The Adelaide music scene: to many of you it might 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 dysfunctioning splendour, as we bring you the highly satirical, laughingly fictional and intellectually imbecile tales from our rock & roll wasteland...
FIRE! SANTA ROSA FIRE! + KYTES OF OMAR LIVE @ PRODUCERS BAR / Saturday October 4th 2008
There is a thin filmy layer, a bubble, a meniscus upon which all of reality "as we know it" sits. It is a hair's width stretched over the infinite, a thin perceptive band in the electromagnetic chasm, eleven dimensions folded into three for space and a forth for time, an infinite number of angels dancing on the head of a pin. If we were to pop this bubble and see it all in its manifest glory, our teeny tiny peanut brains would explode from the insanity of it all; but we do gain the occassional glimpse. These are the things that our science is yet to explain. They live among us. They flit in and out of our dreams like shadows. Mothers who lift carwrecks and toss them like toys to free their offspring. Yogis who can pierce themselves with giant needles and yet not draw blood. Psychics who can communicate with the dead. You've read the stories: remote viewers, benders of spoons, telepathics, telekenetics, ESP, astral projection, levitation and the ability to pick up Foxtel with their left nipple. People who claim to have seen werewolves, vampires, ghosts, demons, zombies, leprecauns and Michael Jackson. Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, cropcircles and the existence of UFOs. And then there's Producers Bar. Yeah I don't see the connection either. I mean really!? shit! I don't know why I write all this insane gibberish sometimes..
Producers Bar: besides being the interdimensional nexus point for most (if not all) of the most shitcrazy opening paragraphs EVER written for an episode of Spoz's Rant (I swear I have NO idea howIcametothisinsaneconclusioninthefirstplace) is also celebrating its second birthday party tonight (in conjunction with its freaky conjoined twin Electric Light Hotel) and is inviting all of us along for the ride! Woweee!! who knew it's been only two years!? I could've sworn they've been here ever since European settlement back in 1836, or maybe even EARLIER than that when a mysterious (and as yet undiscovered) species of sub-intelligent reptiloids constructed these hulking monoliths of doom out of bat guano and obsidian asteroid fragments millions of years ago in conjuction with space beings from the Pleiades star cluster. And maybe tonight they'll finally open up all those secret "lower levels" and show us just what they've REALLY been "producing" all these years!? freaky alien-human hybrids? the AIDS virus? bottled water for Mount Franklin? fuuuuck! I dunno about you but I'm sure as shit eager to find out..
9:26PM - So with giddy (and borderline insane) glee I rush to Producers Bar tonight to see what they have in store for me. Only to arrive much too early for the party. It appears they've pulled a "Rocket Bar" on me and wont be opening till at least 10PM. Of course I could've just ducked in next door and enjoyed all the free "food" they were serving up at Electric Light but instead we're here at Producers Bar well before opening, me and the barstaff sharing this brief awkward "moment", eyeing each other off from opposite ends of the room whilst they hosed out all the blood, chopped up and carried out all the bodies (from last night's opening of their Friday "Syke" party) and placed fresh candles on all the table tops.. awwww! nothing quite hides all the hideous manslaughter quite like some good 'ol fashioned mood lighting..
So while they carry about with their drills and surgical saws, filling up those garbage bags: this is me gazing longingly into the rose coloured bar fridge and smiling innocently; oblivious to all the splattering sounds on the plastic sheeting around me, oblivious to the dementing screams of those who are still alive.. y'know, I'm really surprised people don't come here more often!?
KYTES OF OMAR (****1/2) myspace :: Yup, we don't really speak all that often of what REALLY "happens" in Producers bar, but I HAVE observed a far more tangible psychological effect caused by all this insane evil on those who have chosen to work in this fiery hell pit for far too long. Take Anthony for example, lead singer of Kytes Of Omar. He's been working behind this bar almost to the day that it opened. Nicest bloke you'll ever meet, humble, self effacing, earnest to a fault. Get him on a live stage however (especially this one) and he suddenly becomes a snarling hangover five times his original size: one who devours entire planets with an unearthly howl that sounds equal parts Caleb Followill, Billy Lunn, Linda Blair and Jello Biafra with an axe to grind. Is there some unseen force working through him to manifest such white knuckle terror? or has Sophie at the bar simply been upping the dosage on all the psychoactive drugs she slips into all of my "beers"!? It's hard to say but it's definitely an integral part of their sound: part 60's surf guitar, part postpunk indie shred laced with a Queens Of The Stone Age petrol driven satanist groove, and a whole shitload of shitstaining terror! They're every "nice guy" in your neighbourhood who turns out to be a serial killer. They're every bloodcurdling beast of doom that lies just below the surface of us all. Oh yes! They're Kytes Of Omar: the scariest damn band in all of the Adelaide music scene!
On the surface they seem just like the archetypal "Australian" rock band: y'know, one of those wacky ones we used to come up with in the 70's and 80's. Nothing but sun, surf, fast cars, fast women and fucking good times! (thinly disguised under an indie rock filter of anything from Kings Of Leon, The Strokes, The Subways to The Pixies to keep it current) but peak behind the curtain and you'll see the film noir post apocalyptic terror that really drives them all. They're a littany of British backpacker murders, disappearances, kidnappings, bodies dumped in barrels of acid and floating face down in the River Torrens. They're all those "tunnels" you hear about that riddle the underground of Adelaide. They're the Beaumont children buried under my floorboards right now as I laugh hysterically. And (strange that I'd mention it) they're also soon to be featuring as cameo appearance in the next horror film (apparently) produced by the same demented fools who came up with "Wolf Creek". Oh yes! I'm not just making this shit up, it's real bitches! Oh and as for tonight's gig? they had Matt Hills on keys, the sound didn't totally blow goats, y'know it was kinda fucken awesome (they have me tied up in their basement, I can hear them firing up the chainsaws.. oh gawwd!! please help!! HELP!! WAAUUGHH!!!).
FIRE! SANTA ROSA FIRE! (*****) myspace :: And speaking of mild mannered individuals who later turn out to be homicidal face eating serial killers (huh.. what!? oh look! Sophie dropped another "pink pill" in my drink and everything's all happy again! weeeeee!) along comes our headlining band Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! Yeah I know, I wouldn't normally get the connection either. When I think of these "propellerheads" I think of nothing but mildly dementing childlike innocence. They're the "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" of the Adelaide music scene. They're syncopated handclaps, tambourines and repetitive chanting. They're too much red food colouring and artificial sweeteners, spinning around and around, getting a little dizzy and having to lie down for a while. They're that three year old toddler in every one of us who's sucked a little too quickly from their "sippy cup", got a little too excited, bumped their head on that nasty coffee table and now they're howling tears as mummy puts a Simpson's bandaid on their foreheads as she cooes: "ooopsie-daisy it looks like you had yourself a little boo-boo!". Yup, they're Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! They're band geeks! They're indie kid "nine pound weaklings"! They're awesome! I love these guys! They wouldn't even hurt a fly! but tonight I dunno whether it's all these walls closing in around me all a sudden, but it's becoming less like Romper Room for adults around here and more like an insane mix between Happy Tree Friends, Ren & Stimpy and all those shitscary school kids from Aphex Twin's "Come To Daddy"..
Granted it started out all "innocence and handclaps" in the first half of their set but something tipped them over the edge, something drove them to the brink of madness, something that looked rather like THIS rambling drunk: this shaved ape with pointed features and sinewy frame, this shining gift from the gods of pisstaking gonzo rock photojournalism, who seemingly busted out of "nowhere" to make his starring appearance tonight (and by "seemingly busted out of nowhere" we're clearly referring to the revolving-door mental assylum that feeds the Crown & Anchor across the road with all of its highclassloonies). Either way, in next to no time, he's found himself prime position in front of the stage, locked his beady eyes onto Dave their singer, and proceeds to hurl abuse at him for all his worldly ills. Most of what he said was unintelligible at first, but then his slurring ocker twang became ever clearer with each passing word: "you're a cocksucker!! cocksucker!! yeaah that's right!! A HUMAN COCKSUCKER!!!"
Still, not looking to be outdone by this howling interloper, Dave gets an evil grin on his face and without skipping a beat he simply fires right back with: "hey everyone! have you met my dad!? hi dad!! how've you liked our gig so far!? awwww don't be like that dad! c'mon dad!? you've never approved of what we've done HAVE you!? I'm doing this all for YOU dad!! it's all for you!!". Which understandibly only made this skinhead even more belligerent (and all the more hilarious to take photos of) which only fires Dave up even more, and on and on it went..
Eventually (a few songs into this hilarious slanging match), our resident heckler foolishly decides to light up a smoke, promptly ringing alarm bells with all the bar staff, who approach him one by one to persuade him to put OUT the offending "fire stick", followed by more mumbling obscenities, followed by a larger gathering of barstaff, followed by him being dragged (arms and legs flailing) outside and onto the curb, followed by much cheering from the crowd..
Yup the look on Dave's face says it all - Dave: 1, Heckler: 0. "Duuuude you SO got pwned!"
Now granted this set tonight was already pretty damn neat. I mean excusing all the howling pisstakes and "backhanded insults" I usually love to let loose on them (including some of my best zingers that I just unleashed on them in that opening paragraph weeeee!) I freely admit it, they've found it, they've nailed it, Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! have well and truly discovered their "thing", their sound, their shitcrazy awesome and unique buzz to call their own that will take them onto bigger and better things! I'm seriously digging this shit, I really am!! And thanks to that ONE wingnut in the crowd firing them up tonight, all bets are off!! This isn't just no teddy bear's picnic no more, ooooh no! this is war!! This is them killing every damn fucking thing that moves tonight and rocking the absolute shit out've that tambourine.. this is Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! proving once that they can fuck with the best of them and win! FUCK YEAAAAH!!
So thus we're presented with a curious "before and after" study of awesomness here. In the first half we have their song "Bad Trip". Ever so arty yet blissfully autistic. Effortlessly ecclectic. Lightly dappled and liltingly languid. You could easily imagine Michel Gondry directing the music video as some hipster doofus in a fluffy bunny suit drifts peacefully through a model forest to its bass bounding groove. It's a sleepwalker jam from go to woe, yet ever so funky..
And then there's THIS song from the second half of their set: "Stranglehold" and a performance so hilariously disjointed, inebriated and erratic it not only gives Tyger Tyger's performance of "Buttons & Levers" from last night a run for its money, but turns it on its head, gives it a wedgie, sets it on fire and proceeds to piss all over on its smoking remains. I can see it now: the music video as directed by Chris Cunningham and duuude I'm frightened! Whether it be the work of The Devil, the work of "whatever" lives beneath Producers Bar, or simply the combined effect of all the piss and pills they've been downing to celebrate their "victory" tonight; either way this is without a doubt the singularly most fucked up AWESOME shit I've seen all week!! :)
1:14AM - And so there we have it another shining victory for Producers Bar; and we all know what's going to happens next! Still, moments before "The Great Cthulhu" could rise again to devour yet another one of his "offerings", Matt Hills notices a teeny tiny switch on his mixing desk with two settings "good" and "evil", wonders briefly why it's been set to "evil" for all these years and gives it a light tap. With that simple gesture Fire! Santa Rosa Fire! snap out of whatever demonic trance they've been in for the last 45 minutes; suddenly look a little embarassed to be up there and scurry off stage. There's an awkward pause whilst everyone waits for the inevitable, eventually realise that nothing will (aaah if only The Killgirls from two weeks ago were quite so lucky) as Sam from Fire! Santa finally hits the decks (soon to be followed by a tag-team of his other bandmates), spins up the bambi tracks and everything's all smiles, rainbows and gumdrops again!
Or at least it would've been until Dave took his turn on the decks only to be hounded by yet another shaved monkey heckling him out front: "you're a cocksucker! cocksucker!! yeaaah!! you're a human cocksucker!!" only to realise that was just his "mother" arriving late for his gig. Wow some family huh!? (although it DOES begin to explain a few things.. hmmmm).
1:31AM - Ten to fifteen moments later (and about as many beers piled on top of that) I suddenly feel the need to take all these entirely stupid mugshots out in the crowd. Of course I realise none of this shit ever has ANY connection with anything I've written so far, but then again what the hell ELSE were you ever expecting from me? more lame "serial killer" jokes?
Speaking of serial offenders, here's Sophie sneaking herself into yet ANOTHER episode of Spoz's Rant: quite possibly because it's her birthday tonight (or quite possibly thanks to all the beers she's been bribing me with so I'll never lead the cops to her) either way, I believe there's a lesson in all of this: Spoz likes beer. Spoz really likes beer. Beer beer beer. Mmmmm beeeeeer!
Whilst this bespectacled dingbat, aka: Matt Hayward: manager for Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!, has NO reason to be featuring in this episode whatsoever (so much so it appears my camera flash is having a violently allergic response to him) but is still featured here anyways because this is the most singularly awesome photo I've ever taken and I'd be crime not to publish it..
1:38AM - And speaking of wildly sarcastic statements, it didn't take long before I was also intercepted by THIS dingbat on the dancefloor. Yeah I know, I've ever met him before in my entire life but for some retarded reason he's pulling all these wildly erratic dance moves out there like HE knows me from somewhere (pffft I mean really? who EVER reads this blog!?)
Only to slip THIS in passing because either (a) he was trying to make a pass at ME (yeeeeouch!) or (b) he was attempting to show me just how utterly clever he is in promoting himself (but clearly he's not clever enough because I've since pixelated out his myspace address). "Hmmm I wonder? naaah I couldn't possibly do that shit HERE, there'd be too many witnesses!? pffft duuude what am I saying!? of course I can! it's Producers Bar! anything goes around here!!"
1:50AM - So here I go, whistling away happily as I carry this "garbage bag" over my shoulder and into the middle of the road; briefly wonder which dumpsters I'll use to dispose of it, until I think "fuck it!" and simply dump it onto the medium strip (as I think we've pretty much established that they turn a blind eye to anything you dump in the eastend ghetto nowadays). Thus, satisfied in a job well done, I head back to Electric Light with my newly acquired "business card" and for laughs I see if I can try my luck with it. Which would've been a brilliant plan until I stumbled upon THIS solarium dysfunction on the right, briefly wondered if I'd catch whatever the hell she's got: "mummy? what's the opposite of scurvy?", quickly reconsidered my insane plan and then got the hell out of there (but hey at least she colour coordinated well with her outfit! wooooo!!).
1:58AM - And speaking of bad luck with the "ladies": here's the fat lip that Anthony got thanks to an altercation with some drunk lady just outside of Producers Bar earlier tonight (just moments after evicting that equally drunkarse heckler during Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!'s set). Sure, normally I wouldn't stop so low to take this photo (pffft as if!) but after Anthony kept pointing at me and screaming: "look at it! LOOOOK AT IT!!" I was all too happy to oblige; then I eyed the exit, I slowly inched myself towards it, and I run the fuck out of there as fast as I could..
Only to bump straight into this instead on my way out.. OOOOOH FUUUCK!!
3:14AM - Over an hour or quite possible sixteen minutes "out cold" (clearly flows differently in this demon dimension) I awake to find myself in the toilets. And yes I know what you're thinking, but no that vomit isn't mine, it's Tim's, he works here, he didn't even get drunk tonight, it's his chicken kebab, but y'know how it is with awesome public displays of vomiting: when you see it, you just gotta photograph the shit out of it and SHOW IT TO THE WORLD!!
3:21AM - Still despite all the horrors I've witnessed here tonight and just like every night before it I still find myself here drinking it up and laughing hysterically well after closing. I could begin to explain the why the how and the what for or I could simply explain it all away as "swamp gas refracting off the planet Venus" but either way I would probably have to shoot you..
3:49AM - Either way, figuring I hadn't seen nearly enough stupid shit for one night, I make my way to the Crown & Anchor for an encore performance, whilst secretly hoping like hell none of the barstaff would kill me for all those insane jokes I made LAST week (hi Rhiannon!!).
And speaking of people who I'm really surprised haven't been banned for life, here's Dick Dale! You may remember him from that time I found him lying in one of the urinals with a retarded grin on his face, you may remember him from that time he almost killed me with a pool cue when I pulled that prank on him back in April, or maybe you simply remember that insane burning effigy he left out on the medium strip the last time Kamikaze played a gig here, or maybe you don't cause I mean really, whoever remembers shit like that!? (oh except the Crown & Anchor barstaff, who sure as shit remember because that's why he's been banned from here for the next 12 months; oh except he's drinking here right now.. fuck I love this place!)
And speaking of shit I have no possible explanation for: I have no freaking clue who THESE emo dweebs are (or why I took a photo of them) but yup you guessed it, if I'm drunk enough, chances are I'll take a photo, write an utterly baffling caption for it and post it on this blog anyways..
Which possibly explains why Nick from Tyger Tyger always seems to find himself in an episode at the tail end of a night: although it may be something to do with the hair, and my insane belief that if I photograph it from enough different angles, feed it into a computer, and map it out in 3D it will give me conclusive proof of life on other planets (or quite possibly if it's a wig or not).
and yes I'm at a total loss to explain any of THIS shit either, but I believe in some third world countries it means we're "married" now. Wow awesome! which way to the exit sign?
4:18AM - After much hysterical screaming, running, and arm flailing all the way down Rundle Mall, I'm stopped dead in my tracks by this awesome display of horse poo (because just like vomit, you just gotta photograph the shit out of it and SHOW IT TO THE WORLD!!)
4:20AM - And just to conclusively prove that this night is well and truly flushing itself down the crapper, I somehow manage to follow THAT shit up with this impromptu act of asynchronous burping (duuuude I swear, sometimes I don't know why even leave the house at night!?)
4:35AM - I don't know how the hell I got to Supermild alive after all that, but would you believe me if I told you really big magnets were involved!? hmmm no probably not, but hey when has anything I've said at this time of night ever made sense!? (and yet you're still choosing to read it now!? hmmm, that probably says a whole lot more about YOU than it does about me!)
Once inside, I proceed to take all these wacky and hysterical photos that show you just how much insane fun I had in here without actually being able to remember any of it afterwards..
Although it may begin to explain why the inside of my head was so "itchy" the next day..
5:11AM - Only to stay till well after closing because clearly I'm fucking insane and I don't know when to quit and I've never EVER said this shit before at the tail end of a long night out ever in my entire life. Oh and yes this IS a freakingly awesome photo, thanks for mentioning it!
5:13AM - Finally I drag my drunkarse out, only to stop briefly and take a photo with Curtis here: the most freakingly awesome DJ you'll ever damn near see in Supermild or Rocket Bar who'll otherwise frighten the shit out of small children (aaaaah just think of what would happen if we both got married? just think of all the freaky malformed babies we could have!? YES!!).
5:45AM - And if that wasn't nearly terrifying enough to scare you into a lifetime of sobriety, then the simple fact that I kept drinking HERE at the Strathmore for another hour or so probably will (mental note: don't ever party "after closing" with bartenders from Producers Bar, even if one of them is celebrating their birthday tonight and drags you along with them, or chances are you'll wake up in Mexico somewhere missing an arm cause y'know that shit's actually happened to me.. what? why are you looking at me like that!? it grew back!).
6:37AM - Yup, every night has that "moment" of clarity, that moment where we stop and think and wonder why, and I had MINE in the urinal just now when I finally saw THIS poster. I take a long hard look at myself, I take a long hard look at the poster, I look at what I've been doing all night, I look back at the poster then I piss myself laughing, resist the urge to piss all over it and then I laugh some more: "duuude binge drinking ain't the problem! not when there's all these other idiots dropping speed, doing meth, snorting lines of coke and raping the furniture! sheeeesh!!" and then I imagine the awesome poster that'd go along with that (and then I laugh some more, and then I get the FUCK out of the Strathmore before this shit damn near kills me)
6:53AM - Thus we end the night with me staggering blindly down Hindley Street, one hour later than usual in effort to catch a taxi the fuck out of this insanity (damn you daylight savings! damn you to hell!!) only to see THIS glorious sight before me and I stop to marvel at the simple beautiful fact that for all the crazy shit I've seen and done this night, when that sun comes back up again? "duuude it's just another day! and every day after there's another one just like it, and then after that there's another one!" Wow! I'm so fucking profound when I'm this fucking blind!
And there we have it, the answer I was seeking! It's all become so clear!! and by "clear" I totally mean one of those ridiculous closing statements that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Reality is perception. Reality is relative. Reality changes according to a society's need to cage and control it. Reality is nothing but a lie. I like to make mine up as I go along, how about yours?