Tales from the road: Brett's Blog Volume I

Hi everyone!

Well it's that time again, the blog monster is hungry and its plaintive cries for nourishment will soon reach a wailing crescendo if ignored. It's my turn as rostered keeper so I must commence the feeding ritual without further delay, though I fear the meal I have initially prepared is too meager in both size and substance, and will serve only to strengthen its hunger until I am able to return with a fresh supply of words. I only hope I can keep it satisfied for the next few days, if it sickens under my care I will have some serious explaining to do - not to mention a shitload of official paperwork.

First, it's time for a confession. I am ready to publicy admit that I suffer from a serious blogging handicap - a pathological problem with deadlines. I view them as arbitrary and highly flexible which is pretty much the exact opposite of the word's actual definition. I hereby resolve to seek and commence a suitable treatment for this... a bit later when time permits. But right now I submit the following as an account of the first day of our recent trip. It also serves to illustrate why I need another day to cover the rest of our latest jaunt - I spend way too much time following protracted and ridiculous tangents instead of concentrating on describing factual events in any kind of linear or concise way. This is a long term problem which I can't fix overnight, but with your support and understanding I know I can beat this. In the meantime I promise I'll get the rest online for you all in a day (or so) even if I'm really really tired or feeling a bit funny.

Cool?

So, rewind to Thursday morning:
Honestly, a 6:30am Perth airport muster is a pretty surreal start to the day, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps in recognition of that, and in an effort to head off any impending threat of normalcy, our schedule on this occasion had us driving straight from Brisbane airport to Surfer's Paradise for the first show of our long awaited "regional" run that will take us through to the start of August via all manner of groovily far-flung spots around the country. It will also be the closest thing to proper touring we've done in ages, so stand by for tales of wacky adventure! Maybe...

Anyway to keep us on our toes during the road trip, Vanessa and I tried to conduct phone interviews over each other's voices, car/traffic noise and the car radio, while Kev and Chris employed sign language when they needed to communicate - virtually impossible because neither of them know the first thing about signing, but it was a nice thought. In retrospect all the background noise was probably cool because it made it sound like we were really busy and, you know, "amongst it" and stuff. Hopefully this also excused us both being totally scattered. I was grateful to hear Vanessa admit to feeling like this because I generally (fairly safely) assume it's just me who's prone to this, and maybe Chris sometimes too. My interviews were radio pre-records so they could possibly have made sense after some skillful editing which I doubt they received - if anyone out there heard the results and can verify this one way or the other please feel free to drop us a line on Facebook, I'm kinda curious now... 

Nevertheless we ended up stopping at a service station which while almost as noisy offered both a toilet break and the chance to pace frantically while doing the last phone interview - not simultaneously of course - would be economical time-wise but surely too messy to justify. Plus Ness doesn't really pace anyway, among us it's mostly a Mitchell thing. Maybe it's a behavioral relic from our aquatic ancestors who breathed through gills and thus had to keep swimming even while talking on the phone, or it could simply be a slightly odd acquired habit. Theoretically it must burn enough energy to keep us somewhat trimmer than we'd otherwise be... so I'm happy to hold on to this habit for now even if it looks a bit OC or whatever.

Okay I need to keep this moving along lest I have to add chapters and an index to a three day account. We draw close to Surfer's and head with blind confidence for the spiky clump of high-rise apartments on the horizon, while Vanessa crank-starts her ancient mobile phone to acquire some navigation tips from our unanimously appointed local guide, the savvy, cynical and dare I say slightly saucy Mindy, a tertiary-qualified science head (just like Nessie!) but former four-string genius with long defunct all-girl, all-awesome band "Fur". We shared many an enjoyable adventure with them in our earlier days, or so I'm assured - can't recall a thing ;-) no just joking, we really did and given the appropriate triggers I truly can remember some of it. If you've never heard (of) them you'd be well advised to do some interweb research and dig up some songs - guaranteed not to be wasted time, or I'll arrange a full refund!

With our new information we are soon close, and Kev treats us to a nice lap of the central neon-sex-club-vomit-precinct while we look for a parking spot - eventually found in a sub-level pleasingly close to the venue. Still waiting for our mixer (hi Hugh) tour manager (alright now Bob) and equipment (err... 011010010) to arrive, Mindy finds us in a mall feeling slightly dazed and disoriented by the garish parallel universe we've popped into. While I'm still entertaining mental images evoked by the amazing physical flexibility of a nearby lycra-suited, European-accented female street performer, we briefly poke our heads into the venue, then somehow amble down the road and up the stairs of the Hard Rock cafe where we are surprised to learn the first round of drinks is on the house, courtesy of management! This kind of happy event stems from a complex convergence of subtle factors that I don't pretend to fully understand, however ignorance does not deter me from offering the following stupid comments. Firstly, it's obviously a prerequisite to initially be recognized (usually thanks to Kev/Ness) by an external party who:

•    genuinely has the authority to enact a sweet adhoc executive decision which results in the provision of free goods or services to us - hooray!! Alternatively...

•     is starstruck enough to momentarily forget that they definitely and with good reason have no such power and could consequently be fired, or even incur criminal charges. This situation raises an ethical dilemma which you must resolutely ignore - stay alert, take what you can but don't get greedy and leave the premises ASAP! If it seems like large amounts of money or damage might be involved, you may need to lie low for a while, perhaps with an impromptu overseas "promotional tour" or if things seem really dire maybe a jaunt to Thailand for a group discount on gender reassignments to buy some time while you research international extradition law and arrange new identities (and new wardrobes too I guess.)

In any case, such rare opportunities must be accepted as swiftly and calmly as the situation permits, for added impact you should attempt to affect that very slight air of indifference displayed by people to whom such things happen constantly. All of this applies even (in fact especially) if you suspect you've been mistaken for someone else. In this case for example they inexplicably but clearly thought we were Tame Impala, implying some stunning oversights to say the least but why split hairs when you're receiving that kind of hospitality? You'd think they'd have been good for a second round but no they weren't, I know because I bought it.

Tame Impala you owe me $38 but since you can't be held directly responsible, I'll settle for a t-shirt, prolly a size L or maybe XL if your current stock is a bit on the tight side. No hurry, cheers.

Perhaps let's fast forward to later in the evening when our gear and esteemed colleagues have arrived at tonight's venue - Surfer's Paradise Beer Garden (aptly named except for the "Garden" part, unless you count the thriving ecosystem which no doubt inhabits the moister carpeted surfaces. Somebody should look into this - on the offchance it did turn up a few new species, maybe even a promising new line of medical research - after they got over the shock a lot of scientists would surely think twice about the cost, danger and perpetually wet socks associated with hacking around the Amazon Basin for 3 months collecting samples...

So back to the gig - we soundchecked, which sounded a bit weird, and raised a few technical issues which may have been mildly curly but were no major concern to us. Hugh, our lovely guest mixer for these shows, unfortunately doesn't get to enjoy the benefits of technical ignorance like we do and was probably more worried - but still smiling which I always find comforting, even when I know he's hiding something.

Factor in a couple of drinks for us before we play - and probably more than a few for the audience, and already everybody's feeling pretty agreeable before we even get onstage. Assuming the front of house mix doesn't provoke actual pain, spontaneous bleeding or any other unpleasant bodily reactions, everybody generally seems pretty accepting of the odd acoustic anomaly here and there as a normal part of live music.

Violent Soho managed to arrive in time to get organized and would have started on schedule if not held up by some missing drum gear. I happened to see from the upstairs window a suspicious drop-off being received from a sedan which suddenly appeared on the street front below around the time they were due to start their set. I initially assumed something mildly illicit was going on so was a little disappointed to find out it was just a snare drum and cymbals (from memory) but in any case it allowed them to get up and put on their customarily raucous, hairy and heavy set.
The turnout for the show seemed pretty good considering we were surrounded by enticements like" Ripley's Believe It Or Not" across the road (I myself was tempted to check it out but skepticism prevailed) and a countless selection of clubs all vaguely promising a good time with various levels of lighting, volume and sexual imagery. I didn't visit any, since the admittedly negligible time and effort I estimated would be required outweighed my almost immeasurably small curiosity. This time anyway.

Less nice than that is the prospect of bundling into the van and on to a motel for a meagre four or so hour's sleep before another early airport call to fly to Cairns for the next bed-wettingly exciting chapter in my belated, rambling mess of a tour blog.
I will try really hard to get it done tonight. I mean REALLY hard - but if something snaps (either physical or mental) under the intense pressure I wouldn't be at all surprised, and naturally all bets will be off in that case - I may even decide the risks are too great and retire from blogging completely.
But if none of that happens, I'll be aiming for the following improvements in part two:

•    More concise

•    Bonus factual content - even if I have to make it up

•    Minimum 10-30% less pointless, stupid crap (by weight)

•    a recommended viewing distance for optimum reader comfort

•    green ant observations

View Part II > Go on you know you want to know what happens next!