In 1817, French engineer Augustin-Jean Fresnel was studying polarization and invented the term “fresnel rhomb,” and also unknowingly laid plans for a new wave of Australian punk rock 175 years later. Enter Jason Whalley, who in 1992, somewhere on the Sydney University campus, opens a random book in search of a band name needed to be officially entered in a local battle of the bands, and by butchering the pronunciation, WAH-LAH, the prophecy was finally fulfilled. Frenzal Rhomb was born.
“We named the band, but then we’re sort of stuck with it,” laughs Whalley. “I remember when we first met Fat Mike he said, ‘you’re going to have to change your name at least for the American market. No one knows what the fuck that’s gonna mean,’ and I was like, ‘no one knows what it means in Australia!’”
Whalley, the vocalist and only original member left after three decades, has seen it all and then some. From numerous lineup changes to completely life-altering health issues, they have pushed and clawed their way through the tumultuous times. The Cup of Pestilence, an April release via Fat Wreck Chords was named from a post-festival night in a hotel room circa 2000, where a hotel manager was forcing patrons to drink from an ornate goblet (of sorts) containing many, many different types of alcohol. It was called the Cup of Pestilence, its lore lain dormant in the band’s journey, waiting to take its true form in the 10th studio album from the group.
“Sometimes, you come back from recording and you’re like, ‘Oh, this is the best thing we’ve ever done,’ explains Whalley. “Then, two weeks, a month later, you listen to it again and think ‘I could have tried a bit harder on that one.’ But this one, I feel like it’s pretty consistent.”
This is the third record Bill Stevenson and the Blasting Room in Colorado have been a part of. It was the perfect place to dial into high tempos and melodies. The band worked through 60 or so completed demos, eventually narrowing it down to 19, with compulsory voting within the band so no one feels unheard. From the paranoia-ridden, yet self-explanatory, “I Think My Neighbour is Planning to Kill Me,” to “Horse Meat,” where a mate breaks edge by eating raw horse meat with a raw quail egg on top, each track contains a snippet of the glorious life of Frenzal Rhomb.
“They are all true stories in some way about people that we know. I live in this neighborhood in Sydney where we’ve got like a laneway behind our houses and it’s a bit of a magnet for socializing. We accept all comers and there’s a lot of open sheds and shenanigans that go on and fires and music. In any kind of community, you don’t [always] see eye to eye, and you just have to absorb these people because you live with them, and out of that comes a lot of stories.”
Photo courtesy of Michael Dallinger.
