HWCH (that’s Hard Working Class Heroes (which makes fuck all sense to me, is it Hard-workin, class heroes? Are we Class? or Class heroes? or working class? how many of our ilk went to Trinity college? far to many to be bleeding working class… anyway)

We’re headlining the first night, which is testament to the high regard in which we are held in this city and it’s scene, even without a record for 5 years. Either that or it’s testament to the fact there was nobody else. I’m betting it was the latter. I mean, former. Anyway, if we weren’t offered money, which, as we’ve entered the mastering stage of record production, we most assuredly need, we would have said no thanks, because we’re not working class, or class, or hard working, or heroes, in any sense(s) of the word(s). But we’ve proven before, time and time again, that we’re available for a price, as the currency of mere kudo and it’s inherit penurious existence no disks makes, ya k’na, la’?

Anyway, the gig was awful. At least from our end. On stage we couldn’t hear a thing, the monitors were all over the place, so much so, i couldn’t hear the drums, John couldn’t hear me, we started songs, and came in in the wrong place. it was held together by gossamer thin tendrils of self-preservation and the last vestiges of robotik-knowhow the last few years of grinding song-writery had yet to eliminate. At least, we thought, the sound out front should be good. Alas no, some ne’er do well had scratched all our settings from the digital desk, meaning when Viv hit the recall button, nothing happened, not a fader moved, and he pretty much had to improvise the sound. So it ended up being work. hard work. not class, and pretty much devoid of heroes.

Wasn’t all bad, though. And here’s some class pictures of the whole event, including some of us. We’re not photogenic, so thanks kDamo, for being gentle. Meanwhile, Hot Press, never afraid to shy away from difficult questioning posits thus: How kooky are we?

Doppleganger curse: Alex couldn’t make soundcheck, but as we stood on the stage painstakingly going through the rigmarole, ultimately pointlessly of course, both me and Lisa swear we saw him walk into the venue, and then head toward the stage door. There’s Alex i thought. Nope. A ghost. A harbinger. A doom merchant. Look out for them.