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...
YOUR MOTIVE FOR + THE TORRENS + BOOSTER "ALBUM FUNDRAISER" @ THE JOLLY MILLER / Saturday December 12th 2009
Aaaah there's SO many awesome reasons to be part of this music industry let me tell you! And although I can't think of many right now (I swear I have a list around here somewhere) there is always one that I keep coming back to: unlike many of YOU poor bastards living the daily grind, we get to act like irresponsible idiots all the damn time. No shit it's the best scam ever! And better yet, unlike all your other professions that also profess to laughable levels of "immaturity" (ie: hollywood, sports, journalism, politics, religion, big business or the military) we have NO morality to answer to either. No really, FUCK being a role model: we can be imbeciles and arseholes, to absolute excess, ALL our fucking lives! And not only will people still love us for it, they'll even worship us as gods!? FUCK YEAAAH!! Consider Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop, Madonna, Marilyn Manson, Pete Doherty or Luke Steele. Consider the mind blowing insanity that was Michael Jackson. We're living the dream duuude! That same dream all kids dream of growing up to be: doctors, firemen, astronauts, athletes or Tiger Woods (or even the illegitimate love child of Tiger Woods) only better yet we need never grow up!? FUCK NO!! We don't even need the talent! Simply pick up a guitar, synth, turntable, drumstick or microphone and join the circus! It's the ultimate loophole! Think of all the years you've wasted on that university degree only to realise it's ultimately useless. Think of how many souless jobs you now slave through instead to "make ends meet". Answering phones, emptying inboxes, data entry and dish washing, stuffed into ever smaller shop fronts, cube farms, call centres and assembly lines selling yourself for the "man"? All for a lifetime rendered utterly pointless beyond the point of abstraction!? Now imagine you're HERE instead, where every night's a brand new adventure full of endless excitement, sex, drugs and rock & roll! I KNOW HUH!? Fuck responsibility, fuck being an adult! Join the music industry, right here's the only place to be!
Or at least it used to be. Yup thanks to fuck knows what (crass commercialism run riot anyone!?) there's absolutely NO money left in it, what little remains has either fled to the internet or become a cheesy fast food outlet: pumping out novelty ringtones, reality show contests, product placements, plastic pop, soft porn and Guitar Hero updates (not to mention endless litigation) and now everyone else is jumping ship to code iphone apps instead!? FUCK YEAAAH!! And you know what? I say fuck 'em all! We don't need a "music industry" to have our fun, we're STILL living the dream right here! And sure it may look a lot like Lord Of The Flies, but it's ours to run as we please! And nowhere is this "dream" ever more real (and damn near terrifying) than right here at The Jolly Miller tonight. Yup more so than all your uber-cliquey west end haunts: what with all your DJs, indie disco and hipster douchebag fashion parades, THIS is where it's all happening tonight. This is where our eternal childhood runs riot like no other! Here in this pokie infested suburban shithole stuck in Hindmarsh: forever threatened with a bulldozer, stinking and festering behind The Entertainment Centre on Adam Street near forgotten, nestled between rows of rusty warehouses (and just around the corner from a cemetery) this is where our romper room reigns supreme! Yeah I know I'm a little disturbed by it too (and especially by that ATM sign) but hell what else were you expecting from an episode of Spoz's Rant? more of the same old shit!? pfft.. I laugh at you!
Yup I readily admit there's an ulterior motive as for why I'm here tonight. Of course it's officially to support Your Motive For's awesome "Album Fundraiser" show the only way I know how (ie: by designing their gig poster, sneaking in for free and stealing all of their beer rider.. SCORE!!), but unofficially I'm REALLY here for the hilarious novelty of a brand new live venue to take the absolute piss out of. And by "brand new live venue" I totally mean I'd known about it for well over eighteen months now and I've been avoiding it all this time. Yup and now that I've finally taken the plunge tonight? I must say it's everything I've been hoping for, secretly dreading, and SO MUCH MORE!! You see in many ways The Jolly Miller represents what many live venues in the Adelaide scene used to resemble back in the mid nineties: only taken to their ultimate post apocalyptic (read: post pokies) extreme. It's equal parts public bar, cheesy casino, and community centre (the "rec room" with a christmas tree and fake presents out back is especially amusing) but the REAL prize is out here in the beer garden. Resembling an oversized suburban backyard gone horribly wrong with picnic furniture: THIS is the only place to be! There's a "live stage" (read: ratty carpet rug) stuffed in the back corner against the corrugated iron fence, two dilapidated (frequently malfunctioning) PA speakers to broadcast it, one teeny tiny swirling "disco light" and two outdoor style "spotlights" to illuminate it, and a shitload of dirt and grass to roll around in like an idiot if you so choose to be barking mad enough to photograph it. Oh yes, it's nothing but paradise!
But obviously I've left the BEST till last. I mean sure this shithole may be butchering all of our live performances tonight with one of the WORST sound systems this side of Noarlunga Centre Train Station and I might be shooting them under the WORST lighting conditions since Rocket Bar back in September, Supermild back in April, Rhino Room back in December last year and The Metro on opening night two months before that (and all of it whilst crouching in dirt might I add) but all of this is made all the more head explodingly awesome when it's hosted in a pub with its very own children's playground. I SHIT YOU NOT! It sounds completely retarded I know (and on so many levels I can't even BEGIN to explain!) but once you've gotten over just how utterly batshit insane it is? you begin to appreciate its endless potential for drunkarse hilarity. No shit! Remember back when you were fifteen and all you had was a bag of goon, five fuckup friends and a neighbouring primary school to break into to provide all of your weekend's entertainment!? Yup this is JUST like that, only multiplied by a hundred or so adults old enough to know better (but still too young to show any restraint after a few too many) a full service bar, or better yet ready access to an esky fuck full of beer rider to steal from for free!? OOOOH YEAH, it don't get much better than this!
WILLIE MCRAE BAND (***) myspace :: Which brings us in all kinds of high spirits and hilarity to our opening act. Or at least it would have if I'd bothered to get here two hours earlier at six thirty when this whole shitcrazy shindig started in the first place. Ooops! And by "shitcrazy shindig" I totally mean eight fucking live acts. FUCK I LOVE MUSIC MARATHONS!! Yup so instead of catching the "awesome" head exploding sounds of Matt Reiner & The Aunt Sallys, Under the Lemon Tree and Kyle Weber & Sam Vinall from 99 Reasons Why thrashing it out under a setting sun; I'm here for act four. A "country and western" ensemble (whoaaa fuck this night only gets better!) fronted by a cheerfully squinting chrome dome by the name of Willie Bidstrup. A "cheerfully squinting chrome dome" that you may also recognise as the guitarist for such pissdrunk Adelaide scene luminaries as High Stakes (read: AC/DC beer soaked rock ferocity punched up to eleven), Sexual Dad (read: just like the former only mad tripping balls on LSD) and bands too fuckoff bizarre to mention right now that may possibly be performing a little later tonight. Hmmm yup, go figure? As such I'm little hesistant over just how "seriously" I should take any of THIS shit tonight: especially when you consider they feature the equally chrome domed presence of Lee Michael Dewey from Lazaro's Dog (a band who's practically made the "dick and fart joke" into an artform throughout their entire career), songs by the name of "Zombie Farmer From Hell" and "Truck Driving In Space" and a whimsical blurb on their myspace that lists such musical tastes as varied as "heavy thrash, girly pop, crazy jazz, old-school gospel, ethnic folk, punk blah blah etc.". I know huh!? Still despite all this they STILL do a bang up job of convincing us otherwise with their sincere set tonight that wins you over almost in spite of itself. With a sound that's equal parts Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, Ween's weirdarse country album and John C. Reilly from "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story" they deliver everything with a forthright and earnest manner. They're songs richly browned in earthly guitar twang, an easy going rhythmic swagger and a soothingly baritone that's equal measure Dave Faulkner from The Hoodoo Gurus punch drunk on goon and Peter Garrett on a mad hit of valium. Songs that in almost every instance are introduced as being "written in Tamworth". Which as hilarious as that may sound, we'd almost be willing to buy into if it weren't for the live mixer tonight that's inexplicably making Rob Bidstrup's kickdrum click and pop loudly like a mad slamming techno beat (damn you!), and the fact that Willie Bidstrup may very well be barkingly out of his mind for being able to sell this ongoing prank so convincingly in the first place. Still as far as "opening acts" go (ie: in every sense that they're clear not.. and I simply turned up late) they sure DO make these beers go down easy! And hey, short of watching both Billy Ray Cyrus and Miley Cyrus being shot repetively in the face with a BB Gun, what more could you want from a "country and western" ensemble than that!?
THE GIVEAWAYS (****) myspace :: Which brings us to our second act tonight (or more accurately the fifth for the night) who by any other insane definition (ie: excluding their obvious knack for crafting songwriting excellence) could be considered little more than a pissy 'ol "highschool band". Except clearly they're not. As despite all obvious appearances, and the fact that their oldest member might be all of seventeen years old (at least from what I last heard?) they've clearly NEVER been to highschool, never left the "house" (read: laboratory) for anything over than live shows or gig rehearsals, have clearly all been grown from sci-fi freaky oversized test tubes fed on a constant ipod shuffle of classic britpop and Guitar Hero, and depending on who you talk to have either been sent from the future to kill us all, or save us all. I KNOW! Still as weird as all that sounds? it's a phenomenon that isn't all that unfamiliar to ANY of us (especially any of us prone to surfing shitcrazy conspiracy sites or watching classic horror films) as we've all seen this unfold countless of times before. From the East Berlin Olympic Team back in the 70's, to the acting careers of both Dakota Fanning and Haley Joel "I see dead people" Osment, to every live performing act from The Jackson Five, Silverchair to Tom Ugly in exhibiting damn near extraterrestrial powers well before their time. Weirder still they're hardly unique to the Adelaide scene either as every proverbial anklebiter from J-Ded, GrannyFlat to The Temps have pulled this exact same "teen-scream" schtick to wild success in the past (an occassionally embarassing reminder that people like Tom Spall from Cortez probably don't need after all these years). And yet despite how many times I've seen it, it never gets any LESS fuckoff bizarre. The Giveaways. In essense think of them as an exceptionally proficient and polished mashup between The Kooks (most notably), the Arctic Monkeys, The Libertines and The Strokes. With an overal vibe that's equal measures ridiculously and thrashingly upbeat, obnoxiously jubilent, rife with 60's Beatlemania (in both loose frenetic playing style and exploding energy) and catchy as all fuck (or rather like an influenza strain crossbred with a LOLcat youtube meme gone horribly right). As such they rarely put a note wrong, they're one hundred percent "the real deal" authentic in gunning delivery, and if they all lived anywhere else but here.. like say in the UK? NME would've hyped their shit well beyond the point of parody, they'd be well into abusing heroin by now, and we'd all be sick to death of them. Awesome! So it's through no small mercy that they're still hiding out in relative "obscurity" here in the Adelaide scene then.. although possibly not for long if gigs like THIS are any indication. Better still, despite exhibiting all the homicidal tendancies of a cyborb assassin squad in theory, in practice and stage presence they're actually quite surprisingly casual about it. In a jokey manner they'll mention that they've lost their entire setlist tonight (although not like you'd ever know it) make repeated attempts (sometimes sarcastically) in getting people to dance to it and otherwise treat the whole thing like a "bit of a laugh" tonight whilst simultaneously making everyone's eyes go bug-eyed by just how fuckoff fiendishingly they play. Yup it's anyone's guess where they'll go from here (especially if they're playing HERE on a Saturday night), but just as long as they don't go completely clownshit insane like Edward Furlong or Macaulay Culkin in the process.. there's truly no limit to the carnage they could unleash!
BOOSTER (****) myspace :: Somewhere between our second and third act tonight (or you know, whatever the ACTUAL number is upto by now) some conservatively dressed type: possibly a barstaffer in his late fifties with white hair and sensible shoes shuffles up to the veranda just in front of our "live stage", climbs up a little step ladder to reach the two spotlights "illuminating" it, unscrews one of them till it goes completely dead and then shuffles off again. Awesome huh!? And when coupled with The Jolly Miller's state of the art "sound system" that's already on its last legs tonight (so much so that the entire left side has gone completely numb save for an occassional "cough and splutter") you may begin to wonder if this is an "ill omen" for all the bands that would be foolish enough to follow. Hmmm. Or at least you would, unless you happen to be THIS band tonight. Or better yet their drummer and lead singer Sean Kemp, hoeing into the beers, having the absolute time of his life (so much so that nothing short of a fullblown War Of The Worlds style alien invasion could possibly faze him) in which case you can't help but laugh along with them at the ripening "comedy" of it all. Yup like many other "well seasoned" acts in the Adelaide scene, Booster have developed a wry "sense of humour" when it comes to live performance. It's why they've thrived for this long against all the idiotic odds (ie: well over the past five years.. or fifteen if you count all the bands they've been in prior to this). And as mad as they might play it: they really don't take it too seriously, they really don't care WHERE it will ever take them (or even if it'll take them anywhere at all) they're IN on the "joke", they're in it for buzz, and they're simply here to rock the fuck out. And combined with their signature sound: equal parts Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix and Eagles Of Death Metal, it's one of the many reasons why they're such a fuckoff awesome band to get ridiculously drunk to. And tonight's set, in all the above, is truly no exception to this rule. From their opening number "C158" they let loose like a full throttle chainsaw, like a Mad Max V8 Interceptor tearing it up on a highway stretching infinite to the horizon: not at all bothered by the live sound that makes them sound occassionally a lot less like that (especially from the left side speakers) and more like a morse code string of farts let loose out of an elephant. From Sean Kemp's bludgeoning beats and booming voice, to Craig Lewis' shredding guitar solos, and Josh Biggs' rubberband bass and wailing falsetto it's an unstoppable freak force that loses nothing in the translation. They perform mostly new songs with it. From the slow chunking attack of "You Dog", "Rodeo Song" and "Red Painted Woman" off their latest EP. To the supercharged and psychedelic insanity of "You", "It's Ya Birthday", and "Let Love Grow": and it ALL kills end to end. But where the real highlight comes is with their classic and closing number "One Minute Man". A song that starts off normally only to mutate into an ever escalating eight minute monster jam complete with a blitheringly drunk (yet utterly brilliant) improvised chorus from Sean: "who's the Jolly 'ol Miller? who's the Jolly 'ol Miller!?" only to become ever more hysterical the more times he repeats it. From here on in everything culminates in a riotous explosion of noise, the crowd cheers, there's not a single "dry liver" left in the house, and it would've been the craziest shit ever; if only they didn't deliver the same insanity every damn gig. WHOAAA FUCK!! I know, and to think there's still two more live acts to go and that esky full of beer rider's barely half empty!? Yup looks like it's gonna be ONE of those nights!
THE TORRENS (**1/2) myspace :: Speaking of such, moments before our fourth act tonight (or fuck it, I think you get the idea by now) our favourite barstaffer makes for a return visit. Climbing that very same step ladder from before he reaches for that OTHER spotlight still operational, unscrews it till it TOO goes completely dead and then shuffles off again. So now short of one teeny tiny swirling "disco light" the entire stage has been plunged into absolute darkness!? OOOOH FUCK YEAH!! Now I know what you're all thinking and yes I've been thinking the same thing too! It's like I swear, everywhere I've gone for the past year or more, at every venue I've frequented it's gotten progressively darker and darker and no shit.. IT'S BEEN DRIVING ME FUCKING INSANE! And as much as I can provide quantifiable evidence to prove it (ie: check out my before and after shots of Rocket Bar for one.. SCORE!!) I'm at an absolute loss to explain it. I mean fuck maaan, is it escalating electricity costs that's causing all this doom and gloom? Is it a "carbon footprint" thing? Is it doof doof DJs screwing us over, now that live entertainment has apparently "fallen out of favour" in all our fashionable live venues!? I mean seriously has our entire nightlife been reduced to little more than a series of blinking diodes getting twatted on cocaine, ecstasy and speed and fucking each other in the dark!? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS!? (and it's probably best we don't answer that either). But hey at least we know who's to blame for THIS instance: as it's none other than our fourth act The Torrens fucking with our miiinds! Yup if you've NEVER witnessed their assinine antics before: they are without a doubt one of the most fuckoff bizarre "live acts" you'll ever damn near see in your life (and believe me I've seen my fair share!). And better yet considering I've already seen them once before, they don't get any LESS weird in repeat viewings either. Essentially a "side project" between Tom Ireland and Willie Bidstrup from High Stakes (what? the SAME Willie Bidstrup from our opening "country and western" act!? WHOAAA SHIT!!) they channel everything from hiphop, electronica and imbecile to fashion their very own pisstake on the "indie disco" zeitgeist. Or in other words simply picture the stupidest moments of Eminem's "Encore" album mashed together with TISM, Hotchip, Dizzee Rascal and Datarock; and that'd be your epilectic fit foaming in one. Arriving on stage as nothing short of an alien abduction: dressed head to toe in white biohazard suits, complete with flashing red and blue sirens, and an LED lit "mystery cube" propped up on a stage (no really, what the fuck is up with THAT shit!?) they blast into song after song of rapid fire beats and lyrical lunacy. And surprisingly it actually works. It's brilliant, it's hilarious, it's fucking genius! IT'S THE BEST SHIT EVER!! Or at least it does for a few short minutes at a time, as their entire live set is well and truly arseraped by the worst live sound you could possibly ever imagine. Everything and I mean EVERYTHING fucks up something severe. Songs lose their volume, explode in violent bursts of pop and crackle, and otherwise fail completely with little or no warning. There's frequent attempts made to remedy the situation (from both mixing desk and on stage), only for both band members to eventually admit defeat, abandon their LED lit "mystery cube" altogether (no shit, would you believe it's an iphone!?), only to close with an impromptu guitar driven rendition of High Stakes "Dead Alien Vagina Woman" instead that wins nothing but adulation from the crowd. Yup it's an absolute fucking disaster in every sense of the word (and even harder to do justice in a photo, let me tell you!) and yet despite all this, you can STILL sense the ripe potential for mischief here. I mean could you imagine if they opened for Daft Punk? or played the Lilypad at the Big Day Out? or a children's party? or a retirement village!? No shit duuude, it'd be a total fucking massacre!
YOUR MOTIVE FOR (****1/2) myspace :: And now at long last it's time for our headlining act; and in more ways than one! OOOOH SHIT YEAH!! For as far as their career goes? they've definitely had one of the most ridiculously convoluted to get here tonight. Originally forming in late 2002 (ie: at about the same time I started publishing THIS pissy little blog as little more than a loose collection of assinine non sequiturs) they found immediate accolades with both a prized performance slot at the Adelaide Big Day Out in January 2003 and then with their wildly popular debut EP "Being Around You" launched in March the same year. Essentially a supergroup formed between three OTHER wildly popular Adelaide bands: Yakspit (Heath Weber on vocals), Honeyfix (Josh Nicholls on bass and Dieter Linde on drums) and Tendahook (Warwick "Wokka Wokka" Ing on keys) you could say their "success" was all but assured from day one. They played everywhere and anywhere to riotous applause, they supported the likes of The Sleepy Jackson (and possibly a few other touring bands I've long since forgotten about) and then "just like that", possibly around July 2003 or so, they all but vanished!? Yup it's anyone's guess where they all went: as clearly it had nothing to do with both Josh and Dieter working jobs overseas for three to six months at a time (pfft!) either way they were reduced to playing maybe one (or two) shows per year, lost their old drummer in 2006, gained a new one in Chad Howard in 2007, gained a second guitarist Daniel Cava in 2009 and were all but forgotten by the Adelaide scene at large. Awesome! But all that's set to change (or maybe it won't.. but hey wouldn't it be funny if it did!?) as they're about to launch their debut album in the next few months. YEAAAS!! Or in other words the exact SAME "debut album" they've been working on for the past two years now, and the same they would've released much earlier if only they hadn't run out of money, hence this album fundraiser tonight. *Phew* ridiculously convoluted? oh you don't even know the half of it! Still as much as any of this shit would've driven any OTHER band barkingly insane by now, it's only made THIS band all the richer in experiencing it. Yup for Your Motive For are your classic "weather beaten" rock & roll sound: equal measures You Am I, Augie March, Dallas Crane and Buffalo Tom; with a little bit alt country and little bit blues confessional thrown into the mix. And tonight? no shit they're back with a vengeance! Arriving on stage to what sounds like an instrumental reworking of AC/DC's "Rock & Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" they tear into each and every one of their songs with newfound enthusiasm; every one of them's a surefire, sing-along, pub rock classic. Their old songs like "Happy Hour", "Greatest Crime" and "Spark" are especially effective at nailing it; and their new songs are no less direct in delivering it. Heath's vocals are just like that of a mournful hound "heart on his sleeve" howling. The rest of the band proceed to beat that "heart" into a bloody pulp and hold it aloft like a prize fight victory again and again. For an added bonus they also bring in a "guest vocalist" Alicia for a few songs and a little extra harmony. But where it REALLY kills tonight is all the extra shitcrazy blues solos thrown into the mix by their second guitarist Dan: and sure they don't nearly use him enough, but when they do? he tears it up like nothing else! Yup there's no denying it: Your Motive For are giving it all they've got like never before! And sure they might be the proverbial "old dog" of the Adelaide scene (and in more ways than one) but not only are they coming up with new tricks to play with, but if THIS set and their upcoming album's any indication? their prime may be yet to come!
12:55AM - Of course I realise that what I've just "described" here tonight, barely covers the half of it. And by "the half of it" I'm clearly referring to just how blitheringly drunk we are. A trivial detail I know, until you factor in just how generous that beer rider was (or more accurately just how much of it I might have had to drink tonight *burp* scuse me) I mean no shit.. they REALLY know how to look after you at The Jolly Miller! Sure the rest of this shitdive might be held together with little more than mudbrick, paddlepop sticks and asbestos (and their whole "live setup" might leave a LOT to be desired) but at least they get the "basics" right. And here four hours in, ten to twelve bottles deep, swinging off the playground equipment like a six year old, laughing myself silly? while everyone around me is dribbling incoherently and rolling about in all the dirt and dementia!? OOOOH YEAH, I'M LOVING THIS SHIT!! Or at least I did until one of the barstaff spots me climbing about up here, freaks the fuck out and yells at me to get down again (pfft.. party poopers!).
1:16AM - And then moments later The Jolly Miller "coincidentally" decided to close up for the night (wait.. I did what now!?) and threw everyone out into what clearly WASN'T the carpark, to keep on drinking what clearly WASN'T the last of the beer rider, because clearly they were just empties; yes even the ones that clearly WEREN'T because they still had bottle caps on them. Hmmm yup, obviously we were in a mood to "celebrate" tonight. I forget what exactly. It might have had something to do with the fact we raised $1000 for Your Motive For (awesome!), or for the fact that we were blithering idiots; either way all these photographs were clearly in order to document it.
1:48AM - Speaking of no good reason whatsoever, it's then that I bump into Heath Weber. Besides being the "wildly charismatic" lead singer of Your Motive For: the most ridiculously awesome band you've never even heard of before, he also runs his very own dating agency: of which he's mysteriously the only "acting member". As such I occassionally like to help him out by promoting his services to the general public, and by "services" I clearly mean.. yeah let's not go there. Suffice to say if your female (or at least able to impersonate one), between the ages of 18 and 80, and of vaguely "humanoid appearance", you should totally call him for a good time!
And oh yes ladies, he'll even let you "play" with what's in his four wheel drive too.. aye? aaaye!?
2:12AM - After answering that "overwhelming urge to throw up for a good five minutes" (totally unrelated of course). I return to The Jolly Miller once more only to discover that everyone else has since left. Hmmm. And so, one short walk to The Governor Hindmarsh later I chase up a taxi into town: only to discover our entire route from Port Road to West Terrace to North Terrace (and all the the way up to the Morphett Street Bridge) has since been blocked off by road works. DAMNIT!! Only to eventually find myself HERE at The Sphincter, The Arsehole, The Dead Castle!? aaaah fuck it: we all know I'm simply here because I'm way too drunk, on autopilot and don't know any better!
2:19AM - Which as we all know is clearly a lie because there's always (yes even now) at least a billion and one "awesome" reasons to be at The Ed Castle on a Friday or Saturday night. Of course I've long since forgotten what most of those are, but if all else fails (and let's face it they often do!) it still provides me with some of the BEST vomit photography in all the Adelaide CBD. No really check that shit out: it's even got a bus ticket and two straws floating in it. Mmhmmm flavour!
3:15AM - And speaking of alcohol abuse (and how!), it's not long after that I bump into Anthony Candlish and Trent Worley partying it up hard in the beer garden. They're here to celebrate Kytes Of Omar's "triumphant victory" at British India tonight. Rocking the shit out of their support slot to a sold out crowd of over 700 people at The Governor Hindmarsh. And since I clearly had nothing to do with it (I mean shit I wasn't even there!?), I figured what the hell I'd celebrate with them.
3:34AM - Which obviously leads us here: that one point in almost every Friday or Saturday night where I somehow manage to justify WHY we all went to Supermild again. Except clearly I don't because I almost never have a fucking clue why we end up in here either. No really, the way I see it? it's just like one of those wacky stories you hear about when people take all that "Ambien" shit, sleepwalk into a car, and drive straight off a cliff; only with slightly better bar service. Hmmm.
4:45AM - As such and for the most part, my night here at Supermild is pretty much a complete blur. I mean REALLY, your guess is as good as mine as to what the fuck happened in here. And if your "guess" involves me going straight to the bar to order up a long neck, despite the fact I might have already drank at least thirteen to fourteen stubbies, pints and a jägerbomb to get here (or at least from what I can remember), followed by me laughing it up stupid on the dancefloor? then yeaaah you'd probably be about right. Eventually however we cross that all important threshold, that well documented "blood alcohol limit" exceeded where all of a sudden everything and anything around me suddenly becomes THE MOST HILARIOUS PHOTO OPPORTUNITY EVER. Yeah I don't know why this always seems to happen fifteen minutes before closing either but it's definitely what we have to blame HERE. As we present for your dubious enjoyment: the wildly ecstatic response Frank Lloyd from the Kytes Of Omar gave me after I cracked a dumbarse joke about him having to show his "Seniors Card" to the bouncer upstairs in order to get in tonight.
Or Gloria here: who you may either recognise as a former (or current) barstaffer at The Exeter (yeah I forget which!?) and also as one of the many shitcrazy "fashion forward" regulars you'll find flailing about like an exciteable fungus here on the dancefloor or out in the beer garden on any given Friday or Saturday night. And as for why she's posing with this long neck of Sparkling Ale: yeah I got no fucking clue (in fact it might even be mine?) but no shit.. isn't she the greatest!?
Or THIS dude who we've never met before, we've long since forgotten his name (I think we called him "Junior" and he's 2nd generation royalty or some shit) and I could've sworn he was either Indian, Hawaiian, Egyptian, Jamaican or maybe Moroccan but he's in actual fact "original recipe" Australian.. go figure? but since most of us here are too drunk to remember what planet we're on, let alone if we're speaking English anymore? we're just happy that's he's along for the ride! No really, check out how he's holding that beer bottle like he's never seen one before? hiiilarious!
Or what about all THESE group shots? Which are clearly all kinds of ridiculously awesome (and entirely necessarily too) not only because they feature ME making a total dick of myself (as clearly we always need MORE of those) but also because they feature a cameo appearance by someone who's either Tara's sister, cousin, an actor she's just hired to play both, or none of the above and she's simply joined in on the fun "just for the fuck of it". Aaaah I know, what's NOT to love!? And as for who the fuck Tara is? pfft.. I mean is ANY of that shit important here!? of course not!
All of that inevitably leads to THIS: a photographic game of "stacks on" where we attempt to cram in as many grinning nitwits into the one teeny tiny photo frame without collapsing a lung or puncturing a spleen. Or better yet.. until just after Alex Ciaravolo in the checkered shirt blacks out cold, we dump him in the glass pit, swipe his wallet, and he "shouts" us all a round of drinks.
Aaaah I swear, every night he's out cold like "Weekend At Bernie's"!
Which even more incomprehensibly leads to THIS um.. whatever the fuck this is? (because yeah I've pretty much ran out of explanations) but wow they sure DO look happy about it don't they!?
And you know what's REALLY disturbing about all these photos just now? (and no it's not just the clueless gimp with the "lego man" head who stumbled into that shot above.. SCORE!!) it's the fact that I captured ALL of this shit on camera in the last three minutes.. WHOAAA!! And you know what's even MORE disturbing!? there's a whole lot of this that I DIDN'T publish. Awesome huh!?
5:07AM - Still as the sun slowly rises over Junior's frizzy haired silhouette here: we knew like "all good things must come to an end" so too our shitcrazy escapades would come to a close here at Supermild. Obviously there was only one place to go, and no it wasn't The Rosemont, The Strathmore or The Casino (yeeeouch!) it could only be into a waiting taxi speeding us on our way home. Yup it's been real, it's been FAAAR from real.. so long everyone and to all a good night!
5:25AM - And so obviously we disregarded all of that and went to the Pancake Kitchen instead. Why? yeaaah I forget why.. but I'm half surprised we didn't think of it more often!? FUCK DAMN!!
5:32AM - And so here we are at this "last refuge for the damned". We the last flickering fools of the night, awaiting our fate, or perhaps just our order, as Anthony here measures out his lines in ground pepper and considers for a minute whether if he's crazy enough to snort it (and as it turns out? yes he was, yes it was hilarious, and no we definitely DON'T recommend any of you try it).
5:41AM - And moments later when it finally arrived THIS is what I picked off the menu. I believe it's either called a medium stack, a regular stack, or a triple stack with ice cream. And no it doesn't ALWAYS look like a pixie has has just thrown up all over it, that's simply the peculiar way in which I've chosen to garnish it with hundreds & thousands. No shit, smartest choice I made all night!
5:57AM - So voracious were our appetites that most of us had finished our pancakes far too quickly. And since were weren't looking to attempt another stack so soon (as I'm pretty sure there's an actual limit to how many "multicoloured candy dots" you can devour in one sitting before your pancreas implodes) we amused ourselves by watching "Benjamin Buttons" here eat his instead. And as for why we felt the retarding need to take photos of it? I believe the fact my blood alcohol might have recently achieved "parity" with my IQ level may have something to do with it.
6:06AM - Many hours (or perhaps minutes) hence when Frank finally finished his meal, we looked on in amazement at what'd he left behind. It all made sense now: this mad miasma of maple syrup, ice cream, ground pepper and half regurgitated pancake batter all smooshed together. I mean it was like modern art: life the universe and everything from the microcosmic to the macrocosmic, the mindboggling genius of it all! Or yeah maybe we were just completely out of our fucking minds and found affinity with the experience of both us and "it" swirling down the same proverbial plughole to oblivion. Deep? maaaybe.. it all depends how many times you "flush" it.
6:16AM - And then looking up at this poster print at last (possibly of Alexander Graham Bell, possibly of some other nondescript git from the late Nineteenth Century), we suddenly realise what time it is, suddenly realise at some stage we might want to catch up with something called "sleep" and with barely a word spoken we all make our separate ways and we get the fuck out of there.
Yup it's a strange "routine" that we lead here, there can be no denying it. We drink ourselves retarded almost every damn night until we're little more than newborn imbeciles, inebriate infants and intellectual juveniles. We live lives that are willfully dysfunctional, cheerfully dyslexic and rife with dementia. No shit, we run riot in this city every damn week like lunatics let loose from the asylum! But there's a method to our madness, it's all part of the creative process I swear! We're old dogs, but we're constantly learning new tricks, finding loopholes, pissing up those walls and howling at the moon. We're looking at this world "wide-eyed in wonder" like mad children so we can find a way out. We live this "dream" but we're far from naive, we've all got "day jobs", we all know! We're simply cynics with an escape plan, and damnit we're crazy enough to follow it on through.