Archive for September 2005

Tripel 004   Leave a comment


says this:

tripel 004 coming soon!
tripel’s 4th release is our most ambitious to date. a spilt picture disk LP featuring UM and ascoltare, mastered by the gaeoudjiparl (mainpal inv, V/Vm, datanorm, skipp) at the famous dubplates & mastering in berlin.

this release will be available from mid to late october. WTS!

which refers to the forthcoming UM Vs. Ascoltare split 12″ picture disk, copies of which were delivered to the Tripel HQ only the other night, whereupon we all got really wasted to celebrate how cool it looked and how fucking amazingly perfect it sounded. Ten cheers for the Goodiepal, Pride of The Faroes, who recorded our stuff onto reel to reel tape (allegedly, because you never know exactly where you are with the Goodiepal) and then did the final mastering at Berlin’s famously top notch Dubplates & Mastering. Anyway, I’m just telling you because I’m excited about it. More details on or after the proper release date.

Posted September 29, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Wrapping up the German leg: More February Tour Diary.   Leave a comment

OK, just got back from my second gig (this year) in Nijemegen, and it seems silly that I haven’t told you about the first, so I’m going to crack on with this tour diary. Where were we? Berlin, February, 2005…

Nathan drops me off at C-Base and hurries off to take Pat to the airport. C-Base is a club that looks like HR Giger designed it with a Red Dwarf budget. Its very shadowy, has various spaces and levels, and there are is fuck of a lot of computer equipment about, serving a largely decorative purpose on the whole, but there some consoles attached to living, typing cybergeeks who look a bit tired and fried. In fact everybody is tired and fried because this is something like Day Four of the Alternative Berlin Film Festival, and so it’s like a gig/party/performance/technical nightmare that’s been going on for four days. A film is being screened, but a problem with the equipment means that it is silent. It consists of footage shot that day of some kind of performance action on the streets of Berlin. A man in a turban, robes and an Osama Bin Laden T-shirt exactly like the one my brother gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago, is leading two gimps in bondage gear around town and hassling people. It was kind of hard to tell what point was being made, but then my exhausted mind was having difficulty locating the point of things after three days of pretending to be an artist in Berlin. There are a few people inside the part of the building where the film is being shown but some of them appear to be asleep. I find a guy who knows vaguely who I am who then introduces me to a person who has absolutely no idea why I might be there. All day Nathan and Bernd have been trying to ascertain when the Um roadshow might take to the stage and the latest we have heard is that it will be midnight. This means I have four hours to kill in a dark place on my own, but I know I’ve got to go easy on the booze. After a while Bernd arrives, wearing exactly the same get-up as he was two days previous, which reinforces the impression that he is some kind of caricature of somebody who may or may not be himself. He asks me if the promoters have sorted me for drink and I sort of shrug like an alcoholic version of Hugh Grant. Immediately he sources four bottles of beer, and then asks me if he can have one. This strikes me as a very suave move, and I am impressed.
Eventually Nathan reappears and the evening splutters into some kind of life as the first and only other band go on. They play some kind of Godspeed You Black Emperor shit from behind a curtain, which strikes me as a little wack perhaps. They also have some kind of PERFORMANCE ART LADY to help them, which she does by standing in an odd white clerical/medical dress in front of the curtain and moving very slowly with a self-consciously spaced-out expression on her face. I got a strong impression that she had started to think about what she was going to do only that afternoon, and she hadn’t quite got there yet. Eventually she manoeuvred herself down onto the floor and lay there as if dead, with staring open eyes. I tried to persuade Nathan to rush up to her with a glass of water and say: “Are you alright love?” and then had to persuade him not to, and also to stop shouting out facts like “This is shit!” every five minutes. I embarrass easily, and plus it would make me look like a cunt if my entourage of one is dissing the other acts, wouldn’t it? I told Nathan this and he seemed to see the logic.
Then Felix arrived. Did I mention that he’d been on the phone to me explaining that he and his promoter friend were looking for acts for his label/gigs etc? He is a tease. Anyway he was wearing some hilariously outrageous get-up of pointy shoes and fur collars and had some hilariously outrageous blonde creature with him who Bernd claimed to know but seemed to get short shrift from.
Anyway I finally get to go on at about half midnight and it all goes OK apart from I’m a bit sloppy from drink and at one point my minidisk runs out of power. This moment was particularly uncool because although I had a euro plug adaptor and there was a power source only feet from where I was standing, it took a long time to establish this fact because of the language barrier and the fact that the engineer was hidden behind THEE MYSTICAL CURTAIN OV THEE OTHER BAND, and so I had Nathan and Bernd, both chaps who like to help, running backwards and forwards and shouting through curtains in an ecstasy of fumbling, whilst I stood there looking a little ineffectual. Generally speaking, however, the audience were extremely receptive to the Um nonsense, and I felt cocky enough to do a rather spirited Holy Fire dance at the end. When I got off Felix told me I “put a hot shoe between me and the parquet floor”, or some such untranslatable German phrase, but didn’t mention anything about record deals. He did buy me a massive tequila though, and we had a very interesting chat about the occult. A lot of sitting down and drinking alcohol followed, and by the time Nathan had been relocated after running off after some U.S pussy (he’d met some fresh-faced American gals on the train taking Pat to the airport, mentioned the gig, and they actually came and enjoyed it and bought Um CDs, but that was as far as it went) I didn’t have the energy to go out to another club at 4AM with Felix and Co. even if Nathan did. I still feel like a wuss about this.
That pretty much wraps up the German leg of the tour, apart from a brief incident where I almost get busted for drugs. I had a tiny, tiny blim of hash on me because I feel naked without dope for some reason, but of course it never really helps my flying phobia to be trotting through customs with the old illegals on my person. Anyway, Nathan is taking me to the airport and we are running a bit behind. In fact I am literally running a bit behind Nathan as we approach the terminal, and by the time I catch up with him we are right next to the check-in desk, which is also right next to the bit where they check your bags and give you a shakedown and generally X-ray your mind for paranoia. We do the check-in hurriedly, and then Nathan gives me a big old goodbye hug. This is the point that I realize that I have to get the tiny blim from out of the small pocket on my tight black jeans right in front of some severe looking authority figures in sunglasses about five feet to my left. We are too late to be wandering off elsewhere and besides the airport is just one big open-plan room with nowhere to hide. So while I’m hugging good old Nathan Blunt, I’m also fishing with a skinny index finger in my constricted pocket, but the bit of hash won’t scoop out into my hand. There’s some motion going on with the hurried hugging and the downward pull of my heavy rucksack and some nerves associated with fear of flying and fear of going to prison in a foreign country for about 80p’s worth of soap bar, but I cannot get the bloody thing out. I am starting to look really dodgy, and I keep looking over at the shakedown police to see if they’ve scoped what I’m up to. Nathan is blissfully unaware, as he has never even smoked a cigarette in his life, let alone smuggled drugs, but he is concerned that I should make my flight, so he is sort of shooing me onto the plane and saying “Brilliant. Email me when you get back. Bye! All the best…” All the while I have the rictus of a smile on my face and I’m sort of looking into the middle distance like an inexplicably rude friend who has forgotten where he is, but eventually I get hold of the thing and stick it unconvincingly into my nervous criminal mouth with some sort of bad theatrical cough. Bizarrely, I get through customs fine and fine myself flying towards Rotterdam. Of which more, possibly, eventually.

Posted September 27, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Bobby J and The Concept Of Cox   Leave a comment

This is the story of my brother’s flight back to Australia last summer. Bob had been trying to keep jetlag at bay for three weeks by keeping a large quantity of alcohol in his system at all times, and though he’d managed to meet up for a drink with almost everyone he’d ever known, and even made some crazy new friends, he was starting to exhibit some of the telltale signs of IDIOTIC CANDLE BURNING. For instance, he couldn’t stay in one room or location with one person or group of people without getting noticeably restless and then leaving, usually for the pub. Also he was doing a lot of involuntary shuddering, and his mood seemed to switch between euphoric whoops of laughter and bitter misanthropy of the blackest kind. It was hard to watch, and harder still to try and keep up with the fucker. There was one time in London where we’d met our dad for lunch and had three or four pints with him, and then just carried on. By about 10PM, when we were sitting in The Good Mixer with Johnny Scurfield, the famous ginger obsessive compulsive, and two characters in their mid forties who could probably have taught us a thing or two about caning and insaning it, I had had enough. Bob was adamant that he was going to see Sum 41, who were playing round the corner, and I just couldn’t cope with the prospect, or that of drinking any more. I think I had work the next day, so I left Bob with Johnny and the crazy guys and caught the train home. At about half midnight Johnny woke me by phoning to ask me to say goodbye to Bob because he’d lost him at the gig and had left without him, so I spent the night worrying about whether Bob was alive or dead or somewhere in-between. He was fine of course. He’d just done a little crowd-surfing and caught the last train home.

Anyway, I use this episode to illustrate the sort of punishment my brother was inflicting on himself during his trip, and it’s not as though he lives like a monk over in Australia. By the time he had to say his goodbyes and fly home he was the proverbial jibbering wreck. Also, Bobby doesn’t like aeroplanes any more than I do, and is considerably more prone to panic attacks and so on. The night before the flight was ugly, like watching someone go cold turkey whilst waiting to be executed. Apparently he lay in bed for the few hours before my Dad was due to pick him up, unable to sleep, and with an intense, humming column of pain running along the back of his neck. We had a brief, hideously empathetic hug outside Sam’s back door in the cold dawn twilight, and then he was gone-a-foreign again, leaving me with my English problems.

Bob tells me that once he was in the car, the utter horridness of it all, being in such a parlous state as witnessed by Our Father, after no sleep whatsoever and before an actual aeroplane, was so overwhelming that he shook so hard that he blacked out. When he returned to consciousness he felt momentarily relieved, because a change is famously as good as a rest, and he was able to communicate with Dad in short, simple phrases. The first of which was something like “Dad, I’m going to need to drink a couple of pints to get me on the plane. Can you spare me some cash to make this so?” My Dad, simple soul that he is, handed Bob three pounds. Bob says he almost dashed them to the ground with an outburst that would have gone something like: “Three fucking quid? Three fucking quid! What the fuck am I supposed to do with three fucking quid?!” Luckily, my brother found a little dignity from somewhere and just looked at the coins in his hand and let out a little desperate, hollow laugh. The he said goodbye and walked through to the departure lounge, whereupon he remembered that he had some Malaysian currency on him, which he quickly changed with no concern for exchange rates etc. Four pints of Guinness later some of the naked horror subsided sufficiently for Bob to begin to function once again, and when he discovered that there were staff members in the duty free shop giving away free shots of vodka, he took full advantage of the promotion by reappearing in different parts of the store at strategically staggered intervals, sometimes wearing combinations of different hats and sunglasses. Gradually, he became a man once again. By the time he found himself on board the plane in a seat next to Carl Cox, he had washed away the vile fog of fear that had clung to him for three weeks, and this sense of redemption remained with him until he reached Australia, and indeed continued after that. My brother needs open skies and to swim in the ocean, as England is no place for a drunk, in my experience


Bob stressed the importance of the Carl Cox moment. Imagine you are scared of flying and you find yourself sat next to Carl Cox in all his dark, solid, massiveness – how can you linger on in your craven fear? He wasn’t even sure that it was Carl Cox, but he said that didn’t matter, because it was the idea of Carl Cox, the concept of Cox that eliminated the last vestiges of the horror that had crippled his mind for his entire visit to his home country to see friends and family.

Posted September 27, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Some rock news.   Leave a comment

Jim O’Rourke has been in touch about a possible collaboration, provisionally a split single with my side being entitled Why I Hate Jim O’Rourke, and his Pete Um: Man Or Myth?

Apparently The Dawn Parade, local soft indie rock twitlets now as sadly departed as they were once sadly intact, were of the scorn-pumping delusion that they were too important to carry their own gear! I heard this recently. Apparently if you asked them to make way for other bands by lifting even quite light guitars and amplifiers they would roll their eyes and look the other way! I love this!

Posted September 27, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

This is quite important:   Leave a comment

> Subject: Iron Maiden Sabotaged by Sharon Osbourne – full details.
> Statemen t to follow.
> As many of you now know, Sharon Osbourne and assorted hangers-on
> dramatically and deliberately sabotaged Iron Maiden’s final
> performance on the Ozzfest on Saturday 20th August in Los Angeles.
> There is an inital statement from the band on Iron Maiden’s website
> but as a result of further developments Iron Maiden
> will respond to Sharon and co’s inflammatory and upsetting
> behaviour later today.
> In the meantime for a full, frank and unbiased report of the events of
> Saturday night I’d like to refer you to this eye-witness,
> backstage account posted on the heavy metal website
> by a manager of a fellow band playing the festival, who was disgusted
> by what transpired. Having also been in attendance that night I can
> vouch for the truth of this testimony.
> mode=Article&newsitemID=40739
> The manager of a well-known heavy metal band (*NOT* IRON MAIDEN) who
> attended this past weekend’s Ozzfest show at the Hyundai Pavillion in
> Devore, California has submitted the following first-hand account of
> the evening that will surely go down as one of the most shameful
> moments in recent rock history (NOTE: at his request, the author’s
> identity is being protected by BLABBERMOUTH.NET):
> “Saturday night’s Ozzfest at the Hyundai Pavillion near Los Angeles
> was a debacle on so many levels, I am still in shock as I write this.
> As a fan of many of the bands [Saturday] night, one can only hope this
> was an isolated incident, but sadly, it most likely wasn’t. As many of
> you have heard already, co-headliners and metal legends IRON MAIDEN
> were pelted with eggs, bottle caps, beer cups, spit on, had people
> from the Ozzfest camp talking over the PA during their set, had
> ‘Eddie’ delayed from his onstage entrance, had members of the [BLACK
> LABEL SOCIETY] entourage rush the stage with American flags, and had
> the PA intentionally turned off over six times, all by the OSBOURNE
> “While it’s still unclear as to the exact reasons why the terrorizing
> started (rumors abounded as to why, with everything from Bruce calling
> out Ozzy in the U.K. rock magazine Kerrang! on the widely known fact
> that Ozzy uses a teleprompter, to various vague references said on
> stage about a ‘reality show’ at an Ozzfest stop in Detroit), one thing
> was very clear: The whole thing stunk, and left me, and nearly all of
> the 40,000+ heavy metal fans in attendance angered and disappointed.
> Not that behind the scenes bickering or magazine trash-talking is
> anything new to rock fans, but the shocking lack of professionalism at
> one of the largest stops in North America in front of 40,000+
> spectators, at the hand of the Osbournes was nothing short of
> disgusting.
> “It all began early in the afternoon, when many side stage bands were
> openly approached in clear view of everyone backstage by Sharon and
> Kelly Osbourne to ‘join them in throwing eggs at IRON MAIDEN this
> evening.’ All the bands were encouraged to rally the other side-stage
> bands to do so. Members and/or friends of the hardcore band BURY YOUR
> DEAD were seen actively trying to encourage other side-stage bands to
> ‘join in the fun.’ Thankfully, many side stage bands angrily declined.
> “Later that evening, as IRON MAIDEN came on stage, their intro was
> interrupted by [BLACK LABEL SOCIETY] hanger-on and biker wannabe Big
> Dave, who was at the soundboard loudly chanting ‘Ozzy, Ozzy’ over the
> PA. MAIDEN opened their set and the entire band was pelted from the
> front row with eggs, beer, beer cups, spit, and various other objects
> by an Ozzfest-credentialed, bandana-wearing, Osbourne entourage. IRON
> MAIDEN, ever the professionals, continued through their set, and by
> the time they launched into their second song, ‘The Trooper’, Bruce
> changed into a civil war-era, red coat and began waving a Union Jack –
> British flag. Then, someone in, or associated with, BLACK LABEL
> SOCIETY tried to rush the stage waving and American Flag with the
> words ‘Don’t fuck with Ozzy’ scrawled across his bare chest. He was
> tackled and beaten by MAIDEN crew and promptly thrown off stage.
> “As ‘The Trooper’ ended, frontman Bruce Dickinson, with characteristic
> spunk, launched into a scathing attack on the people terrorizing his
> band, calling them ‘a sorry excuse for an Ozzy Osbourne fan,’ and
> wondering aloud how, ‘three dozen eggs could get snuck into the front
> row of Ozzfest by people with Ozzfest laminates?’ Though he never
> named names, all in attendance could understand who he was referring
> to. Nicko McBrain ran up to the front asking Bruce to hold on while he
> cleaned egg off his drums. He then stated the the next song wouldn’t
> be heard on ‘Your local cocksucking corporate radio station, wouldn’t
> be seen on MTV anymore, and sure as hell wouldn’t be played on a
> fucking reality TV show,’ met by a huge roar from the crowd.
> “During the song ‘Hallowed Be Thy Name’, Bruce, after only the first
> two lines, stopped singing and ran to the front row, firing back at
> his terrorizers, saying ‘That asswipe right there, with the curly
> hair, the fucking glasses, and Ozzfest laminate throw his fucking ass
> out of here right now. It’s gonna take more than eggs to stop IRON
> MAIDEN, and if it wasn’t for a lawsuit, I’d rip your fucking head off
> right now, you piece of shit!!!!’ He had the various attackers ejected
> and continued with a blistering version of the song until right before
> the big sing long at the end, the PA was INTENTIONALLY cut off. When
> it came back, Bruce launched into another scathing attack saying that
> they were supposed to play a shorter set than normal today, and only
> play 55 minutes, but IRON MAIDEN can’t drive 55, or play 55, and were
> going to play our whole fucking set tonight.
> “The band endured six more ‘PA cuts,’ including having the power to
> their amps turned off at one point. When the PA would come back on,
> they would simply launch into the next IRON MAIDEN classic, never
> missing a beat. Frankly, with every PA cut, the band just got meaner
> and meaner, playing each new song with an anger and a fire that was at
> times, simply astonishing to watch. Bruce began the introduction to
> IRON MAIDEN with a speech about ‘Your constitution has something about
> ‘We The People.’ Well let me tell you, the only reason we are up here
> tolerating this bullshit, is because of you people. You have been
> amazing Glen Helen, and there are A LOT of IRON MAIDEN fans here
> tonight,’ eliciting a huge roar from the crowd. He continued, ‘It’s
> gonna take more than eggs to stop IRON MAIDEN, NOTHING is going to
> come between us and our fans, and it will be death before dishonor,
> this is ‘Iron fucking Maiden’,’ which was greeted by a thunderous
> applause. During ‘Iron Maiden’, longtime MAIDEN mascot Eddie was
> purposely delayed from making his entrance, making a brief appearance
> at the end, and one could only wonder as to how. As the band closed
> there set with a furious version of ‘Sanctuary’, the PA was again cut
> only to have Big Dave repeatedly chant ‘Ozz
y’ over the PA, while the
> band tried to say goodbye to their fans. The now-furious crowd angrily
> drowned him out with chants of ‘MAIDEN, MAIDEN.’
> “Then, not 10 seconds after MAIDEN left the stage, Sharon Osbourne
> walked on stage and predictably, tried to give MAIDEN some fake,
> half-hearted praise about how they’d like to ‘thank IRON MAIDEN,’ and
> what a wonderful band IRON MAIDEN are, and how their crew were
> ‘fantastic,’ then sneering, ‘But Bruce Dickinson is a prick.’ The
> entire crowd, now fed up with the entire affair, began loudly booing
> her, pelting her with beer cups, and yelling ‘bitch.’ She tried to
> carry on, adding that ‘Bruce had disrespected Ozzfest,’ only to be
> drowned out by an ocean of boos, and soaked with beer. She slammed the
> microphone down and stormed off stage. Many in the crowd, fed up with
> what they had just witnessed, especially considering that many had
> come solely for MAIDEN, and paid upwards of $150 to do so, left in
> droves. SABBATH played to maybe half the audience that was there
> prior, and seemed stagnate compared to the band preceding them. As a
> huge fan of SABBATH, I honestly couldn’t stand to watch them.
> “I’ve seen IRON MAIDEN probably 10 times in my life, and frankly this
> was the very best IRON MAIDEN show I’ve had the pleasure of
> witnessing. You DON’T want to fuck with IRON MAIDEN. The more the
> Osbournes tried to fuck with them, the better they got! IRON MAIDEN
> was on fucking overdrive! Considering the amount of terrorizing and
> intimidation that IRON MAIDEN had to deal with at the hands of the
> Osbournes and the other side stage and main stage bands participating,
> they were the consummate professionals. They had the crowd in the
> palms of their hands, and IRON MAIDEN and Bruce Dickinson proved
> beyond a shadow of a doubt why they are the greatest metal band on
> earth right now, and quite possibly, the classiest, too.
> “The Osbournes are drunk with power. Shame on them, and shame on ANY
> of the bands that participated in the terrorizing and intimidation. It
> was disgusting display, that NO BAND should have had to endure, but
> especially a legend like IRON MAIDEN. That fact that it happened in
> front of 40,000+ people, at a Clear Channel-sponsored event, while
> Hyundai Pavilion Security turned a blind eye and let the Osbourne camp
> pelt one of the main headlining bands with eggs, beer, and spit, was
> simply inexcusable.
> “I will proudly be attending next year’s MAIDEN fest, and as much as I
> hate to say it, I can’t bring myself to spend another dime on the
> Osbournes.
> “Ozzfest, hang your head in shame.”
> William Luff
> Senior Press Officer, EMI Records
> 43 Brook Green, London W6 7EF
> 0207 605 5258 / 07909 998 123
> Iron Maiden – single, ‘The Trooper’, 15th August
> Iron Maiden – album, ‘Death On The Road’, 29th August

Posted September 11, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Even the voodoo has voodoo…I haven't got time for this…   Leave a comment

Minidisk voodoo:

The other week my MD-301-MK11 did the same thing again and forgot what it was all about just after I’d recorded a whole ton of stuff to it in a live mix situation from the ADAT. Obviously I’m only using the ADAT because my PC was in treatment, so there was some history there. Anyway, the machine just looks at me a bit spazzily and none of the buttons work. After a time and in some desperation I switch the thing off and then back on again really suddenly. Regular readers of this blog will recall that most minidisk players require the operator to press eject for the machine to write to disk, so this action was the act of someone who is so desperate that they call upon the supernatural for assistance. Very amazingly, it worked. Technical types among you, how can this be? As soon as it powered up again, the MD-301-MK11 sheepishly informed me that it had better be getting on with what it had failed to do just previously, and did so without fuss or muss. I could scarcely believe my own sense organs.


Last night Man From Uranus and I were on a mission to transfer 45 minutes of his loose avant space musik from reel to reel unto minidisk (the MD-301-MK11). All went moderately well until we had finished, whereupon the MD-301-MK11 informed me that that it was pregnant with a “blank disc”. It wouldn’t eject it either, and I had so been here before.

This meant, to me at least, that I had about 6 hours on Tuesday to:

Suck up loads of Um from various minidisks onto my computer, analogue style with no optical ins and outs to make my life easier.
Decide on what to play during two separate sets.
Slap the sets back onto two separate minidisks.
Also put the wavs on my MP3 player as backup, plus work out Winamp playlists to facilitate this if necessary.
And on CD, just in case.
And do the same with all of Phil’s stuff too.

Not to mention all the other things I had to do involving burning CDs and rehearsing and quite a bit of needless panicking of course. This represents a lot of my time, cos I’m very busy at work and so on. When I tried to explain the tricksiness of the situation to him Phil suggested that we play both our sets from my MP3 player and I just laughed bitterly at him. The spectre of us both being stuck in various bits of Northern Europe without any music might have put a bit of a dampener on the tour, I felt.

Anyway, today I tested the MD-301-MK11 again and it was still fucked, so I tried an unorthodox method to try and solve the voodoo. I grabbed the MD-301-MK11 by both sides and tried to exert pressure on it, the idea being to jolt the circuit boards back into life. Really amazingly, it worked, like in a Hollywood film.

So, in theory, I’ve bought myself a bit of time and I’m using it to write this crap.


Be ERECT in less than 15 mins

PRlCE: $ 2 / use

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Posted September 11, 2005 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized