Pig Teeth flower in rat intestine.

You may have noticed a lack of activity on this here blog over the last few weeks. When I first started writing on here, it was just for a laugh and a bit of craic. Because as much as I like to write here, I also like to think there’s some improvement and some development. Looking back on what I’ve written, it’s like I’ve been trying on different hats for size and adopting different personas. I’m possibly taking this all too seriously but I don’t see why my unemployable ass shouldn’t take it so seriously.

For instance, I was going to write a contrary piece on “Freddy Got Fingered” and say some shit like “it’s refusal to take anything seriously borders on the nihilistic”. I got fed up because reading or writing a review bores me lately. So, when naz asked me to write something, I told him I didn’t have a clue what to write about. So he said “What about that Biohazard gig you went to?” Ah yes, THE BIOHAZARD GIG. It was without a shadow of a doubt, the best gig I was ever at…. and I didn’t even see fucking Biohazard. I didn’t even really like the band. It was my metaller pal Pa who persuaded me to go. It didn’t take too much persuasion because whatever about the music, metal gigs were a whole lot of fun. Actually, 2 or 3 years ago I even went to see Entombed. I’m not particularly proud of it but hey, I had a good time. I wouldn’t bother with a metal gig now. I’ve had enough male bonding done already without having to get sweaty and bash off other sweaty men in a confined space anymore. Metal gigs were a good laugh though. If you think it’s just a bunch of knuckleheads beating the monkeyshines out of each other, you’re only half-wrong. There is some seriously chivalrous behaviour in a moshpit. If you happen to fall down, there will always be at least ten helping hands to get you back on your feet. Yeah sure, there’s always some gobshite who will go in with his elbows flying and deliberately try and knock you out. But you can bet he’ll get his nose broke if he keeps that up for long. Karma, baby.

OK, if this was a movie, this is the part where the screen goes all watery to signify a flashback wibble-wobble-wibble-wobble-wibble-wobble….
The year - 1994

The scene – Fitzgibbons butcher shop at the crossroads of the village of Oola

Pa and I are waiting for a Kelly’s travel minibus to take us to the Tivoli Theatre in Dublin to see Biohazard. As we climb aboard and shout our hello’s to other five on board. There were the three Ryan brothers (whose names I cant remember). One of them had short blonde hair and was gregarious and always telling the sickest dirty jokes, his other brother had long black hair and seemed a bit guarded and I didn’t really talk to him much. The other brother was referred to as “Clown” (no one knew his real name, I don’t think his brothers even knew) and looked like John Hurt’s “Bird” character from “The Field” except Clown wore a Deicide T-shirt. Clowns job was to repeat anything funny that was said on the bus in high pitched whine and then let off an ear-splitting cackle after that. There was Ritchie who I knew vaguely and Sharon who I knew well cos she lived just up the road from me. We picked up “Warf” along the way called because, yes that’s right, he looked like Warf from Star Trek. Warf was more of a studenty type so him and Clown were worlds apart. Warf did like his metal though. He used to have the most eccentric way of headbanging too. He used to stay in the same spot and headbang but then do a 360 on that spot and still keep headbanging. It was the dumbest sight I ever saw. He was like a demented woodpecker. Then there was Bunty…he was an absolute hulk. Sound bloke, not the brightest admittedly. If he were born in California, he would have been in the WWF. Unfortunately he was born in rural Ireland, so he was destined for a life of forking bales of hay.

With the sweet winsome strains of Sepultura ringing through our mini-bus, I decided to get the party started and unleashed a bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey from my backpack. Everyone had more than enough beer and said there was no way they were drinking whiskey but Bunty said he’d help me finish it. So we drank. There was not a chance of pacing ourselves either. Bunty was drinking deep from the bottle. I knew I was going to have to match him slug for slug and although the word wasn’t mentioned, I was viewing this as a contest. My manhood was on the err..on the line so to speak. Because when yer a seventeen year old, you’ve always got to show everyone that you’re a great drinker. You still try and do it eight years down the line. There was no question of this being a contest for Bunty, however. I’m sure he coulda drank the whole bottle and put his finger in to dab up the remnants. The guy had an inhuman capacity for booze. Then, just as we came to the Naas dual carriageway, I puked all over the floor of the bus. I t was one of them violent, nasty HWWWAARGHGH! pukes that come out yer nose and everything. My eyes were watery and I had to gasp for air. I got sick again a minute after that. Oh shit. The bus driver said after today I was never getting on a Kelly’s travel bus again (I did though, but I don’t think it was until a couple of years after). The lads put newspaper down and opened all the windows in a futile attempt to get the rancid smell of vomit out of our nostrils. Then, just as we were passing along the Royal Canal. Ritchie and Sharon took me out to “splash some water on my face”. Ritchie stuck my head down there about a minute. I didn’t know whether he was trying to drown me or wake me up. Well, it woke me up alright, not the water more the sight of used condoms and rusty bikes floating past my field of vision. Thankfully, a few minutes after that we stopped near the Tivoli Theatre and I was absolutely roaring langers. I climbed up a pole and stood up on a telephone booth and started roaring at bewildered passers-by. They dragged me down and after countless pleas to “shut the fuck up”, we went to a pub. I was falling all over the place and someone Pa ordered me a pint but after the barman saw me over in the corner starting to fall asleep (it was still only 5 in the day) he said he wouldn’t serve us.

So we went into the Tivoli, with the rest of the lads slightly pissed off that I couldn’t keep it together and enjoy a pre-gig pint. Whereas I was just pissed, really, really pissed. The support acts were a couple of rap metal acts called Downset and Dog Eat Dog. The former played right before Biohazard and the kids were going ker-razzy. Now, even before we were at the gig, Pa was saying that the bouncers in the Tivoli were a bunch of punch happy thugs. He was right, these guys were doing all sorts of unnecessary stuff like just grabbing kids over the gates and punching the shit out of them. Dog Eat Dog stopped playing and told the bouncers to quit it. Now my recollection is hazy but loads of people from the audience just went nuts and started climbing up on stage and acting the maggot. It was getting chaotic, Mohawks were grabbing the bands equipment and playing with it. I thought to myself, I’ve gotta get some of this….I’d never done a stage dive before and I was determined to give it a try. I used to think there was something romantic about stage diving. That balletic slo-mo glide with the arms outstretched. Thrown from the stage from the sheer force of ROCK! Total abandon, yet always safe in the knowledge that there’s a sea of waiting, trusting hands to catch you as you fall. But when I leapt off the stage, the crowd parted like the Red Sea and I dived chest first onto the concrete floor. I would not be denied. After I got my breath back, I climbed back up onto the stage. By now it had developed into a brawl between the bouncers and Biohazard road crew near the stage. One of Biohazards roadies was some ENORMOUS black guy called “Tiny” I believe. He made Bunty look like Pee Wee Herman. I thought for a minute about what I would do, so I decided I would catch onto the lighting rig and swing off it right in front of the drummer. So I swung like a monkey off the lights as my feet were hanging perilously above the drumkit. I looked back and saw the drummer looking back at me scared shitless that I was gonna fall and make shit of his 100 grand mega drum kit. To his rescue came one of their roadies and dragged me down onto the stage. He got me in a headlock and I remember him saying “You like to fuck shit up kid, huh?”

Outside, there were four other lads who were already after getting thrown out waiting outside. They were talking to Downset and getting autographs. One of the guys from Downset (lead singer I think) was going on about the same thing happening at a club in L.A. and about other punch-happy arsehole bouncers. They went back inside as Biohazard started their set. The other lads were determined to get back inside. Especially this really tall, shorthaired lad who was a real grade-A psycho. He had a twinkle that seemed to say, “I’ve been out on day release. No one’s going to make me go back. Not you, not anyone. no-one rrehkgfkgfkjhgds!!122e3ersdf@@@”. I didn’t ask what he got thrown out for. Maybe he ate someone’s liver with fava beans or something. He was really pissed off anyway. So pissed off in fact that he punched one of the side mirrors on the Biohazard tour bus. And when I say punched, I mean he drove his fist straight through it, smashing it into itty-bitty pieces and he didn’t even flinch. I was starting to sober up now and I was feeling totally knackered. But Psycho suggests we all head round the back and try and get in somehow. Walls would have to be climbed and windows would have to be smashed. I really wasn’t feeling up to this. I really couldn’t be all that arsed to see Biohazard to be honest. But if I had any idea of the orgy of heavy metal violence that was going on inside, I would have changed my mind. We tried to scale a wall but it was too tall. There wasn’t a hope of getting back inside. I was just dreading an hour of staying outside here for the rest of the lads to arrive. However, a quarter of an hour later, everyone is leaving! I meet Pa and he says, “YOU MISSED IT”. They only ended up playing four songs because most of the gig was just the band and the road crew kicking the shite out of the bouncers. One Biohazard member clobbered a bouncer across the back of the head with a bass guitar and Tiny beat the holy bejeesus out of most of em. Damn.

A week later, I get Melody Maker and there on page 2 I read a piece about the gig. I couldn’t believe it!”It was chaos. Everyone was just running around the place causing havoc….Biohazard had a full scale fight with the doormen!”. I thought to myself, “I was there, man, I was there…and I missed the best part!!”.

Alan McGee, a young idealistic Glasgow punk, set up Creation Records in 1983. Creation grew to be one of the most successful British indie labels ever.

The Creation Records Story: My magpie eyes are hungry for the prize is not just a great book about rock music but it’s a great insight into the workings of the music industry also. McGee disliked the book but I had more respect for the guy after reading the book than I ever did.

He was deliriously passionate about music, so much that it clouded his judgement on some occasions. He told people that The Weather Prophets were going to be huge. Say what?

He wanted Creation to follow the example of Atlantic Records - a big label that had credibility too. The Atlantic roster consisted of hip soul acts in the 60’s and Led Zeppelin in the 70’s. Creation were to have their own Led Zep in 1993 when McGee saw Oasis play in Glasgow and he signed them on the spot. Pretty fortuitous on Oasis’ behalf as they weren’t even billed to play.

After Oasis became massive, Creation’s indie principles went out the window. McGee was criticisedfor joining Tony Blair’s Creative Industries Taskforce. Critics said rock n’ roll and the government don’t mix but McGee replied that he was in a position to change things. The New Deal for Musicians was launched in 1998 where musicians would be entitled to benefit as long as they submit planned work schedules and daily diaries of their work schedules. “This idea is just laughable”, wrote a critic of the scheme in The Scotsman. “One or two highly motivated lyricists might manage it. No drummer ever will.” McGee on the other hand said, “What we did - me and Saunders (Creation press officer) was pretty brilliant. It was unbelievable that two little indie punk rock kids managed to change Government legislation and create a model scheme for other creative artists. But we’ve never had any credit from the media. If anything, we’ve been slagged off for being involved in it. It’s one of the best and most selfless things I’ve done, and I’ve never had a pat on the back from anybody“.

But after years of the DIY ethic and being a small player in a cottage industry, Creation was now dealing with marketing budgets and there was a notable amount of ponytailed yuppies clogging up the office. Bands such as the Boo Radleys were dropped for failing to get into the Top 40. Attempts to go mainstream were laughable such as Mishka, the white Rastafarian reggae singer who also failed to chart. The history of Creation before Oasis is the most fascinating part though. There’s the Jesus and Mary Chain inciting riots at their early gigs. Primal Scream’s “Screamadelica” fusing rock and rave. Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine was almost bankrupting the label after using 19 studios to record”Loveless”. He was swiftly dropped after that. The House of Love, who were tipped to be the next U2, cracked under the pressure.

The beginning of the end for Creation, however was becoming affiliated with Sony in 92. McGee felt paranoid that Creation was slipping away from him and had a cocaine-induced nervous breakdown right at the peak of Oasis’ success. He spent his time recovering at his father’s house and vowed to leave the music industry. After a 6-month recuperation he came back but in 1999 he decided to call it a day. He was fed up with Sony’s restrictions and said “I’ve had it with Creation. It’s a redundant idea creatively. We’ve achieved everything we’re going to achieve. We’ve sold 35 million albums. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.” McGee now co-owns the Poptones label with Joe Foster.

RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!!!!

Hey, why don’t I get five washed-up rock stars who used to be great but aren’t relevant anymore and give them ratings so I can feel smugly superior to them even though they have far more talent, money, sex, fruit etc. than I’ll ever have…

First up….JOHN LYDON

Still slagging people off although it all sounds forced these days….like he’s going through the motions. At least he’s making the effort. +1

Came out with Open Up which was damn good. How many years ago was that? +1

Lives in L.A. It’s softened him up a bit. L.A. isn’t very Rottenesque –1

The reformed Sex Pistols were embarrassing. They looked like Billy Idols backing band and Steve Jones looked like he was going to have a hernia in some distinctly uncomfortable looking vinyl pants -2

He appeared on the Peoples Court (or was it Judge Judy) for crying out loud –1

OZZY OSBOURNE

The Osbournes show is hilarious. Obviously. +5

He doesn’t know where the fuck he is but he still manages to make it through the day somehow while being pestered by an incredibly whiney clan. There is something disheartening about seeing a former BEHEMOTH OF ROCK taking the dog out for a walk and being domesticated but I guess you can’t snort ants for the rest of your days. I think him and my dad share a lot of common ground. Well….they both can’t use the remote anyway +2

Appeared at the Queen’s Jubilee. Sorry, maybe I’m being a bit harsh here but couldn’t he have told the old bag to piss off ? I mean he can. Why should he feel entitled to. He lives in the States now. I blame the missus –4

New single is a mawkish soft rock ballad but what’s even worse is that the radio versh has snippets of the TV show all over it. K-CHING!! –1

IGGY POP

He’s still a lean sex god +1

He spat on The Corrs. That’s right. On his latest gig in Dublin those SOULLESS YUPPIE BASTARDS attended his gig hoping to be noticed and preened at the peasants from the front of tha stage and tried desperately to look hip. But Iggy went mental and taunted em and spat at em. Such behaviour is reprehensible but when it’s The Corrs (who represent all that’s abominable about ze Celtic Tiger and the inane bullshit music that the stinking media here fully endorses) well he deserves a handshake for it. +5

He sang with Bono. Well it’s not Iggy’s fault really. Bono knowing full well this is Iggy’s gig just had to climb down from the balcony and had to deflect the attention to ME!ME!ME! Tosser. Iggy, go to your room, you should know better, than to consort with the likes of a horrible Christians like him! –1

His new stuff sucks. “Naughty little doggy” did anyway. But apparently he made an album after that which was like “The real me” and was a bit chilled out and more reflective. I haven’t heard it (I’d like to) but it bombed so he went back to the same old routine, which he must have felt he’s outgrown by a long time now. Ah well –1

LOU REED

He’s the crankiest bastard on the planet +1

He’s still Lou Reed. His week once beat your year you know. +1

“Dirty Boulevard” was really good. His new stuff, well what I’ve heard is bleh. He did dress up as a chicken for a video recently though. That Lou, he so crazeee! -1

He also used to have legendary, cathartic, warts-and-all interviews. Now he just wants to talk about what guitars he was using on his last album and doesn’t want anyone asking him about when he was a rock n’ roll motherfucker anymore. He takes himself way too seriously now –1

DAVID BOWIE

He’s still suave +1

He’s bonking Iman +1

He’s still got an acerbic sense of humour. I saw him on TFI Friday and he was hilarious a couple of years back. Although maybe I’m over-estimating there as I can’t remember a single joke…but he was funny! +1

He admits defeat on the new album. “Once I could move mountains and part the sea”. Which is touching in a way I guess but why inflict another boring album on us all if he knows he’s crap? –1

His touring band dress like extras out of Fortycoats and Co. Really, you should see the state of them –1

AND THE WINNER IS IGGY POP!!!!!!

Witness Summary by JackUzi

It wasn’t until 4 or 5 o’ clock that I got to the Witnness festival. Somebody didn’t BLOODY PACK THEIR BAGS ’til that very morning but thankfully made in about two and half-hours. Mobile phones don’t work and I’ve sent naz a text message to meet me at the medical tent. Which in hindsight, wasn’t a good idea cuz there’s 4 or 5 of them scattered around. So, I get fed up of waiting and go to see the Beta Band just finish in the Rising tent and luckily, I bump into A. whose house I’m meant to crash at for the night.

I’m really looking forward to seeing Sonic Youth and we wait for what feels like a half-hour for them to soundcheck. New member Jim O’ Rourke takes up the bass and the rest of the band takes to the stage. O’ Rourke has long, bobbed hair and is wearing a blazer. He looks like a pedophile. They start off with a song I can’t recognize but it gets everyone bopping up and down. Most of the material they play is off the new album and it sounds great live. They work one of the tunes up to a fulsome noise attack and it sounds like a spaceship taking off. They finish off with “Kool Thing” and Kim Gordon jumps around like a loon. Fucking brilliant.

I come out of the Rising tent to get a hot dog and the mudball fights have begun. I take a mudball to the back of the head and one to the chest before I decide that I really should get out of here. We go to the dance tent to catch some of Johnny Moy’s set but there?s such a flow of people to the dance tent, they close the gates. Mercury Rev are playing in the Rising tent and I’m too monged to enjoy their performance. Remember that Simpsons episode when Bart and Milhouse go to see Spinal Tap play live? And someone throws a frisbee in the crowd and Bart fails to catch it and it smacks some guy under the nose? Bart goes “Hey man, are you alright?” and your man goes “Wah?”. Well I’m that guy. They play “Spiders and flies” and it seems really fragile and personal a song to play to such a crowd. Jonathan Donohue conducts his band like an orchestra and pulls these weird shapes like he’s casting spells. By the end of the gig, I find myself singing along with them.

As we exit the Rising stage, Fairyhouse Racecourse is starting to look like something out of “Full Metal Jacket”. We look around for someplace to sit and find a deflated plastic couch and just as we sit down, some girl accuses us of stealing it. So she grabs A.’s pint and says he should swap his pint in return for the squashed plastic we’re sitting on. I’m not going to argue over a deflated plastic couch so I tell A. I’m going to have a look for naz. When I get back, A. is rolling a joint on the plastic couch thingie so I sit down beside him. Then the girl comes along again and takes it right from under our arses and storms off. Foo Fighters are playing the Main stage now. I take a look at the main screen and what I thought at first was some kinda malfunction with the screen is actually a load of mudballs splattered on it. A. tells me Sandra Bernhardt drank some whiskey concoction on stage and puked up on her guitarist on the Main Stage. Eeek. I think I saw Air then. I like Air, they?re a good band and all, but they?re something I like to listen to at home. I don’t feel any great inclination to watch them live. The crowd was well into it though. They played at the Rising stage also and the ground was anything but rising. The mud was getting really thick now. Some sweaty off-his-head bloke caught A. by the shoulders and asked him “Do you like this music?” “Yeah” “Well you must be ON DRUGS to like this music!” and then he wobbles off. After Air, beer stopped getting served and I watched a bit of The Prodigy from afar.

We leave and walk around for a taxi and after two hours or so, we make it back to A.’s house in Maynooth, which all sounds fine and dandy until A. realizes he’s lost his key. So we go to the taxi rank and get a loan of a drill to put through the keyhole (in hindsight, possibly not the cleverest idea in the world). So A drills thru the keyhole and after a minute of that, the fucking drill bit breaks off in the keyhole. Oh fuck. Plan B-we go to one of his mate’s houses and hope that there is someone awake. Thankfully, there is so we crash out on the couch and smoke our brains out. I get a little bit of shuteye until some people arrive from a party and start jabbering. You know when yr at a house and you don’t know anyone there but you’re sleeping at their house so you feel you have to talk to them but you’d rather they fucked off and left you sleep? I say my good-byes and get the train home and conk out. I regret not camping there now and it wasn’t as muddy the second day as it all the shit turned to dust hehe. An enjoyable day out all the same and the sun shone down for once this miserable summer.