This was written by Graham Fyfe in late 1990 and appeared in a zine called HIT THIS
UP. The print is pretty small, mainly because it was all typed on a shitty old typewriter
that left the words barely legible, so i had to retype it all and it was a bitch, cos i can't
type for shit, so i make no apologies for the inconvenience that any of you googly-eyed,
semi-blind, half-witted plebs may face when reading this piece. But it is worth the read.
A rare and well informed document of a small slice of Dunedin culture.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Old Gigs: 2000
In 2000 i was still in The
Knuckledraggers and we had a gig lined up at The Hole In The Wall in
Wellington with fellow Nelsonites Dogslobba, supported by The Deaf
Terrorists. I was on a self-imposed exile at the time due to out of
control drug consumption, and was slowly coming right but knew i had to
make the trek back up the line for this gig. Drove up with my mate Moose
on the Thursday and managed to squeeze in a band practice. Got up the
next morning and got ourselves chemically sorted, and suddenly we were
off on a summer holiday, cruising real slow, taking in the scenery,
music blaring, yelling over the top of each other, not a care in the
world. Stopped in Havelock for a coffee with a friends elderly mother,
and i have this distinct memory of suddenly jumping up and yelling "The
ferry!!!" And then it was all on. Action Jackson behind the wheel, full
tit all the way. Made it just in time to run on the car ramp as all the
other guys stood up the top laughing at us. They laughed even more as
they told me i'd parked the car in a tow-away zone. Shit.
We were staying at Nath and Stephs' so made our way up there and then all headed down to a cafe for an open mic performance night that'd been organised by a few ex-Nelson musos, and some of us indulged ourselves with the spotlight.
Saturday finally dawned late in the morning for us all, and we wasted no time in getting ourselves down to the city and hitting the piss. What a messy afternoon it became, and then evening, as we made our way to the venue and mixed with all the punters as they arrived. Quite a sizeable crowd in the end.
Deaf Terrorists were first up, a 3-piece drums/guitar/singer arrangement. I remember them playing an enjoyably chaotic set, despite the vocalist and guitarist having a penchant for spitting everywhere, especially at each other. Never understood the appeal in that caper.
They were followed by Dogslobba, another 3-piece with Rik from Gripper on drums/vocals, Johnny Knees-Up from Johnny Christ on bass, and legendary busker Harold Mudd on guitar/vocals. A brilliant combination of musicians that still remain one of my favourite Nelson bands. They were fucken wicked that night, powerful and tight, and got the great response they deserved.
The Knuckledraggers closed it off, and we were also stoked at the response we got, despite the liberal smattering of mistakes that pervaded the set. Was an honour to take our own local version of Oi music to the capital city and more or less pull it off. At one stage the Deaf Terrorists guitarist launched a massive sticky globule of phlegm that covered one side of my face like a piece of warm plastic. I clearly remember being perplexed about how i should respond - give the cunt a good clout, spit back at him, wrap my guitar round his head, or just keep playing like nothing had happened. I chose the last option and somehow didn't even miss a chord. But if anyone happens to know that cunt, could you let him know i've been saving for the last decade and can now pay back his generous "loan" with plenty of interest.
Afterwards we managed to narrowly avoid a potentially nasty brawl at a fish n chip shop with a group of pissed up rednecks that just didn't like the look of us, before joining up with everyone else back at Steve Droog's for a messy bout of alcohol consumption that stretched right through to the break of dawn. The Wellington crew were great hosts that looked after us and laid on the good times.
Caught the late afternoon ferry after a long hungover day, arriving at Picton in the dark, and sure enough, my car had been towed away. So, as all the rest of the crew drove off to Nelson, me and Moose were left to wearily trudge through the streets looking for the home of the towtruck guy, only to find noone home. He eventually arrived back about ten o'clock at night to issue us an exorbitant fee that could only be covered by Moose tapping into his mortgage payment money, much to the future wrath of his unsuspecting wife. Survived a flat tyre and a dangerously empty gas tank to finally make it back to Nelson at about three in the morning.
We were staying at Nath and Stephs' so made our way up there and then all headed down to a cafe for an open mic performance night that'd been organised by a few ex-Nelson musos, and some of us indulged ourselves with the spotlight.
Saturday finally dawned late in the morning for us all, and we wasted no time in getting ourselves down to the city and hitting the piss. What a messy afternoon it became, and then evening, as we made our way to the venue and mixed with all the punters as they arrived. Quite a sizeable crowd in the end.
Deaf Terrorists were first up, a 3-piece drums/guitar/singer arrangement. I remember them playing an enjoyably chaotic set, despite the vocalist and guitarist having a penchant for spitting everywhere, especially at each other. Never understood the appeal in that caper.
They were followed by Dogslobba, another 3-piece with Rik from Gripper on drums/vocals, Johnny Knees-Up from Johnny Christ on bass, and legendary busker Harold Mudd on guitar/vocals. A brilliant combination of musicians that still remain one of my favourite Nelson bands. They were fucken wicked that night, powerful and tight, and got the great response they deserved.
The Knuckledraggers closed it off, and we were also stoked at the response we got, despite the liberal smattering of mistakes that pervaded the set. Was an honour to take our own local version of Oi music to the capital city and more or less pull it off. At one stage the Deaf Terrorists guitarist launched a massive sticky globule of phlegm that covered one side of my face like a piece of warm plastic. I clearly remember being perplexed about how i should respond - give the cunt a good clout, spit back at him, wrap my guitar round his head, or just keep playing like nothing had happened. I chose the last option and somehow didn't even miss a chord. But if anyone happens to know that cunt, could you let him know i've been saving for the last decade and can now pay back his generous "loan" with plenty of interest.
Afterwards we managed to narrowly avoid a potentially nasty brawl at a fish n chip shop with a group of pissed up rednecks that just didn't like the look of us, before joining up with everyone else back at Steve Droog's for a messy bout of alcohol consumption that stretched right through to the break of dawn. The Wellington crew were great hosts that looked after us and laid on the good times.
Caught the late afternoon ferry after a long hungover day, arriving at Picton in the dark, and sure enough, my car had been towed away. So, as all the rest of the crew drove off to Nelson, me and Moose were left to wearily trudge through the streets looking for the home of the towtruck guy, only to find noone home. He eventually arrived back about ten o'clock at night to issue us an exorbitant fee that could only be covered by Moose tapping into his mortgage payment money, much to the future wrath of his unsuspecting wife. Survived a flat tyre and a dangerously empty gas tank to finally make it back to Nelson at about three in the morning.
Old Gigs: 1998
I've had trouble trying to remember the year, but i'm pretty sure it was 1998 cos The Knuckledraggers started a few months later, but anyway, in April 98, Gonk put on his annual harvest party in Blackball on the Coast. Me and Rik and Deaf Tom headed down in Rik's old Holden ute that he'd just bought off Deano, and had a relatively uneventful trip down until we hit Blackball and headed for the infamous Hilton, the local pub that'd been the scene of plenty of raucous antics. There was already a sizeable crowd in there, including a carload of friends that'd come over from CHCH and they were fkn trashed. Gradually everyone filtered over to the hall where the gig was being held. Fkn excellent turnout with groups from as far away as Dunedin, and a vanload down from Wellington cos Gobsmakt were heading the bill. This was their original lineup minus vocalist Magoo, who had now left or been kicked out or whatever happened.
Pretty sure Amen were first up and belted out their usual set of originals that warmed the crowd up nicely for the next West Coast band, the legendary Brain Grenade. Now they broke one of their main rules this night, "No acid before we play", needless to say it was a pretty entertaining set. We were all pretty shitfaced by now, and i can remember Skip continually stopping mid-song cos he was just too messed up to follow through, plenty of banter/abuse between him and the crowd. It was only the solid manic drumming of Gonk that saw them right. Fucken loved that band.
And then Gobsmakt got up and instigated a collective singalong of classic old punk/oi covers. I'd never seen them before and thought they were brilliant. I can recall me and Rik on "guest" vocals for a song or two, then watching Joe from CHCH bangbangcrashing his way around the dancefloor, almost legless before being KOed by one of the Wellington skins. Man, i'm sure he was on his way down before the punch even landed!! A couple of us carried him out and managed to gradually simmer a bit of tension that it caused.
I can't remember any of the other bands or much else about the night, just general consumption of anything/everything on offer then waking up all haggard and dishevelled on a table with Rik pouring beer on my head. A few others were still up and sitting round a potbelly stove, Fyfe, Swan, SteveDroog, Bart, Shane, Jules, etc. I managed to stumble my way out in search of a shop, which took a while, i mean Blackball is an old mining town that is now largely empty and in the state i was in it seemed like some kinda wild west throwback. Amazingly i bumped into Gonk of all people and he pointed me in the right direction. On the way back i chanced upon all the CHCH boys just awake from sleeping in the car, Joe all disorientated in the back with a cracker of a shiner, and no memory beyond Greymouth the night before.
When it was finally time to trek back to Nelson, i found myself in the drivers seat, and how the fuck that came about i don't know. Anyway, i just couldn't get it together and musta stalled the ute at least ten times trying to take off. This is no exaggeration. By the end of it me and Rik were crying with hysterical laughter, while Tom sat stone-faced in the middle, and everyone gathered out the front watched on thinking:"what the fuck are they on?" The answer? Everything man, everything. I've asked Rik if he remembers this but his recollection is vague. The thing that cracks me up the most is the fact that i was somehow designated to drive. I remember rolling down the window to try and square off to everyone by saying it was a dodgy clutch but that just made us laugh more, and eventually i managed to bunnyhop it down the road before somehow putting it into second. Hahahahaha
Thank fuck we made it home.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Old Gigs:1992
In 1992 i was living in this old country house on the way to Central Otago. That was when me and Tonga first started trying to put music together, sounded like shit, although most of those tunes eventually became Bazooka songs in one way or another. One Sunday we were mooching about doing fuck all, and i read that Dead Moon were playing in Queenstown that night. "Lets go!" yelled Tonga, and we piled into his old Holden Special, The Dogmobile he called it, and hit the road. Ten minutes into the trip and we picked up a hitchhiker. Ten minutes later and he was rolling a smoke, and asking if we needed anything, and we were fucken stoked, cos we'd been straight as the doctor for a few days.
We stopped in Cromwell and called in to see some friends, and one of them, Mana, was straight in for the ride. So up through the gorge to Queenstown, where we parked up by the Lake and got on it.
The gig was at an upstairs nightclub, Chicos...maybe, and there were quite a few people there. Got a shock to bump into Al from CHCH who was looking semi-straight, clean-cut, what the fuck? He started telling me it was his third season about to start at Milford Sound, and he was hoping to hop up the chain a bit, plans, etc, then asked "you don't wanna buy some downers do you? I need more piss money." Hahaha. "Yeah no worries Al, we'll claim them. As you were." Then he went over to the support band, SMAK from Auckland, all out of it and excited, and said "yup, saw you guys in CHCH last night and it was fucken wicked, and here i am again." Their singer, some guy called Marty Sauce, replies " Oh yeah, i remember, this guy actually left a message for you." Al all excited says "Did he?". "Yeah, he wanted you to fuck off!"
SMAK got up and played a high energy set with plenty of cock-rock antics from the frontman, and got a few laughs from the audience. By now some of the crowd were getting pissed right up, particularly this young local dude who was throwing himself about and diving on people and crashing into everything. Hilarious. I remember Smak being fast and tight with a Punk/Hard Rock kinda sound, plenty of passion, and plenty of alcohol.
Then came Dead Moon, and they were fucken wicked. I remember them having this candle set up mid stage and all leaning over it for the three way handshake, then the drummer sitting down behind one of the most minimal drumkits i've ever seen live, and launching into their first song with 100%. The guitarist and bass player were husband and wife, and this came out in the tightness and intensity of their Punky/Bluesy kinda sound, although one of the punters kept telling Fred the guitarist he was playing in the wrong key, and another one, Simon, kept yelling out "Send them to Somalia!!", cos he reckoned that Toody the bass player was "too skinny and needed a good feed." And the young pissed guy was still diving all over the place. A small scuffle even broke out. Queenstown was going off!
Afterwards a big group of us adjourned to the carpark and all packed into the Dogmobile for a big session. A few of them left after a while, and we meandered away to drop Simon off on the way out of town. By now it was about 3 a.m. and there was noone on the streets except for us and the lone cop car that pulled us over straight away. Probably didn't help that Tonga was only going about 10kmh, and the car was chocka block with smoke. Tonga was taken back into the cop car, then the cop came back and told us we reeked of pot and he was gonna search us and the vehicle. Everyone tried to ditch stuff, with the most classic being Mana doing a slight backward stumble as he got out of the car and blatantly backhanding a card of downers into the gutter, right in front of me and the cop....but the cop didn't notice! In the end, Mana and Tonga were taken away to be charged for possession, while Simon got to walk the 50 metres to his house, and i had to wait in the car. So i retrieved the 'discarded dangers', dropped some downers, and woke up in Mana's driveway in Cromwell.
We were all moving really slowly the next day so there wasn't much achieved, apart from eventually making our way home. The following day Tonga and Mana went back to Queenstown to go before the beak, and i dragged my sorry ass back to work. Dunno which was worse really.
Managed to see Dead Moon again on their next tour, possibly around '96(?), and read an interview where they said their '92 tour was one of the craziest experiences they'd had where "everyone they met seemed to be straight out of the wild west".
We stopped in Cromwell and called in to see some friends, and one of them, Mana, was straight in for the ride. So up through the gorge to Queenstown, where we parked up by the Lake and got on it.
The gig was at an upstairs nightclub, Chicos...maybe, and there were quite a few people there. Got a shock to bump into Al from CHCH who was looking semi-straight, clean-cut, what the fuck? He started telling me it was his third season about to start at Milford Sound, and he was hoping to hop up the chain a bit, plans, etc, then asked "you don't wanna buy some downers do you? I need more piss money." Hahaha. "Yeah no worries Al, we'll claim them. As you were." Then he went over to the support band, SMAK from Auckland, all out of it and excited, and said "yup, saw you guys in CHCH last night and it was fucken wicked, and here i am again." Their singer, some guy called Marty Sauce, replies " Oh yeah, i remember, this guy actually left a message for you." Al all excited says "Did he?". "Yeah, he wanted you to fuck off!"
SMAK got up and played a high energy set with plenty of cock-rock antics from the frontman, and got a few laughs from the audience. By now some of the crowd were getting pissed right up, particularly this young local dude who was throwing himself about and diving on people and crashing into everything. Hilarious. I remember Smak being fast and tight with a Punk/Hard Rock kinda sound, plenty of passion, and plenty of alcohol.
Then came Dead Moon, and they were fucken wicked. I remember them having this candle set up mid stage and all leaning over it for the three way handshake, then the drummer sitting down behind one of the most minimal drumkits i've ever seen live, and launching into their first song with 100%. The guitarist and bass player were husband and wife, and this came out in the tightness and intensity of their Punky/Bluesy kinda sound, although one of the punters kept telling Fred the guitarist he was playing in the wrong key, and another one, Simon, kept yelling out "Send them to Somalia!!", cos he reckoned that Toody the bass player was "too skinny and needed a good feed." And the young pissed guy was still diving all over the place. A small scuffle even broke out. Queenstown was going off!
Afterwards a big group of us adjourned to the carpark and all packed into the Dogmobile for a big session. A few of them left after a while, and we meandered away to drop Simon off on the way out of town. By now it was about 3 a.m. and there was noone on the streets except for us and the lone cop car that pulled us over straight away. Probably didn't help that Tonga was only going about 10kmh, and the car was chocka block with smoke. Tonga was taken back into the cop car, then the cop came back and told us we reeked of pot and he was gonna search us and the vehicle. Everyone tried to ditch stuff, with the most classic being Mana doing a slight backward stumble as he got out of the car and blatantly backhanding a card of downers into the gutter, right in front of me and the cop....but the cop didn't notice! In the end, Mana and Tonga were taken away to be charged for possession, while Simon got to walk the 50 metres to his house, and i had to wait in the car. So i retrieved the 'discarded dangers', dropped some downers, and woke up in Mana's driveway in Cromwell.
We were all moving really slowly the next day so there wasn't much achieved, apart from eventually making our way home. The following day Tonga and Mana went back to Queenstown to go before the beak, and i dragged my sorry ass back to work. Dunno which was worse really.
Managed to see Dead Moon again on their next tour, possibly around '96(?), and read an interview where they said their '92 tour was one of the craziest experiences they'd had where "everyone they met seemed to be straight out of the wild west".
Old Gigs:1991
At the beginning of 1991 i was living in Blenheim and me and a flatmate Mike decided to go to the Waihopai protest, camp out at river for weekend and meet heaps of good people, which we did. Two of them, Zane and Simone, played for a band in Wellington called SMUT. They said "we're doing a gig soon, come over". So we did.
We caught the ferry over on Friday arvo and got on the piss with some rastas from Rai Valley. Hit Wellington semi-loaded and made our way up to the SMUT flat where we met Eli and Simon and Spike and heaps of other good people whose names i've forgotten. Carried on drinking then made our way to the venue, mob handed. It was at a place called Stax. Somewhere on Cuba Mall. Good sized crowd there.
SMUT played first and i can't remember how they sounded, but i know i enjoyed it. The one thing i do remember from their set is a guy called Jackson (Black Jack), one of the Droogs who were quite prominent then, standing up on the stage giving everyone the evils, psycho stare, etc, before doing a huge dive from the stage. Everyone on the dancefloor casually parted and he hit the gound fucken hard!! One of those classic "no give in the floorboards" type of landings. Hahaha. He managed to save face by getting up, but he was definitely sore.
Second was CASUALTY who were living in Aussie by then and just doing a NZ tour. As always they were fucken excellent, always loved their stuff. Afterwards, me and guitarist Chris had heaps of oil spots on the fire escape out the back and whispered sweet nothings to all the street girls down below.
The last band was SUX, a three-piece from Aussie who were mind-blowing. Again, one of my all time favourite live acts (i've got a few). Did anyone else see them? I bought their album that night and thrashed it for years but it went AWOL somewhere along the line.
Another brilliant lineup.
Afterwards we mingled outside with heaps of other people then began staggering back to the flat, via a fish and chip shop. These guys invited us to have a smoke so we joined the circle and suddenly WhamBam, theres about five cops there. They went round the circle doing names, searches, etc, and wouldnt you know it, i was the only cunt with anything- about a third of a cap of oil in a tin. Off down the station, in the cells for the night, before the judge on Monday. I always spew on that conviction. The only good thing was that i had to spend the rest of the weekend in Welly and got to go to a mean party in Aro St on the saturday night. Never forgotten that party either.
So that was the SMUT/CASUALTY/SUX gig.
We caught the ferry over on Friday arvo and got on the piss with some rastas from Rai Valley. Hit Wellington semi-loaded and made our way up to the SMUT flat where we met Eli and Simon and Spike and heaps of other good people whose names i've forgotten. Carried on drinking then made our way to the venue, mob handed. It was at a place called Stax. Somewhere on Cuba Mall. Good sized crowd there.
SMUT played first and i can't remember how they sounded, but i know i enjoyed it. The one thing i do remember from their set is a guy called Jackson (Black Jack), one of the Droogs who were quite prominent then, standing up on the stage giving everyone the evils, psycho stare, etc, before doing a huge dive from the stage. Everyone on the dancefloor casually parted and he hit the gound fucken hard!! One of those classic "no give in the floorboards" type of landings. Hahaha. He managed to save face by getting up, but he was definitely sore.
Second was CASUALTY who were living in Aussie by then and just doing a NZ tour. As always they were fucken excellent, always loved their stuff. Afterwards, me and guitarist Chris had heaps of oil spots on the fire escape out the back and whispered sweet nothings to all the street girls down below.
The last band was SUX, a three-piece from Aussie who were mind-blowing. Again, one of my all time favourite live acts (i've got a few). Did anyone else see them? I bought their album that night and thrashed it for years but it went AWOL somewhere along the line.
Another brilliant lineup.
Afterwards we mingled outside with heaps of other people then began staggering back to the flat, via a fish and chip shop. These guys invited us to have a smoke so we joined the circle and suddenly WhamBam, theres about five cops there. They went round the circle doing names, searches, etc, and wouldnt you know it, i was the only cunt with anything- about a third of a cap of oil in a tin. Off down the station, in the cells for the night, before the judge on Monday. I always spew on that conviction. The only good thing was that i had to spend the rest of the weekend in Welly and got to go to a mean party in Aro St on the saturday night. Never forgotten that party either.
So that was the SMUT/CASUALTY/SUX gig.
Old Gigs:1990
In 1990 a group of us were flatting together in Dunedin, and we were all feeling a bit frazzled after a particularly harrowing mushroom season (terrible fucken things), when we heard that The Rollins Band were playing in Auckland in just over a week (start of June..?) so three of us filled a pack each and hit the road with heaps of weed and mushies but only $17 between us till next doleday. Hitched a few rides, jumped a few middle of the night freight trains and generally did what we could to make it. Two of us spent two days and nights stuck in Turangi, sleeping in the public toilets after the Desert Road was closed by snow. Cold, wet and hungry is how i remember it. But we eventually made it and the gig soon rolled round.
It was at The Gluepot in Ponsonby and we had fuck all money for alcohol after buying tickets, etc, so we dropped a few shrooms and lingered around outside talking to people. There was a few others from Dunedin, including Swan Jellybean, who gave me a full cask of red wine that she didn't want , so we peeled it back like there was no tomorrow. I mean shit, we couldn't go to a gig straight!! tsk tsk...
Pretty sure Sticky Filth played first which was the first time i'd seen them live, just after the Nektar Der Gotter album, and they were fucken excellent, well supported by a good size New Plymouth contingent. What can i say? My all time favourite NZ band.
Next up were Auckland band Second Child (or did they play first?) and they were cranking as well, although it'd be fair to say i don't remember too much about their set.
Henry Rollins had been over and done a spoken word show a few months before this gig. Chris Knox played support for him and made a couple of offhand remarks about being able to recognise him by his tattoos and shorts. This incensed Henry enough to approach Knoxsie afterward and step him out so he could "kick his fucken arse"!!! It was calmed down eventually but Knox drew a hilarious cartoon about his "meeting with Henry", which was printed in an old zine called Stamp. Still got it somewhere. Anyway,Rollins Band had just released an album called Hard Volume, and they proceeded to come out and rip the place to shreds, witnessed by a good sized crowd. And sure enough, Henry was in nothing but a pair of shorts. Man, he fucken owned that place. Hell, he even owned Auckland while he was up there. Absolutely fucken ferocious. Definitely one of my all time favourite....etc.
Afterwards we got into a healthy debate with some feminists at the nearby fish'n'chip shop, cos they reckoned that Henry was just an arrogant,sexist asshole, and i just couldn't let that go, i mean they were talking about Henry fucken Rollins!!! Then we began the long trek back to where we were staying in New Lynn. Pissed on wine and coming down off shrooms, i just remember stumbling along behind my mate who knew where we were going. At one stage i looked back and saw the buildings of Ponsonby way back in the distance and was told that we still had miles to go! We finally hit some roundabout on Great South Road(?), and just gave up. Suddenly a taxi came out of nowhere, so we flagged it down and scraped together about $15, and he took pity on us and took us to the New Lynn shopping centre, where we only had a ten minute walk to the blissful soft landing of our mates flat floor.
So that was the Sticky Filth/Second Child/Rollins Band gig.
It was at The Gluepot in Ponsonby and we had fuck all money for alcohol after buying tickets, etc, so we dropped a few shrooms and lingered around outside talking to people. There was a few others from Dunedin, including Swan Jellybean, who gave me a full cask of red wine that she didn't want , so we peeled it back like there was no tomorrow. I mean shit, we couldn't go to a gig straight!! tsk tsk...
Pretty sure Sticky Filth played first which was the first time i'd seen them live, just after the Nektar Der Gotter album, and they were fucken excellent, well supported by a good size New Plymouth contingent. What can i say? My all time favourite NZ band.
Next up were Auckland band Second Child (or did they play first?) and they were cranking as well, although it'd be fair to say i don't remember too much about their set.
Henry Rollins had been over and done a spoken word show a few months before this gig. Chris Knox played support for him and made a couple of offhand remarks about being able to recognise him by his tattoos and shorts. This incensed Henry enough to approach Knoxsie afterward and step him out so he could "kick his fucken arse"!!! It was calmed down eventually but Knox drew a hilarious cartoon about his "meeting with Henry", which was printed in an old zine called Stamp. Still got it somewhere. Anyway,Rollins Band had just released an album called Hard Volume, and they proceeded to come out and rip the place to shreds, witnessed by a good sized crowd. And sure enough, Henry was in nothing but a pair of shorts. Man, he fucken owned that place. Hell, he even owned Auckland while he was up there. Absolutely fucken ferocious. Definitely one of my all time favourite....etc.
Afterwards we got into a healthy debate with some feminists at the nearby fish'n'chip shop, cos they reckoned that Henry was just an arrogant,sexist asshole, and i just couldn't let that go, i mean they were talking about Henry fucken Rollins!!! Then we began the long trek back to where we were staying in New Lynn. Pissed on wine and coming down off shrooms, i just remember stumbling along behind my mate who knew where we were going. At one stage i looked back and saw the buildings of Ponsonby way back in the distance and was told that we still had miles to go! We finally hit some roundabout on Great South Road(?), and just gave up. Suddenly a taxi came out of nowhere, so we flagged it down and scraped together about $15, and he took pity on us and took us to the New Lynn shopping centre, where we only had a ten minute walk to the blissful soft landing of our mates flat floor.
So that was the Sticky Filth/Second Child/Rollins Band gig.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The JUJU Reviews
I started doing these reviews after the first Onslaught. "Johnny JUJU" is a ficticious character that my son and i invented about 15 years ago, he usually got the blame for anything we didn't wanna own up to. This just started as a pisstake but i couldn't believe how many people took it seriously. A couple of guys were riled up enough to approach me at the second Onslaught and ask me who the fuck that cunt was and was he at this fucken gig? Hahahahaha. I resolved not to admit it was me unless i was directly asked. Some people twigged straight away, i mean, noone could possibly be that much of an arsehole could they? After a while i kinda felt bad, so didn't write one for Onslaught 5, when really i should've just stayed true to myself. Then i decided to come out about it and some people who had previously loathed "the JUJU cunt", suddenly saw the humour in his approach, and i've continued with his disgruntled reviews. Of all the writing i do, these pieces are my personal favourites. Here's the first three.
Onslaught #1, Arc Cafe, 27-9-08
For a start i only went to this gig because there was fuck all else to do.
Got to the venue just after nine and straight away thought: what a
shithole. The place was already full of wankers too. And $6 to get in!!
Capitalist cunts.
The first band was Bazooka and i thought they were tryhard tuneless
peasants that couldn't hold a note if it was nailed to their hands. I could
taste the bile in my throat but swallowed it back down cos the bitter
acidity was like sweet nectar compared to hearing these fucken homo
white trash wannabes. Fucken appalling.
The second round of torture was called Skullduggery and i
still can't decide whether they were acually a band or not. For a while
i thought it was monday morning and i kept hitting the snooze button on
my alarm clock, cos just when i settled into some silence it was
shattered by an abrasive irritating whine. These fucken mud monkeys
should slither back to the swamp they were spat from. Fucken terrible.
The less said about Conniption the better. They turned my growing headache
into a pounding migraine. What the fuck are these cunts on? I certainly
don't want any of it. The sound of my leg breaking would be more
comfortable. In future these ass sucking maggot whores should stay
outside the moat where they belong. Fucken disgraceful.
Gripper! How exciting. A bit like shitting out a pumpkin when you're
constipated. And then eating it. Sounding like a cross between a
dentist drill and a hundred babies screaming simultaneously, they
almost had me reaching for the razor blades, the fucken gay black
bastards. Fucken excruciating.
Smashed And Loud, huh! How about we just smash their faces in
with an extremely loud jackhammer. These junkie jamrag jews should
do something useful for a change, like burying themselves alive. Fucken
diabolical.
And finally, The Clips, a trio of six toed inbred rabie ridden dogs that
should do us all a favour and fuck off even further south, like the
Auckland Islands. They brought me to a climax of revulsion that could
only be surpassed by eating dogshit for sunday breakfast. Fucken painful.
If all these gay homo black cunt faggot trash try and pass themselves
off as bands again, or even humans, then the best i can offer them is
a one way ticket to the local cemetery to do the drawback on the
stagnant stench of a cold cadavars rotting ringpiece.
Onslaught#2, Arc Cafe, 7-3-09
"A mixture of total boredom and morbid curiousity got me to this gig. I just
wanted to see if these clowns had made any improvement since the last time
they bored the fuck out of me. I felt crook for days after being subjected to
their apalling nonsense, but thought it'd be OK this time, i mean it definitely
couldn't get any worse. But sure enough, i was wrong. These fucken
half-witted dead dog defilers wouldn't know a good time if it carved a chunk
of flesh out of their face! As far as the eye could see, there was a sea of scum,
a shower of shit, a tsunami of stench. Black clad posers trying to be all liberal
and open minded by mixing freely with all the wogs and fags and other such filth.
These "Onslaught" gatherings are like a Cherry Farm Reunion; lots of drongo drugs
and drooling dropkick deadbeats. They sure come out of the woodwork when
they know theres gonna be heaps of other mental cunts there, safety in numbers.
I felt like Einstein at an IHC party.
They charged me eight dollars to get in. Eight dollars!! I can't even begin to challenge
this outrage, i'm still in shock.
Once again the Bazooka bullshit brigade played first, and once again they were
fucken atrocious. These cunts are symbolic of the breakdown in the mental health
system, releasing all the headcases into a society that doesn't want them. I'd rather
keep them locked in a cage, i mean what are we, their fucken surrogate caregivers?
An unsurprisingly appalling start to the music.
Next up were Smashed And Loud who seem to keep wanting to change their name
which is understandable, who the fuck would go and see these wankers for a second
time? Didn't they take my last advice about burying themselves alive? I'd happily dig
the fucken hole. Obviously using a shovel is way above the intelligence level of these
fucken homo freaks. Think filthy rodent, think extermination.
And on it went to some classic Christchurch crap from Lunger, a bunch of old men
who'd be better suited to wasting away in a geriatric home full of perverts and
half-dead nobodies. An even better option, how about we all "Lunge" at them with
well sharpened pitchforks, fill'em full of holes. I'm not a violent man, but these bitches
loaded my brain with images of machetes and knives and metal bars being brandished
with wanton glee. Fuck off back to smog-city you slime-soaked scum.
And then Gripper. Yeah, i was "Gripped" alright, by waves of uncontrollable nausea
and revulsion and urges to spray shit all over the nearest bog. Who needs laxatives
when you only need to hear these fuckwits? Who needs a bog when it'd be more
satisfying to shit on these cunts? It just defiesrational belief that "People" like this are
allowed to roam freely in the community when they couldn't even be relied on to
sweep out a fucken gutter, unless you told them you'd thrown an old butt in there.
Fucken freeloading filth.
Black Forest should change their name to Black Useless Cunts cos they wouldn't have
two braincells to rub together, between them. Go ahead and pretend you can play but
don't bother subjecting us to your childish plink plonk plunk bullshit, you fucken
double-yolk eggs. It sounded worse than a kids xylophone with a few keys missing.
Learn to string a sentence together before showing your ugly pus-ridden whore faces
in public, you pathetic plebs.
And finally those swamp maggots Skullduggery. A characteristic pathetic performance
from these metalhead mongols. I'd rather slowly feed my arm intoa garbage disposal
than witness shit like this again. An appropriate finale of retard rubbish. Things can't
get any worse? They sure as fuck did when these no-friend knuckleheads hit the stage.
Fucken oxygen thieves.
And so it went, a total waste of time, money and energy. Extermination is a bit belated
for fuckheads like these, it should've started with their inbred deformed ancestors.
My advice? Stay the fuck away from the next "Onslaught". A rusty nail in the armpit
would be more bearable."
Onslaught#3, Captain Cook Tavern, 2-5-09
This i had to see. All the Onslaught peasants mixing with the student scum, a stirring pot
of the slimiest filth you could ever imagine. Two worlds collide. Both of them fucked in the
fucken head. And at The Cook! The foulest pub in the foulest area of the foulest city. A night
to fucken remember alright. Excitement plus.
First up were a couple of women from down south spouting off some acoustic bullshit that sounded
worse than bob dylan being disembowelled, all screech screech fucken screech. Calling themselves
The Sallys, i thought they'd be better named The Sewage, cos thats where they should be, taking
a long swim in a bubbling froth of gunge. Thats right, another pile of shit beginning to the gig.
And then Bazooka. I fucken detest them, simple as that.
I'd heard about Foe before. I'd heard they were crap. But it was worse than that, much worse.
Was this for real or was it a dumb joke to try and fool some of those homo student cunts? A
joke that noone gets. Imbecile porch monkey wankers.
Another Invercargill band, another disgrace. Psycho 78, a Misfits covers band. I fucken hate
The Misfits, a bunch of pretty boy facepaint freaks all jacked up on steriods, so theres no
way I'm going to enjoy a bunch of drunken inbred southern scum trying to imitate them by
sucking each others dicks. Didn't have a tune or a beat between them, the fucken ass-whores.
Everytime i pass through Waihola its all fogged out and dull, a fucken hole. And thats why
Skullduggery look like cross-eyed savages trying to find an old maggot infested bone to chew
on, bullshitting their way into the gig so they can jump on any table leftovers and ashtray
sludge. Stick to the soup kitchen you scavenging jews. Maybe you could learn how to whistle.
And to finish, Special Neadz from Oamaru, a revolting little coastal town formed when two
busloads of mental patients crashed and started breeding, spawning fucked up garbage like these
useless cunts. Stick to bumming each other in private you fucken gay homo faggots. Having my
fingernails ripped out one by one would be much more soothing and gratifying than putting up
with this ridiculous rubbish again. A total fucken disgrace.
Going to these Onslaught gigs makes me feel better about myself, knowing that i'm far superior
to any of the scum in attendance, with a higher IQ than all of them put together. Why not pack
them all into a small room and spray a healthy mix of Ebola and Swine Flu in there. Aids won't
cut the mustard cos these fags have obviously grown immune after fucking each other up the ass
for so long. Fucken herpe-ridden charity whores.
Another Onslaught, another total fucken waste of time. Fuck off.
Onslaught #1, Arc Cafe, 27-9-08
For a start i only went to this gig because there was fuck all else to do.
Got to the venue just after nine and straight away thought: what a
shithole. The place was already full of wankers too. And $6 to get in!!
Capitalist cunts.
The first band was Bazooka and i thought they were tryhard tuneless
peasants that couldn't hold a note if it was nailed to their hands. I could
taste the bile in my throat but swallowed it back down cos the bitter
acidity was like sweet nectar compared to hearing these fucken homo
white trash wannabes. Fucken appalling.
The second round of torture was called Skullduggery and i
still can't decide whether they were acually a band or not. For a while
i thought it was monday morning and i kept hitting the snooze button on
my alarm clock, cos just when i settled into some silence it was
shattered by an abrasive irritating whine. These fucken mud monkeys
should slither back to the swamp they were spat from. Fucken terrible.
The less said about Conniption the better. They turned my growing headache
into a pounding migraine. What the fuck are these cunts on? I certainly
don't want any of it. The sound of my leg breaking would be more
comfortable. In future these ass sucking maggot whores should stay
outside the moat where they belong. Fucken disgraceful.
Gripper! How exciting. A bit like shitting out a pumpkin when you're
constipated. And then eating it. Sounding like a cross between a
dentist drill and a hundred babies screaming simultaneously, they
almost had me reaching for the razor blades, the fucken gay black
bastards. Fucken excruciating.
Smashed And Loud, huh! How about we just smash their faces in
with an extremely loud jackhammer. These junkie jamrag jews should
do something useful for a change, like burying themselves alive. Fucken
diabolical.
And finally, The Clips, a trio of six toed inbred rabie ridden dogs that
should do us all a favour and fuck off even further south, like the
Auckland Islands. They brought me to a climax of revulsion that could
only be surpassed by eating dogshit for sunday breakfast. Fucken painful.
If all these gay homo black cunt faggot trash try and pass themselves
off as bands again, or even humans, then the best i can offer them is
a one way ticket to the local cemetery to do the drawback on the
stagnant stench of a cold cadavars rotting ringpiece.
Onslaught#2, Arc Cafe, 7-3-09
"A mixture of total boredom and morbid curiousity got me to this gig. I just
wanted to see if these clowns had made any improvement since the last time
they bored the fuck out of me. I felt crook for days after being subjected to
their apalling nonsense, but thought it'd be OK this time, i mean it definitely
couldn't get any worse. But sure enough, i was wrong. These fucken
half-witted dead dog defilers wouldn't know a good time if it carved a chunk
of flesh out of their face! As far as the eye could see, there was a sea of scum,
a shower of shit, a tsunami of stench. Black clad posers trying to be all liberal
and open minded by mixing freely with all the wogs and fags and other such filth.
These "Onslaught" gatherings are like a Cherry Farm Reunion; lots of drongo drugs
and drooling dropkick deadbeats. They sure come out of the woodwork when
they know theres gonna be heaps of other mental cunts there, safety in numbers.
I felt like Einstein at an IHC party.
They charged me eight dollars to get in. Eight dollars!! I can't even begin to challenge
this outrage, i'm still in shock.
Once again the Bazooka bullshit brigade played first, and once again they were
fucken atrocious. These cunts are symbolic of the breakdown in the mental health
system, releasing all the headcases into a society that doesn't want them. I'd rather
keep them locked in a cage, i mean what are we, their fucken surrogate caregivers?
An unsurprisingly appalling start to the music.
Next up were Smashed And Loud who seem to keep wanting to change their name
which is understandable, who the fuck would go and see these wankers for a second
time? Didn't they take my last advice about burying themselves alive? I'd happily dig
the fucken hole. Obviously using a shovel is way above the intelligence level of these
fucken homo freaks. Think filthy rodent, think extermination.
And on it went to some classic Christchurch crap from Lunger, a bunch of old men
who'd be better suited to wasting away in a geriatric home full of perverts and
half-dead nobodies. An even better option, how about we all "Lunge" at them with
well sharpened pitchforks, fill'em full of holes. I'm not a violent man, but these bitches
loaded my brain with images of machetes and knives and metal bars being brandished
with wanton glee. Fuck off back to smog-city you slime-soaked scum.
And then Gripper. Yeah, i was "Gripped" alright, by waves of uncontrollable nausea
and revulsion and urges to spray shit all over the nearest bog. Who needs laxatives
when you only need to hear these fuckwits? Who needs a bog when it'd be more
satisfying to shit on these cunts? It just defiesrational belief that "People" like this are
allowed to roam freely in the community when they couldn't even be relied on to
sweep out a fucken gutter, unless you told them you'd thrown an old butt in there.
Fucken freeloading filth.
Black Forest should change their name to Black Useless Cunts cos they wouldn't have
two braincells to rub together, between them. Go ahead and pretend you can play but
don't bother subjecting us to your childish plink plonk plunk bullshit, you fucken
double-yolk eggs. It sounded worse than a kids xylophone with a few keys missing.
Learn to string a sentence together before showing your ugly pus-ridden whore faces
in public, you pathetic plebs.
And finally those swamp maggots Skullduggery. A characteristic pathetic performance
from these metalhead mongols. I'd rather slowly feed my arm intoa garbage disposal
than witness shit like this again. An appropriate finale of retard rubbish. Things can't
get any worse? They sure as fuck did when these no-friend knuckleheads hit the stage.
Fucken oxygen thieves.
And so it went, a total waste of time, money and energy. Extermination is a bit belated
for fuckheads like these, it should've started with their inbred deformed ancestors.
My advice? Stay the fuck away from the next "Onslaught". A rusty nail in the armpit
would be more bearable."
Onslaught#3, Captain Cook Tavern, 2-5-09
This i had to see. All the Onslaught peasants mixing with the student scum, a stirring pot
of the slimiest filth you could ever imagine. Two worlds collide. Both of them fucked in the
fucken head. And at The Cook! The foulest pub in the foulest area of the foulest city. A night
to fucken remember alright. Excitement plus.
First up were a couple of women from down south spouting off some acoustic bullshit that sounded
worse than bob dylan being disembowelled, all screech screech fucken screech. Calling themselves
The Sallys, i thought they'd be better named The Sewage, cos thats where they should be, taking
a long swim in a bubbling froth of gunge. Thats right, another pile of shit beginning to the gig.
And then Bazooka. I fucken detest them, simple as that.
I'd heard about Foe before. I'd heard they were crap. But it was worse than that, much worse.
Was this for real or was it a dumb joke to try and fool some of those homo student cunts? A
joke that noone gets. Imbecile porch monkey wankers.
Another Invercargill band, another disgrace. Psycho 78, a Misfits covers band. I fucken hate
The Misfits, a bunch of pretty boy facepaint freaks all jacked up on steriods, so theres no
way I'm going to enjoy a bunch of drunken inbred southern scum trying to imitate them by
sucking each others dicks. Didn't have a tune or a beat between them, the fucken ass-whores.
Everytime i pass through Waihola its all fogged out and dull, a fucken hole. And thats why
Skullduggery look like cross-eyed savages trying to find an old maggot infested bone to chew
on, bullshitting their way into the gig so they can jump on any table leftovers and ashtray
sludge. Stick to the soup kitchen you scavenging jews. Maybe you could learn how to whistle.
And to finish, Special Neadz from Oamaru, a revolting little coastal town formed when two
busloads of mental patients crashed and started breeding, spawning fucked up garbage like these
useless cunts. Stick to bumming each other in private you fucken gay homo faggots. Having my
fingernails ripped out one by one would be much more soothing and gratifying than putting up
with this ridiculous rubbish again. A total fucken disgrace.
Going to these Onslaught gigs makes me feel better about myself, knowing that i'm far superior
to any of the scum in attendance, with a higher IQ than all of them put together. Why not pack
them all into a small room and spray a healthy mix of Ebola and Swine Flu in there. Aids won't
cut the mustard cos these fags have obviously grown immune after fucking each other up the ass
for so long. Fucken herpe-ridden charity whores.
Another Onslaught, another total fucken waste of time. Fuck off.
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