The Holy Soul reek of Sydney is one comment I overheard at The Hopetoun tonight after Spencer's gig. Someone else, some young beautiful boy described Spencer's borrowed guitar pedal as a devil in a box. I've never heard them play like that before, they set my fucking head on fire. I don't know what's going on with the guitarist but he's got some fine kind of pain that breaks strings and rearranges atmosphere. If there's only one good band left in Sydney then its them.The Hopetoun was dead tonight when I walked in, dead enough to walk straight through to the bar and not have to steer around one person and I thought oh shit, I dragged my ill self over to Surry Hills for nothing. Sure they would have played but I don't think they would have taken it too serisously. I needn't have worried. By the end of the first song there was a fine jostle going on and someone yelled Fuck that was good and I pulled my chin down and gave a small smile.
After Spencer some boring band played and was mostly ignored. I sat in the tiny courtyard and encountered an unusual man. He had purple sneakers on which was appropriate considering that fine aging rocker Mr Tim Rogers once made a hell of a splendid noise using those same words on those same floorboards. Purple sneakers. The unusual man is called Andy Depressant, Spencer pointed him out as a potential experiment man and at first I vehemently declined and I resorted to using various rude finger gestures which Spencer returned with equal force in an ungentlemanly fashion. Andy Depressant was flippant and other, I have a strange feeling that if I was a man I would be just like him. I greatly admired his glasses, secretly. He told an excellent story about defaecating whilst experiencing the effects of methylenedioxymethamphetamine (spell check anyone?). I have asked Andy Depressant if he would like to be interviewed. He said yes so now I will have to interview him. I will write his portrait and never show it to him. I might pay for his coffee.
Most people were wearing boots, some pointy, some not so pointy, none pointier than Spencer's. I was wearing orange sneakers.
image: We Buy Your Kids
Comments
Rups :) xo
Oh Rups if only you had been there you could have told me what to do and then I certainly would have made an impression with my squawking and biting at his face.
Actually I believe that's how Sylvia Plath nabbed herself a husband, she squawked right up to him and bit his face but we all know how that ended up. Baked head anyone?
Rups :)