Sexed Up

I might be a genius.

I may also be a moron. I haven't quite decided.

There are lots of very clever people who will tell you that we're in a recession, and it's all our fault for borrowing too much money. They'll use words like “interest” “liquidation” and “inflation”. This “recession” hasn't really affected me because I never had any money to begin with, and my opinion is probably very naieve because I don't know anything about “stock market shareholders” because really, what would be the point in polluting my mind with such nonsense?

But the way I see it... the banks have big machines that print money. One day they decide to tell us there's a recession because we all used to much credit, which doesn't make much much sense when you consider that credit doesn't exist. If you apply for a loan somebody just types a figure into a computer and it's transferred into your account from thin air, they haven't done anything – the only tangible, physical result is the interest that you'll be paying for the next God knows how many years.

But anyway – we're told there's a recession so everybody panics. We're told to cut back and preserve our precious funds. But why? If money really was in short supply, the most logical thing to do would be to spend more of it, thus keeping the economy afloat.

What inevitably happens is, once we hear there's a credit crunch on the way, we stop buying “luxury items”, which means the independent shop keepers who can't compete price-wise with the supermarkets and global chains are the first to go out of business.

The fact that a few shops close down increases everybody's panic – it's not just in the papers anymore, it's in the streets! And then other businesses start to worry, and fearing they're not going to remain afloat they start making cuts, closing branches and sacking staff... and the whole thing goes on and on in self perpetuating nonsense.

If you look at post “credit crunch” Britain, the majority of people affected are those who worked in independent businesses or had jobs deemed “non essential”. Funny how none of the major banks, supermarkets or clothing manufacturers went out of businesses. Funny how we could still afford to pay a bunch of borderline retarded celebrities millions of pounds to run around a field kicking a bit of leather, or star in mind numbingly banal hollywood blockbusters. Funny how no solicitors, politicians or priests lost their jobs... Wait a minute, it's not funny!.....

A more paranoid individual might think the whole thing was a load of bollocks! That it had, in fact, been deliberately engineered to destroy independent business, and further the world domination of the multi national corporations........ Not to mention just keeping everyone afraid of something.

You have to wonder, had the papers and TV not embarked on their scaremongering campaign and generated all this panic in the first place, would anything have changed?

But, as I say, I don't really understand the system. Those people in offices who'll tell you that you can't just print more money because of a surplus amount of tax deductible dividends and too much clink on the stuffer-expander are right, but only within that very small world. It's like being in a swimming pool, and someone telling you that you have to kick your legs or you'll drown. It's true, it's irrefutable logic – but also ignoring the fact you could just get out of the pool. Once you're stood in the foyer eating sweets from the vending machine, all that leg flapping becomes a bit ridiculous. And that's how I see the economy. You're right, I am a moron.

The gig of DOOM

Whatever you do, whether it's playing music or fixing boat motors, you have a mental list of all the things can go wrong, and last night everything went wrong!
It's hard to know where to begin... Our driver had to work, thus leaving us without a way of getting there, and our back-up driver's car broke down! (See, we even have a back up driver – which just goes to show that, when God hates you, all your meticulous organisation counts for nothing!).
Andy and Jex ended up getting the train down and booking a hotel for the night, leaving Rosh and I (only a little bit illegally...) squashed into the back of the van with all the equipment.
But after three hours of cramp and trying to paint our nails on the motorway, we arrived in Leicester, the city of dreams.
We soundchecked, everything was okay – apart from my mic misbehaving as usual. I think I must be unusually electro-magnetically charged as I seem to generate more feedback than normal people, simply by my presence. The only point where my mic starts working is the point where I can no longer hear myself, but, you know, I'll blag it... it'll be fine.
By half eleven the revelers were in, all four of them, and we started playing. During the course of events, the strap fell off Andy's guitar, then the lead fell out, whilst I became somewhat entangled in my mic lead, as it curled itself around my wireless pack and the buckles on my boots.
I dropped a drumstick, which I do all the time, but whilst reaching for the spare (organisation!) I knocked my very expensive radio mic and sent it crashing to the ground – yet again! And shortly after one of the legs on my flour tom buckled and the whole drum collapsed, relying only upon the support of a monitor to keep it upright.
I'd heard some of the bodies that frequent this place were New Model Army fans, so we had been worried that our cover of Vagabonds would inspire a stage invasion and a fight to the death, but surveying the tumble weed on the dancefloor, I felt confident that, should such an eventuality occur, we'd probably be alright.
My in-ear monitor,to use the technical term, spazzed out at the beginning of Totality, so I fucked up the intro a bit. Oh yeah, and the mixer's falling to bits so we had to use our “Stupid Robot” with a microphone, which nobody could really hear.
By the time we played our barnstorming (What a ridiculous word!) version of Apop's Non-Stop Violence, the laptop (more technical words here) royally fucked up, so whilst Andy ran to wave his sonic screwdriver at it (or whatever computery people do) I was left with the frontman's nightmare – silence! And people staring at you expectantly. Thank God there were only four of them...
Oh yeah, and at this point the guitar fell over and knocked itself out of tune.
But every cloud has a silver lining, and we did get some kettle chips and hummus. The feast of the rock star.
That said, everyone that was there had a great time, and we made some new friends (and possibly invented a new drink – which reminds me, where did my expensive bottle of port get to!?), so after a few hugs and signing a few CDs with eyeliner (Because we're GOTH / Couldn't find a marker pen – delete as appropriate.) we leapt back into the van for another three hours pretending to be an amp. Except Andy, who remained to party and reform an impromptu DJ set. That McBain...
So if you're in or around Leicester – go to Synthetica, because the organisers are great. (But don't go thinking you'll get hummus too – we worked for it, we had a banner and everything...)
Also – now all the technical/physical/emotional failure is out of the way for the time being, our gig at Persecution in Stockton should be flawless, so come and see us! And if all else fails, we still have that banner....