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...
"NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH ME" LIVE @ THE METRO / Saturday September 19th 2009
If there's ONE question everyone always loves to ask me on a Friday or Saturday night (ie: in one of those "rare occassions" where I ever leave the house at night) it's: "hey Spoz what's your favourite Adelaide band right now?" or "hey Spoz seen any good bands lately?" or "hey Spoz what do you REALLY think of The Touch.. ahahahaha they totally blow a horse riiight!? ". And when I finally regain my senses, pick myself off the floor at Supermild, find my left shoe, my pants, my one functioning kidney and hit up the bar again (hi Ruby! what the hell are YOU doing here on a Monday morning!?) I always respond with a resounding "buh!?". Yup, the fact is I don't know SHIT. Especially about the Adelaide scene, especially after five (or fifteen) beers when you'll invariably ask me; after I've already forgotten who you are (no really your name's Alice!? weird!). No shit! I even give that dude from Memento a run for his money, I'm THAT fucking clueless! I mean sure, here in front of this laptop screen, writing up this hilarious drivel, wired up on caffeine, with ready wifi access to all my archives, myspace, wikipedia, whatever-the-fuck, I could totally recommend: Like Leaves, Leader Cheetah, Fire! Santa Rosa Fire!, No Through Road, The Killgirls, Colonel Kernel, Quiet Child, Double Handed, Delusions Of Grandma, Lyla, Lady Strangelove and Booster (possibly in that order too). Or Kytes Of Omar, The Keepsakes, The Amcats, Trixie Plain, Steering By Stars, The Sea Thieves, 20th Century Graduates, Bing Goes To Monaco, BrotherSister, Cookie Baker, Cheer Advisory Council and The Honey Pies (to name but a few).. or on second thoughts I don't know squat and don't trust a single word I say. The fact is I'm too caught up in the middle. There's too much going on. I'm too squished up against the glass to see the bigger picture. All these bands, all these venues, all these hilarious freaks I can never seem to remember meeting they all blur into one. So is it any wonder I keep "forgetting" your name? pfft.. of course not! But call me anyways, we'll totally get drunk one night and forget this whole thing ever happened!
Yup clearly I'm letting down the proverbial team here. It's NOT about how hilariously drunk I get on the weekend or how many times I hit Supermild (duuude I swear I've lost count!), or what I get upto in all the "off hours" (would it help if I told you I breed, train and race professional thoroughbred hamsters!? yeah possibly not). It's got absolutely nothing to do with ME at all! I mean who the fuck IS this "Spoz" anyways!? WHO THE FUCK CARES!? It's time we refocus our aim on what is important here. Or more specifically on WHO is important here. Yes.. that means YOU ya nitwit: you the musician, the mixer, the manager, the promoter, the DJ, the bartender, the bouncer, the adoring music fan and sarcastic cynic alike that makes this Adelaide scene the proud "institution" that it is (emphasis on the mental). We're gonna take the time out to appreciate the power within each and every one of YOU wonderful individuals to inspire us all! Which is why I'm here at The Metro tonight to catch eleven solo-artists in rapid succession, get hilariously drunk, miss the point completely and ultimately end up at Supermild. Aaaah irony it never gets old!
Which brings us to one Sia Duff. Aaaah who doesn't love the S-Duff? It's people like HER we should be celebrating! She's the "miracle ingredient z-247". She's the "real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness three-fisted humdinger". And when she's not writing utterly ridiculous blurbs about herself on her OWN blog (which might I add.. I totally recommend you go see) she's also a shit hot photographer, wandering muse to the masses aaand the genius mastermind behind THIS awesome and insane live event tonight. Oh and obviously she totally dissaproves of me posting this ridiculous photo of her but I'm still posting it anyways.. why!? because THAT'S how awesome she is! She's the one to thank for making all this happen. Whilst clearly I'm just the one to blame for completely fucking it up by writing a nonsensical blog about it. And so with that in mind, let's watch me go completely out of MINE as I attempt to do all eleven acts of her "solo celebration extraordinaire" justice without fucking exploding. Oh yes people.. I'm doing this all for YOU!
HARRY FREEMAN (***1/2) YOUNG HEARTS FAIL :: Our opening act sets the scene beautifully. For those of you (me included) who feared this event would showcase nothing but one shy of a dozen sadsack bastards all strumming acoustic guitars, singing songs of sadness and regret, while a cardigan clad crowd of onlookers collectively cry into their beers and spoon each other for confort.. THIS artist provides conclusive proof to the contrary *phew* (although don't worry if you're still itching for all that "weepy shit" there's sure to be a fair share of them to follow). This is Harry Freeman, who you may recognise as the drummer from Young Hearts Fail (or maybe you just read all that shit from the title and I'm just repeating myself here) either way his ecclectic tinkerings provide for a more than welcome entrée into what to expect tonight. With nothing but a sparse drumkit, a bass, a guitar and a "Kaoss Pad" (that's a live sampler/sequencer for all you "newbies" out there) he'll conjure up an infinitely lush sonic soundscape. From a quick flourish on the drums he'll loop it, then switch to the next instrument for the same, building and subtracting layer upon layer to create a curious hybrid between electronic and organic. In style it reminds me of everything from DJ Shadow, DJ Krush and Mountains In The Sky with maybe a few sprinkles of Squarepusher's live material, Aphex Twin's ambient collections, St Germain and Thom Yorke's "The Eraser" to round out the picture. It's endlessly introspective, soothingly contemplative, finds its strengths in the subtleties: an off kilter pluck of the string, a shuffling beat, a sweet sibilance in feedback all weaving in and out of the mix. And just when it gets really good its over all too soon. Like many of these sets tonight we're treated to nothing but a taste, ten to fifteen minutes at most but in this instance: no less richly rewarding in scope.
ANYA MCNICOL-WINDRAM (***) BIRD WIZDOM :: Our second act you may recognise as Anya from Bird Wizdom. Maybe she's the sole reason you're here tonight, maybe you and your fanclub worship the ground she walks on, and maybe one day you'll find that extra special antique wardrobe that doubles as a dimensional gateway to the Magical Kingdom of Narnia and you'll all live happily ever after frolicking about in the autumn leaves and the snow writing whimsical songs about owls.. aaaah who the fuck knows!? As for me I've clearly neither seen or heard of them before (apparently they're a duo!?), so absolutely I'm going to make a complete and utter dick of myself attempting to write this review tonight. Either way she makes one hell of an impression. Firstly in appearance alone she looks like a mad disciple from the school of Amanda Palmer (especially in the ecclectic "cabaret styling" in which she dresses) only nowhere near as batshit insane or psychotic (thank fuck!). Secondly she appears to be channeling most of her musical influence from Regina Spector (right down to the quirky "laughing inflection" to her singing voice) with perhaps a hint of Feist (and maybe even a glancing similarity to local contemporary Cookie Baker). Overall think of her as a vaudville singer (swapping between keys and acoustic) mixed in with a little bit of Brothers Grimm, a smidgen of alt country and a generous serving of lyrical snark. And it's in the latter that she especially finds her appeal as a performer. With an infectious lilt she disarm just about anyone and everything with the wry words she weaves, with one biting lyric in particular "I fed you to the birds and now they're dead" hitting home with me the most. Again its over all too soon: three songs, ten to fifteen minutes at most and she's flying off the stage again.. still in that short span she still manages to win me over.
RORY O'CONNOR (****) STEERING BY STARS / AVIATOR LANE :: Act three you may remember as the guitarist from our headlining act last night, Steering By Stars (he's also been in everything else from Aviator Lane to Horse & Cart). Or more specifically as that scruffy looking nerf herder you've seen shuffling about awkwardly on a live stage for the past year or so on this blog, doing his very best not to draw attention to himself, only to ever so slightly shit himself whenever I happen to train a camera lens in his general vicinity (he also plays a mean xylophone solo too!). As such I never imagined for a second he'd ever front up to a solo performance (let alone stick around for its entirety), better yet neither did he. In fact just prior to launching into his set tonight, he makes joking mention of it: "Hi my name is Rory (much drunken cheering) and this first song is called the birth and death of a solo career in ten minutes". However what comes next is a complete surprise. Not so much for the guitar, which in keeping with the other bands he's performed in is recogniseable by its signature layering of riff over riff, rich in delay, and is nothing but a dappled wonder in sophistication and simplicity. More so for the ethereal singing voice he simply pulls out of nowhere. Taking most of its cues from Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes to The Middle East (with perhaps a little bit of Jim James from My Morning Jacket thrown in for good measure) it's a haunting midrange warble, like a world weary Kermit The Frog meets Gregorian chant. And more so than anything else it absolutely floors everyone in the room. Still just like the two acts before it regrettably only lasts three songs. The first I got on video (so fuckit.. go see for yourself), the second is a cover of "The Devil's Crayon" by the Wild Beasts, while the third as Rory puts it "might sound like a regurgitation of the second but I swear it's not" (and might I add its no less brilliant for it). Yup as apologetic as it's awe inspiring it's still ultimately no less affecting.
ANNY DUFF (***) BING GOES TO MONACO :: And speaking of "shit scared" here comes act four who's either clinging to her keyboard for dear life, hiding behind it, or perhaps wondering out loud (if only for a moment) how many people she'd need to beat to death with it before making a frantic run for the exit. Awww I know? what's not to love!? You may recognise her as one half of Bing Goes To Monaco and her signature "stage presence" that very much resembles how a sparrow would feel if trapped in a Japanese game show moments before the sirens start blaring. So much so, especially here on her lonesome tonight (eeek!) that I swear any minute now she's gonna poop out a teeny tiny spotted egg, freak the fuck out and fly straight into a powerline. And yet as much as all THAT may read like a recipe for disaster (and perhaps a few shades of a fullblown neurosis) it actually compliments her music quite beautifully. For what we're dealing with here is a fragile, achingly delicate soul in singer songwriting. It finds its strengths in the meekness. It's as much about the notes being played as the spaces in between. Through pitter patter keys, like gently falling raindrops and a voice that lilts every so sweetly (as much as it shrinks to the corners) she paints a picture of book clubs, knitting circles, home cooking, passing coy handwritten notes around in the classroom and a wealth of wonder found in the world of Beatrix Potter. In closest comparison think Joanna Newsom, Laura Jean, maybe even a little bit of Angus & Julia Stone (clearly all names I've pulled out of my arse). Think the softest of soft, the lightest of light, butterfly wings, snowflakes and secret gardens. Or in other words I'm clearly being a snarling, hulking beast belching fire no matter what the fuck I attempt to write in describing it. Still as much as she's being awkwardly shy here almost to a fault? her music still draws you in to her teeny tiny magical world.. and for that she brings nothing but smiles.
MIKE RADZEVICIUS (***1/2) AVIATOR LANE :: Which makes for an amusing segue into act five, for as the lead singer of Aviator Lane this solo artist is far from "smiles", in fact he's damn near notorious (at least for all the hilarious scuttlebutt I've been spreading) for being the most heart wrenching, "sadsack bastard" in all the Adelaide scene. I mean just LOOK at him: all crumpled, unshaven, smelling of goon and circling the drain. Doesn't that shit just make you want to burst into tears!? Yup, he looks like every ugly breakup you've ever experienced pushed well past the brink of despair, or what the experts like to call a "stage four" on the Kübler-Ross Model (or for those of you otherwise unfamiliar? simply hire "Leaving Las Vegas" starring Nicholas Cage and ring in the good cheer.. YAHOOO!!). And no, it's not just the weather beaten look he's adopted that simply screams "triple zero". It's his voice: this utterly demasculated, tissue thin quaver, barely above that of a whisper that chokes you right up. It's like listening to Paul Dempsey attempting to sing (no.. that's not the "best" bit) AFTER a gang of thugs have beaten him black and blue with lead pipes (there we go!). And without his fellow bandmates here to distract you from all the extremes he's a truly terrifying sight to behold. But wait there's still more! For all this misery there's this another "side" to Mike Radzevicius. You see.. off stage he's the complete opposite, he's freaking hilarious maaan! He's quite possibly the most foul mouthed drunkarse bastard you'll ever damn near meet. The jokes he cracks about your mother? duuude! A fact made all the more amusing by the chorus of hecklers that constantly berate him in all the soft bits (and they're his "cheersquad"!?). It's a weird dichotomy I know, perhaps a little too distracting when he's flying solo but it does make the performance all the more whimsical to reconcile. A performance that like all the others is all but short lived. Just a cover of "Total Control" by The Motels, a duet with Matt Banham from No Through Road (which clearly breaks all the "rules" by inviting someone else up on stage) and one other song that was apparently SO hilariously "traumatising" I had to block it from memory. And then the minute that last note dropped? he was off again to drink the bar dry! Fuck.. what a dysfunctional legend!
MATTHEW BARLOW (***1/2) THUNDERCLAW :: In "contrast" to the hilarious bipolar extremes experienced in act five (and then some!). Act six offers a far more stark, steely-eyed resolve in songwriting, as performed by THIS exploding "ode to joy": who you may recognise as the bass player for sludge metal outfit Thunderclaw. Fuck I know!? A band which is not necessarily known for either its raging wealth in acoustic guitar or anything approaching vocals, which makes the presence of BOTH here quite the fascinating character study in what makes this band truly tick (ie: underneath all that raging distortion and intestinal grime they love to plow into for fifteen minutes at a time). In essense think of it as the blues mixed with equal measures country. Only we're talking the deepest darkest depths of both. We're talking wallowing despair. Think Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, Neil Young, Nick Cave and Johnny Cash. Think all nine layers of Dante's Inferno as directed by Jim Jarmusch. Think frontier survivalism, circling vultures, post apocalyptic wastelands littered with burning wreckage, and complete and utter desolation as rendered through charcoal grey. Yup there's a definite weight you can feel here. It's utterly humourless, impossibly bleak, like a planetary sized ball and chain, like a survivor's guilt made all the more oppressive by the ravages of time slyly punishing it with grim immortality. And yet there's also just a teensy bit of redemption to be found here as well. Songs here are wraught slow as molasses in long loping guitar and carbon black vocals. They find their mark in extended contemplation, and yet they're made all the more welcoming the further you delve into it. Soothing like a car slowly filling with carbon monoxide or reaching rock bottom in a bottle of whiskey. Utterly grim I know (duuude!), yet at the same time SO richly cathartic.
Which by stark contrast makes our goofy and exciteable seventh act practically leap out at us like a proverbial Peter Combe, or possibly just make you feel like you've suffered an exploding bout of the bends (and now Mikey from Aviator Lane is dialing triple zero on your behalf) either way dude what's not to love!? You may recognise him as the violinist from Oh My Guard!. You may recognise him as one of many "guest contributors" to The Keepsakes. Or maybe you simply recognise him as one of those happy-go-lucky howler monkeys jamming a bung chord or two with an open guitarcase down Rundle Mall (especially at two o'clock in the morning) and simply cross to the other side to avoid him.. yeeeouch! Still what distinguishes him the MOST from all the other six artists who've come before him IS that ridiculous level of cheerfulness in which he lunges into his instruments, from acoustic to mouth organ, and often at the same time. He's just so damn happy to be here! Which in any other time would simply drive me to distraction, but here now it actually makes for a more than welcome diversion. No shit, I'm seriously starting to really enjoy this "rollercoaster ride" here.. I'm totally not cracking up at all! Overall it's predominantly an indie pop sensibility, laced with a little bit of folk and alt country. Picture everything from Weezer, The Shins and The Lucksmiths all thrown into a blender. And with his distinctive "singing voice" especially (equal parts nasal and adolescent yodel) why not throw in everything from The Violent Femmes, The Mystery Jets, a yapping chihuahua and even more insanely Jon Marco from The Honey Pies as well (or in other words consult this live video from one of HIS solo shows and I'm sure I won't seem completely crazy for making that mad connection). As equally shambolic and it's infectious it's buoyed considerably tonight by a healthy fangirl swarm shrieking exciteably through all of his songs: the three of which he performed here tonight, AGAIN not nearly enough to satiate.
FAIR MAIDEN (****) BIRTH GLOW / CLUE TO KALO :: Ok I admit it, by the time we reach act eight I'm starting to tweak out a little, and by "a little" I totally mean a lot. Something akin to a lactic acid build up (or maybe something more "lysergic") is starting to form fierce toxins in my brain. It's blowing bubbles, a myriad of teeny tiny foamy bubbles and any minute now it's gonna float my whole head away. And when that happens I swear they're gonna need to burn the rest of me (and salt the earth afterwards) lest my headless carcass rise again and roam these streets in a city-wide cannibalistic killing spree (whoaaa FUCK dude that's trippy!). So it's just as well that we're presented with something as equally hallucinogenic to match my mental state: in the solo act of one Ellen Carey (aka: "Fair Maiden") otherwise everyone of us here tonight is well and truly screwed. Yup, you may recognise her as the chirping canary from Clue To Kalo or from her whimsically ecclectic art-rock trio Birth Glow. Here however she's presenting something even more insane yet all the more captivating as a result. With nothing but a laptop at her disposal she projects a ghostly accapella. A hypnotic choir of her own singing voice that forms a wall of sound around her (both electronic and in person) accented at most with a sprinkled soupçon of strummed strings or a lightly shaken tribal beat. In closest approximation it resembles a cross between Bat For Lashes and Animal Collective, and yes.. it's quite possibly THE most mind blowingly ethereal shit I've seen all night. The only sticking point to this whole transcendental affair however is her increasingly fanatical fanbase, parked right up in her face, blocking all lines of sight (who seemed hellbent in treating ANY outsider as nothing short of an all out declaration of war) that drove me screamingly to distraction. Apparently there's some kind of initiation ceremony into this "secret society" that I'm otherwise unaware of (either that or they totally didn't appreciate all of my hilarious Clue To Calo reviews *cough* yeah ok I'll totally buy that) because they were burning harsh daggers into my skull anytime I dared go near them. Ouch! Still other than that "teeny tiny" detail? I swear this Fair Maiden set was nothing but bliss!
SHAME SPIRAL (**) MEGAFAUNA :: And it's that SAME fiercely territorial crowd presence that makes our ninth act all the more "life threatening to experience", which coupled with her willfully obtuse stage antics makes this live performance all the more difficult to decipher as well (but hey I DO like a challenge!). You may recognise her as Corinna: a multi-instrumentalist and avant garde antagonist of exceptionally high regard in the more willfully obscure extremes of Adelaide's artrock and lo-fi experimental scenes. One who's talents have featured in everything from Megafauna (arguably her most successful venture to date) to more "blissfully" frustrating mad science experiments from Ringo Stalin to the Holographic Colts. As such her set tonight ever so slightly jars like fingernails on a blackboard (and I swear in the "best" way possible!). Firstly there's that quirky singing voice: a wailingly offkey punk affront, a cynical attack on what is considered "confirmity", with words that sneer like a insult, words that makes you feel like a total chump for even daring to be in the same room as her. Then there's that minimal backing track provided from her ipod: ranging from angular "crunk", to her own acapella voice honking in a jarring loop that pulls your brain apart with pliers. Granted its exceptionally well thought out, she leaps into it with wild abandon: it's a protest, it's art, it achieves everything it sets out to do. Only that "achievement" involves you getting the fuck out of the room as quickly as possibly (which I gather would only but confirm the resentment she has for you). Still if you love Chicks On Speed, Public Image Limited, the weirdest extremes of Karin Elisabeth Dreijer Andersson (aka: "Fever Ray") from The Knife and you really LOVE to be challenged? then this would be right up your alley. If nothing else it's worth sticking around just to prove her wrong.
LUKE EYGENRAAM (***) THE WATERSLIDES / ANTONY OF THE FUTURE :: To say I was "endlessly relieved" to see the sight of an acoustic guitar after all this time would be a gross understatement. Better yet, now that all those hilarious "borderline psychotics" who were enthusiastically cheering on and whooping loudly to Shame Spiral have left as well? I swear I've never been so happy to be alive! Unfortunately they've also left the room all but empty in their wake for act ten, who upon seeing all this is heard to remark: "damn.. guess I really should start inviting people to these things". Yup, that would be the apologetic voice of one Luke Eygenraam (aka: "Luke who's last name is next to impossible to spell") who you may recognise as the drummer for both The Waterslides and Antony Of The Future (and for a brief period Zeta) as well as one of the infamous founding members of Central Deli Band. Again, like many other artists before him tonight, seeing Luke (a drummer) playing a solo set with an acoustic guitar comes as quite a shock (even more so in contrast to the spastic mashup sounds of The Waterslides). In style it's a heart broken affair: all hunched over and defeated, equal parts introversion and reflection, whispered folk and alt country. He sings in a husky, weather beaten register, his guitar playing is both tentative and contemplative. As such it shares most of its similarities with artists like Bob Evans, Okkervil River and Elliot Smith (the latter of which he covers as one of his songs) and by scruffy appearances alone you could also throw in anything from Nirvana's "MTV Unplugged" to the quieter numbers of Children Collide (he also plays a mean cover of Mental As Anything's "Live It Up".. weird I know!?). Either way: however the hell it all sounds and whoever the fuck it all compares to? after all I've been through it makes for a refreshingly sombre change of pace.
MATT BANHAM (****1/2) NO THROUGH ROAD :: Which brings us to our triumphant headliner (act eleven for all those of you keeping count): who if nothing else is the ONE artist, above all others you've seen before him, who's damn near born for this role tonight. No shit, THIS is what he lives for, breathes, and damn near drinks himself retarded for! Not just because he's performed as a solo artist in his own right for many years prior to forming No Through Road (and releasing countless albums and EPs in doing so), he's also the sole lunatic responsible for booking just about any and all of the shows here at The Metro (give or take any exceptions to the rule tonight *cough*). Yup, ever since October last year THIS has been his "baby", his pride and joy, and he celebrates it just like he always does (a few weeks shy of its one year anniversary mind you) by taking the absolute piss out of it. Alternating between keyboard and electric guitar he deconstructs his own back catalogue. His first song "Sucked In Matt" acts as a revolutionary anthem, arm raised in a mad salute, as he drunkenly slurs out all the lyrics backed only by an entirely ridiculous "factory preset" groove on his keyboard. I think it was either a bossa nova, samba or polka beat, either way imagine a Casio at its worst and you'd have it just about nailed (it's even better when he smashes into it for the rocking "solo"). For his second song, a loose interpretation of "She's Only In Your Dreams" (or if you've heard the original.. even LOOSER still) he swaps over to electric, sings even drunker than the first, and openly mocks the audience into participating (the most comical of which is a couple who proceeds to barn dance out the front); only to be joined by Mike Radz with the maracas at the very end. Then to confuse everyone even further still in the finale, he swaps to keyboard again, performs a dreary, depressingly monotone cover of "Take Ecstasy With Me" by The Magnetic Fields and pretty much empties the room. Yup, in many ways his set combined all the best aspects of every other extreme we'd heard tonight into the ONE performance, only to completely turn them on their head; and it was the most hysterically funny shit we'd seen all night. Utterly obnoxious, hilariously insulting, yet totally brilliant!
1:09AM - Wow, I mean really "WOW!!" I don't know how the fuck, but I've made it to right the very end. Here standing in this room, or more accurately swaying, in slow circles, eyes sunken, hair falling out, arms flailing, yammering hysterically, mind all buzzing with flies. The grand apocalyptic magnitude of this glorious moment, this turning point in history. Eleven live acts. ELEVEN FUCKING LIVE ACTS PEOPLE!! who even reviews all of that shit in the one fucking blog!? ME THAT'S WHO!! FUCK YEAAAH!! BOW DOWN TO ME PITIFUL FOOLS! I'M THE FUCKING GREATEST! WOOOOOOO!! And for all three of you remaining who've been there with me for this journey right from the beginning, or more accurately the two of you who are not currently being picked apart by vultures *ahem* (SO sorry about that) I hope it's been as illuminating for YOU as it has been for me. Oh the wealth of talent in this scene! Doesn't it simply make your heart swell up with pride? skip a beat? make your left arm go all tingly? then beat ever louder than before!? I know it does for me! Wow, I mean seriously "WOW!!" I don't know about you but I'm SO gonna get FUCKED UP!
2:04AM - Or at least that's what I would have done: if only I hadn't collapsed unconscious moments later after making that "bold proclamation", only to wake up screaming almost an hour or so later, thrashing about wildly for the next five minutes as I attempted to shake off all the scavengers (weird.. how did all these coyotes get here so quickly!?), only to discover THIS idiot had beaten me to all the beers. "DAMN YOU!!" (I swear he's like fucking Hemingway the way he hoes into them). *Sigh* I wonder if anything's still open at this hour? it's gotta be like 8AM right!?
2:14AM - And so I stumbled out into the street half expecting to see sunlight. Or at this rate, a littany of smoking wreckage glinting in that sunlight, long since bulldozed, built over, bombed to the ground, rendered to dust only to witness a brand new civilisation spring up in its place. Maybe I'd see monkeys wearing suits and ties, walking their "pet" people with muzzles and extendible leashes. Maybe I'd see erect rodents, articulate cockroaches, super intelligent amoebas!? Either way before I could react in the appropriate manner by raising one fist skyward and screaming as the "crane shot" pulled ever upwards: "YOU MANIACS! YOU BLEW IT UP!!" I was thrown into a passing car, quite possibly Rory's from Steering By Stars, and taken to The Ed Castle instead.
2:37AM - After slamming down five beers at the bar in rapid succession (give or take the five to fifteen I actually drank) I sought out the wisest person I could find in all The Ed Castle in effort to explain to me WHY I went through all this hilarious shit tonight. For what purpose does this serve? To whom am I serving it to!? Or more importantly how does any of this shit relate to blackholes, dark energy, string theory, how the universe was going to end, and what the fuck those "silver ball bearings" are called that they sometimes arrange onto the white frosting found on birthday cakes (no really.. what the hell is with that shit!?). Except the only person I could find at short notice was Ben Brew here, and all I could communicate of all the above was a blurted non sequitur of consonants. Still if its any consolation? check out it: dude's totally wearing a bow tie. Weird!
2:58AM - Realising I was obviously getting nowhere with that shit I went straight back to the bar for beers nineteen through to twenty seven (give or take what you believe is a more realistic estimate) only to be lost in conversation with this pool of vomit here. "No really, you don't say? there's a whole other parallel universe out there that churns out nothing but diced carrot, split peas and cream corn and that's where all those chunky bits come from!? astounding, truly astounding!!".
3:05AM - Only for me to ever so "coincidentally" bump into twins "Miranda" and Eleanor Freeman here (fuck it's like you can't even tell them apart!). As tonight they're celebrating the tail end of their combined birthday party. And by "celebrating" we totally mean everyone was sipping cups of tea, nibbling watercress sandwiches, wafer biscuits, conducting bible readings and playing riotous games of charades; only to retire to their separate living quarters well before midnight so they could teach Sunday School to the orphans. And thus everything you see here to the contrary? yeah it's pretty much been cooked up in Photoshop for my own amusement. Why? cause I'm completely clownshit insane, that's why! Oh and I would also like to point out that in real life? Miranda's head IS totally a whole lot smaller and not made out of cardboard (but don't quote me on that).
So this is Miranda. No really I swear it's totally her! You may remember her from countless other times she's also appeared in this blog, until she wisened up to that fact, and now she simply runs away screaming the minute she sees me with a camera. When she's not doing all that (and silly shit like living, breathing, studying or "earning a living".. pfft!) she's also a freelance music journalist who's provided whimsical articles, reviews and interviews for the likes of Fasterlouder and dB, or at least she did the last time I asked (which might have been a year ago). This may also explain why I'm not talking to Miranda here at all: but in actual fact a giant cardboard cutout of Eleanor made to look like Miranda. Or it is Ross Osmon cunningly disguised with giant cardboard cutout of Eleanor made to look like Miranda!? or is simply none of the above, and.. wait, why does any of this shit even matter now!? IT'S A GIANT FUCKING HEAD PEOPLE! RUN FER YA LIVES!!
(oh crap.. this is totally gonna give me nightmares for weeks wont it?)
3:09AM - And so I quietly excuse myself from whatever conversation I totally wasn't having, leave "Miranda" and Eleanor to whatever it is that they're totally not doing and hit the bar: quite possibly loudly and repetitively with my head, before ordering myself a bucket of something to douse it in.
3:12AM - Yup I believe THIS photo more than all the others speaks volumes for yet another widly successful installment of "Plus One" at The Ed Castle. Because let's face it: if you're not peeing into broken beer bottles scattered in the men's urinal or straight off the second floor balcony into oncoming traffic (which I swear has NEVER happened) then duuude you really ain't doing it right!
3:14AM - And this is the one proud invidivual we all have to thank for this carnage (and rapidly plummeting property prices) one Ross Osmon (aka: DJ RossRossRoss). When he isn't painted head to toe orange with green hair and churning crack cocaine into Tim Tims in Willy Wonka's Factory (or spinning discs at the Bull & Bear and Rhino Room), he's also the one who runs THIS shindig to the ground every Saturday night. Yup everytime The Ed Castle packs to the ceiling? it ain't because of all the live bands, pfft.. of course not! (who even goes see bands anymore!? cause I totally don't!) it's all because of Ross Osmon here! Let's give him a round of applause!
3:21AM - Which obviously brings me to Supermild. Why? because I always end up at fucking Supermild! Of course there's at least a thousand different legitimate reasons (or possibly just six) for why I always go to Supermild. Or maybe there's absolutely no reason at all, and Supermild should have been shut down years ago as a fire hazard (for instance.. where the fuck DO all those stairs go to out back by the toilets? Elysium!? Santa's Magic Cave!? that secret white room The Architect had in The Matrix with all the television screens!? I NEED ANSWERS DAMNIT!!). But at least it has one of two things going for it: long neck bottles of beer, and Ruby Chew at the bar. Yup I can totally say this on good authority, whenever she ISN'T here? Supermild totally blows a goat, or maybe it doesn't? or maybe.. wait, what the FUCK am I on about!? oh yeah! Ruby? awesome!
3:54AM - And now, totally unrelated to the fact that I've simply run out of witty (read: skull fuckingly retarded) shit to write for all these captions after everything else I've already written (no shit? is anyone still reading this!?), here's a closing montage devoted to just a FEW of the truly memorable individuals you'll be sure to meet every night at Supermild; only to promptly forget the next day. Which I assure you doesn't apply to any of these people.. HELL NO!! I personally know each and every one of them but "modesty" (yeah that's it!) compells me to claim otherwise. Yeah YOU know who you are! Aren't you all kinds of ridiculously awesome? pfft.. you BET you are!
Well, all except for this douchebag.. seriously WHO the fuck invited him in here? SECURITY!?
Yup without all of YOU wonderful people? this Adelaide scene would be nothing! I swear it just wouldn't be the same. You're like a family to me (even if I conveniently forget all of your names, keep a shotgun handy and change the locks every six to eight weeks). And I'm totally like your weird "uncle" that nobody ever remembers inviting, who nobody ever recalls who's side of the family he's related to, who rocks up to every family occassion anyways, happy as all fuck, drinks all the free piss and passes out with his pants around his ankles under the Christmas Tree. Everyone loves that guy riiight? NO SHIT, HE'S THE LIFE OF THE PARTY!! FUCK YEAAAH!! Or in other words if it wasn't for YOU? I totally wouldn't be here to fuck it up for you. Yup, irony's a bitch ain't it?