Worm, face, face, worm
Greetings.
I hope this isn't going to be like those diaries you keep for three days, laboriously recording every inane brain movement that dribbles from your stupid lobes, before shoving in a drawer until you come across it, years later, and flush a bright, bright red.
We played a Cable Club gig last night at the Pressure Point in Brighton. It was fun. People came, watched, clapped, and didn't throw painfully sharp objects. Mark's guitar imploded on the third song, relegating him to singer/human-guitar-stand for the rest of the gig... but no-one seemed to notice. Mark, you're DEAD WOOD!
I'm dead wood, too, as my E string snapped during the final throes of Tiny Man. Even the rest of the band didn't notice. Thank you, Bass Player from Villareal - your bass loan saved my crimson cheeks. I hope the handsweat doesn't stain.
Least the Pressure Point has air conditioning (yes, yes, I know). The Hobgoblin gig the other day (with Illuminati 3) was so hot that Mark's hair gel ran into his eyes and blinded him. (He wasn't just shutting his eyes to look cool, though he's taken to doing that since. So have I.) Sweat pouring down my arms and along my fingers made me repeatedly drop my pick at critical moments. Drummer Boy almost passed out during Sinking Of Ships - damn that collapsed lung. But Giles... Giles somehow managed to stay cool throughout. Upward ventilation? Mental note: get bald faster. (Not like I particularly need to chivvy my receding hairline along.)
Ah, it's a hard life trying to bring ROCK to the masses, when you're a little past your teenage years. Bellies begin to sag, hair creeps backwards (no matter how much you die it BLACK), and your band start to call you "Fat Tits". Still - it's not like you need to be young or pretty to sell records or anything, is it?
So what's in store, other than moaning about hair, heat, technical difficulties, and whatever is pissing me off today? Well... I think that just about covers it, really. We've been keeping a recording diary (sample text: "clarinets are aliens with MANY HIDDEN EYES") while making our debut EP; I'm going to electronicify this, and post in these harrowed pages. Giles was interviewed for Brighton's Latest magazine last week - soon as I've found a functioning scanner, that will be up somewhere.
When stuff happens on the site proper, I expect it will be mentioned here. Atom feeds a go-go!
Thank you for listening. Eat well, get plenty of sleep, and Keep Taking The Pills. Rock.
I hope this isn't going to be like those diaries you keep for three days, laboriously recording every inane brain movement that dribbles from your stupid lobes, before shoving in a drawer until you come across it, years later, and flush a bright, bright red.
We played a Cable Club gig last night at the Pressure Point in Brighton. It was fun. People came, watched, clapped, and didn't throw painfully sharp objects. Mark's guitar imploded on the third song, relegating him to singer/human-guitar-stand for the rest of the gig... but no-one seemed to notice. Mark, you're DEAD WOOD!
I'm dead wood, too, as my E string snapped during the final throes of Tiny Man. Even the rest of the band didn't notice. Thank you, Bass Player from Villareal - your bass loan saved my crimson cheeks. I hope the handsweat doesn't stain.
Least the Pressure Point has air conditioning (yes, yes, I know). The Hobgoblin gig the other day (with Illuminati 3) was so hot that Mark's hair gel ran into his eyes and blinded him. (He wasn't just shutting his eyes to look cool, though he's taken to doing that since. So have I.) Sweat pouring down my arms and along my fingers made me repeatedly drop my pick at critical moments. Drummer Boy almost passed out during Sinking Of Ships - damn that collapsed lung. But Giles... Giles somehow managed to stay cool throughout. Upward ventilation? Mental note: get bald faster. (Not like I particularly need to chivvy my receding hairline along.)
Ah, it's a hard life trying to bring ROCK to the masses, when you're a little past your teenage years. Bellies begin to sag, hair creeps backwards (no matter how much you die it BLACK), and your band start to call you "Fat Tits". Still - it's not like you need to be young or pretty to sell records or anything, is it?
So what's in store, other than moaning about hair, heat, technical difficulties, and whatever is pissing me off today? Well... I think that just about covers it, really. We've been keeping a recording diary (sample text: "clarinets are aliens with MANY HIDDEN EYES") while making our debut EP; I'm going to electronicify this, and post in these harrowed pages. Giles was interviewed for Brighton's Latest magazine last week - soon as I've found a functioning scanner, that will be up somewhere.
When stuff happens on the site proper, I expect it will be mentioned here. Atom feeds a go-go!
Thank you for listening. Eat well, get plenty of sleep, and Keep Taking The Pills. Rock.
posted by Joe at 12:59 pm
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