Last night I can remember what happened. I arrived late for the gig, having short notice, significant travel time and an important stop off at Al Dhabi’s (I’m sure I’m getting it wrong) Indian diner for some curry Madras.
I wasn’t prepared for what was going on inside the Lyrebird Lounge that night. My dear little ears don’t tolerate noisy situations well these nights and mornings, and I’m yet not organised again with adequate plugs since I lost the last four or more pairs amongst the wilds of doof land and between. I opened the door….
…and forged my way into the next paragraph and the front bar, copped a blast of the surging, solid psych rock of Noir, bee lined my path to the bar, requested the cheapest beer and took myself outback, where the music was penetrating softer now and I did what I never do but I won’t tell you cos it’s boring. Soon enough Dr Cake was bringing me into the folk flok, bubbling up again as it did as he initiated dialogue and as Noir belted out her final numbers (beautiful howling powerful-not too loud out here in the back) the posse/crew filtered in to our table and when the lustrous banshee herself joined us and introduced me to eleven people bunched out there with me and Dr Cake and…well, I don’t remember everybody’s name, aye? ..the party was on! There was Swedish or rather Canadian fireballs, rounds of them, lighting our hearts on fire, cheery beery banter chit chat and that, smoking and a bar owner who introduces himself with a warm handshake and plies us all with jugs of mulled wine, giggles and belly smooches, sci-fi surfari through modern alternative history and contacts in the industrie no just mulled wine no really all those other things happened I was honestly knackered from minimal shut eye the previous evening, but it was clear to me it was worth putting those proverbile matchsticks ‘twixt me sockets and what not.