Have
you ever seen those cowboy movies where the hero has the shoot out at
high noon
in the main street of the dangerous border town. Everyone ducks and
runs inside
as he faces off with the hired gun of the evil water stealing, cattle
rustling,
land baron motherfucker. I went to movieland in the States and went to
the
generic gone horse townh movie set and wasn`t particularly surprised to
see the
buildings were all just wooden fronts propped up by beams.
What does this have to do
with rock and roll? Well,
it seems to me that a lot of people in the music gbusinessh seem to
have a
similar thing going on, they walk around holding up these flashy fake
gfrontsh
advertising themselves as gpromoterh or glabel headh or gmanagerh when
if you
look at them side-on you`ll find its all a bunch of horse shit.
Unfortunately
by that stage they have already bullshitted you enough that you have
wasted a
lot of time and or money. Here`s a few of the wankers we have met
during our
time in Tripod Jimmy.
1: The
Club Manager Prick in Yokohama.
We had made the long haul
up
North to play a
Tokyo/Yokohama pair of shows, Tokyo Friday and Yokohama Saturday. We
were
getting a ride from our good friend Junkichi from the Osaka grind-core
band
Godie, he wanted to come up and hang out with us. We rolled into
Yokohama
Saturday after a successful show the night before feeling shattered as
usual
after way too much after-show celebrations.
For
some reason, god knows why,
we always seemed to
find ourselves in a bad way after playing in Tokyo. Itfs probably
because we
used to play lower down the bill there so we had the chance to get
stuck into
the drinks while watching the later bands. Then there were the
after-show piss
ups at izakayas that Japanese bands always organize. A very
good custom,
but it made for some miserable drives.
We
drove up to the club in time
for soundcheck and
were surprised to see the blackboard outside didn`t have our name on
it. gOh
wellh we said to each other git`s probably advertising for last nights
showh.
The date said otherwise, but we figured it was probably just a mistake.
Right?
We unloaded and went into the club, wanting to get soundcheck and maybe
a
sneaky afternoon beer behind us. The club owner seemed surprised to see
us,
especially as he was expecting us tomorrow, Sunday. Shit.
There it was right there
in his schedule book.
Tripod Jimmy, Sunday. Our gmanagerh had booked us into this one, so we
got on
the phone to him. Of course, he blamed the club owner. The club owner
blamed
him. No one was prepared to admit to anything other than total
professionalism
on their part/ utter ineptitude from the other guy. Lots of finger
pointing
ensued, when the only thing we wanted to know was gwhat do we do
tonight?h The
club owner was adamant. There was no way we would be allowed to play
that
night. Okay, well in that case, we were very sorry, but we were going
to have
to cancel. Junkichi had to work on Monday, it wasn`t fair to ask him to
stay
and drive back overnight Sunday. Nope, that wasn`t on either. If we
cancelled,
he was going to ban us at his club. He would also call all the other
live
houses he knew and tell them about our slack ass bad attitude. Plus all
the
other bands on the label would be tarred with the same brush.
Great.
We
had to do the show. We went out for dinner and drinking, and slept on
someonefs
floor, a friend of one of the other bands. Not a bad night at all
especially the
slightly fruity friend of our hosts who came in to check the water was
hot
enough and that we knew where the soap was every five seconds one of us
was in
the shower. Except Tomo for some reason.
As
Junkichi had to go back, we found ourselves running down to the train
station
to get the Shinkansen after our show. Five people showed, and it cost
us 65,000
yen for train tickets. We have never been back there again anyway.
2: The
gEvents Promoterh
Our gmanagerh phoned us
up in a
high state of
excitement. gHow would you guys feel about doing an arena tour with Hi
Standard!!??h. Yes, it was all on, a promoter he had met in Nagoya
(gCall me
Zack, after Zack Wyldeh- Never trust Japanese guys named after heavy
metal
guitarists) was setting up a massive promo drive for Toyota. Huge arena
events,
up and down the length of Japan. Fireworks, T.V, radio, the whole
works. We
would be part of the musical entertainment as Zack was way into us. The
respective plastic personalities of Zack and our gmanagerh had bonded
with each
other at one of our shows.
They
were both impressed by each
others notebook
organizers, name cards, (Zack: Promotions, T.V and Media. Manager:
Promotions,
Record label president, Music production, Band management, Video
production,
Music publishing and Media. Quite a range huh?) and endless bullshit
storms.
They had schemed and had meetings, inflating and inflating until Zack,
in a
burst of utter booze induced fantasy had come up with the Toyota thing.
We
were to get flown to all the
shows, hotel rooms
and costs met, plus 200,000 yen per show, playing to audiences of
15-20,000.
Sounded good, too good, but Dammit! He was so convinced it was going
on! gWhen
the labels find out you guys are doing this, wefll have you on Sony in
no timeh
our manager gushed. Work schedules were changed. Plans were made.
Of course, there were no shows.
Never even got close.
Zackfs company had a pitch meeting to Toyota who wisely decided to pass
citing
the gdownturn of the economyh. Didnft bother to tell us of course, just
stopped
taking our managers calls. Nice. In the times we have met him since,
liquored
up at our shows, he has offered us a video deal on his T.V show, an
appearance
in a movie, and gigs at a monster truck event and at a car show.
Needless to
say, none have materialized.

|
3: the
Washed Up Deluded gRock Starh
We showed up
in Nagoya for the start of our
supporting jaunt through Japan opening up for the Smugglers (great
guys!),
Supersnazz (bitches) and the big gstarsh the Queers, a lower rung
American punk
band. They were on Lookout Records, home of Green day before they got
huge.
Green Day were now swimming in pools of cash, and the Queers were still
trawling the punk rock shitholes of the world, much to their leader Joe
Queers
disgust. He deserved better godammit! And those around him were made to
see his
point of view on this fact, loudly and repeatedly.
Things were
rocky right from the start. The last time
the Queers came out, they were playing to 3-400 a night. Probably
because the
Japanese promoter did some work on the tour or something. Our gmanagerh
had
booked this one, and his promo consisted of sitting with a calculator
and
rubbing his hands with glee at the thought of all the cash he was going
to get
from these 3-400 potential (more like gimaginaryh) kids every night. Oh
yeah,
and getting us to go out postering with some photo copied black and
white
posters. Needless to say, the customers were pretty thin on the ground,
and Joe
was getting pissed off.
We walked
backstage and were met by our manager.
gDon`t drink
backstage!h
gHuh?h
gDon`t let
Joe even see a beer! He`s a recovering
alcoholic and he won`t play if he sees a beer!h.
Great. This
big baby had a wittle dwinking pwoblem
and we were the ones going cold turkey. Joe was in a bad mood, whinging
and
groaning about – in no particular order – the transport (didn`t like
the van,
wanted to go on the train), the soundcheck (couldn`t hear his voice),
accommodation (wanted a nice hotel instead of the Ryokan) and of
course, the
lack of customers. He was gfucking going back to Hawaii man, fuck
thish. Our
gmanagerh was being taken aside for longer and more bitter gchatsh
every few
hours.
Later that
night, there he was, cranking our the big
hits, sub-Ramones dirges called gHey Motherfuckers I only Drink Budh
and gFag
Townh (gFagtown Fagtown Fagtown SUCKS!h).
Next day we were off to
Tokyo. It was pretty damn
cramped in the vans as Joe refused to travel with more people in his
van than
was gcomfortableh for him. Needless to say, the other van was crammed.
The
Tokyo show was more of the same, Joe getting shittier and shittier as
things
went on. The only bright spot on the horizon was the hotel we were
staying in
that night. Yes! A hotel! Everyone had their own room! Joe was pleased.
Typically our gmanagerh hadn`t told him it was actually a capsule
hotel. He was
doing his usual trick of letting a problem grow and grow until it was
scary.
Later that
night we headed up in the elevator. Joe
was pleased as punch. gWhat floor are you guys rooms on?h he asked his
bandmates. He wasn`t a happy man when the elevator door opened.
After a
night stewing, it was time for the big talk.
Something had to give or Joe was ggoing back to fucking Hawaii and my
girlfriend man!h The gsomethingh was us. We were off the tour. The vans
were
just gtoo crowded manh and Joe wanted the whole back seat to himself.
We were
the bone our gmanagerh was to use to appease the wrathful god Joe. We
had used
up all our holidays at our jobs. But tough shit. We had to take the
train back
to Osaka at our own expense. All of us except Andy that is. No, as one
of the
only two drivers he had to finish out the tour. He started as the
singer from
one of the bands and finished as Joefs driver.
These
are
just the people off the top of my head.
There have been many many others out there I could write about, from
the club
manager (gHey our contract says 10,000 yen per band member! This is
only
40,000!h gYes but there`s five of you, we usually only have four piece
bandsh
gSo why don`t you just say 40,000 on the contract?h gCause sometimes we
have
three piece bands and we only pay them 30,000h), the gig promoter
(gHere`s the
poster I made, what do you think of it?h gLooks not bad actuallyh
gGreat Ifll
stick it on the doorc.h gOh, I see, THE poster you madec..h One paying
customer, his girlfriend), the Osaka glabel headh who moved back to the
States,
someone riding past his place found 3-400 Cd`s from a variety of bands
(they
had paid for the manufacture of them of course) on his label in the
trash
outside his house, to the club manager who absconded with the bar take
and
salary of the staff one day before we were due to play there. The club
closed
of course.
And of
course, who could forget our erstwhile
gmanagerh. I could write pages on his crimes alone, but I won`t get too
far
into his case as it pisses me off just thinking about him. I am
reminded of his
skills everytime I see the cover of our gInterimmerh EP. It`s a kind of
washed
out blurry grey instead of the sharp black and white of the back. This
is because
he sent the wrong kind of graphic file to the pressing plant, despite
clear
instructions, which he didnft read. When it looked like the discs
werenft going
to be back in time for our Australian tour, he sent them the graphic
again. By
fax. Nice. They were late anyway, and we had no idea what had happened
until
they arrived. Have you ever seen the bit in Spinal Tap where the
manager opens
up the box of records and tries to talk them into accepting the plain
black
sleeve? And pretends it was meant to be that way? And says it looks
cool and it
was by design?
Spinal
Tap
is a documentary, it really is.
gI WAS SO
WAAAAAAAAAAASTED!h
by Shane
Inwood
Colonel
Chuck Barfman was in enemy territory, flying
low over the enemy when a lucky shot caught him in the face. It swiftly
burned
its way into his stomach. He turned green. gIfm hit!h he screamed
clamping his
hands over his face. His wingman, Major Ralph Vom Spewmeister could
only watch
in horror as Chuck lurched convulsively and performed an emergency
maneuver
known among the troops as an gExorcisth. Tomorrow morning was not going
to be
pretty.
The
long
term damage from alcohol has been well
documented. Everything from liver failure, impotence and depression to
utter
insanity lies in that refreshing lager. Hands up who thinks the big
floppy man
tits youfll get from all the female hormones in there are attractive?
Good luck
attracting a mate with a string of reeking turds oozing out of your
granny
nappies and spastic drooling fits caused by Wernickefs Encephalopathy.
Mind you, wearing Depends and having your dinner through a straw wonft
worry
you by that stage, because youfll also have Korsakoff`s syndrome, a
mental
disease with symptoms indistinguishable from the final stages of Alzheimers
. Youfll
probably think you used
to be the President of America. Break out the champagne! But thatfs
years away.
Before you reach the messy ending of your drastically shortened life,
you will
have to wake up a lot of times after a night of gjust a couple of
drinks.h
For
some reason guzzling a bottle of Jack followed up
by a few swift embalming fluid shooters to ghelp you sleeph can leave
you
feeling a little ragged the next day. Youfll have shaking hands, and a
pounding
head, feel starving, yet strangely, the smell of food will make you
want to
spew. Youfll probably spew anyway come to think of it. But that wonft
help, oh
no. Youfll have a whole day of lying in bed weeping, blubbing and
clutching
your head ahead of you. Youfll say things like gGod, I know I donft
talk to you
much, but if you stop this, Ifll never drink again, I promisec.
Ohgodohgodmyheadmakeitstop.h Like God actually gives a rats ass whether
you cap
off every day with a six pack. I mean, 24 beers in a case, 24 hours in
His
Blessed Days, I donft think thatfs a coincidence do you?
This feeling
is what we in the medical profession
call a HANGOVER. There are steps you can take to avoid HANGOVERS, and
wefve
hunted down advice from the experts. They range from alcoholics to
raging
alcoholics, and they know what to do.
First,
a
bit of science. Hangovers are caused by the small MEANIES that live in
booze.
Sometimes when the light is just right, they become visible. The best
time and
place to see them is late late morning in a scummy rock bar with a
heavily
padded door. Rest your head on the bar and look through your drink from
an inch
away or so. The small black spots you see swimming in your drink are
the
MEANIES. Some of them may be carrying small spears or even pitchforks.
They get
into your brain and eat it from the inside and cause you HANGOVERS.
Half a
teaspoon of bleach in every drink will kill them however, or you could
just do
it as a shot if the taste makes you wince.
In the
interests of fair play however, I guess some
other views should be imparted, please be aware that Head Cheese in no
way
accepts these crackpot ideas.
One
particularly whacked out theory is that hangovers
are caused because alcohol, along with coffee, tea and Chinese
ass-reducing
pills is a very strong diuretic. This means it leeches water from your
body out
of all proportion to the amount you drink, thereby causing the
interesting
effect of girls leaping up en masse to rush off to the toilet every
five
seconds at work parties. As your body is about 80% water, itfs very
important
to keep your water level up. Medically, there is no difference between
the guy
who spent the day lying in the life raft in the Indian Ocean babbling
deliriously and drinking salt water, and the guy who spent the day
lying under
the table in the Indian Restaurant babbling deliriously and drinking
Salty
Dogs. You can greatly reduce the amount of damage to your body, and
thereby
your hangover, by following some simple rules.
Bare
minimum:
*DRINK
WATER BEFORE BED!! DUMMY! Falling into bed, off your tits, straight
from the
bar is the easiest way to give yourself a hangover and maximize long
term
damage. Getting into the habit of drinking a litre of water before you
go to
sleep will help HUGELY. Even a can of sports drink while slumped over
in the
taxi on the way home is better than nothing.
Note: Be aware
Acetaminophen (such as Tylenol) in particular is VERY bad with alcohol.
They react
together to cause severe liver and kidney damage. Can you say gLarry
Hagmanh?
Aspirin, paracetamol and ibuprofen (such as Advil or Bufferin) promote
gastrointestinal bleeding when mixed with booze. DO NOT get into the
habit of
washing down headache pills before sleep to help with your hangover on
the
gwake-up-after-itfs-already-workingh principle. A better strategy is to
use
codeine. If there is no choice in the matter, paracetamol and ibuprofen
are the
less damaging but WAIT etil the next day when there is not a lake of
gin still
in your stomach. You may not even need it if you drink the water.
Sensible
measures:
*Eating
is very much recommended. Bar snacks donft count. A solid pile of
greasy or
stodgy crap is what you need. French fries, Ramen, plates of rice,
spoonfuls of
lard. During is best, before not bad, but after helps a lot too.
*Cut
down
on the ciggies. gI only smoke when I drinkh is fine, but be aware itfs
drying
out your abused brain too, Low Tar or not. Start after midnight, or try
and
limit them to one an hour, rather than using the change from your first
Harvey
Wallbanger to purchase a pack of Mild Sevens and chain smoking the lot.
The
pros recommend:
*Vitamin
B will buffer your brain from the effects of dehydration. Make gmatesh
with a
Kiwi or Aussie and get your hands on Berroca, a potent fizzy vitamin B
pill.
One of these before drinking helps a lot although it will make you piss
weird
colors. Vegemite also contains a lot of Vitamin B. Chocco BB pills in
Japan
have Vitamin B also, but Joe Wieder vitamin packs (those silver things
containing snot in the 7-11) or general sports drinks help somewhat
also. Even
a couple of multivitamins before heading out is good.
*Wash
down
those vitamins with a BIG GLASS OF WATER. Grab a WATER from the
platform
vending machine instead of the Lemon Chu-Hi on the way into town. Have
a BIG
GLASS OF WATER every couple of hours. Wash down the tequila shots with
a BIG
GLASS OF WATER. Seeing the pattern here yet?
I
am certainly not one to recommend cutting down on the drinking, but
after going
through my phase of geatingfs cheating, lets get HAMMEREDh I figured,
why
suffer? Youfd be surprised at the difference it makes. As my friend
said
gAnything that delays the doctor telling me to stop drinking is a must!
Drinking is how I prove Ifm a man Godammit!h