Unpop Culture: Kim Salmon and the Surrealists

1991, and after a decade of experimental oneupmanship, Sydney’s Black Eye Records is in danger of swallowing itself whole. Enter Kim Salmon and the Surrealists.

To be a tenderloin in a turd butcher is to be an innovator—the status quo may only bind so long, for normality often slips into parody. Fitting, then, that a quota of brown uniformity did once evolve to a steakhouse special, not before a decade of absurdist diarrhoea. Porcelain bus be gone, for on bended knee we kiss the hand of the prime cut who brought forth Kim Salmon and the Surrealists.

The fact that the plurality of Black Eye bands are self-lampooning caricatures should mirror obvious to the trained ear. The acid-fried output of Lubricated Goat, or the boudoir-repellent of samplers, Waste Sausage and Leather Donut, only render themselves wishy-washy in duplication. Best to allow the originality to ferment, rather than wring it for all it’s worth on future releases. Black Eye Records was guilty of such travesties, and by 1989 had mimicked its uniqueness into commonality.

Kim Salmon was already an underground icon prior to the Surrealists’ debut, Hit Me With That Surreal Feel. From his spelunking around Perth with garage punkers The Cheap Nasties and The Exterminators, the gods had proffered Salmon a man beyond. By 1981, he’d catapulted his Scientists to the forefront of post-punk London, ensuring his legacy remain annal penetrant.

Co-founding Beasts of Bourbon with Thug frontman Tex Perkins, Scientists bandmate Boris Sudjovic, Johnnys’ guitarist Spencer P. Jones, and Le Hoodoo Gurus drummer James Baker, Salmon dedicated a large portion of the 1980s cementing the band’s legacy as an Australian rock monster. On a break from touring in 1988, he formed The Surrealists with Brian Hooper (bass) and Tony Pola (drums) thus adding extra depth to the definition of sleaze.

Worldly elements grit the souls of Kim Salmon and the Surrealists with bold influence—chanson extraordinaire Serge Gainsbourg, country liberator Lee Hazelwood, and Burt Bacharach perforate the tunes with a honey drizzle, lending the open-shirt alt. rockers an air of sophistication. This allowed the trio to carve a niche, dragging Black Eye Records away from its loop of banality

Acting as a correctional tool for over-thinking musicians, Kim Salmon and the Surrealists ooze sexuality, both barebone and bareback. During each solo, over each bridge, primal attitude swims without pretence. The peaks and troughs of a marathon romp are represented amid every note, ensuring climax coincides with a yearn for a cigarette.

One solitary proponent cannot be denied: with the Surrealists’ success came a coup-de-gras for Black Eye Records, pulling the beleaguered label from the mire and into the zeitgeist once more. As for Kim Salmon, his agency spreads far and wide, permeating the scuzz rock consciousness to this day.