Some bands’ legacy extends far beyond just the scope of their musical output. Melbourne's TISM is one of those bands.

Over six albums and numerous EPs, compilations and live videos, this collective of anonymous, masked musicians managed to confound and offend many.

But they also entertained those of us who felt a part of the joke, even if it was occasionally at our own expense.

Read on to learn how this band were truly one of a kind.

Feature by Steve Bell

Chapter 1

Mystique & Mystery

TISM always favoured anonymity, wearing masks in public and using culture-mocking aliases.

As they became more well-known in Melbourne in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, this element of mystery sparked rivers of rumour, innuendo and misinformation in the pre-digital age.

Some Melbourne music circles, accepted that TISM members were actually fellow shit-stirrers Painters & Dockers in masks – despite clear physical and musical differences.

It allows people to compare us to KISS and to Slipknot, and we obviously have more in common with Kenny G than either of those two bands. Humphrey B. Flaubert

Every fan and their dog claimed to know the real-life occupations of the TISM fraternity – they were all teachers, they were all politicians, they were all mailmen, or definitely some random permutation of those vocations.

TISM lore dictated that different people (some known, some unknown) fill various peripheral roles – such as dancing - during certain gigs or TV appearances, so full actual membership remains uncertain.

The pseudonyms each band member favoured were Ron Hitler-Barassi (vocals), Humphrey B Flaubert (vocals, programming), Jock Cheese (bass, guitar, vocals), Eugene de la Hot-Croix Bun (keys, vocals), Jon St Peenis (saxophone, vocals), Les Miserables (dancing, vocals), Leak Van Vlalin (guitar), Tokin' Blackman (guitar), and Genre B Goode (vocals).

The band always seemed ambivalent about their anonymity, although they were clearly aware that, to a point, it allowed them to remain unaccountable when they'd perhaps pushed the envelope too far.

"The idea that probably defines us in most people's minds is the idea that I'm least proud of… the least clever idea we came up with was [wearing] masks," Humphrey B Flaubert said in a recent online lecture The Birth Of Uncool: How TISM Gatecrashed Melbourne Music (2014).

Think about the sort of humour you came up with in your 20s, do you still want to be known for that 30 years later? That's what the masks mean to me. Humphrey B. Flaubert

"Let's face it, it's totally unoriginal – The Residents did it long before we did, and before The Residents I'm sure there was someone else. It allows people to compare us to KISS and to Slipknot, and we obviously have more in common with Kenny G than either of those two bands.

"It's one of those things I have to live with, with slight embarrassment – you think about the sort of humour you came up with in your 20s, do you still want to be known for that 30 years later? That's what the masks mean to me.

"But I understand that that's not how it's perceived. I understand that the whole ‘no one knows who they are' thing was a really, really important thing for most people – in fact, it's the only thing.

"For 99.99% recurring of anyone who knows anything about TISM you can describe their entire career in one word – balaclavas. That's it, that's all. You don't need to know any of the other shit, it's just ‘no one knows who they are'. And I conceded that the ‘no one knows who they are' factor helped us become sorta-successful, it's just that I don't punch the air when I think about how we wore masks… I'd rather not talk about Mary who I went out with in Grade 12 either."

Despite hiding their faces, TISM were always happy to reveal their non-inner-city heritage. The Melbourne scene at the time was split between inner-city artistic inclinations and suburban pub rock. TISM happily ensconced themselves in the suburban half of the divide. South-eastern suburbs like Springvale and Mordialloc featured heavily in their mythos, and 1992's The Beasts of Suburban EP didn't hurt either.

This allowed them to take pot-shots at the inner-city cultural elite with total impunity (although TISM also loved to endlessly mock their own suburban heritage – an inevitable duality).

Chapter 2

Muse & Music

One thing that's often forgotten about TISM is that, underneath the masks and mayhem, they were an exceptional pop band. No matter how funny, subversive, provocative or avant they were, that alone didn't sustain the band for over two decades – it was the really catchy songs that they wrote.

Like most bands, TISM's early musical output was relatively rudimentary, given that they started out with more non-musicians than musicians. You can hear it in their early bedroom recordings released as bonus material. But their songs were always characterised by a surplus of hooks and melody.

Strangely this fact was often ignored by pundits and critics, who seemed to have a tacit belief that a humorous song must be a novelty or joke, and not a good song on its own.

TISM got traction with early songs like 'Defecate On My Face', 'Death Death Death', 'I'm Interested In Apathy' and 'Saturday Night Palsy'. This was due to the songs being, at their foundation, good pop-rockwith strong rhythms and melodies plus incredibly catchy singalong choruses.

The band's musicianship and songwriting grew stronger with experience, and the music remained a major part of their appeal.

In the mid ‘90s, TISM reacted to mainstream grunge by straying into dance and techno. In a typically contrary manner, they didn't reposition the band as a dance act. They stayed in the rock realms and flummoxed punters with programmed beats – but the songs always stayed catchy at their core.

The biggest crossover singles – '(He'll Never Be An) Ol' Man River' and 'Greg! The Stop Sign' from Machiavelli And The Four Seasons (1995) –became ubiquitous on triple j, community radio and even some commercial stations simultaneously.

Another one of their memorable earworms didn't get as much airplay - their 1998 single 'I Might Be A C#*t, But I'm Not A Fucking C#*t'. This was understandable, given the titular chorus and music video that closely mimicked a celebrity sex tape.

TISM's popularity can in many instances be narrowed down to the strength of their lyrics, which mixed the supremely highbrow with the groin-grabbingly lowbrow into one uniquely hilarious amalgam.

TISM's lyrical world could seem mystifying at first, but always provided a cultural education. For every sacred cow they attacked there would be two or three that you didn't know about. These would unveil themselves years later, often in the least likely of manners (making many of their songs funnier over time).

Nothing was off limits. The mere suggestion of a taboo drew TISM like a moth to a flame. They invoked scholarly figures from history alongside then-current politicians, footballers alongside philosophers.

Some songs like 'Kill Americans' seemed keen to skewer one topic. Others, like 'The Mystery Of The Artist Explained' (with its ‘Official List Of People Who TISM Think Are Fucked In The Head'), 'Jung Talent Time' (with its lyrics predominantly concerning people who've outlasted Andy Warhol's prescribed '15 minutes of fame') and 'BFW' (which lists a preponderance of people/things whose career/existence amount to ‘Big Fucking Whoopy') apparently aim to offend as many targets as possible.

Chapter 3

Madness & Mayhem

Despite their developing pop chops and lyrical brilliance, TISM always really shone with its bizarre live performances. Their stage show was highly choreographed, with each song having its own well-rehearsed routine that the masked band would unleash on the drunken throng before them. The band members never spoke between songs. Instead, they introduced each song with hand-drawn name cards held up by members of the band. These were often souvenired by eager punters at the end of the set.

Various members of the band – but most notably the erudite Ron Hitler-Barassi – would throw themselves into the crowd at the slightest provocation, their masks and costumes ripped to pieces within seconds. TISM had some of the hardest-working roadies in the game.

Nudity was relatively commonplace on stage, too. Lead singer Hitler-Barassi is also remembered for playing naked air guitar on his outstretched manhood.

Lead singer Hitler-Barassi is also remembered for playing naked air guitar on his outstretched manhood.

The costumes became an important part of TISM's live shows as well. In their early years they predominantly wore plain black balaclavas, but over time the costumes evolved into more elaborate and creative concerns.

In one of their earlier fashion forays, they framed all of their faces in individual frames like works of art. In another, their outfits mocked the Klu Klux Klan robes. Fans would speculate about the band's outfits before a gig, and over the next 15 years the costumes just kept getting bigger and more expensive.

In the early days the TISM crowd was its own community: a hedonistic but caring mass that tolerated and helped moshers, stage-divers and crowd-surfers.

Because TISM shows were always few and far between, they took on a special sense of occasion or import. This was exacerbated when - usually following a lengthy hiatus–TISM would conduct an unannounced theatrical performance.

These were always one-off events, often staged – like a wedding or a debate. For the more hardcore TISM fanatics, missing even a single gig became a massive risk - what if that was the night they unleashed the most bizarre happening ever?

This brief list should give an idea of what TISM's antics were like:

The TISM Opera

Upon arriving at The Palace in St Kilda, unsuspecting entrants were given cryptic brochures pertaining to tonight's ‘opera performance'. Behind the stage were rows and rows of empty seats like bleachers. As the start of TISM's set became closer, these were gradually filled by people wearing formal wear and toting opera glasses.

When TISM started playing, these upper-crust toffs peered down at the band and crowd as if they were the strangest curiosities, present for their titillation and amusement. In between songs they'd offer a light patter of applause as they looked down their noses at the scene before them.

It was disconcerting enough during the show, but in the encore the wall between this artificial class divide crumbled and many of the ‘opera set' stage dived into the crowd, only to be pummelled for their earlier condescension. It was amazing on so many levels.

The Stock Exchange

For the 'Lets Form A Company' single launch, the entire Palace stage was transformed into a huge stock exchange, with all of the listed stock options being different TISM songs.

There were buyers on the floor bidding and fake chalkies running around above them on platforms making mark of stock movements and fluctuations. The joke was that every time TISM started a new song that track's share values would plummet as everyone clambered to sell.

It was simultaneously so smart and so stupid.

The Virgin Megastore Opening

When UK retail behemoth Virgin deigned to open one of its new megastores on Melbourne's Bourke St in 1989, they cordoned off nearby Russell Street and held a big open-air concert to celebrate.

TISM were one of the main acts. When it was their turn to play, the curtains drew back to reveal a massive backdrop advertising the long-standing independent music store Gaslight Records. Members of the band threw thousands of Gaslight flyers into the crowd.

At the end of the set, Hitler-Barassi launched into a spoken-word attack on Virgin and all that it stood for, a lengthy abusive rhyme along the lines of ‘Richard Branson has taken my family for ransom'. The other members of the band were furiously moving gear into a truck that had backed up to the stage.

As he finished his stinging diatribe he joined them in the back of the truck, which promptly rolled down its doors and drove away.

The Doppelgangers

Playing upon the oft-lampooned delineation of TISM crowds between those up the front and those up the back, one of Hitler-Barassi's incredible shouty diatribes was titled 'I'm One Of The Guys Who Stands Up The Front To See TISM' It had the immortal conclusion, “and if you think that's bad, then you should see the c#*ts who stand at the back!”.

This show at The Palace featured a secret second stage at the rear of the venue and two full TISM set-ups. When the curtain opened to start the show, the band was suddenly playing at the back of the venue. There was a free-for-all as people scurried to take up their traditional vantage points at either the front or the back, only for the band to suddenly appear back on the main stage after a couple of songs.

Repeat ad nauseum and cue carnage.

The Save Our TISM Telethon

The 2003 show at Melbourne's Hi-Fi Bar opened with a host and a panel of phone operators trying to solicit donations in an attempt to raise $1 million to stop TISM from breaking up.

The payments climbed closer and closer to the goal as the show progressed. Just before the set concluded, they announced they'd missed the target by $1. Not even the ensuing shower of gold coins was enough to stop this being the band's farewell and demise.

Except that the show was released the next year on DVD (as part of The White Albun package), so of course they dusted off the costumes for a promo tour. Believe nothing in TISM's world.

Chapter 4

Mirth & Merriment

TISM's absolute irreverence and complete disregard for convention seeped far beyond their music and chaotic live shows into every facet of the band's existence.

Nothing could be taken for granted, nothing was off limits, nothing was safe. The fact that something had never been done before was seen as a challenge rather than an impediment. This desire to tread untrodden ground manifested in numerous ways.

Their debut album was a double LP, while other releases were completely unmarked, labelled in Chinese, had to be ripped open to play, or labelled as faulty pressings.

The band also connected with their pre-internet audience by mailing fans “press releases”. These not only pre-empted new releases or tours, but also contained some of the most brilliantly subversive music literature in memory. When a swag of these press releases were collated – along with lyrics, essays and interview transcriptions – into TISM's only book, The TISM Guide To Little Aesthetics (1990), it was withdrawn from sale due to numerous legal threats before its release and subsequently only released in heavily-redacted form.

TISM also treated dalliances with the press as an exercise in outsider art. They refused to talk about themselves, wouldn't answer even simple questions, and often refused to conduct normal interviews. They used to conduct early interviews only by fax, and their stunts with the media are legendary. They've made journalists interview them across a footy field using megaphones, or in a floatation tank. One critic from Rolling Stone had to meet them a crowded restaurant wearing a wetsuit before they answered questions with pre-prepared songs. Another was blindfolded and taken to a meat locker to question three TISM impersonators.

Whatever form it took, TISM's steadfast refusal to ever play anything straight or give a direct answer became legendary, and even triple j felt the brunt on occasion. Here's one early fax exchange with triple j's Maynard F# Crabbes:

What do TISM like most about Sydney?

We love the miles and miles of endless desert, and how it's the biggest rock in the world.

What can people expect at their Sydney show?

Well, just the usual. At the Sydney show there will be fun things for all the family. The kiddies can learn about horticulture, there'll be rides and games for the older kiddies, and Mum and Dad will enjoy watching the animal parades and the annual woodchop. And, of course, there'll be showbags.

In 1998, on triple j's Celebrity Mic segment with Jane Gazzo, Hitler-Barassi and Flaubert riffed away with almost complete disregard for any of the listeners' questions except as means for a potential new tangent.

Soundcloud

Just a month later they were back on triple j's Departure Lounge program. Hitler-Barassi demanded on behalf of triple j that then-minister for communications, Richard Alston, immediately stop the station's funding and divert that money to their commercial rivals.

Soundcloud

There will never be another band like TISM, because there will never be another configuration of musically-talented and super-intelligent people who so gloriously don't give a fuck.

They're gone, but if there's even a skerrick of justice in this world they will never be forgotten. For the briefest time, they illuminated the landscape and made life seem exciting and joyous and full of possibilities. That's more than one should ask, or expect, from a rock'n'roll band.

TISM are dead, long live TISM.