:: Wednesday, September 16, 2009

DOUBLE HANDED + COLONEL KERNEL + POSTDEATHPOST
"A BOOK OF BACK PAGES" LAUNCH @ ADELAIDE UNI BAR / Saturday September 12th 2009

Sometimes I envy you lot, I really do. You my ever faithful audience of friends, frenemies and extended "family" who love nothing better than to read this site each and every week (and by "read" I totally mean ego surf in search of shit you can pilfer for all your social networking whatever-the-fuck.. YOUUU BASTARDS!!). For you it's all SO simple isn't it? It all just happens as if by "magic" doesn't it!? With but a click of the mouse out it pops, fresh from the "machine", piping hot and on a plate, yet another whizzbang episode of Spoz's Rant for you to enjoy.. WOWEEE!! I envy you lot I really do, to have such a simple understanding. Every week it arrives, this veritable feast. And every week you keep coming back for more, wide-eyed with wonder, rarely questioning, blissfully oblivious to where it all comes from. It must be nice to be you: so clueless, so naive. And most times that's enough for me, just for you to enjoy it. But sometimes, just sometimes I entertain the notion that in that cute fuzzy little head of yours (awww!) you can imagine for even a second the effort that truly goes into it. How DO I do it!? Oh I'm glad you never asked! You're probably picturing it all now aren't you? It's an inner city warehouse, an attic, a dungeon, a network of tunnels and manhole covers. It's filled wall to ceiling with a photo collage, video surveillance, blueprints and shitcrazy equations scribbled all over a chalkboard. There's a battered suitcase in the corner stuffed full of passports, aliases, foreign currencies, firearms, precision instruments and medical text books (not to mention a bar fridge full of frozen body parts.. YES!!). I have a team, a dedicated pit crew, a "Project Mayhem" if you will working around the clock. We make boutique "soap", it's how we finance this whole operation. This HERE is only but a taste, we have a master plan, and one day we will reveal it to YOU ALL! And as much as I'd love to say that all that is absolutely true (dude you don't even know the half of it). I instead present you with THIS: a little propaganda piece that I laughingly like to call a "behind the scenes look at Spoz's Rant".



For me it all starts at the crack of noon on a Friday, or to more precise a few hours later at 2:15PM when my alarm goes off (or to be even more precise half an hour later than that as I invariably always ignore it). I check my email (only three more death threats!? score!), check my facebook, twitter feed, site stats, lose touch with reality, and then get punched in the face by the blaring sounds of Bones MC announcing Scott Dooley (just like Groundhog Day only fifty times more annoying!). My "breakfast" consists of two slices toast, one tall orange juice and a freshly store bought mouse devoured in a single gulp. My afternoon involves stocking up on staples (mi goreng and crack amphetamines mostly) only to realise halfway into town that I'm still stark naked. Hmmm. One posted bail and a shopping excursion later I find myself at the bus stop home again, zoning out to the sounds of Muse's "The Resistance". It's then that a non descript carpet cleaning van arrives. The man behind the wheel (in his mid to late 30s or early 40s) gestures to me all excitably: "Hey Spoz! jump on in I'll give you a lift home". Of course I don't recognise him, but I accept anyways and when all the tranquilisers have worn off and I've clawed my way through six feet of compacted dirt and upholstery to freedom.. I realise it's now night. Awesome, one evening well spent then! Originally I planned on some light dinner and dancing to follow with all my lady "friends" (oh such frisky frivolity we have too!), only for it all to be cancelled at the very last minute by a live gig (FUCK.. why does that always keep happening to me!?). Obviously this would normally be more than blog worthy in its own right: except it was at Rocket Bar again (pfft!) and their idea of "stage presence" of late amounts to little more than a blown pilot light and a raging case of DJ deck tinnitis (hmmm dare I provide proof!?). And so after three hours of drinking myself to oblivion at Supermild to forget all that (and how!), that's my Friday night done and dusted.



Fast forward to my Saturday and I suddenly realise (two panadols in on my raging hangover) that there's all this paid work piling up that I've yet to acknowledge. I take these jobs on the odd occassion: graphic and web design, desktop publishing, "wetwork" (assassinations and the like), a spot of advertising copy.. whatever pays the "bills" (ie: all the bookies who'd otherwise break my thumbs). They hire me for my accuracy and attention to detail. I accept them because THEY never pay any attention to it themselves, and thus I can make a game of sneaking in as many offensive "single entendres" as possible without ringing any alarm bells. Shit like "throbbing", "penetrates deep", "she can fit so much MORE into her Volvo", or "George W Bush" (in one of my more recents jobs I even snuck in a "Chairman Mao".. YES!). It's awesome fun, the time simply flies on by, which is just as well as I'm often paid by the hour. Speaking of such it's almost nine now and I've almost forgotten that I have a live music blog to run (whoaaa fuck.. really!?), and so without a single moment to spare I fly out the door again to hit Adelaide Uni Bar for an album launch.



POSTDEATHPOST (**1/2) myspace ::
I found out about this awesome gig tonight, quite like I always find out about anything around here: through ouija boards, acid trips and blood rituals (one or two freshly squeezed chickens or a baby goat will usually suffice). Sometimes I'll even smear myself in peanut butter and run about nude in a thunderstorm till inspiration "finds me", or if all else fails maybe I'll try a spot of good 'ol fashioned myspace stalking (I know! I'm as surprised as you are that anyone STILL uses that shit). Some nights in my research there's two or more rival options at play: in which case tonight THIS one easily won out because it's an album launch (or at least an album launch that doesn't involve Ricochet Pete *cough*). Obviously I'm already running late. Not just because I've been waffling on for the past three paragraphs about.. who the fuck knows what!? but also because I spent the past half hour shooting exteriors and a few extra intros for an accompanying video blog (to be released just as soon as I could be arsed.. hi SPIN Earth!). So here I am running through that door, only to forget that my name ISN'T on it, only to part with $12 (I couldn't afford the album double deal for $25 as I'm next to "broke" after last night.. guh!) only to arrive four songs in on our opening act. PostDeathPost. From all appearances they're new to the scene, and I mean REALLY new. They're practically a highschool band and they're totally freaking the fuck out (or in other words definite "newborn giraffe" material.. SCORE!!). The lead singer Stuart Sanderson for one is overcompensating for this fact by flapping his arms about exciteably like Kermit The Frog (which is totally doing wonders for my ability to capture him on camera), whilst their bass player Renée Ottens shrinks like a frightened turtle anytime SHE ends up in the crosshairs; which is slightly unfortunate in that there's a veritable shooting gallery of them out front to capture her every move. Even better, save for their faithful "rent-a-crowd" out front? the room is virtually empty as the rest of the audience (all staunch Double Handed supporters mind you) have simply abandoned them in favour of the balcony outside (baaastards!). Still it's not all that bad. Their sound for the most part is actually quite accomplished. Although they easily fall into that "awesome" prog metal territory that I simply "can't get enough of" (ie: one that I find next to impossible to review as it always sounds like the exact same Maynard James Keenan "paint by numbers" schtick done to death.. YES!!) there are a few extra quirks in the mix that still elevates it somewhat. One is Stuart's hissy fit vocal approach that appropriates a little bit of "Tomorrow" by Silverchair and the shrill screams of "Knife Party" by The Deftones and then throws it through a veritable shitstorm of face melting effects pedals. The other is their itchy trigger guitarist Jordan McKenzie who he has all the impatience (and at least half the talent) of a Johnny Greenwood from Radiohead in the way that he tears his instrument apart. Then there's their drummer Jack Thomson who absolutely floors it near the end with one fuck of an extended drum solo (and I mean who doesn't love that shit?). And as much as Renée might be turning five shades of white out there? at least she's got all the "mad shapes" down pat in flinging that bass about. So overall there's plenty of potential here with this band, I wouldn't dismiss them yet, it's all swimming in there somewhere. Sure none of it is quite coming together as a compelling whole (it's rather like a homogenous porridge at the moment and just as exciting), but given a few months through to a year to work up all their unique strengths and who knows what insanity they could cook up?












COLONEL KERNEL (****) myspace ::
With our first act done for the night I consider joining the capacity crowds celebrating out on the balcony, only to discover most if not all of them had their backs turned and appeared to be utterly engrossed in DNM conversations that I clearly have no business in interrupting. Hmmm.. so short of me throwing a molotov cocktail party to break that ice there's really no point dealing with them right now. So instead I skip that shit and me getting drunk altogether (did I mention I was hilariously "broke" tonight?) and see about deleting a hundred or so naff photos off my camera instead: made even more so by the stage lighting, which although hardly the WORST by any stretch of the imagination *cough* Rocket Bar *cough* has adopted this particularly sickening purplish pink hue (and maybe it's just me but it looks like they're suffocating out there). Still it's not all wallowing introspection for me, as moments later I stumble upon an extra $13 somehow, get all excited, rush to the merch desk and score myself an album (wow it's so dang shiny too!). Then before I know it it's back to the front of stage again for Colonel Kernel. Aaaah and what a genius second act they are too! With their freeform psychedelic progrock meets lounge groove, meets whacked out mariachi act, they truly exist in a league all of their own. They're one of Adelaide's best kept secrets. In fact they're so "the shit" that not only do they NOT blow a goat in any way shape or form, but the goat totally offers to blow them instead; THAT is how ridiculously awesome they are! And yet try convincing the rest of the crowd that. Save for a scattering of mad stragglers who have stumbled back inside (including one especially hysterical space cadet in a paisely shirt who's absolutely losing his shit out front) most are still out on the balcony all but oblivious to this live set ever happening. To them nothing else matters but Double Handed (baaastards!) or in other words Colonel Kernel have an unseen eighth member on stage tonight, his name is Jiminy Cricket and he's making one hell of a racket.. YES!! Still to their credit this band is still giving it all they've got. After acknowledging the "elephant standing in the room" (no not rubber Saddam filling in on bongos.. the other one) they tear into one fuck of a performance. Every song here is a sweeping odyssey, a cinematic journey in articulate ebb and flow. From those gnashing guitar and saxophone blasting extremities, to the whistling spaghetti western interludes that flow like a cool breeze over a scorching hot desert; in each they all have their own story to tell. In its closest approximation you can hear a lot of Muse's "Knights Of Cydonia", maybe a little bit of Faith No More's "Caralho Voador". Only when performed live it sounds so much more vibrant, so much more colourful, almost whimsically cartoonesque in its jaw dropping delivery; and trust me they're holding absolutely nothing back with it tonight. Their lead singer one Tim Inglis, in one song especially, is hitting those high notes so ludicrously high it puts the combined nut-busting talents of Justin Hawkins, Matt Bellamy, Thom Yorke and a fullblown castrado choir to shame. It's truly mesmering, it's eyewatering stuff, and the whole band is right with him in going fucking beserk to it. And to think it's mostly falling on deaf ears tonight!? Damn what the FUCK are they all thinking!? It's tragic it really is (no shit, check out that live video.. it'll blow your freaking mind) but one day they'll understand! OH YES one day they'll realise just what they're missing out on!














DOUBLE HANDED (*****) myspace ::
With our second act drowned out by the polite applause of ten to fifteen, a riotous cheer of three to four, and a chorus of crickets too numerous to mention (I know.. you gotta feel sorry for Colonel Kernel don't you?) all was silent again. The venue all but empty save for a conspiratorial murmur off in the wings, unseen and oblivious waiting to strike. It was here that I was about to reconsider my "broke" status (clearly a technicality at best), tap into all those bountiful cash reserves I'd been keeping for getting hideously drunk AFTER the show, and tippy toe off to the bar to collect it.. YES! Only to be stopped dead in my tracks by a growing sense of unease. It was subtle at first, barely a whiff at most, then a rumble, then a stampede and then before I knew it (before I could even act and escape it), I was hit smack in the face with it. A tsumani of howling, shrieking, wailing, flailing fundamentalists flooding in from the balcony full force and smashing my teeth and gums bleeding up into the foldback speakers. They all had but one thought on their mind: Double Handed, and nothing else and I mean NOTHING ELSE was going to stand in their way. Which considering the needlessly convoluted journey it took for this band to get here for their launch party tonight is more than understandable (if needlessly violent in enthusiastic response). For THIS "Double Handed" we're witnessing here tonight is not the same Double Handed of old. Since their triumphant debut EP release "The Therapist" launched back in 2006 a whole lot's changed. They've lost a lead singer Shaun Holton (who left overseas for a lucrative music career back in late 2007) gained a new one Nick Russell (drummer for Soft White Machine, Delusions Of Grandma, Quantum Kaos who joined them back in mid 2008), lost a guitarist Cameron Sanderson (who also left overseas just a few months back) gained a new one Rhys Nixon, and with him a veritable mixed bag of co-conspirators from far and wide (all of them here tonight): from saxophonist Joel McMillan (from The Dairy Brothers, The Beards, Delusions Of Grandma) to added backup singers Katie Kowald and Kate Jarvis (from The Black Doves). Or in other words if you're not in Double Handed now, or have ever been in the past, then clearly the cult de-programming has worked wonders (trust me you're better off not knowing). Changed too is their signature sound. Previously a smooth distillation of Incubus meets A Perfect Circle (thanks in part to Shaun's ethereal pipes) they've now mutated into a truly chaotic, unpredictable, shambolic yet endlessly poetic beast equal parts The Mars Volta, Muse and The Smashing Pumpkins run rampant with tribal drumming, gutteral shrieking, face melting saxophone, flaming guitar solos and an emotional rollercoaster of uppers and downers in between. In short they make my fucking head explode just thinking about it. Better yet without a hint of humility they're planning on performing their entire album tonight, all eighty minutes of it, from beginning to end, IN sequence, AND they've brought along their album producer Matt Hills to mix it all!? Yup true to their name "Double Handed", they're going to bring both those proverbial hairy "hands" into play for one HELLUVA riotous wank for the sense! I know that sounds totally wrong but trust me it'll be nothing short of ridiculously awesome, you'll see!









Already mashed up against the foldbacks like a microscope slide by the feverish shiatsu massage behind me (and dangerously close to an upright bongo stand and cowbells set up by lead singer Nick that'll be sure to cheesegrate the front of me) I regain my senses only to have them beaten senseless when the band arrives. To everyone around me it's nothing short of a religious experience: lungs, hearts, spleens, ovaries and testicles bursting like riotous popcorn kernels. Still my mission stays true: take photos, take video, take notes and keep a firm foothold in this madness (in a minefield of handbags and purses now scattered in front of stage) and somehow make sense of it all as well? Impossible!? pfft.. HELL NO!! Throw into that mix a kaleidoscopic light show that alternates unpredictably between pitch black, spastic strobe, and "OH MY FUCKING GAWD WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!" and that's what you see distilled on this page (or more accurately the less than 5% that made it through the editing process), that's half the fun in capturing a live gig. It only gets crazier from here. The set begins with an explosion of colour ushering in their first song "Truth Dies Young" (quite possibly their most "Mars Volta" in style) followed by the equally volatile "The Final Question". As much as I STILL find it odd to see Nick (predominantly a drummer) fronting this band (and I'm still getting used to his singing style that alternates between sibilant wail and shrieking cacophony) I still can't deny he's upped his game considerably in stage presence. Gone is his stickfigure stagefright of old and in it's place he's a frenzied state of animalistic activity that truly commands attention. By the third song "Glass Siddhartha (Perfect Dark Mike)" however it eases up considerably. From aggressive to psychedelic it becomes quite soothing. There's a distinctive jazz element at play here that I appreciate more in these "quiet bits" (thanks to Joel on the sax) all of which is masterfully weaved by both Jess Porter and Rhys Nixon on guitar, the towering Simmo Newenham on bass and by the sinewy Fox Faehrmann on drums. From here on in it twists into the tribal drumming of "48 Hours", the oldskool hook and chorus of "Sit Still" (from their first EP) and to the infectious skipping chords of "Down Through The Hourglass". Sure it may be a complete and utter mind fuck, a symphony in psychosis, and yet I start to appreciate the layers more and more as they unfold. Still by the end of the eighth song "Take Note" when they leave the stage to another rapturous explosion of internal organs I'm completely drained by it. So when they return once more for their first encore "City Lights" and it's JUST Nick on vocals and Jess on keys: to say it's a "welcome relief" is putting it mildly. Finishing off with the monstrously epic "Eugenics" (all fifteen minutes of it) with perhaps a little of track eleven "Nepsis" thrown in, it's one fuck of an epic set. No stone is left unturned. No resistance is still left standing. All of it masterfully rendered. Clearly I'm leaving SO much out of it (not least of which both backup singers Katie and Kate and a moving tribute to their former guitarist Cameron) but Double Handed overwhelm all succinct summation tonight and I've already rambling on enough as it is (no shit!). Sure it's five flavours of shitcrazy incomprehensible hitting me all at once but it's also a performance that provides me with an accompanying album that reveals ever more depth with each listen. Impossibly complex maybe, but endlessly rewarding in all its unravelling. And in the end what more could you want than that? a live set that keeps on giving!? encore indeed!









1:05AM - After witnessing the Adelaide scene equivalent of a psychedelic mashup between the closing scenes of "2001: A Space Odyssey", The Mars Volta's "Bedlam In Goliath", the "Book Of Revelation", the season long "plotline" to any given Mexican daytime soap opera and a mad tab of acid (or in other words drop that toaster in when "White Rabbit" peaks) I'm half surprised that I'm still standing. More so that anyone ELSE is still standing around me (and cheering at that). Even MORE so that I've not once hit the bar to celebrate. That same bar that's closed well over half an hour ago so I couldn't do so even if I tried. DAMN! Weirder still in that same half hour, whilst Double Handed were finishing the remainder of their set (in what everyone thought was "right on schedule"), venue security had been hounding Matt Hills the mixer repetively to pull the plug "early" and shut their whole operation down. Word has it this joint becomes a meat packing plant past 1AM. Or maybe it's a retro rollerdisco. Or maybe it's an odd mixture of both, there's a foam "after party" as well, plenty of loose women, a pommel horse and everyone speaks fluent Swedish. Either way WE weren't invited, we weren't willing to stick around to be herded like cattle past those exit signs either, so we all ducked backstage when they weren't looking and kept on partying. YES!! Or at least we would have if there was any alcohol available. Which there clearly WASN'T because the bar closed half an hour ago. Which possibly explains why both Jess and Charlie here appear to be having such a "riotous wild time" in this photo right now. FUCK YEAH.. ROCK AND ROLL!!



1:47AM - For all of you who've always wondered what happens backstage at a local gig. Nothing ever happens backstage at a local gig, or at least nothing I'm willing to share on "official record" that happens at a local gig (here's a tip: never use the "kettle" backstage at The Governor Hindmarsh *cough* I'm just saying) and especially not backstage at a local gig when there's NO FUCKING ALCOHOL involved. No really, forget all that wacky dwarf tossing, syringe swapping, crazy straw, hamster tubing, twister tournament and hilarious nude "ping-pong" antics you've come to know and love; there's none of THAT shit happening in here tonight! Not at Adelaide Uni Bar. Not on their watch! In fact I don't have the foggiest clue WHAT we did backstage for the next half hour except take turns scratching our proverbial "what nots" wondering where the fuck to go next. Eventually we all come to an agreement and all the bands spill out into the cloisters with aims to celebrate at some "raging afterparty in Kilburn" (they gave me a contact number and an address in case I wanted to join them). While I answer a littany of SMS's flooding my inbox, each increasingly drunker than the one before (gee.. I wonder they're all from!?) all pleading that I go to Supermild instead. Why? because where the fuck else would I end up on a Saturday night!? that's why!



2:00AM - I take the journey from Adelaide Uni to North Terrace then Rundle Mall towards Hindley Street. It's somewhere in between all this (around Gawler Place) that I stumble into one of those "anonymous" faces I always meet on my nights out: who I can't remember for the life of me, but they know exactly who I am. Awesome! When I give her one of those quizzical looks expressing all the above (and then some), she appear quite shocked.. I mean how could I NOT remember her? she's Alex Ciaravolo's sister, she's all kinds of ridiculously awesome!! "Huh wait, what, who!?". Exactly! We of course have an endlessly witty conversation about all that, only for it to be cut short when I mention I'm STILL sober and she's very much not (although I swear it's not like I could tell). We part ways and I hit Supermild, or more accurately a ridiculously long lineup outside of Supermild and I bide my time by deleting a few hundred naff photos of Double Handed from the show tonight (and a few dozen of their drummer Fox Faehrmann doing something innappropriate with a stun gun and a jar of pickles.. aaaah good times!). Eventually a good fifteen minutes later I find my way inside and head straight to the bar. Long neck Coopers!? OOOOH FUCK YEAH!!



2:23AM - Wandering into the beer garden just now I catch up with a whole bunch of awesome freaks and geeks who wouldn't normally get mention in my blog for the simple fact that they don't end up on camera: Galina, Anthony Callisto and Sammy Bruno from Lyla, Gavin Almeida from The Scarlet Ives, Alex Ciaravolo from the 20th Century Graduates (hey did I mention I bumped into your sister.. yeah nevermind) all to name but a few. There's dozens of these people in any given night. Of course there's a damn good reason WHY they don't end up on camera, because they've all learnt their lesson well. It's a genius process of elimination really, as truth be told, this whole "social section" of the blog shits me to tears every week trying to come up with hilarious captions for it. So all I need to do (if ever they demand it) is to feature them in but ONE episode of this blog doing something entirely stupid and/or embarassing (aaaah you love it!), next time they see me with a camera they run away screaming and I save myself the trouble of featuring them and coming up with yet more retarding jokes cracked at their expense.. EVERYONE WINS! Unfortunately there's always the exception to the rule: the "repeat offender". These are the chance few who LOVE appearing in my blog for reasons that utterly escape me. In my more whimsical moments I like to refer to them as my "regular cast members". In my worst moments I go screaming out of my way to avoid them. What's any of this got to do with Robin and her shitcrazy 3D glasses just now? Oh nothing, nothing at all.. I'm just saying: what you see here? totally the tip of the iceberg!



2:32AM - Speaking of such here's one now, the same one who's been SMSing me madly for the past hour and a half (or more) wondering where I've been, the one we call Simone: the absolute bane of my blogging existence (I know.. isn't she awesome!?). You may remember her from a billion other appearances she's made in the past three years (for reasons I can never quite fathom). Oh no I know what you're all thinking, she's not my girlfriend or anything (hi Joe!) she's just really photogenic, I mean disturbingly so, so much so it does my fucking head in trying to figure out how she does it sometimes. I mean you DO realise how hideously drunk she is in 99% of these photos riiight? (oh wait.. of course you do!). She's a fucking disaster zone with impossibly long legs, she's an exciteable car accident, she's an exploding death toll on the dancefloor.. and yet she STILL looks this ridiculously good!? Seriously how does she do it? Oh and of course I have absolutely no good reason to feature her AGAIN in this blog, but really who am I to refuse!?



For the past five hours she's been getting hideously drunk at The Crown & Anchor, then Shotz to celebrate the last night we can scam uber cheap drinks from her personal trainer who's been working behind the bar there but is quitting tonight (and I missed out!? DAMNIT!!) and now she's here. Hmmm. She's also made an extra special effort to "dress up" for the occassion, no not for all the above (pfft.. don't be daft!), but simply because she's suddenly aware of how many people are "allegedly" reading this blog right now.. and figured she'd start modelling shit. As such she would like to point out especially the ridiculously awesome pattern stockings she's wearing (which she'll invariably trash later tonight) and her wacky PVC "rubber" skirt to match. And yes obviously I'm still WAAAY too sober to put up with any of this shit and yet I still take photos!? Awesome!



Oh and before I manage to distract her with a thrown set of house keys and make a mad dash for the exit, she'd also like to point out the "genius" colour scheme she's concocted with her nail polish: blue on every other finger and pink on the two ring fingers she "flips the bird" with. Ummm yup, I don't know if you're picking up on this while you're reading this right now but I'm totally rolling my eyes at this (I think they're actually threatening to roll out of my skull at this rate.. YES!!) and yet I'm STILL posting all these photos and writing "hilarious" captions for it regardless!? I know, such is the Simone. Just when you think you've gotten away? she pulls you back in.



3:10AM - And speaking of every reason why publishing this week's episode will be delayed by more hours than is entirely necessary on a Wednesday night *sigh* here's her infamous fiancé Joe (aka: Joe Blogs, aka: "HAHAHAHA OH FUCK NOT YOU AGAIN!?"). Yup, if you thought Simone was an hilariously bad influence on this blog, this dude is SO MUCH worse (I know isn't he hysterical!?). He's practically a "professional athlete" at this shit and I'm not even kidding! For years in fact he published his very own "wildly successful" drinking blog on myspace detailing all his exploits, exploits that clearly put my gargling stupidity to shame by at least a multiple factor of ten (and that's putting it mildly). And I really don't know HOW he does it either, I mean just look at him.. he's a fucking pencil fercrissake! And yet in a single night he can still manage to pack away twenty to thirty vodkas, a dozen cocktail shots and still be standing at the end of it!? DUUUDE!!



Thankfully to all of you who were hoping to see that Double Handed review sometime this week *cough* his hilarious comedy routine at Supermild is all but short lived. After a quick photo where I attempt to look as retardingly drunk as possible (whoaaa Ruby Chew.. how'd you sneak in here!?).



After which he manages to spill his entire vodka rasberry all over himself (ON PURPOSE!) then hits the dancefloor to bust some hilarious kung-fu moves that could only be described as "dude caught on fire.. now attempting to put it out" crossfaded with "Johnny Knoxville tasered in the gnads".



I FINALLY manage to shuffle his gargled carcass back up those stairs again, out into street and headfirst into a taxi.. YES!! And wow doesn't he look ever SO pleased that I've pulled this mad sequence of events on him ever so quickly too!? "Huh what!? pfft.. oh of COURSE Supermild is closing.. like any minute now dude! it's like 5AM and shit! No really it says so on my watch! Oh I can't show you NOW it's totally busted.. huh what? Oh I'm totally getting it fixed on Tuesday!"



3:32AM - Still Joe does afford the occassional moment of "artistic brilliance" for this blog. It's why this crazy cat is worth his weight in.. well I wouldn't exactly call it "gold".. but I'm pretty sure you can still get a good deal if it was shovelled into fifty or so hessian bags and sold to the farming profession (mmm smell that!? that there is RIPE!!). Take this random sheep skull for example, mounted here on this bullbar, that just SO happened to stray into our flightpath whilst waiting for that same taxi. Fuck I know.. like they're dime a dozen right!? And WHO immediately offers to pose for all manner of clownshit ridiculous photos with it!? Joe that's who! fuck.. what a champ!




"I'd like to take this moment to accept this award on Joe's behalf as unfortunately he could not be here himself to *cough* oh wait, there he is now taking a whizz on Jack Nicholson.. FUCK YEAH!!"



3:35AM - Feeling altogether triumphant over the forces of "daftness", I whistle back into Supermild for my victory lap only to bump into Simone again. *Shit* I knew I forgot something! And yes obviously this "auspicious moment" warranted a photo for every single reason that it absolutely doesn't (in quite the same way that I'm literally smashing my forehead repetitively into this keyboard attempting to write a caption for it just now). Alcohol? I swear there ain't nearly enough of you in the world to catch up with THEM tonight. Speaking of such, it's time I hit the bar again: "Oh I don't need a bottle this time.. yeah just give me the bucket, I'll tell you when to stop!".



3:40AM - Moments later (as I attempt to make my silent escape to the beer garden) I'm stopped dead in my tracks by Simone again and roped into taking a series of increasingly assinine photos (excuse the pun?), all of which I've ever so conveniently and "accidently misplaced" save for this last one that I couldn't help but include: as moments before I could shoot it, in runs one Andrew Hector (aka: yet another dude who's name I can never fucking remember despite the fact he's one of my facebook friends) who screams excitably "YAHOOO!! I FINALLY GET TO BE IN AN EPISODE OF SPOZ'S RANT!". I know.. I couldn't stop laughing either. Better yet after he sees THIS, he'll never want to appear in another fucked up episode of Spoz's Rant ever again. Mission accomplished!



4:36AM - Well over half an hour after I've conveniently "misplaced" Simone again (where oh where did she go!? *cough* aaaah who the hell cares!) I kick back at the bar with a smile. Two long neck Coopers Pale, one stubbie the same and one vodka rasberry (aka: the mad hit of "kryptonite" that I'll be sure to regret that I ever accepted from her.. DAMN YOOOU!!) is all it takes to find my peace at last. Here hidden away in basement lounge bar lost in conversation with people I never need mention, in a music blog nobody ever needs to be reading, about a live scene best left forgotten. Aaaah just the way I like it! Let's hope the rest of the world never catches on to it!



Fast forward to my Wednesday night. After one Sunday evening and night spent tirelessly processing, uploading and encoding countless photos and videos. One Monday evening and night spent paralysed with writers block. One cup of coffee and two hits of mi goreng writing most of it up instead on a Tuesday. One Wednesday night just now wasted on all the alcoholic prologue (why oh why do I continue to entertain such hilarious gibberish!? GUH!) only to reach this end point now. Obviously the question now arises: WHY DO I PUT MYSELF THROUGH ALL THIS INSANITY? Well fuck dude why the hell not!? Like many "struggling" artists and musicians, perpetually dodging between one job and the next: it's not for the money (there's easier ways to earn a crust.. let me tell you!), it's not for the infamy (what little I get is the hilarious "head fuck" of my existence!), it's merely for the dream of a life spent doing something I won't ever regret, not even for a moment. And if ever I get "signed" and make an hilarious profit from this? all the better! Which is why I'll be back to repeat this insanity again NEXT week. I mean shit.. where else would I want to be!?

Previously on Spoz's Rant: Lyla + The Fumes + Jackson Firebird

:: Spoz 2:34 PM |
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