sniper glue 12
SNIPER GLUE 12 is dead-icated to all your heroes, dead and dying; to all your enemies rotting in their graves. SNIPER GLUE 12 is this jumper Banuary issue, a late Xmas pressie to all the fucked-up rather than the stuck-up. Welcome to SNIPER GLUE 12, you CUNT!
�Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you�re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It�s like killing yourself and then you�re reborn. I guess I�ve lived about 10 or 15 thousand lives now�
Charles Bukowski
Saw this TV show the other night all about �tweens� (that means kids from age 8-12, apparently) and how they�re mainly interested in fashionable clothes rather than toys, etc. It really disgusted me to see these precocious little brats going on about their wardrobes full of Armani and Gucci gear. One 8 year-old girl said how she liked all this stuff �cos she�d get picked on if she looked �different�. I mean, it�s sad if she truly believed that but I still wanted to punch the fuck out of her and her stupid bitch of a mother who worked about 3 jobs to be able to pay for her little darling�s shallow whims.
Then there was this wee boy who was a skater and he was annoying as hell too. He kept going on about how he was really different and shit and then you saw him going shopping with his mate and they were both wearing identical hooded tops and jeans trailing on the ground and it was just the same as the stupid little girl, except they liked slightly better music.
The only kid on this show who seemed to have any sense whatsoever was a 12 year-old girl who was into wearing hippy-ish charity shop gear (on a tour of her wardrobe, she pointed out a jacket which she got for 20p at a car boot sale and said something along the lines of �Why bother spending loads of money on a label when you can get something that looks nicer for hardly any money at all?� and I was like, right on, girlfriend!) She turned out to be a bit of a weirdo though, as she was being educated at home and obviously didn�t have to put up with the playground taunts of the little Britneys and Shitneys and Kylies and the like.
All this got me thinking about my own school days and how me and my friends got verbal abuse �cos we weren�t into wearing the same shit as everyone else. Not many of us even dressed THAT extremely, looking back on it. I hung around with all the so-called �alternative� people at school but that loose crowd comprised goths, punks, metal-heads, indie kids (which I suppose I�d have to admit I was one of), etc. It�s not like when I talk to my older friends who got (and still get, in a couple of cases) shit for wearing safety pins and bondage gear.
I just think that most people like to feel safe and that includes dressing and acting like the majority. I was talking to my mum about this and she agreed with me that designer labels are stupid and a waste of money and only exist �cos people are shallow enough to buy them. My auntie used to work in a clothing factory and they sewed different labels onto identical clothes so they could sell some for a lot more cash than others. Mum said that when she was at school, people only had their school clothes, their �home� clothes and what they wore to church on Sundays. Maybe that�s what this spoilt brat generation needs � a return to more simple times like that. Not that I think that�s possible, just like people aren�t going to return to using candles instead of electricity unless they�re forced into it.
I believe a lot of schools have compulsory uniforms now and I think that�s a good thing if it means kids aren�t being bullied for not wearing the latest stupid trainers to maths every day. But, we had a uniform at my school too, and people still got round it in certain ways. I can only hope that any kids who are currently being bullied at school realise that the people doing the bullying are fucking thick idiots who deserve only contempt and the REAL people of this world are usually the ones who go on to do amazing things in art and music. But how many kids have already killed themselves before they get a chance to realise that? That�s why none of us should EVER let the fuckers of this world win. We should oppose their dumb worldview right down to the grave.
It just really saddens me that people are so narrow minded and obsessed with having the �right� possessions. It seems to be what makes the world go round in this age of the celebrity where the label is God and to hell with anything that exists outside the stereotype and the mainstream. It makes me sick.
So, with all that in mind, let�s crack on with this final issue of 2004, where you are guaranteed a 100% fashion free read..
MUSIC REVIEWS
JOHN PRINE � SELF TITLED (ATLANTIC)
For a couple of years, I�ve carried around with me a scrap of paper with the words �Funny how an old broken bottle looks just like a diamond ring� scrawled upon it. Something I heard on the radio once which really impressed me. A while ago, I Googled the phrase and found out that it was from a song by John Prine. Well, there�s been one of his LPs sitting in my �to listen to� pile for a couple of months now. Of course, I didn�t really think THAT particular song would be on it and especially not when my crappy turntable refused to play side one of the album. But, much to my surprise and delight, the song of my desire DOES indeed appear on side two of this LP. It�s the 2nd track, in fact, and it�s entitled �Far from Me�. Maybe the gods of song are smiling down on me today. It�s the prettiest most beautiful song on the album (well, the side my temperamental companion allows me to play, at any rate) � lilting voice, weeping pedal steel and THOSE lyrics which impressed me so. Wow. �Donald and Lydia� and �6 O�Clock News� are very, very nice too, proving old John ain�t no one-trick pony, and the liner notes by Kris Kristofferson (writer of one of THE most sad and lovely songs EVER, �Sunday Morning Coming Down�) shower praise on this �24 year old who writes like he�s 220�. Well, this album came out in 1971, so I guess John Prine isn�t 24 anymore, but he�s still written at least one song that I�ll carry with me until my dying day.
MODEST MOUSE, GLASGOW GARAGE, 16TH NOVEMBER 2004
Was meant to be doing fliers at this gig but the management of the wonderful Garage couldn�t find any fliers, so me and K got paid for sitting across the road in the pub, drinking. Not bad work if you can get it! After a couple of ciders and double gin and tonics, we headed back to the venue to catch the last 20 minutes of Modest Mouse�s show. Luckily, we got balcony passes so we didn�t have to mix with the riff-raff of the sell-out crowd. I always get this band mixed up with Mouse on Mars but, anyway, they were OK. Always impressive to see 6 or 7 people on stage at the same time, especially when 2 of them are drummers. Afterwards, me and K went back across to the pub for more double G & Ts (well, K was on something else - Jim Beam, I think). I spotted S---- sitting talking to someone as soon as we walked in. I had written something nasty about him in a previous issue of this zine and he had found out about it and sent me an email, so I didn�t feel like a confrontation with him. Luckily, we managed to find a seat at the other end of the bar, where we stayed till closing time. Then K suggested we go to the Art School, as it was free entry on a Tuesday. I hadn�t been there in years and it was totally different to how I remembered it. I think every time I�d been there before, I�d been really, really drunk. It was pretty empty but soon filled up and a couple of people who knew K joined our table. I felt a little self-conscious for a while and couldn�t really bring myself to join in the conversation. That�s how I used to feel a lot years ago and I didn�t like being reminded of it. I started to feel better the more drinks I had, though, and soon someone suggested we go back to the Garage for the night�s final hour of legal drinking. I managed to smuggle my gin and tonic out in my pocket, as I wanted to have something to drink on the 10 minute walk. We got to the Garage and had a few more drinks and I even had a dance with K to a Smiths tune. At 3am, it was time to leave, so we bought 8 big bottles of Magners cider, which the barmaid kindly put in a bin liner for us, and we got a taxi to K�s place. I�d never been there before. It was situated in a sort of OAP�s housing complex but the flat itself was smart, with nice laminate flooring in the living room. We played a lot of CDs as we drank cider and I must have eventually passed out as I awoke the next morning lying on the floor. I got myself a glass of cider and moved onto the couch. When K woke me up again, after noon, I felt like shit. We played lots more CDs and talked about going to the pub but I puked up a couple of times and decided it would be a bad idea. K walked me to Shawlands Cross at 3pm and we said our goodbyes. I walked a couple of miles to Bridge Street subway, thinking the fresh air would do me good. I had to stop to puke again on the way, right in front of a line of cars waiting at traffic lights. I got home at 4pm and went straight to bed.
DE HONDENKOEKJESFABRIEK DVD+R reviewed by Gary Simmons
Not even 2 weeks have gone by since I belatedly (8 months belatedly!) slagged off this lot�s abysmal FCKN�BSTRDS �project� then, strangely and coincidentally, I am sent a DVD+R of�fuck-knows-WHAT, to be perfectly candid with you! I SHOULD now be doing my Job Centre provided �work placement� in some stinky charity shop (fuck charity! I hate all that stuff. �Fleece the world, let them know it�s Sputnik time!!�), sorting out all the horrible toys that some disgusting filthy kids have puked up on and the tasteless clothes that old, half-dead fuckers, have pissed and shat in before they got dispatched to the next world but, you know, this kinda thing really isn�t gonna provide one with thee oh-so-necessary 21st century know-how that will supposedly enable me to get a �real� job, not at my age of forty-fucking-five�it�s a sodding insult, ME, your mature, trusty and extremely grumpy �noise journo� being treated like some of you out there; spotty, illiterate and gormless 16 year old TWATS!! Putting ME into some fucking �work experience� shit�jesus fucking christ, I started WORK in 1979 for fucks sake!!! What were YOU doing in 1979, I wonder? Bloody cunt-sliding, me thinks! And, you may ask, how on earth did I get out of this work placement malarky? Easy, I just didn�t turn up, THAT�S how. So far, a week later, I�ve had no phone call and no letter from the government puppet hand-tied Job Centre �Plus� CUNTS!
So, here I am, homo-alone-o and I have nothing else to do but have a viddy at this DVD+R thing. I have to admit to being somewhat fascinated by the �new� recordable DVD format. VHS is such an ungainly and decidedly pesky device, don�t you think? Well, I do. How simple it will now be to obtain the dodgiest of �videos� with this lovely sleek and unobtrusive little disky. And just wait until we�re all using Blu-ray! I can�t fucking wait!! Send �em on for review, babies!!! I just wonder if DVD+Rs will actually PLAY in my 4-year old DVD player�and, what do ya know? It DOES! Fuckin� amazing, this year of 2004!! How perfect and futuristic we all are now. And WOW, the first video is by Truck Van Rental and it is great! A montage of ultra-weird live performance and surreal animation set to pulsating, thrashing noise music. The girl in the �fish� mask is a right turn-on, I can tell you. Fuckin� erotic or WHAT?! All the props look like 1960�s hippy art college exhibitions..when students had some REAL talent and vision. Fucking crazy! I like it.
Mayoman�s entry song is a dark, rather foreboding chant by, er�Mayoman, who seems to be some bloke wearing just shorts, a swimming cap and goggles with two huge buckets of mayo sitting on a table in front of him. He�s already covered himself in this white sickly shit and, after blabbing on a bit, soon proceeds to go absolutely fucking mad! What a NUT!! You HAVE to see this�makes Smell and Quim look like Peters and Lee. Well, sort of.
Next is that Total Security 2003 event the CD of which I so passionately crucified in the other review�yeah, nice visuals, it�s b/w security camera type footage (so, GED it?) and the music works much better with this mixture of mundane and cranky imagery. I particularly like the film loop of the girl vomiting up black shit from her pretty little butter-wouldn�t-melt-in-it mouth. That does it for ME but, oh god�there�s a naked may-un! This chapter/track starts to get a little tedious after a time, watching the �band� (?) fucking about in their tiny booth, via security camera, of course.
Spermatak look like glowy-eyed Doctor Who monsters! Brilliant!! The music has a good beat with direction and depth whilst Les 1 is an outstanding real-life/animation film that sadly lasts only a minute. I wish I understood Dutch, or whatever the language is�alas, I�m an English thicky, so I Don�t!
Pidpi starts out as a kind of psychedelic multiple film exposure piece and then settles down to what I can only English-thickly describe as a pile of wet and soggy cardboard, newspaper and cellotape boxes coming to life and forming a band. It is one of the most outlandish things I have ever seen! �Tis not of THIS world, be sure of that!! And it�s all set to some bizarre, ghostly, alien noise. Pisses over the Turner Prize tossers! Absolutely EXTRA-ordinary!
Here�s Monobrain with �Headhunter�; various film clips nicked from the likes of Scanners (?) etc, featuring a gory collection of exploding heads accompanied by noise music. Nice. Now I�m beginning to feel REALLY horny, is there no just-turned-teen-girl porn on this disc at all then?? Piediepie sounds kinda promising in this respect, doesn�t it? Yes, it does. More art school madness, like a whole wall of lunatic asylum inmate drawings coming at you. Why don�t �they� put more stuff like this on the telly? Oh, that�s another short one. Next is something called The Weak-End Quizz�idiot A and idiot B are the contestants in a drug-hazed freak-out dream of some crap TV game show. Non-speakers of the language will miss out here too. What a pity. Another pity is the next �artist/s�, Civic TV/Planet Art�all very un-reality TV, yet MORE noise and decidedly self-indulgent. Fucking boring is another description that springs to mind. Fuck, will it NEVER end? Thankfully, it does, and Monobrain save the day with crazy costumes and flashing Time Tunnel effects akimbo! DO watch if you suffer from epilepsy. That was another short one. The last �chapter� is Bastaman and Dr Drek who just perform a short, calm, winding-down ditty and video for the credits to be overlayed upon.
I can honestly say that I have never seen anything quite like some of the videos on this compilation. Whether that�s due to me being an over-protected, molly-coddled and out-of-touch glam-fag-punk pratt, I don�t know. What I DO know is that EVERYONE should see this DVD and make up their own minds. Even if you hate noise, most of the visuals are an experience to behold in themselves. Instead of chin-scratching chicanerists in white/black overalls and balaclavas staring into the glowing display of their laptops, boring the shit out of us, the artists here, for the most part, offer the jaded and cynical viewer theatrics, colour, C21 unpretentious surrealism and downright maniacal, unhinged FUN! Get a copy NOW!!!
Contact: de HONDENKOEKJESFABRIEK, PO BOX 68-7700ab dedemsvaart, the netherlands. [email protected]
TIM HARDIN � THE HOMECOMING CONCERT (LINE)
The sheer horror of Irish twats Westlife trying to do Rat Pack songs on �This Morning� has driven me to the pile of unlistened to LPs in the cupboard and here�s folk legend Tim Hardin doing his last ever live show, on the 17th of January, 1980 (he died soon afterwards � 6 days after his 39th birthday). It�s just Tim and his acoustic guitar (and occasional piano) wowing the audience in his hometown of Eugene, Oregon. There�s a sort of potted history of his career on the back of this album, written by Phil Freeman (�a friend�) and it�s a pretty sad tale, comprising heroin and alcohol addiction. The songs on this white vinyl record are lovely, of course, and the between song banter is often bizarre, rambling and incoherent. Side one is pretty near perfect � �Black Sheep Boy�, �Misty Roses�, �Reason to Believe�, �Lady Came from Baltimore� and �Hang on to a Dream� are all gorgeous and it�s only marred by the blues song �Old Blue Jeans� which is OK, but who wants OK when you can have excellent?! Not ME, that�s for sure. Side two kicks off with Hardin�s best known song, �If I Were a Carpenter�. I�ve heard many people cover this, not least Johnny and June Carter Cash, but here, in its sparseness, it takes on a ghostly tone I�d never heard in the song before. �Tribute to Hank Williams� is a heartfelt tale of the legendary songwriter�s final night on Earth. Spooky stuff considering the obvious parallels between Williams and Hardin, with lyrics like �Pain that wasn�t cured by whiskey was cured by too much morphine�. �Smugglin� Man� is this side�s relative stinker, but it�s soon followed by the beautiful �Speak Like a Child�, which Hardin dedicates to his �favourite person in the world. She knows who she is�. �Red Balloon� and �Amen� end the LP in similarly melancholic fashion. �Amen� has Hardin conducting the audience in a sort of quasi-religious sing-a-long. Odd, but it leaves me feeling kind of peaceful and that�s no bad thing. After all, it IS nearly Christmas.
MORRISSEY � GLASGOW, SECC, 13TH DECEMBER 2004
Slept OK again, thankfully. Woke up at 9.20 and made noodles and watched �The Wright Stuff� in bed. Shaved my head, etc. Said bye to Moira and Michael and got the 12.35 bus to Lanark and the train to Partick. Gary�s letter had been slid under my door when I got back to the flat. I walked into town. Tom rang again, about the arrangements for tonight. I went to the Auctioneers for 4pm. No one was in. I sat in a booth and Joe M showed up soon enough. He�s got a few days off work. We had a couple of pints and then Kenny showed up (I�d texted him about the gig and he rang me while I was on the train). He was talking non-stop, like he was on something. James came in not long after Kenny. Joe left to watch a greyhound race. Tom rang to say he was on the train and I tried to give him directions to the pub. Kenny left before Tom showed up with his son, Steven, who was every bit the moody teenager. He also looked a bit like a young Pete Townsend! Tom was a bit drunk. Michael came over and said he was going to see Moz too as someone gave him a ticket. I left with Tom and Steven after another pint or two and we got a taxi to Finnieston. Got a bottle of Buckfast which we drank while walking down to the SECC. We got in and had a look at the tacky Moz merchandise (which was also really expensive). Steven kept asking his dad to buy him a T-shirt but he didn�t have enough money. We went in and PJ Harvey was on stage. I watched about one song then fucked off to the bar for a pint. When I got back, I positioned myself as close to the front as I could. Morrissey was brilliant and I surprised myself by managing to last the whole gig in the crush, as I really don�t go to those kind of shows anymore. Afterwards, amazingly, I saw Kenny AND Michael as everyone was filing out, so I joined Kenny and his friends in going to the hotel bar next to the venue but we went via underground passages, so didn�t actually have to go outside. We kind of got lost on the way and it was a bit like �Spinal Tap�. The hotel bar was nice and open till 1 or 2am (I can�t remember which). Kenny�s friends were nice � this English girl who looked like Beth Orton, a Lorraine Kelly lookalike, this guy who used to be in the 80s indie pop band the Clouds and this dead nice Irish guy who I was chatting to about various Moz-related things. After a few drinks, we went up to this couple�s room (no one knew them, so God knows how that came about). There were about 10 of us in this small room with a great view but I only stayed briefly and fucked off without telling anyone. I walked home, although I got lost on the way. Got in at 3am, put the radio on and fell asleep.
Setlist (from www.morrissey-solo.com):
How Soon Is Now? / First Of The Gang To Die / November Spawned A Monster / Don't Make Fun Of Daddy's Voice / Bigmouth Strikes Again / I Like You / Redondo Beach / Let Me Kiss You / Subway Train (into) Munich Air Disaster 1958 / There Is A Light That Never Goes Out / The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get / Friday Mourning / I Have Forgiven Jesus / The Never Played Symphonies / Shoplifters Of The World Unite / Irish Blood, English Heart / You Know I Couldn't Last // Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me
GOLDIE LOOKIN CHAIN � GREATEST HITS (ATLANTIC)
It�s probably not PC to say this, but I�ve always found rap music funny. Especially when the artist is trying to be tough � it just cracks me up every time. But rappers who are TRYING to be funny? Hmmm. I very rarely find �funny� music funny � unless it�s Monty Python or something and, even then, the joke doesn�t take very long to wear thin. But I�ve got a lot of time for this Welsh rap collective. I even laughed out loud at their appearance on �The Frank Skinner Show�. So, anyway, here�s their debut album, courtesy of my good pal Andrew and it�s 13 tracks of general silliness, from the A-Team �inspired� 1st track, through the hilarious dead rock star fest of �Self Suicide� and �Guns Don�t Kill People, Rappers Do�. The title of track 4, �Half Man Half Machine� is eyebrow-raising for anyone old enough to remember fab 80s indie jokers Half Man Half Biscuit, �cos this lot are like a rap version of that band. �Roller Disco� name-checks Kola Kubes, Saint and Greavsie, Panini stickers and Fruit Pastilles in a pant-wetting tale of being young in the early 80s. �Your Mother�s Got a Penis�, for all it�s infamy (it was released as a single, although fuck knows how it sounded when cleaned-up for radio), is a bit of a one joke song, sadly, but current single �You Knows I Loves You� is much better (sample lyric: �I�ll serenade you with a bag of Space Raiders - or Walkers or Smiths or maybe even Quavers�) and the East 17 video piss-take is brilliant. File under: music to stick on when someone�s round for a drinking session.
M WARD � LIVE MUSIC & THE VOICE OF STRANGERS (SELF RELEASED)
I�ve heard this guy before, on the odd compilation CD (not least �Come on Beautiful: the Songs of American Music Club� where his �Fearless� is ALMOST peerless). Got this from someone in Germany, who sent me it as a trade for something, and it�s songs recorded at various live shows. So, what�s it like? Really good, actually. M Ward covers the Velvets (a great version of �Pale Blue Eyes�), Bowie (he actually does what I thought was impossible and turns �Let�s Dance� into a GOOD song!), Yo La Tengo and Louis Armstrong (a REALLY lovely �Someday�) and also treats us to several of his self-penned tunes. There�s some nice, mellow vocals and sparse backing from a variety of M�s celebrity pals (the guys from Calexico/Giant Sand appear on a few tracks). The only weak moments are the boogie woogie of �Flashlight� (which, to be honest, isn�t BAD, it�s just that I can�t hear ANY song in that style now without thinking of that smug cunt Jools Holland) and final track �Famous Dave�, the only un-live track here. It falls down by being a bit too wacky and in-jokey for my liking. But this CD makes me want to explore more of M Ward�s stuff.
LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III � A LIVE ONE (RADAR)
From 1979 this, as the title suggests, is a live album and it scores high straight away with the first track, �Motel Blues�, a Loudon original which I�ve only ever heard being done by Alex Chilton before. I�ve always loved the song � a heartfelt tale of on-the-road loneliness - and it�s great to finally hear it from the lips of it�s composer. �Hollywood Hopeful� and �Whatever Happened To Us� are slightly less successful but �Natural Disaster� is a white-knuckle ride of sheer desperation, with the lyrics so sad and despairing yet still managing to be funny somehow. The US court who put Judas Priest on trial would have a field day with �Suicide Song� (with lyrics like �When you get the blues and you want to shoot yourself in the head/It�s alright/Go ahead/..Cut your throat/Cut your wrist�. Wow!) �School Days� is a perfect example of Loudon�s brilliance at the autobiographical song. It�s a hard thing to do well and he�s one of the masters. As with most songs about childhood, this is one to get those hot tears flowing nicely. And it does. AND it was recorded at Glasgow�s legendary Apollo Theatre in 1976, when I was 4 years old! This album is compiled from various live shows, y�see. �Kings and Queens� ends side one in style with more of the hardcore acoustic vibe and THAT, dear friends, is where we shall have to leave it because my shitty record deck refuses to play side two which is a DAMN SHAME �cos the first track�s title alone sounds amazing � �Down Drinking at the Bar�. Fuck. Oh well. Looks like I�ll have to get this on CD.
Diary Of Recent Tour Debacles 2000-03 (part 5)
by L. Eugene Methe
ARNOUX Southeast Tour March 2003
This was the "new american folk" tour. Every stop of the way I would wrangle people from the audience to
sit in with me, as I improvised atonal, junk blues and folk.
St. Louis @ Lemp Arts Center
First show of the tour--sure enough it's a bust: our arrival was met by a blizzard, and I felt pretty ravaged by a cold. Not one person showed up! That is a new all-time low point! The Lemp is a great space though. It seems a lot of Omaha groups have been playing there.
After a nice show in Louisville, Ky (with the always great Sapat) we arrived in Atlanta for a show at the
esteemed Eyedrum Gallery...where not one person showed up. They gave us $50 so we could at least get a motel room. After that Super Bowl debacle some years back, they don't serve alcohol or beer in Atlanta after 5 o'clock, so there was nothing to do but eat a greasy meal at a Waffle House.
Nashville, Tn @ The Springwater
Even after the sober night in Atlanta I am feeling wrecked. My cold kept me up all the previous night, so
I was running on fumes. We ate dinner with friends from Omaha, Bradly and Angela, before heading to this bar called 'Lonnie's Western World'. It's a very strange country karaoke bar. Hanging on the walls are
pictures of various celebrities (Howard Stern, Jerry Springer) who have stopped in. Here's the deal: every
week a new young girl that Lonnie has 'discovered' takes requests from the audience. (It is also said
that Lonnie runs an escort service out of the bar too).
After the few glasses of wine I had with dinner and a couple bottles of beer at Lonnie's, I am feeling
better. We headed to the Springwater, a great dive bar. I saw the local paper had carried a small photo
and piece on me, so that was cool. There's a decent group there, and we received pitcher after pitcher of
beer on the house. It was by far the best night of the tour, and The Cherry Blossoms are now one of my
favorite groups. I had one of my more enjoyable sets too, with a big group of locals sitting in. We even
pulled out a version of "Freebird" complete with whammy bar solos, and followed it up with "Dust in the
Wind".
Bradly got us a room at the Holiday Inn right across from the bar, so we wouldn't have to drive.
Panama City, FL @ a house show
After a night off spent in Huntsville, Alabama (Fat Tuesday), we arrived in Panama City, and right in the
midst of spring break mayhem. Jef, from the Whirling Cloud label, put on a nice show at his house. About
ten folks from the audience sat in with me playing a variety of instruments. Midway through the set, I
realized it was officially my 28th birthday; right after I hit the last note I found an empty bedroom and
passed out.
New Orleans, La @ The Mermaid Lounge
Ah, New Orleans on my birthday, at the tailend of mardi gras. I was disapointed to have missed Fat Tuesday, but it was still memorable to spend time in the french quarter. Wish I could say more for the
actual show, but it was bunk. I set up the show via a dolt promoter. He at least bought us each a six pack
of beer. Around this time, I was just starting to get in the groove performance wise (after some rocky starts) and the songs, which had started out completely improvisational, were beginning to take shape. I spent a good deal of time this set berating the audience. I felt like a jackass later. It was another bleak payday too, and we were down to $20, most of which would be spent on gas for the drive to Houston. I wondered how on earth we would make it home.
Houston, Tx @ Brasil
After spending hours lost on the Houston streets we arrived at Brasil, a somewhat posh coffeehouse/wine
bistro. The place was packed--Not that anyone was there to see us, it was just their normal Friday business. I do not mean to be graphic here...but after two weeks of heavy drinking, a sketchy diet, and
driving 6 hours a day, my insides were torn up. I nearly shatted myself and had a horrible time in the
restroom. Of course there were no walls on the stall, so I was forced to lock the door and listen to the
angry poundings on the door. The manager wanted us to do two sets(!) of music, of which they were expecting light jazz. Normally I would blow this off, but we were broke. We had no choice. Me and Brian noodled on guitars for a few hours. Never have I felt so guilty on stage (fortunately, the noise from the crowd drowned out our playing). All I could do afterwards was run outside with a drink, and try not to make eye contact with anyone. We ended up getting paid $100, and even unloaded some CDs and tapes.
There was a show lined up in Tulsa, Oklahoma the next night but we decided to blow that off and quit while we were ahead. We spent the night in Austin instead, where we visited our friends, Keri and Caleb, and hit some bars. Caleb had to ease me down a fire escape. Then we had a seance in the abandoned apartment next to Keri's...attempted to bring forth the spirit of Edna St. Vincent Millay. It got very creepy. Caleb did a wonderful reading of her poem 'The Suicide'.
We headed back to Omaha the next afternoon: a long, tedious 12 hour drive through the bleak states of
Texas and Oklahoma.
Eggs
We were drinking vodka in the kitchen. Me and Sid and his new girlfriend, Sarah, whose two kids were watching TV in the next room.
�Do you like eggs?� Sarah asked.
I didn�t think she was addressing me, so I continued to drink my vodka in silence.
�Do you like EGGS?� she repeated, this time sticking her index finger into my ribs.
�Oh, sorry. Yeah, I like eggs�.
�Sid likes eggs. DON�T you?�
Sid nodded and gave a little chuckle.
There was silence again for a few seconds and then Sarah got up from her chair and walked over to the fridge. She opened the door and produced a large box of eggs. She took one out and threw it across the room. It hit Sid right in the face.
�You like eggs too, don�t you?� Sid said, reaching into the box and throwing one back in Sarah�s direction. She avoided it and it smashed behind her head, spilling it�s guts all over the wall and floor.
They were both laughing hysterically and continued throwing eggs at each other for around five minutes, while I sat at the table and sipped my vodka and Coke.
When they had finished, both of them were covered in bits of raw egg. Sid took a towel down from where it was hanging on the door and began to towel his girlfriend�s face.
The door opened and a 13 year-old boy, one of the kids who had been in the next room, came in and began to laugh.
I wondered if these people were all mentally subnormal.
�I think we need to clean ourselves up,� Sid said, walking out of the room with an arm around the boy�s shoulder.
Sarah walked over to the table where I was sitting and reached for her glass. After taking a sip, she sat down on my lap and began to kiss me.
I didn�t know what to do or how I should react. After all, I had only met her once before and this was the first time I had been to her flat. Also, I had known Sid for years and he was only in the next room. I could hear him running the bath.
�What are you doing?� I asked.
�I�m only giving you a kiss,� Sarah said. �What�s wrong with that? Don�t you like kissing?�
�It�s not that I don�t like it�� I tried to say but she stuck her tongue in my mouth again before I could finish the sentence.
It was then that Sid came back into the room and he didn�t seem to mind that his girlfriend was sitting on my lap and kissing me.
�Bath�s nearly ready,� he said, pouring himself another drink and refilling both our glasses.
�I�ll go and get ready,� Sarah said, getting up from my lap and leaving the room.
�Isn�t she great!� Sid exclaimed, taking a long slug out of his glass.
I didn�t know what to say or do, so I just sat there, drinking and listening to the sounds coming from the TV set in the next room. The two kids had gone. Where, I didn�t know.
�Want to watch some TV while we�re in the bath?� Sid asked.
�OK,� I replied and walked into the next room and sat down on one of the two leather sofas.
I could hear Sarah getting into the bath.
�We won�t be long,� Sid said. �Help yourself to drinks.�
And, with that, he went to join his girlfriend in the bath.
I sat for a few minutes, drinking and staring blankly at the TV screen. It was some programme about planets of the solar system.
Then I heard Sid calling my name. I walked to the bathroom door, which was ajar and asked what he wanted.
�Could you bring the vodka bottle in?�
I went to the kitchen, got the bottle and walked back to the bathroom.
�Do you want me to leave it out here?� I asked.
�No, bring it in.�
I pushed the door fully open and walked into the tiny bathroom. Sid and his girlfriend were sitting facing each other in the tub, with bubbles all around them.
�Here,� I said and left the room.
I decided to try and get drunk as quickly as I could that night and that�s exactly what I did.
ZINE EXIT
Thought I was losing my mind last night. It was the 2nd night in a row that I was unable to sleep. The previous night�s insomnia had been the fault of my neighbour�s loud computer game, which didn�t let up till nearly 3am and, after that, I just couldn�t settle. Last night it was a cold that did it. My blocked nose made me paranoid that I couldn�t breathe and I started to have panicky thoughts, lying in the dark, which just refused to go away. It was like the feelings you get when withdrawing from alcohol but I hadn�t drank anything in about 30 hours. At times like these, I get so scared that I start to pray to God to save me. I�d even seen this thing on TV earlier in the week about angels and how they�ll help you if you asked, so I was doing that too. I knew that it was my brain working overtime and that I needed to shut off and go to sleep but how are you supposed to do that when your mind is racing with crazy thoughts? I kept turning the radio on and off, this classical station which would sometimes calm me slightly and, at other times, make me feel even worse. I took a sleeping pill, on top of the cold medicine I�d had earlier and it did eventually work but, even then, I only managed to grab around 20 or 30 minutes of sleep. I spent the rest of the night falling in and out of these periods of very light sleep and could�ve screamed when the phone woke me at only 9.15am. I didn�t answer it. Now I�m worried about tonight and whether it will be another night like that which I know is the worse thing you can do. Right now, Bob Mould�s �Workbook� is soothing me; easing me through the day but I don�t want to go through another night like last night, or even worse. It reminds me of that bit in Sylvia Plath�s �The Bell Jar� where she�s staring at the clock all night, watching the time drag on and on. Makes me want to go out right now and get a bottle of vodka or something but I know that�s not the answer. I wish someone would tell me what the answer is. Happy new year.