Christmas Overhaul

I am moving my blog very very soon. The main reason is when I post a long blog rant or load of old shit the settings change and I can not edit things as I want them edited. Meaning it looks as though I write one long line of crap and don't have any idea of a paragraph or a sentence. So in order to save myself from further errors I am in the process of change. Over the Christmas period I am getting nerd help to set up my website/social networking and Gen Y shit. I know it flies in the face of my ranting about the species known as Gen Y but if you can't beat them join them.

Holy Fuck You Go Bob!

A Triumph Finally! For many many years I have waited for the day when I would see Bob Triumph against an Australian audience, ungrateful, wicked bastards that we are. Well the wait is over as it has finally happened and not before long I might add, it only took around twenty fucking years or so.

I was initially concerned about the venue choice, Star City Casino? Was the show doomed to be cancelled when ticket sales slumped which has happened to Bob in the past when promoters obviously bite off more than they can chew and try to book a venue that will not be filled. Sorry Bob I have been to every show you have done in Sydney, bar any pre 1985 when I was too young, including seeing you at the "Three Weeds" pub in the early 90's when it was a case of play a pub or play in someones lounge room. So I kind of like the small atmosphere with myself and the three other fans who come along, but hey at least we come, okay maybe it is four but I am guessing the total number is around 3.

So it was a big surprise when I realised that holy fuck this show would go ahead. Now Bob's last tour at the Enmore Theatre was the same deal only the fact that the entire place had the blackout treatment so as not to allude to the fact that yet again only myself and the other three/four had showed up.

So Friday evening was the big night and all was going array. Tamara was running late, I was in a fluster and Frank wanted to sit outside the venue and slowly sip Australian wine as if we had all the time in the world even though we had been warned the doors would be locked at 8pm with no exceptions which would leave me out in the cold with my ear pressed up against a door in order to hear my beloved. Joy!

Okay so earlier we had managed to organise a seat swap with the tickets we had indeed paid for. Yes Bob we could have scammed free industry tickets but instead we paid for your show because I love you and don't want to rip you off. So after an approach to the box office to purchase an extra ticket for Frank the lovely counter girl swapped our seats for unclaimed comps which were for the second row.

You see I thought my purchased tickets were front row. Turns out I was wrong. Foolish me thought row A was front row but it was in fact the fourth row, that is fourth after AA, BB, CC, DD, ahhhh okay, stop making sense. The poor pet behind the counter saw my angst at this news and helped me immediately with the comps. The fact is we could have walked up flashed a press pass and bang front fucking row whilst the three "real" fans, one of which just happens to be me, sit row 4 whilst the industry fucks and freebie arse lickers don't show up, as usual, which = empty seats and three very cranky fans. Not your fault Bob just the juggernaut that rolls along behind the artists back therefore proving again that its not what you know its who you know. Of course I know all too well after many years of concert going and music industry hoopla so I shouldn't act like I don't but whether its U2, Gorillaz or Englebert Humperdick a fan is a fan and they should garner some respect as with the artist them self who I have no doubt are left unaware of their fans plight.

So in order to get in the venue we convince Frank to "skull, skull, skull, skull" his wine, which he does with an incredible lack of speed and then rush to catch the lift down to the venue entrance. In the lift, and full of beans, or shit as is usually the case I ask a rather elderly, okay okay one step out of the grave couple what show they are seeing tonight, assuming they are going to see something else. Transcript;

Me: Excuse me which show are you seeing tonight? (Voice in my head, "Wow, this really is "morbid" curiosity, literally morbid, get a load of these two they may well croak and die right here in this lift"!)

Mature Lady: Ahhhhh, who are we seeing dear???

Mature Male: Ahhhhhhhhh, ummmmmm, sorry what was that?

Mature Lady: Ahhhh, ummm, what show are we seeing dear? (loudly)

Mature Male: (Checking ticket), ummm Bob, Bob, Bob, Gerldorhfe.

Mature Lady: Ummmm, errrrr, errrr, Bob, Bob, ummmm Bob yes Bob, yesss yessss he's called Bob.

Me: You do realise he is a punk rocker and WILL NOT be talking politics. You do realise he is a musician and all the other stuff is other stuff and tonight will be about his MUSIC. (Voice in head and then later to Tamara, "They don't realise that he is going to say the word fuck, sex, politics, religion and possibly Bono all in one sentence do they"? Holy crap the audience will walk out en mass.

Me: Umm you purchased tickets to tonight's show? (Voice in head "Bet they got the tickets for free when the purchased the two for one buffet on pension day and thought, well at least its a night out")

Them: Yes

Me: (Voice In Head; "Holy fuck, you go Bob!")

So I was worried for Bob, really really worried especially after a quick scan of the now almost packed theatre, damn near 2000 seats, and filled, Holy fuck you go Bob!

Okay okay so they don't know any other song other than "Do They Know It's Christmas" and they also wont know that if you play it myself and the other three fans okay okay four fans will get the humph and walk out if you do. So you are really - bloody hell I can't believe I am going to say this - "showcasing" yourself here, with the possibility of picking up a few new fans who in the past have never shown up before tonight. Holy fuck you go Bob!.

So out Bob comes, myself and the other three, alright four fans clap wildly whilst the rest of the audience don't realise its you because they don't know who you are until you step up to the microphone and into the spotlight which allows them to recognise you, they then clap, politely, albeit with trepidation.

Bang! Music! Bang! Rock and Roll! Bang! Holy fuck you go Bob!

After a few songs Bob concurs to inform his audience that he is suffering from a lurgy, but is going to press on despite the fact. He also admits that he is used to an Australian audience giving him shit on all matters, though this time they don't, he presses on.

Note to Bob: (There is one reason Australian audience's in the past gave you any grief and this is due to the fact that those fuckers doing it are not fans and haven't paid to see you. For example during your last tour when you performed at the Enmore Theatre all I noticed were a bunch of Gen Y comp ticket holders who seemed to be friends of friends of someone who thought they knew someone from the Daily Telegraph. So to me most of them only appeared to be at the show so they could be the first to tweet to the world that Bob Geldof flew into a rage and called Russell Brand a "talentless" cunt. So disappointed that they may go home empty handed they threw caution to the wind and began to heckle or for those more inventive who can type with a fucking thumb - spend the entire show texting their friends, the ignorant fucks that they are.)

So of course I am biased as you know but I think Bob is brilliant, I love his music and I am not afraid to say it and have done for years. I think his left handed wizardry of the guitar is not only bizarre as he has a right handed guitar but interesting to watch and of course when I am not watching that I am watching the fact that Bob does not believe in the institution of the under pant. Holy fuck you go Bob!

So we three/four fans got all the hits including, A sex thing, Room 19, Mary of the 4th form, Rat Trap, Banana Republic and the ye olde Don't like Monday's standard and then some, meaning more songs which was great.

So despite the fact that Bob was clearly struggling due to illness he didn't disappoint. He sang his little heart out, and his voice out and he as usual up staged his good friend Bono by wearing an actual colour on stage, albeit to use his words a"baby shit green" colour it was a colour and those seated in row x would have been able to see him even if they didn't know who the fuck he was.

Note From Me via Bob to Bono: Please wear white! When was the last stadium show you went to? Those up the back find it difficult to see one when one is dressed as the same colour as the fucking speakers. I know it is a difficult colour to pull off, white that is, but perhaps one could employ someone who can make one a pair of slacks which holds you in at all the right places, also join Bob's institute of the no under pant club, chicks dig it? Its just a tip!

So the show went off. I can say this with a great deal of certainty as the elderly Asian couple I noticed seated in the row behind me, (note photo above), before the show started were the litmus test as far as I was concerned. I shot them a glance before the show and they appeared to have no idea whom they were seeing and didn't strike me as rock show types but by the last song they were standing and damn near screaming a lung for more.

Holy Fuck You Go Bob!

"You Will Need To Wear Them In!"

Finally purchased Dr. Martens classic shoes in black with yellow stitching. Turns out I am not so old after all and if I had just walked a few hundred meters out of my front door then perhaps I would have found what I was looking for. Just to make me feel young the Gen Y who sold them to me reminded me as I trotted out the door "Remember you need to wear them in, K" "Okay" I replied acting as if I had never seen a pair before in my life. I wanted to say "They invented the band aid in response to the blisters that would form on my poor aching feet due to Dr. Martens in the mid to late 80's" If only she knew huh!, perhaps I was looking particularly young or perhaps she was just doing me a favour but it was nice to be Gen Y for a few seconds although I doubt I faked it well enough I wasn't texting at the time and actually held eye contact so I guess she would have guessed I was an X but then that ain't hard.

Dr. Martens

May not have to wait to get said shoes in the motherland. Have possibly found some in home town, hoorah!

I Will Clean Up My Act! Maybe!

I have just re-read some of my posts, god I suck at grammar/grammer/grammor. My defence is that I am usually half asleep when bashing out a blog or very very cross about what I am writing about and hence the passion seeps in and the grammar/grammer/grammor and spelling (spl) slip out the door and down the road for a well earned drink. So if I don't make sense then go read Wikkileaks kause I carn't spel K.

There Is Only One Thing That Unites Us!

All I Want For Christmas!

Is to never ever have to hear "All I want for Christmas" by Mariah Carey, ever ever again! Thank you Santa, I really don't think this is asking for too much I could be asking for the abolition of poverty but no just a simple easy request, vanquish that song immediately!

"It's Not About Who You Are Now Darling! Its About Who You Once Were!"

Oh yes these are the words that are ringing in thine ears at the moment. "Its not about who you are now Darling, Its about who you once were". Yes that is so true, so very true. So this afternoon and well into the early evening I spent reminiscing with the lovely Vittorio of the Piccolo Bar something I haven't done in a long time, he loves to chat as much as I do and if it not for the fact that we are getting older and the darkness was looming we probably would have talked all night, which is something I "used" to do with Vittorio, talk to him at 4am after I had finished work. So today we talked and talked and talked but in the end that is all it was just talk and as Vittorio so rightly pointed out it was all "bullshit" and don't I know how to do that, in spades. I used to feel relevant to the times, like I knew what was in and what was cool and underground, now of course I sometimes feel like I have been dropped into another era and I want the merry go round to drop me off please. I believe I am futuristic in my believes but I believe that I also truly value the past and who paved the streets with gold and as we both pointed out Lady Ga Ga would not know Lindsay Kemp if he walked up and did a Poiret in front of the poor girl thus proving Gen Y's intolerance of the past. So I don't want to be too down on the younger ones but we certainly did have some fabulous times and walking along the clean sterile streets of a town which I used to call my own was difficult, it was too clean, too perfect and I felt really irrelevant. I used to say Sydney don't go changin but sometimes I feel like an Englishman in New York literally in my own town, you know "I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien" Well perhaps the lame old Sting was onto something. Thankfully after feeling this wistful about my home town I then drove past the Enmore and Blondie and The Pretenders were playing, now if ever there were a truer line spoken tonight it is "Its not about who you are now darling, its about who you once were" so Vittorio perhaps we are relevant still because nor a more profound sentence could be uttered with those two treading the boards even if it were written in Lady Ga Ga's blood. So perhaps there is still old school relevance but don't bother trying to buy a pair of old school Dr. Marten's lace up black shoes with yellow stitching because this town no longer sells them, anywhere!. So London I will be back baby because and soon because Dr. Marten's are possibly still the one thing that unites us, or maybe not!........

Bob Bob Bobbing Along!

I just knew Bob would be in Sydney in time for me to see him. He is my Christmas present all wrapped up in a big bow of having to deal with Star City Casino. Yes I can finally have it out with Mr. Geldof in regards to his selling out on the expensive watch front. Oh yes and I will have a word to him about it I might add. The sister and I are pushing for an interview, on this occasion she will interview and I will sit in stunned silence whilst trying not to shit myself not unlike other times in front of front men. Speaking of front we are row A of course, scored excellent seats yet again, that is because I am only competing with his daughters and I guess a few old Sydney friends he may scounge up for a vantage point. No doubt the door list will be huge - again!, wonder if I will have to sit next to Bono, again!, possibly not but it would also be nice to have a word in his ear about wearing black to outdoor stadium gigs and no doubt he will listen to what I have to say if only to have something else to drown out Bob's singing. So Bob get ready because I am on my way.

She's Got The Look

It is hard to believe that anything good could have ever come of the song "She's Got The Look"
by that terrible band of the 80's "Roxette" but it did. Above in the middle is Khyanna attending her recent Year 10 formal and the reason I believe she is alive today is due in part to me and unfortunately that crap song would be part of her DNA. You see many moons ago probably about three years before Khyanna was born I was asked to go to a party which was being held in a part of town that I ordinarily would never have gone within a five kilometer radius of. I was not from there and I didn't want to go there. For reasons which still remain hazy, no doubt I was chasing boy action at the time I somehow agreed to go to this said party which incidentally was being held on a Saturday afternoon, yes that is right afternoon. I was not privy to the afternoon party set as I was used to getting up to go out at about 10pm and shutting the front door behind me to leave at 12pm so an afternoon party just threw me, so did how I was going to get to the party without a car.

So I called and persuaded my friend Claudia to come along and she agreed to go, no doubt hoping to chase boy action as well. So we arrived at the party only to find I didn't even know the person having the party and most of its attendees were particularly low brow. Everyone was out in the back yard and we headed out there to the thunderous sound of Roxettes, She's Got The Look. I cringed as I heard it but hoped things might improve. They didn't. We got out the back and I scanned the local boy talent and came to the quick conclusion that umm yeah let's leave. Unfortunately Claudia had spotted some potential and we stayed. We stayed through a few hours of hearing Roxette's She's Got The Look on repeat, yes that is right repeat. You see dear reader the girl having the party only had one record a 7" of you guessed it, Roxette's She's Got The Look she also had an old record player that sent the arm back to the start of the record once it had finished playing so you could hear it again and again and again, and didn't we just, almost to the point of self harm. I sat there unamused hoping for something to happen so as to take my mind off homicide and then the storm broke and the sun came shining down. The girls father arrived home from work and found a whole bunch of disgruntled teens in his yard having a party that he was unaware of and demanded we leave immediately. Thank fuck I couldn't have been happier. I skidded out the door and ran as fast as I could fearing my life would be irrevocably damaged due to being subjected to such bad taste in music for such a long period of time without respite. So the party then convened to a local park, minus the record player but still surrounded by the dull guests. I called for a back up plan so I could get home and I left Claudia to her own devices as she had clearly met someone she connected with and wanted to spend more time getting to know him. So I hitched my pony and split in case my ears started to bleed in public. I recall a few weeks later I saw Claudia holding hands with said young lad at the shops and I thought well at least we hadn't completely wasted an afternoon going to a crap party on the wrong side of town with people we had never met before nor would again. So in conclusion Claudia ended up having a child with the man she met that afternoon, her name is Khyanna, and without doubt, She Has The Look. Khyanna is stunning and I am glad that I agreed to go to that party if I hadn't then I believe she would not even exist, strange how life gives back and a chain of events can lead to a life changing alteration, so to Roxette, here's to you!, I guess the universe owes you one, Cheers!.

Darlinghurst Eats It's Young

Yes that is right Darlinghurst does. There has been a new addition to the "80's Are Back" exhibition at the Powerhouse. A new art exhibit has been recognised and the result was a link to the website and blog via the Powerhouse's website. I loved looking at the photos and ended up knowing a few subject matters, Felicity being one. I can recall a great night at Luna Park with Felicity. I have no idea what we were doing there or why but I do recall her and Mon spinning wildly on the Rotor. Of course it all ended in tears when Mon ended up getting off and spewing a rather weird candy pink colour. The spew was in fact almost 100% pure fairy floss. Fun times, fun times. So check out the photos and the website my favorite is the picture of the international terminal at Sydney airport. Seriously no wonder nobody came to Sydney you would get out see that then run back to get back on your plane to somewhere a little more cultured or should that be kultured? At least David Bowie got the joke and loved Australia in the 80's. Oh and the Luna Park trip didn't occur till the 90's before then it was a closed ghost town.

New Addition To My Resume!

The other day whilst going through the ten items or less aisle in the grocery store I had my hands full and couldn't go through my favorite self serve check out. I got to talking to the Gen Y behind the counter. I told her I loved the self service check out even though it could possibly be the demise of the 'check out chick' forever. The Gen Y assured me this would never be the case and I assured her this was a good thing on many levels not least the fact that a job is always a good thing when you are short on cash and young. Gen Y then suggested that if I love doing the self serve check out that I should list this as a skill on my resume. So there you have it I can now add, 'cashier' to my many talents even without an employer it doesn't appear to matter. I of course was hesitant to ask if this is how she had obtained her current employment, I have had enough run in's with Gen Y this year best to leave it up to my own burgeoning imagination.