Archive for June 2003

An astonishing case of the horses   Leave a comment

I awoke this morning the recipient of the most astonishing case of the horses, astonishing at least until the astonishee is forced to reflect on the amount and variety of liquor consumed. Actually I can’t remember exactly what I drank, and normally I can down to the last unit. I recall a can of Stella, a pint of Summer Solstice (?), another can of Stella, a pint of Fair Maiden, two more cans of Stella, two massive lugs on a tequila bottle, two enormous pulls on a bottle of brandy, a pint of Guinness, and then finally half a bottle of someone else’s Stella that was sitting unattended on the ground at French Colin’s party. There may be have been more at the party but I only have sketchy details left in my brain to work with. I really was amazingly fucked. I remember seeing Nathan in a suit, Keston and Tony Ramone, but I have absolutely no idea who else was there. If it ever went in it’s been erased completely by the cleansing agent known as booze. At some point I remember deciding that it would be a really cool time to smoke some marijuana, and then I remember smoking a spliff (which I think I rolled, but I don’t know where I got it) and telling Alexis that this was my first spliff of the day as though I’d just cycled back from the moon or something. Soon afterwards I sensed it was time to leave, although it was great party in full swing (in a low-key, happy drunken way) and informed Samantha. Said goodbye to a few honoured souls in the manner of an officious but essentially lily-livered monarch bidding an obligatory farewell to a man he has condemned to death, and then spent a long time in the hallway sliding down the wall while Sam did something that took a long time, or so it seemed to me. When we got outside and Sam strode toward her bike I almost laughed at the idea that I would be able ride mine home. I was barely able to walk it home actually. We did try some riding action after a while but I hit three cars and a wall.

Posted June 18, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Tears, beers and reverberations.   Leave a comment

So right, uh, where else did I play? Oh yes, the Junction for Loop Soup. This was good, people came and stuff. And girls cried, or so I’m led to believe. There’s a rumour going around that I made girls cry, which is a bit unusual. I do recall mildly taking the piss out of some young women who were standing at the front, one of them with her back to me, having an animated conversation. I told them they “might miss something” and went to get my cock out inna rocknroll-style but then thought better of it, thank Jesus. Hardly enough to make girls cry though is it? No cock was glimpsed.

Once, long ago in Guildford (my spiritual home) a friend of mine’s Mum was flashed by some geezer who evidently dug flashing his Johnson at the bourgeoisie. And why not? Anyway when the cops came the detective asked my friend’s Mum with due seriousness whether she “glimpsed his penis”. This always made us laugh. I think I might do a solo album called “A Penis Glimpsed”. I did a demo tape once that I entitled “See My Penis!” just because it looked funny in a particular font. Anyway, enough about penises.

Actually I was quite scared at Loop Soup. The chaps on before me were making a lot of distressing techno noise (nothing wrong with that) but it’s an unusual warm-up sound for me these days. The audience were all young and largely non-rock too, and I started to get the fear. I’m happy as fuck to follow almost anybody, and sometimes the more ludicrously inappropriate the better, but sometimes I’m in trouble with that kind of crowd. Sure enough, half the people left, and I got aggressively into
entertainment mode with the rest. More and more I only really dig it when it’s relaxed and people are laughing between songs.

Then there was The Tate. It’s true – I played The Tate Gallery in London. It was my third gig in 5 days and I’d been to Brighton to video Andy and Ashley on the Tuesday, so I knew I had to be rested and fit for this potential career-saving event. Was I fuck. I had a fucking cathedral-size hangover as big as the room I ended up playing in. Luckily I went down on the train with Jesus Of Australia (formerly of these parts) and between him and the Guinneses I was cool by the time I got there. I started to get a bit uptight again almost immediately because I was liaising with Adrian from The Teenbeat (who works there) and he had to lead all the band people round and round the building to sign-in, find the backstage area, collect beer and sandwiches etc, and because I was wearing a suit and posh shoes I started to feel like I was in a job interview (with my shoes clacking on the floor like a professional cunt), which is a really non-rock feeling. The gig itself was a bit so-so for me. I didn’t get scared and I did dance and fuck about and stuff, but I was too hyped up to genuinely engage with people and I could see people getting the fear whenever I looked them in the eye, which isn’t a good sign. I also had the uncomfortable feeling that Ricky Spontane were better than me. The drummer was immediately one of my favourite musicians ever. Everyone I went down with seemed to be of the same opinion too.

Weirdest thing about playing at the Tate was the reverb though. No one has ever played in such an odd acoustic environment. You only had to go into the next room and all you could hear was a big mushroom cloud of sound. I couldn’t believe it when the soundman plugged my minidisk player in. Mind you, I don’t think he could either. I don’t think he’d ever seen one before. He offered to do my tape-changing chores for me, and for some reason I let him until the second awkward silence, when I noticed he was just pressing parts of the machine as opposed to the right buttons, or even the wrong buttons. Nice guy though, heh heh.

Met some geezer who made encouraging noises about putting a record out but he hasn’t been in touch so…
And that was that really. I played the Tate and nothing happened. Man, I reckon I could support Queen at Wembley Stadium and I’d still only sell one CD to the fucking guy selling the beers.

Predictably, and I predicted it, the gig the following Wednesday at The Boat Race for Mr. Sam Inglis was much more like it. I almost pulled out because I felt tired and stressed and I had work the next day, but I never pull out because it sucks. Actually I did once when Syd had a convulsion but hey. Anyway. Couldn’t do a thing wrong. CDs flying out of the box. Met a guy who reckons he can get me on Resonance FM (met them before, but we’ll see). Had to autograph a German’s CD “for my girl”.

Shit. Got to go. Strawberry Fair tomorrow.

Posted June 6, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized