Sporco by O: A 1994 Aussie Rock Gem That’s Still Worth a Spin
Alright, buckle up, because we’re diving into Sporco, the gloriously scrappy rock album from Australia’s own O (yeah, just the letter—don’t ask me why). Released in ’94 on Chapter Music and Salmonberry Records, this record is like that weird cousin who shows up uninvited but somehow steals the party. It’s raw, it’s quirky, and honestly? It’s kind of unforgettable.
Let’s talk tracks for a sec. First off, there’s “Liquid Paper Mum,” which hits you with this jangly guitar riff that feels like someone spilled coffee on your shoes—but in a good way. The vocals are half-shouted, half-sung, like the singer just woke up and decided to wing it. And yet, it works. This tune sticks in your brain like gum under a desk. I think it’s the mix of chaotic energy and those sneaky little hooks—it’s messy, sure, but so damn charming.
Then there’s “Sweet Bison (I Like You),” which might have the most random title ever. What’s a sweet bison doing in a rock song? No clue. But the track itself is pure gold—a slow burn that builds into this big, fuzzy wall of sound. There’s something about the way the drums crash in halfway through that makes you wanna grab an air guitar and go full rockstar mode in your living room. It’s not perfect, but perfection’s boring anyway.
The rest of the album keeps the vibe alive with gems like “Free Range Ablett” (whatever that means) and “Access The Fuckin’ Voltage,” which sounds exactly as unhinged as its name suggests. These guys weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel—they were too busy having fun spinning it sideways.
What strikes me most about Sporco is how unapologetically Aussie it feels. You can practically hear the sunburnt desert vibes bleeding through the speakers. It’s not polished or slick; instead, it’s got that rough-around-the-edges charm that reminds you music doesn’t need to take itself too seriously all the time.
So, would I recommend giving Sporco a listen? Hell yeah. Just don’t expect some grand masterpiece—it’s more like hanging out with mates who are slightly tipsy and telling ridiculous stories. Oh, and here’s the kicker: if you’re reading this review years later, chances are you’ll still find this album kicking around secondhand stores or buried deep in streaming playlists. Because let’s face it, great rock never really dies—it just gets weirder with age.
