Hunting Grounds are going to fuck your sister, and kill your brother. That’s right; Ballarat’s bratty breakout sons are coming for you. And when they get you you’re going to feel it in your bones.
But don’t let Hunting Grounds’ youthful, hyperactive posturing distract you from the indisputable truth that this is one special troupe of boys. The sound is frenetic, all weighty keys and thumping beats. The just-abrasive-enough alternating vocals of yelping Lachlan Morrish and commanding Michael Belsar are the perfect combination of reckless imagination. Forceful guitars are given momentum by the persistent, frantic rhythms courtesy of Daniel Marie and John Crawford. As for those melodies that have you bashing your face into marble countertops in vain attempts to evacuate them from your brain? Thank the man on keys Galen Strachan and the untamable Tim Street on guitar for those. For want of just one word to describe Hunting Grounds, let’s call it garage-disco- funk-punk on the grandest, sexiest, most insane scale. To say the least.