The Adelaide scene: to many of you it may be little more than a touring speed bump between Melbourne and Perth but to us it's a way of life. Feast within, on all its dysfunctional splendour, as we bring you the highly satirical, laughingly fictional and intellectually imbecile tales from our rock & roll wasteland...
THE CITY RIOTS + FORMER CHILD STARS LIVE @ ROCKET BAR / Friday August 31st 2007
Here we are once more, crash landing upon the shores of yet another Friday night. Free at last after a long and tedious death march through the fluorescents and the papercuts, tripping over 3 flights of stairs to launch this Rocket Bar into black holes, oblivion and beyond. I'm barely able to remain upright, eyes are flickering morsecode to my test pattern brain, all around me thousands of years of civilisation are collapsing like a deck of cards to primal shrieks and howls, some idiot has just turned out the stage lights again; duuude what the FUCK am I doing here!??
FORMER CHILD STARS
First act for the night is Former Child Stars and if there's one thing positive to say about this band they're sure as fuck popular with the female fans and I mean EMBARASSINGLY popular to the point of it becoming a mental illness of some kind. Right now at front of stage, as I'm getting suffocated to death by the crush of oestrogen around me, screaming at volumes that'd put smoke alarms to shame, I'm imagining stock footage of random Beatles concerts from the 60's crossfaded with an Australian Idol concert playing to Top40 drones at a shopping centre and I'm checking for all available exits to get me the fuck out've here. Any minute now the tear gas canisters are gonna come smashing in through the windows, the riot police will be called in with batons and shields raised and it'll aaaall be over. Still, you'd think that what'ever hell it is that these monkeys are playing would be justification for this hysteria, but as much as I can tell: at best they could pass themselves off as a diet coke facsimile of Kings Of Leon by way of The Strokes and at worst as the newest geewhizz soundtrack to a tampon commercial (but then again since I don't have two X chromosomes working overtime right now I clearly must be missing the point). Duran Duran made a career out've much much less back in the 80's, so lets just be thankful that at least this band can actually PLAY their instruments.. weeeeeee! :)
THE CITY RIOTS
It's at a moment like this, just when I'm beginning to worry over exactly HOW retardingly drunk and narcoleptic I was when I thought THIS gig was a good idea to book in my gig calendar (aaaah sleep, how I miss thee!) that I'm next saved by the headlining act tonight, The City Riots. Although to the casual observer this band could easily be dismissed as yet another in a long line of radio friendly unit shifters that commercial stations like Nova, SA FM or Triple M love to ram down our throats way past their used-by-date under the mistaken guise of "indie pop-rock" (see such serial offenders as: Kisschasy, End Of Fashion, Evermore or Youth Group and hold the gag reflex), live on stage their spastic hyperactive antics more than make up for it. Come to think of it a name like "The City Riots" barely captures it, more apt is "Running With Scissors" or even better "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", as how else could I describe the frequent chainsawing my face receives from both bass and guitar throughout their set. They're as much about refined pop-rock polish in gunning riffs, falsetto harmonies and beserker 4/4 rhythmic chug tonight as they are about running about like deranged toddlers on too many redbulls with sharp objects that could take our eyes out. Sure, there's every chance they'll be the next to sell their souls for a coveted spot in the next ipod cross-promotion (and your mother will LOVE this shit) but as live photography goes these guys are nothing short of shit hot for a feeding frenzy!
Barely escaping Rocket Bar with my life and liberty intact, I next seek refuge in the quiet reflection and farty arty manifestation of Urtext Studios down Grenfell St way..
Sources tell me some kind've fucked up Green's Political fundraiser party has just blown through here like a force 5 hurricane, featuring such illustrious acts: as the Woolford Brothers, The Ocean Uprising, Stompbox, Sweet Baby James & Rob Eyers and more soap box sabre rattling and call to arms than you could possibly throw a misfired preference vote at..
With the main event long since gone and most of the chanting zombie crowds along with it, I had arrived just in time to soak me up the last few choice beers in peace.. aaaah, sweet reflection!
a plan that abruptly fell out the window the minute I got ambushed by THIS serial offender (and partner in crime) on yet another one of their camera hijacking benders.. d'oh!
thus quite predictably, my night spirals down the toilet once more into vertigo and headspins.
Not surprisingly it doesn't take long before we are thrown out've Urtext Studios by the attending bouncers (wuh! they got bouncers now, when did THIS happen?), so quite predictably we all decide to fuck off to drink ourselves retarded at the Cranker instead..
Along the way Joe Blogs attempts to requisition a scooter as his getaway vehicle..
I chose the worst of all puns by seeking my escape post haste..
career alcoholic Mathew Hein takes a much needed pitstop along the way..
before having his stream of consciousness interrupted by a kickstart from Joe Blogs..
arriving safe and sound (and considerably diminished of all remaining mental faculty) Matt and Joe celebrate a job well done, whilst simultaneously creeping out everyone in the bar..
proceed with much butchering of internal organs and abrupt shortening of our lifespans..
an act of substance abuse made all the more scaringly appealing here by Simone..
(remember: don't try this at home kiddies, she's a trained professional!)
many hapless victims are claimed along the way, such as the unfortunate Dan Woolford here..
for the briefest of moments I dimly recall that this blog was once about the music..
before pissing the last of it away with the most crass display of bodily dysfunction ever seen on the Cranka dancefloor.. since.. well.. *cough* pretty much the LAST time we were here..
.. and so here lies what's left of my functioning liver last seen crawling for the exit and cursing my name; where it went and for what foul purpose is anyone's guess? although chances are thanks to all the bruises I since received from this night (including a corker to my right knee after being thrown into and breaking a metal table on Rundle St.. weeeee!) I'll surely have the necessary road map to lead all my broken bits home..
