THE PIQUANCY OF FREQUENCY
Increasingly in recent months I've come to question why I continue to persist in this maddening exercise in creative futility that I like to call SPOZ's RANT. Maybe I had the best of intentions once: a need to belong? a wish to communicate? a thirst for the kill? a promise of fame, fortune and fiery femme fatales? comic relief? Who the fuck knows! Each weekend like cuckoo clockwork I throw myself screaming into battle, each week I hit the ground running again to fuel the habit and with camera and keyboard in hand I document the dementia. It never stops, it never relents, it just keeps on coming and coming until the bullets run out and I'm overrun to a stampede of arms and legs all wanting for brains and I run out've reasons to fight. Everything starts to look the same: same shit, different smells, the same fucking routine over and over; a Groundhog Day in white noise and strobe-light repetition. Increasingly I come to ask myself why I continue to persist in this madenning exercise, this creative futility, surely it'll lead to nowhere.. "if I see yet another fucking shoegazer band I'm gonna slit my fucking throat!".. I dream of career suicide, I dream of sabotage, I dream of burning it all to the ground and getting the fuck out've dodge whilst all your heads are turned and yet just before I can light the fuse to end it all in gleeful ruination I'm reminded once more why I got into this mess in the first place.
Everytime I think I'm out, a weekend like this pulls me back in! :)
FRIDAY NIGHTTonight I had clearly reached the end of my tether. Last Sunday 5AM in absinthe poisoning was followed scarse hours later with me screamingly hungover at 11AM at a children's photography shoot for some spare coin only then to hit the ground sprinting on Monday with design deadlines piling up around my ears on a eyelid stapling caffeine bender; I truly hope some of THIS would lead towards some kind of financial security but I'm wise enough to know otherwise by now. Meanwhile all week my inbox was filling with offers of gigs at Jade Monkey, Rocket Bar and Enigma: Rejusa, Nereeda, Taught By Animals, Tokyo Sex Shooters and Tony Font Show all begging for my attention. All worthy offers granted but I chose none of the above, I couldn't stand it now more, I switched my phone off and fled to the relative saftey of the Hindley St cinema for Spiderman 3 to silence the klaxons firing off in my head..
..and yes, I COULD review this movie for the benefit of all you slobs out there but yeah fuckit I know you'll see it no matter what I say (*cough* just a hint: don't expect too much, this dog's breakfast ain't a scratch over the 2nd one).
A few minutes shy of midnight, all happily tranquilised after effectively blowing my brains out to 3 out've 5 stars of Hollywood twaddle, I stumble out've the cinema with a blank goldfish expression, calmly switch my phone back on, only then to be snowed under by a shitstorm of voicemails and SMS's all frantically wondering where the fuck I'd snuck off to. Ooops! and so, in following the trail of destruction, I next arrive here at Enigma Bar to pick up the pieces of what I'd missed out on.
Upon arrival I'm first hit by the shitstorm aftermath of what I believe was Amundsen's Flag, The Baron and Mayfield in a free for all stage mashup party. I think there was a tune to all of this, but I couldn't quite place it under all the hooting, screaming and feedbacking guitars..
..only then to be hit by the screaming stampede of Tony Font Show's female fanbase as they threw me to the floor in giddy excitement over my last minute arrival..
TONY FONT SHOW..only then to have my silver malls balls blasted to the back walls by Tony Font Show as they hit the stage to headline the night. I apologise in advance for any chaos in blurred movement that these photos may represent here. Nowhere was safe, we are all going to die!
This is the mess they left behind..
..and this is what happened when I got too close to the action.
Much hooting carnage and drunken flaggellation followed for reasons I've yet to fathom; I think it had something to do with Simone working 7 days in a row and wanting to drink herself retarded and us not wanting her to go at it alone (aaaah! who says chivalry is dead?) but in the end it didn't really matter, the result, as always led us to THIS infamous shithole.
As is the custom of these kamikaze loons, we celebrated the fine works of Johnnie Howard and his 7 day work week by partaking in what appeared to be the foul liquid detritus squeezed out've the mops and buckets from the Cranka floorboards; their friendly bar staff served it in a shotglass with a smile and yes it tasted every bit as good as it sounds! Mmmm hmmmmmm, my innards are turning green and inside-out with gleeful anticipation!
This led to Joe Blogs attempting some unconventional dance moves with Heath Weber..
..which then led to all manner of crimes against humanity under the swirling lights here.
4AM swings by, I've long since lost track of the other gargling chuckleheads (as I was much too busy making a twit of myself on the Cranka dancefloor with the baboons from Angelik) and I didn't have the first clue over where they'd headed off to, till I received a very helpful vomit MMS from Joe Blogs that could only point me in the ONE direction: here at Frumpy Dacks on Pultney St, the classiest late night eatery in Adelaide! YeeeeeeHOOOOOO!!
Clearly, the following photos need no explaination, except perhaps to our attending psychiatric staff years from now. We call it performance art, your interpretation may vary..
..and I wish I could explain these photos, but um.. yeah.. clearly they're speaking volumes over why the rest of you should NEVER attempt this shit at home (you may also note Simone doing her best to contain her excitement over all the tequila she drank earlier tonight.. yeeeouch!).
And as Joe Blogs takes his trusty steed to sail off into the sunrise, we bid farewell to yet another messy Friday night. A night that despite all my best efforts to lay low still manages to destroy everything in it's path. Fear the beast!
SATURDAY NIGHTI wake up dead. I briefly question how I could possibly wake up when in I was in fact "dead", and yet here I am: awake and dead, thus continuing the ongoing enigma that is my weekend existence; things could only get better from here. To make things more entertaining for me tonight I attempt the one thing I vowed I'd never attempt again so soon and especially not in a weekend on a tail end of such knackering as I've endured this past month - the bipolar shift: another in yet another tag-team punch drunkening between two venues covering upto 8 bands in one fatal death blow. Thus proving once more how I could be awake AND dead here on this night, as no-one alive would ever be stupid enough to do what I'm about to attempt.
Venue #1 is the Worldsend on the northside of Hindley St, host to the "Girls Gone Rock" mini festival upstairs featuring: Teddy Royals and Crackwhore from Melbourne and Ricochet Pete, Blow Up Betty and Angelik for some clamfisted punkrock girl on girl action..
whilst down southside at Venue #2 is Jive, featuring the stoner whisky stained rock swagger of Swayback, The Exploders and 67 Special..
..and all the while between these two extremes I'm dogged relentlessly by fellow paparazzi in the front row such as this twit behind the telescopic, Kimmy D from Blow Up Betty. She likes to think of herself as a gig photographer, I like to think my new mission in life is to make fun of her for starting up this crack habit. Game on biaaaatch! ;)
RICOCHET PETEFirst band of the night, is Ricochet Pete here at the Worldsend. In short I'd describe these guys as the sorta pissyarse garage act you'd drag along to your kid sister's 18 birthday party. They're rough as all fuck and would likely get laughed out've every uni battle of the bands you'd care to enter them into but hey, everyone's gotta start somewhere (and clearly since Blow Up Betty don't nearly suck as much as they used to I'm gonna need to find a new target). Although, to be fair, what they lack in talent they easily make up for in enthusiasm. In a few years they'll rock out like all bollocks; in the meantime they'll be sure to kick me arse for writing this review. HA!
SWAYBACKAcross the road first band of the night Swayback launch into their hillbilly slide guitar whisky soaked rock n raaaawl. The more I hear them the less they remind me of Jet (small mercy there hahahaha) and the more they remind me of some hippyarse 70's swamp act like Daddy Cool minus all the long hair. If I was lying in a gutter somewhere drinking my life away with a bag of goon (and chances are I'll be in just such a place later tonight) they'd be just the thing to make my spiraling oblivion all the more sweeter.
THE TEDDY ROYALSAcross the road, next band The Teddy Royals fire up. The front row is swamped with what appears to be their rent-a-crowd from Melbourne. They're all shrieking some kinda wacky catch phrase like "Chubba Chup" or "Gobbledock" or "Umpa Lumpa", I can't remember which (clearly a LOT of alcohol has flowed under the bridge between hemispheres since) but I believe their continuous heckling is directed towards the particularly comical and diminuative lead singer fronting this band. In their wildest dreams they probably hope this all sounds like The Breeders, whilst in actual fact it more likely sounds like what The Wiggles must've been like back when they were an unsucessful rock band (only with purple dinosaur Dorothy dancing out front). They're incredibly stupid to watch but still kind've infectious all the same.
THE EXPLODERSBack at Jive, The Exploders are on stage. They sound like the sort've kentucky fried rock disaster that the kid from Almost Famous would've shot out his bathroom mirror to whilst dreaming about Kate Hudson and as much as I would like to go more indepth on attempting to describe these guys I'm more glaringly distracted by the freakingly large nostrils of lead singer TJ Allender. He could use those hoovers to hunt for truffles, if he sneezes we all die, if you look really closely you can almost spot tusks.. damn.. where's a drum solo for all these one liners when ya need one? Oh that's right, it's being drowned out by the sound this dude makes when he snores.. HA! Still, if you're the sort've retro band geek who gets all moist over hairyarsed 12'' vinyls of Creedence Clearwater Revival, then you'll dig The Exploders.
CRACKWHOREBack at Worldsend again we have the subtle and oh so delicate nuances of Crackwhore. Think of a smoke alarm strapped to a chainsaw cutting through sheet metal inches away from your face and you'd get a hint of what I experienced during their set. The lead singer howled like she was giving birth to a volvo whilst the leopard print guitarist beat his guitar bleeding to the tune of squealing feedback for the entire set without relent. The rest of the band appeared long dead and I wished I was there with them. If you ever wondered what would make your next trip to the dentist even more tortorous, then this would be your answer. I'm beginning to suspect they're all vampires and most of us ain't getting out of here alive. They'll be great for kid's parties! Your grandmother will love 'em! The pain! OH THE PAAAAIN!! ;)
67 SPECIALReturning to Jive we have headlining act 67 Special. They sound like whales having sex to deep sea sonar buoys, but only because previous act Crackwhore have rendered me temporarily deaf. Having these lunatics blast out their PA to soundlevels loud enough to recalibrate the orbit of the moon clearly isn't helping matters further. Chelsea, who's currently twiddling her thumbs behind the desk pimping the merchandising tonight would have me led to believe they sound like The Dandy Warhols, just more fuckoff "rock". I think I'll take her word for it.
BLOW UP BETTYBack to the Worldsend with my howling tinitus kicking below the red (thanks to TJ and his extensive "sinus" unclogging techniques) I'm back just in time for Blow Up Betty. Damn! I got my hearing back, for THIS!? (hahaha just kidding). Yup, as much as I would love to relentlessly make fun of these banshees and their "shriek-along" punkrock highschool hissy-fit tampon anthems to make men's bits bleed, since they ever so fiendishly delivered me their EP for review and after I gave it a few spins in effort to write said review, I now know every damn catchy sing-along word to every one of their damn catchy little songs. Even worse after enough times I actually start to really LIKE this shit. This disturbs me a great deal. They're as catchy as bout of influenza and just as welcome. I'm gonna go play their EP again. Kill me! KILL ME NOW!! here comes the chorus and KILL ME AGAIN!! WAAAUAUAAGGHH!!
ANGELIKNow at last we reach the final band of the night. Angelik. The crowd is pushed so close to the stage that there is no stage, there's just a big fuckoff pirahna swarm: arms, legs and other unrecogniseable chunks flying everywhere. Outside of Tony Font Show's
EP launch and being arseraped by Matt Hayward during a
Central Deli Band set, this is probably the scariest local gig I've ever been at. Nowhere is safe. Sam (The Bullet) Baroudi is chopping up the zombie hoards in the front row, Laken is thrashing around everywhere like a ragdoll being torn to shreds by a rottweiler, Kimmy from Blow Up Betty joins them on stage to do vocals for "Lets Go Out Tonight" and eardrums burst like popcorn out in the crowd, the two Nick's in the rhythm section beat everything up like a blender whilst I run around dodging this shitstorm on and off stage like an obstacle course trying to capture the madness. It's moments like these, fearing for my life that I remember why I'm a gig photographer: this shit is just too much fucking fun! WOOOOOOOO!
Ever thankful to survive a hurricane of howling baboons like that, I celebrate by drinking myself to the gutter; which as always leads me here to the Crown & Anchor, aka: The Clown N Wanker, The Cranka, The 'Ol Spanky, The Crankwhore or yeah, pretty much the gutter where one starts to find a particular fondness for the music of Swayback whilst chucking up lung paste like a Jackson Pollock. Although, tonight's forray into the Cranka is altogether shortlived when we rather quickly came to the conclusion that as much as we love this place for being the worst of the worst shitholes Adelaide will dredge up for our amusement; tonight it was well and truly deep throating and gargling hairy old man's balls. The gaping chasm in absense we met here tonight was bad ju-ju for the soul.
So there was only one thing for it but to head here, the only place in Adelaide even WORSE than the Cranka; Shotz at the exceptionally spring chicken hour of 2AM. To think, some people are actually insane enough to spend an ENTIRE evening here without gnawing their own arm off? Damn! Although all things considered, this place is certaintly not without it's charm, especially when you're rather rapidly mobbed by scores of lunatic female fans all too excited to see you. Aaaaaaah, gosh I love Shotz! How I manage to spend a weekend without almost dying in a pool of my own vomit here is anyone's guess! :)
Somehow I finally manage to crawl my twitching carcass out've this checkered deathtrap alive, requisition the last late night bus home, fall arse backwards out the exit at stop 18A, feast on this festive splattering of offal served up at the servo (which tasted altogether like drinking all the best bits of a cow thrown into a blender: believe me, when drunk this will be like heaven to you!), before finally collapsing on my doorstep with a stupid grin on my face at around 5AM.
Yup, to the casual observer this weekend may've looked like all the other weekend, it may've sounded like all the other weekend and it will more than likely leave a bloating corpse that smells just as bad as all the others I'd lived and died before combined countless times over like a mass burial grave high enough to blot out the sun; but sometimes through all the white noise, the repetition and the sleep deprivation I find that piquancy of frequency, that unique and insane shining moment or two that makes the accumilative dementia I drag myself through time and time again for all you people all the more worthwhile to explore. FUCK YEAH! Lets do this shit again NEXT week! :)
Previously on Spoz's Rant:
Just Don't Give A Fuck 
