THE MUSK STORY

Musk. Four more dim witted and inept cock fondlers you are never likely to meet. I should now - I manage them. "Why would you manage a band of dickheads who you clearly have no time for?" I hear you ask. The answer to that and to so many of life's trickier questions is of course money. They owe me a fair bit. And it's absolutely inconceivable i will see my dough again unless by some miracle Musk manage to make some.

I've known Mikey, Rat, Hanki and Derek since we attended Yawangalong public school together over 3 decades ago. It was at an end of year school talent show that Musk first performed - bumbling through a cover cover of Marty Rhone's Denim & Lace. It wasn't an overly competent or remarkable performance and as such it provided a blueprint the band has never deviated from.

I observed their career.... [can't quite think of the right word here - flourish is definitely not it].. continue in the subsequent years, at blue light discos and a prolonged Tuesday night residency at the Imperial Hotel which eventually ended abruptly after Hank was caught attempting to steal a pool table.

In 1992 the band decided to release a greatest hits package. Whilst never being a prolific act, Musk had spasmodically recorded several cassette only singles and eps over the years. The compilation was intended to ride the wave of the new CD technology that was sweeping town and be the turning point in Musk's career. Band members spoke in hushed tones about a possible gig in "the city" at an undisclosed venue.

At the time my muffler panel beating / pool installation business was having a bumper year. Record hot temperatures meant plenty of demand for pools as well as an increase in car accidents as a result of a higher than usual rate of drink driving.

I had a bit of spare cash and somehow convinced myself investing in Musk was a sound fiscal strategy. I later discovered there was a small gas leak in my office which may have been impairing my judgement at the time.

Anyway - I offered to loan them the money needed to manufacture the cds and record several brand new songs for the release. Projected CD sales would see me get my dough back plus a tidy profit.

Needless to say it didn't happen.

Shortly after receiving the cash, the band went out to celebrate. They shouted the bar at the Imperial. They spent several hundred at Silhouettes Night Club trying to invent a new cocktail. Eight grog and fag soaked hours later the band had spent all but $180 of the two grand I loaned them. In desperation - they returned to the Imperial to pump the remaining amount into a card machine - with no success.

They now started to panic. Knowing full well I would look dimly upon their lack of financial responsibility, they hatched a desperate and drunken scheme to win back the lost funds. By dawn, Derek's 2 bedroom shack was burnt to the ground as part of the world's most ill conceived insurance scam. Derek wasn't insured, nor did he even own the property. He in fact rented the place from me. The house did contain all the master tapes of Musk's back catalogue [silver lining?] and the fire spread to the back shed which housed a ute, also owned by me.

Musk were now in my debt significantly further than initially planned. I was in an awkward position and was forced to exercise my legal prerogative and threatened to have them all killed. They went underground for several years and for all intents and purposes the band had broken up. Life went on for me and I refocused my attentions on panel beating and pool installations.

However a year ago I received a surprise visit form Rat. He informed me Musk had reformed and wished to repay their debt through moneys raised from their triumphant introduction to the "big city" music scene. Apparently the four of them had set themselves up in a 3 bedroom apartment in Penrith which had been converted into a studio, communications nerve centre and home brewery for band operations. They were confident that Musk would be a financially viable entity once they conquered the competetive and trendy inner city music scene. Given their mixed results in conquering the Yawangalong music scene I must admit to having some doubts.

But that's where it sits today. Will Musk find an audience in the big smoke? Has Hanki learnt the size and weight of a pool table makes it virtually impossible to drag out of a hotel undetected? Will I ever see my fucking money ever again?

Not likely. But I have found the creation of this website and the opportunity to share my disdain for this bunch of dickheads to a wider audience quite liberating. Long may it continue.

Dave Clarkson

Clarko's Panel Beating & Pool Installations

Musk Management

Oct 2009