Thursday, November 24, 2011

Nothingness

Do Wop Shoo wada wada....


Alright fellas?


Good to hear.


Firstly, In ground breaking nudes – The Briohny Bites are featured in the Triple J unearthed artist spotlight this week, along with Brisbanes “The Mank” – which is a sccchhweet name, I once did a Uni elective with two dudes who did an animated spoof of Mary Poppins entitled “Manky Gobbins”, which is perhaps why I am remotely fond of that particular band name. Manky Gobbins – huge effort. Good news.


In other exciting news, we five kings of orient are...getting set to release our new single, ideally unleashing it in early January; in time for the summer cricket series, the outdoor festival pot-pouri, the Glenelg Jazz festival, 3rd degree sunburns and biddies that be wearing short-shorts where you can see a little bit of bum-bum at the bottom. See? It’s well calculated and it may even feature on some 16 year olds “summer shenanigans”  i-photo montage. Fingers crossed aye? *nod*


On Sat-dee before taking to the stage before Papa Vs Pretty and The Vasco Era, TSB KRU (RIP drift Pig_113) are also doing a photo-shoot. One like Kyle Sandilands might have done before live-to-air he exclaimed:


“Some fat slag on the Telegraph website, sorry, has already branded it a disaster. You can tell by reading the article she just hates us, and has always hated us. She trawled through the twitter comments and pulled out all the bad comments and ran them. What a fat bitter thing you are, you deputy editor of an online thing. You’ve got a nothing job anyway. You’re a piece of shit.”
He then went on to say how he thought her "titties" were too small for her blouse.


He didn’t exactly “Hold back” on the female journalist did he? Good on him you know. Down with chicks – up with bro’s!! Maybe a possible chant? Start a hash tag – see how we go. Cool.


I started writing this blog with no intent, plot or punch line on offer – but I’m doing Ok I think.


Some good points of recent:

  •  I noticed someone’s status update the other day querying why people who use hands-free accessories on their mobile phone still hold the handset 20cm from their face? GREAT POINT.

Might as well toss the ear piece? Oh wait, you’re a twat. I should have known from the pencil beard.

  • Another thing that has kept me awake during Big Bang Theory – Do fish get thirsty? If so, THEN what?

ALSO


Re-sealable cheese never re-seals. Ever.
 I. Am. Feuuuming.


Another thing I have noticed recently is how quietly devastated people get when you “get their name wrong”. I am good with names, good enough anyhow. It’s rare I get a name wrong – because I usually just go with the “eeeyy here he is...” as if we are TOO GOOD pals to even use our names, it’s usually a failsafe system – use their name if you know it – or be olden-day Italian if you don’t. But lately I have been blurting out incorrect names to people who I DEFINITELY know their correct name? For no reason. Sure, I’m usually indulging in an ale when it happens, but still – it’s awkward at best. Like, you’re in a little conversation of maybe four people bouncing around Dad jokes, everyone trying to trump one another – until someone drops a doozie and everyone goes “ooooooohhhh yeah boi” etc. Except I go “fuck Yes Johnny boy” when his name is Dave? But, but I know his name is Dave? But there is no coming back from that. No Shawshank redemption. He thinks you’re a wanker – because he is convinced now that you aren’t as tighter mates as he thought, whereas you are. But you said the wrong name for no apparent reason. You can apologise, and claim you KNOW his name is Dave – but it will be to no avail. Why is that? Surely it has happened to Dave before? I dunno. Shit.


Lately I have gotten right back into Basketball. Mugsly Bogues style. Me and a tight knit group of homies found 8-foot rings nearby. Need a confidence booster in your life? Get down to an 8-foot ring and LET IT RAIN. Hang on that shit until it squeeks like a Payneham Possum. Even better – execute the dunk on the back end of an alley-oop. You won’t regret it. I PROMISE. Money.


Toot Sweet: Get on Dom Alessio's Podcast, he offers some very gratuitous words on our new single Blue Toes, what a ledge. Tune in around 4:15. 


If you have read this far - you are a dude.


Buns.

















Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Festival Rap Up....

"Mazel Tov"
That’s what a man said to me moments before I boarded the K.I ferry – AKA: Sealinks “Mayfair” in their monopolised bizznak. Yee who is the brains behind that operation needs a firm hand shake – with a nod and poo-face expression. But I’m getting sidetracked....

The weekend gone-just-now saw The Shining Tights embark on a 48-hour fantasy world adventure, one that was to be remembered. Things got off to a flyer. I had my party shirt on, other twonks had their party shirts on, and my plus one – Captain Fun had his on too baby. We were donning shirts that would have made Pablo Escobar put down his rolled up hundred dollar bill for a gander. Yessss, offensive and vibrant - People would walk past and nod at us, as if to say...”I’m a fucking wiener without one of those get-ups aren’t I...” to which we would offer a salute, or some kind of disapproval at their “every-day” threads.

The Cape Jarvis boondocks gave us our first insight into the local clientele.  Big Burly men with large beards, lacerated forearms and Rossi boots that they received on their 13th birthday – but they still wear them because its damn-well queer to get new ones. Amen to that brudda. We joked that these blokes were so manly and badass, that when they reference people like us, they begin the sentence with “You fucking pussies....”

For example:
“You fucking pussies catching the ferry or what?!!?...”

Not in a derogatory way, but merely a timely reminder that we have supple skin, some of us use men’s skin lotion, we are not familiar with how to skin a “roo” in the time it takes your mate to reload your 38 calibre rifle and also, almost all of us have repped some kind of hair wax product at some stage in the not-too-distant past. These were the sort of dudes that you just look at – and feel like a loser.

None-the-less, the locals were actually refreshingly nice, polite and well mannered. They are still at that point in rural development where you still greet everyone with a smile and a wave – or a raised index finger if you pass them on the roads. So – after 600 grams of assorted smiths savoury snacks and an old-fashioned Special Patrol sing-along, we arrived at the Vivonne Bay barracks/watering hole/festival. After Barts and Chissy-poo plummer spoke to security like they were being interrogated by the feds, knowing full well the barrage of sloppily hidden alcohol in their vehicles, we meandered down to the “artist camping area”, yeah you heard. Bitch.

After doing mega drifties in the dirt for a while I endeavoured to erect my free-of-charge Canadian Club promo tent I was given by my old boss, in exchange for a stubby of Hahn Super Dry. Still in its packet, me and Captain Fun made the rookie error of assuming the unopened, unused tent would be a “breeze” to put up, at 10pm at night, on a rocky outcrop in the depths of Kangaroo Islands Funnel Web breeding grounds. Oh and it was windy. Oh and it turns out I’m a massive retard at understanding the basic logistics of erecting a tent. Cue: Chris Plummer – hiking and outdoor enthusiast, who quickly pointed out the fundamental issues of our attempt, and deemed the tent useless until the morning when we can give that shit a crack again in the light.

Unsure of our sleeping arrangements (we live life on the edge) we waddled on down to the main stage area, where we were welcomed by the soothing vocals of Matt McHugh and The Beautiful Girls – AND his band. See what I did there? Aye? What a fucking lad. Anyway, basically everyone had hundreds of beers by the stage and around the campsite, wound up in a drunken state in their tents, and in my case wearing another man as a backpack. I was straddled like a horse most of the night. Until I awoke to a HUMUNGOUS white thing in my face. I kicked and punched in front of me like an attention deficit child whose turn is up on his mates play-station. Only to realise the whiteness before me was not heavens gates, but was the drooping roof of my shoddily erected tent. Which has slumped right down onto our faces. It Scared the anus off me.

Saturday: I made the treacherous journey down to the actual beach, where old-mate Occy and his pals were carving toobs n shet. I was hung, and the heat was sweltering. But dipping my head in the sub zero slush puppy or “the ocean” at Vivonne Bay hastily re-instated by thirst for ale, and assorted female targeted vodka drinks. Huddled under a red-backs nest...I mean tree, me and the cavalry got back into it. With vigour.  But the heat was relentless, rivalled only by our aspirations to see how many pints of water we could skull. Eleven – if you were wondering. And eleven times more replenished as a result. OK?

So.... yada yada, we took to the stage and ripped bumbums. Loaded with both a new tune and a cover, we managed to wangle a pretty respectable set together – even if I do say so myself. This level of dopeness and showmanship was promptly met by the likes of Messrs, The Salvadors and Big Scary – who helped concrete a musical display that had perhaps not been rivalled yet earlier in the festival. A feel good vibe spread throughout. Some home-boy even climbed the jager meister tent, only to soon after be wearing half a litre of capsicum spray as goggles. Although this was probzzz the only example of miss-behaviour. The vibe was too free otherwise you know bro? Right on, right on.

Late Saturday night, things escalated fast. Mutual friends who had never met each other before were making waves in the dirt, in a tight embrace and what have you. Don’t worry – this “hell funny” recount will have visuals later, just keep reading. Me and Tom Opie of The Salvadors (Adelaides bestest band) and two pals, even crossed the bunting into to the General Admission tent city, which is difficult for people like us of such status and poise. We heard the deep murmurs of 90’s Swedish trance from 500 metres off. We made a flying V, and powered into what was revealed to be an ENORMOUS shanty style trance party. Pitch black, distorting speakers, gross music and people whose struggle to fight the MDMA pulsing through their veins was getting the better of them. We lasted about 45 seconds, then power walked back through the filth and general ticket holders campsites – back to the safety and serenity of the Artist camping area. Things get hazy, but I do remember Alex Polski Algurkee Rajkowski losing consciousness whilst attempting to strum Pink Floyds “Wish You Were Here” to a small crowd of onlookers. Good times, jot it down man.

At this point I have completely forgotten the point to this story/blog/rambling. For that I apologize. But you know what? You can suck my plums. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAIIIIINNNED? Exactly.

Please forward any complaints to alex@theshinybrights.com

It has been a bawl. This is the best Blogs-breath cafe EVAAAA. I know.

Until next time......

“A man does what he must - in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures - and that is the basis of all human morality.
- Winston Churchill

Completely unrelated. But Cheers.

Buns.

DA Wavves @ Vivonne Bay


My poo tent attempt and....ladies?


Lippy from The Shinies, Craig from Messrs and Captain Fun share a tight, late-night embrace...


The crowd beckens for RADBAD..


Captain Fun reveals his sensitive side, care of Buns's photography skills...


More evidence of my num chuck skills..



This arab ceremonial head wear was a MUST for Yee who tells a good joke...


A Poor mans photoshop hybrid of RADBAD and two legends from Bad Dreems....Oh and the third person? That's my second chin - Chinzerelli. He's OK.


The Salvadors got motherlovers going in a BIIIIG way...


Sometimes you need to have a long hard look at yourselves, right?
Shut-up.


Chissy Poo's handy work...





Jeeeeez this blog is good.

Special props go to The Daylight Braves, who we missed - but were there in spirit. Love.xxxxxx



Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Daylight Bravado!


It is usually the Rectus abdominus muscle which is damaged in an abdominal strain I have heard, and just as you are winding down your abdominal rehabilitation from laughing SO long and hard at my frequently "on-the-money" blogs, it's time for another one....

But this time my puddings, its different. For this this here blog THIS time is a.... (drum roll - pun intended)....MUSIC REVIEW. 


BOOMSHUCKALUCKA.
CAN'T BUY A BUCKET.
PUT'S UP A BRICK.
(NBA Jam Sega Megadrive)


Close friends and long time legends turned adelaide-music-scene-juggernauts The DAYLIGHT BRAVES have recently released a swag of catchy psych-rock numbers on their debut EP, Liquid Sun. The lads laid the choons down care-of Adelaide Guru Matt Hills, after doing an admirable dash around the Adelaide circuit, a trio of Melbourne gigs, and a banger at Sydney's infamous World Bar.

I have always had a solid for these boys, they are always on the same humour page in the awesome book - they play their instruments like fucking Vikings and they have a cunning and unique brand of music which I would pay/get-on the-list for any damn day. In fact I have been so enthused by these plonkers in the past that I have put my hand up to do their lights on several occasions - which was no doubt a contributing factor to their more than decent Graybags Spoz Spozzington reviews in the past. Don't mention it. They can thank me in vodka-pineapples at another juncture (with one of those teeny tiny umbrellas). 

Liquid Sun highlights include the swirling and uplifting guitars of Summer At Last, which caught the lobes of Dom Alessio and harkens to the likes of Cream or Tame Impala, but with a daylight braves stamp all over it, rolling basslines, clever drum beats and angelic harmonies. Shits tight. Solemn boy also bleeds musical maturity with the implementation of shakers, and a relaxed vibe that makes you wanna binge on acid and marry-jew-ana, and plough your face into a mound of incense or something. But for me, my BFF comes in the form of the darker "Absent Ground". Its pulsating, it's badass, its catchy and it  goes Anders Brievek live. I have showed it to a few older fellas at work who pop it in the "Doors" category - which is a huge compliment coming from those older closet music lovers who seem to know everything about everything, and some. This tune is FETCH (yeah I like Mean Girls - back Up). It has an almost demonic undercurrent driven by the pulsating, monotonous bass lines of Tom Sizzler Stevens, something reminiscent of The Arctic Monkeys' Nick O'Malley - with a clever bridge, and haunting double tracked vocals from Dan Beacom - and a guitar solo that will leave your faced screwed up like a fart you cant quite squeeze out yet. I'm a fan, not as in an oscillating three-pronged propeller next to my bed in summer, as in a dude who reckons these tunes are the NUTSACK. Get on it, download their tunes and play them in summer, at dusk - whilst staring at the clouds for the perfect experience. Liquid Sun. Tally Mi Bananas? 4/5 bananas.

One banana was subtracted because I want more Absent Groundism, more poo-faces, and less surfs up. Although their surf song is Dang catchy. That's Just Buns I guess. And he aint no poop eater. Ya Hear? Kay.

Cheers.

Stay tunes for TDB's review of our new single. I know, the suspense is killing you. Apologies. 

Bunion.





Catch TSB's and TDB's at The K.I Surf and Music Fest November 3-5 at Vivonne Bay. Don't be a bender and get a ticket.

LINEUP HERE

Money!

Sunday, October 16, 2011

My Milkshake brings all the god damn chicks to the yard.

I fought with myself over typing that, my ethnic side got the better of me. Even though I have no ethnic ancestry.... but I do like feta cheese. I legitimately heard a guy say this at the 24 hour K-food express on Saturday night,  he had bumbling biceps with veins like fire-hoses. He was intimidating.

OK? Good Start. Great Start.

I know you are all wicked jealous of my witty banta, on Friday at work a colleague threw me a stress ball, that was shaped like a choo-choo train - but was by all accounts too firm to be used to actually reduce stress? Which begs the question - what is it then? To the untrained comedic mind - it was a dead end conversation. But for the veteran cogs of  pun geniuses - it was quite the opposite. For example, I turned to my pal Dan at work whilst squeezing the train like a beating heart and said......"Hey Dan, I'm TRAINING"...Bang. I mean, that is just effing classy. To his very well-earned credit he responded swiftly, offering "Not a bad effort - you were on the right track..." This pun ping-pong went on for the best part of half an hour. Notable contributions included "you would be steaming..." and "careful you might get a COAL-SORE"... I know right? Tremendous.

This game soon moved onto something requiring much more intellectual integrity. We have all played it in our junior years at some-point, and it is one of the few games that can earn you the badge of being a "Real Man". Its where you sit about 1.5 metres from the person opposite you (this is in an office where you can hear a mouse fart) and one of the two participants is required to withstand a pelted stress ball in the FACE. For some reason, I can guarantee you will be giggling like a girl scout. Its sparks the sort of laughter that results in tears. Like, do you know how hard it is to tense your face?? with impending danger? It makes you look absolutely ridiculous. Like Sylvester Stallone after he just smelt a fart, whilst sucking on a lemon in glaring sunlight or some shet. It is honestly one of the funniest things you can do with five minutes and an opponent. You will thank me. See?? This blog is different. It's a pioneer. We give, you take. It's like a cooking recipe website - but more bad-ass and fucking sweet.

These sort of shenanigans filled my weekend. Like on Saturday night whilst we were out at a licensed establishment, and we chose to play "quadruple points A to Z"..... Yeah, we know how to party. Its simple, you just go around the circle and say four words in a row, starting with the same letter, and attempt to offer a sentence that actually makes grammatical sense. Forget chatting to babes and jamming jager bombs - this is what the new wave of legends are up to. Answers like "Desperate Donkey's Do Dominos" were thrown out there - at which point the player promptly offers an argument as to Why this sentence is acceptable. "They do. They do do dominos - I've bloody seen them do it at the zoo" sort of thing. The more cider they consume, the more adamant they become that each others quadruple-A-to-Z answer is the best/worst/worthy. The game ticks every box..... Thanks Buns, no worries my students.

Until next time. Take care of yourselves..... aaaaaaaand each other.

Thumbs.


Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Blinded By The Lights


To aid the previous blog, here is some exciting scenes from The Streets on Monday. Geezers.






Many Happy Returns.




TSB

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Farklife and other exciting features...

Roses are Red, violets are blue
Long weekend turns me to poo-poo...
The End.

It’s been a while – keeping well? YEAH I wanna sit down.

The weekend has vanished in a cesspool of elbow sprinklers, southern cross tattoos, footy-footy-footy and debilitating injuries. It’s OK, I will explain.

Them Ahhhh Shiny Brights played on Friday night with long-time RADelaide indie Vikings – CITY RIOTS. With the two of our bands repping busy interstate schedules of recent, coupled with A Shinys hiatus, it has been many moons since we have actually had the pleasure of playing along-side these boys – who were also supported by Adelaide’s Lyla. Not heaps has changed since we played with them first-up at Jive – They have gotten bigger, they are still tight-like-tiger, and are still gnarly human beings. I even let out a high-pitched “oh my goooood”, like Kim Duthie might, when they broke into Match sticks/She never wants to Dance. Always been a fan. Good guys. Good tunes. Great Band. Strong Cocks.

We also had the opportunity on this evening to ignite our long-weekend binges – which I was excited about, but the bouncer at Sugar wasn’t.... Cool.

Sat-Dee saw the injection of sport into the weekend which set the arm-bending pace. Hours later Regos back fence was on fire, Chris was wearing a corporate telephone headset whilst giving a haircut and rego was growing increasingly angry at those hiking style/casual shoes that he had spotted.  I was busy bringing the rain – having a swell time shooting hoops. And by that I mean Basketball – not men’s bums. OK?

How does a serial killer come into this story? This is how....

...I know, great read hey?

The wee hours of Sunday morning had me at Jive. Checked in – accompanied by 60 chunes. I made a trip to the bar for a daiquiri..I mean beer. It was here that my pants were moistened by the site of SNOWTOWN lead actor Lucas Pittaway AKA four-time first degree murder convicted Jamie Vlassakis. Here my night took a turn, my focus shifted from long-arming to following this sweet actor around Jive. His hair was slicked back into a mane. YEAH. As if to say “Yeah, it’s me”. I couldn’t take my eyes of him. He busted me looking at him like fifty times. But Fuck him – it’s not my fault he plays a serial killer really well.  He was actually palming off woman. I know how that is! Am I right? So fly. Lucas opted for a woman in the end, fair enough I guess. His loss though.

Farklife was on Monday. I was already at the Post Office in struggle Town too. It took all my cahonies to muster enough Morale to see the day out. But I did, because I am a fucking Ledge. Top acts/suprise packets for the day included DFA 1979, The Streets, Crystal Fighters and Little Dragon. Impressive to say the least – even when in some instances it wasn’t expected.

But what was expected was the countless arse-clowns with their shirts off. Full time flexers with Carpe Diem tats and enormous Prada sunnies. Painful – but at least they weren’t at the acts which actually had people playing instruments. If they were, they were lost. Which was funny. A girl also seemed to have broken her neck – this backs my earlier claim of serious injury. Apparently she nailed her head coming down from a crowd surf. But nobody knows what actually happened. But the chinese whispers were also amusing. I also saw our mate руководишь from one of our previous blogs there. I walked 100 metres right angles across to avoid a beat down.

Thanks for your readership.

Buns








Jump on here to download our new tune too - a FRESHER one will be up very, very soon.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Hey...


Top 7 things that are irritating Alex right now.

1. Guys in suits on phones.
2. White leather loafers
3. Blonde tipped hair.
4. Those shoes that look like football boots with no studs
5. It's spelt capsicum...not capsicun.
6. Dubstep.
7. Dubbros (bros who like dubstep, normally seen in a low cut singlet)
Cheers.






Here is a lovely blog about an old song of ours. Weird. But we will take it....


http://partyaids.tv/the-shiny-brights


http://www.triplejunearthed.com/TheShinyBrights - go here and vote, apparently you get bigger muscles from it.


Alex/Buns



Wednesday, September 7, 2011

From Russia With Love

I now hereby bequeath our very first Tandem blog….

So Saturday night Buns and Alex went out after the Shiny’s “gegg” at The Gov in Adelaide. The show was good; we were asked if we knew any Pearl Jam by a guy in a Hawaiian shirt with flames on it so….joke’s on him I guess.

Anyhow, we ended up at a cocktail bar where there was talk of delicious and yet moderately priced drinks. We got out of the cab with a good friend of ours (for the sake of anonymity we’ll call him Bill Murray) and polished our drinks. Our efforts were nearly quashed when we were confronted by our mate Milosz. Now, Milosz was the most Russian bouncer we had ever seen. His accent was straight out of a movie. His tracksuit was definitely fast. The fastest. He would eat smoked herring on rye bread for breakfast, with black tea, whilst rubbing vodka into the wounds on his knuckles. He would let a sloooow groan as he did it too.  “…..eeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…..” Then he would go and bash some ice-bergs.

клоунов метеорного decided we were “too keshool” for this particular establishment. He did that Russian azzzz thing, where you just offer a quick pan up and down, with a face like you have just smelt someone else’s shit – then flick your chin in the air whilst you attempt to mutter the English words “too casual”. We were like those two geezers in snatch that take ages to realize the pikie is saying “DOGS”. But sadly for Milosz/Borris-the-blade/Eristoff - I dwell with one of the bartenders, and he reluctantly granted the three most inebriated plonkers entry into the bar – effective immediately.  He had a pooey face on him the rest of the night. Only until I was draining it in the toilet, half expecting the “Serbian strangle hold” from behind, and Milosz commended me on the African-American rap superstars on my t-shirt. Turns out he likes Eazy-E. He whispered it in my ear while I was weeing. I was shitting myself so badly I was just like “……..same”. But WHY does he listen to deceased, hard, hard gangster rapper Eazy-E? Anyone? Does Russia even allow rapping? Just in general?  Appreciated, nonetheless.

The three of us went on to frolic shamelessly and enjoy a number of delicious cocktails at a three-for-one price. We discussed everything from Milosz’s punching ability, to our own lack of punching ability, to how deliciously priced and fundamentally intoxicating the cocktails were – when coupled with my (Buns’s) stellar wit. Eventually Bill met a nice young lady, Buns and Alex played wingman to the tune of a 100% success rate. YEAH.

I hope everyone likes the swinging from second-to-third-person writing style which this particular blog offers. Cheers.

We arrived at our next port-of-call where things started to get pretty Monica Lewinski, and by that I mean loose and hazy. Bill decided to leave with his newfound temporary lover. Buns and Alex wished him well, and hoped he had a really great time. Upon arriving at the David Floor (d-floor) we decided that it was time we did some rug tearing/shape-cutting/usher impersonating. We cut rug like a discount flooring depot. We were copping hard props from random dudes who all looked the same. We slashed prices. EVERYTHING MUST GO, we shouted. Eventually we went to the bathroom and realized that we would need to hang onto the wall if we were to get out in one piece, or at least dry and with some sort of dignity.  Mission accomplished. Veterans. We kept slashing prices.

We both sort of lose track of the evening here. At some stage, and in some sort of vessel – we arrived home at our respective jay-o’s.

Buns: Forgetting that I had offered my abode to my two newly acquainted best buddies; Sam and Dale from Ben Salter’s band, I stumbled inside in a loud and obnoxious fashion. Only to be re-informed that the lads were asleep soundly on the living room couches. To Sam’s full credit – he got straight up and continued to pound beers with me until sunrise. A large evening. One of fruitful times. Tschus.

Rego: I am unable to recall, but it involved yelling at the toilet.

Many, many Thanks.

If you haven’t seen enough spam regarding our new single Blue Toes – then click here for a free download and a boner.

Buns + Rego









               

Sunday, September 4, 2011

August Blog Video


It's that time again, yeah yeah I know - the suspense was killing you, you were on the edge of your seats etc. etc.

Apologies, and you're welcome.



"......Bust my ass??..."






Many Happy Returns,

$ TSB $

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Chaired

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

A Nod of Affirmation...

So,

The August tour is over. Touring with Tales in Space, The Sunny Days and Tin Can Radio was a blast. We're back to regular life with a few shows around Adelaide and then hopefully we'll be back out on the road a bit later in the year.

You all read about the shit kick that Sydney was and how much of a nightmare it was getting up for THAT flight. Well we found someone on the last night of the tour, in Melbourne, who had obviously had that nightmare for an entire evening, culminating in something none of us ever expected to see.

I'll run you through the lead up;

After starting our night with some cheap but not that delicious meals (we know when you use tip-top burger buns and kraft singles cheese, it doesn't hurt to splash out on a lepinja and maybe some swiss cheese? Fuck you), we then headed off to the venue and bumped into our fine tour buddies "Tales in Space" from Sydney. We discussed the finer points of synth stage moves and shit burgers.

Fast forward a few hours and we'd all consumed hundreds of beers. We caught up with Adelaide "besties" (fuck off) The Daylight Braves. They were at the tail end of their tour promoting their latest single "Summer at Last". We spent more time downing more beers at a premium price.


On our way home, collectively stumbling along, we noticed a shape further down the road holding onto something. As we kept walking the shape appeared to be a guy, holding onto a pole, hanging his arse over the path. We walked past him until Wolf did the sums and called out "Excuse me mate.......*pause*.....*deep breath*.....but are you taking a shit?"


The guy then looks at us and gives us a simple nod.




He then proceeds with his task at hand and then falls on the ground. In his own shit.


Tour over.


Alex Rajkowski


If you havnt already Smashed our new tune "Blue Toes", Click HERE for a free download.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Join the Nunnery

This is a quote I like…

I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.
-Bruce Lee


What a ledge….


It is actually quite profound, but It may or may not apply to the following blog/s


As I embark on an intended “dry” weekend (no guarantees) I would like to outline some of the reasons why the idea is, well…..not worth it.


1. You know when you’re drunk, and so is every other sack at the pub you attend every weekend – and you have that 3am conversation with some fiend who talks too close? Like, he’s on his damn tippy-toes, with his head cocked towards his right shoulder, so that he can burp his fucking bourbon-tosis away to his right while he tries to get his shit point across to you – which you have already forgotten? And, and…and he bobs a little higher on the balls of his feet every now and then for the odd Punchline, like Brent? This guy is SO much more offensive and irritating when your sober-as-a-judge, trying to kindly put the pieces together of his epic last-weekend bar fight story - which is grossly over exaggerated, to the point where you’re now egging him on to “tell us more” without him realizing you think he is an enormous TWAT. For me this is the number one reason to just drink – aimlessly.


2. The Last time I had a weekend without a drop was when I had my wisdom teeth removed two and a half years ago, so it took physical trauma to pull the plug for a weekend last time I faced such adversity. The Second reason why it blows so badly is when you don’t drink….sorry, when you don’t binge – you become this reclusive weirdo around chicks? This is applicable to me anyway. Many of my friends/band-mates are in the same boat. You become this generic bender – who has that staple conversation with everyone until one of the two of you are SO bored/pissed off, that you do an Alex Cameron – and just bail on the conversation altogether. Mid sentence if need be. Also, while you doing it, you KNOW your doing it. Having that cringe-town friendly chin-wag. If you have held out this long on a sober weekend – now you’re bonging jager.


3. Just don’t be sober.









This blog is dedicated to Alex Minicozzi. Why? Click Here

Aaaaaand joke for the Day? Courtesy of Wolfgang…
Why did the sperm cross the road?
Because you put on the wrong socks today….


Buns.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Friday nights liver towelling (slash gig) in Syndey was of such an impressive magnitude – I figured it needs to be documented.

Friday August 12

1:30am – Still at the Governor Hindmarsh after the Children Collide gig... notable “check-ins” include Woody Annison, Johnny McKay, Simon and Shane (DZ Deathrays), and all but one of the Shiny Brights. Also - each and every member of Hunting Grounds are available right now, via telephone...at the same time....on six different cellular telephones.....Yeah, its getting pretty OSLO-circa-a-month-ago right now....people are smoking wherever they want, and people that didn’t already know Woody are immediately shocked and appalled by being pigeon-holed as “Racist”, before having actually met the guy. Fuck being a wiener at Woody’s school, in South London, in the eighties.....

2:00am – Red Wine glasses brimmed with Smirnoff and a DASH of red bull are being issued amongst the remaining team. I can’t stress “Dash” enough either, each sip was like a Chuck Norris knee to the bollocks. Yet the beverages on offer are consumed only in a boat race fashion – a notion that was forcefully peer-pressured towards anyone in ear-shot - Security guards and performers alike.

It’s at about this point that I notice the time, curse maliciously in rego’s ear and realise I’m due at work six hours. At this juncture I exit the premises. Later I catch wind of certain members of The Shiny Brights having to blow off some steam, by walking home from Hindmarsh – leaving little presents from within along the way....like an Easter-egg hunt.

7:45am – Buns’s alarm sounds for work. He smashes his alarm clock several times with a nearby shoe, before realising the alarm was actually set on his phone, not his bedside alarm clock. His phone is on the nearby bathroom floor. Cheers.

9:00am: Buns punches himself in the testies FIFTY times...I mean “goes to work”.

1:05pm: Le Shiny Brights board a plane to SYDNEY.

4:00pm: Sound check/ load-in at the Gaelic followed by the prompt purchase of overpriced beer. In Bulk.

5:00 pm: Beers/filthy jokes/anti-histamines at Karen’s.

7:00pm: The banta moves to The Strawberry Hills Hotel, for French fries/filthy jokes/beer

8:30pm: The Sunny Days/RadioStar/no-one-is-really-sure open at the Gaelic

9:20 pm: TSB perform as a Banjo quintet with a Bolivian pipes player. They are well received.

10:00pm: Chris “Bondi-vet” Plummer manages 4 little piggy’s on his back simultaneously – much to the amazement of two Peruvian back-packers, and nearby chiropractors.



10:15pm: Tales in Space from Syndey perform, to a capacity audience and a lighting show that is not for the feint hearted. If I was a chic – I’d have my titties out at this point. I did anyway.

11:15:pm The Cairos from Brizzzvegas (fuck off anyone who has EVER used that term seriously) take the stage to a chorus of extremely drunk scenesters/babes/Adelaide bands....

12:30am: Proceedings move to Oxford Arts Factory.

1:00am: People are that sort of drunk where they pretend to hump attractive chics that squeeze past while they aren’t looking. I am guilty of this.

2:00am: Headcount?
Clancy Bennett - present
Buns - .......yeah...ish
Chris- sort of
Rego – maybe by a thread
Paul – not really present
The Sunny Days/RadioStar/not sure – ...heeeere.


(THIS IS MY FAVOURITE)



2:30am: Looking around, clearly all previous inhibitions have gone out the window, most people are attempting their CLEAN Usher moves – genuinely convinced that they are nailing them. Most of us have tangoed with other anonymous female inebriates – to no avail, for obvious reasons.

3:00am: people are talking reeeeeaaal slow now. Sentences riddled with hiccups. hugging – everywhere. Rego is sleeping on his feet, on the dance floor, with a beer. Numbers are thinning in the venue...

4:00am: Hungry Jacks, Oxford Street.
Chris has already “claimed” his second unwarranted burger , just doing casual laps back-and-forth from the counter, claiming he is waiting on assorted menu items. .......Now he is bellowing at the top of his lungs – we are still racking our brains as to why?? (An upcoming blog video will explain this better)

YEEEEEEAH...



5:00am: Arrive at Karrots criiiib. Me and Chris sleep in one another’s arms, on the floor. Rego takes ownership of the couch. All fully clothed, with food.

6:00am: Lights out.

8:30am: Alarm. Shit. Fuck. Alarm. Clothes? Belongings? Dignity? Health? Alarm. Vom. Cab. Airport. Flight. Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. Sleep.

Lengthy read huh? Sucked in.

Buns.