AAYL At the mall.

Something from the Angry Angry Young Lady vault. I'm guessing that this is in 2003. There was another entry explaining all the characters as well. I'm not going to include it, as that's back story and, well, why bother?

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Wednesday 3rd of March

It all begins in a shopping mall. I'm in the central locus of the mall, on a large expanse of floor surrounded by shops. A temporary stage has been erected in front of one of the stores. I believe it's a JB Hi-Fi's but I can't be too sure, the shops seem to be blurred to my mind. I don't remember what the band sound like. In fact I don't think there was any sound coming from their instruments. There's a large group of people watching the soundless band along with the constantly shifting mass of people common to malls, filtering through the crowd like the tributaries in a stream. I walk into the crowd and see Dave and Adam. For some reason they're wearing large, wide brimmed hats. Their faces begin to twist and contort and then wildly shake and pulsate. For a brief moment they look like dead ringers for Stan. Why are they doing this? One of them tells me Stan is here. Dread fills my being. I can see Stan, through the crowd, watching the band, his back turned to us. He's wearing the same wide brimmed hat as Dave and Adam, except it’s even wider. Dave reaches out to Adam and turns him around. Adam is completely submissive as Dave runs his hand through Adam's hair and pushes his head back, finally pretending to neck him. They're having a joke. Dave doesn't let go. He pulls Adam's face closer and his lips, resembling a fleshy beak, touch and hook into the corner of Adam's mouth. They don't seem to be joking anymore. I look away. I see Robert, he walks up behind us. Robert is immaculately dressed with a beautiful, flowing haircut, a stylish suit, a white dress shirt, with its top button undone, and a pair of cuff links. There is an air of sophistication about him that I never noticed when we were at school together. Back then he was fat. Now he looks like a man who is entirely accountable for his self. He reeks of culture. Robert doesn't say a word. He seems moody but in a dignified way. A giant, barrel-chested black man – black suit black shoes – shadows Robert. I look at Dave. Dave knows what Robert gets up to. "Who is Rob's special friend?" Dave smiles and doesn't say anything. The black man walks into a record store close by. He is out of sight but we know he’s still there. Robert leans against a CD rack. He hangs his head and closes his eyes. A set of tears rolls down his red rosy cheeks. His face is a blank. It's a classic maudlin expression. The black man reappears and removes his black jacket. He motions with the jacket to cover Robert, to shield him from prying eyes. Dave sees Robert's distress and takes the jacket from the black man. The black man steps out of the way and to the side, into the background. Dave hides Robert with the jacket - it's a show of brotherhood, a sign of kinship between two grown men. I feel a pang of jealousy as I'm watching this. This is a world I'll never be a part of. A world of money and privilege, procured from God-given ability and the hard work from the application of this ability. This thought haunts me for a moment until I realise something. For all this money and style and friendship they're still in a stinking shopping mall with the rest of us, listening to a band that isn’t making any sound. I feel relieved. I fail to notice that I too am in the mall. I wake up.

gigging in Perth

A local celebrity DJ on community radio cold-called us about a gig he was putting on. A friend of ours had told him to do it. He came over to the North Perth house to hear our music. We had dozens of rehearsal tapes. I handed him the flyer I'd designed but it wasn't cool enough and in-the style so he left it in the bathroom when he used the toilet. He told us he didn't do Christmas and when it was his turn with the bottle he took a sip and shouted "whiskey power!" He said he loved the sound of the effect on the guitar. "Uh, nah, man, that's my voice." That wasn't the first time I'd met him. I'd seen the DJ in a video the same friend had shot. He was driving her old Mercedes, 666 on the license plate of course, she was in the passenger seat, and he was high on speed or ADHD prescription medication or ecstasy or probably all three, and was babbling away and being witty and edgy and transcendent. He's married now and his wife's Facebook profile page has over thirteen thousand friends. At the gig, when we sound checked, the feedback on our vocal mic was so loud that the headlining band thought it was broken and offered to lend us one of their's. Before we were about to play the local celebrity DJ told us he was going to play one last song - Helter Skelter by The Beatles - and then we were on, which was ironic, because days earlier I'd been arguing with the other band member that there was no way that Helter Skelter was the first heavy metal song 'ever' and that Bob Geldof had no right to state as such.