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

Taking The Throne: cooling down

So, the Taking The Throne tour is over and everyone survived, everything intact bar a touch of dignity, terrible hangovers and some embarrassing bruises in strange places.
Highlights included:
Late night after party in Newcastle with Brothers Grim & The Blue Murders and Kira Puru & The Bruise. Let’s just say that I bit off more than I could chew, lost my favourite kicks, Slim’s iPod and a few hours of my memory. How BZ and me made it back to Sydney in one piece, I’ll never really know. I don’t think that I want to.
Selling out The Vanguard. Okay, there was more to it than that. I think we finished the rider well before Kira and her boys even went on, but luckily, that is a venue that knows how to look after its acts. Needless to say, everyone was well liquored to hell and by the time we hit stage, the people of Sydney obviously in the same sinking ship. You can check photos of that gig over at FasterLouder.
Katoomba hooked us back up with our sister/brother band, The Snowdroppers. Far and away our best time in the mountains so far, it was just a bummer that we had to leave early to swing back to Sydney for an early morning film clip shoot. May the Morning Star preserve all who took part in that evil, evil day.
Catching a plane to Melbourne instead of driving and having a surf rock loving cab driver get us to the airport. What a guy!
Opening for BG&TBM in their home town. Great sound, great sound guy and watching James Grim shake his centaur sized ding-a-ling. Unfortunately, this was also the night that my nocturnal/slumbering wanderings and ramblings were at their most disturbing.
After picking up my little sister, KL Conroy from Melbourne airport, we drove to Ballarat. Gangsta rap and the road only gets better when she begins with her whorish ramblings. What a time! The Yard Apes packed out the venue and we got to really give it to the ladies and gents before we grabbed Blue Murder, Devlin and under the instruction of James, undertook a post midnight, booze and truckstop food fuelled race back to Melbourne for a ‘shirts off, pants off’ rave. Ironic dancing has never felt that good.
Wow. What a fucking final gig! After James dropped some Public Enemy styles the night before, we hit back with our ODB cover. That was good to get off our chests. Not only that, but the bar was packed well before doors opened and the place was ready to party. Nothing changed all night and it was great to catch some dudes and chicks that we haven’t seen in years. I even saw my old ‘zine editor. We’re going to resurrect something that should have stayed dead. Stay tuned.
Tour AwardsLeast Sleep: Ol’ Blacktooth Marks
Worst Jokes: KL Conroy
Keeping Shit Together: BZ
Most Money Spent on Food: Smokin’ D
Most Money Spent on Booze: BZ
Most Booze Consumed: BZ/WH
Most Rhymes Dropped: WH
Night Rider Driving : Slim Pickin’s
Best Hosts: Ham, Damien and Charles Barkley
Craziest Legs: Slim Pickin’s
Most Showers: Ol’ Blacktooth Marks
Biggest Power Playa: BZ

More Night Life with Slim and WH

EARLIER
“Wrong answer, fucko.”
I hit him right in the drooling mouth and that piece of shit goes down, bleeding and missing teeth.
Slim is losing blood too and our man prolly caught whatever Mr Pickins has, dude messes with some weird shit.
Demons, I hear.
Whatever he can afford that will fuck back.
He’s not pretty. OK, he’s gorgeous.
I get it. Can’t judge. Won’t.
Whatever.
Our man is a liar and he’s down.
“Step off, Slim.” I say. Flip my grip to the dirt, right at this guy.
He’s sobbing and saying ‘no.’
He’s saying it enough to piss me off and my temper ain’t nowhere near as bad as this fucking tall redhead at my side.
“What, fucker?” Screams Slim in an eerie half volume.
Have another cigarette, asshole, it will do wonders for your diction.
“What?”
The shit head is pissing himself.
Literally pissing himself and wringing his hands.
He’s saying commercial prayers, right to our faces like we’re a couple of amateur off the book thugs.
Fuck this. We’re professionals.
“Tell us where he is, shit for lungs, last chance. Slim, assure this asshole that your shit is loaded.”
“Fuckin’ ay loaded, WH. I’m a fucking professional.”
“You know what that makes you, you rat fuck piece of shit?”
The guy is crawling towards us, clawing at his cock and face.
Like that makes a difference.
It’s almost worrying.
“Dead.”
Boom bap bap.
That is the rhythm.
It’s almost hip-hop and when his body spatters on the floor, there’s the bass line.
If you got the chronomamcy to slow this down, you’d get a good break.
That’s how they catch it.
Shit like this always happens so fast.
I can’t stand happy hardcore and BPM.
Fuck.
Give murder back it’s art.

LATER
Back in my apartment.
Stinks like a fucking grease fire.
I make Slim smoke on the rotting balcony.
Nice view of the hotel car park.
Android hookers standing in a line, not even hiding their plates.
Dudes drive by, casual, but the whores are too poorly made.
Even for this neighbourhood.
I bet my cash is real good here.
Real good.
Moral even.
“It’s on your hands, Prophet,” says the tall fuckwit.
My partner. Right?
He coughs and hits again.
Delicious smoke tendrils in ambient light.
I love how it flickers. Crazy light.
Crazy , tall. sonofabitch.
No nicotine in the house.
As much ‘drine as I can handle though.
Can’t he smell it? Like piss and vinegar and mothballs.
I can’t handle it anymore.
Too many moths come to visit.
Now I gotta be wary.
You can’t trust a knife or gun when they flutter in.
You can’t trust yourself.
I spit. It’s a long way down.
A droid-whore looks up at me, red trigger eyes focusing.
Fuck off, I sign.
She/it flickers back at me in binary.
I get it. I just don’t care what she is getting at.
The sluts scatter when a noisome pack of Bird-cops wheel past.
Carrying body bags. Half a dozen.
Half a dozen of each.
So low.
They ignore us of course.
Whatever they’re dealing with is so much bigger than us.
Far as they know.

LATER STILL
“It’s on your fucking hands, you piss poor prophet!” I say.
Standing right behind him.
He towers down.
He doesn’t turn around.
Just takes a raw drag on another cigarette.
Reeks like fucking Hades junk.
I cough. Not politely,
“You wanted to pump him,” says Slim.
Smug.
“The fuck I did. You were mad.”
“Should I be, shit?”
My hands are scarred with teeth.
“Yeah, don’t hit ‘em in the mouth, Hubris .”
Is he going to hit me in the mouth?
He laughs.
“Ah, cocksucker had it coming.”
“Unprofessional.” I grin.
“Fuckin’ ay.”

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.”

A Night In The Life Of WH

I had spent the night in a holding cell in Newtown police station. The cops roughed me up some, but then again, maybe I shouldn’t have run my mouth.
“Hey, pig, they’re some ugly fucking shoes, nice to see that you got the face to match.”
Yeah, that one cost me.
It took two of them to throw me into the back of their wagon. I’m not strong, but I can wriggle and I was good and greased up.
“I can’t get hold of him,” said the fat one, gin blossom nose squashed and wet with snot. The fucker was literally drooling in anticipation of getting me in private.
“Hold this, you bastard.” I really need to learn to keep my trousers on in these situations. I guess a normal dude would think ‘I really need to stop getting into these situations,’ but then again, y’all know damn well who I am.
As soon as we got in, I could smell piss. The station was empty but for night clerk or whatever the fuck you call the guy who sits on his ass all night, browsing internet porn, answering phones and drinking coffee.
“Are you going to clean that cell before you put me in?”
They didn’t. Fuckers took my shoes, wallet, rings and belt. Then they found my switch blade. It’s a real nice piece, an antique actually, brass inlaid with gold and a goddamned sharp blade.
“What’s this for?”
“Hey, it’s a dangerous world, dude. Why, just tonight I was jumped by two big fuckers with more gut fat than sense.”
Pow. Right in the mouth.
Eventually, they had to let me go when they dragged in a couple of transvestites who had held up the 7-11 and were raising hell of biblical proportion.
I stumbled home, fuckers hadn’t given me back my shoes, wallet or knife, but at least I had my belt.
I didn’t have my keys, so I climbed through the window and went straight to the fridge, Coopers Green takes the edge off.
After a couple of medicinal whiskey shots, I heard a noise coming from the bedroom. What now?
I walked down the hall and threw the door open.
My man, Slim, fucking my ho!
“Slim, the fuck, man?”
“Hey, WH, a bitch is a bitch.”
“You goddamn right, Slim.”
Later on that day, Slim and me went shoe shopping.

More art by Annie

Lookin good, Slim.

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.

Smokin’ D – Beards, Wines and Food.

Since we haven’t updated this in a little while i thought I’d add something on here from our recent NSW tour with our new good bearded buddies, The Beards. We played our first show with them up in Newcastle on a Saturday night not too long ago, on a little stage in a little Irish pub called The Northern Star (do go there if you’re passing through – great pub, great staff). I woke up on Sunday morning a little worse for wear after quite a few too many wines the night before and after checking out half an hour late we decided to wander down the street to get some breakfast.

We walked past a few places, looked at a few menus and kept going until we stumbled across one that we all agreed sounded good. A waiter spotted us eyeing off the menu at the entrance and came out to greet us by telling us they didn’t have enough room to seat a group of our size. (All 7 of us?). Thanks Newcastle, you jerks. I was looking forward to seeing if it was really “The Spot” but I guess now we’ll never know.

We moved along to the next cafe and quickly glanced over the menu outside, we reached a unanimous verdict and were approached almost instantly by a waitress who seated us inside on a long table with bench seating. She quickly ran off to grab us menus and returned ready to take coffee orders to get things rolling. It had been a fairly busy breakfast service by the looks of things so I was fairly impressed by how quickly we had been taken care of.

I ordered a chai latte to start with and quickly added a can of coke to my order as I slowly realised how horribly hungover I was becoming. Everybody else ordered assorted tea or coffee and while they were being made the waitress returned to begin taking our breakfast orders. I ordered Two Eggs and Bacon on Toast. Luke ordered himself a nice Vegie Breaky while Kimba ordered an Omlette, Lach and Dean both tried the Big Breakfast on for size and my girlfriend was simply craving roast tomato and mushrooms on toast, which could be arranged.

While we were waiting for our coffees an older couple sitting next to us started receiving their food. It looked good. I began eavesdropping and heard the guy mention that he ordered some mushrooms along with his breakfast and that they weren’t on the plate. The waitress apologised and was about to return to the kitchen to get him some but he insisted not to worry and that it didn’t matter. He was quickly interrupted by his wife as she informed the girl that it did matter and that they had been waiting for their meal for an hour, it still came out wrong and she wanted her husband to have the damn mushrooms. I found this slightly amusing at first but quickly became worried that I was infact as snooty as this woman. Then I remembered I’m Smokin’ D and that that’s OK.

I’m normally quite skeptical about situations where people complain about the amount of time they have waited for a meal, because in my experience 80% of people who complain about the length of time they have waited for a meal are dishonest or genuinely couldn’t tell you how long they have been waiting. As this woman seemed a little worked up I decided not to pay attention to her and assumed she was exaggerating out of frustration.

Back to our table. A different waiter started bringing over some of our coffees. He was remarkably under-dressed compared to the other staff, wearing a daggy blue faded T shirt and jeans with an apron over the top. Here’s a tip for those of you playing at home: If you’re going to get your kitchen-hand to help run food and drinks to tables, make sure they dress appropriately. Actually… Just don’t. He was soon joined by a different waitress who was quite focused on the coffee she was carrying toward us. Closer inspection revealed she had spilled it all over the saucer. “Umm, a long black? I think? … I think it’s a long black anyway. haha”

Lach immediately commented that I was probably thinking “You think, or you KNOW?”

I am definitely as snooty as the mushroom lady.

Luke reluctantly raises his hand and receives the slightly unappetizing long black.

As the only person yet to receive a coffee I begin looking around at everyone else’s. I notice that 3 of us ordered teas. I also noticed that none of them had their milk served in the same type of jug. This is not a big deal by any means considering we are hungover bastards having breakfast in a café, I just like to think that uniformity is something that should be of importance when serving a group of people. If something is good enough for one of them, it should be good enough for all of them, so don’t give someone a shitty jug when someone at their table gets a nice one filled with the same thing.

I know. Snooty.

A couple of minutes later our original waitress returns to inform me that they only had enough chai syrup left for one chai latte and Kim scored that one. Not that she scored much, it was almost entirely milk. I changed my order to a mocha and glanced outside just in time to see mushroom lady leaving. Her meal was untouched while her husband had finished everything on his plate, including the side dish of mushrooms he later received. He was at the counter paying and after catching the look on his face, obviously slightly embarrassed by his wife, I reminded myself again how much of a jerk I can be when eating out, not getting what I am paying for/expect and getting poor service. Speaking of which, where’s my fucking mocha? I’ve been waiting 45 minutes. I’m not even exaggerating! And apparently neither was Mrs Snooty-Mushroom lady. Anyhow, I figured I’d let it slide and drink my coke, feel sorry for myself and wait for my hangover to subside.

Almost an hour after we ordered our meals started to arrive. Things were going well until shaky coffee girl brings us an extra vegie breaky. Luke is already eating his and he is the only one that ordered one. “Oh… hang on” she says looking confused “one of you ordered it” – We insisted that we only ordered the one and Lachlan informs her that it was two of the big breakfasts rather than two of the vegie breakies. Simple mistake, easily fixed. She returns to the kitchen. I started having flashbacks of a visit to a tiny café in Picton when she returned with the plate, docket in hand.

“No, It says here…” – she got that far. That was all I could take as I raised my voice over hers before she told us that we were wrong. Here’s another tip, kids: If there’s a mix up with an order and the customer is sitting there telling you they ordered something different to what was written by the waitress DO NOT tell them they’re wrong. ESPECIALLY IF YOU DIDN’T TAKE THE ORDER YOURSELF.

Obviously we had caused a little bit of a scene because another lady came over and asked what the problem was. The younger girl quickly disappeared and (I’m assuming she was) the manager quickly had things under control. She apologised for the mix up and returned to the kitchen to organise the replacement. She came back and noticed that myself and my girlfriend were still waiting for our meals and asked what it was that we had ordered. I slipped my coffee order back in there and my girlfriend re-ordered her tomatoes and mushrooms on toast which was met with a surprised expression and then “I’ll arrange to get that done for you” – That’s what they said an hour ago? Are you guys growing the mushrooms on site?

Within 2 minutes I had my mocha, my girlfriend had her Tomatoes and Mushrooms and I had my Bacon and Eggs. What the shit happened? All of a sudden someone in charge gets angry and everyone does everything STRAIGHT AWAY?

I wish she took our orders initially. We would have been on our way to Maitland already and I probably would have had a chai latte. My Mocha was outstanding though. The nicest I’ve ever had. So much so I had to ask what type of coffee it was they used; Segafredo. A beautiful Italian blend. I’ve had a cappuccino of since at a different place and it wasn’t anything special, which indicates the manager here looked after her coffee and her coffee machine… and she knew what she was doing.

Similarly, my breakfast was excellent. Nothing was overcooked. Nothing under seasoned. My girlfriends was the same and from what I heard, everyone else was happy: With a little more organisation this would have been an excellent cafe, which I would visit every day given the opportunity, just for their coffee. Unfortunately, Sunday’s seem to be the day uni students waitress while they’re hungover.

My verdict: Get rid of the driftwood and they’re onto a real winner.
6.5/10 – Even though we waited too long for our meals and had a disagreement with staff and certain aspects of our order were incorrect, they recovered well and we were not let down by the food/coffee/manager.

If anyone is interested, I’ll find out what the place was called and let you know. Otherwise, just enjoy reading what a snobby prick thinks of a cafe when he’s hungover.

– SD.