Vince Leigh’s Single Review: Gaslight by Idiot Rock Star
There’s a reckless joy in watching a band burn the house down, especially when they helped build it. Melbourne trio Gaslight are not trying to reimagine rock’s legacy with Idiot Rock Star. They’re trying to kick its teeth in. It’s loud, messy, unsubtle—and just maybe, necessary. Idiot Rock Star announces itself with a riff that could have been unearthed from a 1979 squat or a ’91 basement tape. The production is unfussy, rough-edged, and gloriously resistant to polish. You feel it more than hear it—like a bruise forming in real time. Ivan Beecroft, whose solo album The Cynical Express cracked the top of Canada’s iTunes rock charts in 2020, sings like a man who doesn’t want the mic—he needs it.
He’s not searching for melody; he’s delivering a message from the edge. Lyrically, the song is as subtle as a lit fuse. “I don’t wanna be an idiot rock star / Or another insidious pop star” isn’t just a chorus—it’s a manifesto. Gaslight isn’t targeting fame in the abstract; they’re naming names without naming names, launching a full-frontal assault on the fakeness of pop celebrity, “porn slut rock,” and “fake heavy metal.” It flirts with crassness, sure, but it’s also weirdly compelling in its refusal to care. Mark Norton’s drums are chaotic yet tightly coiled—one gets the sense he could snap the snare in half and not blink. Nikk Kourmouzis’ bass and keys add structure but never soften the blow.
Together, the trio carves a sound that feels at once lived-in and combustible. There are echoes of the Ramones, Bad Religion, maybe even the early Foo Fighters, but Gaslight aren’t nostalgic—they’re pissed. This isn’t innovation. It’s a rupture. A middle finger to the commodified sheen of modern rock, and a reminder that guitar music can still be dirty, fun, and dangerous. Gaslight isn’t here to sell you a lifestyle. They’re here to make noise. And Idiot Rock Star does, gloriously.
