Songs are four creative individuals from Sydney who make indie music that sounds like a box full of good books, cup cakes, clouds, kittens and promises. Honestly, listen to it and tell me it doesn’t!

They’ve just put out a divine new album and to celebrate they’re playing a series of shows this week with a bunch of other awesome makers of music. All details on the flyer above.

Our ex-music editor Jordan Redaelli caught up with Moby in New York recently and became one of the few people to ever elicit more than a series of pained grunts and monosyllabic responses from the man. You can watch them nerd out over Moby’s impressive collection of beat and note making machines right here.

Moby’s one of the artists lined up to play the Rhythm and Vines festival in New Zealand from the 29th-31st December this month along with 2 Many DJs, LCD Sound System and heaps of other people the website will tell you about.

To win a double pass to the festival, tell us at stuff@viceaustralia.com in 25 words or less how you would entertain Moby on a night out in New Zealand.

I was on the isolated end of a small island near Tahiti; no one was around for miles. I decided to do some nude sunbathing. That was nice for a while, but I’d brought a Hawaiian sling on the airplane, which is a long pole, a rubber band, and a trident affixed on the end for spear fishing, so I figured I should use it.

Even if I hadn’t seen a girl in several days, the idea of catching a fish and cooking it for dinner sounded pretty romantic. I snorkeled out into the middle of the lagoon, kicked around leisurely, and enjoyed the breakers exploding along the edge of the reef. I was completely overwhelmed by the shades of blue. Soon I saw massive schools of fish and skewered one in the side, but just as I squinted through my mask to gauge its size, a gigantic mass lurked behind it in the distance.

I whipped around and started kicking for shore, but in my panic I snagged my leg on a coral head and the water became bloodied. I screamed a string of expletives, but it just sounded like a bunch of gurgling bubbles. Not only was I bleeding in tiger shark territory, I had a struggling fish attached to my pole. A wave rushed over and sent me closer to the reef; the tip of my cock grazed the fire coral. The horror took a few moments to set in. FUCK FUCK FUCK! I had filleted my cock.

Back on shore I watched my penis and leg bleed simultaneously. I howled in pain as I doused my wounds with alcohol and secured a strip of an old t-shirt with some duct tape. After experiencing the trauma of cutting my cock open I was thoroughly disappointed to see that the catch consisted of puffer fish, the ocean’s equivalent to the porcupine; completely inedible and poisonous.

I looked like an idiot bumbling around naked on a beach with a penis scarf, but fashion was the least of my worries. How shitty would it be to die from blood loss out the penis?

Sometimes girls see or feel that bump on my cock and ask about it. Usually I just tell them I cut myself shaving, because if they knew the truth they’d want to be taken out to a seafood restaurant to get in the mood to hear other shark stories, and let’s be honest, “lobster special” just sounds fucking expensive.

Image source: Chicago Reader / Photo by Saverio Truglia

Being Canadian, I don’t really know how American politics work, but I still read more about them than Canadian politics because they’re so goddamn entertaining.  The most recent bit of juicy Canadian political intrigue I can remember is “Wafergate,” in which it was alleged that our Protestant Prime Minister pocketed a communion wafer at a Catholic funeral. Scandal! By contrast, American politics are saucy as fuck even down at an insignificant level–especially in Illinois, where a prominent leather daddy stands poised to come from behind and beat a lesbian in some sort of election that is being held only for other countries’ amusement.

Apparently Joe Laiacona found a loophole he could use to kick a well-heeled lady out of office and that’s not so juicy but it gets better. He’s openly gay, a pillar of the Illinois leather community, and, as an added bonus, he’s pulling this electoral stunt off against an out lesbian. Hell, he writes a popular leather column, “a sort of Ann Landers in leather,” as the story goes.  He’s written books too–not the usual politician-penned tomes of inspiration with names like Dreams of Hope or Congressional Commando or whatever, but a book called Philosophy in the Dungeon: The Magic of Sex & Spirit.  Sold!

This sort of stuff would never fly in Canada.  We can barely handle politicians who use the phrase “fuddle-duddle.” In the States, they’ve got politicians who are horny wrestlers, sassy mercenaries, Sonny Bono, and yes, professional fuddler-duddlers.

The very closest Canada ever came to political relevance (read: media interest) was when Prime Minister Jean Chretien publicly choked some young guy.  To my great sadness, and as final proof that Canada is not as cool or media-savvy as America, he did not then proceed to fuck the bejesus out of him.

Despite how great they are, I don’t know a thing about American politics.  I don’t know what a “state representative” is.  I don’t even know the difference between Congressmen and Senators.  In Canada, “Senators” are either hockey players or a bunch of people who make six figures a year because they’re friends with the Prime Minister.  Near as I can tell, American politics are organized to maximize the number of politicians, and thus, political scandals.  It’s a country where anybody can run for office, which is OK, but what’s great is that everybody does run for office. Of course, Brazil is still miles ahead.

They recently recorded a live version for American Apparel’s VIVA radio station, and it’s awesome. It’s done in a quiet sing-songy lullaby voice. We liken it to the kind of sound you’d get if N.W.A. sat cross-legged in the dirt at summer camp holding hands singing “Fuck the Police” gently and with inside voices.

Raveonettes - “Boys Who Rape Should All Be Destroyed”

If there’s one thing I couldn’t care less about, it’s soccer. That’s why I still don’t even know what this retard German soccer player who decided to jump in front of a train last week looks like (which is probably why I don’t get half of the jokes circulating among the guys in the office right now). Still, despite all my indifference towards this stupid phenomenon where 11 guys rub their bodies all up on one other while chasing a ball around a field, I am suddenly forced to care because the authorities from German media watch group FSM have contacted me, presumably because of Robert Enke.

Seems the FSM is scanning the web for “dangerous” material that will “animate” people to do the wrong things, and the German version of Viceland is on their list. Up until a few minutes ago we USED to have a series articles up there that explained the myriad ways of leaving this life behind, just in case you’re all sad and disturbed and your parents are mean and that guy in tenth grade doesn’t like you back. These were called the “Vice Guides to Suicide I through V.” The FSM says our words are “harmful to the development of young children.” Duh, but anyway, how many four-year-olds are reading up on ending their lives? How many four-year-olds are reading Vice? Regardless, we had to take it down or else pay a fine that would drain our vaults.

There are piles and piles of arguments I could make about this cease-and-desist letter, but all I know is that from now on I don’t buy into these organizations anymore. FSM stands for “voluntary self-control of the media,” which is just nice talk for making us kill our own words. O, Irony! how we thought we left you behind in 1994.

Assuming the ACOG is right, that at that age cancer crawls up the cootch at a very slow pace, this still doesn’t account for all young ladies not having a ton of money to spend on that expensive HPV vaccination. And unless all 20-somethings have suddenly been converted to Kirk Cameron’s religion (it’s possible that cool book campaign worked on a few people), it’s very almost certainly most likely they’re boning… which means they’re catching STDs. And who heads to the doctor “just in case” for an STD check-up? No one. People only go when they slummed it the other night fucking a human garbage can it burns to pee or there’s a bump they can’t rationalize away as razor burn anymore–and you read your health textbook, so you know often times there is no greenish yellow slime oozing from a hole. So sure, cancer up the vaj sucks and it is best to avoid that, but do not listen to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists unless you want to have a vagina that looks like a bunched-up slice of bologna left on a radiator or you want to put your wiener in one.

Crazed for Bamba, aka בַּמְבָּה‎, a hungry 35-year-old bandit in Israel panicked when a gripping craving for the popular peanut-butter flavored snack struck in the middle of the night. All vendors were closed so he picked a convenience store lock and ransacked the place. According to the Jerusalem Post, he ate the contents of one bag and sauntered out, leaving the packaging behind. The next day, police arrested an enormous man with strangely saggy gray skin and big floppy ears who also has an extremely dextrous, protracted, peculiar nose that can trumpet sounds of triumph and pick a single blade of grass. He walks on all fours, sleeps standing up, and is afraid of mice.

VICE Australia is looking for a sales & marketing intern to come join the team. Duties will include sales support, advertiser promotions, research, managing online content & blogging, event production and selling ads. You’ll work across the magazine, viceland.com, VBS.tv and our special projects division Virtue.

A good knowledge of youth culture and the online world are essential. Some background in media or marketing would be helpful, and an enthusiasm for all things VICE is a must. You will need to be confident, a self-starter, organised and have good computer skills. Most importantly, you’ll want to learn lots from our team and force us to give you a proper job.

The position is open for our Melbourne and Sydney offices, and is flexible in terms of days per week depending on your situation. It would suit a recent university graduate or final year students who’s biggest fear is ending up in an office cubicle, pissing your 20s down the toilet, along with your pride, potential for greatness, sense of self etc.

Email michael@viceaustralia.com with your details and CV.

I was just the other day thinking that it’s a bit weird that literally everyone I know in Barcelona has been robbed or mugged at least once in the last six months.But no one really talks about it anymore. I guess it’s a bit like living in a warzone or with monsoons–you’re so absorbed in rebuilding the family home every 18 months that the reason why ceases to be such a big deal. Still, 80,000 muggings a year in the old town (20,000 more than in the whole of London) points to something being seriously wrong. So, Barcelona… When was the last time you got robbed?

Marta, 25

Vice: Have you ever been robbed in Barcelona?
Marta: Yes, a few times. The last time I was drinking a cup of tea in the Raval and they grabbed my bag off the seat beside me.

Did you lose anything valuable?
Not really, but there was something in it that I’ve had since I was little. An amulet that I used to wear when I was a scout.

Oh I’m sorry. Are you tempted to take the law into your own hands?
Up until now no, but maybe if it happens again…

Jordi, 41

Vice: Hello bearded man. I bet nobody’s ever fucked with you.
Jordi: Quite the opposite. I’ve been robbed a few times. Up until last month I was living on the street and making a living playing the guitar.

What did they take?
Four guitars.

Ha ha. No, I’m sorry, so what are you doing now?
Selling handicrafts, ashtrays and stuff.

I suppose that’s safer, no-one would steal this shit. Have you had any problems with the cops?
Sometimes they hassle me, but I’m always laid back about it. I’m sure if I was aggressive back to them they’d take the lot just to get at me.

Marcos, 26

Vice: You look like an easy target. What did they take?
Marcos: My bag, but it didn’t have much in it: a sweater, a scarf, and a library book.

How’d it happen?
It was about seven in the morning. I was walking home, drunk, chatting on my phone. Some guy came up to me and told me to give me his phone. When I said no, he took out a knife and held it to my neck.

What happened then?
I tried to get free and we started fighting. I ended up on the floor and he grabbed my bag and ran off. My face was cut up beneath my ear. It was pretty scary.

Are you going to take to the streets like Charles Bronson in Death Wish?
Who?

Mirko, 25

Vice: So what happened to you?
Mirko: Actually, I’ve never been robbed in Barcelona.

At last, someone who hasn’t fallen for the imaginary football trick.
Although my girfriend did get her bag stolen. It was on our first date.

Were you drunk?
Not really. We were having a meal.

Very romantic. I guess the rest of the date didn’t go too well.
Actually, it did. She was really upset and needed consoling. We’re still together.