Working Weakly
(10-14/2/1993)
Wednesday. We have just moved to our new house and are
frantically busy making sense out of the chaos. Our nine cats are O.K. and
seem to be settling down, but our dog, Rory, is missing. I’m sure he will be
all right though. My wife, Marilena, and I plan an early evening because we
have four late nights in a row coming up. Friends have invited us to see the
sensuous all-girl band The Sisters of Sharon at Amoeba nightclub. We must
sadly decline, as we are off to The Jazz Club to see an exciting Finnish
trio called 22-Piste Pirkko. Mari, who hails from Helsinki, says they are
Not To Be Missed!
Thursday. Last night was
horrible!! Our cat, Felix, ate poison and died in my arms. Another one,
Benson, is missing and Rory still hasn’t come back. I get home early and my
neighbour tells me there is a dead dog in her garden. It is Rory. I suspect
the nearby farmers are to blame and inform the police, who are sympathetic.
It is not a good start for the evening. We arrive at the concert in a
suitably Scandinavian state of sorrow. It’s a small audience, mostly
Finnish. Local band Huh! open the show in their typically thrilling style.
Now 22-PP come on. They certainly are diverse, switching from soft bluesy
style workouts to thrashing chords and cheesy, rippling runs on the
Hammond-style keyboards. It’s a swampedelic, voodoo r n’ b, tinged with
bubblegum, space-rock and proto garage-punk. Both sets go down well. I buy
the new CD, get it autographed and invite them to visit us. Coming home, we
learn that Amoeba’s sound system succumbed to the sonic onslaught of The
Sisters.
Friday. An early start as I take
Rory for an autopsy, postponed, pending the police paperwork. I am in a
grimalkinic mood when I get home – only to find Benson dead by my kitchen
window. As I bury him, a neighbour tells me her dog was just poisoned here,
but survived. We find some purple-stained rice on the public footpath and
take it to the police. More statements. What a mood setter for tonight’s
Folk Club concert with The Battlefield Band. It’s my friend Chunny’s
birthday, so I am determined to have a “rocking” night out. Let tomorrow
wait, I say! It’s an alcoholically-fuelled sit-down soiree at The Island
School Zoo and The Battlefield Band (T.B.B. henceforth) play w/out musical
support to a full house of fans. They certainly are diverse, switching
between chamber music violins, skirling bagpipes, trilling flutes and
strummed guitars, tinged with mock-heavy metal, foot-tapping jeels and rigs
and rousing choral singalongs. It’s T.B.B.’s third visit here. Alan and
Alistair, on keyboards and guitars, remain. Ian and John, on pipes and
fiddles, are new. The entire set goes down well. I buy the new CD, arrange
to have it autographed, but fail to ask them to visit!!
Saturday. I am not happy today so
I think I will talk to the farmers. Michael, Jason and Freddie will
interpret for me. I will bring the food. Everything goes well. We meet, they
eat, we rap, they crap, we lie, they die. (The fugu sashimi? Or Monty’s
salmon mousse? Who cares?) Rough justice is served. I am happy. We leave the
house and are startled by the strident noise of an alarm…clock. Whew, what a
nightmare! I am not happy today so I think I will…not do very much. A lazy
day is decreed. Our seven cats squallop, squirtle, squoggle and squnch under
successful short-term supervision! Tonight, it’s more more 22-PP at Amoeba
or S.O.S. at The Wanch. Mari and I opt for the self-replicating fission of
Amoeba’s sound system over the fusion of sexy souls and songs in the red-hot
Wanch. The club is packed. MTV cameras are omni-present, the dance space is
minute and secondary to our needs. The band expand my expectations, but the
sparse audience feedback cuts the first set short. It’s a fine reprise of
Thursday, encompassing strains of J.J. Cale, Electric Prunes, Julian Cope,
Golden Earring, Buzzcocks, Throbbing Gristle and more. P.K. the guitarist
swaps vocal duties with Espe, the drummer. Asko rounds out the sound on bass
and keyboards. The indifferent crowd reduce the second set to an encore. I
opine that the band were fine and it was a case of wrong audience
expectation. We confirm lunch tomorrow. Coming home, we learn that T.B.B.
were among the happy audience who enjoyed the S.O.S. show tonight.
Sunday. Another early start as I
ponder the end product from my pent-up but pooped-out pussycats. It’s House
Cleaning Day! No further developments in my case are expected for two weeks.
Chores completed, and it’s off to town to collect our six guests: P.K., Espe,
Asko, Jari, the soundman, Thorsten, the manager and Martin, a freelance
music writer. With myself and Mari and our friends, Lisa and Jo, that is ten
for lunch. It’s sunny, so we decide to eat outdoors at The Lamcombe. We
order seafood hotpot, minced quail, vegetables with thread noodles, large
pork chops in spicy sauce and lots of beer and tea. It’s a good Dining
experience. Afterwards, coffee and pleasant conversation at our home. All
too soon, they must go. 22-PP flies to Australia tomorrow for ten shows in
Sydney and Melbourne. We wish them our best. They want to come back here
next year, if it’s possible. We think they should meet the Sisters – they
could make good music together.