Avant garde, no?

Okay, firstly, I'm from Warragul.

When I was living overseas, people'd be like, "So, man, where you from?"

They were from exotic places like Bangkok, New Delhi, New York.

Cities that don't sleep. Cities that kick ass and take names.

I'd say, "Warragul."

They'd say, "Where?"

I'd say, "Remember Jaidyn Leskie?"

They'd say, "Oh, yeah... that kid that got killed with the pig's head and all that."

I'd say, "Yeah, I live one town over from that."

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It's a very small town. Basically, we haven't had any sort of music scene since 1998.

So you can imagine I was kind of, you know, amped up, when I was invited to a Palmy North gig on Saturday night... not once, but twice!

Firstly by Kane... then when I went to see the collaboration mentioned in the comments a couple of entries back, I ran into Dirtbird and "Reggie Arcade", who invited me along too.

Boy howdy, it was a bit of alright.

Now, more cultured folk than I would say that the PA was a bit fucked, and that technical difficulties were all up in people's craws... nevertheless, it was a rockin' affair.

Wailing guitars... screaming women... singers strutting across things like peacocks, their stage presences so intense that I was forced to wear my sunglasses at night, ala Corey Hart (all the time) or Jason Patric (only in the greatest vampire movie of 1987: The Lost Boys).

This gave everything a sepia tone that screamed, "PUNK ROCK, MOTHERFUCKER!"

That said, I have absolutely NO clue as to the names of the bands who was playing, being stoned out of my skull, and not possessing the presence of mind that was required to, oh, I don't know, grab a flyer or something...

Careful investigative journalism reveals that the bands what played were:

The Molotov Vote
Wall of Silents
Re-education Department
Black Chrome

Another one... fuck...

Konfuzion! With a K. And a motherfucking Z, motherfucker.

Anyway people, the point is, I HEART Black Chrome.

They rule my heart with their iron fists of ROCK POWER, and that's all there is to it.

Other things that ruled my heart included:

The chick singer from the second band that played... boy howdy - that was some screaming. I was like, "Woah. Will you marry me?"

I didn't actually say that to her face, of course, cos she had so much attitude and would have kneed me in the groin for making such a proposition without even burning down a church for her.

Bud spot hits or whatever the hell that thing was - an entirely overly complex manner of ingesting marihuana.

The German punk. That is to say, a punk. From GERMANY.

The American drifter guy.

And so on.

The point is, even though you couldn't hear all the words, it went off. The End.

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Dirtbird: Man, we totally met over the internet... doesn't that make you feel kind of stupid?

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't know anybody in Palmy North that I didn't meet over the internet.

So, on that note, HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEIGH, my internet penpal of some years...

I wrote you a birthday poem. It's called, "Anguish."

Anguish.

Leigh, it's your birthday.
Silly birthday hats are still cool.
As is talking like a pirate.
I can only imagine that I will witness both.
In 19 minutes when you pick me up from the hostel.
Fin.

Kind of an inappropriate title, but oh well. The End. (For real)

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