Laughing Gear is an exercise in catharsis aimed at dissecting the tribulations of gentrification & classist warfare. The band features ex members of Melbourne synth punk luminaries Chrome Dome, Brando’s Island, Romero and Eyesores.

Formed by vocalist / pattern architect Bryce Sweatman in 2018, Laughing Gear combine modulating analogue synths with Compu-Rhythm drum machine loops, complemented by a howling / delay-induced vocal screech that harks back to an era of synth-punk that was most dominant in the 1980’s underground music. Fergus Sinclair’s incendiary guitar work is drenched in chorus effects that allow these unique synth-punk & anarcho worlds to collide and mutate, culminating in a highly original musical space that is provocative, jarring and exhilarating.

Laughing Gear’s stunning debut album ‘Freak Lemons’ is a formidable collection of cutting-edge dystopian synth punk and incisive socio-political commentary, delivered with an acid tongue and a wry sense of gallows humour. A finely honed 80s pop sensibility is mixed with heavy doses of vintage synth worship and punk rock antagonism, while the history of underground music is slyly referenced. The result is a defiantly original and unapologetically danceable album brimming with whip-smart lyrics and cunningly crafted songs where hooks and concepts fly thick and fast.


Our take: Freak Lemons is the first vinyl release from this Australian synth-punk band. I’ve seen the term “synth-punk” used to describe a wide array of sounds, but Laughing Gear’s take is minimal, danceable, and dripping with venom. It’s in the same universe as late 70s / early 80s bands like the Screamers, Nervous Gender, the Normal, or maybe even Suicide, but just as all of those bands sound different from one another (despite being mean-sounding bands that rely heavily on synthesizers), Laughing Gear doesn’t sound like any of them or anyone else I’ve heard. While “mean” and “hard” are the adjectives I’d reach for first, you can hear subtle hooks lurking in the background, giving the music more staying power than your average collection of knob twiddlers. Songs like “Possession” and “Flake” have a kernel of pop somewhere at their center, barely discernible in the final product except from the fact that you can hum the songs to yourself after a couple of listens. Other tracks like “Fillet Station” lean more toward dance music, sounding like a misanthropic and negative version of New Order, and “Tread Count” ends the record on a spacious abstract note a la Nurse With Wound. I thought Freak Lemons sounded original and exciting on the first listen, but every subsequent spin reveals more richness and subtlety.