Wednesday, August 29, 2018
mutton dressed as lamb dressed as peacocks for the ball
mutton dressed as lamb dressed as peacocks for the ball
i sometimes dj at a club night in a kinda posh kinda scummy lahhndaahhn town. last night this girl came up to the booth and says; "dyou know about indie rock then?"
i was like, "yeh, i guess i do" so she said, can you play that sex on fire song.
no, says i, i dont have it and its rubbish. she looks a bit peeved but goes away and carries on dancing, then comes back a few songs later; "do you have any scouting for girls?"
"jesus fucking christ no", i said.
"oh, well..", she says, turning to leave "you obviously dont know that much about indie rock then"
we just played the strangest show ever. exit calm and us and ou est le swimming pool and shy fx. i cant quite work out what we all have in common apart from, needing the fucking money. anyways, it was a graduation ball for an obscenely rich university. we played in a giant marquee on the grounds of the halls of residency. only, it wasnt halls, it was a converted castle, with a little stream and a tower and some beautiful brutalist 4 storey apartments, all on this fairy tale landscaped garden. there were salsa dancers and a string quartet and some babershop guys and stilt walkers and a jazz band and a 5 course dinner and a champagne bar and hanging laterns in the trees and uv underlights in the bushes, you get the idea. narnia.
i talked to some of the natives, mostly to avoid sitting in the world cup bar with 50 drunk and impossibly rich tuxedod boys screaming the name of our country at a giantsize plasma screen showing 22 other impossibly rich boys kicking a ball around the country im in love with. anyways, i tried to describe how mostly everyone i know who lives in halls has a scrotty bedroom and a shared kitchen in a block of dank grey flats and one of them snorted and pointed to the apartment block, to imply they were no better off. i swear to god, the only things that looked vaguely trampy were the way the bird seed for the peacocks had scattered on the lawns in front and the way a couple of rooms looked a little darker than the others. that cos when euan blair lived there, him and his bodyguard decided to pimp out their apartments with bullet proof glass.
we had a lighting guy for the day, our tour managers idea of a birthday treat for his housemate. he was dead good too, but his name is junior, which can be confusing in dark places. i tried to get everyone to call him two-nior, but it didnt catch on. thanks and happy birthday other junior!
really tho, a good time was had by all. about 30 of the 9000 people actually watched us play, which is probably the best student-ball kill ratio weve achieved. they all did this weird posh-kids-cant-dance shuffle and one of them, lets call him shinyfacedrentatux boy, walked on stage between songs to ask if wed play "that one about moseley" but, honestly, were probably the only real live indie band theyve ever seen, and its not like yr born with a working knowledge of gig ettiquette.
also, this one girl said shed seen us play with lc! a million years ago; and me and kel had lost our accents and it sucked we didnt play champagne girls. idk if the first is true and the second exploded my irony-meter in a manner illfitting for conversation with someone so academically superior.
this is francis, our tour manager and sound dude. hes from america. USA! YANK! HA WE KICKED A GOAL IN YOU IN THE 4TH MINUTE WERE GOING TO BEAT YOU EASY IINGERLANDDD IIIIINNNNGGGGEEEERRRRLLLLLAAAANNNNDDDDD FUCCKKKK YYYYEAHHHH O OO oh. ohnoes!
im pretty sure i had greater arcing point to this, social worlds colliding and that, but its 4am and i have songs to write. thank you graduating class of goldney university 2010, please remember us when yr running the country.
