You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2003.
Get xmas, bitch.
[w/ Max Tundra and Herv]
We recorded a special show for Donal Dineen in which we resurrected Hungry Ghosts as a Christmas Jingle. And tonight we played it, while Jimmy plants tossed bits of paper down on the crowd in a flurry of “snow”.
John Brown did actually try to get Dirk Benidict to play Santa at this gig. So he claims, any way. But we couldn’t afford him or he has a family or something. Still, can you imagine?
Tonight Max t has brought over his sister to sing and the place is packed and by Christmas we have a grand old time. Herv plays with us for the first time in years, and the boy is terrific these days.
Just thoroughly good fun. Except for the mess of mashed up paper on the floor after. Seems that it’s still there for months to come. It’s everywhere, like a drift, like a blizzard. It makes us unpopular with them that are charged to clear up such things. Sorry peeps.
Here comes the night Christmas special with Donal Dineen. Donal D films us as we play, simultaneously projecting it onto the big screen behind us. So we spend half the gig looking at ourselves in an orgy of onanistic omniprescence.
Liam Ó Maonlaí is playing too, so after his set we both get jiggy doing some jamming, rock god stylee. Well, half of the band do, as for some reason the other half have accidentally locked themselves back stage and can’t get out. All we could do was watch through a tiny portal at the other lads kicking out the “jams” and hammer on the, rather heavy, firedoor in the hope that someone might get us out. Eventually someone in search of beer comes to our rescue and the rest of us join in the melee. It all looks good on the cv, this.
"Gosh, i was scrumping apples one day and i thought to myself, isn't it a jolly funny life, this life?"
We fly into this show, in a small aeroplane, sharing with Aslan, of all people, who, last time they were on this very same service, managed to crash it into the sea. Well, not Aslan, per se, but it was a harbinger of doomtastic proportions. We said our goodbyes to one another, and buckled in. Turns out the plane never really gets enough velocity going to put anyone’s life in risk. I think they just twang it over to Kerry with a large elastic band. Aslan compound matters by trying to nick John’s cymbals, and look miffed. How many bands were on that plane? I think musicians out numbered the straights 3 to 1.
We still have to go on a drive around the twisting coast to get to Dingle, and are checked into the nicest hotel it has ever been our privilege to stay in. There’s a spa. Simon is down to his jocks in mere seconds.
We do a large soundcheck, because we’re being filmed for tv too, it takes a while. Helped not one iota by the fact my bass breaks. The stage is small, so we axemasters opt to sit down. We’re going for the studious look here. It’s about the music, man, not our posturing. We play pretty good. My Brass Buttons is the pick. They choose that one for the album release. Probably cos it’s also the shortest track we do.
Thank god it’s not live tv, tho. What with one thing and/or another it takes about 5 takes before we can even get started on the first song. Afterwards we hang out with the Tychos and the Handsome Family and have an ould sing song. With John the Revelator in our canon, we reckon we can hold our own with anyone. Anyone but the bleeding Handsome Family or Carol Keogh. Ah well, the Guinness is mighty good.
