DIG YOUR OWN HOLER.I.P. SPOZ: 19??-2007. He lived.. for want of a better word: the curse of an interesting life, a comical life, a life most frequently publicised, partially fictionalised and subsequently serialised. He lived doing what he loved best and as such in this chosen life he chose the means that would ultimately lead to his unliving; for as they say: "he who lives by the sword must surely die by the sword". Subsequent autopsies would later reveal that his death was caused by the direct or indirect result of: cyanide poisoning, asphyxia, hanging, drowning, building collapse, the bends, repeated stabbings, decapitation, stakes through the heart, 3-4 silver bullets, sunlight, garlic, the brown note, spontaneous combustion, constipation, radiation, evisceration, high speed collision, alien abduction, explosive depressurisation, shark attack, drug overdose, brussel sprouts, the blarney stone, allergic response from being stung by upto 500 africanised wasps, rabies, bird flu, weaponised anthrax, smallpox, chickenpox, sleeping sickness, teleporting accident, the coriolis effect, sunspot activity, falling rocks, a somewhat undercooked salmon mousse, hiccups, ill prepared pufferfish, botched exorcism, the application of Sub Zero's fatality move, cannibalistic leprecauns, the blue M&M, global warming, terrorism, the third law of thermodynamics and a particularly vicious flying cricket bat to the testicles by the bassplayer from
Ricochet Pete. He claimed he was impervious to conventional weapons; clearly he lied. Although we have no corroberating fingerprints, hair samples, dental records or DNA evidence to declare outright his untimely demise we can now assume with 98.5% certainty that Spoz is no longer of this Earth. His reign of terror is now over. Your women and children are safe once more to walk the city streets again. Huzzah, Jebus be praised!
As such, this week's fateful last words from the Spoz are brought to you indirectly from beyond the grave. As through the careful consultation from our ouiji boards, spirit mediums, techno pagans, tarot readers and 24 hour hotline psychics we have managed to piece together this: as both a fitting tribute and as a cautionary tale to his work. Heed these words well tiny mortals, lest YOU succumb to the same fate!
FRIDAY NIGHTI would begin my fatal misadventures this weekend, here at the Jade Monkey. It was no easy choice either as it appears this fair stench of a city is making it increasingly harder and harder for me to nail down a final destination by plaguing me with an increasing dyslexia of gigs all vying for my attention. Of course, I could've mentioned what the other possible gigs were, but alas the 48 hours hence of killing myself stupid with alcohol have since erased my etch-a-sketch memory. In hindsight though with a lineup like this, I believe I'd easily make this choice again.
KASAVETTFirst to arrive on stage are Kasavett, newly returned to the scene after a few months hiatus pissing about in the studio recording for an upcoming EP. For all of you out there who've forgotten who they are already (understandable considering all the attention deficit drugs you lemmings like to take on the weekends), Kasavett are a punchy britpop/punk style act; mixing the snarly attitude of Greenday in their mid 90's prime with the equally loutish but more commercially polished britpop sounds of Ash, Maximo Park and The Rakes (oh, and the drummer somewhat resembles Humphrey B Bear on acid too). For those of you already familiar with Kasavett; tonight's set is most memorable for them blitzkrieging through 13 songs in the space of only 30 minutes, a slew of new songs: such as a particularly aggressive number "Heart To Me", a blistering one-two punch rendition of their classics "Bittersweet" and "Mexican Jesus" (personal favourites of mine), and a live PA mix driven so aggressively loud in the subsonic frequencies that the bass guitars and kickdrums were punching bullet holes through the walls. All in all though, for nearly getting killed in the process this was still one helluva killer opening act. ROCK!
HAPPY SOMETIMESUp next we have Happy Sometimes; a brand new band playing their first ever live gig tonight (fresh fish! fresh fish!), although hardly brand new by any other definition as they also happen to be yet another one of them wacky supergroups veteran musicians like to frankenstein together every few years in effort to maintain their expensive drug habits. For instance: the bass player is none other than Amr Zaid from the infamous 90's one-hit-wonders Ratcat (whoaaaa!) whilst the rest of the band is filled in by various members from Lazaro's Dog and other such recogniseable (but otherwise hard to place) oldskool pubrock luminaries from around the Adelaide scene. As for what they sound like, simply imagine all the classic mid 90's good-time party sounds of Grinspoon, You Am I and Lazaro's Dog (especially with the keyboards) just with all the comedy drunken extremes rounded-off. They're perhaps a little too subtle and straight-edged tonight, despite the bass player and lead singer (with a constant smirk) both appearing to be wearing the same Robert Smith novelty wig but even so, for a debut appearance, with a slew of catchy songs buzzing through the air and a crowd buzzing off it, this set is nothing short of pop-rock precision, polish and flawless execution.
And now for tonight's headlining act, brought to you by Louise's sparkly moonboots..
200 MOTELS..as we present 200 Motels celebrating their imminent terrible-two toddlerhood in style with a 2nd anniversary birthday gig; and looking back with misty eyed nostalgia it's really been quite a journey for these fearless kung-fu midgets hasn't it? From their humble beginnings with the tentative rabbit-in-the-headlight sounds of the Kim Roberts Band back in 2005, to their illustrious self titled debut EP release as 200 Motels in 2006 (it's shiny, go buy it!) and right up to Kim Robert's much lauded "outing" as a transgender illusionist in a recent article by
dB magazine, in their own unassuming way they've continued to refine their indie fuzz-pop grooves into a fiendish weapon of doom. Tonight they attack with the fury of a thousand Santa's elves unleashed: Kim Roberts flails around like Linda Blair from the exorcist as she sings into the mic, Louise Uphill floats around like Tinkerbell on acid as she thrashes away on guitar, Adam Osbourn makes for an all pervauding twitchy satan menace with his pounding tribal drums whilst Matt Nikic on bass pummels out the subsonics so unmovingly you'd swear he's trying to outdo Richard Clift from Tony Font Show in the human statue stakes. Overall this has gotta be the scariest gig I've seen them play all year, a blinding fury in shredding multilayer guitar, hissyfit breakdowns and pulsing rhythm sections. From subtle mouse-rock beginnings they're well and truly growing a 50ft elephant in booty rocking fury to come crush us all.. weeeeeee! :)
(oh and if anyone has a clue who that stage-invading bespectacled twit is, lemme know?)
With the live music portion of our night reaching a climatic end in smouldering foldbacks and littering corpses, those of us still standing at 1AM were clearly still looking for more carnage to inflict upon our rapidly disintegrating internal organs. Normally this would inevitably take place at the one place all career alcoholics go to die: the Cranka, but tonight for cheap shits and giggles we thought we'd change it up a bit and hit up Electric Light Hotel instead.
Stoner Andy: recently arrived from a gig at Jive had concocted quite the fiendish plan. Ordered over the bar we procurred for ourselves: the cheapest bottle of red wine we could find at $25, 3 wine glasses, 3 shots of absinthe and 3 tumbler glasses of ice water. The concept was simple: to construct a homemade jagerbomb; only substituting the jager shot with a much more lethal shot of absinthe and the red bull an infinitely more lethal dose of red wine that was barely 3 shades removed from Goon (twist caps = yay!). Pour the absinthe into the wine glass, fill the rest with the red, skoll it down all in one go.. BAM! Stoner Andy makes it look SO easy but believe me this is some seriously nasty shit, DON'T YOU EVEN THINK OF TRYING THIS AT HOME!
This photo of Phil (the bass player from Kasavett), was taken mere moments before he keeled over dead after trying this devil's brew (don't worry, I think we still sent an ambulance for him?)..
After foolishly decided to chase my shot with a follow up 2-3 hits of chewbaccy, a beer chaser and the remainder of the bottle, I'm lost running into the beer garden undergrowth in search of native fauna to devour..
"mmmmmmm, furry nocturnal marsupial.. arrrrggglglgllll..."
Stoner Andy attempts to light his up like a Molotov Cocktail..
..whilst Kim Roberts from 200 Motels (as our designated "responsible adult") quietly wonders to herself where she'll bury all the dead bodies afterwards.
Predictably enough, the next 2-3 hours are a complete blur. The combination absinthe, red wine and wookie has effectively knocked out all transmissions to my brain quite like an EMP flatlines an electricity grid. I dunno how the hell I managed to remain standing after all this (believe me, it was quite an accomplishment) and I really don't have a clue where everyone else has gone by this point, but somehow hours later quite like flies drawn to shit I find myself here at the Cranka to while away the last hour; till all memory goes blank at 4AM.
SATURDAY NIGHTI awake to find myself here. I dunno whether I'm dead, alive, filled with bread crumbs slowly turning circles on a rotisserary, buried up to my neck in sand in the Mexican desert or disembodied and preserved in a jar of pickles. Either way my head is pounding something fierce. Despite all the water I drank last night managing to neutralise most of the ill effect of the beers and maybe even the absinthe and the hippy high herb, something tells me that the cheaparse bottle of red didn't go down without a fight. Hours pass by in dribbling delerium, the Panadol slowly takes it's course and recogniseable shapes soon coalesce out've the inconherancy.
"Whoaaaaaaaa.. duuuude.. where the fuck am I?"
It appears I'm not alone in the darkness, as I'm soon joined by others equally as bereft of their higher brain function as I am today; all shambling around awkwardly, clutching their heads and shrieking constantly for brains. Oh yeaaah, I know JUST how that feels! Although I'm beginning to suspect they've had an even a worse night on the piss than I've had..
I mean shit duuude, you smell like someone's died in here! Get some fucking Tic-Tacs yo!
It was only hours later that I finally realised what had happened. I was not dead, I was more than alive and well (miraculous I know!) but in a horrid twist of fate I'd since found myself waking up at ground zero to an uprising of the regurgitant dead. I don't know how the hell this happened: whether it was through some freakish chemical spill, supernatural summoning, meteor impact or escaped rage virus (and here I was without my chainsaw and cricket bat) but either way I was more than thankful I destroyed what little I had left of my brain last night otherwise these zombies would've been snacking on my skull right about now. I was equally as mindless as they were, they accepted me as their own and quite like a voodoo summoning they all congregated around me for the star attraction tonight; as The Vampire Project arrived on stage as the opening act for this year's inaugural Adelaide "
Zombie Walk" festivities. An event that kicked off with hundreds of the festive undead congregating in Rymill Park earlier in the evening, terrorising the city at large, before arriving at the Lizard Lounge to woop it up in flesh eating, shambling, decomposing style.. eeeeeeeeeee!
THE VAMPIRE PROJECTThe Vampire Project are in essense a goth opera/metal act mixed with the darker edges of 60's occult psychedelia. Think The Rolling Stones' "Paint It Black" as covered by Shirley Manson fronting Pantera and you wouldn't be far off the mark: melodramatic, howling, and shrieking like a witches coven set to churning guitars. They're infinitely heavier and more aggressive than the original incarnation I caught over
6 months ago (back when they had a violinist to soften the mix) and it may sound a little bit cheesy anywhere else but here; but with all the accompanying zombie hoards moaning and clawing at the stage, the theatrical backdrops, flickering strobes, creepy lighting and fog machines set to Bob Mali dutch-oven overkill, they're really in their element tonight. This made for the sort've sublime cinematic vision that would damn near make George A Romero, Elvira and the Hammer Film studios wet themselves with excitement. I don't know how the hell I managed to crawl out've here alive... but duuuudes, ROCK! :)
After The Vampire Project and after somehow extricating myself from that post apocalyptic lunatic aslyum that was the Lizard Lounge, I next find myself here at Jive, just in time for the feature gig tonight: as we witness Tony Font Show, Realm (from Melbourne) and The Battery Kids tear shit up in style.
THE BATTERY KIDSFirst act tonight are The Battery Kids. Live on stage, this band somewhat reminds me of a snottier punkier version of Muse as reinterpretted by the teenage Silverchair of the mid 90's running a rampage with a piano fetish mixed with the soothing sounds of an insane asylum. They're about as scruffy as a 19th century cockney pickpocket and most of their songs may largely consist of nothing but deranged screaming and hammering mental patient piano riffs but somehow they still manage to pull it all off with enough talent and lunatic energy to make it damn near infectious and likeable. As scruffy and raw as they are tonight, something tells me they're gonna go far. Check out their
website, it's shiny!
REALMNext act is Realm from Melbourne. They're a moderately talented prog-metal band of the goofier persuasion. Since I know next to nothing about this sub-genre (besides wheeling out the usual predictable suspects: Tool, A Perfect Circle, Cog, The Butterfly Effect, Karnivool, Birds Of Tokyo.. etc.. etc.. arrrr fuckit just ask
this guy), I'll leave it at that. The lead singer sounds just like Brain Molko from Placebo attempting to cover Tool, and whilst running around flapping his arms wildly on stage pulling exciteable down-syndrome faces looks rather like you'd expect Maynard James Keenan's teenage lisping understudy would act after getting the chance of a lifetime to front Tool on tour after the lead singer succumbs to a mysterious (and all too entirely suspect) bout of food poisoning. I mean, just LOOK at him, he just looks SO happy to be up there! The drummer also has an alarming amount of shoulder and back hair. For these reasons alone, they are probably one of THE coolest bands EVER. Go see 'em, they rock! :)
TONY FONT SHOWAnd now finally, the band that every shrieking dickhead throughout the venue for the last two acts has been dying to see, so much so that between every song played by both The Battery Kids and Realm they can be heard chanting "TONY FONT SHOW! TONY FONT SHOW! TONY FONT SHOW!" from the balcony in a constant loop.. yup, you know it, I already said the name thrice already: Tony FUCKING Font Show! and I gotta say it's been a surreal experience following these monkeys for the last 18 months, as each and every gig the crowds just keep on getting crazier and crazier out there so much so there's really no point in even bothering to mention the entirely unnecessary music portion of this act. All they need do now is play their distinct brand of hyperactive disco funk-metal and near about's everyone in the room goes completely fucking spastic, nosedives towards the stage and kills themselves in a grinning kamikaze stupour. Attempting to photograph this nonsense has now become a risk to life, limb and liberty: it's a fucking warzone out there and each time I dive into the middle of it I wonder if it'll be my last before this flailing shitstorm of limbs finally chews me up and spits out nothing but bones. Clearly, you really haven't lived till you've nearly died during a Tony Font Show gig. Of particular note for this set however, beyond all the usual escalating carnage: we have the appearance of a catchy-as-all-fuck new song (damn, I wish I nicked a setlist so I could remember what it was) that sounded quite like Les Claypool having sex with a chainsaw, the ever welcome psychotic encore that is "Things To Do In A Ditch" and the near suicidal antics of one tiny fuzzy haired elf by the name of Charlie who celebrated her 18th birthday party tonight by invading the stage, attacking Lee flapping her arms around exciteably, before diving headfirst off the stage for round after round of crowd surfing in the audience.. Aaaaaah you just gotta love the insanity, dontcha? This shit's better than a B12 shot to the skull! :)
And so here we are, the sole surviving photographers left standing on the frontlines, ever thankful not to be killed by the schrapnel spray of broken teeth, spitting blood and ricocheing eyeballs from Tony Font Show fans colliding with each other in the front row (in case of emergency: use Sallycat's new camera as a billy club.. weeeeee!)
Here we are drinking ourselves retarded after the show..
and here's.. um.. shit.. Joe Blogs? what the FUCK duuuude!? HELP!?
It's at about this point, furtheringly stupid from the grinning horrors I've witnessed this night and all the more fueled by subsequent beers, that this character in the retarded beanie is born.
This is Gazza: he's a top shelf bloke, into top shelf sheila's, likes to drive his hotted up brown Datsun really fast doing burnouts in the Jive parking lot, loves his beer and likes nothing more than going fully sick to some top-shelf home grown Aussie rock n roll..
YEAAAH!! GAZZA YOO FOOLY SICK BASTARD, ROCK THE FUCK OUT!! FUCK YEAAAH!!!
For all those idiots out there who've always wanted to see more of ME in my own blog, I believe this was 16 or more damn GOOD good reasons why you should NEVER ask me to do this shit ever again. Fuck I'm awesome! :)
And so here's the ever wonderful Smashycat, here to make you forget everything you just saw..
*ahem* aaaaaand now we're moving on..
Anyhoo at about 1AM or so, Joe and Simone were looking to make a quick and uncharacteristically sober escape for freedom (after the walls-spinning carnage they unleashed
last weekend I guess it really comes as no surprise hahahahaha!), but not before I convinced them to grab one last meal; since as luck would have it this most freakingly awesome (yet all too infrequently open) late-night eating establishment was open for business just across the road next to Supermild and just begging for the slaughter.. OOOYEAAAAAAH!!
I only just chanced upon this place myself a few months ago with Sean, after a night on the piss at either Jive or Enigma.. can't remember which.. fuckit.. either way, if you haven't hit this place at least ONCE after a howling bender in the west end of Adelaide then clearly you haven't lived. This is the crack cocaine of drunken eateries. Imagine if you will, the Frankenstein merging of KFC and Chinese Takeaway and even in your wildest dreams you wouldn't get close to this. My intestines are twisting balloon animals in giddy anticipation. I could die here and I'd be happy. Oink! Oink! Sweeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhh!!!
Of course I should note for the record: one's experience here and culinery enjoyment thus will be entirely determined by how many beers you've drunken prior to entering. I of course have suitably loaded up to the retarded gills on Cooper's finest ales beforehand, and have stolen Joe Blog's piggy hat for just such an occassion..
Whilst Simone here: all too scaringly sober, and reluctantly biting into what appears to be the mutant cross between a donut and curry pastry puff, is looking rather less enthused, either that or she's quietly wondering to herself where to bury the dead bodies afterwards.
After gourging myself stupid on 2 skewers worth of cuttlefish balls, 2 chinese seasoning chicken pieces and 2 spring rolls, I take a quick taxi down North Tce with Joe and Simone before getting dropped off near Frome Rd (whilst they head on home to record bizarre pig fornicating noises into my phone's voicemail) whilst in true hari kari form I continue my downward spiral into oblivion here at the unconventional final destination that is the Rhino Room.
As for why I am here: according to what my intelligence sources tell me, every room downstairs and upstairs in Rhino Room tonight was packed to the four walls and the ceiling with peeps bouncing off the walls for what I believe (if I'm not utterly mistaken) was Mick the bartender's 40th birthday celebration.. otherwise if not.. fuckit, probably some other dude called Nick, Matt, Mark, Mike, Mork.. Mindy? Fucked if I know, clearly I'm too drunk to give a shit either way.. so fuckit, here's an entirely random dude dressed as a Roman Centurion.. waaahooooooooooo!
Amongst the revellers, I soon bump into some familiar faces, such as the goofy and exciteable Koral here from The Vampire Project who's either had some really untoward action with a power outlet mere moments earlier, or her hair is REALLY happy to see me.. nyuk! nyuk!
Whilst this photo here is the very last one taken on the night before I vanished off the face of the earth. Sure it looks all innocent, but just you imagine it on a tv screen with a few theramins going WOOOOEEE-WOOO-WEEEE-WAAAAA!! and the shit scary voice Robert Stack used to use when he narrated that American show "Unsolved Mysteries" and you'd be freaked out too. Be afraid be very afraid kiddies! Lock all your doors and windows, it could happen to YOU too!!
As much as we can determine, it's more than likely Spoz found that 3:30AM bus and got home safe and sound at a relatively sane hour, but since there is no evidence to either deny or confirm these wild rumours; we all know what really happened. There's no way Spoz could've possibly "jagerbombed" absinthe and red wine, crashed a zombie invasion and a thrown himself headfirst into a Tony Font Show moshpit in the same weekend and live to tell the tale. Seriously, what kind've fucked up immortal indestructible freak of infamy do we take this Spoz for!? GAAAME OVER MAAAAN!! GAAAAME OVER!!
So, until Spoz ultimately returns from the grave on Devil's Night to kill us all once more, please send all parting thoughts, memories, eulogies, well wishes or final twists of the knife to my inbox below.. cheers! :)
Previously on Spoz's Rant:
Hits From The Bong 
