We played Durrr tonight with about half of the packed audience singing along. We had almost 700 plays on our Myspace today and the gig was listed in the Metro, Time Out and previewed in The Guardian. Prominent journalists from the broadsheets were at the gig. I didn't see them whilst performing so I don't know if they stood notepad in hand scribbling notes or took away their thoughts with them and pondered over what they saw and heard on the last train home or whilst they were washing their bits in the shower tomorrow morning....I just don't know.
I don't know what all this means to me. I'm not rolling around doing somersaults or getting drunk in celebrations. It's 3.45am on Tuesday January 6th and I am in bed, alone, with a duvet, blue velvet blanket and sleeping bag thrown over the top for extra, although pretty useless, warmth. After the gig as much as I enjoyed it, I just wanted to shoot off home. I didn't really want to be standing on a laser-fuelled, drunk kids filled packed dancefloor dancing to a shit remix of 'Hey' by The Pixies with a plastic cup of undrunken Martini I smuggled in when I could be listening to the real thing at home by myself with a nice cup of chai for company. Don't get me wrong, I thought the club night was great and it deserves every bit of its success and it is actually run by some really genuine, nice people which are tough to find on the London club scene. The problem is me and my mind.
The main problem is myself in every way. A great gig, tremendous feedback but I lost it at the end of the night as I wasn't at all happy with the sound...again...Nothing else matters to me but the frustration of playing your heart out and someone who is being EMPLOYED and PAID f*cks up their job. Time and time again this is the case. All soundmen should be shot. But before they are they should a) all be sent to college to learn, understand and love what they do and b) be banned from drinking/taking drugs and disappearing from their sound desks at any point in the night before and during a gig. They are not harsh f*cking rules but all the hallmarks of being a PROFESSIONAL. It doesn't matter what environment you work in - the level of professionalism must be the same. My dad's a doctor and he's never wandered away from the operating theatre to high-five a mate and stop for a 20 minute chat in the middle of a heart bypass! Similarly, why the hell are soundmen allowed to get away with this just because they work in a 'social' environment?!! They are not being paid to get pissed and catch up with Timmy who used to do the sound at The Marquee down the road about 6 years ago and I haven't seen him since!!! I DON'T F*CKIN' CARE!!!
My second rant is this - the notion of pulling. I just don't get it. I really don't want to be out with a group of friends and give in to the advances of an extremely drunk but quite pretty boy who gropes me inappropriately when I'm leaving the ladies to which he expects me to make out with him in full view of everyone and on the dancefloor and by the stage and leave all my friends in order to do this. There is one word for this: NO. I don't do this and will never do this. If people want to do this (i.e. 90% of people I know) then fine, go ahead, be my guest.
Whatever happened to getting to know someone? To meeting someone and feeling intrigued and getting to know them through conversations - maybe about common interests but even being open to hearing about someone's interests you never really thought interested you. I never seem to get any respect for this and instead people seem to think MY behaviour is psychotic and unusual. In short, whatever happened to knowing someone before you attacked them with your 2 inch pink warrior (i.e. your tongue).
Call me old-fashioned, but lately I've been meeting people who show all the hallmarks of being interested in me who merely p*ss off whenever we're in a public/party/club space with any other girl who will put out sooner. As much as I don't want to say it bothers me, it does. And it f*cking hurts. This has been happening to me for years bar one or two exceptions and I'm sick of it. It makes it so much harder to let people in just a little bit because when you've just shown them that little bit of yourself, they p*ss all over it so imagine how you would have felt if you had opened up so much more. You would feel like the biggest pile of sh*t ever.
This is why I am relieved that at now exactly 4am in the morning, I am in bed, writing this rant ALONE and don't have a 5 ft 11 blond regret lying next to me. It's never going to happen. But whilst I ponder over it, I'm actually happy that at least for the rest of my life I will have my brain, my dignity and my (in)sanity. Unlike the type of people who do the above and end up having great sex for a bit but then wake up one day realising they married the dumb, silly bitch that puts out alright but makes you want to reach for the nearest screwdriver and stick it into the side of her neck everytime she opens that f*cking hole in her face and screeches something stupid and pathetic. They then turn away and see two little mirror images staring up at them and they stick that same screwdriver in their own neck to ease the eternal pain.
Phew. There. I feel much better.
Sweet dreams....
No comments:
Post a Comment