And so of course I'm sorry and sour this morning. A happy regret, I wouldn't trade last nights; babble with Richo and Wes, or last nights shooting the moon whole with optimism and frenzy for all the clear headed mornings in the world. I'm in love with Byron and all her watering holes, I'm in love with the sound of my feet dragging themselves around ten paces behind me, I'm in love with the sourness and the sorrow of the next morning.

Opened my eyes to a huge racket down stairs like Elvis had just entered the building. There was drums and hammering and screams and shouting and horns and life movement even the little tribe of ants I had befriended under my bunk (shared with naked little Richo) were smashing my skull with their one billion foot falls a second. Like coming out of a trance I sat up instantly with red blotted eyes, hair on end, then recognizing my surroundings I lay back down, cursing last night with a hollow fist and a heavy head. Richard had amazingly left at daybreak to go swimming and to be dissolved by the glorious sunrise. A sunrise is so completely different to a setting; it's amazing that it's actually the same huge star. The beautiful rise is like that of an unforgettable feeling, a distant heat, a readiness, while the setting is a regret, fire out, eyes closed, directionless-haphazard-closing scene.

I scramble out of bed; Wesley's the last out at 9:30 (check out at ten). So we sit around and watch Jamie take his vitamins: Orange drink with a white mysterious power mixed in, Vitamin C, B and Iron, and a strange black tongued fluid from a naturopath which he tells us tastes like "a pepper shaker diluted with approximately 6mls of water plus 9mls of olive juice" Wesley and I take pleasure in watching him squirm as he swallows the black fluid. Off we all go in to the blue Byron Bay day, swimming and breakfast at Ringo's. By mid-day our heads start to clear then we're on the road again auguring over, Elliott Smith, Stephen Cummings, My badly recorded compilation tapes or the Dirty Three. We have a quick "Jackies" (Hungry Jacks) stop and all get a bit ill as you do after consuming a triple whopper with quadruple mayo and countless pickles mmmmmmm. After the little roadside stop we shuttle off to Bris-vegas and were all talkn' up a storm on whatever and a day. Jamie and Wes in the back with back seat air conditioning on full, screaming at each other 'bout '80's Australian bands. While Richo and I are up front, sunburnt heads full of steam, ready for the bris-vegas assault. The Pacific Hwy takes us straight to the front door of the 'airless city' Brisbane by day is hot, musty and breathless. The air is thick in the city, thick like honey and if you try to breathe deep you always cough. We looked for our hotel 'Hotel - ElDodgo' in the Valley and checked in.

Our suite, if you can call it that consisted of 2 bunk beds, a table, a bathroom with a shower curtain quardering off the 'bedroom' from the cell of a bathroom, and a clothes rack. I quickly jump for the bottom bunk, as does Jamie. We change out of our matching traveling overalls with a big bluebottle embroided on the back into our rock star suit, ties and mirrored aviators. Then off we go to zzz for an interview and an acoustic set of a couple of songs. It was a great interview and ended up going for about 50 minutes. Richo called it the Bluebottle variety hour..... and it was. After such a close encounter with fame and fortune we were all pumped for the big rock gig following but.........

Night Two - 'I had to turn up 'cause the pool players were getting rowdy'

Loaded in to the huge cemented carcass that all Unis are. Why is it that unis are always made of huge building blocks? The first band 'Flood boy' had to stop early due to a power failure on stage. The disenchanted crowd quickly became loud and uncomfortable they wanted hits and they wanted them now, they wanted the euphoric joy of becoming 'snookered' I think the term is. Fields (the second act) started after a shoddy attempt at a power revamp. They tried to give 'em the hits but slowly the ladies and gentlemen of QUT were exiting the building. Something had to be done, so a quick and decisive decision was made - Fields were going down much like a presidential assistant, they were losing the crowd. I stood at the door and begged people to stay but it was no good they simply pushed passed rudely, and then it happened...... three words saved the night for the bluies, three beautiful words conquered the apathy of this fastly becoming empty room. These three words were of course.... 'STONE TEMPLE PILOTS'. Pulling a cover out worked a treat. I was sick to the stomach and had to take a seat, Jamie looked over his face was shocked white he mouthed something to me I think it was something like 'No, No, No', Richo was nowhere to be seen I feared he had thrown himself off the balcony. It had to happen the boys and girls of QUT were leaving by the truckload, and as soon as the worst song ever written was played they all yahooed and cheered. It was destiny, it was somehow fitting, it was destitute.

So by the time Fields wrapped it up there was a hundred people up the back playing pool loudly and about eight to ten people up the front, there were so few it was hard to count them. The set went along unhampered with limited amounts of rock jumps. The small group clapped politely after every song. I had to turn up 'cause the pool players were getting rowdy.

Post gig - Richo was a sweaty mess, a kind of little river, an inland sea, I was uninterested in every thing, some would say possibly even a tad cantankerous, and Jamie felt sick. We left defeated again by the Brisbane heat and lifelessness. The small mob up front stayed strong till the end but lets face it eight people clapping politely against a hundred guys up the back screaming at the eight ball and twirling their sticks like Bruce-Lee could be compared to a group of sparrows taking flight at Niagara Falls.

We all went back to the 'El-dodgo' hotel so Richo could peel his shirt off. Then on to our friends' house in brissy for dinner, cards, beer, and believe it or not Trivial Pursuit, the winner still remains a mystery in the bluebottle camp. Is that a rock 'n' roll night or what!!!@#$%

<previous next>