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...
THE WOOHOO REVUE + THE BEARDS + APHELION
LIVE @ THE CROWN & ANCHOR / Saturday April 18th 2009
Most nights I feel like a sniper assassin at this shit, like Sun Tzu, like a game of chess, like I can play this many moves: days, weeks, even months ahead. Like I've got it all figured out. No shit! I've been at this for three years or more now like a grizzled old war veteran, pickled and seasoned to taste. I'm everywhere and nowhere all at once; like many of you still wonder if I really exist. But you don't need to smoke my ashes many seasons hence just to figure out what really makes me tick, I'll tell you what gives me my freakish superpowers. Just like Batman I've got all the gadgets. I keep blueprints on every live venue in Adelaide. I even keep track of all those secret tunnels, pipelines and manhole covers that are rumoured to riddle this city's substructure like an express vacuum tube 24/7. When I roll into that joint, I know all the exits, I've got all the vantage points. I throw myself arse backwards into the worst firefights you have on offer just to see if can crawl out of it alive. I've studied all your methods. I keep an A-Z entymology of all your artistic expression, they're pickled in jars, they're dissected on a page. Calm like a cactus, float like a tumbleweed, I swim through your city streets, I have several networks on the go all at once telling me what's what: subscription feeds, sleeper cells, operatives in the field. I hear the voices, I see all the signs plastered on those walls, transmitted through codes. I pick through those entrails, study those flight patterns, breathe in those fumes, take in those vision quests; bugeyed babbling into the heart of the sun and I'm all the wiser for it! Sure, you may think I simply get it all from sms, emails, myspace, facebook, twitter, streetpress and word of mouth but *pfft* that's nothing but lies! I'm telepathic, prophetic and ten foot tall! (And am I sounding like the craziest fucking person alive for writing ANY of this shit just now!? OOOH HELL NO!) wait.. where the fuck am I again!?
Yup most nights I have a plan but tonight for the first time in weeks or months I swear I'm flying "blind" out there. Every once in a while you'll get hit by one of these: a media blackout, an event horizon from which no light escapes. You'll scan every available intel you'll have on hand and nothing will come up. Sure I knew about that all-ages gig at Adelaide Uni Bar. Just as I knew the one band I wanted to see: the Kytes Of Omar (short of that novelty act "Smile Island") had to cancel their set at the last minute. Sure I knew about that show at The Metro: Angelik, Toxic Shock and Kamikaze. Just as I knew that "Shannon The Cannon" from Kamikaze would surely knife me in the ribs the minute I walked through that door (as chances are she still hasn't forgiven me for that half-arsed Ricochet Pete review I wrote almost two years ago). Just as I knew Antony Of The Future and The Twentieth Century Graduates would be playing WOW! at The Ed Castle: but no one in their right mind EVER sees bands at WOW! No, these weren't options I was willing to entertain. I had "nothing". I was flying blind I swear! So with nothing else to lose, I stumble into The Crown & Anchor for the third Saturday in a row, just to see what insanity they had in store for me..
So here I am through those infamous blue bugzapper doors I'm drawn: past the pool tables, picking up a few frosty pints along the way as I make a beeline to the band room; back teeth gargling to this ecclectic gathering of instruments grazing gently on the stage before me. None of this was particularly out of the ordinary mind you: the drumkit, guitars, bass, bongos; even the blood red pentagram spray painted on that amp would be more than familiar to just about anyone who frequents the nocturnal fringes like I do. Only the names were different. Nothing about this night was planned. This is all spur of the moment. Who knows where it'll all go from here!?
Still when it comes to any freak forray into the farside of human expression (and you'll know just what I'm on about in just a few moments) it always helps to share it with a few familiar faces. Just like these three festive fools found assembled behind me tonight. From left to right we have Justin Rilling: former lead singer of Rejusa (a band I saw maybe a handful of gigs from back in 2006-2007), Captain Smashypants (aka: "Sallycat - Greens Party Candidate" and "Kitten DJ" who spins the frisbees here on occassional Fridays) and the ever infamous Emma Lou (aka: "The Welsh Midget", bohemian space tripper and freelance photographer). Sure you've likely never heard of any of these freaks either; but trust me if you got nearly as drunk as I do on a regular basis you'd know how handy it is to keep them around. Not necessarily because they'd make good organ donars (what you kidding me!? theirs would probably fail before mine do!), but more for all the beers you could potentially mooch off them if ever you run dry. Aaaah good people! Every pub should have regulars quite like these *cough* wait, who the fuck are all these people again!?
APHELION (****) myspace ::
Our opening act I've only seen once before almost two years ago. Which by any other standards of binge drinking and alcohol abuse I've been known to frequent, effectively makes this is the FIRST time I've ever seen them. This is also one of the many reasons why I can keep writing what is essentially the SAME blog hundreds of different ways, as quite frankly, every night is "shiny and new" and I officially have the attention span of a goldfish.. wait, where the fuck am I!? *cough* oh yeah, our opening act! You may recognise their lead singer Tony Rawcliffe (aka: "Tone Aphelion") as one of Crown & Anchor's many grizzled war veterans, frequently found floating about the pool tables with all those other colourful fungal forms like Scotty: former guitarist for The Black Doves, that "guy" Liam (who everyone thinks is a girl), Matt Hein (who everyone thinks is one of those trolls out of The Hobbit) and every other shaved monkey metalhead who's ever added you on myspace (I think there's at least, what, twelve of them now!?). As such Tony Rawcliffe's fame surely precedes him. Back in the day he was reknown for his throat curdling scream, and when he fronted Adelaide's iconic ear bleed "Burn The Ashes" he could kill just about anyone by flaring his nostrils and sneezing the wrong way. Since then however this cat's mellowed out quite considerably. While most metalheads of his ilk have become nothing more than cartoon caricatures; his songcraft has matured quite like that of a fine wine. Which is quite like what we hear here in Aphelion, his latest project. Essentially they're an Irish folk revelry act. Crazy I know, but throughout their ecclectic repertoire tonight you can actually hear those influences flowing right back again to darker bands who've dabbled in this territory before: like Opeth, A Perfect Circle (especially on their second album), Filter, The Tea Party and VAST and even beyond that to their celtic ancestry: expressed in nothing but strings, voice and the lightest of dappled percussion. In Tony's voice you can hear that journey, two thousand or more years of that shared ancestory, you can feel that worldly weight in his furrowed brow; even as his singing floats light as a feather. In Adrian's violin, Aaron's djembe, Coal's bass (and that extra guitarist.. name? anyone!?) you feel all four seasons, as they mark their passage in the stone circles of a world long lost to us but never forgotten. Yeah I know, you're just waiting for the punchline aren't you!? you're waiting till they bring out the panpipes? or until they bust out with that lame Enya cover.. I mean shit, didn't Peter Jackson bleed this schtick dry for all those Lord Of The Rings movies (and all three of those needless extended editions!?). But no, this ain't no reinterpretation, THIS is the real deal!
Yup, for proof of their furthering authenticity tonight: look no further than this pagan procession, this folicle throng that followed, surely answering Aphelion's clarion call with their silent unshaven presence. I mean why ELSE would they be here tonight? Hirsute hillbillies, grinning goons, all with extended growths, representatives from all four corners of this city, the furthest shopping centre carparks, bottle shops and convenience stores of outer suburbia. All here for one singular unifying purpose!? OOOOH what a facemelting spectacle it is to see them all assembled here tonight!
But then I began to suspect something else was at play here; something a whole lot stranger. Take Lee Cowan for example: former lead singer for Tony Font Show. I was pretty sure he was dead (or at the very least pulling bongs somewhere in.. I dunno Enfield!? playing a few too many rounds of Mario Kart with his buddy Rich and laughing his arse off all day). But from the looks of his "Jim Morrisson" growth alone, I'm starting to suspect his arrival here tonight (or possibly hours after the show and I'm simply slipping it in here, ever so conviently, hours earlier) actually provides yet more evidence to support the theory that every of one Adelaide's mental aslyums and looney bins have been using this pub as a "halfway house" for the last three years. But no that can't be all there is to it either, with all these other hilarious freaks around him there's gotta be more to it. Hmmm if only I could put my finger on it.. are they cannibals? lumberjacks? taxidermists!?
And here comes another one, straight out the 19th Century. Could it be none other than Charles Darwin himself?! duuuude! Look at the size of that thing too! the luxurious salt and pepper bristles? the luxurious width, girth and depth? Makes me wanna just reach out, grab it with both hands.. and clean my toilet with it! This is gotta be a sign, surely, this is the looking glass right here! If only I could put two and two together and figure out the significance: think brain, think!
Erm nope, still not getting it.. what the fuck IS this shit!?
THE BEARDS (****1/2) myspace ::
And here we have it: the punchline! Adelaide's number one "growing" phenomenon The Beards. Wow.. you didn't see THAT coming did you!? Oh of course you didn't, you're probably still off in the corner laughing hysterically chasing your own shadow because all your medication's yet to wear off (or in other words you're THIS guy). Take another look at all those photos above. Take one good look at all the photos below. And if you still don't get it, take one look at their title again and take ONE freaking guess what every single one of their songs is about!? Wait for that pin to drop.. and there we go! that's pretty much my entire review: written for the sole purpose of anyone who's ever watched a few too many episodes of Spongbob Squarepants and hasn't stopped laughing reading this review so far (hi Corey!) and now that even HE understands it.. let's move on shall we!? The Beards. On the surface they're a joke band, they're a novelty act, they're Tenacious D, only replace every single reference to "rock" with the word "beard" but believe me they're so much more! They have that iconic sound that drives every folicle of your being to sprout in support. And much as they'd love to lay claim to being influenced by everything as diverse as "ZZ Top, The Beatles (during their bearded era), Kram from Spiderbait, the bearded BeeGee, Abraham Lincoln, basically anyone with a decent beard" in actual fact (short of a massive blues influence), they actually derive a good deal of their grooves from the 80's. Think Dire Straights, Bon Jovi and The Police; throw in a saxophone, maybe even a kazoo solo and that's pretty much your monkey (just make sure it ain't a "shaved" one). Which is a little ironic considering the 80's weren't exactly known for encouraging beard growth, short of the porn moustache, and whatever the fuck was eating half of George Michael's face off (digging for "truffles" in the men's room perhaps?) but I digress. First and foremost when it comes to The Beards, you BELIEVE this shit wholeheartedly. Everything about their performance is all about The Beards. Every song repeats it like a mantra, only written a hundred different ways (the new songs are especially inspired) until everyone in the room gets it. The Beards. They're not so much a band as a political movement, a religious cult and something that makes my face itch like crazy just thinking about it; and yet as much as you'd think this "one punchline" would get tiring by now, it only gets better, bolder, and ever so beardlier everytime they perform it. It's the likeminded followers that they attract in ever larger numbers around them, it's that evangelical zeal in which they seize a stage by the throat and don't let go. Tonight there's no denying it: they killed. Everyone was undeniably in awe of the almighty power of The Beards!
Which may begin to explain this "bearded lady": which in any other live venue in Adelaide would promptly lead to a mass evacuation from out of every available orifice (or exit), followed by barstaff and security donning gasmasks and promptly shutting down the entire establishment under the pretense that it's nothing but a "gas leak" (when it's actually an E coli outbreak, vampire attack, or in the specific case of The Crown & Anchor "incidence of Dick Dale"). Only to fumigate the fuck out of the joint, give it a fresh coat of paint, throw in some shiny new light fixtures and reopen it months later as yet another, in a LONG line, of Adelaide's fashion tragic "indie dance" clubs.
Aaaaah aren't you glad I picked The Crown & Anchor tonight!?
THE WOOHOO REVUE (*****) myspace ::
Which in the most unlikely of ways (and how!) introduces our third act to the stage tonight: who quite suitably, are also one of THE most unlikely of live acts you'd ever hope to see headline a gig at The Crown & Anchor, in the history Of The Crown & Anchor, before it invariably becomes yet another "live venue" in Adelaide dedicated to nothing but nonstop DJs (ie: read any other live venue you used to frequent habitually in the last twelve months.. *cough* what!? I didn't say anything!). Oh and while we're laughably off the subject here: would you believe that violinist wore this "beard" for an entire song and a half into their set tonight!? Duuude.. I think I love them already! This is The Woohoo Revue. As much as I can tell they're from Melbourne: although I think we need to specify a "time" as well as a space, because they certaintly don't hail from THIS century, nor any other century that features a ready supply of electricity and indoor plumbing. As such, any attempts to equate them to anything I have on my ipod right now (aka: my lazy "thesaurus" tactic for describing any band as simply sounding like a combination of two to three other bands) is just about useless here. Still I could always give it a crack. If I was batshit insane enough, I'd say they sound somewhat like Danny Elfman reinterpretting System For A Down as the theme music for a series of Warner Brother's "Looney Tunes" cartoons featuring Daffy Duck being beaten repetively over the head with a giant wooden mallet, but that would be trivialising it. Let's face it, for the second time tonight I'm flying "blind" here. Thus the best way to describe The Woohoo Revue is to simply say that they're an instrumental gyspy folk band, a German oom-pah outfit, a wild-west fiddle contest and a roaring 20's swing band all rolled into one; only sped up by a factor of ten. And let me remind you again, that they're headlining THIS at The Crown & Anchor. Then suspend all further disbelief when you see just how the crowd reacts to this tonight (including myself) in a way that could only be described as "making a complete and utter dick of yourself like you've never made a complete dick of yourself before". It's impossible to describe it any other way. They started playing and every single one of us lost motor-function in every conceivable direction. It was pure insanity. It was freaking awesome! None of it made ANY sense, and yet we couldn't get enough of it. Forget that we're living in 2009 right now, this is how people lost their shit back in 1909 and in many ways I actually prefer it! The minute Rebecca Wade cocked her head ever so whimsically and tore into that violin (and in no way is it because I found her ever so impossibly cute when she played *ahem*), and Ben Charnley beat that staccato bigband rhythm? you were somewhere else completely. No shit.. the guitar, bass, saxophone and trumpet only added to the carnage! There were actual teeth marks in the ceiling. They had to carry each and every one of us away in three or four ziplock freezer bags and sawdust the floor. They played more than three encores and I swear NONE of us wanted them to leave. Fuuuck.. what a show!
1:35AM - So here we all are, twenty minutes after the show begging for more. If you can't see any of us out there, don't worry, there's actually a perfectly good reason for that. It's the same reason why nostrils are flaring from the pool tables, to the bar, to out in the streets beyond, as we scatter like a fine aerosol mist. I would also like to take this moment (and a rare one at that) to wholeheartingly thank The Crown & Anchor on two accounts. Not only for their barstaff who cleaned up what was left with the hoses and sponges in record time (wow.. it's almost beats the one they set when Kamikaze headlined back in September!), but whoever's responsible for the stage lighting here: for the last few weeks or months!? DON'T EVER CHANGE IT. It's freakingly badass, it beats almost any other stage lighting I've seen in the Adelaide CBD all year and if I could I'd marry it and have millions of hideously deformed (yet wonderfully luminescent) offspring I would. Every other live venue in Adelaide (I'm looking at YOU Rhino Room) please take note!
1:46AM - And now in no relation to any of the narrative that's been leading up to this point, here we all are, moments later, in corporeal form drinking ourselves retarded in celebration of a night of live music that was skullfuckingly awesome in every conceivably way that it should never have been. Oh and I also should note that I barely know half of these people IN this photo either (hi everyone else I've never met before in my entire life, glad to be getting drunk with ya!): as in actual fact I didn't take this photo, someone else did, they pried this camera from my cold clammy hands mere moments ago and I've been dead all this time. Awesome! Which let's face it, is just how it SHOULD be for any band I ever reward a five star rating (note: if Shannon The Cannon's reading this, it doesn't actually count towards your total score if you shoot me dead in the street BEFORE the show). Every other band in Adelaide (and Australia) again, please take note!
1:59AM - Yeah ok, clearly I'm digging myself deeper and deeper (and I might as well admit that I'm simply building lies upon lies here) because either (a) THIS is conclusive proof that I didn't just die in a freak "gyspy-folk german oom-pah wild-west swing" accident, despite everything else I might have told you tonight. And that I'm here now, alive, posing for a photo with Matt Ho: lead singer from Newtonheath (with a hat I may've "accidently" acquired moments ago from off his head) and not being picked over by a scalpel in search of a "cause of death". Or much more plausibly: a team of morticians have simply stitched me up moments after the show, gave me a quick coat of paint, propped me upright, stuffed a hat onto my "head" (to hide the hole where my brain should be) and has doctored up the rest in Photoshop. And as long as you don't begin to wonder "well ok then.. but just WHO exactly is writing this blog!?" then you should be fine.
2:37AM - This is Daniella. She's all kinds of awesome. When she's not briefly wondering "where's that weird formaldehyde smell coming from!?" and swatting swarms of insects circling around me (all of it "photoshopped" out mind you) she's also one of the key masterminds behind the Are/Why? fashion, art and design label. And if you don't know what THAT is then clearly you're an idiot, or quite possibly from interstate (and no I'd never ever imply that that's the same thing *cough*). No shit, you should see some of the junk they've cooked up, miiind blowing! Anyhoo.. clearly Daniella is blissfully unaware that she's actually having a one-way conversation with a corpse right now, because she's somehow confused what anyone else would've call gas *scuse me* with both of us actually agreeing that ME being a "fashion model" for one of her upcoming clothing lines is a really REALLY good idea, and better yet I was so hilariously drunk I TOTALLY volunteered for doing this myself (either that or CLEARLY she has a very disturbing sense of humour!?).
Oh I ain't trying to talk myself out of this insanity now that I'm sober, AM I!? OOOOH HELL NO!!
3:17AM - The fun and games continue (ie: in a fashion that many of my other friends, family and next of kin would find downright "horrifying" as they lower what's left of me in a pinewood box). I mean why can't they just let go!? I'M FREAKING DEAD PEOPLE!!? But again such trivial distinctions, as defined by medical science, are clearly meaningless at The Crown & Anchor after you've had few too many beers. Which is quite the high spirits Emma Lou appears to be in here, laughing it up with the five circling moths in my head, like she doesn't have a CARE in the world! Which is one of the many reasons (besides her ridiculously cute Welsh accent.. awwww!) for why Emma Lou is the awesomest person I've ever met in the entire Northern Hemisphere. Understandably I've met very FEW of them, but give me a thousand of your very best and the statement will still stand!
And course I'm not saying this in ANY way because I'm gonna miss her horribly when she takes her extended "bohemian leave of absence" to her next colourful destination around the world: quite possibly New Zealand? Canada? Tahiti? Antarctica? fuck I dunno.. Uzbekistan!? when she leaves us all on a plane on Wednesday. DAMN YOU!! *sniff* no seriously, pleaaase take me with you!?
3:19AM - And then just like any other night before it or quite like THIS night now where you'll find yourself drinking it up at the bar to farewell both Emma Lou *sniff* and someone else who for "legal reasons" I should never mention in this blog (as Chelsea hates it everytime I crack this joke), only to have your potentially "sentimental" moment farted on by one "Sausage Fingers" here.
3:20AM - Of course "Sausage Fingers" doesn't always have to be an actual physical entity. He doesn't always have to be roughly six to seven feet tall, exceedingly drunk in ways that only a Bugs Bunny cartoon could do justice to, with a "speaking voice" best described as "Borat burps out the entire English alphabet". Sometimes "Sausage Fingers" is just a metaphor for that happy hour between the fifth and sixth beer you've drunk (where everything's a swank cocktail party) and anywhere beyond that (where all a sudden that "batshit insane idea" of simulating wild sexual intercourse with one of the Rundle Mall bronze pigs sounds like one of the most hilariously awesome facebook photo stunts EVER). What's this got to do with the actual Sausage Fingers here tonight!? oh *cough* nothing at all!
3:22AM - Which in no way forming a segue in any way shape or form, brings us to THIS hilarious freak here. This is "Dave". And yes I'm pretty certain that's his actual name, although if I didn't take pains to jot it down in my phone (ie: "that dude in the white shirt? enormous nostrils? Dave.. REMEMBER THAT SHIT!") then there's a good chance I would've totally forgotten who the fuck he was, just like the fifty other times I've met him drunk in the past (I kid you not he reminded me of that hilarious fact again tonight, whilst I was DRUNK). Oh and would you also believe he's read this blog regularly since 2006 and surprisingly hasn't suffered one single full blown aneurysm in all that time from attempting to decipher all my gibberish? I KNOW!! I was more than impressed too..
3:26AM - So much so that if I ever I feel the need to send in a revolutionary army into Fiji and take absolute control for myself (I mean let's face it.. that's pretty much everyone's dream) then he'd definitely be the first (or quite possibly the fifth) person I'd choose to install as my "puppet president" for public appearances. No shit just LOOK at that face.. that shit spells integrity!
3:49AM - Thus in following we both plotted an ingenious plan to invade Supermild. I was going to walk it down there, gaining favour with the people I met along the way, build myself an army of faithful foot soldiers, y'know.. do it "oldskool". But Dave wanted none of that shit, his method? ditch the infantry assault, hit them up with a blitzkrieg by air and by sea, with overwhelming arms superiority, and then parachute in at our own leisure when they've all surrended. Or scratching that maybe we'd just catch a taxi there because clearly that's the FIRST thing we ever thought of..
4:18AM - Wow, it's amazing how easy that shit was! We didn't even have to kill a single person to breach those defenses. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, the blond bouncer at the door simply smiled, drew a silly squiggle on our wrists, and waved us in? We didn't even have to line up!? Clearly the people here have accepted us as their "liberators".. free longneck beers for all!
4:23AM - I take a few moments to soak in that sweet sweet smell of victory. Surveying this tiny hamlet that I now had absolute dominion over. And here I am out in the beer garden doing a bit of "meet and great" with my smiling subjects, who look simply OVERJOYED for me to be here! No shit this'll be just like when the US army swept into Iraq, no wait.. this'll be just like when the US army swept into Afghanistan, no wait.. this'll be just like, wait.. did they EVER get that shit right!?
4:38AM - Yup, there's no doubt about it, these will truly our "salad days" here in Supermild tonight. There will be no cynicism, no sarcasm, no double speak and definitely no fear. It'll be unanimous, everyone will believe our hideous invasion to be the best thing that EVER happened here, they will believe it because they know it to be true.. YEAAAS!! VIVA LA SPOZIKSTAN!! I know you can't see them waving their teeny tiny flags we gave them.. but that's pure patriotic pride!
4:39AM - This is a photo of Julia Morris.. awesome isn't it? Yeah I know, that's pretty much all I've got left at this point. I was gonna make some hilarious joke that somehow tied this "say no evil" schtick she's expressing here into whatever hilarious gibberish I've been babbling on about in the last few paragraphs: about a totalitarian regime that's apparently run by some freak with oversized sinuses and some other douchebag that was CLEARLY declared dead a few hours ago (what you thought I forgot all that!?) only for me to since lose track of what the fuck I was on about..
4:41AM - You may briefly wonder out loud, especially at the tail end of this tall tale I've told "but Spoz.. why write all this insane gibberish in the first place!? can't you tell us what you actually DID in Supermild tonight!?". Yeah I wish it really could be that simple, except that after drinking myself beyond the point which Matt Hein looked "drunk" and started to look "weirdly attractive(!?)" hours earlier at the Crown & Anchor (which might I add is usually considered a lethal dose in most medical text books) I can't for the life of me remember a single thing of what the fuck I did here. Might I also add, once again, I don't know who the FUCK half of these people are. No shit.. ever wanted to know what it feels like to be a D-grade celebrity without ever actually accomplishing anything!? Simply write a hilariously ill conceived blog based solely on how much you've had to drink every week, thinly disguised as a running commentary on the "Adelaide music scene", then stumble into Supermild at the end of the night cashing in like a conquering hero.. YEAAAS!!
4:44AM - And THERE we have it, the one sign I was looking for at the end of the night, to snap me back into reality and tell me in no uncertain terms that I should get the FUCK out of here by the quickest means possible (possibly with a jetpack of some sorts!?) before the entire crowd at Supermild turns on me and tears me apart limb from limb. Thanks Dave, I needed that, I really did! Oh and what do you use to trim those nasal hairs of those!? a ceiling fan!? faaantastic!!
And so, as I run screaming into the beer garden, strap myself into one of those chairs and attempt to achieve "lift off" over that brushwood fence (only to actually achieve what most eye-witness reports would later describe as "douchebag attempts to light his own fart, accidently sets fire to his own face, only to slam head first into the glass pit; achieves unconsciousness") we bid farewell to a night that admittedly had NO plans to begin with, and had even less in the genius implementation of it, but rather predictably lead me to the exact same spot it always does. Which, when all else is said and done is a pretty damn sweet place to be. I might not be able to feel the left side of my face and both my eyebrows might be missing; but this night was nothing but a wild success!