Tunes, Inc.

Probably a rambling post because I feel like doing some shit and don’t have a coherent thing to hang it on. Whores were mad radical on Saturday night at Exile. Shame if you missed them. I took a very good photo on Sunday afternoon back at the same joint of my wonderful friend Mia, but you can’t see it I won’t let you. The light was frigging perfect too. Eastern sunlight, au naturel at 5.55pm or thereabouts.

Mia was accompanied by a flock of birds on tape, to which she sang along to her pretty little heart’s content, ‘whilst’ strumming a dwarfish Hawaiian guitar. Mia’s so tuneful she’s Tunes, Inc. After her set we dished up some crazy ass BBQ. I had three pints of German lager. I am a beer enthusiast with various areas available for functions.

Saturday morning De Campo and I pedalled to Queen Vic Market and went via the Townhall Hotel. There we ordered breakfast. For an extra four dollars I could have supplemented my American Breakfast with a shot of bourbon, but no. After two yellow jackets joined us outside, we moved inside where good music was being played. At the market we loaded up on lambchops and sausages, Bacardi, produce, champagne and Rose`. We had a barbeque later on and lots of people showed up it was gnarly.

De Campo was curious whether I differentiated between going to the grocery store or the Market. Other than the fact the food is better and cheaper, I really couldn’t. The radicalness of this thought really diminishes on paper.

She bought a cigarette case at the Market for ten bucks and had it engraved for free. “What do you want it to say?” the guy asks. “De Campo,” she said. “I was hoping it was going to be something easy like Mandy.”

Perhaps it took some daring for a Monday, but last night, for pure pleasure I listened to a whole swag of Go Genre Everything material I had amassed over the weekend. Their shows severely screw with people. On Saturday night, suitably bent, I finally peered into the band’s eye and it was like finding the essence of one of John Ashberry’s more abstract offerings. Tremendous!

Guy Blackman followed Mia on Sunday. Guy plays piano pop and he’s openly gay about it and can be quite charming. I told De Campo who wasn’t coping very well to stick around, Guy’s set will be really uplifting. Sadly his first song was a certified slog entitled Marriage, where his lugubrious vocals ponder who would dispose of his body and handle the paperwork should he get hit by a bus. Luckily the set unfolded marvellously, getting better by the song and accumulating players at an equal rate (bass, cello, lead, drums). By the end of his set the music was so fully-formed and unreal it was like we were floating on air when we were merely sitting having just had sausages and macaroni salad. Impressive result!

Down to the last fifty pages of Rabbit at Rest. His family is disgusted with him, the mood is stark and he’s on a midnight drive to Florida. Yeehaw.