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.