DNRC051 | 7″ | 2004 | DELETED
This, the final DNRC release for 2004, was the song that spelt out the letters of the word “death” for its makers, the somewhat divine and loopy Sea Pigeons. Long-term fans will already own their superb debut album, I Dream of Genius but for new fans, this single is also a must-have, if only for the absence of a b-side, due to the fact that the song was so ferocious it could not be recorded. The Sea Pigeons will be forever remembered as the band that put Ganmain on the musical map but of course folks living in Grong-Grong and Mattong will tell you a different story. They’ll try to tell you that The Sea Pigeons were just a Mangoes tribute band; that lead singer C. Pigeon had no musical talent whatsoever, preferring to bellow his asinine vocals down the shafts of rusted orgas; that irrigation, far from increasing salinity, actually improves the quality of the water table; that there’s nothing wrong with selling rice to Japan; that anyone who leaves Ganmain-Grong-Grong-Mattong for a better life in Sydney is a dickhead *and* a wanker; that boarding school makes men of boys and arseholes of men; that wool classing is a noble profession; that Khe Sahn is Australia’s unofficial national anthem; that they always knew there was something suspect about INXS; that anyone who forms a band in a country town must be some kind of poofter; that ugg bots are the equivalent of formal dress; that roo shooting is not for girls; that Wagga Wagga isn’t that bad a place, you know; that eating neenish tarts is a sign of blatant homosexuality; that any kid who wears braces is a tool; in short, that The Sea Pigeons were a bunch of nancy-boy try-hards who wouldn’t last ten minutes in a fight in Grong-Grong or Mattong. But anyone who tried to fool you with such a load of cruns would be so far wrong their arse would come out the back end of backwards double wrong too. The Sea Pigeons shat all over any other band from the Murrumbidgee Irrigation Area. And that, sadly, was the reason why even this superb single was, just like all the others, deleted the moment it appeared, like a rabbit in the myxamatosis of our headlights.
