ISSUE 5 � JULY 2005
THIS ISSUE WRITTEN BY MARK RITCHIE EXCEPT THE PIECES THAT WERE WRITTEN BY GARY SIMMONS.
CONTACT [email protected].. FOR A PAPER COPY. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO, BABY.
THE BEGINNING (OF THE END)..
Woke before my alarm went off.. at about 7.45am. Had a coffee. Put my suit on and my overcoat 'cos it was pissing down outside. Saw Craig as I was leaving the flat and he wished me good luck. He said 'Whenever I go for interviews, I feel really positive'. I told him I wished that I did. Got the subway to St Enoch and went to see exactly where the RHL office was in Waterloo St. Then I had a quiche from Greggs and walked about a bit in the rain. Went for my interview at 9.45am and loads of people were already there, filling in forms, which I had to do as well. Then, at 10, we were called into another room and all had to sit round a table (there were about 15 of us) while some woman told us all about RHL. She put us into pairs and we had to ask our partner questions about themselves and shit. I got this 19 year girl Lauren, who is at uni in Dundee. Then we had to tell the whole group about our partner. Then, we all had to wait till we got called for our individual interview.. some guy (the only one who I THINK may have been older than me.. everyone else was younger by a few years) went out 'to check on his car' and didn't come back. He'd left all his bank details and shit on the table.. so a few of us joked about that (his mobile went off about 3 times and the woman told him off). I was called LAST. Unbelievable. The guy who I saw started off by saying about how I was meant to go for an interview about a month ago and didn't show up. I explained that I'd phoned to cancel the appointment (which is true). Typical. He seemed pretty unfriendly. I had to do a maths and spelling test because I said I wanted to do customer service and, embarassingly, I couldn't even do half of the maths questions, so the guy started going on about how I'd be suited for their sales jobs and how all you do is read from a script, etc, and how a lot of guys 'your age' who've been out of work for a while really do well at it, etc, so I found myself saying I'd give it a go (I was just thinking, if I don't do this, the Wise Group will hound me into something ELSE)..So, I was out of there at about 11 and immediately rang my mum. I was in a bit of a daze. Asked her about where my FULL birth certificate was (they say they need the full one rather than the abbreviated one as ID.. that or a passport) but she said that was the only one she had. She called back 10 minutes or so later with the address of the Births, Deaths & Marriages place in Martha St, who would give me a copy of my full birth certificate for the
sum of �8.50. We also talked about this job thing and I vented my fears (many) and stuff, then I got a subway back to Kelvinbridge, went home and changed into my normal clothes. I rang Roz at the Wise group to arrange an appointment to sign off and all that jazz. Then I got a subway into town and eventually found Martha St (it's over the road from Strathclyde Union). I went in and was directed downstairs to the Records department. I had to take a numbered ticket and wait my turn. A woman and man were both in front of me and 'Loose Women' was on TV. I gave this woman behind a perspex window my abbreviated birth certificate and she went and got a copy of the FULL one. Went and sat in George Sq and rang mum a few times but got no answer. Got something to eat and bumped into Margaret, my old boss! She was coming out a shop just off Howard St. She's not been working 'cos she had breast cancer but got the all clear the other day. It was nice to see her and we chatted for about 10 minutes. I walked around a bit more and my mum rang me back (she had been for a walk with Agnes). I was in George Sq again, by this time. After that, I went to the Counting House for a pint. Some guy at the next table said to his 2 mates (quoting the Smiths), 'I was looking for a job and then I found a job and Heaven knows I'm miserable now'. I thought, how fucking apt. Then I went to the Horseshoe and had 3 pints while sitting at the bar. Then I went for a cider in Failte then a Harp lager ('cos they'd ran out of cider!) Went and bought 3 litres of Aston Manor and got a subway back. Was back at 7.20pm. Gary's letter was waiting for me and so were several CDs from Rob. I read Gary's letter while sitting on the window sill, drinking cider and listening to 'The Fitzgerald' by Richmond Fontaine. Then I watched some of this DVD Gary had sent about 9/11 which was interesting. Sat up till 1am watching Ricky Gervais' 'Politics' which was on Channel 4. Finished all the cider.
NON-FICTION EVICTION by Gary Simmons
I was in my room talking to mum. Sure, I WAS raising my voice, but not AT her. I�m a human, not a fuckin� Vulcan. My dad had come in from the garden, sunning his idiot self. He started yelling for me to stop shouting. He ruined EVERYTHING as I�d only just begun to talk to mum OK. I�d had a fuckin� NUFF and yelled back at him and just slammed my door as hard as I could and screamed �Why don�t you fuckin� drop dead!� and OTHER such pleasantries! And there I stayed, in my room, for about TWO days, not talking, not eating and only twice snuck out for water, unseen. I heard my mum say to herself, after dad had gone back into the garden, �You ARE a stupid old man�� coz I�d said something along those lines too, etc, etc. I pissed in my waste-bin and poured it out the window for loo facilities! I could hear most of what they said (sister too, when she came to do mum�s hair on the Tuesday) by putting my ear to the warm air vent! By Tuesday, at around 6-ish (I THINK), my dad gave up trying to get me to open the door. They thought I could be dead, and so he started to drill around the lock like some version of �The Shining�! It was fuckin� surreal watching AND hearing a drill bit comin� through my door! I barracaded the door with my bed frame and drawers and stuff. When daddy DID get a hole (about 9� square), he put in a mirror to try and locate me. I was in the bed staring, as if comatose, at him. He made non-stop idiotic cocky remarks, as is his irritating way.. like it�s some kinda JOKE! Then he put a disposable camera in to photograph me in my pitiful state. He did it a second time, but I just stuck my fingers up! He couldn�t actually SEE me himself via the camera, just a hand in through the hole and pressing the shutter in my general direction. Next he managed, after some good time, to get past the barracade. I didn�t try to stop him. When the door finally opened I was laying in front of my mirror doors, naked, hair all over my face and erotically stroking my body. I don�t REALLY know why I did this. Maybe to shock (it WORKED!), maybe to get into a mental hospital (thus avoiding Pelcombe), maybe to get back at cunt dad for slagging off my writing and �filth� (posters on my wall, etc). Dad saw me, him all bewildered, yet still the cocky old fuck, and said to my poor mum �It�s obviously a sexual thing�. Mum saw my dick (small and shrivelled.. I was NOT horny!) for thee first time since I was a small boy, I THINK! Cut it short, dad made umpteen phone calls to doctor and stuff and, at fuckin� LAST, �they� arrived. I was in my bed by this time. I had planned on saying to the team of psychiatrists, �Good evening, gentlemen, I�ve been waiting my entire life for you�.. all melodramatic like! But.. I didn�t actually GET a team of sectioning psychiatrists. I got THREE police officers in my room, two male and a female, and two ambulance guys in green paramedic outfits. I was in bed. I kept my hands out so they could see I didn�t have a weapon.. I�d already hidden the knife. I just said �Good evening, gentlemen� and was pretty normal to them. The police were impressed by my room. �Space 1999� one said! I was asked to dress and go with the ambulance guys. I got my boots from the lean-to by the kitchen. I told the police, who were quite friendly, that I did the whole kitchen myself.. my dad started being sarcastic to me.. �Yeah, he�s SO fantastic, he�s �the real thing��. I said �Why don�t you shut up, DAD!?� He�s such a cunt to me, his only son. About how I should �take a look in the mirror� and shit! So, off I go, quite amiably, with the ambulance men. There were two police vehicles outside the house too! I�m sooo important! So dangerous. So fuckin� mad! I thought I was gonna be taken to St Georges, past Ilford, coz that�s what I heard dad saying on the phone but, blow me down, I ended up in Whipps-fuckin-Cross A & E!! I was confused. I just sat there OUTSIDE a cubicle for ages whilst sad and sorry stated people were wheeled about in beds and shit. I texted some people. M came within an hour!! She came to save the bear. I was given a cubicle eventually and had blood taken. Oh, forgot.. before M came, my beloved parents came. I was screaming at mum to get dad AWAY from me!!! I made a scene but wasn�t sedated or straight-jacketed! Mum gave me a bag of pants and T-shirts and they went. Or did I TELL them to go? Can�t recall. So, after 2 or 2 � hours there and having a right old laugh with M, a middle-aged DRUNK (coz he smelt of booze!) doctor came to talk to me and asked a few questions and we had quite a nice short talk about me, me, me, me, ME!! He said that he can�t see anything wrong with me but would get a psychiatrist if I wanted! I said �Sure� and �How long will that be?� �An hour or so�. MORE waiting. That�s MY experience of the NHS and hospital time in general. So, we waited. And waited. Then, in comes black psychiatrist �Doctor Dolphin� (I kid thee not!) and he was all white-teeth-a�grinning and asked �Now, what�s the trouble?� I told him an outline and, as the first doctor had suggested, we agreed that it was a DOMESTIC problem, not a psychiatric one. I can�t even get myself fuckin� SECTIONED!! It would have been FUN! It actually turned out, I discovered much later, that the �authorities� fucked-up and that there SHOULD have been a team of psychiatrists dan moi boudoir!! IDIOTS!! No one in THIS useless fuckin� cunt-ry can do ANYTHING right!! I SHOULD have gone to that other hospital, past Ilford, but it all got cocked up. No WONDER there�s so many nutters on the street killing, raping and causing grief for every innocent fucker! And so.. I was set free! Let loose on society once more.. after about 5 hours. What a complete waste of time and effort (and my bedroom door) THAT was. AND my bed-frame got drilled through too. It�s from Ikea, THAT one! So, I phoned home from the hospital and spoke to mum. She would not (or could not) believe I�d been set FREE! Dad was screaming in the background that I�m not to go there and that I CAN�T come and collect my stuff and that I should ��Ave a bad night! �Ave a bad night!� which has since become a fave saying of M �n� me! ��Ave a bad nooiigghhtt!!� and also ��Ave a BNP noight!!� So, M and I had to leave Whipps Cross hospital and get buses to HER place. My mum and dad have not spoken to me since. I am not allowed NEAR the house, let alone IN it. Good job I didn�t kill someone. Or rape. Or abuse kids. Or burgle. Or rob!!!! What the fuck DID I do to deserve THIS? Being a �weirdo� and writing �shit�!! THAT�S what!! Oh, AND being a total failure coz I have achieved NOTHING! Well, �thanks mum, thanks dad.. I�ll see you in HELL!!� (Helmet? Poison Idea?? Can�t recall). I got M to post a list in the door of stuff I needed. It was dark yet my cunt father STILL thought that �It was a man�! What a fuck-wad! It was M!! I was by the postbox, up the road. CUNT. My mum and sis packed my eee-sen-shalls into my case but now I have to POST the fuckin� 2nd list coz now M ain�t allowed to do THAT even!! She picked my case up by phoning from Snaresbrook station and daddy-poos left it behind the car for her to collect. I STILL ain�t got the stuff from my 2nd list. Even my sis was surprised by that.. IF she ain�t PRETENDING to be surprised. How can I trust her?? M called mum on Friday who said SHE�D pack my stuff for Mundane but we�ve STILL not heard when it�s �convenient� to get it. My dad is doing a Malcolm Maclaren by being totally pig-headed and obstreperous! He also threatened to smash and burn my records. This was when he was wishing us �a bad niiiigggghhhttt!!� Well, if he DOES carry out THAT threat then I think you know what kind of reaction I�m gonna be compelled to go for.. My records are my life. 30 plus years of collecting.. 32 I THINK! I shall not be ree-spons-ib-ball for bear�s actions. If they DO survive I�m gonna arrange a will so that they get left to M. I�ve told her how to treat them.. during a drunken walk from the British Museum to the Devonshire Arms!! Tears in bear�s eyes too, you should know.
CDs
GARE RAMA � FREE (SELF-RELEASED) www.garerama.com
Gary Pearson is in a band called Bloco Vomit, who are really big in Brazil. Maybe it�s the combination of punk rock and salsa or maybe it�s some other mysterious reason, but it�s a FACT, nonetheless. Gary�s solo project � Gare Rama � couldn�t be more different from punk rock (OR salsa, for that matter). Despite looking scarily like John Lydon on the cover (thankfully, he doesn�t ACT like the sad old sell-out twat), Gary�s current CD zooms past the junction called Punk and heads for more satisfying destinations.. such as Psychedelic Whimsy and Angst-ridden Sad-core. Tracks like �Winter Song� and �Waiting for Death to Arrive� (my personal fave) kiss the wet nose of melancholy, while others (I�m thinking of �GW Etc� and �Mindphuck� here) ring the doorbell of Rock and then run away laughing. �Freak Out!� even skips merrily down Potential Pop Hit Lane while, on �Another Barrel�, Gary gets all political in a nice acoustic troubadour stylee. What MORE do you want, you hard-to-please cold, hungry masses? You should also give Gare Rama your attention because the man is a Genuinely Nice Person and they�re hard to find in music. Or anywhere else. Call out �Gare Rama� � be happy!
RICHMOND FONTAINE � OBLITERATION BY TIME (NEW RECORDINGS OF OLD FAVORITES)
(EL CORTEZ) www.richmondfontaine.com
Didn�t review this last issue because I was wary of reaching Richmond Fontaine overload (if there can ever BE such a thing with a band this awesomely special). Purchased from main RF man himself, Willy Vlautin, at their May gig in Glasgow (see review, last issue), this CD is indeed �new recordings� of old songs from the band�s first two, hard to find, albums plus some other unreleased gems thrown in too. It�s usually ALWAYS a mistake for someone to re-record their old classics (think of all those crappy LPs you see in charity shops by the likes of Neil Diamond, etc, murdering their own back catalogues by trying to modernise the songs). BUT, against all the odds (and Willy Vlautin IS a big betting man) the versions on this CD are actually BETTER then the originals! It could be because Richmond Fontaine are just a far, far better band now than they were back in the mid-1990s. They�ve had a decade to subtly re-interpret their songs and can now squeeze every ounce of drama out of them. Just listen to the majestic, sad strains of �Settle� and you should be instantly convinced. Where the original (from their debut album �Safety�) was GOOD, the performance always felt somewhat lacking, as if it were rushed somehow. This new version, however, while only being very subtly different, is a million times better and lets the utter desolate beauty of the song shine through. The two unreleased original songs are �Song for Dead Moon� (an ode to an obscure Portland band, a theme they�ve continued in the much-bootlegged newie, �The Gits�) and �Chinatown� (a lovely lament of a tune, which includes yet another classic Willy Vlautin lyric). They also offer up a cover of Husker Du�s �Pink Turns to Blue�, which has Dave the bassist singing. Richmond Fontaine are just so much more sure of themselves these days � as they should be (maybe the endless touring and massive cult status in Europe has helped a little!) - and this CD proves it. Buy it from their website or at one of their truly unmissable live shows.
PERNICE BROTHERS � DISCOVER A LOVELIER YOU (ASHMONT) www.pernicebrothers.com
For the past few days. there�s been a drunk guy lying on the bridge near where I live. It�s not somewhere you usually see �that kind of thing� and it struck me as very odd until my mate Jamie said �It�s probably some poncy art installation or something�. The other morning, the guy (who always has a litre bottle of Pulse cider by his side) appeared to be �singing� the Travis song �Driftwood�. So, after navigating my way round this new addition to the neighbourhood, I happened upon the new Pernice Brothers release in Fopp on Byres Road for a cool tenner. I snapped it up, along with some tofu burgers and rolls for my sad lunch break (which has, so far, consisted of daily 20-minute walks around Ibrox Stadium in the sunshine). There are some, ahem, LOVELY moments on this disc (and some truly great song titles too � �Saddest Quo�, �Sell Your Hair�, �My So-Called Celibate Life�, �Pisshole in the Snow�). Joe Pernice seems to be going in a more poppy direction these days (although there are more mellow, Scud Mountain Boys-esque releases rumoured to be coming soon), which isn�t a bad thing, especially with the kind of gorgeous sunny weather the UK has amazingly been enjoying recently (yeah, and I�m stuck inside a windowless room for 8 hours a fucking day. Typical!) As with Teenage Fanclub (a band Mr Pernice has expressed great admiration for in the past), there are similarities to a lot of these songs which only makes them even more charming, somehow. No mean feat. Then, of course, there�s the ever-present melancholy streak running throughout every song, which is apparent in the lyrics and aching quality of the vocal delivery. The only surprise here is that the title track is an instrumental which sounds a bit like Nick Heywards �Much Too Late for Goodbyes�!! But who needs surprises when you�ve got yet another classic CD from Joe Pernice?!
MISS ATLANTA � DEMO www.myspace.com/missatlantamusic
Caught the 8.38am train from Partick to Lanark. The cunt who was driving the Blue Bus drove off as soon as the train pulled into the station so I had about 20 minutes or so to kill, so I went into Somerfield and bought a jar of korma sauce. Got the 10.15 bus home and made some noodles and listened to Jonathan Ross on Radio 2. Checked my emails. Live 8 started at 1pm. I spent most of the day watching it. Highlights included Pete Doherty�s bizarre appearance with Elton John (what a charisma-free zone Doherty is. It still amazes me how so many people are reduced to gibbering doe-eyed wrecks when speaking his name. His vocals on �Children of the Revolution� were barely-audible-karaoke-singer piss poor), REM (despite Stipe�s stupid blue face make-up and the fact that one of their songs was cut short by some BBC bint �interviewing� two twats from Razorlight), Snoop Dogg�s set (which included an unbelievable amount of �motherfuckers� considering it was going out live on BBC1 at 6.40pm!), the Killers (anthemic rock performed in nice white suits) and Brian Wilson (who doesn�t seem to actually sing OR play very much during his live sets � his role is more that of musical genius/conductor, which is fair enough, I suppose). After so many hours spent in the company of soooo many global superstars, I felt like �keeping it real� a bit, so I stuck this little old CDR on. Miss Atlanta are a Glasgow band, one of whom just HAPPENS to be one of my new work-mates (quite a few of whom are surprisingly nice � why does it ALWAYS amaze me when people turn out to be OK?!) and they make a noise not dissimilar to Laibach and Nine Inch Nails and THOSE sort of people. Y�know, kind of serious, heads-down, thumbs-up industrial wasteland �Blade Runner� landscape sound paintings overlaid with earnest vocals and random dreamy bleeps and burps and tweedle-dums and tweedle-dees. No tracklisting for THIS lacklustre reviewer, so I can only fumble my way through this disc in semi-darkness, hoping that I don�t trip over anything. Track 3 is nice when it gets all quiet and then builds into an angry bee-swarm of torrential ROCK. It�s a lot better than the fucking Scissor Sisters (who happened to be on TV when I was playing this � am I the only one who�s noticed that they TOTALLY ripped off Husker Du�s logo? They should be shot for that ALONE, as well as for being totally fucking pish). Tracks 4 and 5 are EVEN NICER, �cos they�re mostly mellow and lay off on the �industrial� shit which I�m not too keen on, to be perfectly honest. They�re sort of Joy Division meets Cocteau Twins in a dimly lit dive-bar in Berlin before the wall fell. Very 80s, which of course is VERY �in� at the moment. The 80s were SHIT, people, but SOME decent music WAS made, and these tracks (especially track 4) would have fitted in nicely at the imaginary indie disco me and my friends had every weekend during those bleak, bleak years. Visit their website and download these tracks onto your posh iPod, you groovy young thing, you.
GIGS
THE AVENGERS � CAMDEN UNDERWORLD, LONDON, 21ST MAY 2005 by Gary Simmons
Fuck!! What a day and night THAT was!! We went to an internet �caf� and checked out TV�s site, space sites and GIAG and Bukkake, then got cider in Drainslairies and some grub and TRIED to eat and drink outside the British Museum. But� it pissed down so we ended up in Virgin, drinking our 4 litres of cider!! Then we got the bus to Camden, bumped into Ron, the 25 year old Israeli Boy George look-a-like and I got drinks in the Dev (pint of Fosters, Red bloody BULL and tap water = �5.05!!) Fuck, I was so pissed it�s all a�hazy now! But then we went to the Underworld and I got 2 X Avengers T-shirts (me and M) for �15� normally �8 each, a �multi-buy�! No badges, but the guy later just came up to me and GAVE me one!! (Er, a BADGE, not a right large portion of king prawn!!). In SOME order, these are the highlights: Got �chatted up� by a 16 year old cute-as-a-mouth-fuck punkette and her quiet 17 year old mate, M got jealous, saw THREE support bands who�s names I forgot but the first two were good. The guitarist of one gave me his pick (PICK.. not prick!!) Booby Trap, I think they were called. Spoke to some Japanese guy about bands and shitty UK food! He saw me at the TV gig! The Avengers were outstanding. Penelope is one of the few women of bear�s age he could shag� if only!! I was on the stage by the monitor speaker on the right, on bear�s knees, singin� and a worshipping. M was in the front middle going wild!! Later I spoke to fuckin� LOADS of people, mostly Yanks. They�re GREAT!! One guy, Chris Constable (coz he gave me his card) is the new Magic Band�s (WITHOUT Mr. Beefheart) sound engineer! (www.noexitrecords.com). I spoke to the 2nd band�s guitarist too in the Worlds End, which is where we are thrown out to after the Underworld shuts. I was talking more to �my� teen girls, Lola (oooh, almost Lolita!!) and Kat!! Yum, yum, fuck-ing YUM!! God, they were dee-syre-abe-ball!! Penelope was leaving with the band so I shook her hand and said �I�ve been into your band 25 years�. She said �You seemed to know all the lyrics� (I DON�T!!) I said �Welcome to London� and they went off into the busy Camden night. Somehow Ron turned up again so, coz of M�s curiosity, we went to hi squat in Archway� it�s like the disused theatre at the start of �ClockWork Orange�.. but no Vonny, stinking Billy Boy and his droogs!! Everyone was going to some RAVE in Islington (!) so we three walked fuckin� miles. Ron got us in for free (�5 saved!!) and we sat about this big other old place talking. M was looking dog-tired so we went at about 3.30ish� loooong walk back to Archway. Ron does NOT stop fuckin� talking!! I guess he trusts me or something� what an interesting life, punk gigs in Israel, psychologist at six years old, living in London squats� amazing guy!! Got the N20 bus to M�s and crashed out at 5ish!! I thought I�d never get out of bed again but here I am, quite sober, surprisingly.. I stole people�s (who DESERVED it!) beer and stuff, like the SCUM I�ve become. M made cous-cous and fed me and we slept. She�s still in bed. I had a big shit and it�s a little bit sunny out. How�s THAT for a night? Nice one!! www.psychedelicsoundforce.co.uk for the �rave� people� my first rave, but I just sat around and spoke. I didn�t DANCE!!
LOU BARLOW- KING TUT�S WAH WAH HUT, GLASGOW, 30TH MAY 2005
Woke at 8.45am. Slept better than the previous 2 nights. Don't know if that's 'cos I had my 2 old pillows back (mum had bought new ones the other day). Made noodles and read the paper while eating and trying to ignore 'Will & Grace' which was on TV. It was sunny! Amazing for a bank holiday! Had a shower at about 10. Jim next door was putting up a new fence and said hello to me when I was coming back from saying bye to Moira & Michael. Got a bus to Lanark at 12.45 or so. Had to walk up Lanark High St 'cos I'd have missed the train otherwise. When I got back to Glasgow, I got a birthday card for Luke and a book of Dave Eggers short stories for Andrew's birthday then went to the Horseshoe for 3.15pm. There was football on TV so it was quite busy and Drunken Eyes was in, dressed in 'summer' gear! Had one pint then went to the Counting House for another. Then I went to the Auctioneers, which was also busy and full of football watchers. Only had one pint there 'cos no one I knew was in. Left at 5.10pm and went to Failte for 3 ciders. Rang Dave to see if he was going to see Lou Barlow tonight but he wasn't. Went into King Tuts and saw Alan. He said Grant would be in later on, so I went to the Brunswick Cellars and had a couple of pints of Miller in the candlelight. Then I went back to Tuts and met up with Grant. He said he�d been to see John Martyn last week, which made me jealous. I asked if he (J. Martyn) had been drunk and Grant said �Of course!� We went upstairs and listened to the, rather good, support act (some solo woman). Lou played for about 2 � hours and was using one of those pedals where you play something and it repeats on a loop. I called out for 'Freak Scene', which got a laugh and prompted a funny anecdote about J. Mascis. Highlights included 'Love is Stronger', that new song about the cat and, of course, 'Brand New Love'. Afterwards, we went back to the downstairs bar and I had a final pint of cider. Grant was staying at Alan's, so I walked home alone. Was back at 1am.
MARK EITZEL � THE VENUE, EDINBURGH, 31ST MAY 2005
Two gigs in two consecutive nights! Just like I�m 16 again (cue Buzzcocks song). Had a coffee, watched 'The Wright Stuff', etc. The usual routine. Got ready and walked into town. Got a sandwich, a can of Diet Irn Bru and some crisps and hopped on the 12.45 train to Edinburgh. Just made it. It was a lovely day, all
sunny and nice. I enjoyed the scenery and ate my lunch on the train. Got into Waverley station about 50 minutes later and went to Vinyl Villains for a browse. Immediately saw (and bought) 'Pleased to Meet Me' by The Replacements and saw a GG Allin CD called 'Res-Erected' for �7.99 but I didn't buy THAT. The cover pic was good (GG rising from the grave!) After that, I got some chips (with 'salt and sauce', the old Edinbugger tradition) and ate some of them sitting on a step but I was too full so didn't eat them all. Went for a pint in an OK pub called The Conan Doyle and scribbled a postcard to Maggie and Gary in London town. Read the Metro. Went round some other shops (Fopp, HMV, Virgin, Waterstones, etc) and ended up in The Standing Order. Maureen phoned me and asked if I was in Edinburgh and OK. I told her I was. Susan sent me a text about meeting for a drink later but, obviously, I couldn't! Had a pint in there and then went to The Black Bull for another. Then I finally posted that postcard and Luke's birthday card (took me ages to find a postbox). Was starving by this time so I went to McDonalds and got a Quorn burger, chips and Coke and ate them on a bench in the street. First time I'd been to McDonalds in almost a year, probably. Then I went to The Guildford Arms at 6.30pm (where I'd arranged to meet Gary Pearson - we'd had a few phone calls during the day to arrange it). It was a nice pub which had a revolving door. Gary showed up at 7. It was �2.50 for a pint of Tennents lager! Outrageous! Gary got me a pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord next (THAT was �2.70!) That's what Madonna drinks! We had a good old chat about music and shit then his mate showed up. Can't remember her name. I had a cider.. really mixing my drinks! We went to The Venue not long before 9 and the support band � the truly awfully monikered Gnome and the Volcano - were on. While we were getting drinks at the bar, Scot from Glasgow said hello. He'd driven there with his friend and so we chatted for a while. He remarked that the band on stage reminded him of Pearl Jam and World Domination Enterprises which they did! They didn�t offer me a lift back to Glasgow, though, the cunts! Me and Gary and what�s-her-name went down the front for Eitzel's set. He appeared at the side of the stage in a WHITE woolly hat then came on, hat-less, to thunderous applause. Then he had to run backstage for his cables, as he hadn't expected to start his set so soon. The set began with 'Outside This Bar' which fucking blew me away, then he did an amazing cover of 'Heart and Soul' by Joy Division. At this point, Gary's friend started to loudly sing along, in a sort of annoying, Enya-style voice. I tried to ignore it and stuff (can't believe Eitzel wasn't put off by it) but I eventually snapped when she was doing it all the way through a BRILLIANT new song called 'St Michael'. So (after the song had finished), I said to her 'Do you have Tourette's Syndrome or something? Why don't you shut the fuck up?!' then I went and stood elsewhere, so I wouldn't hear her anymore. It really put me in a bad mood but I still managed to enjoy the rest of Eitzel�s set. He did another great new song too and ended on 'Johnny Mathis' Feet'. I then literally RAN out of the door and across the road to the train station. Got talking to a guy who had done the same thing - about how great the gig was, etc. He'd also been to see Eitzel in Sleazys back in 1996 (which I was at as well). Just made the 11pm train. Felt bad about what had happened with Gary's friend so I sent him a text (and I also sent one to Gary in London). Back in Glasgow at midnight and I didn't feel like waiting ages for a night bus so I walked back. Stopped into Spar on Great Western Road for a pasty, some crisps and a TV mag and some Scottish radio station was playing Sonic Youth! They had JUST played Nirvana and Pixies too! Was back in my room at 12.55. Opened a parcel from Simon Morris which included a load of Hobs CDs and a letter. Went to bed at about 1.30am.
DVD
CONFRONTING THE EVIDENCE : A CALL TO REOPEN THE 9/11 INVESTIGATION
www.ReOpen911.org / PO Box 3871, Santa Barbara, CA 93130, USA
Lots of earnest Americans spewing the usual (but true) stuff about Sadaam having no WMDs, etc. So far, so Michael Moore.. but this gets interesting when it mentions that the CIA warned, post 9/11, that invading Iraq would only make terrorism WORSE! But the makers of this non-copyright DVD ALSO believe that the WTC/Pentagon destruction was caused primarily by explosives rather than aircraft (and they put forward a very convincing argument for this). There are wistful images of the heroes of the day, accompanied by crappy pan-pipe music and, yeah, it�s all very moving but no more so than the images of orphaned Iraqi kids scavenging amongst the rubble of their towns after they�d been decimated by bombs (and not just US bombs, either. Thanks to Tony Blair, the UK played more than a small part in the destruction too). Then it�s all a FULL LENGTH, 3 HOUR long, rather dull (but worthy) lecture by various important folks (including �St Elsewhere� star Ed Begley Jr!) You�re a better person than me if you manage to sit through this whole DVD. I got to 45 minutes and gave up.. but I learned quite a few things in those 45 minutes.. such as, how toxic material from the 9/11 blasts remained in people�s homes and offices for months after the attacks (the US government lied about this and said there was no danger).. there was no plane wreckage found after the Pentagon attack, VERY STRANGE, considering it was supposed to have been hit head on by a plane (also the hole left was FAR too small to have been caused by a plane).. only one security camera was trained on the Pentagon and did not capture the �plane� hitting the building (and federal officers confiscated the security footage filmed by a local gas station whose camera was trained on the exact spot where the explosion took place). The footage of the planes hitting the WTC is slowed down and you can clearly see flashes of light coming from the planes just BEFORE they hit the building. This is shown from different angles, to prove that it isn�t a trick of the light. It is alleged that these flashes are explosives being detonated from INSIDE the towers. There�s LOTS of interesting stuff like this on the DVD, so get a copy if you�re into conspiracy theories OR if, like me, you think that we�re being LIED to by people in power.
POETRY
Leafed through the pages there are people out there who say
for inspiration, �it�s only pretentious shits that write poetry�,
but I only found empty vessels but when the pain inside gets this bad,
where words should have been. what else is there to do (except die)?
So I closed the book i wish that i�d never learned how it feels
and tried to sleep. to be this alone.
But emptiness filled the room, i wish that I�d never taken that first step
floated around my bed like into the mouth of the flames.
a cloud of locusts but now it�s too late.
waiting to descend and can�t regret what i�ve done or said.
bring plague and famine. can�t do a thing but move forward,
I could not sleep. deeper into the flames,
So I walked around the room, hoping that i�ll maybe see a way out.
trying to ignore my everything comes full circle,
tremulous mental state. everything reverts back to nothing.
I touched my skin. i was sad then happy then sad again.
How soft it felt. so it shall always be.
How soft and warm. i can�t complain.
And then I decided that just fill my head with books and songs
there was more to inspire me and, maybe, forget about all this shit
in my own body until some other night.
than I could ever find I books. yeah � let�s leave it for another time.
But sometimes that isn�t enough. let�s save our tears for a time when we�ll
So that�s why I read. REALLY need them.
The invisible web stretches out across the world.
Sometimes it glistens in the light,
but mostly remains unseen.
It is everywhere we go:
In pubs, on buses,
on airplanes and in cars.
It does not discriminate between black or white,
rich or poor, straight or gay.
It ensnares us all,
day and night,
drunk and sober,
man and woman.
We are all spider meat.
Abbey Road
Rob would come round to my flat regularly. Usually in the late morning or early afternoon and always with a bottle or half bottle of whiskey. He was usually drunk when he arrived. He�d sit on the radiator by the window and tell me about how his marriage was killing him, how he could no longer cope with the responsibilities it placed on him.
This particular day Rob came to visit earlier than usual. I had just woken up and was still feeling fragile from the previous night.
�I�m supposed to have a lecture at 9 but I couldn�t face it.�
�So you thought you�d come and annoy me instead?�
�Yeah,� he laughed. �Sorry.�
He pulled a bottle from his bag as I finished making my breakfast.
�Want something to eat?�
�Nah, I�m okay with this, thanks.�
I could tell he just wanted to drink and talk, and to try and persuade me to drink as well.
�It�s not real, my marriage. We got hitched at 19, for Christ�s sake. I thought it�d make me grow up. That�s why we had kids. I thought being a dad would make me a man but did it fuck. I�m sick of it. All the lies I have to tell every day, just to get by. I just feel like running away from it, all the time.�
�Why don�t you then?� I asked, fried egg dripping down my chin.
�Where would I go? Back home to my mum? Nah, it wouldn�t work. I can�t run away. There�s nowhere to go.�
Rob took another drink from his bottle.
�At least I�ve still got mates like you. And I�ve got uni. That�s something. I�d go mad stuck in that house 24 hours a day.�
I never knew what to say when Rob started talking like this. I always tried to think of some advice to give but what did I know? I would merely smile and nod in the hope that he just wanted someone to listen.
�I mean, you�ve met my wife. I love her and I love my kids but I can�t cope with it. I just can�t play the daddy anymore. It�s not me.�
�What�s �you�, then?�
�I don�t fucking KNOW!� he laughed. �I wish I did!�
�Do you ever think about killing yourself?� I asked.
�Every day.�
�Do you want to do it? We could go away somewhere and get wasted and jump off a bridge into the sea.�
I was partly trying to make Rob realise that his life wasn�t actually THAT bad, but another part of me was quite serious. He seemed to like the idea.
�Let�s do it!� he said, jumping off the radiator where he had been perched, as if practicing for the proposed suicide leap. Seeming suddenly fired-up, he began to pace the floor.
�Where could we go?� he asked.
But I had changed my mind. I threw the rest of my breakfast into the bin and asked Rob for a drink of his whiskey. We had forgotten the suicide idea in about 10 minutes.
It was hours later when we finally ventured outside and we were both very drunk. We spent the evening in an alcoholic fog of laughter and idle banter with strangers in a nearby pub.
I had known Rob was gay for a long time. At first I wondered if it was just a part of his mildly pretentious �bohemian writer� act but then I realised there was more to it than that. It wasn�t simply the fact that he pointed out guys whose physiques he admired, it was more his look of despair when he told me that he had trapped himself in a lifestyle to which he felt he could not conform. He�d speak about the impossibility of his situation and how the only solution was to run away or commit suicide. Then he would tell me how he was too much of a coward to actually do either of those things.
The next day we were woken by the sound of loud shouting. My lunatic neighbour�s crazy girlfriend had come round bright and early to scream at him, letting everyone in the building know that he was �a fucking rapist bastard�. He called the police and informed them she was insane, a paranoid schizophrenic, and asked them to remove her from the premises.
Rob and I were too scared to leave my room even though we both needed to go to the toilet across the landing. They were all out there, my mad neighbour and his mad girlfriend and two policemen. So we ended up pissing in an empty bottle and then Rob continued drinking the remains of his whiskey.
I got up and started to tidy the room, picking up the empty bottles (plus the one now filled with piss) and the half-eaten sausage supper from the night before. I put some music on as Rob sat on the bed with his whiskey. As he drank, he became progressively more maudlin, until his face was like some sort of death mask. I found this incredibly annoying.
�You know, all I want to do is live my life. I can�t be what she wants me to be. It�s too much.�
I was bored with him and wanted him to leave. I knew he was depressed and confused and unhappy but I couldn�t cope with it first thing in the morning.
�Every time you take another drink you get worse and worse,� I told him.
He knew it.
I had to get out so I told Rob I was going to the supermarket. He gave me some money to buy him cigarettes and I left him lying on my bed listening to the Beatles� �Abbey Road� LP.
It was good to be out in the fresh morning air after being cooped up in my stuffy room, which always smelled worse when Rob was there with his cigarettes. I felt a little better as I walked down the road, knowing that I�d soon be eating breakfast.
I avoided the supermarket as it was always far too busy for my liking, especially when I was hungover. Instead, I went into a little nearby shop and bought myself a Pot Noodle and Rob�s cigarettes. He�d also asked me to get him another bottle but I�d refused. I didn�t want him there all day.
When I returned to my flat 20 minutes or so later, the door was half open. I walked in and saw that the curtains were now drawn and Rob was lying face down on the bed. The Beatles record was still playing.
I filled the kettle with water and switched it on to make my Pot Noodle. As I waited for it to boil, I noticed that Rob had finished the whiskey. This wasn�t a surprise. What WAS a surprise was the bottle of pills on the table. There were several little pink pills scattered on the table top and on the floor. Then I noticed a piece of paper beside the bed so I read it:
�I�m sorry it had to be here. See you later, pal. Rob.�
The floor seemed to fall away from underneath me when it struck me what he had done. I looked at him lying on the bed. He wasn�t moving. The kettle began to whistle.