Love! Love! Love! The spirit of love is in the air! Cupids and blazing little cinammon hearts,formals,elixirs of sweet head swimming froth! Tongues lapping beneath dancefloor lights. Croons of thigh opening power and chocolate dildos!
Love!
Ok, you get the point. And maybe you're happy to be alone with a box and a bottle. Maybe the intentions of having a lovely romantic night shared with tens of your close friends were lost in the musty smell of your shitty outfit from the patch. Maybe, love is
hate for you. Maybe bad music is good music, good art is bad art and dressing up is just so fucking hard so you'll just kind of throw whatever together. Unless you're fat and looking to hook up. Then your hair is spectacular, the make up splendid and the gown superb.
For many of you this might make no sense, but to some that shared a somewhat busy, chaotic, and quite confusing night last night with me at Logans Pub, my words should ring like the sirens of titan.
Boys and Girls TV Club opened a night that was apparently a formal. It certainly felt like a high school dance when this shabby duo took to the stage. This boy creature sings with his eyes on his fingers because he is still learning how to play his guitar.
The drummer maked Meg White look like John Bonham. Do you get that? Because John Bonham is a really good drummer and Meg white has flippers for hands.
This band, who for some reason keep getting gigs, and I keep being there, keep sucking hard. I hope every time that they will have practiced and improved and some acheling Lou Reed listening love would get through to the cjild creatures brain. But no. They break a string, it makesd no difference, yet the show must stop until a guitar has been made available to this joke. A bad joke.
This night was so weird. Trendy girls with bad eyeglasses and worse attitudes were being hightened by "powdereing their noses" in the restroom.
The little groups of friends all clustered together like dingleberries around a giant rectum of an event that smells most foul. This was soooo high school. Like so highschool ;p
Next up were Babysitter. Another band that in the past I felt lacked any kind opf musical merit and fell in with the crowd just because they are all friends.
Unlike Boys and Girls TV Club, I felt that this band had improved greatly since the last time I had seen them. They opened thematically with the Jefferson Airplane classic 'Need Somebody To Love'. This fell a part fairly rapidly however. But the next few songs were better. Poppy grinding garage rocky diddys. After a few songs it felt like they were playing the same song over. Until their last song which seemed to have some potential as psych rock. Which these guys are supposed to be versed in as they host a Psych Night. And seem to somehow be in cahoots with Monster Party.
I don't get it. Monster Party is great and the Psych DJ thing is terrible. Whatevs.
Next up were Himalayan Bear. This was orgasmic. The crooning fluttery vocals lifted this room into a different place altogether. A completely different calibre of musicianship. They seperated the bays from the men. Everyone else seemed preconceptioned next to this group. The drummer had wild expressions and a fluid tenacity that made me practically burst with hope and joy. The violin player was beautiful and sounded equally so. The music was warped doo wop yet so hard to pin hole modern and rich sounding.
It was so confusing that this act should be placed amidst such crap. I don't get it. Not one bit.
Some slow danced and most chattered quite abrassively in their dingleberry clusters. So strange how the focus was met by the inhabitants of this pathetic event.
The last band were Footsies. This was faux punk at it's most pathetic. Crowd surfing that was weak and felt forced. Ranting and raving, I can't see this holding up in any kind of a music scene. Their end was to demolish the stage and force a very angry soundguy to the stage who looked like he was ready for blood.
Starnge pathetically arranged formal. I'm not sure who won best dressed. I hope it was won of the fat girls. At least they tried.
Thurs. I went to Lday Marmalade for lunch. OIt had been recommended to me, and I was told of some great art that wqas being displayed. Upon entry, I instantly felyt the bitter sting of too coll for school service. I stood, waiting for a bit to be seated and examined some of the works on the wall.
Rachelle Reimers works were childlike. Seriously childlike in a bad unartistic child way. Splotches of Black and green that were puked upon the canvas. An appauling price of 95$ was being asked for this unthought shit on the wall. Puke. Shit. Whatever. It took the artist 2 min. to create this insult. If it took anymore, they must be mentally and physically crippled. If you are Rachelle, my sincerest apologies. Great work.
Kat Cearns is a different story. A man kneels in contemplation adorning a wolf skin.
A woman by his side in Buck skin. They are both naked. The colours are vivid and stark. Quite complementary. Blues and pinks. No matter how you slice it. it looks good. Not great art, but next to Rachelles work, it looks like DaVinci.
No one came to seat us. We left.
Truth Be Told Victoria, you have a capacity for spoiled children who must have wealth to proclaim their artistry as such. I'm not saying there isn't quality work here, because their plainly is. I'm just saying that it is out numbered and possibly being shrouded with veils of spoiled trash and that stinks and makes it hard to breathe or get close to.
Happy Valentines Day
Love you,
Max xo
