This week in WH’s phone II

What do I know about photography? Nothing. But I just click at stuff when I’m liquored up. I’m a goddamned artist. Okay. I’m an idiot.

No Quiet Nights

Last night? What the fuck happened? The eggs tasted good and there was so much gin. Dreams of tongue kissing something that has an impossibly long face and huge hands. Dreams.
I wake panting, face down, burning inside and the feathers scratch my skin, the nettles and tinsel dance and tickle and poke and find their way inside me. Some kind of trash bird nest. A note blurs into sensible.
Don’t be sorry, you sorry bitch.
Motherfuckers.
Gore full, my belly bloats out in front and my breasts are pregnant tender. Beak marks and teeth, ripples of red around the areola , bile in my throat.
I’ve gotta get out of this tree and back to the underground.
Down in the woods, down on my luck, down on myself. Who the fuck did I get down with? Go down on?
I’ll say sorry to the white owl king and start again because every night is a night out.
The PA shudders through the woodland tunnels:
Come on down with the wolves and the owls, get on down where they hoot and howl
Dance around in the skin of a sow
Get the spook piggies and a thorn covered crown
Ooh la la, Pom Pom le Rouge
Tell us what you did last night!”
There is fear in the halls. I’m stinking of it with every breath, like a recovering alcoholic, dream taunts and piss stank skin, bags under my eyes holding all the old knowing that will blow me wide open and leave me on the floor before him, spread-eagled and barren.
Flashbacks from black to brown:
What’s the dog doing wearing the head of a man?
Now I’ve got a burn in her gut and a bite on my hand, where are my rings? At least he let me keep my fingers.
I must remember to take the appropriate measures, kill the baby goat with copper wire and hot golden broth.
Visit the apothecary and make love to the alchemist. Set fire to the evidence as a form of penitence.
When it gets too hot, just remember, there are no quiet nights in the arctic.More from the PA:
“Down on your knees in my court”
He appears in his terribly clean robe, impossibly albino, erection jutting at a proud and awkward angle.
The Owl king hoots and calls for more whores.
“Who will spit? Who will swallow, it’ll all be the same and the night plays out like a rosemary stain!”
As usual he is dramatic at the moment he approaches climax.
I say “good morning” in the evening and give ersatz curtsy, dipping my chest low and feeling my nipples remember the chewing hounds, birds and men of yester eve.
He’s checking out my bosom and I’m playing his game
“Are you sorry, Le Rouge?” He booms and gushes and the small women faint and drown while the larger ones set sail to stranger shores.
I’m always absolved, so I never abstain.
“Yes.”
Now I powders my cheeks and smear honest blood on my teats, swig absinthe in the latrine and laugh long and loud at the drowning dead, their spirits won’t sink as long as He provides the vodka, by barrel and burlesque, they are kept afloat.
I’ll Keep dancing with the dragon gone from scarlet to green and let great white wings canopy my bed, even if it means oceans and apologies and fear of the dark, a hatred of gears and steam and wires and clean living. I’ll say “M’lord, it meant naught, an honest mistake,” and false men in black with fuck my corpse at my wake.
When I wake on the morrow, I’ll say sorry again
Even if Hell freezes over.
Remember that there are no quiet nights in the brimstone lodge.

4 Drink Minimum Tour Diary

He's way past the minimum at this point.

Tour Diary part 1
Tour Diary part 2
Tour Diary Part 3

The Night Before Gay Parisian Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Gay Paris were drinking, but not passing out;

The booze was all lined up on the mantle with care,

Cuz eight bitches would soon be ‘ right up in here’;

Slim Pickins was dancing, both poppin’ and locks,

Cuz Slim is a B-Boy that loves to up-rock;

And with his bandanna on under his hat,

WH busted, the illest of raps,

Then from the kitchen, there came a great clatter
Smokin’ D emerged with a gourmet style platter.

“Quiet down, you bastards,” cried out Blacktooth,

“I’m watching Christmas Vacation, National Lampoons!”

The hos all arrived and exposed their large breasts

Belly shots of whiskey are what happened next,

And every one laughed and they drank and they ate,

Even Miss BZ, who showed up so late,

Driving a Benz right through the window,

With K. ‘Whoremouth’ Conroy and some powder like snow ,

Oh what a Christmas, Oh Lord, what a ruckus!,

They chanted ‘Wu-Tang ain’t nothin’ to fuck wit!’ ;

“Now, Hot Dick! Now, Slim! now, Blacktooth, WH!

When you throw a party we know they’ll be great!”

To the top it all of, they paid for the whores!

And drove away quickly, distracting the cops,

Who had recently received, an anonymous tip,

Most likely the Snowdroppers, who felt they’d been dissed,

Gay Paris though, had sent invitations,

Intercepted by Tenderloins, who had trepidations,

Of partaking in pleasures that veer to excess

They kept them at home, tucked up in their beds.

GP raised their glasses and drank it all down,

When down their Chimney came a wonderful sound.

Dressed like the 20s had never quite finished,

The ‘droppers arrived crying ‘Yo! Now we up in this!’;

A bundle of booze was strapped to their backs,

And Cougar and London were so high on crack!

Johnny and Pauly, were tell tale gin drinkers;

Their noses so pink, like prostitute nipples!

The guys partied down with their hookers and blow,

With beer, wine and spirits, did I mention the hos?

They all got crunk and down like South West,

Slim battled Cougar and came out the best;

Johnny and WH talked of some books,

But in between notes, they did bourbon shots.

Blacktooth and Pauly were so busy riffing,

They never realised the fun they were missing!

London and Hot Dick were mixing bad drinks,

And drinking them down before they could think;

Then God appeared and spoke of his works,

But WH said, “bitch, I’ll battle you, jerk”;

And running his hand up the face of a ho,

He smote God with fury and the dopest of flows;

YHWH, Adonai, Jehovah and Christ,

You created the world? Nah, but what what about science?

The Devil appeared and tried to make nice,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

Hospitality.

Hospitality is something that is quite important to me.
I know I generally have quite high expectations and pay, sometimes, too much attention to detail – but it’s only because I care. I think that if someone is coming into your establishment and paying for a service they should receive it to the best of the providers ability. Every single person, every single time. No excuses. Leave your personal problems at the door and do your job and fucking do it properly.

It disappoints and frustrates me that so many people in the hospitality industry can’t seem to uphold standards. They just stop caring. They walk in the door and do the minimum just to get paid at the end of the week and leave as quickly as they can. It doesn’t bother them if there are an abundance of short cuts being made because at the end of the day, the bare minimum is done and they can go home.

It makes people like me wonder if it’s worth caring.

Luckily, I’m privileged enough to know people with the same expectations as me – and that’s enough to keep me sane.

That said, sometimes you accidentally stumble across people with the same values as you, when you aren’t expecting it and that brings me to Saturday just gone. We played (and by played I mean totally ruled) at Black Cherry’s Christmas party at The Factory Theatre in Marrickville. After we loaded in and set our stuff up and got our sound check out of the way, my girlfriend and I ducked off to grab some dinner.

We walked up the street to the Vic on the Park because it was the closest place to eat and we could just walk there. We walked in and took a look at the menu and both decided the Pork Chop sounded good. That with vegies.

We went over to the counter and the chef came over to take our order as it was only a tiny kitchen and the waitress was out clearing tables. He informed us that he was out of the Pork. Damn. Oh well, the next item down was a garlic and rosemary marinated Lamb Chop. This sounded equally as good. Oh, nope… they had ran out of those too. It had been a busy weekend he said, after he questioned “what kind of chef am I? oh my god”.
He sat down. He meant business. He went through what he had run out of, and offered us a couple of things he could do which weren’t on the menu. We both settled on chicken schnitzel with vegies and dianne sauce. I added some mashed potato to mine after he assured me it wasn’t “the powdered stuff, I make it properly”.

After getting free softdrink from the bar, we proceeded out to the beer garden and 10 minutes later our meal was ready. The schnitzel was awesome. It was obvious that it was prepared fresh. It wasn’t thin and overcooked like most places do and it actually tasted like chicken should, not like cardboard.
The vegies were great. It was simply broccoli, carrot and cauliflower sauteed in butter and garlic. Seasoned beautifully. He accidentally left the dianne sauce off and after I mentioned it to the waitress she ran back in and returned a couple of minutes later with a jug of it. It was a little heavy on the worcestershire, but I didn’t mind that because again, you could tell he made it fresh. And I happen to like worcestershire sauce. Also, as he assured me his mashed potato was actually made with potatoes.

As we finished the chef came out to check how it was and cleared our plates for us. We had a quick chat with him before we left and he apologised for the third time about our first two orders being unavailable. He was a really nice guy who obviously took pride in what he did. Everything he cooked was freshly prepared and it was so refreshing. You could tell.

It seemed to me as though he had only recently started leasing that kitchen (I might be wrong and I hope I am). Either way it was apparent that he had not lost the love for food and what he was producing. Even though he was only cooking simple pub food, it was inspiring. He cared. I hope he holds on to that love and passion and doesn’t fall into the rut that so many (fucking lazy) people seem to and start taking short cuts that inevitably lead to shitty, uninspired and disappointing meals and restaurant experiences. The world (and the hospitality industry) needs more people like him.

There you go, I’m not always a snobby prick.

RESIDENCY DETAILS

OK, for those who don’t know (and you damn well should by now), we have a month long ‘residency’ of sorts at the Supper Club on Oxford Street in Sydney – oh, you droll bastards</em>, Gay Paris, you are thinking, what a way to out yourselves! But what we’d really like is for you to climb into the closet with us – it’s full of a hell load of wonderful shit!
Wonder shit? Sounds like something out of a China Miéville novel – but enough of that (for now).

Here is the complete list of what will happen each and every night – OK, I don’t really know who the Djs are yet and if that is important, check back in a bit, or stay home and watch old Kung-fu flicks in your underpants, drinking orange drink and rotting your teeth. What a life!

FRIDAY OCTOBER 8 – PARISIAN SPRING BREAK!

BANDS

Gay Paris It’s us, so trust it.
The Beards That’s right, if their drummer’s arse is healed and they aren’t scared off by our hirsute dominance, we’re teaming up with these gentle giants of the Beard-folk scene.
Brothers Grim Considering that they’re so damn attractive, I don’t see why they’d have the blues, they probably get more ass than rap guys.
Contraban Hot to def , so young, so fresh, get your glam with a bang!

ARTISTS

Mitzi McKenzie-King I call her Mitzapooh, she calls me Lukey-doo.
Mikey Hamer Dude did our film clip and photos for the record, so you know he is money – plus he is about 6’ 9” and has flaming red locks that would make a Scottish hero of folkloric legend weep into his whiskey and haggis in pure envy.
Rhonda Quinane Trust me, I live with her and the house is so full of art that I’m becoming more cultured by the nanosecond, or it could be this bottle of Merlot (yes, Merlot, you fucking wine snobs).
Paul Tooth This guy? Designed our new merch and has the smoothest game this side of Snoop Dogg circa 1993.
Craig Slater

DJ SETS BY MEDIA PERSONALITY AND FAMOUS STAND UP COMIC, ANDREW P STREET

FRIDAY OCTOBER 15 – SALOON DOOM BAR BRAWL!

BANDS

Gay Paris No, I don’t get sick of typing that
Jack Nasty Face Just when you thought no one had any style, BOOM!
La Mancha Negra Oh my! God made dirt so dirt don’t hurt…
Dirty Lindy Sometimes, you just gotta smooth it out, these cats know what we talking about.

ARTISTS

Felter Skelter (Anna Christoffersen & Emily Parsons-Lord)
Leigh Rigozzi
Bec Cook
Belinda Dipalo
Danielle Sullivan & Carl Gobey

DJ SETS BY BLACK CHERRY DJS

FRIDAY OCTOBER 22 – LADIES NIGHT!

BANDS

Gay Paris while most get better with age, we started out fantastic and have now transcended mortal comprehension. By this point, it will be religious.
The Rumjacks think they can drink us under the table but the real point of interest is going to be what happens once we’re all under that rotten, beer soaked trestle.
Betty Airs This is a bonafide super group consisting of dudes who have been in Run! Hide! And Gerling.
Mother &Son Two dudes doing the job of a whole band – yeah, it normally only works in hip hop, but this is dem real razor blade blues.

ARTISTS

Lisa Bowen
Anastasia Freeman
Anni Linklater
Sarah Gleeson
DJ SETS BY THE GOOD FOLK WHO BRING YOU TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT

FRIDAY OCTOBER 29 – HALLOWEEN THRILLER!

BANDS

Gay Paris time for the wolf dance, people, cuz we’re bringing him with us to this show
Hell City Glamours yeah, they’re way too big to be in a supporting role but then they lost the dance off. Suck it. Oh and they’re playing new songs.
The Smokestack Orchestra down to the nitty gritty, these guys have supported Clutch and nearly got us drowned, so you know it all good.
The Watt Riot these sweet bastards don’t play nearly enough shows, so we’ve got it in blood that they will show up.

ARTISTS

Steven Nuttall
Alice Amsel – She’s probably a fox queen too.
Richard Gurney
Melita Wrathall
Jay Tansley
Paul Tooth – It’s that guy again!
Leigh Rigozzi
DRINK SPECIALS!

So we got our sweetheart Weezy to whip up some monstrous concoctions

Deadrie’s Dogpark Caprihina has cachaca, blueberry liq, limes and berry pure

The Holy Sucker whiskey, Benedictine, lemon and lime juice with a touch of sugar syrup

Big Bleeder vodka, pomegranate liqure, cranberry juice and fresh lime

Green Devil Green Tea, Madori topped with either soda or pineapple juice

SHOOTERS!!!
Death To Spring Break Cointreau with Red Bull

A Goddamn Body Bag Scotch Whisky & Amaretto

Pre-cum Tia, Ameretto and amarula

Wormtongue Apple Liq, Absinthe, Apple Juice and sugar rim

if you haven’t checked out the clip and new songs, head over to our myspace and if you haven’t got tickets yet, head over to http://www.moshtix.com.au

Queensland – featuring beards and shit heads.

Like A Virgin

Orgy

How dat ass was won

Gimme dat

Shit n’ tarnation, sure has been a long time since I was up on this thang, what with one thing and another. To start with, I’ve been taking to most technology with a +3 Hammer of late, if you know what I mean, that’s a feather in your funky little bonnet, baby.
When the smoke and whiskey breath finally cleared after the Beards tour, we were left feeling a little superior, after all, Slim and me obviously had the best beards out (well, that is a perfect use of past tense as right now, we have children’s beards, shame us and spit at our feet if you see us on the street, though I’ve taken to a veil and wearing a long golden tail to disguise myself, but now you know, so bring bright lances and give me a dragon’s funeral).
Strange thing – for some reason, Karnivool asked us to play three nights with ’em at The Metro in Sydney and you know us, any excuse to get liquored up and half nude in public, off we went.
We rounded up quite the team for this little outing into having the kind of stage to match our obvious more rock than thou skills (shit, they even let us smoke in the stairwell and switched some beers from VB to Becks for me, though with the amount of whiskey I was packin, what the fuck was the need?).
Big ups to Georgeous George, the soundguy and Dr. Jono Barwick, who cured my worst hangover ever with a Little Creatures Ale. You sweet SOB. I hope his daughters are as arousing as he is.
The thing about playing to Karnivool’s crowd that made it so easy to get half nekkid and ‘rapey’ was that they had no idea what was going on – either did we. I made a connection with some sweet ladies and was feeling damn good about it until I realised that they were definitely the kind of women who could get me put in gaol for a long time. Shit, I’d love the quiet time so I could write the great avant-fantasy novel of our generation, but child molestation just ain’t my bag.
After three nights of riding a burning steam train through what was otherwise a lesson in soundscapes and excessive lighting – minus a guitar, a pair of trousers, a hat and a shit load of dignity, we were laid to rest…
Of course we still had one last show booked before going on a writing hiatus (even though the first album isn’t even out yet, assholes) and that was to be with our hottest lover brothers, The Snowdroppers – but what do you know? The bastards hit the road with the north coast’s favourite ‘rockers’, Grinspoon. Good choice, fuckwits.
So next thing I know, we’re jumping off the bill too (hey, note to bookers – putting us on with crusty/homophobic/sexist/racist acts will get you a roylal fuckover by us, gleaming scepters in and out the metaphysical ass until it’s a weird cross between OZ season 2 and a Richard Miller novel. Read Squed. Do it.)
Same venue (Spectrum) the next night. Oh, are we pricks? Yeah. You should have seen my replacement trousers.
I feel bad for anyone who wasn’t there. I feel worse for the people that were; me resplendent and erotic, unreachable from my one foot tall stage, crotch apparently stuffed with a cucumber – it wasn’t but who am I to argue with the people?
The only real problem with the gig was that Slim, Blacktooth and D forgot themselves – this is The WH Show and I am unhappy to say that they all recieved a sound thrashing the next day for stepping out of line. Slim said that he was sorry, but I could tell that he was lying to me, his moustache dripping with beer foam and legs performing a weird shuffle that I later recognized as the same hypnotic stomp he had been using the night before; bastard! Using his powers on his own husband/leader!
In album news, we have a venue and line ups booked in Sydney so far, the line-ups will include most of the good bands in Australia. I mean GOOD not popular. Oh and if you’re thinking of sleeping with me at a show, bring money, I’m broke.

WH’s Morning Freestyle – He Missed The Boom

KNOW WHERE I CAN GET SOME GOOD GEAR ‘ROUND HERE?

Orphans Of Blacktooth's Spite?

 

He doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he needs more of it. Badly. From Gay Paris HQ, Old Blacktooth talks openly of his never-ending quest for the ultimate tone, those that got away and the trail of broken, unloved refuse left in his wake.

This weeks starting line-up

Electro Harmonix POG2, MXR Zakk Wylde Overdrive, BOSS DD5 Delay and Hughes and Kettner Red Box

Rookies

Electro Harmonix POG2, Dyna Comp Compressor, Hughes and Kettner Red Box Three

On the bench:

MXR Dyna Comp Compressor, Hagstrom Viking Deluxe (white), Fender Fuzzwah, Marshal DSL 2000, Fender Hot Rod Deluxe + Extension Cabinet.

You’re off the team, asshole

Electro Harmonix POG, Gretsch Duo Jet, Gretsch Malcolm Young

In the mail:

Tonebone Switchbone

Eyeing off:

Fender Jim Adkins Signature Telecaster

Let’s preface this by saying: just plug your guitar into an amp and it’ll sound good. This kind of fucking around is a silly business for compulsive morons like myself and a lot of effort for small returns. It’s nerdy and mostly pointless, so read on with caution.

Most people are secretive about this stuff but really, who cares? Sound tricks are fun to talk about. And hey, it beats sitting on the couch and spanking it to Big Brother or collecting model trains or whatever it is healthy people do. I don’t collect gear; I constantly swap it. At some point in my life I had enough money to buy a pair of guitars and an amp and ever since then I’ve been circulating that same cash around switching out different junk. So I’m not a Richie Rich or Steve Vai – I just like how stuff sounds (you can buy me a Bad Cat or neon green cape though if you want to). Maybe one day I’ll get settle down with what I’m playing, but where’s the fun in that? There’s nothing like discovering a new way to melt your own face off or to disappoint, annoy or excite your band mates. Anyways, this brings us to Episode One of my contribution to this blog, a look at screwing around with gear in rehearsal, in the studio and on the road.

THIS WEEK’S STARTING LINE UP

This week I’m trying to keep it practical (as opposed to the two rig wank-a-thon I’m usually carting around). We’re heading to Adelaide to play with Coerce, one hell of a band featuring old pals of ours from that sweet flat city. We’ll be borrowing their awesome amps when we land, so I’m currently fussing about trying to get a piece of carpet for a makeshift Velcro pedalboard for the run. My Fuzzwah is too heavy for the plane (as is the regular board), so I’ll have to play my two “wah” parts in Surgeon and Skyship as best I can (look for lots of feedback and pointing). This is the first time I’ll be taking my new POG2 out for a run and my god is it a life changing little box.

Because you can make presets for it I currently have five settings on the go:

MORELLO-IAN OCTAVE BONANZA – Simple heavy octave below, touch of

octave above – subtle but thick. This is for the big grindy bits at the end of Behold! The Pale Surgeon and the default setting I’ll head to for most single note riff outs.

WANNA SEE MY ORGAN – This has a touch of two octaves above, as well as the detune function for beefing up chords. This is my main setting for the choruses of Deadrie Fell’s Dog Park Blues.

SHRILL BURGERS – Octave above and two octaves above combined subtly for a nice solo boost. I’m looking to kick this off in the “solos” in My First Wife She Was a Fox Queen.

GARBAGETRUCK FULL OF RATBALLS – One octave below plus two octaves below plus attack and LP filter to the max. I’m gonna kick this in for the final parts of Skyship…if they let me. It’s one of those things where you can take over your entire band with, which is not necessarily a good idea.

AN ORGAN SO SMALL YOU CAN’T QUITE SEE IT – A hint of everything this pedal can do…but only a hint. This is where I’m gonna cover up my sloppy playing in clean parts by adding a touch of The Addams Family to it all. Probably won’t fly at rehearsal though.

In Adelaide, I’m gonna try out this Hughes and Kettner Red Box Mk111 I bought on eBay this week. It’s a speaker emulator/DI – basically takes the fear out of letting the work experience kid mike up your shit. It has a setting where you can choose either 4×12 cab or a combo and goes between your head and a box (you just need two speaker leads) and the direct signal can then be put through the P.A. Preliminary fuck arounds suggest it’s a good option but this will be an interesting test. Anyways, I’ll be back soon to elaborate on how it all went down and talk shit about the new stuff I have on order. Til then, I pray nobody pours beer in my f-holes (damn Melbournites).