of Late For Breakfast, Machiavelli & The Four Seasons, or The Frank Vitkovic Jazz Quartet.

If I’m being candid, I figured these potential shows would take place in the weeks preceding Good Things in early December. Thus, I booked some long-awaited travel to visit my in-laws, family, and friends over in the US for early November. To paraphrase TISM, imagine how I felt when credible rumours surfaced that the band would indeed break their performance drought with a secret show on Saturday, 12th November.

By now, the facts have been established, but TISM’s first gig in almost 18 years took place at Melbourne’s Croxton Bandroom as part of the Short Sharp Shocks event, with the band adopting the name Open Mic Tryouts for the evening. The surprise set was kept a secret until hours beforehand, with diehards racing to buy tickets and get to the venue before it reached capacity.

For me, it was something I had awaited for 18 years. In fact, I vowed in November of 2004 that I wouldn’t miss TISM’s next gig. Unfortunately, that next gig wouldn’t be as forthcoming as I’d hoped, and I spent close to two decades thinking on a daily basis that the possibility of a TISM reunion was growing slimmer by the day. So, you can imagine the crushing disappointment that washed over me as I woke up in rural Oklahoma hours after the performance, half the world away from the small venue I’d have given anything to be inside of.

But while I was devastated (I’m not too proud to admit a tear or two was shed), I took solace in knowing that this wasn’t to be a solitary event. Rather, forthcoming rumours had alerted me to the fact that another secret show was scheduled for the following weekend.

To make things easier, this one was (somewhat) hiding in plain sight. Announced weeks beforehand, contemporaries, former tourmates, and Good Things bill-sharers Regurgitator had detailed a club show at St Kilda’s Prince Bandroom for Saturday, 19th November. Supported by The Fauves and Worker & Parasite, thinly veiled references (or misspellings, depending on what side of the fence you’re on) to the lineup featuring ‘Fauvism’ indicated this was to be a repeat of the 1998 Caveat Emptour, in which TISM, Regurgitator, and The Fauves toured together for the greatest tour I also sadly missed.

I was quick to buy tickets, but in true fashion, I was again set to be cutting it pretty close. In fact, the gig was planned for the afternoon and my flights from the US were to see me flying back at 8am that very morning, leaving me with very little recovery time before the show.

That wasn’t all, though. While my flight from Tulsa to Dallas took place as planned, a connecting trek from Dallas to Los Angeles was delayed, ultimately leaving me with all of 15 minutes to make my final flight from Los Angeles to Melbourne. As the occupants of the full American Airlines plane disembarked at a glacially slow pace in Dallas (which comprised me listening to a bootleg recording of the previous week’s gig), a quick glance at my phone alerted to me some news; Regurgitator had cancelled their Saturday show. COVID was blamed, but details were sparse. 

As I frantically tried to contact those in the know with the few minutes I had, it dawned on me that I was about to spend the next 15 hours incommunicado, completely clueless as to whether I would land in Melbourne with a TISM gig on my itinerary or not. Whisper that a new show was set to fill the now-vacated venue at the previously-announced time came forth, but I remained fearful that I would emerge from the flight to the news that either the gig was completely cancelled, or that it had (somehow) taken place on the Friday evening instead.

Rather, as I returned to Australian soil on the Saturday morning, I discovered a group by the name of Banjo Paterson-Lakes would be descending upon St Kilda that very evening. I could read between the lines; TISM would be onstage that very afternoon, I would soon be on my way, and this review would finally begin to get to the point.

I'd be lying if I said I knew what to expect as I wandered up to the venue on that windy afternoon. Half an hour before the doors opened, a snaking line of fans sporting TISM shirts alerted me to the fact the word of this secret show had in fact gotten out. And for those unsure if they were in the right place, an A4 piece of paper outside the entrance spoiled the surprise, explicitly telling punters that TISM would be performing a headline set that afternoon.

Excitement was high, and a sea of faces – featuring young newcomers, diehard fans, and an array of familiar faces that have attended all manner of TISM-adjacent events over the years – swarmed inside the venue to nab the perfect vantage point for the event.

To kick off the event, Melbourne artist Our Carlson was featured as support. A passionate performer and staple of local stages, Carlson may have seemed like an odd choice to some, but in actuality, his very approach to his craft made him a perfect pairing for support of the Melbourne collective.

Backed by Cash Savage as his DJ, Carlson's set featured thumping electronic beats behind his forceful semi-spoken word delivery. Sharing cuts from his debut EP, A Bit Much, among a handful of as-yet-unreleased tracks, Carlson's set was – like they usually are – somewhat polarising for the newcomers and heavily appreciated by his fanbase. After all, it can be a little jarring to hear a long-haired, jumpsuited musician discuss topics like ableism and epilepsy while punters comment that he sounds like a one man local version of Sleaford Mods, but Carlson had found his people.

As the likes of 'Kickon', 'Ideology', or 'Cappo Dog' ("Your mum’s a cappo dog, your dad’s a cappo dog, Ray Cappo’s a cappo dog, everyone you know is a cappo dog") washed over the crowd, paired by Carlson and Savage's jovial banter between tracks, it was clear that the afternoon was off to a stellar start. Now, it was time for TISM to bring it home.

Now's the time for me to be candid once more. I've spent the vast majority of the last 20 years as a diehard TISM fan. My physical collection of their work has been deemed 'excessive', my fondness of their recorded output has been labelled 'exhausting', and much of the time I spent appreciating their work could amount to a wasted youth. But despite how much of their work I've consumed over the years, I'd be lying if I said I was ready for what it was that unfolded before me on that stage.

Following a pre-recorded segment from Humphrey B. Flaubert (and a communal audience chant of "TISM are wankers"), the seven members of TISM filed out onto the stage, dressed in their trademark black outfits, with only their respective eyes, mouths, and hands visible. In much the same way that armchair experts would likely fumble should a football be thrown their way, years of admiration from afar left me unable to actively grasp the spectacle that lay before me. The tangible iteration of one of my favourite bands appeared in front of me after so long, and like a musical version of an eldritch horror, I could barely make sense of it.

I'm likely exaggerating a little, though as vocalist Ron Hitler-Barassi took the microphone to belt out the lyrics to 'The Art/Income Dialectic', it felt surreal, a feeling only compounded as the entirety of the band joined in for 'I Drive A Truck'. As a placard adorning the title was tossed to the side, and members either showcased their instruments and/or moves, it became crystal clear to all of us that we were indeed witnessing one of the country's finest bands again doing what it is that had made them household names so many years ago.

For the following hour, each and every member of TISM pushed themselves to the limit – a feat made even more impressive by the fact that next month marks the 40th anniversary of their inception. Revered singles such as 'Whatareya?' and 'Greg! The Stop Sign!!' were paired with fan favourites such as 'Martin Scorsese Is Really Quite A Jovial Fellow' and 'Death Death Death', with the respective members of TISM performing with the ferocious intensity of a band in their '20s (the dripping sweat on Hitler-Barassi notwithstanding).

Hitler-Barassi's standard mid-set diatribe (ostensibly titled 'That's Why I Became A Tradie') showcased the fact that even new writings from the group still contain the same hard-hitting satire their work always did. And even the choice of setlist was enough to be accessible for newcomers, yet still deep enough to satisfy the diehards. (Personally, I'd have added in the likes of 'Give Up For Australia', though I'm thankful nothing from 2001's De Rigueurmortis made the cut.)

Despite it all though, it still felt immensely strange to physically be witnessing a band such as this on stage. I was more than aware of what a TISM gig entailed, but seeing it contextualised was something that even the most visceral, eloquent writing could never fully explain. For almost as long as I've been a fan of the group, TISM have not been a live band. Their home was elsewhere. They were relegated to CDs, records, and tapes on the shelf, live recordings on YouTube, and – these days – streaming services which paid a pittance. Thus, seeing them on the stage was akin to witnessing your favourite teacher at the grocery store. It was as if they were entirely out of context; it almost felt wrong.

I almost felt as though I shouldn't in fact be witnessing the band's members gasp for breath between songs, as though I shouldn't have seen these impressively-choreographed 'dance' routines unfold before me, and as though I definitely shouldn't have been hit in the head by a paper plate which was helpfully labelled with the group's name.

But while the events that preceded the event almost felt like a cosmic sign I shouldn't head along to this gig, the mere fact I was actually witnessing TISM live after many, many years was one of catharsis, excitement, and relief. I can see why so many fans have told me time and time again that by not seeing them live, I'd not truly experienced the band. I can see why so many label them as their favourite live bands. And I could see why the word 'notorious' was attached to almost every discussion of their shows.

When I first really became a fan of TISM, the band were just about to break up, but while I was realistic in regards to my chances in regards to seeing them live, I remained hopeful that somehow the stars would align and I would witness them live. Now, after almost two decades, I can close this review with three simple words. No, not the somewhat "TISM are shit", but rather, "Worth the wait".

TISM @ Prince Bandroom, St Kilda 19/11/22 Setlist

'The Art/Income Dialectic'
'I Drive A Truck'
'Whatareya?'
'I'll 'Ave Ya'
'Thunderbirds Are Coming Out'
'Lillee Caught Dilley Bowled Milli Vanilli'
'What Nationality Is Les Murray?'
'I'm Interested In Apathy'
'Diatribe'
'Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me'
'The History Of Western Civilisation'
'Greg! The Stop Sign!!'
'Saturday Night Palsy'
'Martin Scorsese Is Really Quite A Jovial Fellow'
'Death Death Death'
'The Mystery Of The Artist Explained'
'(He'll Never Be An) Ol' Man River'
'Defecate On My Face'