Thursday, July 20, 2006
SOUNDMAN ATTACK
Also at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHd8IGXrKf8
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
D A R K TIMES ON SATURDAY NIGHT
DARK TIMES descended upon us this weekend. when the RED mist drifts down upon an individual, a palpable sense of F.E.A.R can be felt by those around. our man on a mission to pervert the lives of soundmen around the country joel “you motherfucker” stone was the victim of a vicious on-stage attack. FUCKINGHOLYHELL what fresh hell is this? we wondered. here is an account of what happened.
- - - - - -
RE-E-WIND. same day, early afternoon saturday 15th july in east Laaahndan. it is HOT. i feel like Lawrence of fucking Arabia. SHITDISCO arrive. despite being together we arrive separately at half hour intervals for our soundcheck for the first of two gigs that night, first one at the l-o-v e l y Hackney Empire. after waiting several hours for anything to happen i walked around front of house in the old municipal theatre wondering why the fuck they have invited us into this den of iniquity. maybe they meant the other shitdisco, or maybe they meant 50Cent and it was just a type o. after a while of not being asked to fuckoff i decided i was supposed to be there. my mind then drifted to whether we could rob anything of discernable value, or just ashtrays. no. i wondered if there had ever been a band play there with a swearword in their name. no.
thinking to myself (dangerous), i wondered if anyone had ever fallen from the top balcony to the seats below. and if they had, did they survive. and if they survived, were the people below pissed off at this most horrific intrusion?
i had a lot of time on my hands. i wondered if there had been any sort of violence in here at all, casual or otherwise (i am reading Trainspotting at the moment and it is influencing my thoughts a lot – not my actions however). i know little about cinema’s but i presumed that this one was Victorian at least, and i knew they used to watch people hang in public, which I suppose is violence of a sort.
anyway, after an arduous wait we were greeted by a call to soundcheck, and subsequently greeted by a prick in a vest who claimed to be the BOSS. he informed us they, no, we were running late and we only had time to do one song. we moaned as one is liable to do when you are in the moral-high ground but, it was to no avail. it was becoming evident we were dealing with a class-A fucko here. so, soundcheck over we hurtled towards gig no.2 for second soundcheck.
- - - - - -
F-AST - FORWARD. later, it is evening and we am back in the Hackney Empire. it is busy, but also a bit weird. there is a large stage that i remember thinking is probably about as big as my street, and we will be on it in less than an hour. shit.
the credits of an excellent short film entitled ‘Lift’ rolled and the Footlong Heroes begin to play. we begin to prepare to play. this preparation involves running upstairs and getting another beer so you can down it before getting the next one that will accompany you onstage, and not writing a setlist. i start thinking again about violence, and whether the cameraman who filmed Lift ever felt the urge unleash a holyhorrorshow of violence after being inside a two-man elevator for days.
we are onstage. the curtain begins to rise as we are introduced and Darren beats out the opening of Kung-Fu. there is violence in the air.
the gig is almost a blur as we jerk through each song, becoming more irritated by the lack of co-operation from the soundman. the chorus of each song morphs into “turn the fucking monitor up”, or something like that. i look at darren and he is pissed off. i turn to joel and see he is tense. i look at jan and he is pissed off, and i think i would actually fancy my chances at jumping off that top balcony. anything rather than this fresh HELL we are in right now. but then it got WORSE. or better if depending which way you look at violence. i am not a fighter.
we begin Reactor Party, our final song. darren stands up & throws his sticks to the floor like when ivan drago hits the deck in Rocky IV. fucked off at the lack of co-operation with the useless motherfuckers in charge of the sound, joel decides to unleash the first, second, and third DOOMsday books of an insult to those concerned. something along the lines of uselessmotherfuckingwanker, and then a bit more for luck. righteous.
within less than a minute – enough time for a few more verses of the tirade – mr.Fucko, we will call him, was onstage and flexing his neck in the direction of lovely joel. then he squared up to him. and thence forth came the head of fucko and the head of fucko did connect with the head of lovely joel. BOOM! within a few seconds, the lingering malevolence has found a host and been personified by the new public enemy. with the headbutt came a vague gasp from the crowd. then darren. well-versed in playing the “weapons”, or drums as other people call them, darren leapt over his kit, with cymbal stand (& cymbal) in hand bopped fucko in the head. then came tom. tom is our tour manager and all-round stand-up guy. he had been watching events unfold and as joel began the tidal wave of words words and words, noticed mr.Fucko stride down the (how very appropriately) far-right side of the cinema. tom followed suit by running down the opposite aisle, and with the timing of Apollo Creed when he knocks out Rocky, punches fucko in his beady little eye. then joel. as he reels from what was most likely the cymbal rather than tom’s fist, joel swings what was previously Francis Rossi (really) of Status Quo’s synth guitar at fucko. meanwhile i remained calm, albeit useless. i decided to continue playing Reactor Party, initially thinking this would be over in a minute and we could get on with it. no. the curtain began to fall and as if to add comic effect to the whole proceedings, seemed to pause for a minute as various individuals were pinned to the floor and restrained. i remember little else of what happened but i think i mentioned how fun the evening had been and the audience had been l-o-v-e l y.
then the bouncers arrived onstage and it was over.
DARK
TIMES.
- - - - - -
RE-E-WIND. same day, early afternoon saturday 15th july in east Laaahndan. it is HOT. i feel like Lawrence of fucking Arabia. SHITDISCO arrive. despite being together we arrive separately at half hour intervals for our soundcheck for the first of two gigs that night, first one at the l-o-v e l y Hackney Empire. after waiting several hours for anything to happen i walked around front of house in the old municipal theatre wondering why the fuck they have invited us into this den of iniquity. maybe they meant the other shitdisco, or maybe they meant 50Cent and it was just a type o. after a while of not being asked to fuckoff i decided i was supposed to be there. my mind then drifted to whether we could rob anything of discernable value, or just ashtrays. no. i wondered if there had ever been a band play there with a swearword in their name. no.
thinking to myself (dangerous), i wondered if anyone had ever fallen from the top balcony to the seats below. and if they had, did they survive. and if they survived, were the people below pissed off at this most horrific intrusion?
i had a lot of time on my hands. i wondered if there had been any sort of violence in here at all, casual or otherwise (i am reading Trainspotting at the moment and it is influencing my thoughts a lot – not my actions however). i know little about cinema’s but i presumed that this one was Victorian at least, and i knew they used to watch people hang in public, which I suppose is violence of a sort.
anyway, after an arduous wait we were greeted by a call to soundcheck, and subsequently greeted by a prick in a vest who claimed to be the BOSS. he informed us they, no, we were running late and we only had time to do one song. we moaned as one is liable to do when you are in the moral-high ground but, it was to no avail. it was becoming evident we were dealing with a class-A fucko here. so, soundcheck over we hurtled towards gig no.2 for second soundcheck.
- - - - - -
F-AST - FORWARD. later, it is evening and we am back in the Hackney Empire. it is busy, but also a bit weird. there is a large stage that i remember thinking is probably about as big as my street, and we will be on it in less than an hour. shit.
the credits of an excellent short film entitled ‘Lift’ rolled and the Footlong Heroes begin to play. we begin to prepare to play. this preparation involves running upstairs and getting another beer so you can down it before getting the next one that will accompany you onstage, and not writing a setlist. i start thinking again about violence, and whether the cameraman who filmed Lift ever felt the urge unleash a holyhorrorshow of violence after being inside a two-man elevator for days.
we are onstage. the curtain begins to rise as we are introduced and Darren beats out the opening of Kung-Fu. there is violence in the air.
the gig is almost a blur as we jerk through each song, becoming more irritated by the lack of co-operation from the soundman. the chorus of each song morphs into “turn the fucking monitor up”, or something like that. i look at darren and he is pissed off. i turn to joel and see he is tense. i look at jan and he is pissed off, and i think i would actually fancy my chances at jumping off that top balcony. anything rather than this fresh HELL we are in right now. but then it got WORSE. or better if depending which way you look at violence. i am not a fighter.
we begin Reactor Party, our final song. darren stands up & throws his sticks to the floor like when ivan drago hits the deck in Rocky IV. fucked off at the lack of co-operation with the useless motherfuckers in charge of the sound, joel decides to unleash the first, second, and third DOOMsday books of an insult to those concerned. something along the lines of uselessmotherfuckingwanker, and then a bit more for luck. righteous.
within less than a minute – enough time for a few more verses of the tirade – mr.Fucko, we will call him, was onstage and flexing his neck in the direction of lovely joel. then he squared up to him. and thence forth came the head of fucko and the head of fucko did connect with the head of lovely joel. BOOM! within a few seconds, the lingering malevolence has found a host and been personified by the new public enemy. with the headbutt came a vague gasp from the crowd. then darren. well-versed in playing the “weapons”, or drums as other people call them, darren leapt over his kit, with cymbal stand (& cymbal) in hand bopped fucko in the head. then came tom. tom is our tour manager and all-round stand-up guy. he had been watching events unfold and as joel began the tidal wave of words words and words, noticed mr.Fucko stride down the (how very appropriately) far-right side of the cinema. tom followed suit by running down the opposite aisle, and with the timing of Apollo Creed when he knocks out Rocky, punches fucko in his beady little eye. then joel. as he reels from what was most likely the cymbal rather than tom’s fist, joel swings what was previously Francis Rossi (really) of Status Quo’s synth guitar at fucko. meanwhile i remained calm, albeit useless. i decided to continue playing Reactor Party, initially thinking this would be over in a minute and we could get on with it. no. the curtain began to fall and as if to add comic effect to the whole proceedings, seemed to pause for a minute as various individuals were pinned to the floor and restrained. i remember little else of what happened but i think i mentioned how fun the evening had been and the audience had been l-o-v-e l y.
then the bouncers arrived onstage and it was over.
DARK
TIMES.
Friday, July 14, 2006
61 INTERNET MAP THING
If you've got a PC with Windows you can download the Schmap guide to Glasgow which includes several photos of the last party at 61 if you click on West Princes Street. Pretty ridiculous. Get it here: http://www.schmap.com/guides/glasgow
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