Dave does a MySpace questionnaire for girls. Results: predictable

Year 2008, Day #363: Dave attempts to fill in one of those weird, bafflingly personal/impersonal MySpace questionnaires without breaking character, or lying to make himself seem Super Awesome.

Who do you text the most?
I couldn't work this out, so a cursory glance at my Inbox would suggest an equal tie between Dave George, Duncan and Mike 1.

Do you wish you had smaller feet?
No

Has a rumor been spread about you?
Yes, but not for over 5 years.

Are you a gullible person?
Yes

Are you easy to get along with?
Hopefully, that's the goal anyway.

When you're walking, do you stop to drink?
No, nor vice versa.

Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
No

Are you in a complicated relationship?
Relationships between humans are never simple.

Do you hate more than 3 people?
Yes, but not too many more. No one I can't easily avoid, thereby saving myself the trouble of actively hating them.

Are you too forgiving?
No. People ought to be more forgiving anyway.

Do you like your hair color?
Yes, could be straighter though. You can't enjoy heavy metal to its fullest with a shaven head.

Name 3 people who you talked to today?
Parents, colleague Ken

What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
Sleeping

Last person you talked to on the phone?
Branch Manager of Interlink Express depot in Slough.

Do any of your friends have children?
Yes

Are you wearing make up?
No.*

When was the last time you spoke to someone you dont like?
Saturday

Has a boy/girl ever called you baby?
Not seriously, honeybunch.

Have you ever kissed on a boat?
No, although I did stalk on a ferry.

What bed did you sleep in last night?
Mine

Have you held hands with anybody in the past week?
No

Do you have a friend you can tell stuff to and you're sure they won' t tell?
Difficult question. I think my friends are decent enough to know what they can "tell" and what they can't, but the best way to ensure people don't repeat things is to not tell anyone in the first place.

Do you want kids?
I could probably handle it, I would likely enjoy it a lot, but "want" is not a word I would use.

Did you go out or stay in last night?
Stayed in

Do you like to text or call more?
About the same

Do you have someone you can be your complete self around?
I can't be my "complete self" at work, but anywhere else and in any other company - yes, lots of people.

Looking back in time did you ever waste your time on a certain boy/girl?
Pass. No time is truly wasted anyway.

Have you ever had a really big fight with your best friend?
No, but I don't have a best friend either.

Can you touch your toes?
Fucking no chance.

Would you kiss anyone on your top friends?
Probably, but not in any serious way.

Do you say sorry first?
Before what? Excuse my childlike innocence.

Has someone promised you something and broke it?
Yes, but such is the nature of people. I've never made anyone promise anything that would destroy me if it were broken.

Have you ever been cheated on?
I can answer "no" with more confidence than most people.

Who was your last text from?
I can't remember.

Last time somebody hurt you physically?
The lead singer from Mob Rules elbowed me in the face a few weeks ago.

Butter, plain, or salted popcorn?
Butter

Will you be in bed within twenty minutes?
No

Would you rather be a fish or a bird?
I already can swim and don't much care for it. Flying would be awesome though, so a bird.

Is there a girl that knows everything or mostly everything about you?
No

Are you anything like you were at this point last year?
Exactly the same, minus one drummer and with slightly blacker lungs.

In the past week have you cried?
No

Who was the last person you were in a car with except for family?
Dave George, Mark and James W.

Is it easy for someone to make you smile?
Yes, very. Yet I apparently have a reputation for being a miserable bastard, which I resent slightly.

Meet anyone new this year?
Of course. If you've stopped meeting new people you might as well stop getting out of bed in the morning.

Have you ever told anyone you were OK when you really weren’t?
Yes

Do you think anyone in general out there loves you?
My parents and my nan I'm sure. Also, "in general" serves no purpose in the above sentence.

If you could change your eye color would you?
No, there's nothing wrong with brown eyes.

Can a girl and a boy be best friends without having feelings for each other?
Yes. Mulder and Scully managed it perfectly well, if you exclude how she was artificially inseminated with Mulder's sperm but it turned out the baby might not have been his because it was actually an Alien-Human Hybrid/Supersoldier with telekenetic powers.

Have you ever dated someone to get back at someone else?
No, though I'm sure it would be fun if I was a bit of a cunt.

Last boy in your room?
Mike 1 came over before we went to see ISIS.

Are you close to your mum?
I suppose so. We argue constantly, but it never really amounts to much.

Do you wear your feelings all over your face?
Hopefully not.

Have you ever dated someone twice?
No

Does it bother you when people hate you?
Yes, intensely.

When did you last hit rock bottom?
Christmas '05 to Spring '06 I can hardly remember.

Do you think abortions are horrible?
Biologically yes, they're pretty gnarly and I wouldn't want to do one myself. But morally... ultimately, there's nothing to say because it will never be a choice I'll have to make.

What do you think of people who do drugs?
They have the best stories and are usually more awesome than me.

Why did your last relationship end?
For further details, see the lyrics to "I Know It's Over" by The Smiths, and insert more dick jokes.

Have you kissed more than 10 people in 2008?
I doubt it.

What deadly sin are you most guilty of?
Sloth is top, with Envy shoulder-barging Gluttony for the 2nd place.

What do you want right now?
Happiness, Love and Comradeship, but there is a very nice looking cheese baguette in the fridge that will do for now.

Does anyone hate you?
Yes, a few people. But they're up their own arses anyway.

Have you ever lost someone in your family?
Not immediate family, but yes - two grandparents and an aunt.

Do you have any secrets?
Yes, lots.

Have you ever touched an elephant before?
Yes. When I was younger on holiday in Greece, a circus set itself up next to the hotel and tied its elephant up outside. They let it off for a walk at some point too.

Do you believe girls fight too much?
Wouldn't know. As a generalisation, they over-analyse.

Have you ever walked in on people having sex?
No, but I've already been in the room before they started a couple of times. Also I did barge in on a couple having sex so I could retrieve my lager from next to the bed.

What would you like to say to the first person you kissed this year?
It will have been either a family member or a mate, so I'm not sure.

Do you find it in your heart to forgive?
Yes, but no one's properly shat on my soul as yet.

Do you think the drinking age should be lowered to 16?
No, it would be chaos.

Ever kissed someone else's girlfriend/boyfriend?
I don't just go around kissing everybody and making notes, who the fuck wrote this shit**?

What's a fact about the last person who was the opposite sex, who had their arms around you?
I'm not sure. It was probably on Saturday at some point, but I don't know who.

What do you currently hear right now?
Fan heaters and typing

Where did you get the shirt you are wearing?
Christmas Day from my aunt.

What are your chances of getting with the person you like?
Low, I suppose.

Could you go a day without eating?
I doubt it

What was the reason you got grounded for last?
I'm 22 for crying out loud.

Do you know anyone that smokes weed?
Yes.

Do you still talk to the person you last dated?
I don't "date" people, and even if I did I wouldn't call it "dating".

Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with a C?
Yes

When it comes to the opposite sex, what's your "type"?
I'm not sure, there are many levels of expectation and preference depending on what you're actually looking for. Many will humour a horrible slag just for some quick sex, which I wouldn't do. Many will ignore those they find most beautiful because they themselves are not beautiful enough to succeed, which is a shame and somewhat self-defeating. Other people think human relationships are nothing more than an S&M Bar tarted up as a Circus disguised as Real Life, and end up on the internet shagging an exhaust pipe or picking shards of glass out of their own anus. I'm just thankful I fall into none of those groups, and the jury is still out on what exactly is "my type".

Where is the furthest place you've travelled?
Tampa Bay, Florida

How long does it take you to shower?
5-10 minutes

What was the last thing that you drank?
Coffee

If you could have one thing right now what would it be?
A gig to play tonight, in the middle of a tour. And someone to come with me.

Does anyone love you?
Hasn't this question already been asked?

How has this week been?
It's Monday afternoon, so if we're counting last week then it's been excellent. Good food, good tunes, good times, good people. What else could I need?

Does the last person you shared a bed with mean anything to you?
It was Dave George.

Do you curse in front of your parents?
About a tenth of the amount I curse in front of others, but yes I do.

Are you slowly drifting away from someone?
Er... probably?

Did anyone see you kiss that last person you kissed?
Yes

When a friend walks out of your life, do you go after them or let them go?
No one has cut their ties with me acrimoniously as far as I know, but many friends have up and left town. They seem perfectly happy where they are and I don't sit around wailing over their absence, but I always stay in contact.

Have you ever fell asleep in someones arms?
Outside of infancy, no.

What are you doing tonight?
Curry at the new restaurant in Totteridge, then over to Gemma's flat for a get-together of some kind.

Who are two girls you trust most?
Oooh... shit, tough question. Trust with what? Information, possessions, my life?? A couple of my mates' girlfriends are quite trustworthy and they know me pretty well. Hold up, this quiz is actually for girls isn't it***?

Can you fill this out without lying?
Yes, but not without avoiding some questions.

What are you doing now?
Shirking

When is your birthday?
December 6th

Who was the last person you took a picture with?
The end of Saturday has blurred edges.

What are you listening to?
Nothing right now, but this morning I put on "Blues For The Red Sun" by Kyuss in the car.

Is anything bothering you right now?
Many things, mainly where I'll be in six months time and what will be happening in my life.

Where was the last place you fell asleep other than in your bed?
Sofa bed at Ryan's house, next to Dave George.

What's the very first thing you do when you wake up?
Try to go back to sleep in vain.

*Here I began to suspect it may not be a unisex questionnaire.
**This should have been where it became obvious.
***The penny drops.

ATP Nightmare Before Christmas gig report: curated by Melvins and Mike Patton

It's been less that a couple of weeks since I got back from the Melvins/Patton-curated All Tomorrow's Parties, and I still haven't quite recovered from the sheer awesomeness of the event, as well as the reckless abandon with which we treated our chalets, eardrums, immune systems and body clocks. There was enough going on for me to write a whole book about, but this is (honestly) the Short Version, leaving out anything irrelevant or long since forgotten:

The journey was straightforward, clear sky etc. Homemade Somerset Chili Burger at a roadside trailer for breakfast, and a cup of tea. I took a bag of CDs along for the journey without recalling that J, the driver, has possibly the best MP3 Player contents in the world, and so most of my contributions were superfluous. We pulled up listening to 'Rembrandt Pussyhorse' and some Hellboy courtesy of Dubya. I was dismayed to find that our chalet had no living room and only one wooden chair, so we headed immediately to the Irish Bar, then for another in the main pavilion next to who may or may not have been two-thirds of Teenage Jesus. After another two drinks and some ill-advised shots in the Pool Bar, we decided to go for pizza. Walking out of the bar, I was bemused to recognise something from Rolo Tomassi's 'Hysterics' from the speakers. This certainly was ATP.

We headed to the Centre Stage, a wide and impossibly dark venue, for Melvins 1983. I enjoyed this set, but it could have been better in all honesty. It was short, and the band (& soundman) only really geared up in the second half. 'Snake Appeal' got people moving, and the last song was great.

I caught Madlove next having not read the booklet blurb on this band, so I was expecting something not so straight once I knew it was Trevor Dunn's project. It was decent, interesting Alt Rock stuff and it came off well live.

Since we'd been drinking with serious intent from about 1.00pm, by this point I was already pretty hammered. I'd decided for some reason to smoke a large joint before Big Business: stupid idea. I was a bit too spaced out to get the best from this set, but it was really very good anyway. Their music makes a lot more sense to me when it's not seguing into the Melvins' set - sonically it stands up better when it's not immediately juxtaposed with something more powerful. That's nothing against them - the Melvins are just bigger than Big Business in sound, performance, numbers and noise levels (much of that can be attributed, ironically, to the Business boys themselves...)

During that set, Dubya was wandering a bit. Maybe he'd had too much to drink. It was only 6.30pm, but it's easily done when the music goes on for over twelve hours each day, at least six of those hours stretching out far beyond the edges of the average Bad Hangover. Net result: three full days of self-flagellation and broken promises Never To Do This To Myself Again!

I think I missed the beginning of The Locust due to Dubya staggering around the fish & chip shop irritating random people and trying to seduce the blonde girl at the Spirits trailer, but what I did see was quite masterful. They are in total control, unique and skilled, with inimitable stage presence. I knew not one single note of what they played, but it didn't matter. People were pretty lively, I heard, but I don't remember much violence.

I'd seen ISIS the night before and loved it, this was even better. The sound was dead on from the start and the new song stood out as particularly awesome. A lot of people I spoke to decamped to Zu instead, who were apparently amazing. I'm sure they were, but in all honesty I was never going to miss Isis for anybody, Melvins included (though luckily it didn't come to that). Friday night was the 7th time I've seen them. One of the best bands on the planet.

Meat Puppets next, I enjoyed it. I'm new to them (except for the Nirvana MTV Unplugged covers) and I was wondering if the more "country" material would be too tame, but it comes across more forcefully live and the three-piece lineup were well balanced, experienced and very good players.

Decisions needed to be made over what could have been Time-Clash Of The Fest: Os Mutantes and Porn. Although I now know Porn's set included Thurston Moore and Brent Hinds among the usual suspects, Os Mutantes were the trump card of the whole festival. I've loved this band for a year or so and was overjoyed to see them added to the lineup. I had never guessed Patton would be such a fan, although it makes sense that these guys might have been just as much of an inspiration for 'Disco Volante' as, say, The Mothers of Invention. Their original recordings are much more experimental than what comes across on the stage, where they are unable to recreate the Musique Concrete and the Big Band stuff. While it was just the Baptista brothers and some hired guns, the whole show was vibrant and amazing. Sparkly jackets, tights, capes, dreadlocked percussionists, vocal harmonies... it was a party. Mike Patton watched most of it from the wings, as did Dale & Jared a bit later on. Sergio Baptista is a very good, traditional-style guitar player and some of his solos were great. I danced around like a loon for the rest of the night and by the time I got back to the chalet I was a little worse for wear, standing on a chair shouting the (few) words to 'Bat Macumba' in a very cracked voice.

Saturday:

I started off thinking Junior Brown was just an old-fashioned R 'n' B & country player, but it took a while to sink in before I realised the music itself is far from simple. Some of the chord progressions were highly unusual. Had this guy been around in the 50s, he would be considered quite the oddball. Good stuff though, and the guitar/lap steel cross he uses is worth coming out for.

It was the third time I've seen Mastodon, and I staked my place by the sound desk to get the best mix in my ears. The fact that they were one guitarist down only emphasises quite how powerful they are at full strength, and while the performance and material (lots of 'Blood Mountain' and 'Leviathan', plus some new stuff) is strong, I know how this band can lay waste to a venue. They didn't, but it's not their fault really. Expecting them to be devastating and finding them merely excellent... well, that's hardly cause for concern.

The Melvins were reliably awesome. My first time hearing 'Nude...' material live didn't disappoint. 'The Kicking Machine' and 'Dog Island' were the winners from that album, with the bulk of 'Senile Animal' still sounding great alongside it. 'Tipping The Lion' was a welcome surprise. The slow one from 'Senile Animal' sounded nasty as fuck. Another Melvins show doesn't disappoint, what a surprise!

Next up, the Butthole Surfers and yes, Gibby was drunk as fuck but what do we expect anyway? The set was great, full of old classics and Paul Leary was particularly deranged. Gibby veered between having the crowd in stitches laughing and having them heckle him wildly. He picked up a Telecaster, muttering to the crowd something like "Try and visualise, if you can, me... being able to play the guitar" and lumbered about twanging discordant notes for two minutes before losing interest and putting it down. Irreverant and timeless, I'm glad I finally have a Butthole Surfers gig under my belt.

I was slightly disappointed by the lack of Dave Lombardo in Fantômas, but Dale Crover stepped up and delivered admirably. I know he's an awesome drummer, but Lombardo has the speed thing down perfectly and some Fantomas stuff is pretty frenetic. Anyway, they were brilliant - tight, eclectic, brutal in places. Patton commented graciously on the festival as a whole, saying he'd seen more amazing music in the last day and a half than in the last ten and half years and thanking ATP etc. He's a very compelling frontman to watch, and 'The Director's Cut' album itself came across like a sardonic rock opera. Most of the time I was watching Dale, though. He was probably the highlight of the set.

I spent the next two hours drinking and smoking too much in the chalet of some new friends Dubya had made, so I was quite leathered by 1am for Teenage Jesus & The Jerks' second set, but I somehow had a perfect view. Short, angular, pissed off and very committed, controlled and forceful. The drummer was particularly powerful for someone with only one actual drum to use. Lydia Lunch, Thurston Moore and Jim Something-less-pronounceable from The Bad Seeds have all been Pros for such a long time that they could possibly have approached this nasty, squalid old material in the wrong way. But no, it was very very good indeed. Lunch's post-Branca guitar noise was all but perfect.

After Teenage Jesus, more Ouzo happened to me and we bowled in to see Squarepusher en masse. This was truly the best set of the weekend by some margin. This guy can do anything. He has a melodic sensibility like no one else, and seems to be unerringly in love with the bass guitar because he has wrung more out of it than any other bass player I can think of, and continues to do so. If Buzzo is a bottomless pit of riffs (which he is), then Tom Jenkinson is a bottomless pit of ideas. It's not like he's never made any filler, but who can hold that against him? The 'Just A Souvenir' material is a major departure from his usual stuff, but the rock riffs and drummer work brilliantly. The live drums are also an asset when the set gets to the inevitable 'Come On My Selector', it's "let the bass kick" drop was the singular high point of the weekend for me.

The rest of the night is lost to uncertainty. After heading back to the chalet of our new friends, I remember making a go at finishing the Ouzo while watching 'Goodfellas' over many animated and unsober conversations, failing, and hauling myself home at what must have been at least 5am.

Sunday:

My terrible hangover was only slightly lifted by Joe Lally. I love Fugazi and Ataxia, but Joe is an unassuming performer of subtle alternative rock music, and I had nothing to really grab at at a time when that was desperately needed.

I caught a bit of Leila as well but she was having terrible sound problems. Hardcore digital clipping. Not pleasant. I was with Tim Cementimenal, and he said "It would have been fine if it was just that sound."

I sat around feeling sorry for myself for a while, then grabbed J (who had been awake about thirty-six hours by this point) and headed for Monotonix. I won't go too far into it as I'm sure people have talked a lot about this band already. I decided to forego the bar and head into the melee. It was impossible to see what was going on, occasionally you'd see a guitar neck poking out from somewhere in the crowd. The vocalist shoved past me occasionally, on his way to climbing the walls & railings or hanging from the ceiling. You couldn't tell where the band were most of the time. Bits of drum kit were being passed along, played by members of the crowd. I was looking for the guitarist when I saw a swelling of people coming towards me, and I got out of the way to find the whole band moving their gig to right in front of the sound desk. After a while the vocals cut out and the drums had been dispersed. The gig appeared to be over. I decided to go outside and look for my mate in the smoking area but there were hundreds of people blocking the doors. I phoned him up and he said he was "outside, watching the gig". We filtered out, hearing wild cheers from outside. By the time I got out the door, the band pushed past me and back inside with whatever instruments they still had hold of. The gig was now over.

Another period of self-pity followed. It was imperative I didn't get drunk or stay up too late as we had to check out at 10am. Dälek are, and were, brilliant. They had two more collaborators adding sound manipulations and contributing to the general Industrial Brick Wall Noise the duo are well-known for. They remain the only hip-hop act I've ever truly enjoyed because the music itself is so strong and effective. I don't listen to anything purely on the strength of its lyrics, and most hip-hop backing tracks sound like just that. Aside from a few tasteful examples I can think of (and my knowledge is pretty basic), it just sounds tepid, uninspired and cheesy. Dälek are one of those examples.

Melvins again, and I actually detected a little rhythmic sloppiness in the middle of this set. It didn't really deter much though, and once again the latest two records got the lion's share of the setlist. 'Boris' was the real high point of their two performances, with the ending part of 'Eye Flys' running a close second. That's not me being elitist about their old material (although 'Oven' or 'Antitoxidote' would have been nice), those songs are just their most crowd-flattening. Buzzo finished off with a minimalist rendition of 'Okee From Muskogee' while Jared crowd-surfed and assaulted a roadie who was then finished off by Dale creeping back on the stage to drag him away. Not a real assault, but tell me you wouldn't feel a little raped with Jared straddling you in front of thousands of people, harmonising a country song.

Contrary to most people, I enjoyed The Damned. 'Love Song' and 'New Rose' were worth staying for, and I found their eclecticism enjoyable. They have a big sonic range that packed a lot of clout, what with the keyboards and Captain Sensible's very fat-sounding Gibson SG.

After this, we went back to our friends' chalet. Ben from Reading had been sitting around all day in his poncho, resigned to not seeing anything at all as he'd overindulged so much the previous night. Not for me though: rousing myself for a final push of adrenaline, I walked in mid-Double Negative and immediately rushed straight to the pit. What can I say? They know hardcore punk rock, and they know it well. Completely fantastic. They ended with Minor Threat's "Seeing Red".

Finally, another great Squarepusher set, though slightly eclipsed by the previous night. I managed to get to the front, where a very inebriated individual was propped against the barrier with his head bowed. He somehow managed to nod the affirmative whenever the security asked him if he was okay, but would then zone out again. Eventually I decided enough was enough and, through succinct hand signals that would have been far beyond the capabilities of my sober self, conspired with another reveller to quickly hoist the comatose raver over the barrier and drop him on the other side so we could take his place. Outstanding success, much high-fiving ensued.

Checking out in the morning was a semi-conscious affair, and we were two hours away before I realised my denim jacket was still at Butlins. And so the weekend ends with me grumbling, swearing and frowning into a sub-par Service Station toad-in-the-hole, or maybe it ends later on that day, after a long detour, in the square of a sloping Cotswolds village drinking coffee and preparing for the home stretch.

(Photos to follow - mine didn't come out.)

My problem with HxC is that I'm not very HxC (on purpose)

Five or six years ago my town of High Wycombe was on the gigging circuit for a lot of decent UK Hardcore bands - people like Knuckledust, Underrule, Diction, Special Move, Unite, BDF etc. A handful of people I knew would attend, some locals I didn't know would invariably be around, but mostly the crowd were followers and friends of the bands themselves. Usually they'd have come out from London. I liked the music we saw and heard - I still do. The last couple of decent hardcore shows to roll through Wycombe were the USHC bands Throwdown and Terror, the latter being the White Horse landlord Paul's last gig in charge of the pub. After that the UKHC gigs dried up, aside from a few bands playing at the largely Punk Rock-inclined Pass Out nights.

About two years ago a friend of mine, ex-Owing To This (who had captured a moment very successfully in the scene some years before), started a UKHC band with some younger members. After six months or so, they hit their stride and suddenly I was at one of their shows, standing at the edge of the biggest crowd of Hardcore kids I'd seen outside of London in nearly half a decade. It was far more violent than I remembered and though the music was still as spiteful as it was before, the fans seemed more vicious. This was more ominous than the videos of snarling, spitting, cartoonish Punk Rockers from the '77 First Wave.

Since then I've witnessed the UKHC scene accelerate through Wycombe again, riling up its youngsters as it passes by. I was never a die-hard follower, but I've lost something of the connection I once had with it. I find it hard to become enraged, indignant and territorial on cue. In fact, in the years since I left school I've tried to actively avoid those mindsets. The genre still appeals to me because I like angry, fast, and heavy, but I've never felt right standing on stage screaming at The Enemy without also screaming at Myself in the same breath for the sake of fair balance. These kids are making good music and they mean it, but they appear to me as a pack of wolves sometimes, and I doubt that individually they are as headstrong and righteous as their group catharsis would suggest.

Some of it is shamelessly Tough Guy and irksomely Preachy, too. Maybe that's a simpler reason why I'm not so moved by it all any more - I am not a Tough Guy, or a Preacher. I'm as wrong as I am right, ultimately, as is everyone.

The Reliable Surprise

It seems that no matter what tangent I go off on, I always come right back to metal. It's not that I ever enjoy it less or get bored by it, but occasionally other styles drag me away. Recently I realised I had an awful lot of Radiohead to catch up with. A while ago I became enamoured with Comets On Fire, Guapo, Black Mountain, and other superficially 'retro' but ultimately quite contemporary stuff. And last year I realised The Flaming Lips are one of the finest American bands of all time.

Last night, though, was all about metal. I went to the Scala in Kings Cross to catch the ever-evolving Enslaved for the first time since the 'Below The Lights' tour in 2003. They've got bigger in every way since then - bigger stage, bigger crowd, bigger sound. It was a great performance at the beginning of a tour supporting a justifiably widely acclaimed album ('Vertebrae'). What is really remarkable is that they are one of the few remaining original Black Metal bands and their momentum is still gathering after fifteen years. Every one of their ten albums seems to have been a destination, from which they would then start again. They have a rich sound and their genuine progressiveness never reaches a point where it no longer Rocks Very Hard (alternatively, they are never form over function). The international metal scene is lucky to have them.

Most of the set was from the opposite ends of their career - 'Vertebrae' was, naturally, represented heavily alongside a couple from 'Ruun' (including the pit-opening "Fusion of Sense and Earth"). But they also played "Eld" and a track from 1992 (does that make it from the "Yggdrasil" demo tape??), and ended with what may have been "Slaget I Skogen Bortenfor" (my Old Norse is a little rusty) from 'Hordanes Land'. The unity between old and new was as palpable as the difference, but all the thematic speculation was swept aside by massive blastbeats. Righteous!

So metal raised my eyebrows and called me back in again, as has become the reliable norm.

The only sour point was a very tall man who stood in the centre of the crowd and Zieg Heiled his way through the first three songs. Thankfully he was ejected by security. He looked unsurprised, and made almost no attempt to fight back for the Fatherland. Sadly there are still some grown adults that feel the need to make their small, hateful point from within a scene that has far outgrown such insularities. If he wished to live out in the woods listening to puerile NSBM and avoiding racially impure citizens, then why not do it? Because he must live in the real world to pay his bills and buy his pagan jewellery, and the real world does not accommodate him. Thus, he sulks. And when he goes to the black metal show and feels his "sincerity" rebuffed by every other attendee, who is to blame? Unfortunately, if he's already stupid enough to earnestly Zieg Heil in public, the logical truth - that he is to blame - will not register in his mind.



On a Lighter Dark note, the lineup of the new band Shrinebuilder has given me something to look forward to: Scott Kelly, Al Cisneros, Wino and Dale Crover.

Read that again. They have the potential to be the best band in the entire universe.

Roadburn '09 will destroy us all

Just when I thought this December's ATP Nightmare Before Christmas was the best festival lineup ever*, along came Roadburn 2009. The festival, held at the 013 in Tilburg, is effectively the Mecca for stoner rock fans and its reputation is growing. Rare things happen there. In 2008, Lee Dorrian and his cohorts took over one evening for the Rise Above Records 20th Anniversary, with the mighty Down headlining.

Next year's lineup has excited me greatly. First and foremost, Neurosis are in town. When this happens I'm compelled to attend. They are, however, bringing their Beyond The Pale festival with them. This event happened two or three times at the beginning of the decade in San Francisco and usually presented itself as a kind of Neurot Recordings showcase. As the label and its roster have grown in status since the last festival, this should be a truly unique event and they've already signed up Guapo, Akimbo, US Christmas, OM, Skullflower, The Young Gods and Josh Graham's latest project A Storm Of Light (which seems to have temporarily replaced Red Sparowes for him - his place was taken by the Made Out Of Babies guitarist at Supersonic Festival this year). The very notion of Om, Skullflower and Neurosis playing the same gig is overwhelming. This beats the Earth/Boris/SunnO))) Doom-a-thon of ATP '07 hands down.**

The rest of the festival does not disappoint either. Cathedral themselves have confirmed, which means more than just a quality gig - perhaps they're back in the game after a few years off. A reformed Saint Vitus are booked too, which is a real coup considering the supposed animosity between Wino and Dave Chandler. I'm especially looking forward to Colour Haze's set, which will be my first. But my excitement will be almost entirely reserved for Amon Düül II.

I have a great fondness for Amon Düül II, they were a very colourful and idiosyncratic band that stood out from their peers and made some truly kaleidoscopic music in what many would call the Golden Age of rock music. I remember my first listen of 'Tanz der Lemminge', being utterly stoned, confused, and in awe. They've been reformed for a while now but remained low-key (save for a performance on the long-running and much-loved Rockpalast in Germany), and their inclusion is an unexpected one. Their relationship with doom/stoner etc. is not strong, but they were definitely psychedelic and very heavy on occasion.

On Halloween night I had the great pleasure of seeing Doomriders, SSS and Tortuga at the Islington Bar Academy. The guitarist Chris Pupecki was wearing an Amon Düül T-Shirt. He blew up his amp shortly into the set, and Tortuga's new guitarist (ex-Bossk) lent him his lovely fat Sunn head, which was then also blown up. Only SSS's rack could stand the volume and held up until the end of the set. We spoke briefly about his shirt, he told me where I could order it and I informed him that they're booked for Roadburn 2009. "I can't imagine they're very good these days." he said. Let's hope they prove him wrong.

Here's an excellent performance of 'Eye-Shaking King' for your pleasure:

*Previous "best festival lineups ever" include the Portishead ATP '07, Glade Festival '07 and Download Festival '05. But we all know the actual Best Festival Lineup Ever was in fact the Isle Of Wight Festival 1970.

**It must be noted that all three bands surpassed themselves the next night at the 'Altar' show in London, one of the best gig's I've ever seen.

ATP Festival brings up an old question

The development of the lineup for this year's ATP Nightmare Before Christmas festival has been exciting. I've had tickets since pretty much Day 1, knowing that it was being curated by Mike Patton and the mighty Melvins, of which I am a huge fan. By and large and somewhat predictably (in a good way), Patton has been responsible for picking the more avant-garde acts and the Melvins have added the Punch of Punk Rock. First of all Melvins picked their buddies Isis, of which I am also a pathetically huge fan, alongside Torche (HydraHead's latest critical hit) and some others I'd never heard of. Patton waded in with his own Fantômas band, The Locust, Bohren und der Club of Gore (who I've seen supporting Isis on the Panopticon tour in '05, playing in near complete darkness), Dälek (the only hip-hop act I've ever truly enjoyed and one-time Faust collaborators) and some equally leftfield acts. Okay, I thought, this could be both the most experimental AND the most rock-oriented ATP I've ever seen, all in one festival.

Then came the additions of both Mastodon and Squarepusher at the same time, picked by the Melvs & Patton respectively. Holy fuck. It just stepped up a few notches in one go.

After that, the floodgates opened: J G Thirlwell (of Foetus), Mark Lanegan's band, a Stockhausen performance, Trevor Dunn's new band Madlove, Boss Hog (ft. Jon Spencer of Blues Explosion fame), the reformed Butthole Surfers, Rahzel and The Damned. And lots more names entirely new to me.

I only had time for a few days of over-exuberance at the inclusion of the Butthole Surfers before yet more esteemed musicians came rolling in - Lydia Lunch & Thurston Moore re-unite Teenage Jesus & The Jerks, the Meat Puppets and Joe Lally answered the Melvins' request, and Patton stunned me with his successful acquisition of the legendary Os Mutantes, who I never thought I would ever get to see.

For all the eclecticism on show here, and this can be said for most ATP festivals, there does seem to be something that ties all these artists together. For instance, I don't recall seeing anything on any ATP bill that's made me think "That shouldn't be there". Portishead, the Britsol trip-hoppers, curated the only other ATP I've been to, and they loaded the lineup with doom metal. The Mars Volta did one a few years ago that leaned towards the excesses of the Old-School Psychedelic, but they also booked ATP's first bona fide Metal band, High On Fire. After the first couple of years, you'd be forgiven for assuming it was something of a Pretentious Shoegaze-athon; even though great bands were present (Godspeed etc.), it appeared rather insular.

But the lure of recklessness could not be resisted. Tape loops now co-exist with downtuned riffs, Headbanging and Chin-stroking can be done simultaneously. The dust is settling and it appears that quite a few of these highly disparate styles can be collected together with the only common factor being Us, the Audience, the Fans - which, of course, includes Them, the Performers, the Musicians, because they are all Fans too.

What do Squarepusher and Mastodon have in common apart from my fanship and their inclusion in the lineup? Musical prowess, intensity of sound... But then we have Rahzel the beatboxer, a man whose lack of drums is as notable as Dale Crover's use of them. And then there's Joe Lally and Sergio Dias of Os Mutantes, whose music has been politically and socially effective on several levels, sharing a bill with King Buzzo, whose early lyrics were literally gibberish, and the Butthole Surfers, whose Grand Plan seemed only a ten-year blaze of hedonism and finely-wrought chaos.

I can't link them all up in any way, they come from different backgrounds and they create music from different angles. Some are straight-faced and others sly-grinned. They are all at the very least singleminded enough to be unmistakeable, and perhaps that's the common ground - individuality and authenticity. These traits extend beyond the festival itself and stretch out almost infinitely, dwarfing the numbers of those making derivative and dishonest music without flair or purpose. People seem to think I hate most music, but that just can't be true.

MadShit Weekender (September Chapter)

There have been many times I've questioned my devotion to the cause of Music and half-heartedly threatened to turn my back on it by just a few degrees, if only to be able to spend a little more time and money on other things both necessary and frivolous - replacement front tyres for my car perhaps, a new shirt, the repair of my digital camera maybe. Many people I know are at least as serious about Music as myself, most of them even more so, yet their lives seem ultimately far more multi-faceted than my own. Proportionately I'm about 80% music, with the remaining 20% shared between beer, Cinema, Indian meals and sleep.

But the irony is that it's only during the musically barren times I'm so unsure of my convictions, when by all conventional logic it should be when I've been abused, deafened and beaten into submission and poverty by Music. Like the morning I was forced to awake after five hours of hung-over sleep on a sofa in Swindon just to move my car miles away to avoid a parking ticket. Or when I fell asleep outside Elephant & Castle tube station. And it really should have been during the four-hour journey back from Wales that began at midnight, with two gigs booked for the coming day.

Last Sunday night was another of these exhausted situations. Heading back along the A404 towards Wycombe, I could have sworn I began hallucinating new kerbs in the near-blackness.


Friday 26th September

My dad's 53rd birthday. I bought him a copy of "Death Magnetic" and a jokey card. The band had been working hard to find replacement drummers for this weekend's two out of town shows and it looked like we were all set to manage it. I arrived first at The Chichester Inn (in Chichester, yes), bought a 36-film for the old camera that I was bringing back into use and headed to the pub for drinks. I was meeting my old drummer James, who moved to the town two or three years ago, and staying at his house. Well, it's actually his girlfriend's house and he doesn't live there any more... that's insignificant anyway... The band themselves were stuck in traffic for some time due to their unwavering belief in the Sat Nav system's All-Wiseness, especially its Supreme Foresight in sending them towards the M25 at 6pm on a Friday. I was drunk by the time they arrived at 8pm and we took to the stage (a.k.a the floor) about half an hour later.


All was well, except for the high volume of the microphone and the alcoholic heckler. He made some comment about my personal talentlessness that rubbed me up the wrong way. I stopped the song and confronted him, hoping to raise an Ian MacKaye-esque moral high-ground objection to his behaviour, and remind him that he doesn't have to watch if he doesn't like me, and that I didn't come all the way here to meekly ignore his dickishness - I came to play our music. However, I ended up screaming at him as he stood up to leave, hurling obscenities at my highest volume until he got ejected by the kindly Belligerence guys. Apparently he fell over outside. Normal service resumed, we played the song and afterwards I apologised to the crowd for my anger. I later found out I was very close to being ejected too, mid-set by the manager himself, until he heard my general apology and decided not to pursue the matter further.

The wonderfully-named Alternative Car Park played next, who were all hair and riffs. Most excellent. I remember James and his friends, who are not rock- or metal-inclined, remarking at how difficult it must be to play the right notes while flailing around so much. I concurred. They are the local boys down there and played like it. They use their whole space collectively, whereas my band make a line, concentrate and play very loudly while I crouch and shout at the floor and stare at the ceiling, occasionally vacating the stage for the solo sections. Watching the interaction between the members of any band, with each other, the space, and the music itself, has become something of a fascination.


The band then said their goodbyes during the first or second Belligerence track and head home with a full car. I drunkenly thank Mike, tonight's drummer, and ask him if he would do it again for us sometime in a very long-winded, semi-coherant babble. I think he said yes.

By this time James and his friends had decided to make a night of it and I'd remembered that half the kit our drummer was using tonight belonged to someone else, my friend Sam who had generously subbed us his precious Breakables in the knowledge that I would return them to him the next day in Southsea, where he needed them to play with his band Action & Action at the Punk Rock Alldayer. Well, where the fuck was his stuff? James called me to the bar where he had bought me a Southern Comfort. I decided to neck it first, look for the drums second.

For at least half an hour I was convinced I'd lost them, or at best they had been picked up by someone else and could possibly be retrieved eventually. This was not good. I couldn't see any of it. As much as I enjoyed Belligerence, my cautious headbobbing was more of an excuse to look around the room frantically without drawing too much attention to myself. Fucking shitchrist, it's not here is it?? I had no intention of spending my inevitably hungover Saturday afternoon buying the best part of a grand's worth of drum kit to give to someone who was stupid enough to trust me with their possessions for one single day. Tossballs.

As it turned out, I was being paranoid. I can't remember where I found them. In fact, I recall checking inside my car more than once, even though I knew I hadn't been near it for hours. Eventually I had managed to put everything on my back seat. The important thing is that no matter how many times I checked as the night wore on, all three bags were still there. Victory.

The rest of the evening is very sketchy. I'd been on the college campus earlier on with James and his friends, and we headed back there after it became belatedly obvious that we were the only four people left in the pub. We sat in the car for a while listening to quite bad drum 'n' bass, smoking cigarettes and drinking more beer we'd managed to find somewhere. People they knew kept coming up to us and talking. I felt like one of those dickheads that turn up to college campuses at ungodly hours and sit in their car listening to bad drum 'n' bass, smoking cigarettes and drinking. At this point, I could somewhat see the appeal.

I think we got a cab back.


Saturday 27th September

Awoke feeling dreadful and immediately aware that I lost my Neurosis hat. Bummer.

Their landing window has been smashed in. There was an amusing story to go along with that I think. Also I vaguely remembered something being written across my car bonnet in white stuff, which I then had to wipe off with my jacket sleeve. I took a picture of it, but can't remember what it said. This will be one of the many joys awaiting me when I take the film to the chemist for developing*.

We walked into town for breakfast, I remember saying something like "I don't know how many towns I've walked through carrying a sleeping bag and pillow. I must look like a fucking vagrant." There was a place called Chives Cafe in the middle of an indoor shopping parade. The breakfast was expensive but decent, and the place was full of old people. We were the only non-old-people in the entire restaurant. It dawned on me while queuing with at least five old ladies in front and behind me that I was wearing my Today Is The Day t-shirt, which has a picture of about a hundred sperm swimming towards a pentagram on the front, and "IT'S A SWEET RIDE, MAMA" on the back (I don't know what that means, but knowing Today Is The Day it's probably got something to do with rape and/or sodomy, possibly with your mother, probably involving the death of one or both of you in the process).

We split so they could go shopping and I went back to the car. Portsmouth is only twenty minutes away from Chichester and the weather was beautiful and clear all weekend. I impulsively decided to go to Hayling Island before Pompey, which is connected to the mainland by a bridge of only a few hundred feet. It's an entirely normal south coast small town except for the beach, which is large and full of pebbles and stones, and has a small amusement park and arcade as well as a cafe. There was the same palpable air of decline that can be felt at any faded British seaside town, perhaps more so considering how close the city of Portsmouth is to it. Still though, there was an old rollercoaster that looked abandoned at first, but I got closer to discover it was very much active and even boasted a small, tight loop and a steep, if short, main drop. Of course, hangover or no, I'd have to be a Serious Cunt not to go on such a dubiously constructed and potentially fatal ride. It was £2 and after a glowing review by some local kids, I went on it and got away clean, but mark my words: someone will be killed one day on that thing.

At The Fawcett Inn, the gig was yet to get under way when I arrived. L Morgan was there and Fij wasn't yet. There were a few people hanging around that looked like either faux-hippies, mid-life crisis PsyTrancers, or just plain cokeheads. When three men enter a toilet cubicle, there is left little room for doubt. One of them even had a two-year-old daughter playing in the garden outside.

The venue is very cool although it was never meant for live music when it was designed (probably 100 years ago). The band plays in the right hand corner facing towards the back door, the audience either crowd in that direction or are bottlenecked along the bar that's built into the middle of the pub. The mass of bodies can at least muffle the sound for the sake of the people at the other side, but that's probably the only redeeming feature of the set-up. The day starts with L herself, it is her birthday and she does a couple of duets with Kelly Kemp, who takes over the semi-acoustic and plays next. Crackhead #1 makes his presence felt by pulling out some stupid Tai-Che dancing bullshit directly in front of the mic stand, asking questions only an inane crackhead such as himself would ask and heckling unintelligible shite for far more than an hour. L eventually escorts him away. What Southsea Scummers keep giving this fucker booze??

There are three acoustic acts, not particularly Punk Rock in sound but certainly in spirit. Then bands take over. We are treated to You, Me and The Atom Bomb, Apologies I Have None (whose guitar got stolen by Anonymous Crackhead Presumably #2), and the very excellent Attack! Vipers! (in anything but that order).

The real reason I went is of course the music, but some of it happened to be played by friends of mine. Action & Action came down and were billed quite late in the day.

Beat The Red Light were supposed to be playing before Attack! Vipers! but they got delayed by yet more absurd suicidal M25 drivers causing a pile-up. At the very beginning of A!V!'s set, their vans finally arrived and Pook, their singer and trombone player, walked in. It was immediately apparent that he was shitfaced, and he explains this away as a result of boredom while waiting in the traffic jam. They had decided to have "a reggae party" in the middle of the jam, during which he got out and starting bumping and grinding against people's cars.

Pook's general high spirits can be held responsible for much of the crowd-surfing during Attack! Vipers!'s vicious hardcore punk set. Guitar pedals were uplugged, much sweatiness was had, beers were Fallen, and great joy was felt by all. Sam Barry, Fij, and the band's vocalist were all lifted, as were a few more folks.

Beat The Red Light are now an eight-piece band including four trumpet and trombone players, and two excellent guitar players. They play a surprisingly coherent (considering) mixture of thrash metal, hardcore and ska punk with all the force of eight men including what I call the "Offensive Brass Section" - this is basically Pook, Bill and Rob running into the crowd while playing their parts, often ending up somewhere unlikely like on the bar or in the garden or something. I'm never sure. There's too many of them to look at anyway, and they played brilliantly.

The night wore on and I found the strength to drink again, mainly as a result of a random bout of record shopping in SoundZ (Rush - 'Hemispheres', Simon & Garfunkel - 'Wednesday Morning 3am', Iron Maiden - 'Powerslave', Van Morrison - 'Veedon Fleece' and The Cure - 'Faith'. All very good.).

We were then treated to OK Pilot and Action & Action, who intensified their performance to match those of the other bands. A&A's music is less full-bore than most of the stuff we heard throughout the day although it has its frenetic moments. Everything went up a notch for them and the "It's a fiasco!" moment (see 'Reflective Clothing') was one of the loudest. We had been joined by another dancing random by this point - a very short man with glasses whose signature move seemed to be 'hunch over and rock up and down at odds with the rhythm of the song'. This disappointed me because up until then, I thought I had invented that one.



There was some savagery after this with Crazy Arm and Gramercy Riffs, and from that point my memory is muddled. Mike 1, Henry, Gemma and SamStock had arrived earlier and seemed very serious about the idea of a late-night drunken curryhouse visit. Southsea is home to the very excellent Bombay Express and it seats until way past Chucking Out Time at the pubs. The kicker is that it's also BYOB. Armed with Many Liquors, we sat the fourteen of us down and gorged. At one point, the waiter had to ask us to stop banging the tables in unison (apparently by theatening us with another party's bill on top of our own), and I also politely confronted the staff asking why the Jalfrazi and the "Chicken Zelfarji" on two different menus are actually the same thing, thinking it was some kind of Foul Play. I can now understand neither their decision to do this, nor my own decision to object to them doing this. The food was wonderful as usual, my only regret being that I had no space left inside to help SamStock's friend (who was considerably hammered) finish his meal. It looked awesome and I wanted it, in fact I still want it. I can imagine myself eventually reminiscing about it all misty-eyed, forever wondering what became of The Uneaten Portsmouth Curry**.

Culinary romanticism aside, I think we staggered back to meet Fij outside the lock-in at the Fawcett and went back to his. I vaguely remember dropping a can of Cobra and kicking it across the road thinking that was an awesome thing to do. What a dick. I fell asleep on the floor and apparently people tried to watch Commando for a while. I doubt anybody got to the end.


Sunday 28th September

The day was beautiful again but I felt awful when I left at 9.30am. After swearing at myself and others (I am not a morning person), I took off to Henley to pick up today's drummer for the show at the Purple Turtle in Camden Town. He had first heard us a week before and rehearsed with us only once. I met him a couple of years ago in a motor home out the back of the bass player from RBAP's house, attending a rehearsal for their new band Fist For A Beard (which I was, and still am, due to join), and was impressed. We had only the afternoon when I got back from Portsmouth to cram another practise in, so from midday to three we returned to Chiltern Studios and bashed out a couple of successful half-hour sets. I said, "Even though that went really well, I still wish I was in bed."

After discussing with Sam W (from Stone Baby and more) the relative merits of the current Dillinger Escape Plan drummer versus the original one, the new Metallica record, how Jon Theodore was great but Thomas Pridgen is insane, Meshuggah riffs etc., we set off for London. I played Sam the latest Psyche Out EP as we came down the Westway and arrived early in Camden where as it turns out I'm boring enough to be made happy by free parking. (It's down Bayham Road behind the Koko, parallel to Camden High Street up to the tube station and free after 6pm Monday to Saturday, all day Sundays and Bank Holidays. Never tell me I don't help people out). We waited outside with the window cleaner. Rock 'n' Roll sure is glamorous.

The venue itself was excellent, with the highest stage we have yet been allowed to grace. The bass bins sat directly underneath stage front, vibrating the feet. There was a small upstairs area with sofas and a booth some feet away from the balcony with a pole in the middle. Reproduction B-Movie posters adorned most of the far wall, alongside three very average paintings of Johnny Cash giving the middle finger, Mick Jagger, and some anonymous burlesque dancer between them. We immediately set to work insulting each other as usual, and as the rest of the bands filed in we went to eat. When we returned, Sam W soundly beat us all at Table Football, gloating as he did so, the bastard.

It originally looked like we had been shoehorned onto a Cock Rock bill, but mercifully this was not the case. Red Thirteen were a decent rock/grunge/stoner act with a superlative, even tasteful virtuoso guitarist, and Men & Gods looked the epitome of Pomp & Posture before their Rock 'n' Roll Righteousness became apparent. The frontman mastered some classic moves and looked like he was born with Russell Brand's hair and a Telecaster strapped to him. They closed with a sumptuous cover of Bowie's 'Life on Mars', although unfortunately most of the clientele looked like they'd have found more emotional resonance in 'Girls Girls Girls'.

At some point we wandered north towards the Lock Market and had a beer (although I opted out for the sake of my sanity), where we were faced with the tricky social dilemma of whether it's okay to think somebody in a wheelchair is fucking annoying when they insist on singing at the top of their voice for half an hour on a very crowded rooftop terrace.

We got onstage late and played well - Sam W stepped up his game and hit with force and I somehow managed to squeeze one last half hour set out of my throat. Stu's amp continued to explode into Merzbow-esque noise at will, but this was dealt with fairly well. During the solo section in 'Wisdom Received' I sat on the stairs that descended the edge of the stage and watched Stu and Big Dave trade off against each other, hidden from the audience by a PA stack. It was a perfect climax to the weekend, and I thought "I could do this a million fucking times and never get sick of it."


Which brings me neatly back to the beginning of this entry. I could hardly breathe, was soaked in sweat, hung over and clad in the same underwear as three days before, and it was at that exact point that all the effort became worth it. Music beat me again - we share something of a sadomasochistic relationship.


Post script:

*Here is what was written on my car. I still don't know who was responsible.


**I later found out The Uneaten Portsmouth Curry was doggy-bagged by Sam Luck and enjoyed later.

Also, the live photos were taken by Thom the Photographer who was generous enough to grace us with his company and regail us with Fresher's week tales of alcohol and sexual deviancy. Two other punters supposedly attended the Purple Turtle and gave my band's name on the door, which led to this brief but exemplary exchange between myself and the lovely barmaid/money-taker:

Me (looking at the tally sheet): Is that two people down there or is that, like, some punctuation marks?
Lovely barmaid: That's two people
Me: Two people came to see us?
Lovely barmaid: Yeah
(Long pause)
Me: Who the fucking hell was that??
Lovely barmaid: Er... I don't know


P.S. God bless you if you got all the way to the end of this shit.