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mad, bad, sad night out

After a day of meetings, copyshop, and fighting my printer tooth and nail to persuade it that I need covers for the comics, damnit (they're still printing ... 15 mins a pop and each sheet needs individually loading ... but gods, they look lovely) I really want to kick back and relax and instead of spending the next four hours printing (as I should be doing) 16 covers, instead find two slices of day-old pizza and a can of red bull in the fridge, and suitably fortified, piss off down to the Wheatsheaf where some band called The Exploits of Elaine is being really, really loud. Which is nice.

After that, discover [break to staple a comic] that pretty much the entire room is full of teenagers and mummies but fortunately I have the tiny sketchpad with me. I draw a picture for Merry Andrew -- fanart of his characters. Not the minicomic promised, but it's something...

Two songs into Wait for Coniston M. turns up to tell me who they all were and which bands they used to be in. Another blender band ... although I am enjoying it. A fairly soft wall of sound, kind of bouncy. A bouncy castle of sound. They have a singer, novel in this instrumental scene, and he's not bad. Although I do want to give him a kicking. Nothing personal, it's just that synaesthesic lass is digging all the incomprehensible dissonances and he keeps running this melody line that tries to make sense of it, and I'm not here for that. No sense, damnit. None of that shit.

(... oxfordhacker on synaesthesic lass: worst reveiwer ever.)

The final's detwiije. They play three tracks. Afterwards, the guitarist collapses in a heap by the stage door; when he's upright again, I go tell him it was worth it, which I'm sure goes down like a mouthful of ashes. Never mind, there's always one way to make it clear to artists that you really do think they're worth something [break to staple another comic] and so "Would you rather be followed by Forty Ducks for the rest of your life" goes home with me.

Via a rather circuitous route that takes in trick mountainbikers with overpumped wheels, the frontman of icelandic-ish band Eberg, Mr Bad-date-head-in-red-stripe and a very drunk man called Rim who was a bit too young to understand why we were all laughing at that.



Wait for Coniston (and what a great name that is) sound, Synaesthesic Lass says, a lot like Bezier curves. It took me a while to figure out what she meant by that, but once I saw it, it was obvious -- point, point ... adjust. They're also kind of yellow, and occasionally taste of toffee, or burnt sugar. That's just the undersound -- Syneasthesic Lass couldn't accomodate the singer, although he seemed nice enough to me. On a personal note, the drummer looked great. M. said he was left-handed, and that seemed to be the case. Some loose talk about forming a supergroup comprised entirely of sinister drummers ensued.

Then came detwiije. Synaesthesic lass sends congratulations [break to staple another comic] to detwiije; occasionally, a band's sound is dense and interesting enough that multiple bleedthrough occurs; that I get enough extra sensory muck that the brain panics and starts making stories out of the extra gubbins. My own stories, of course; detwiije have quite different names for these three tracks, but here's what I heard:

Track one: microlight flight (took in a vast badlands canyon, crashed before the track ended --- co-osmiic)
Track two: flyposting the desert (particularly striking for the repeated moving image of a car speeding into the distance on an empty highway, on all the flyposters, at the initial canyon's end, resolving from the actor's head as she dithered (dissolved) -- beautiful)
Track three: the barn (a bloody epic that kept taking the story to new and terrible places, under the uncomprehending gaze of farm animals, dust motes and the unforgiving plains -- brutal)

[break to staple another comic]Well, I'd best to bed now. Busy day tomorrow. I guess.

Comments

( 11 worms — Feed the birds )
crazycrone
19th Mar, 2005 08:02 (UTC)
Rad...
Synaesthesia is cool. Hurr hurr...
cleanskies
20th Mar, 2005 12:16 (UTC)
sorry to miss you at the thing
... I went to the pub for half an hour and when I got back you were gone. Um, it might have been two hours.
celestialweasel
19th Mar, 2005 11:02 (UTC)
Is your synaesthesia only sound as vision or do you have any recipes for my Synaesthesia Cookbook?
Malt vinegar is the B flat below Middle C.
cleanskies
20th Mar, 2005 12:18 (UTC)
you have a synaesthesia cookbook?
share recipes!
celestialweasel
30th Mar, 2005 21:51 (UTC)
Re: you have a synaesthesia cookbook?
I missed this comment for some reason. When putting spices / seasonings in sauces I perceive it in terms of sound e.g. taste it and think 'that's a bit heavy on the bass'. It is, as you would expect, hard to explain. I shall sit down some time and rank things low (tahini) to high (rosewater).

kookymojito
21st Mar, 2005 14:36 (UTC)
So, in one of those wondrous moments of confluence and synchronicity, I was clicking on this link at the same time I was waiting for this page to load...

And yay for glittery paper and pretty green quetzals. Was good to see you on Saturday (even if you did seem to be permanently smirking at me in the pub)
cleanskies
21st Mar, 2005 15:37 (UTC)
was I?
sorry about that. Just drunken exhaustion. Oh, and I was drawing you, that might be why.
kookymojito
23rd Mar, 2005 18:09 (UTC)
Re: was I?
No, this was after you'd finished drawing me.

I think I was being paranoid, anyway, but I wanted in on the joke :)
cleanskies
23rd Mar, 2005 18:39 (UTC)
n-not sure then
... possibly you were just looking nice {:P
(Anonymous)
21st Mar, 2005 18:39 (UTC)
detwiije
Hello, I'm from detwiije. You blog people scare me. We do however really appreciate you. People like you are why we play, thankyou for being there and we're really glad you enjoyed the music.

Send us a comic? Contact band@detwiije.com
cleanskies
22nd Mar, 2005 00:40 (UTC)
I try not to be too scary
... but sometimes it seems that the odds are stacked against me. Happy to send you a comic -- as I stapled most of it while listening to your music I think I owe you one.
( 11 worms — Feed the birds )