You are currently browsing the monthly archive for February 2001.
A box of Chinese firecrackers was the inspiration behind this particular piece of illegibility
[w/ Paul O'Reilly & Steve Fanagan]
Support from the brilliant Paul O’Reilly ably assisted by Steve Fanagan set the tone for this night.
A good show, a good crowd, a good night. Nice to be back among the familiars of Whelans, the sound, the beer, the good times. Steve Fanagan let on after the show that in America, urinal soaps are called Jimmy Cakes.* We were underwhelmed by this revelation, as you can imagine.
Yet again we played The Wedding Cake, to untold rapture. Fogarty, meanwhile, was not amused.
*which they fuckin ain’t, right?
[w/ Some Blokes]
Life is about making mistakes, and garnering the positive from them, or a least being burnt badly enough
to never make them again. The Red Box is not a Jimmy Cake favourite, for many reasons. The soundman was an elf and the sound-check more interminable than some Michael Cimino film. The bouncers were rude and implacable, and some grueller with a guitar played for fucking hours while we sat and waited to go on, forty minutes behind schedule. The crowd was small and student-drunk. It was Valentines night, and priorities had been adjusted. We debuted the Wedding Cake to no reaction. The sound was like playing inside an oil tanker, in the middle of the ocean away from any crowd, with the lights off.
After, the bouncers kicked us out of the backstage. One student told me that we sounded like Pink Floyd, while another wanted to know if we were The Afro Cuban Sound System (!!??!!). Revenge may or may not have been exacted by an act of outrage that may or may not have been perpetrated by persons who maybe could not be in any way related to the band, and some trip switches may or may not have been, uh, tripped, leaving venue in a state of silent darkness. Until the screams started.
