Hello Operator - a tribute to Australia's most offensive comedy album

If there's ever a serious discussion about the most influential Australian comedy albums I want a seat on the panel. Obviously, various 12th Man recordings are at the top of the pile, but I'd like to make the case that Kevin Bloody Wilson's Kev's Back (The Return of the Yobbo) is next in the queue.

Not that you'd play it for your grandmother, or that it in any way lines up with today's moral standards, but find me another non-Billy Birmingham production of original material that is still remembered - at least in some part - by so many people. 

Sure, this is very much a middle-aged person thing, and anybody under 40 probably has no idea what I'm on about. Find an older person and show them, I bet they'll know what I'm on about. Meanwhile, I'll accept nominations for anything this millennium that has had the same impact. Bad luck Tripod fans, you'll never manage it.

Something else you'll never manage again is shifting 280,000 albums, and even that was only good enough for the eighth best-selling record of the year. The #1 in 2019 sold half that. One of those 280,000 was my uncle (no way my aunt was involved), whose house I swiped the cassette from during the summer of 1993/1994. I doubt he noticed, it was lifted from a collection of tapes that had been stuffed at the back of a cupboard untouched for years. No idea what else was in the collection, certainly nothing that moved me to theft. Sadly, by this time the cover was long gone and I didn't get to see Kev pissing his initials against a wall with replica urine so dark that he'd be immediately hospitalised if it was real.

There's nothing complicated about Kev's Back, it's 10 comedy songs that you wouldn't play on the radio unless you wanted to get sacked. However, I caution you not to confuse the use of much wildly offensive racial language with it being some sort of proto-Pauline Hanson's One Nation style wankfest. It's full of language you'd refer to as 'outdated' at best, but from the days when politics was a bit more complicated than one-eyed barracking for parties like footy teams, a cameo impersonation of Bob Hawke treats him like a hero at the expense at the Liberals. Doesn't mean you should drive down the road playing it from loudspeakers though, and this post will firmly nail down the coffin of any remaining ambitions I had for holding public office. 

But do be warned in advance of clicking any links, there's stuff in here that you'd be cancelled/bricked in the street for doing these days. But, if you're capable of simultaneously thinking something is offensive and funny a lot of it is, in the words of Rodney Rude - piss funny. Please form an orderly queue to complain. 

Speaking of Rude, he lost to Wilson in an Ali vs Foreman style battle for that year's inaugural ARIA Award for Best Comedy Release. Imagine the CARNAGE if an album like this was nominated for an award now, much less won? There would be street riots. The Rude/Wilson axis took on a field including Austin Tayshus, Vince Sorrenti and Australia You're Standing In It (featuring Captain Snooze). Against that lot, I can only imagine Rude Rides Again (featuring the single I Hate Cats) ran second. 

Rude went on to be the Glenn Close of the ARIAs, nominated a further eight times without success, before bowing out after an unsuccessful 2009 campaign for Rodney Rude Goes The Growl. It's all been downhill from there - last year, Chris Lilley got nominated for an album featuring "a South African lesbian pet psychic to the stars".

Not everyone shared the enthusiasm of the ARIA judges. For example, future Walkley Award winning journalist Richard Guilliatt was particularly unimpressed.

Do your own research, but there aren't that many poo jokes. He's pretty much right on the rest of the content, but can you trust anyone who says 'norks' instead of 'norgs'? Also, explain to me how an album can go 'top 10' on a radio station Richard?

As I never had the official track listing, and I don't remember the cassette labelling the sides, it took  roughly 25 years to find out I'd be listening to this in the wrong order. As we'll find out shortly, the track listing makes no sense, and though I absolutely reject it you're free to make your own decisions. Now, please strap yourself in for outrage and let's tackle this one spicy track at a time:

SIDE 1

1. The Last Lager Waltz
This is what I'm talking about with the tracklist, why would you put something with the word 'last' in it as the opening track? Didn't even make sense when I thought it was the start of the second side, and these are the topics I wish Andrew Denton had tackled when he interviewed Mr. Bloody Wilson. 

Maybe they put it first because it's a good old fashioned comedy romp with nothing more offensive than him stumbling back from the toilet with his dong out. Other than Hell's Bells, find me a better opening line on an Australian album than "I'm trying to waltz and I can't even walk", which is followed by four minutes of Kev making a pillock of himself at an old fashioned dance after necking "a bottle of Bundy and two dozen cans". 

The highlight is undoubtedly the wounded cry of "HE HIT ME!" after spewing on somebody's car, but it's not an entirely wasted night, as he ends by saying "I've never had this much fun before. It's great at the Last Lager Waltz". Which is nice. There is also a music video where Kev plays drunk better than Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas but Christ only knows where it was shown. Rodney Rude might have unexpectedly hosted Countdown, but I guarantee you Molly never gave this a run. 

2. That's What He Really Said

Look, you're not supposed to laugh at the misfortune of the Mayor of Hiroshima and there's a term used for indigenous Australians that would have you wiped out at warp speed now but this isn't a review of Nanette, some blood will be spilt. If you take nothing else from this album, consider the opening line "I've come to the conclusion, 'cos I get around a bit, that half of what you read is bull and the other half's all shit", and how it remains valid today.

Otherwise, stay for Bob Hawke offering Malcolm Fraser two fingers up his arse after “Labor shit on Liberals" and the all-time great suggestion that Pope John Paul II should have called the guy who shot him a "dirty rotten cunt."

3. Kev's Courtin' Song
Where Kev stuffs up the ancient art of cracking on, promoting rampant sexual harassment by opening the door for every Australian male in licensed premises to ask women one of the following questions:

• Do you fuck on first dates?
• Does your dad own a brewery?
• Can I feel your tits, or will you show them to me?

Not for the last time in this review, you can enjoy the comedy value of this while also feeling sorry for people who had the lines parrotted at them by various yobbos and dickheads. These days police would be called, and probably fair enough. From a purely musical perspective, it's Kev's wholehearted belting out of the chorus that makes this track. He casually rolls through the verses, then delivers the key performance indicators with the energy of somebody performing in a country shithole and expecting to be hit with a chair at any minute. What the record offers that a sweaty Kalgoorlie pub doesn't is Motown-style female backing singers, lending an air of class to proceedings.

Kev encourages you to have a go at his method, but provides a warning that it's not foolproof. "I've been spat at, and slapped, and kneed in the knackers", he says, then does a deviant laugh before admitting "but then I got a few fucks as well." In the modern day you could try this on Tinder and avoid the spitting, slapping and kneeing, but I don't fancy you'll get your end away before the account is suspended.

 

4. Breathe Through My Ears
Always the lowlight for me, generally fast-forwarded. There was nothing for me at that age about somebody with a 10 inch tongue who has mastered cunnilingus. Even now, it's by some distance the most boring track on the album. Inessential. However, congratulations if you used to go out with Claire:

5. Mick the Master Farter

Now here's a tale of a great Australian, a man with a "double-jointed arse", who can summon up both power and stench in any scenario from a school rugby game to the America's Cup. Sure Kamahl gets called "sambo", which is not ideal (another highlight of the Denton interview, saying he never used that term, then realising he had), but otherwise this is top-shelf comedy gold, with Mick being called "fucking good" by everyone up to Bob Hawke (him again).

It's also a triumph of production, with the trombone providing substitute fart noises. I always thought kids who picked that instrument were dickheads because it was massive and they had to cart it everywhere, but if your career possibilities included playing mock-flatulence on comedy albums maybe they were the smart ones? Sadly, by the time Who Farted? by The Vaughans arrived they were sampling the real thing instead of going to the trouble of crafting soundalike noises on brass instruments.

SIDE 2

6. Livin' Next Door To Alan
This is what it means when they say "The album includes what is claimed by critics to be overtly racist humour".  While the other tracks that get a bit racial are confined to funny voices, this probably set race relations back by 20 years. Even in the mid-1980s, in an era where King Billy Cokebottle was a viable recording artist, the lyrics seem a bit stiff. Kev claims that he got a request for it when visiting an indigenous community, and the audience fell over themselves laughing at the line "at least we don't got fucking coons live next door to us." I'm not sure that fully takes the curse off it, but string me up by the ankles and wallop me like a pinata, parts of it still make me laugh.

Given that I thought this was the opening track, it obviously made quite the impression. Political correctness hadn't reached me yet, if I heard this for the first time now I'd look around nervously and deny ever having being involved. The main reason I thought this was supposed to open the album is that it's recorded live. What's the point in doing half an album then randomly dropping in a live track? What really roped me in was the unsung pisswreck who fills a moment of silence between Kev's spoken explanation of the song and the actual singing to yell "FUCK YOUR MUM!" Somehow, by the end of the song that's not even in the top 20 most offensive things said.

The album may have been in over a quarter of a million homes, but not everyone was having it. There's no way of talking yourself out of this I don't  think there's any way of talking yourself out of this, but Kev's defence is absurdly unconvincing. 

But while the song reinforces stereotypes and fails the modern comedy test of punching down instead of up, the reviewer has failed to correctly interpret the end of the song. Bondy doesn't leave because his neighbours "stink the place up so bad", it's that Australia's richest man (not having yet bought Channel 9 or gone to jail) keeps being one-upped. 

So, via a suspect moral path, the family who "came down from Meekatharra in a burnt-out blue FJ" are actually the heroes of the story. Scant consolation I'm sure, and I'm legally obliged to say - to avoid ending up at a tribunal - that it doesn't make any of the racial stuff ok.

If you can put the controversy to one side, a couple of moments on this track had a long-lasting influence on me. The first is the bit after the subtle pause before he adds "and the Leyland Brothers!" to a list of Bond's party guests. The live crowd went wild, and I gained a reference fit for when the situation wasn't dire enough to mention of Burke and Wills. Sure, by the time I heard this Mike and Mal had already gone bust after opening a crap theme park and you may as well mention Alby Mangels to people today for all they're going to understand, but it just comes naturally now.  

The second is when Bond calls Ben Lexcen and orders another yacht "twice as big and twice as fast as the one I've already got". The punchline, "That'll fuck 'em!" is something I say in any situation involving going one better than somebody else. So, I can't endorse the song as a whole but there are nuggets of comedy gold if you're brave enough to strap on the Hazmat suit and wade in. Whatever you do, for the love of all that is holy don't read the YouTube comments.

I wonder if people were inspired to rediscover this song after 1995's dreadful Alice, Who The Fuck Is Alice track came out in 1995? I was probably still listening to the Kev version, the tape had done the rounds of most of my classmates by that point and as far as I know none of us ended up as Senate candidates for fringe far-right parties.

7. The Pubic Hair Song
In which Kev takes a scientific look at accents from around the world, determining that they're influenced by rogue pubic hairs. Basically just an excuse to do comedy accents - Italian (on top lip), Chinese (back of throat), Scottish (roof of mouth) and even ocker Australian (up nose). The Indian accent is usually a rich source of comedy in this county (see Mahatma Cote and Matt Tilley pretending to work in a call centre) but surprisingly fails to qualify here.

The backing singers are best on ground. That's who I'd like to hear from, the women paid to turn up at a studio and sing "in this old world there's not a thing to drive you to despair..." so some bloke can do a novelty accented rhyme with "pubic hair." Not all heroes etc... 

8. It Was Over (Kev's Lament)
The second track to earn a music video, and even less likely to be played on Rage. It's a flashback to young Kev unsuccessfully trying to get off with a young lady in the backseat of his car. The line "I remember back on our very first date" implies that the two characters lived happily ever after, but not before a scenario later described as "I had a cunt of a night but me undies had a ball".

I don't know if it's possible to prematurely blow your load multiple times in quick succession, but young Kev manages it x4, to the backing of doo-wop sounds from a knock-off Delltones. Then her dad bangs on the roof of the car and he shits himself as well. However, Kev doesn't go home without some sort of result, the bra obviously came off at some point because he says it was the "first time I'd had a tit in me mouth since I was nine months old". I'm sure people who did get it on in the backseat of cars felt a nostalgic pang from this song, I can't think of anything worse.

My favourite part is the evergreen, fit for all purposes line "You hear people say that they'd love to go back and do things that they did in the past, but if you reckon they were the real good old days you can go shove them right up your arse." Which pretty much says it all about nostalgia. Except for posts about how old comedy albums are better than new ones, they are very good. 

If you're watching the video stay right to the end (or skip to 2.20) for another acting masterclass, this time for his reaction to his soiled underderps sticking to the wall.

9. Dick'taphone
If you think Kev's Courtin' Song ruined the dating scene, imagine the effect this had on Telecom's 013 service? The track that launched a thousand nuisance calls is my favourite, and there's a far-fetched claim that Prince Charles was into it too. Imagine the chaos when this album was flying high in the charts and every second listener thought they'd be the first to ring up and tell the operator to "stick that fucking phone up your fucking arse". Then imagine Charlie doing it. I wish the tabloids had taped him saying that instead of having disappointing sex chat with Camilla.

Also in massive trouble, anybody with the phone number 477 3104. In the interest of science I applied a nine and called it. Sadly, in Melbourne at least, it has been subject to the Tommy Tutone rule and disconnected. Ironically, Kevin Bloody Wilson's home town of Perth seems to be the only place in Australia where the number still works, allegedly for an A. Agostino. We respectfully ask that you do not ring them up and ask to place a call.

The problem with home versions of this song is that the line itself is not funny in isolation. You could ring up Mr or Mrs Agostino and shout it, but it's not funny without the nasal voice Kev sings in. Whispering Jack be buggered, this is one of the great Australian vocal performances, especially the way he pronounces "arse" as "arth" for no obvious reason. That's the mark of a professional, making a subtle change that significantly improves the overall package.

Trouble starts when the unnamed protagonist tries to connect a call to the soon-to-be infamous 477 3104, but is continually thwarted by the Telecom operator's poor hearing. Eventually he cracks the sads, and when told "I got the first bit, I just can't get the last", invites her to... well, you know. A legend was born, and by all accounts it was regularly aired at maximum volume in the most inappropriate places. Like one night at Flagstaff Station in the late 80s, where the staff thought it safe to blast the song through the station PA after the last train departed, only to be confronted by a pair of ashen-faced cleaners who had never heard such filth in all their lives.

We don't hear the operator's response to this helpful suggestion, but she is obviously not happy because a couple of days later the man from Telecom turns up to disconnect Kev's phone for "a breach of regulations", helpfully suggesting "it might help if you'd recall exactly what you said..." as an excuse to do the chorus again.

Kev is offered a chance at redemption by apologising to 'Operator 42', but the Telecom receptionist makes him repeat what he said and we're at it again. Finally, the operator turns up, by which time he's had enough, issues the immortal line "you'd better fuckin' brace yourself 'cos they're bringing it around" and abuses her again. I've always wanted to say that in real life but have never had the chance. Presumably his phone was never reconnected and he had to wait several years for Optus to start.

At the time of thieving this album I was also right into crank calls, aided by a phone box 50 metres from my front door. Perhaps due to concerns that I too would be tracked down and asked to recall exactly what I said, the victims were usually Demtel operators (008 023 025, I even remember the number). There is absolutely no doubt that at some point somebody was told stick the phone and I feel really bad about it now. In fact, I suspect guilt about the cavalcade of artless, abusive calls to anyone with a free call number is why I don't like calling people to this day. By 1994 Demtel had switched to a 'cost of a local call' number and I feel partly responsible. But only partly, everybody in Australia aged 10 and up was tormenting the piss out of them. 

I was too busy laughing at the time to think about the premise, but surely by 1986 you didn't have to ring an operator and ask them to put you through to a number. Either you knew the number and dialled it or you didn't and you rang up to find it out. Maybe, like the Last Lager Waltz it was set in the past? Again, where was Denton with the important questions like this?

10. Hey Santa Claus
If you thought Telecom operators had it bad, imagine how shopping centre Santas went after people heard this? The air would have been turning blue at Westfields across Australia as men of all ages yelled "hey Santa Claus you cunt, where's me fuckin' bike?" in the presence of bewildered children and horrified parents.

In the finest tradition of "I'm normal but my kids are weird", this opens with reminiscences of the simple Christmases of the narrator's youth. They couldn't afford tinsel for their Christmas tree so they'd just wheel old grandad in and "make the old cunt sneeze". That takes up the first 50 seconds, with no indication of the total chaos to follow. Then he overhears his own kids unwrapping presents and we're off the races.

"Hey Santa Claus you cunt.
Where's me fuckin' bike?
I've unwrapped all this other junk and there's nothing that I like
I wrote you a fuckin' letter, and I come to see you twice
You worn out geriatic fart, you forgot my fuckin' bike."

And from that moment on, nobody who wore the Santa Claus suit was safe from abuse. Nor, as it turns out, was the narrator's daughter, who appears to have suffered gross sexual assault from the Santa in question, having been made to "sit right on your hand". Even as a kid this bit was jarring to me, coming a time when priests were starting to be exposed as nonces left, right and centre. Good thing nobody was concentrating on this bit, we were all just DELIGHTING in the excessive use of the ultimate swear word, one that still had the power to shock Australians.

This is the song people are most likely to have heard of, even just in passing. It's a chorus that will certainly get stuck in your head, whether you like it or not. Less memorable (to everyone but me), the description of Santa as a 'pisstank', which hinted towards the title of Bloody Wilson's less successful next album, described here in the most deadpan possible way:

... and that wraps it up. Critics and punters howled for different reasons, while I was several years behind. Probably best I didn't hear it on release given that I was five years old. Once I got into it six years late I was hooked. A year later my other aunt inexplicably gave me a copy of Wired World of Sports 2 for Christmas and my filth education got another big kick again. Two decades later I was described by a workmate as the most creative swearer he'd ever met. Thanks for your contribution Kev.

I have no idea where the tape ended up. By the late 1990s my cassette collection was well beyond its use-by date, and best guess is that the lot got dumped into a Salvos bin shortly before the turn of the century. It wasn't until YouTube came along that I was reunited with these monster hits. Then Spotify arrived, and in the course of researching this post I may have ended up on a post-cultural revolution hit list.

It's claimed that Equatorian Guinean president and confirmed shitbloke Francisco Macias Nguema once executed dissidents with a firing squad dressed as jolly old St. Nick. I will request the same treatment, and when asked if I have any final words I will say "Hey Santa Claus...."