Rose Tattoo vocalist Angry Anderson recently died. His infamous “kicked in teeth” died with him, and like him, no one would say they “died pretty”. Except they didn’t.
Of course there were people who knew he was in hospital. Knew he’d had a cardiac arrest in Germany weeks before. I was not one of them. The news came with the shock that comes from seeing a photo of something not quite recognised at first, that turns out to be some distant part of yourself that for all these years you’d never known had its image captured.
There it was. You’d never seen it before and yet felt its place. And the place it had in you as vividly as the smell of your opened lunchbox on the very first day of school.
I saw Rose Tattoo once. In a ’77 line-up of a free concert in Parramatta Park towards the hot end of the Christmas school holidays. As a fifteen-year-old in a world made entirely of friends, fighting with Mum, Hoyts cinemas, ten pin bowling, nights of summer sweats and teenage angst if the band wasn’t the Oils, Acca Dacca, Skyhooks or The Farris Brothers it was a blur.
The western suburbs of Sydney had a harsh chemical patina of social stigma. Expanding working class suburbs that seemed fine to grow up in until the moment of implicit understanding that your postcode was no good. The many, many families that lived the Housing Commission leg-up that afforded a home to call their own are now outstripped by the many, many families for which stability like that can’t even be a dream.
For some, the western suburbs of Sydney was a place to happily stay forever. For others, a place from which they happily sprang; forever grateful for its grounding, forever wanting their feet on some other soil.
Sharpies thrived at the dark end of train stations, in uniform tight stripes, high waists, chunky shoes and bad hair from every angle. Mostly thugs itching for a fight and a cure for crabs, they were to be avoided; notwithstanding the horror that their dance moves could be passed on like whooping cough.
It was a subculture that certainly didn’t make it from the inner-north of Melbourne to the inner-north of Sydney – no stacked tread flat-cap-and-flares-wearing Bon Scott, Ferret & Michelle look-a-likes living in Kirribilli, Neutral Bay or Cammeray. It stomped its way north of the border to western Sydney by working class design, not misdirection. More often than not, Sharpies had tattoos and a missing tooth or two: a central or lateral incisor; a canine or premolar.
Imagine if they’d been able to replace them with a tattooed tooth. Which, if done with a homemade gun – or any tattoo machine – would not engrave the tooth but rather shatter it.
Angry Anderson’s front teeth were broken. Sprawling obituaries mention he “cut his teeth in early Melbourne bands”, but this would be a misunderstanding of a now-rarely-heard vernacular, not an act of DIY dentistry.
It could have been the result of a tooth tattoo had the concept been available outside the US, but it it came via the more direct line of a punch in the face. Before sleeves, with a horseshoe of brown hair and Charlie Brown wisp on top, Buster Brown’s bib and brace frontman was Angry. For anyone else that’s a description too brown and boring; for Anderson something earthy and stabilising. Sunbury ’74 had drummer Phil Rudd yet to join AC/DC, and Angry’s fight-damaged teeth as permanent as a tooth tattoo proclaiming the ferocious stage presence and coiled powerhouse within his diminutive frame.
By the time Rose Tattoo happened two years later I was just old enough to be a fan, and wasn’t. Or so I told myself; based on a lifetime of never having paid for a ticket, owned an album or played one over and over at a friend’s.
Living in London at the time of a bigger-than-royal nuptials on that homegrown show I’d never watched, the fever of that wedding was something to behold, during a time when popular excitement was built and sustained over a span of time that now seems genuinely archaic. Brilliant if you’re onboard – torture if you’re not. The release of Angry’s track Suddenly was to me, a banal ballad that deservedly sat at 30-something on the charts on barely bearable rotation.
It shot to #2 thanks to Kylie’s insistence on behalf of Charlene that it be the wedding song.
“Just when everyone thought they had Angry Anderson figured out—tattooed tough guy, snarling rock dog—he flipped the script. In 1987, Angry released “Suddenly”, a sweeping, emotional power ballad that no one saw coming. Written by Bruno Brighetti and Giancarlo Bigazzi and adapted with English lyrics by Angry himself, “Suddenly” became a global phenomenon. It skyrocketed to fame when it was used in Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan’s wedding episode on the soap Neighbours, watched by millions.” – A Breath of Fresh Air.
I was old enough to be a fan and just wasn’t – not of Kylie, not of Neighbours and not of weddings. It left a personal pop culture scar as inked as Anderson’s arms in Sally Robinson’s 2006 portrait and equal in rarity of display.
At 79, the end of Angry had come, and with it Rose Tattoo. In ’79 was the beginning.
Whether I like it or not, I’m just not old enough to not be a fan.
Tracks from two years before are etched into the decade from mid high school to mid twenties that can’t be beaten. Rose Tattoo was alongside other stuff of bad boys, nice boys, love, rebellion and resilience that I never bought a ticket for either, and yet know all the words.
Teeth Tattoos Are A Thing: From Dead Angry To Dead Surprised
Are there words for how bizarre and decadent we’ve become? In the pursuit of life having meaning, somewhere between precarious existence and hedonistic heights, came the tooth tattoo.
If the contraction ‘tattooth’ isn’t eye-rolling enough, you’ll find dental sites telling you that they can only be done with a dental drill by a dentist, and in the dentist’s chair.
Which has to be absolute baloney.
No oral health professional would irreparably damage perfectly healthy tooth enamel with a career that relies on maintaining it. The reasonable assumption is that some kind of generative assistant has taken the elements of ancient tooth decoration, traditional body ink and cutting edge dentistry and hallucinated that so-called information.
It simply can’t be true. And if it is, it shouldn’t be.
American fine artist Steven Heward has been creating tiny works on dental crowns since Rose Tattoo was a shiny, raw freshie. At his Utah dental lab, meticulously hand-drawn portrayals are glazed, fired and polished onto porcelain crowns made from the dental impressions sent. From Jesus to pop stars, sports stars, galaxies, icons and products, dentists are cementing custom artworks to their clients.
It’s a form of self-expression that is often not on permanent display. Part of the appeal is the reveal: to certain people, or at certain times or requiring a particular tilt of the mouth.
Heward Dental Lab isn’t the only one doing tooth tattoos but it is the original. With a bona fide miniature artist whose teeth you won’t forget.
Except that as photos from the band’s last concerts in Germany (such as the image below) show Angry with a full set of teeth, smiling broadly, his kicked in teeth passed away some years before him, thanks to a mystery work of cosmetic dentistry that never made it into print, or even digital publishing:
As Google AI says: “If you are thinking of a famous cosmetic dental transformation regarding an Australian rock star, you might be thinking of Jimmy Barnes, who very publicly had his teeth completely redone with dramatic porcelain veneers.”
Turns out Google AI has likely hallucinated that one. As it later completely contradicts itself: “While legendary Australian rocker Jimmy Barnes has occasionally shared minor updates about undergoing emergency dental work on social media, there is no public confirmation or verified record of him getting porcelain veneers.”
According to the ABC, Angry’s “smile makeover” never happened. In their obit, they claim he retained his “uncompromising pub-rock look. In fact, throughout his entire 50-year music career—ranging from the aggressive rock shows of the late 1970s up until his final performances—he proudly kept his natural, heavily chipped, and famously split teeth.”
Stay young, Angry Anderson. What will grow strong is your street-level legacy across raw Aussie rock, countless Aussie youth, and all the oldies who remain young and wild at the sound of your voice.