The Adelaide scene: to many of you it may 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 dysfunctional splendour, as we bring you the highly satirical, laughingly fictional and intellectually imbecile tales from our rock & roll wasteland...
THE KILLGIRLS + FEMME FATALES + THE TOUCH "THE MISSING DISCO" @ QUEEN'S THEATRE / Saturday May 2nd 2009
Adelaide is a joke. There's no point denying it: we all know it, and even if you try and hide it? everyone else is laughing about it. Ever since its inception in the 19th century as a gridlocked sanitarium for the stuffy bourgeois, the bogan suburbanite, the elbow padded post graduate and the wine quaffing arseclown it's been the butt of everyone's jokes. In those all too brief moments when Melbourne and Sydney ever agree on anything it's always "thank FUCK we don't live in Adelaide". It's a joke that's constantly growing. You'll see them filling the skies, a thousand or more flocking to Australia every year from the US and the UK, only to flee from Melbourne to Perth in effort to avoid us. They've heard all the punchlines: we're the number one serial killer capital of the world! You plan a music festival, an international touring schedule, or fuckit.. even a pissy little skip across the pond at your OWN peril. Adelaide is notoriously fickle as a live music destination. We never buy up tickets till the very last minute, and even then barely half of us ever show up; and is there any wonder when we have three quarters the urban sprawl of Los Angeles? with less than one tenth the people to populate it? and fuckall public transport to service it!? FUCK NO! $50 for a concert ticket? almost as much for the taxi home? PRICELESS! (hell, even Hobart and Darwin are making fun of us now!). Still, as grim as this shit may sound, we DO have a solution! Simply do what Perth does, fuck the rest of Australia: throw your own damn party! And duuude we've had plenty! So much so it's bordering on a pissing contest. From those monthly Transmission Live parties, to Zeta's over capacity launch party in July at Rocket Bar, to Tyger Tyger upping the ante weeks later at Jive, to Wish's penultimate sendoff in September, to THAT Halloween at The Ed Castle, to the infamous "Touch Party" in January, to Lumonic's and Zeta's farwell in March and now THIS monstrosity tonight!? Yup, if ever you wanted to know what it now takes to throw a successful launch party in the Adelaide scene, read it and weep kiddies: THIS is The Killgirls and their "Missing Disco" raising those proverbial "flag poles" and pissing it higher than ever before!
The first trick is in your choice of location. Any dick flicking yahoo can pick Rocket Bar, Jive or The Ed Castle. Anyone can hit The Grace Emily, Jade Monkey or The Metro for that more "intimate" feel. Or go one better and attempt the impossible in the backroom at The Gov (and very few have succeeded!). But The Killgirls go one better by picking the one live venue in all of Adelaide that next to nobody has even HEARD of before. Queen's Theatre!? FUCK YEAAAH!! Sure, YOU may've been struggling to find this rough hewn relic tonight but I knew! I've seen it in action before! It may be a laughable anachronism from our colonial past, it may not even feature its own indoor plumbing, but if you plan this shit right, they'll be talking about YOUR shit for years to come!
Still The Queen's Theatre isn't without its unique set of problems. For one: their lack of indoor plumbing only hints upon the hollow husk you'll be tasked with filling the minute you step inside. Bring your own stage, lighting, sound system, DJ decks, fuckit.. even bring your own furniture: as there's absolutely nothing here but a blank canvas to shape into your own perverted image. No shit: it's just like throwing a private party in international waters, anything goes! (only it's conveniently situated in the middle of the city and I'm pretty sure you wont get raided by Somali pirates). And it is into this gaping chasm that The Killgirls spared no inch. The first sign is the stage: featuring the most excessive use of computer controlled lighting I've ever seen outside of a Daft Punk pyramid, a Nine Inch Nails concert or one of those ridiculously overhyped "doof doofs" that bang nothing but a kickdrum and everyone dies of hepatitis. OOOH YES!! Thanks to this shit there will be NO bitching about the lights. All you'll ever see from me, is me praying before this shining altar and howling: "I'M NOT WORTHY!". Oh and might I also add I shot everything tonight using nothing but a pissy little Canon IXUS 960 "point and shoot" and an ISO 400 setting!? best believe fearless travellers! for we be witness verily to the mighty halls of Valhalla tonight!
No less important is a well stocked bar. There are no taps here, so pack your own eskies fuck full of any poison you see fit to destroy yourself with, ie: everything from tequila, jagermeister, absinthe, napalm, the pickled gland of a blue ring octopus *cough* or scratching that maybe a few thousand cans of Coopers Lager, mixed spirits and a littany of bottled waters to drop your "vitamins" with. And not only will this guarentee people will actually stick around for more than five minutes to catch your show, but better yet they'll be SO wasted they'll actually enjoy it too!
You'll also need to bring enough cutting edge electronics to brown out every neighbouring block in a five mile radius because nothing quite spells "doomsday device" without your very own: mixing desk, lighting deck, laptops, LCD displays (counting ominously down to zero), one of those machines that go "ping", another machine that'll nuke your noodles (and neutralise the sperm count of anyone foolish enough to stand nearby), a DJ deck spinning dope party tunes all night, and at least five freshly "store bought" gophers to run the little treadmills. Oh and don't worry, I'm pretty sure this shit will only cost you a few thousand dollars and a kidney down at Derringers..
So to cut costs: simply drag in one of Adelaide's many mentally ill to fly this deathstar for the price of "a few beers", a blowjob, and whatever-the-fuck fungus you found growing out back in the parking lot. And if you have no luck finding one simply "roaming the streets"? hit up The Crown & Anchor! no shit they have hundreds of them! Here's one they prepared earlier. His name is "Scott". He likes long walks on the beach, candlelit dinners, drinking the occassional rodent, dressing like a leatherclad gimp and howling at the moon. Oh and he's also responsible for the sound tonight..
And need we mention they even brought in their own hot tub!? *cough* yeah.. probably not.
KYTES OF OMAR (****) myspace :: Which brings us to our opening act tonight (no really, the less you know about that hot tub the better!) and do not be fooled by their glaring absence from the opening credits or their oddball "rawk & roll" appearance: their role here is nothing short of crucial for setting the tone for just about everything that is to follow! Sure they may be the fourth band down the bill, they may be playing the dreaded eight o'clock graveyard shift (they may even propagate some of the weirdest bodily odours ever known to beast or man if the temperature clicks above 25 C) but there's a lot to like about the Kytes Of Omar. Not only can they prove conclusively that Charles Darwin's theory of evolution can in fact work "both ways" and if I'm told correctly ferment some of the most astounding cheeses from out of Anthony Candlish's armpits, press them into discs and market them as their brilliantly acclaimed "Let's Go Diagonal" EP but most importantly because they also encourage just about everyone present to hit the bar HARD and fast in effort to appreciate their "finer qualities". Kytes Of Omar are that classic "beer drinkers band" that starts ANY party in style (only with a shitload more reverb) and tonight is NO exception. From the opening hooks of "She's So Special", to the slow drones of "Just So Sorrow", to the batshit blitzkrieg of "Suits and Drags" (see video) to the repeating refrains of "Hide In The Trees" (and that was only the first half) there's that winning consistency here that draws you in, like knowing for sure that after six beers you're well on your way to getting hilariously shitfaced and you're probably gonna wake up in a tree the next day scratching both armpits. Sure it's going to be loud, dumb and your hangover's gonna feel like a chainsaw: but the Kytes Of Omar make it ever SO worthwhile. By their third to last "On Me", a huddle of groupie girls are going apeshit out front, they can't get enough. The brews are flowing freely, they're pissing up the walls. And by the time the apocalyptic "Soldier" hits in the epilogue? it's like the closing credits to sobriety: "such a lonely day but I feel better, because I'm leaving you.. YES I AM!!". Brilliant, no shit.. we're long gone! Short of Joe the guitarist they're as far from the hilarious "metro brigade" that'll soon follow: like all the best bits of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Subways and Queens Of The Stone Age mashed into the one Frankenstein, bearing down on our village, arms swinging, hellbent on killing us all; but no less welcoming!
THE TOUCH (***1/2) myspace :: As much as it may've been a crime to stuff Kytes Of Omar in the opening slot: thanks to their beer fueled antics we're now well on our way to being stupifyingly dim enough to appreciate "shit" like THIS in our second slot. All things considered it was a risky but genius opening gambit! For The Touch are one of those archetypal "buzz bands". One of those much maligned, endlessly ridiculed yet infinitely infectious blasts of shrill riffs, spastic shouting and spikey beats designed to fill a dancefloor; that are ever so entertaining for every reason than otherwise intended. And before we go any further (because I DO realise bands like this are contentious.. so were Tyger Tyger back in the day) let's make something abundantly clear: we're not reviewing an album here, we're not pulling songs apart with pliers, when it comes to entertaining on a live stage: "shit" can often be awesome! And as much as many bands should aspire for something greater (and we should all do our best to encourage that) there's really NO shame in being the life of the party: and it is THIS retarding energy that The Touch bring to a live stage. At best they're a mix between Bloc Party's "Silent Alarm", The Moving Units "Dangerous Dreams" and The Foals "Antidotes". At worst they're the musical equivalent of a crater faced fourteen year old dry humping a matress. It's that fuck everything that moves "post punk meets Porky's-paperthin-plotline" feeding frenzy that hotspots like Rocket Bar (or a throwaway nights like WOW!) pops a wetpatch to. It's lyrical genius like "head down, arse up: that's the way we like to fuck!" that only but reinforces it (I'm told they're moving away from that but don't hold your breath). It's insulting to our intelligence but damnit it works! And for the simple fact that their lead singer Josh Moore is so hilariously naive, wide-eyed, and stupid about it: you can't help but laugh along with it despite yourself. I mean just look at him out there: flailing about, playing dodgems with the band, making a complete dick of himself. Sure we're laughing AT HIM, sure he's a class clown, sure his band's a circus but geez they're entertaining all the same! As much as tonight's set isn't one of their best, it's hardly their worst either. Short of their usual cheersquad: Lucinda and Olivia (and that chick who looks like one of the Olsen twins) and every other blinking diode they usually attract in droves, they may have lost a LOT of their hysteria but I'm still pissing myself laughing. It's not much but dude it's a start!
FEMME FATALES (**) myspace :: And if you thought The Touch were a bad "pickup line", it only gets worse with our third act. Maybe this is simply a cunning ploy by The Killgirls to give themselves as little "competition" as possible in the lead up to THEIR headlining slot, maybe they're pissing themselves laughing backstage watching their genius plan unfold even now, or maybe this clearly came about by accident, who knows!? we could speculate about this shit for days! This is the Femme Fatales: and yes they've had BETTER nights than this. In fact for the longest while, I've had this running joke (coincidental at first, brought to my attention later by their lead singer Tom Hanna): where without fail I would give them "three point five" for every single review I wrote. I swear I don't know HOW it happened. And if you assumed I'd simply take advantage of this shit and give them the SAME score every time since then (y'know just to fuck with them) you'd be dead right! and maaan did it drive them insane! Still it hasn't always been for my own amusement. For the last year or so it did drive them to hone their craft further in effort to prove me wrong, as they pushed above and beyond that throwaway "nu-rave" tag (think the abrasive *ZOMG LULZ LASERBEAMS* sounds of The Klaxons, Crystal Castles and Muscles and you'd have it just about nailed) and embraced more ecclectic influences like Fischerspooner, Big Audio Dynamite and A Place To Bury Strangers. It's given them a new edge, infinite new sounds to play with, and dare I say it: something that may even begin to approach artistic credibility. No shit.. for all the hell I've given them, they've REALLY come a long way in less two years, ever since I called them "shit disco" back in September 2007. And despite almost never rehearsing any of their gigs, despite recently losing their third member, drummer Mitch Van: they've FINALLY broken that "three point five" barrier. YEAAAS!! Time to celebrate Femme Fatales: for this is truly your time to soak up the glory that comes with.. *oh shit* I think you all saw it too, and what the fuck happened here!? Yup, it happens to just about every band at least ONCE in their career: and of course an idiot like ME just had to be around to see it and write a hilarious review about it. But hey let's look on the bright side: it's not like anyone's gonna see this, let alone read it or um.. yeah, y'know what? they're pretty much screwed. Still let's look on the bright side shall we? let's focus on the long list of everything that they did get RIGHT tonight..
Actually no I lied it's a really short list: in fact it was only ONE song, and a cover no less, but when they pulled that insane rendition of Blondie's "Heart Of Glass" near the end of their set (see video above), for that one brief shining moment they had this crowd eating from the palm of their hands. It was glorious, it REALLY was, and as for the rest!? fuckit.. let's rip this shit like a bandaid. Not having a live drummer blows. When you mix a live drummer you can make that shit sound loud as FUCK, but if you attempt to pull the same schtick with a drum machine: that same mixer at the mixing desk is going to mix that shit down low time and time again. I know it ain't fair, but it happens everywhere you go. Femme Fatales constantly struggled with it. There were constant requests to crank it, they had it for a brief moment, then it dropped right down again. I don't quite understand the specifics, but it has something to do with all the "deadly frequencies" that get magnified in the digital (that whole "signal to noise" ratio thing) that you never have to worry about with the analog, and it fucks up sound systems. Second there was LK McKay's guitar. I swear he does it everytime, he throws it around, the pickups get all fucked up, they drop out on him and then he has to ditch it. Oh and they REALLY haven't got over the fact they just lost their drummer. It was their first gig without him. They were flailing about lost the entire set, bumping into each other, lurching about like drunks at a wedding; it got real awkward. So much so, that by the last song (see video below), with the crowd fleeing before them: LK does a disappearing act (too embarassed to continue) only for Tom to be left on his own, dropping his mic will a dull *thunk* and storming off stage. Best. Femme Fatales. Ever! No shit let's all take a moment to soak it all in, the sublime comedy and the hiiilarious tragedy, and let's just forget this EVER happened!
THE KILLGIRLS (*****) myspace :: I was half surprised that there was anyone still left after what WE just lived through, but on the contrary, by the time the Femme Fatales had worked their "magic": this crowd was begging, nay screaming for The Killgirls to finish them off. There was a real electricity and anticipation in the air, rare for what was essentially a "pissy little local launch" but you could feel it all around you: the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end waiting for shit to explode around your ears. I swear they left us hanging like this for a good half hour to forty minutes, maybe even more, relishing every moment backstage; and it felt like a lifetime. THIS is a band that truly knows how to make a statement out of something seemingly so trivial. And yet it didn't just begin and end with this launch tonight. Oh no, they'd been cooking up mad schemes for the last month or so in effort to capitalise on it. And ever so conveniently, moments prior to hitting the stage we were provided with a brief video piece that filled in the gaps. They pulled an ARG, an "alternative reality game" similar to an interactive stunt pulled by Nine Inch Nails in the lead up to their 2007 album "Year Zero"; albiet on a much smaller scale. It started with a Facebook for "Jane Dohe" and a series of "friend requests" that attempted to draw in as many unsuspecting fools as possible (me included). Then a series of baffling text messages were sent, followed by an even more baffling series of "anonymous" phone calls: inviting people to pick up a package at 242 Rundle St containing a "Where is Jane Dohe?" t-shirt and instructions on where to meet on April 9th at 7:45PM. What followed next was nothing short of a kidnapping attempt: as three masked figures threw black hoods over five people, threw them into a waiting white van (all to the bewildered looks of bystanders) and sped them off into the night: only to treat them to a live listening party for the new Killgirls EP and a custom made "missing" poster to post on their facebook profile. And as awesome as that sounds, it's even more ridiculous when you consider: not only all the people who rang up the cops about it, but the five and a half hours it took for an Investigative Police Task Force Unit to subsequently uncover what was essentially an elaborate publicity stunt.. SCORE!! Yup, this wasn't just ANY old launch party. This was The Killgirls pulling THE A-GRADE mindfuck of the century! So the question remains, as much as all that was well worth the "five star" by proxy alone: was their show tonight any good? did it live up to the hype? could it possibly EVER top all that!?
Well of course it couldn't. Nothing could possibly top all that (short of a T-1000 terminator killing everyone in the room as an "encore") but they still unleashed all nine layers of hell on us regardless. The Killgirls are a band that doesn't like to "compromise". They don't understand "shades of grey". It's an all or nothing assault for them with all guns blazing, then it's lights out and nobody has a fucking clue what hit them or why all their clothes are on back to front. It's how they stormed the stage tonight like a fucking bomb blast. Mario with his neck veins popping, with a look in his eyes that screams "white pointer" and "blood in the water". Rusty with his axe airborne flying through walls, thrashing and flailing mere inches away from our face. Nick pop-and-locking grooves on his bass like a spastic cuckoo clock, whilst Adam on synths and Tony on drums beat themselves black and blue in furious fielty. From stage antics alone you could tell they pulled most of their moves from the Nine Inch Nails playbook. You could also hear some signature elements from Marilyn Manson's "Mechanical Animals", the Klaxons "Myths Of The Near Future" and "Beams" by The Presets: but there's no compromise in the combination here. This isn't a sound you simply "study" in effort to appreciate all the fluffy little naunces. You don't take notes. It screams into every sensory input overloading, into every orifice, whether blasting from speakers stacks or disorienting you through unrelenting strobes. It stabs you full of adrenaline and plays you like a meat puppet. It grabs you like that Hindu high priest out of Temple Of Doom chanting "Kali Ma! Kali Ma!!" as he pulls your still beating heart out of your chest. It's an awesome apocalyptic force, there's no doubt about it, it's pissloads of fun: it's all around us pounding us into submission like jackhammers. And as much as its next to impossible to shed specifics on just what the fuck they played tonight short of a rollcall of possible songtitles, such as "Under Pressure", "Bomb In The Head", "Set Yourself On Fire" and a scattering of splattered internal organs: just you TRY and take photos of it! Still, I can be a little more specific on what they did for the encore: it's in those two videos that I've posted above and below. The first was an insane rendition of Daft Punk's "Da Funk" that absolutely killed, the second "Airports". Anything else I simply couldn't remember. I was lost in the eye of this shitstorm, I think we all were. It was a force five hurricane the likes of which we've rarely witnessed even from an interstate touring act and was more akin to something you'd get from a gig at Thebarton Theatre or the Entertainment Centre: only smashed, crunched and compacted into the general dimensions of a meat packing plant. I don't know how the fuck any of us got out of this shit alive. All I do know for certain is: duuude I wanna play this game again!
1:01AM - With The Killgirls sensory overload all but over (but likely not forgotten anytime too soon) the crowd scatters like a fine aerosol mist and out those exit doors, and it's amazing how quickly it happened too. It's like someone drew a giant needle, and popped Queen's Theatre like a giant balloon and none of it was at all coincidental to the fact that the venue chose this exact moment, mere moments after the last drumstick dropped, to stop serving drinks at the bar. Which is just as well, as I wouldn't have had the stomach for beer anyways (just as I also appear to be missing a kidney, spleen, liver and both eyes; well after my jaw had already hit the floor)..
Quickly relocating both eyes and resetting my jaw like Daffy Duck after a mad dose of "Elmer Fudd", I went hunting for my missing spleen now bouncing gleefully through the scattering wreckage of Queens Theatre like an oversized squeak toy, only to almost trip over Chad Cooper here (drummer for The Touch) who appeared to be all too fascinated with the sight of "thousand of teeny tiny pink and purple leprecauns" bursting forth from that beercan in front of him. And as much as I'd love to explain any of this shit in following, my brain has long since fled to Light Square to chase possums up trees. Would you believe it took a full hour to coax my brain back out of those trees again with a bag of Skittles? no perhaps not (it was actually a bag of M&Ms)..
And speaking of the thin trickle of blood that's now leaking out of my left nostril that couldn't only be an inoperable tumour: here's yet another one of those time honoured (read: exceptionally lame) traditions here on Spoz's Rant. Where "Spoz" on the right is dragged into yet another needless photo opportunity with "Random Exciteable Pisswad" (who let's for the sake of convenience call "Nathan D'Agostino") who, no shit.. always wanted to be in an episode of Spoz's Rant (for reasons I could never quite fathom), whilst never fully realising all the public humiliation that this would all ultimately lead to (isn't that right Olivia!?). Which means, yup, once again I've become that "D-grade celebrity douchebag" guy. And I think if I remember correctly, in the event that this were ever to happen again: I promised at least twenty people that they could now legally shoot me dead in the street. Awesome! thanks Nathan *cough* no really, thanks a bunch!
Oh and the less we mention about the hot tub, the better.
1:46AM - And after spending a good half hour or more beating my head senseless into a stobie pole until it "rebooted" I next found myself in the West End with absolutely no memory how the fuck I got here. Here on Hindley Street, well and truly gargling in a glorious cesspool of citizenry: all thanks to a break in the weather (after a week of rain that had just since cleared through last night), that drove just about every yahoo and yammering nitwit in Adelaide to clog up the pipelines leading into just about any drinking establishment I could've hoped to destroy myself in. Damn. So with Supermild clearly out've the question (its lineup stretched all the way back to the Worldsend.. wooooo!) on a whim I simply threw myself throught the red doors of Jive instead..
It was here that I was promptly ambushed by a dancefloor of the exact same dribbling mass of pissheads that I always seem to find here on a Saturday night for Gosh, Glitter, Dig, Groove, Goon, Spoof: or whatever the fuck else DJ Craig would choose to name, what is essentially, the exact same "Saturday" he's thrown for two years straight (all except for the odd night when he drops acid and bangs all that bugged out sixties shit). Yeah I don't quite get why they keep flocking here every Saturday night either but just look at all of them out there, like lambs to the slaughter..
Blissfully unaware that any minute now DJ Craig will drop New Order's "Confusion" (or more specifically the "The Pump Panel Reconstruction Mix") on those decks, that strobes will go completely batshit, blood will start raining from the ceiling and all of those mad fools you saw before will simply become "food" (all screaming and flailing) to Adelaide's ever burgeoning vampire population. Or *cough* maybe he'll just play another Kaiser Chiefs song. Yeah I know, you're probably laughing now thinking "pffft like that'll ever happen!?" but dude no shit, vampire.
2:11AM - Yeah I don't know about you but I swear everytime I leave a venue of late, it's always mere moments before everyone gets massacred.. and y'know what!? I'm running out of fucking stobie poles that don't already have head-sized dents in them. Sheeiiit! I need a change of pace I really do! And so (quite out of character) I decided to skip past that ridiculously long lineup waiting outside of Supermild (just.. say.. no!) and decided to head to The Grace Emily instead.. YEAAAS!!
Which was a brilliant plan if ever I thought of one, if only I wasn't stopped dead in my tracks by THIS familiar dweeb, Ben Revi, waving his flappy "muppet" arms about and yelling at me from that exact same lineup, and quite possibly also Miranda a little further down the line (who's quite wisely chosen to flee from view the minute I went to take this photo; as well, we ALL know what happens when I'm drunk with a camera!). Oh and for all of you that are curious, yes that IS artist's own argyle vest and suede jacket; but no that ISN'T his hat. Or at least it WASN'T until we conveniently "disposed" of the original owner by throwing him flailing in front of the next speeding taxi..
Of course no sooner did we acquire said hat, did Ben Revi promptly trade it in for a photo with "grimacing carrot" here. Yeah I know, I don't quite understand the logic either, actually I'm pretty sure "logic" was never involved in this to start with, but gosh darn don't they look cheerful!?
2:30AM - I swear I don't know how this happened. All of twenty minutes ago I was all set to go to The Grace Emily, and here I am at Supermild? AGAIN!? How the FUCK does this shit always happen to me!? Aaaah screw it, y'know what? let's all just pretend just this once that this is "The Grace Emily" and I'm in "the front bar" right now. Just like we can all pretend this is Banjo from Jimmy & The Mirrors, and that "Banjo" is ACTUALLY his real name. I know it sounds ridiculous, I know you all don't believe me but he totally showed us his (fake) drivers license and everything! No shit dude it's totally legit! Just like my REAL name is "McLovin" and I'm an organ donar from Hawaii!
2:39AM - Yup, just like this howling gimp on the left ISN'T an animatronic puppet created specifically by the Weta Workshop to kill Frodo Baggins, steal the One Ring and rule over Middle Earth (if only his CGI animation came with "collision detectors") nor is he Banjo's ventriloquist puppet. He is in actual fact some idiot by the name of "Ben Brew". Yeah I don't really know who the fuck he is either, but don't you feel so much better for knowing all this meaningless shit!?
3:43AM - Yup, any night spent in Supermild *cough* I mean "The Grace Emily" clearly gets no less confusing the further down the rabbit hole you go. Especially when faced with this shit: that appears to be some random guy's hand with polka-dot nail polish being gnawed upon by Miranda's teeny tiny razor sharp teeth. And yes you read correctly that's a GUY with polkadot nail polish, and no I don't think this is in any way weird, I'm just saying! Just like I'm perfectly willing to accept that the only reason this photo's so ridiculously blurry is NOT because I'm too drunk to hold a camera steady: but because the REST of the universe is clearly way too drunk and I'M perfectly sober!
4:21AM - Which clearly explains this photo in following, in every way that I don't find it all ALL disturbing that these are the freaks I like to associate with now after a few too many beers on a Saturday night at "The Grace Emily". Just like I don't find it at all odd that "The Grace Emily" normally shuts at 3AM and yet, ever so mysteriously, it's STILL open. Oh I'm not drunk at all!
Which brings us to Sammy Bruno here, who clearly hasn't been drinking all night celebrating his 21st Birthday Party as nobody EVER does that and clearly I'm insane for ever mentioning it. Just like we won't be seeing him attemping to chase down all three of the Rundle Mall pigs moments later with his trousers around his ankles: as clearly nobody's pulling that shit anymore, not since the "swine flu pandemic" emerged as the greatest threat to the survival of mankind, ever since.. ummm.. that equally wacky bird flu that "killed almost everyone" more than five years ago.
4:37AM - This is Stefan, appearing hilariously drunk in yet ANOTHER episode of Spoz's Rant.
And this is Miranda making an appearance moments later, for no other reason, than to helpfully remind him that he'll be "appearing hilariously drunk in yet ANOTHER episode of Spoz's Rant".
"Oh shit..".
4:40AM - Still, before Stefan can bludgeon me senseless with my camera for pulling this stunt AGAIN for another week running, I'm interrupted by Todd "Smiley Man" (or more accurately Todd "Chronically Stoner Dude" and bass player for Trixie Plain) who's arrived at "The Grace Emily" blissfully unaware that I'm about to throw him like a human shield at Stefan. And when they're both distracted? I'll simply run screaming and flailing (is there any other way?) up those stairs to freedom and the last bus home.. YEAAAS!! Because as we all know well by now: "The Grace Emily" is NOT a live music venue on Waymouth Street but is in actual fact a lounge bar housed in a basement on Hindley Street; and this ALL makes sense in the world that I choose to live in.
Adelaide is a joke. I think we've made this all abundantly clearly by now (and then some). And it's a joke that's only been getting funnier and funnier every year. We all know they're laughing at us from Melbourne to Sydney, it's a freaking growth industry, they're constantly giving us more ammunition, you can hear them out there everyday making us look like fools, and y'know what? fuckit.. maybe it's about time we joined in. There's NO point being sensitive about it. Have you seen the shit that goes on around here!? This shit's freaking hilarious maaan! And fuckit, even if we can't take a joke? we all know where to "stash the bodies" where the cops won't find them.
