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No expense spared in our sex-up spin job.
[w/ Damo Frost]
So many hangovers. Soooooo many hangovers that had to be at Whelans so very early to take some
pictures for the Murdoch Times. You know the one where we’re in tableau, last supper stylee, with
Jesu-alike Pauls messianic pint taking centre stage (actually, my pint)? He he. Funny that we chose
that, and myself as Judas in particular, as we break bread with the devil, eh? My old man says, wasn’t
Judas to Jesus’ right in the picture, and you’re too his left there… what’s that. I say, do you know how
fucking hungover I was right then? Plus, you see the mirror, it’s all symbolism that, eh. Fair enough he says, tapping the ash from his pipe and sucking at that blister he got from the salmon of knowledge down in Beshoffs one night.
So very hungover. Seemed a good idea was to go and play pool for a few hours down in Cons. With booze.
So very hungover …
So very nearly drunk… By the time we got back. Damo Frost are closet rock gods. They like the big
stage. They play with a second bass as well. Looking, sounding good. Pricks.
You betchya we’re nicely tippled by the time we go on stage. All the nerves and parents from the previous night are gone, in their place, haze, booze, haze. We play at our best, almost, minor indiscretions carried off with the arrogance of the two day drunk. Is the place fuller than last night? Or are we just seeing double. Great gig, great crowd, and we leave the stage beaming, knowing full well that there’s a big tub of cold booze up them stairs.
[w/ The Chalets]
Official launch gig of the new disk, record, album, magnum opus Dublin Gone, Everybody Dead. “whereof such a controversial name?” I hear you cry. Well. it, like so many things in our lives, is an injoke, but in keeping with the best traditions of our Zombie Apocalypse outlook on life. Anyway, can I tell you that the queues for this one were around the corner. We were utterly thrilled, and we played pretty well, such was our buoyancy. Afterwards, when we got backstage, we looked the door and John H opened for us a bottle of champers, to celebrate. We we’re thrilled. I think maybe John D got a swig out of it before someone dropped it and it spun around about three times, before flying off the end of the table and upending itself into Vinnies lap. Vin’s always had a champagne crotch.
We spent the rest of the night getting hammered and flirting with the Chalets. ALL of the Chalets.
