Issue 31
September 2007
�You�re only young once, but you can be immature for ever� - Germaine Greer
Hey! Isn�t it about time you read something DECENT for a change? Do you REALLY want to be a passionless Harry Potter/Stephen King-loving mainstream swimmer and calorie-counting DULLARD, eating and drinking exactly what the government tells you, for the rest of your unnatural LIFE? Just remember, friends, "All them politicians, they're all lyin� sacks of SHIT" (� Drive-By Truckers). Also, �YOU'RE NEVER ALONE WITH MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER� (� Mark Ritchie, who wrote this issue with the expert assistance of Gary Simmons). Bypass the corporate-owned shite of MySpace and go to geocities.com/hiroshimayeah to experience a perpetual online happy hour (banned in Glasgow since 2003, by the way, for �promoting binge-drinking�. Glasgow's response? To have pubs selling cheap drinks ALL THE TIME!)
Ingmar Bergman R.I.P. People called HIM a �miserable bastard� TOO! Also-Lee Hazlewood and Tony Wilson.
IN THE GHETTO
Why do you choose to ghettoize yourself
in the Irish bars,
the gay bars,
the rock bars?
You say it�s your �community�
but I think you�re just afraid.
Afraid of feeling adrift
in an ocean of unfamiliar opinions
and experiences,
exotic drinks and strange music.
Afraid of mixing with people
who move to the beat of a different drum,
support different football teams,
read different newspapers.
Outside of the box
you have placed yourself in,
there are many wonderful new things to be discovered,
but you�d much rather feel safe
in your small, dark corner
of a never-changing world.
Well, guess what?
You�re WELCOME to it.
RIVERFRONT
Maybe they did it on purpose,
situated the city's glorious �Riverfront Regeneration Project�
against a backdrop of sad, dead ships,
their broken masts aflutter
with flags bearing the names of various corporate sponsors.
Tourists pose for photos
outside the marvellous new buildings,
shining proudly in the sunlight.
All irony is lost,
the future all that matters...
Call centres, dot coms,
expensive coffee bars alive with the sound
of cash registers and business chatter.
Wave goodbye to the old world
and rejoice, rejoice,
as another part of your culture is gone.
ON THE WAGON
It's true I have been
sleeping better
these last few weeks,
and it's true that my moods
are no longer as black,
but the awkward shyness
which is usually kept at bay
by beer and wine
has returned with a vengeance.
I bump into people in the street,
am a paranoid wreck most of the time,
and the sheer boredom of existing
in this world
without some sort of crutch to lean on
is driving me insane.
So I eat chocolate
and drink too much coffee
but it just isn't the same.
So, the pattern continues
and my fingers curl around another glass.
A familiar warmth soon overtakes me,
intoxicating every sober cell,
making the raindrops sing,
causing Tinseltown's open sewers
to smell sweeter than honey.
Now the long shadows in the room
no longer hide awful things
but great mysteries and memories
of beer-soaked days and martini nights,
sitting on my landlord's cheap fold-up couch
making toasts to our futures,
our pasts,
the ragged twists of fate
that leave us drunk and sober,
alive and dead,
trapped in our miseries or as free as the sky.
THREE SWANS
Three swans drift elegantly upriver,
though the middle of the city.
They don't need booze or music
or fancy hotels,
they have their own little gang,
forever moving on,
kind of like outlaws,
kind of BEAUTIFUL.
So I hoist my wine bottle up into the air
and take a few gulps,
one for each swan,
and watch them float away,
wishing they'd take me with them.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
Dreamt that I went back to my old school - which has in reality been demolished and replaced with houses � to visit the memorial tree to one of my classmates, Lynn Warr, who died in 1974-ish due to a reaction to a vaccination jab. The tree was still there and had grown big, but there was also a big mausoleum to her there too. What DOES it mean? Lynn used to fancy me but I was anti-girl at age 13 or so! Missed opportunities? You BET!! I HATE myself for what I said to her, but I was all girl-shy and embarrassed in those days. Sorry Lynn. You were REALLY nice. I do think of Lynn sometimes. I remember a lesson where the teacher was talking about the year 2000 and how old WE�D be by then and shit. I think Lynn had her say about the topic but SHE didn�t make it. All the right fucking bullying bastard CUNTS did though. �Nah, all that matters now is revenge� GG.
*
Wish I had some Bukkake porn. I�m so BORED of my normal porn. It�s like having the same meal, day in and day out. I need VARIETY! I wanna be the GIRL then be the BOY then be the GIRL� My male orgasm is so fuckin� bland. I want a clit-induced CUNT-spasm of a discharge. Maybe an Islamic doctor can help me. Well, you never know, or is this my Western slaggin�-it-up decadence showin� out? Look, I just wanna change my sex at will, ALRIGHT?! I ain�t askin� for the fuckin� MOON, am I? I bet they�re all cum-guzzlin� repressed FAGGOTS out there. �C�mon, DESTROY me!! Coz I wanna destroy YOU�� GG. And �It�s the only way to be, follow ME!!� Pistols.
*
Isn�t Beckham wonderful? A God, without doubt. I saw him on the news, in LA� WOW!! Fuckin� fan-fuckin�-TASTIC!! Him and his magic wand. I am not worthy to live on the same PLANET as this greatest of all great men. Never mind Commander Dick Scobee and his crew. Those people are as NOTHING compared to David and his fuckin� AMAZING wife!! I dunno why I don�t just KILL myself and get it all over with. But, before I do that, I�ll give the rest of my dole money, which WAS supposed to last me another week, to some celebrity-hosted charity� All fuckin� �15 of it. As long as Tosh�n�Hex are shittin� DOSH. And Ozzy. And Wogan. Fucking CUNTS. Who IS buying all those fucking papers just coz their pics are on the front? If THAT ain�t proof that most of the fuckers in this world are idiots, I dunno what IS! Fuckin� INSANE.
GEROGARY'S MERE-SHADOW-OF-ITS-FORMER-SELF PLAY-LIST DUE TO EXCESS BOOZING, GETTING HOME AT 3/4/5 AND 6 O�CLOCK IN THE MORNING AFTER BEING PHYSICALLY THROWN-OUT OF THE ELEPHANT�S HEAD FOR BEING TOO LOUD AND EXPOSING MYSELF AT THE BAR (EVEN THOUGH IT WAS IN CONTEXT WITH THE CONVERSATION I WAS HAVING�), BEING BARRED FROM THE WORLDS END (AGAIN, TOO LOUD �N� ROWDY BUT NO COCK-OUT THIS TIME), CALLING TWO BLACKS �NIGGERS� COZ ONE OF THEM BELTED ME AND CALLED ME �PUSSY�, TELLING ONE WHITE CUNT WHO WAS INSULTING ME TO STOP TALKING LIKE A �FUCKING NIGGER�, ONLY TO GET SPAT AT IN THE FACE BY HIS BLACK MATE, EATING FROM THE BINS OUTSIDE THE KEBAB SHOP NEXT TO TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD TUBE, CHATTING IN THE FOX (A REAL R�N�R PUB!!) WITH BRADY WHO, CONTRARY TO WHAT I WAS TOLD IN THE STINKING ELEPHANT BY SOME IDIOT, IS STILL ALIVE, HAVING MY CHANGE THROWN AT ME IN THE �GOTH/ALTERNATIVE ONLY� DEVONSHIRE ARMS COZ, NOT ONLY DO THEY HATE SCOTTISH �10 NOTES, THEY ALSO HATE ME, BY THE NOT-EVER-SMILING, ONCE-I-FANCIED-HER �PUNK� BARMAID, HAVING MY CIDER CONFISCATED BY THE FUZZ ON CAMDEN BRIDGE� SO, WHAT HAVE YOU LOT BEEN UP TO LATELY?
UNSANE�JUNGLE MUSIC. EP (Red vinyl! Magnificent!! Bleed to fuckin� DEATH for all I care!!! PCP. 1991)
V/A�AUBE/SMELL + QUIM. Split cassette (Aube�s �G-Radiation�, sounding beautifully like an early �80s Maurizio Bianchi piece, takes up the whole of side A whilst there�s 4 S+Q tracks on side B� Fever Pitch. 1994?)
V/A�CRIMES. Cassette (Number 006 on Philip Best�s early �80s IPHAR label. Contains S.J�s �Filthy Whores�, Consumer Electronics� �Torture Master� and the drone of a �Male Masturbating Unit�. Hand-made soft porn insert. IPHAR. 1982?)
V/A�DRY LUNGS IV. LP (
And that�s as far as I got. Hail Barbara Morgan, a REAL �celeb� and hero of the United States of America.
MUSIC
JASON ISBELL � SIRENS OF THE DITCH (NEW WEST)
Somehow, I just KNEW that Jason Isbell wasn�t destined to travel long haul with Drive-By Truckers, the electrifying band whose last three albums he�s helped shape with his distinctive talents. He looked slightly ill-at-ease onstage with the Truckers� on their live DVD (reviewed in HY!#22), as if he wasn�t 100% sold on the idea of sharing a stage with two equally-gifted songwriters. But that�s EXACTLY what the Truckers� ethos has always been about. Like Teenage Fanclub, they have a share-and-share-alike kind of thing going on rather than being a platform for merely one person, like MOST bands (they even gave over CD-space, though admittedly not MUCH, to Rob Malone, whom Isbell would go on to replace� and HIS songs were SHIT!) Whatever, it obviously wasn�t an acrimonious falling-out because all but one of the Truckers make appearances on this, Isbell�s solo debut. Patterson Hood co-produces and contributes some piano and guitar, Brad Morgan provides drums and Shonna Tucker plays bass on almost every track (unsurprisingly, perhaps, as she is Isbell�s wife!) But ENOUGH of such tedious background info. This is a GREAT record, dipping it�s toe in many of the different bodies of water known as �Americana�, as Isbell has already MORE than proved he can do EXPERTLY. So, we�re treated to ballsy rockers (�Brand New Kind of Actress�, �Try�), soulful ballads (�Chicago Promenade�, �Hurricanes and Hand Grenades�) and tearful, old-and-sad-as-the-hills sounding laments (�In a Razor Town�, �The Devil is My Running Mate�). It�s a tough call, but possibly the finest song here is the gorgeous, anti-war �Dress Blues� which features some emotive pedal steel, female backing vocals and a telling reference to kids being sent off to fight in �somebody�s Hollywood war�.
FREEZER BURN � LOVE�S EXECUTIONER (SKRIBBLE) skribble-records.co.uk
Not many people understand the art of PRESENTATION these days. Now that everyone in the whole WORLD is online, why would anyone want to go out and actually BUY anything at ALL? Fancy hearing the latest shite Lily Allen track? Need some carrots for the dinner? No PROBLEM! A click of the mouse and it�s DONE, leaving you free to enjoy all the �leisure time� that your bosses kindly allow you each week. Thankfully, though, not ALL of us feel that way so it was a JOY to receive this beautifully-packaged (in brown paper wrapping and STRING, believe it or not!) CD from Skribble Records, a label who are �motivated by the success of Kill Rock Stars, Too Pure, Sub-Pop and Gringo Records, along with a similar ethics as the DIY riot grrrl movement in the 90s�. NOW YOU�RE TALKING! They even have loads of little love hearts with �d.i.y� inside them all over their press release! This is a label that obviously understands the sheer heart-fluttering THRILL of going out and buying a soon-to-be-treasurable 7inch single by a band as mysteriously exciting as Bikini Kill or Beat Happening, skipping home in the rain and vandalising a few butchers shops on the way. With song titles like �First I Check for a Pulse� and �Dealing With Your Mental Illness�, Freezer Burn provide some nice interplay between male/female vocals and shift effortlessly between fast-paced, jerky guitar thrills and ethereal, swirly keyboard dreaminess. While �Into Your Arms� and �RCV� may showcase some top Sonic Youth-style axe abuse, all of the band�s key elements come together perfectly on �No Persona�, the best track here, which you�ll never tire of playing if you adore lush piano tinklings, heartfelt vocals and warm guitar fuzz. However, �Answer Me� wins the prize for best lyrics. It starts off by asking �Why are you so fucking stupid?� before going on to state that �We�re all dead/We are the dead� and asserting that �Now your toys are gonna start playing with you� (and THAT�S kinda how I feel about the way the internet is going, if that wasn�t OBVIOUS from the opening sentences of this review). It ends on a positive note, though � �Take the wheel of the world and drive�.
JILL SOBULE � HAPPY TOWN (LAVA)
Finding this battered 1997 promo CD in a charity shop for �1.99 was something of a little miracle as I�d always wanted to find a particular song by Jill Sobule - the ONLY song I�d EVER heard by her, in fact - and it just HAPPENS to be on this disc! It�s called �Sold My Soul� and it�s a really beautiful thing, with acoustic guitar, pedal steel and a heartbreaking chorus of exquisite despair. Other noteworthy songs include the optimistic opener �Bitter� (�I don�t wanna get jaded, petrified and weighted�. Hey, GOOD LUCK with that, Jill!), the lovely �Barren Egg� and �Clever� (featuring MORE of that special pedal steel sound), the clarinet and flute-tastic �Half a Heart� and the poignant childhood memories of �Super 8�. The title track is ALSO pretty good. It rails against the Prozac-obsession of the mid/late 1990s, when it was hailed as a �wonder drug� that would keep everyone dozy and rosey-eyed enough to blithely accept ANYTHING the �Sinister World Government� (� Cathal Coughlan) threw at them. FUCK that! FUCK Prozac! Just watch one of Michael Jackson�s HILARIOUS 1980s semi-rape fantasy videos - where he�s trying to look all TOUGH and heterosexual and shit - and laugh your HEAD off! That�s exactly what I did the other day while drinking cider in the Bon Accord Alehouse after coming out of a semi-suicidal mental tale-spin. And then I pondered the serious subtext (ie: Mr Jackson quite obviously HATES women. What a PIECE OF SHIT!) �Soldiers of Christ� is a great protest song about the idiots who think that �Our Lord loves the unborn babies and the NRA� but �hates the liberals, the faggots and their friends� and, you know, there are PLENTY of people in the world who think like THAT. On a less positive note, Steve Earle adds some out-of-place and pointless vocals/guitar to �Love is Never Equal� and some of the tracks sound over-produced, no doubt in an attempt to appeal to 1997�s MTV-watching zombies who dug Alanis and Sheryl (because Lava Records was a FAKE INDIE, owned by a-Big-Corporation-who-shall-remain-nameless-in-order-not-to-sully-your-pretty-little-brains). Jill Sobule is BETTER than that, though, and the many good songs here PROVE it.
RICHARD HAWLEY � TONIGHT THE STREETS ARE OURS (MUTE)
This is the kind of single people USED to make. The loin-stirring A-side (okay, it�s a CD, but you know what I MEAN), with its timeless strings and echoey female backing vocals, conveys something of the sad beauty of urban Britain after dark (see also Tindersticks� �City Sickness� and The Smiths� �There is a Light That Never Goes Out�) while B-side �Vickers Road� gently yearns, in bittersweet and haunting fashion, for the long-lost locations and experiences of childhood (see also Morrissey�s �Late Night, Maudlin Street�), where mothers bake bread and �dodgy lads fresh out of prison� sell bottles of fizzy pop from vans.
ALEJANDRO ESCOVEDO � A MAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE (BLOODSHOT)
Stumbling upon an album you�ve been seeking out for YEARS is one of life�s great pleasures, if you happen to be a saddo like me. That�s something online shopping can NEVER hope to replicate, kiddies. True, I�ve seen this 2001 CD plenty of times before, but never for much less than �15. Well, THIS copy was only �3.99 from Avalanche and it ALWAYS feels better to support your local indie emporiums and say a big, loud �FUCK YOU� to the corporate whore palaces of Virgin/HMV, etc (even though it�s as futile as throwing a coin at a sheet of metal). Apart from the odd song on compilations, like the gorgeous �Pissed Off, 2am�, I�ve never heard a full-length album by this guy, who is something of a legend in the alt country scene. Featuring various members of Whiskeytown (including Mr. Ryan Adams himself) and Son Volt�s occasional pedal steel player, there are some truly stirring moments here, such as the open-highways-and-big-skies joys of �Rosalie�, �Rhapsody� and �Velvet Guitar�. Then there are songs like �Across the River�, �Follow You Down� and �About This Love� for those tear-in-your-beer moments. Alejandro�s cover paintings are great too. Here�s hoping I come across MORE cheap CDs of his very soon!
CATHAL COUGHLAN - BLACK RIVER FALLS (COOKING VINYL)
This is an album that�s proving difficult to track down (maybe ordering CDs on the �net is OCCASIONALLY worth it, I suppose�) but, luckily, a kindly soul has provided a cassette copy to tide me over until the REAL DEAL is in my hot, eager palms. Several tracks here are familiar from the �Pay Day� promo which was reviewed in the last issue � the towering �Officer Material� and sombre �Black River Falls� to name but two � but this is another Cathal Coughlan release simply OVERFLOWING with fantastic songs boasting some of the greatest lyrics you are EVER likely to hear. No kidding! It makes you wonder why most songwriters even BOTHER with their heard-it-all-a-trillion-times-before trite SHITE. Can KT fucking Tunstall write a line as good as �One night in Swansea, I held you/You were frisky from all that MDMA�? CAN she? Can James arsing Morrison write a song as SAD and BEAUTIFUL as �Dark Parlour� or �NC�? I SERIOUSLY fucking DOUBT it, and yet THESE pathetic TWATS are the ones whose ugly mugs are splashed over the papers day in, day out while Cathal Coughlan is, well, NOWHERE. On �Bacon Singer�, perhaps commenting on the days when he flirted with the pop mainstream (in Microdisney/Fatima Mansions) or perhaps on his career as a whole, he sums it up beautifully with the line �I was no Presley/Wrong kind of damaged�. Don�t forget that this is the man who, when supporting U2 sometime in the early 1990s, simulated buggering himself with a statue of the Virgin Mary. And can you IMAGINE Paolo cunting Nutini EVER doing ANYTHING as BRILLIANT as THAT?!?!
MANIC STREET PREACHERS � THEME FROM M.A.S.H. (SUICIDE IS PAINLESS)/
THE FATIMA MANSIONS � EVERYTHING I DO (I DO IT FOR YOU) (COLUMBIA)
Recently had some time to kill in Lanark on a wet Tuesday afternoon and, since there�s not much to do there except try to avoid the local hooligans, I decided to browse in the handful of charity shops and found this 1992 CD single for 99p in one of them. Quite an amazing find considering I�ve been looking for anything Cathal Coughlan related for a while now. His cover of the God-awful Bryan Adams mega-hit thankfully sounds NOTHING like the original. It�s weird as fuck, HILARIOUS and would no doubt REALLY piss off any Bryan fans who come into contact with it too. IDIOTS. The Manics track brings back nice memories of seeing them do it on �Top of the Pops� and going to one of their gigs around the same time at Glasgow�s Mayfair (before it changed its name to The Garage). There�s also an extra track called �Sleeping with the N.M.E.� which consists entirely of an argument between staff members of said music rag about whether or not to print colour pictures of Richey Manic�s infamous �4 REAL� self-mutilation incident. The voice of reason turns out to be James Brown (no, NOT the Godfather of Soul, but the guy who went on to edit �Loaded� mag) who simply states �You GOTTA print that! It�s rock �n� roll, innit?� Quite!
MICHAEL HURLEY � ANCESTRAL SWAMP (GNOMONSONG)
Went to see this guy play live about ten years ago and had the gig poster on my wall for a while afterwards. Can�t say I�ve ever heard any of his actual RECORDINGS though. Until now, that is. I didn�t buy this CD but it was accidentally left in my possession for a few days so I thought I may as well give it a listen. At first, these 11 songs of slightly skewed old-time Americana seem flat and uninspired, but repeated listening reveals an intriguing talent who comes across as a distant cousin of Seasick Steve or Townes Van Zandt (or, as the OWNER of this CD put it, Hank Williams and Roky Erickson) but is obviously every inch his own man. He HAS been at this music lark since the 1960s, after all! The brilliant artwork in the CD booklet makes me wonder if I still have those tasty colour postcards I used to get sent from Hurley�s mailing-list. There are some great songs here but �Lonesome Graveyard� and �When I Get Back Home� especially had me reaching for the �record� button. Naughty, but NICE!
SIGMATROPIC � SIXTEEN HAIKU & OTHER STORIES (TONGUE MASTER)
THE FATIMA MANSIONS � VALHALLA AVENUE (KITCHENWARE)
Woke around 8.35am, dying of thirst, so I got up for some water then lay around in bed for a while longer. Took a couple of bags of stuff to recycle with me when I left the flat then walked into town and was in the Hengler�s Circus at about 11am. Had a veggie breakfast, toast and coffee which I enjoyed immensely. Then I went and looked in a few shops. In Avalanche, I bought these two CDs for �3.99 each. The Sigmatropic one has people like Mark Eitzel, Edith Frost, Cat Power and Alejandro Escovedo singing songs based on the poetry of Nobel Laureate George Seferis. Arty, maaaan! And quite good. The Fatima Mansions one I�ve had on vinyl for years (it�s from 1992) but it�s nice having it on CD for ease of listening. Er, even though much of it is UNEASY listening, with tracks like �C?7/Breakfast with Bandog� and �Ray of Hope, Hoe of Rape� calling into question Mr. Coughlan�s mental health at the time of recording. There are some great songs though, like the storming singles �Evil Man�, �1000%� and the lovely �North Atlantic Wind� and �Purple Window�. The title track especially is FUCKING BRILLIANT. I saw Duglas from BMX Bandits in MonoRail, wearing his usual silly orange jeans. Bought a TV mag from Somerfield and went to the Crystal Palace just after 1 o�clock and had a cider, sitting upstairs. Read the Metro. Then I went to Eddie�s to get a birthday card for my mum, had a look in Missing and went for another cider in the Sir John Moore. Texted Erren to see if she fancied meeting up. She had to go to some Starbucks boot camp but said she�d meet me after that. So, I was on my way to the Goose when I noticed that Fopp in Union Street had reopened so I went in for a browse before going over the road to the pub for a third cider, sitting on a sofa watching �Deal or No Deal� with all the other LOSERS. Had a pint of Velvet in the Horseshoe after that. Said hello to Sharon and saw Drunken Eyes. Erren rang to say she�d got out early, so I finished my drink and went over to O�Henry�s to meet her. Her hubby and his strange mate then turned up so we all went to a rather nice (and expensive) pub in the Merchant City (near their flat) called the Red Lizard and sat around on sofas watching the football (well, me and Erren weren�t all that interested in it, really). Had three pints in there and then made my excuses and left before I had to buy ANOTHER round. Went and had a dump then bought samosas and cider from Sainsbury�s and got a subway back. Was in the flat at about 9.40pm. Drank and had to put music on headphones to drown out the noise of the alky party across the hall. It eventually ceased but resumed again at 3.30am!!!!! So, I had to put my headphones on AGAIN!!!!!! AAAARRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!
GIGS
LEATHERFACE � BANNERMAN�S, EDINBURGH, 15TH AUGUST 2007
Got up at 8.15am and had a runny shit. Felt stressed-out, paranoid and the like. Went out and hung around Byres Road for a while before going to Maryhill. Saw Craig in Tesco and FORCED myself to speak to him as I seemed to have built him up in my mind as some sort of super villain, like I eventually do with ALL my neighbours (because I�m a paranoid fucking IDIOT). At first, he seemed weird, like he was slightly out-of-practice at speaking with people (which maybe he IS?) but then I got him onto the subject of the dole and training schemes, etc, and he was OFF, with a piece of snot hanging from his nose the whole time. Eventually, I had to make my excuses and go to sign-on. I �got� a pleasant guy who looked like he was in an indie band. I�d never seen him working there before but he didn�t keep me too long, really. Posted a couple of things then walked into town. Had a coffee in the Ed Wylie and the nice Polish barmaid gave me a new collector's card. Walked about a bit then had a pint of Guinness in the Counting House. Was feeling okay 'til I saw (in the Metro) that LEATHERFACE were playing Bannerman's in Edinburgh later on. For the rest of the day, I was in a quandary about whether or not to go but eventually decided against it, considering the gig didn�t even START �til 9.30pm and there were two support bands and where would I stay and what if it sold out and Edinburgh is always crazily busy during the festival, etc. Still, I felt a bit shitty and unadventurous for not going. Also, I didn�t feel like
drinking and the idea of being in Bannerman's surrounded by loads of drunken punks and then having to wander the streets all night long just seemed like a REALLY bad idea. So, instead, I got chips and ate them sitting on some steps outside the closed Kelvingrove museum. Then I got some chocolate milk and reduced Danish pastries from Somerfield and was back in the flat at 6.35pm. My mum rang for a bit and I spent the night reading my thrilling TV mag and more of a book on anarcho-punk bands. Took three herbal sleeping pills and went to bed just before midnight. Rock �n� roll!
SONIC YOUTH � ABC, GLASGOW, 22ND AUGUST 2007
Woke around 8.05am and made some brekkie about half an hour later. It was sunny and hot for a change. Had a shower. Michael came in to put the fire on. I went next door a couple of times, as Maureen was down at �the flat� (i.e. where folk from the council liase with tenants) the 1st
time I was in. Mum texted me and then rang, sitting on Blackpool promenade, waiting for Agnes to bring some ice-cream. They had to be out of their room at 10 but left their cases in the hotel as their train wasn't �til 2. Hoovered the living room, brought coal in and got the bus at 11.40. The bus to Glasgow was quite busy. I played The Hold Steady on my walkman. Spent 15 minutes queuing up in the St Vincent Street post office. The woman asked me stupid shit like �Do you want it to get there tomorrow?� to which I very nearly replied, �Yeah, THAT'S why I'm sending it 1st class!� Then she asked if I wanted info about a credit card which they ALWAYS ask now. �No, thanks�, I said. �Have you already GOT one?� she cheerfully asked. �No, I just don't want any info.� �Oh, they're GREAT, if you're a good boy!� �Well, I'm NOT a good boy!� Fucking HELL! All that AGGRO just to POST something! Went and sat down by the river for a while and finished eating the grub I'd bought earlier. Went to Mono for about 2.20pm so I could browse the 2nd-hand CDs while waiting for Grant. After doing that, I got an ice-cold pint of Fosters (which seemed appropriate considering the sweltering temperature) and was just sitting down at a table outside when Grant and Dave L showed up. We had a few beers, sitting in the sun, which was nice apart from the odd wasp attack. I switched from Fosters to some continental beer that was very tasty indeed. Grant asked if I fancied going to see Sonic Youth later as he had Scott's ticket (he'd gone away on holiday in the same week he had planned on going to see 2 gigs!) Dave was unusually quiet for much of the time, as he got the shit kicked out of him at a Slint gig the other night. That kind of stuff�s ALWAYS happening at these ultra-violent post-rock shows! We moved inside after a while so Grant could have some grub and I could check out the crappy books they have for sale in the �dining area� of the bar. I had a few stray chips and also drank quite a lot of Dave's unwanted beer. Why let it go to waste? Then we walked leisurely to Sloan's, off Argyle Street, where we sat (inside) and then stood (out in the courtyard) with a couple from Carluke who I didn't know but who seemed nice. Then we went to the Brunswick Cellars and I decided to hide my anti-histamines (and various other LEGAL drugs I had in my bag) in my BOOTS rather than risk having them taken off me by the CUNT bouncers at the ABC. I bought the spare ticket for a tenner and seem to recall having a gin and tonic as well, though my mind could be playing tricks on me. Things got pretty hazy from then on. We went and saw Sonic Youth and it was fab. The best time I've seen them (possibly 'cos they did all of �Daydream Nation�). Lost track of my companions at some point so dunno if they saw the entire set, as they were getting the last train home, but I stayed �til the bitter end and walked home, ears ringing. My state of mind is perhaps best summed up by the text I sent Grant at 11.31pm, just before I got in. It read �Best over drug halo smart hole. Trink dug!� Eh?!
AFTERHOURS AT THE GOLDEN GATE LOUNGE
We�re waiting for him with baseball bats, masked up and in black combat gear. It�s 12.30am, half an hour past closing time, and we know he�ll soon be locking up for the night. The Golden Gate is in a quiet street, right next to a large clump of overgrown bushes that provide us with a perfect hiding place. A light rain falls but we can�t really feel it from where we�re crouching, amongst empty beer cans and used condoms. We pass a bottle of cheap supermarket sherry between us but I�m getting seriously nervous and, when I get nervous, my nose always starts running.
�Have you got a hanky?� I ask Terry.
�Yeah. Wait a minute,� he replies, reaching into his coat and pulling out a red linen handkerchief.
�It�s a bit BRIGHT, isn�t it?� I say, wiping my nose.
�That�s in case we need to mop up any blood!� he grins.
�I was reading something the other day about Bruce Springsteen,� I tell him. �You know how, on the cover of �Born in the USA�, he�s got a red hanky hanging out of his back pocket?�
�Yeah, but what the fuck�s THAT got to do with the price of fish?�
�No, listen. It was saying in this article that it�s supposed to be a sort of code. You know, among gays. If it�s a red hanky, it means that the guy likes anal sex. If it�s yellow, he likes pissing and all that. Crazy, eh?�
�Wait a minute, are you saying Bruce Springsteen likes to take it up the arse?�
�Well, I don�t know, do I? I�m just telling you what I was reading, that�s all.�
�Look, I seriously hope you�re not saying that the fucking BOSS likes taking it up the shitter��
�Fuck�s sake, man� I�m not saying ANYTHING. Oh God, look! There he is.�
In the doorway of the Golden Gate, silhouetted against a dim yellow street light, we see who we�ve been waiting for. He�s fumbling with some keys and looking around, nervously. Everyone who drinks in that place knows how much he hates the responsibility of locking up and being in charge of the bar takings. That�s why he only does it occasionally and why tonight HAD to be the night.
Ensuring no one else is around, we make our move. He doesn�t see us until we�re upon him, Terry going for his knees and me grabbing him by the throat before forcing a plastic bag over his head. He falls to the ground and starts making strange little whimpering sounds, like some kind of cornered animal. I have to stifle a laugh because I�ve always thought he looks like an overgrown weasel or rat. I grab the bag of money as Terry brings his bat down again, aiming for the head this time, causing his glasses to fly off and smash on the wet pavement. I notice some blood trickling from his nose and into the bristles of his little rat-like moustache. A passing car filled with laughing young men provides us with a soundtrack of thumping techno music.
�This is for LINDA!� Terry snarls, as he begins kicking the cowering, prostrate figure in the stomach.
�What the fuck are you DOING?� I yell. �Let�s GO! The guys in that car fucking SAW us!�
The abrupt horror of what we�ve just done sends us scuttling off into the darkness like cockroaches in a room suddenly flooded with light. All our sherry-emboldened bravery has vanished and now we�re high only on adrenaline and raw fear. We run until we�re breathless, until we�re collapsing in two crumpled heaps on the fold-down couch in Terry�s bedsit. We sit in silence for a while, listening out for the sound of sirens. Once I�ve regained my breath, I ask for a glass of something. Anything.
�Why the fuck did you have to mention Linda?� I ask, gulping down whiskey in an attempt to calm my shattered nerves.
�It�s not like I MEANT to. It just slipped out, I was so angry. I mean, how would YOU feel if someone had been screwing your wife behind your back for months?�
�I KNOW all that, man, and I�m SORRY but he�s going to know it was us now. You DO realise that, don�t you?�
�Shit, you think I DON�T?� Terry says as he paces the floor, whiskey bottle in hand. �Well, he�ll know it was ME, anyway.�
�He heard my voice as well, remember? God, we�re both FUCKED� What are we going to do?�
�Hide that money somewhere and just carry on as normal.�
�I don�t think I can go back there again. Not after this.�
�We�ve GOT to go back! How do you think it�ll look if we DON�T? We�ve been going there practically every day for the past YEAR. No, they won�t be able to prove anything. Not if we keep our cool.�
�Okay, I suppose you�re right.�
�It�ll all be okay. We�ll just walk in there tomorrow as usual. As if nothing�s happened.�
Terry pours me another drink and turns off the lamp. We both sit in silence, watching the headlights from passing cars spin across the nicotine-stained ceiling. My nose starts running again as, somewhere in the distance, a stray dog begins to howl.