I have just finished applying my mascara & squeezing on my velvet beddy boots, well prepared as always for a fitful nights sleep. My Mike & The Mechanics tape is whispering from the stereo (in deference to my sleeping housemates) & the scented candle filling my boudoir with the appetizing waft of chemicals, many thousands of them.

I have swallowed a handful of pills, arranged to a pleasing visual pattern, and am waiting the abating of my viral symptoms with a cup of coffee. Sadly last week both Tim & myself contracted something hideous, possibly due to the Ekka (the terrifying truth being that should you refuse to attend, the cocktail of infection & bacteria will attend to you). While I relax I will relate the weekends events, mainly focusing on Saturday night & especially the parts where we played.

It was yet again an evening in which we managed to book two gigs. This is the third time we have done this. Considering our delicate temperaments & fragile physical conditions, it would seem like a dangerous undertaking. We do not, however, let thinking get the best of us, & enthusiastically accepted everything we could.

The first show was an evening slot at the Wrecking Ball, held at the Jubilee. I am not sure if the Wrecking Ball happens on an annual basis or if this was a one off occasion, but I can safely say it was the WORST fucking show we ever delivered. It would have been less painful to watch a person with a terminal case of leprosy attempting to dance for spare change while being pelted with rotten fruit. EVERYTHING went all different kinds of wrong. The volume restrictions were beyond severe, moving well into the realm of authoritarian sadism. The one cheer I recall was after I attempted to jump back on to the stage and fell face first at Scott’s feet. I think our collective dignity slid off to wait in front of the other stage for the next band to start as we limped through the rest of it. Much like getting cold feet halfway through a murder, we really didn’t want to continue, but couldn’t stop. Eventually though, it ended. I can only hope our various apologies were accepted by the handful of bemused spectators who stuck around. We didn’t get to stay for Giants of Science, which was a bummer, as we were due at the Step Inn.

The obvious blessing of our night was the second show, a chance to redeem ourselves, & to play with a group of AWESOME bands! Angry Dave, a man who has turned the science of being excellent into an art, organized the show. The deft touch of genius was visible on every surface of the room. From the first show, where the bored sighs of the bar staff were louder than our strangled chords, we were greeted with the sight of a towering wall of speakers & what could be the highlight of my life thus far, A BUBBLE MACHINE!

Ash Kerley, Captain Sledgehammer, BMXray, & The Riot all played. Things, as per my usual routine, kind of get a little foggy in my head. I recall Ash Kerley & Captain Sledgehammer playing, both doing an excellent job of erasing the horrible memories of earlier. I may have gone outside at some point convince myself not to throw up on the floor of the Step Inn. I cannot recall if I was present for BMXray & The Riot, but have been informed both were in excellent form.

It was a night of extremes, dizzying highs, dizzying lows, & dizzying middles. Fuck knows when we are playing again, but I am sure it will be eventually. Until then we shall continue to do our regular stuff, but will hopefully have some exciting other type things coming up!

Stay de-tuned.

Jesus! I just got a glimpse in the mirror. My eyes look like a couple of cheap porcelain balls, too heavily glazed & stained a sick shade of red, rolling about of their own accord. My cough is verging on one of those chesty death rattles, favored by fading gutter drunks & sufferers of tuberculosis. I think the delicate sinus membranes all over my head are about to rupture. I may also be exaggerating slightly, but I do have a rather annoying cold. Perhaps a cigarette will help.

I woke up Monday morning to find myself sick. I was still a little drunk, & for a little while I deluded myself it was simply a hangover. After further sleep, & some frantic feverish dreams of giant rubbery faces leaning in real close & talking in tongues, I decided to officially reclassify myself as, ‘sick.’ Unlike most people, I don’t enjoy being ill.
This is merely an aside, however, to the spine-chilling tale that led me to this state of disease & decay. Which is to say, I wish to have it on record that I am not feeling very good & demand sympathy & empathetic cooing to ease my histrionics.

So pony up…

Yeah, that’s the stuff!

Well, we played the Triple Zed Rumble Rock Wrestling fund raising event & had a heap of fun. It was also the day we celebrated Timothy ‘Report-Card’ Murphy’s birthday, & a mighty fine celebration it was. Hopefully Tim found it enjoyable too.
I would struggle to remember the evening in order, so I will simply paint broad strokes of the various impressions I have of the night. I ran into a chap I have met four or five times before. The last time I met him I claimed to be soldier, & told him I had recently returned from Afghanistan, where my job was disarming improvised explosive devices by the side of the road. To be fair he did seem reasonably suspicious of this tale, but was drunk as fuck, & was unable to fully reject the lie with confidence. In a much more sober state on Sunday evening he did ask me if I knew ‘the Wong boys’ & I said I did. If I had of been in a more mischievous mood I would have claimed I was actually in the band!

The wrestling was fun & the crowd did seem to enjoy themselves greatly. There were big fellows in spandex pants grabbing at each other, & of course one little fellow as well. It was just like the wrestling on television. I did see some of it, but mostly was interested in drinking, which is amazing to see in real life, & an astounding mix of theatre & athletics.

Four bands played in total, with the Flangipanis kicking things off. The Quickening played, as well as The Black Stars & all were excellent. All of the bands are packed full of wonderfully nice people too, which is thankfully not a rare thing in the bands we are lucky enough to play with, but is endlessly pleasing to encounter. It is kind of intimidating to try to go on after any one of those bands, but one after the other makes the feat impossible. Still, obstacles are made for overcoming, & we are nothing if not eternally optimistic. Naturally, we were all rather inebriated by this time & mounted the stage without our usual finesse.

I did enjoy seeing Busy Fingers giving Jim a couple of hearty kicks in the back, causing him to fall off the stage, which is helpfully not too elevated. I fell over at some point & fucked yet another lead. Jim had one of his characteristic flashes of genius, & used all our drink tickets at once to provide a little wire basket full of drinks on the stage with us. Several of these were sadly knocked down. The people who remained to watch us were lovely & seemed to enjoy themselves almost as much as we did. My ears were ringing terribly after we played, but I was certainly feeling happy & very satisfied & a little sore.

We all sincerely hope some funds were raised for Triple Zed & everyone who attended had a great time.

Happy Birthday Tim.

Put a big long hook, on a big long pole, & pull mister crawfish out of his hole?

............

Well…

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I believe ‘twas Friday night, when from the ghostly cold moonlight, something, something etc…

 ....

Fucked that up…  Never mind.  We played a show on Friday night, with the wonderful (as always) Black Stars, and some new palz, Goldstool. 

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Goldstool played first & extremely well.  They covered Aloha Steve & Dano, & Ever Fallen In Love?  Both of these songs slotted in rather seamlessly with their powerful originals.  They were fucking loud and played a taut, some might say haughty, set.  I was impressed & a little intimidated by the obvious talent those chaps had.  Very good bass player (& drummer, & guitarist). 

 ....

I did attempt to get drunk and stuff, and I succeeded, but without the usual sense of achievement I find so fulfilling.  I cannot speak for the other chaps, but I did feel a little out of sorts with our set.  It was neither a massive success nor a terrible disaster, which is awful.  If we, or someone in the room doesn’t feel like they were just sodomized with a bowling pin, what are we there for? 

Don’t get me wrong, we had a bunch of fun, it just lacked the exhilaration I crave since the days I used to chase me bouncy ball into the traffic.

 ....

I did get a sense of exhilaration when Black Stars played!  Those kids do not mess about.  Not only did they travel some distance to play the show, they also, uh, played really good, & shit!  They rocked hard, violently, passionately, & kindly.  I do understand why they are so popular.  I have neither the time nor the ability to convey the Black Stars.  Why not just go & see them? 

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The next night, Busy Fingers, Scott, & Me went to see New Jack Rubys at the Troubadour.  It was fucking incredible.  They held the coveted residency, & spared the punters nothing.  It was bloodshed.