Before the show I meet a girl who can't get into the gig. She has her birthcertificate, credit cards and a driving permit but no driving licence so
they won't let her in. I feel really sorry for her. I give her some free
Pitchshifter stuff, it's not much but it's all I can do. She's driven for
three hours to get here and bought a ticket but she gets nothing and no
refund. What the fuck is wrong with this country? I have this incredible
idea, listen up y'all, it may be unorthodox but here goes:
WHY DON'T YOU LOWER THE LEGAL DRINKING AGE TO 18 LIKE THE REST OF THE WORLD?
Can't you guys get it together for a revolution or something? I mean I don't
really have the right to say that coming from a country that never rebelled
against anything but it just kills me to see people drive hours to support
live music, only to get snubbed at the door because some stiff white
republican arses in congress don't want people to have fun with booze. Vote
for me, Jon Clayden's 'Booze for the Under 21's campaign': 'WIN OR LOSE
WE'LL HAVE SOME BOOZE'. . . Can I say that?
The show is good. The crowd barrier is a carpeted rail like a gymnastics
beam from a school gym. It makes an excellent object to run along and stage
dive from and we do. During the show I watch a guy spit at me from the
crowd. It hits my arm. Nice. I tell the tough guy that he could at least
get his diseased phlegm in my mouth if he's going to spit at me. He has a
few more tries but fails. I spit one big greeny right back at him and he
doesn't look happy. This guy is a prick. I can hear him talking to the girls
tomorrow now:
"Yeah I spat on the singer from Pitchshifter from the safety of the crowd.
I'm a real tough guy. Wanna do me?"
After the show we get driven to a club by a mother and daughter team. Why
the hell anyone's mother would want to be at one of our gigs I don't know.
Maybe it's a Gravity Kills thing. Like the fast food chains 'Kids eat free'
deals, only in reverse. The club is very odd. It's a gothic/industrial night
and there are ten people inside. Approaching the bar, I ask the barman what
kind of beers they have or any specials on wells (spirits).
"You must be the two guys from Pitchshifter who played at the Water street
tonight. Chris said I should look after you, anything you want gentlemen, on
the house."
Shit. The kiss of death. 'Anything you want free'. Doomed. I feel like Jack
Nicholson in The Shining all over again. "But you've always been the janitor
Mr. Clayden." Needless to say Jim and I get totally wankered. A few hours
and one new friend later and we manage to convince a pretty young lady to
drive us back to the bus. I can't remember how we met her but she's very
accommodating and her car is fast. Back on the bus we freak her out by
watching 'Aeroplane' for the millionth time as Jim staggers around with a
two litre bottle of red wine pre-quoting the movie. Good night Rochester.
The pictures? D made a chair sculpture in the dressing room after a few ales
and the other one is the aforementioned mother . . . headbanging. (Where
will it all end?)
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