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Like four young Neros scampering about a crumbling Rome, The Rainyard raced out of 1980's Perth with a naiveté you could only cook up with a 3-string violin and a slab of Emu Bitter. Armed with a basket of pop gems penned by the young Mr Coffey they played as though someone else's life depended upon it and capturing those times on the format de la journée - the compact cassette. These are they.
