['On the Boarderline' is an ongoing segment on the Movies About Girls Show, in which I talk about my high school/post-high school band Doctor Rock. As the intro goes, it's done 'song by song', meaning there's probably around 100 episodes to come eventually. What follows is the script of the segment, as well as the .MP3 of the episode's featured song.]

Hello, and welcome to episode one of ‘On the Boarderline: A Doctor Rock-umentary’. Over the coming weeks, months, maybe even years and possibly even decades, we’ll be working our way through the back catalogue of these towering giants of the Ballarat, Victoria music scene, song by song by song by song by song.

This week, let’s start at the start, with the very first song written by the band. Doctor Rock began life in early 2000. I’d spent the previous year and a bit in a Greenday-esque pop punk band called Mr Feenjeen. I found artistically unsatisfying, although it did result in a girl named Claire from Ballarat Grammar School touching my penis in a playground one night at 2am after playing at a party. So, following practice one day I decided to quit, which was convenient timing because the band was going to fire me anyway.

But lack of a band wasn’t going to stop me, though, and my considerable musical genius could not be held back. I’d had a taste of the rock and roll lifestyle: booze, parties, playing hard, staying up past bedtime, adoration from the audience, girls touching my penis, the whole deal. If I started my own band, surely there would only be more of this kind of thing.

Now might be a good time to mention that this was an entirely incorrect assumption. Yes, Doctor Rock was nothing if not a gateway to large quantities of booze, and a couple of parties, some moderately hard playing and even a couple of late nights. However, adoration from the audience and girls touching my penis turned out to be something related more to being in a pop punk band than simply being in a band. Doctor Rock, as you have probably heard by now, was not a pop punk band.

In fact, in the beginning, Doctor Rock was almost not even a proper band. Doctor Rock was almost not even called Doctor Rock. It was almost an electronic duo called The Tokyo Joystick Allstars, featuring my guitar playing buddy Jake and I. Unfortunately, we quickly realised neither of us knew how to be in an electronic duo. So we gathered up a few more likely members – another guitarist, Clemo, and a young keyboard prodigy named Scrappy – and started a real band. A real band called – after a little brainstorming of various names – Doctor Rock, after the Ween song of the same name. It was down to either that or Captain Fantasy.

Granted, it wasn’t a complete real band, but it was certainly getting there. We didn’t quite have a drummer, for example – the first few practices, and the band’s first public appearance, featured Scrappy on keyboard drums. and we didn’t have a dedicated singer – I had my hand up for the position, but wasn’t what you’d call capable in regards to playing bass and singing at the same time. At all.

Nonetheless, it was time to write some songs. The first was written in instrumental form as a direct response to being in Mr Feenjeen – a tune written in 3/4 time called Your Last Fucking Waltz, a halfhearted protest against Feenjeen’s regimental devotion to 4/4 timing. We practiced it a few times, in my dad’s shed (among the 14 strung up drying pot plants), my bedroom, and elsewhere. Eventually, we secured our first show: opening at Mr Feenjeen singer Josh’s 17th birthday. We practiced the whole afternoon leading up the show, over and over, except for a couple of hours during which we went and waved at Queen Elizabeth II as she drove around Ballarat’s Lake Wendouree.

So there we were, standing awkwardly in the middle of Josh’s party – Clemo, Scrappy, Jake and I – ready to invite the world to experience Doctor Rock for the first time. Future Doctor Rock members – drummer Mick and singer Matt – were there watching. And we, well, I don’t entirely remember what we played first. Maybe it was Your Last Waltz. Maybe it was our ill-advised and never repeated cover of Duran Duran’s Girls on Film. Maybe it was our oft-repeated cover of Ween’s Doctor Rock. Maybe it was an extended Middle Eastern jam we called Abasid – but we’ll talk more about that one next week.

Sadly, no audio of the show has survived – just one single photo, above (left to right: Clemo, me, Jake, and do note guitar hanging loosely at Jake’s side) – nor any audio from the keyboard-drums-era practices. So, instead, we fast forward a month or so to hear Your Last Waltz from one of the group’s first practices as a full band – a demo cassette that later became known as ’45 Minutes of Rock’. Enjoy, listeners, and please look for the full .mp3 below, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Download Your Last Fucking Waltz