Bad Grandad’s Loudest New Chapter

Bad Grandad starts a band, and nobody in the neighbourhood is ready for the noise. The latest comic idea from Andy Fanton turns an ordinary grandparent into a one-man festival of terrible decisions, questionable rhythm and unstoppable confidence.

He is not chasing a polished record deal or rehearsing quietly in a garage. Bad Grandad sees a broom, a saucepan and an old electric keyboard and hears the future of rock ’n’ roll. His band may have no proper set list, but it has attitude, volume and a very flexible understanding of musical talent.

That combination fits perfectly within Fanton’s comic world, where a simple idea can quickly become a full-blown disaster. Like his work for The Dandy, the joke comes from strong character design, visual exaggeration and the kind of punchline that lands before anyone has time to shout, “Turn it down!”

The band nobody asked for

Bad Grandad’s musical career begins with a familiar spark: he decides that young people get all the fun. Within minutes, he has formed a band, chosen a name nobody can spell and announced a debut gig to anyone within earshot.

The group’s equipment is assembled from household odds and ends. A walking stick becomes a microphone stand, a tea tray doubles as percussion and the family dog may be promoted to lead vocalist. Bad Grandad insists that this is resourceful punk. Everyone else recognises it as a trip to the emergency department waiting to happen.

His enthusiasm is the engine of the strip. He does not need musical ability when he has complete faith in his own legend. Every failed chord becomes “experimental jazz”, every complaint becomes evidence that the band is edgy, and every smashed object is blamed on the acoustics.

A distinctly Australian gig

The first performance would feel right at home in an Australian community hall, RSL club or suburban backyard. Bad Grandad could be booked for a sausage sizzle fundraiser, arriving late in thongs and announcing that the arvo show will run “just one more song” for the next three hours.

The audience would include a neighbour yelling “Oi, keep it down!”, a grandchild filming the chaos on a phone and someone near the barbecue offering very specific advice about amplifiers. A discarded esky becomes a drum, while a Hills Hoist provides an impressive, if unstable, lighting rig.

There is also plenty of room for Australian comic timing. Bad Grandad can promise a “proper ripper of a set”, misunderstand a request for an encore and mistake a cockatoo’s screeching for backing vocals. Whether the venue sits in suburban Brisbane, a Melbourne laneway or a coastal town near Newcastle, the band’s confidence will always exceed its preparation.

The visual rhythm of a comic strip

A successful mini-strip needs a clear escalation, and a band gives Bad Grandad plenty of ways to build momentum. The opening panel establishes his grand plan. The middle panels reveal increasingly dangerous instruments and deeply concerned family members. The final panel delivers the payoff with a broken window, a furious audience or a surprise chart-topping review from a music magazine.

The strongest jokes can work without much dialogue. Bad Grandad wearing sunglasses indoors, surrounded by tangled cords, tells readers almost everything they need to know. A tiny handwritten sign reading “Sold out” outside an empty shed can carry an entire gag before the concert even begins.

That visual economy connects with Fanton’s broader cartoon style. Characters such as George vs Dragon, Boo! and Carrotty Kid are built around instantly readable ideas, expressive silhouettes and comic situations that keep moving. For another playful example of Fanton’s imagination, the beanstalk checklist shows how a simple premise can grow into a sequence of escalating visual possibilities.

Bad Grandad’s very loose set list

The opening number could be called “Who Needs Rehearsal?”, followed by “My Hearing Is Fine” and “Back in My Day”. Every song gives him another opportunity to confuse nostalgia with expertise. He might claim to have supported a famous band, only for the flashback to reveal him carrying their sandwiches.

His lyrics should be proudly ordinary and strangely autobiographical. One verse celebrates discounted petrol, another complains about self-checkout machines, and the chorus repeats the name of a suburb because Bad Grandad cannot remember the rest. A reference to the footy, a broken air conditioner or the price of a meat pie would make the performance feel especially familiar to Australian readers.

The comedy can also come from the gap between the band’s branding and its reality. Bad Grandad may print dramatic black T-shirts, while the back lists every performance venue as “the lounge room”. His manager is probably a baffled grandchild, and his road crew is one person who has been promised a lift home.

From garage act to family folklore

Bad Grandad’s band works because it gives every character a role. The grandkids can become reluctant technicians, the parents can attempt crowd control and the neighbours can form an accidental review panel. Even the audience gets a joke, especially when everyone pretends to enjoy the show until the power cuts out.

The final gag should leave Bad Grandad convinced that success is imminent. Perhaps a single person asks him to stop playing, and he interprets it as a booking request. Perhaps a local paper mentions the noise complaint, which he proudly frames as his first press review.

There is a warm centre beneath the mayhem, too. Bad Grandad’s performance is ridiculous, but it shows his determination to stay involved and make himself part of the family’s world. He may be hopeless with a tambourine, yet he brings energy, affection and enough chaos to keep everyone talking long after the last note.

Bad Grandad starts a band as a comic premise, but it quickly becomes a complete little universe of household instruments, suburban ambition and gloriously bad timing. Explore more of Andy Fanton’s comics, drawings and humorous creations at Andy Fanton Dot Com, and keep an eye out for the next unlikely project to burst onto the page.