watt's "more light" tour 2001 diary, first leg - week 4

j mascis and the fog

shot of george + watt + j in 2001

george berz - drums
watt - thud staff
j mascis - guitar, singing
(left to right)

noel ford - soundman
tim "dancer" herzog - helper man
eric fischer - tour boss

steve kaul - the man outside the van

thursday, february 22, 2001 - melbourne, australia

   shower after popping, hoof to some chowpad called _greasy joe's_ and chimp some diary, shovel some eggs. they put them right on the toast here. sourdough bread, all right. trippy mixes of things here. I remember the first time I came w/perry and I thought it was going to be much more british but that's just not the case. I mean, they drive on the wrong side of the street and the plug in the wall gives you 220 volts, things like that but australia is definitely australia. when you ask for water, you get a whole jug and ice in your glass. try that on the other side of the atlantic. folks don't have that pasty look either. one day in the sun here and you'd know why. I had to get some sunscreen. where? the safeway.

   more chimping into the machine onto the net and then see dancer and george at that galleon pad, another greek salad. I use all their tabasco up on it, my tolerence is way up there now. too hot to wear the pea coat and I keep the dave's insanity sauce in the inside pocket. shit, I'm hitting that straight out the eight-bottle now. I jones so hard on the rush. tour can do that to one. one that is insane.

   next door is a bike pad and I rent one for about twenty bucks u.s. 'til sunday. damn, I haven't pedaled since leaving pedro and can't wait. they give me a helmet and lock too. great. there's a bike path right on the beach, the 'melbourne foreshore bike path,' and I take that. like the cars, you gotta ride on the wrong side of the road (left) and that's a trip to get used to. keeps you in the moment, that's for sure. no hills, just a breeze for resistance and it's not that bad. what a simple joy, a nut and a bike. the ocean appears really green and the sun shooting spangles off of it is a trip. grass comes up pretty close to the beach - one side of the bike path is that and the other is sand. starting at that insane amusement place, "luna park," (I hear later that this place was designed by the cat who did the one in coney island back in the twenties) I take the path south, as far as it goes. what a way to find out how far it goes too, it just ends in some soft sand, grabbing my tires and throwing me over the handle bars in a big endo. it's a gentle landing though cuz there's the big pit of, you guessed it, soft sand. back on and pedal back the other way. it's miles and miles, I dig it and take in all the eye gifts. the path ends going north at the st. kilda pier and I ride out on that to the breakwater. there's this righteous bird that's bobbing out in the waves and every minute takes a dive down and comes up w/a little fish in it's beak - maybe they're 'dines? looks like them. bet they're good. raw, like soosh. I pedal for like three hours, all over the place. the traffic's pretty hairy so I take it safe. damn, hard getting used to the other side of the road thing, my head's trained to looking somewhere else. tough too even walking, sometimes I'm scared just to leave the curb, damn. have to unlearn and the re-learn.

   get back to the ho and meet w/the team. we head on over to the cherry bar for tonight's gig. j has to do radio and will meet us later. the drummer of the _cosmic psychos_, billy, runs this pad is a great cat. we talk up a storm about the old days and things. looking at where we're gonna play, j's amps take up like half the stage! folks are gonna get massaged by the sound tonight! I'm sun-soaked but feeling good from the pedaling pushing the blood through my body and sit a little bit. j comes back from spieling w/a gift some cat gave to give to me - chilies he grew himself. a little heat and some good flavor. they look like tiny red thick-skinned tomatos but pointy on the ends. I wonder what kind they are. tasty though, many thanks.

   soundcheck is a din and the restaurant next door complains so the training session w/george learning "I got a right" goes into subtle, tiny mode. we had to do the same w/"1969," "1970," and "little doll" too. j gets on the kit to show him the intro for "I wanna be your dog." I remember talking w/josh from _queens of the stone age_ in paris about how he dug the way 'rock action' (scott asheton) would come into the tunes. we finally get done going over all thirteen tunes we're gonna do and nick takes all the team to chow thai. not me, though. I get nervous stomach sometimes and just need alone time so I walk around the town. safe here at night (unlike my town) in downtown melbourne. it's all shut up, this is a daytime office building scene around here and I find no place where I can get a 'gar. the door cat told me to check out the hilton but when I get there and see how fancied-up it is, I about face. not my scene.

   the team returns from their trough bout and we're ready to go. I've been waiting at the lip of the stage, listening to the buzzcocks over the sound system. it's the "singles going steady" record. great. some cat w/a sun ra shirt comes over to talk. his name is dave and knows all about me. works at a record store called _missing link_ "about two hundred meters from here." like europe, it's trippy how they describe where shit is, like get out the yard stick. I guess we're just doofs in the u.s. for reducing things down to blocks and football fields, huh? his boss is there and asks me if I think of d. boon every day. that's a trip, didn't expect that. of course, I do. these folks know what's up, what a mindblow. anyway, j and george take positions and I sling the little bass. I've moved the strap pegs so it doesn't get caught around one of the horns and even used some lemon oil dancer gave me to clean up her body. she's shiny now. we start w/"real cool time" and it's a hale storm. wow, j can be so calm and yet still throw fire out that guitar like you can't believe. it's a trip. damn, is it sweaty - I'm soaked through the levis down to the socks just like that. we plow and plow, I really want to go off after no gigs in a bunch of days and shake myself senseless. I mean, really hard. tiny space for me to stand and I almost am overboard a few times, good think noel is right there (he has to mix the tiny p.a. from the stage starboard) to catch me if it's man over. "little doll" is a shmoz, I get the way out of tune and george loses the beat at the end or was that me? I apologize to the folks after when we trainwreck finally settles. I say we're doing these stooges things cuz I dig it and we're doing tomorrow night all the stuff j and george likes, yes and e.l.p.! of course that's a joke. they both laugh hard. then trouble watt (karma wails?). about three fourths through the set, I run into some serious shit. my right hand is cramping up like a motherfucker. sometimes a finger, sometimes a few of them - sometimes the whole hand and even the forearm, damn! at times I'm down to even playing w/my palm - nothing will work. I decided to use my fingers tonight and after a three weeks w/the pick and maybe w/all the days off, I am kinked-up seriously. I keep a mantra going in my head over and over to help relax and bring me relief, miraculously, it works! for only moments though, then back to twist and torque. aaaarrrggghhhhh, is this a nightmare. it's taking away my focus. I can't do all the hollering I want to in "fun house" but it's still a good take, we get some dynamics and interplay going - I love it when we listen to each other and actually "play together" - it's like an interesting conversation. even w/this rowdy kind of shit. after "no fun," we get off stage and I run down the alley to shake these cramps out, pressing my palms up on the brick walls and flattening my hands out, using my whole body weight. this works when I'm konked and get them in the arches of my feet or calves - I somehow magage to get myself up and use my body's heft to stretch the cramped, spastic motherfuckers out. we go back on stage and before we do "tv eye," I do shout-outs for the whole team: j, george, dancer, noe and eric. thanks to the crowd for keeping the spirit of the stooges alive. here in australia, they always had respect for them and the influence they have is in almost all the bands - unlike in the u.s. where folks take them for granted and kids don't even hardly know about them (not their fault, dicks hustling the "rock write" would rather gush on springsteen or whatever). big thanks to billy too for having us at his pad. finish up and I talk to lots of enthusiastic cats about just went down. what a rush! thanks, melbourne.

   nick gets us back to the ho. me and noel take a walk to the 7-11, yep - they're here too. (!) no dung bags, though. this is the land of ten thousand flavors of chips so I get a sack of "pepper steak" ones. ha! back to the ho and konk comes quick and easy. cramps have calmed too. thanks, mantra.

friday, february 23, 2001 - melbourne, australia

   good, long soak and then showerafter a well-needed konk. eric'll say later he almost had to bail to the equipment van to get some sleep cuz I was roaring w/snoars and restlessly rolling all about the deck in nightmare bouts w/an unseen advisary, gasping and gagging, sucking the paint off the wall - falling deathly still and then once again ripping w/steamboat bellow. all I remember was cramping constantly in the arches of my feet and the back of my calves. that stooges gig beat me up good, took a lot out of watt but I had to go crazy - just had to burst. everything's got a price though. didn't mean to put eric through the wringer however, didn't mean to be the pea in a princess' mattress.

   too early to hit the "cyberia" internet cafe I've been using for 'putering, on friday's they open later so I roam the street that parallel's the one our ho's on after lapping up from the trough at "greasy joe's." funny name cuz the breakfasts I've been getting aren't like that at all - it's good and pretty much free of all that. anyway, hoofing down this street w/all the shops, there's a hallway that leads to some kind of minimall, a trip to find something like this here, you'd never know it from the outside. malls are everywhere and anywhere, huh? at least this one is a subset and doesn't dominate things, being all tucked in internally. well, there's an i-net connect here so I do that do and get back to the ho to dump my 'puter and grab the pedaling machine. I dig chimping diary while I'm shoveling but when both of them are done, it's time to two-wheel. so glad I could rent one while being here. thanks, st. kilda.

   I head south like yesterday but this time when I get to where the trail ends at bay street, I turn east for a few blocks and then south again on st. kilda street. I'm gonna to try and skirt that soft sand pit. I go by a pad called "flatheads," I saw a picture of the fish on the pier yesterday (there's a board put up giving the legal lengths of fish you can pull out of the water and keep) and wonder what the taste is like. it's a 'fish and chips' pad but you can get it grilled for fifty cents more. the cat there gives me a deep fried piece too when he gives me the grilled ones cuz he said the 'salamander' (a grill they use for the cooking) shrinks the fillets up and make them look tiny. well, for $2.85 u.s., it's quite a deal. man, does it taste righteous too. well the battered deep fry is ok but the grilled little babies are sensational. cooked up w/scallions and parsley w/sea salt, the shit is seriously down - I love it! back down the road to pedal.

   the trail picks up right there. all right! see some cats 'kite surfing.' we got that in pedro but the 'kites' are much bigger here and instead of handles, they got like a trapeze bar. their surf boards have things to put your feet in and then the 'kite' (like a one side of a big bra or a big sling shot part where you put the shot) pulls you along the ocean. damn, it looks intense. I pedal and pedal, through brighton and then into sandringham. wow, is there some done-up pads here - money here for sure. big money, I see a cat pull a brand new ferrari into his driveway. I go for miles and miles but time is getting short, I've been out for a couple of hours and gotta get back, want to hit the post office and send back cards from down here under. at the "red bluff hotel" (red bluff is the town where my pop grew up in the sacramento valley) I make the turnaround. what a great path, never had to deal w/the traffic and even w/a little wind in the face, the pedaling was happening. now, I got it at my back and am flying. I always dig it when you got the wind in the face going and then at the back coming back, makes sense cuz you're more tuckered coming than going, right? I get my stamps and then meet j and george to get on to the gig. j gives me a bottle of chili sauce he got at a record store. it's called "blair's death sauce" and has a skull on a chain attached to the bottle. says on the label it's good for 'trippin hippy bbq.' says it's also made in new jersey, damn!

   nick takes us to a part of melbourne called richmond, where the gig is, a pad called the _corner hotel_. seems a lot of gigs in australia are at hos. soundcheck and then chow. the pad here offers octopus so I get that. I chow that all the time in pedro but it's always a big one that I cut up into pieces after boiling it. this here is a salad w/tiny little whole ones, maybe two inches in diameter, curled-up little tentacles and heads slit w/the ink sacks pulled. tastes great though and the chili is kind of like dave's despite the label saying it had honey, ginseng and kinds of other stuff besides red habaneros. I get the heat up and going though some gas does build up in the gut. a few swigs of ginger ale alleviates that quick though. I then go out to watch the openers.

   there's two stages in this pad, two of them in one big room. _greedo_ starts up the gig - they'll play again after the next band (that's a trip, huh?) and are good. a little lady from japan on bass and she's good, sort of like sportin' greg norton. the band kind of reminds me of a husker thing slightly. the guitar/singer is great too, even w/the snare drum mixed louder than his guitar, louder than the whole band. I detect a cobain influence. the drummer matt has a big fro w/sideburns - it's natural, he's full irish - for that rob tyner look. wow, that's coming back, huh? my hair will do that easy if I just let it grow. both me and george hurley had hair like that when we were teenagers though he had one of those space helmet spheres like 70s basketball cats had (along w/tiny pants). irish and italians share that hair talent. this cat matt is crazy about alice cooper. after they play he asks me all kinds of questions about him since I was into the coop, saw him and had the records as a kid. he's tripping that the coop bassist, dennis dunaway, came and saw me play back in october along w/joe bouchard (the blue oyster cult bassman). wow, is he foaming on alice cooper - never met a cat so into it being so young and so removed from those times (he's twentyone). what a trip.

   the next band another trio _snout_ and they got more of a 60s garage band sound but still something very much their own. I watch them by standing right in front of the bass cat. he's got a teardrop-shaped bass from a make I've never seen before, it's hollow too so he works a mean feedback by bringing it close to his peavy amp. that's right, a peavy. I seriously believe it's the hands and mind, not the hardware. he plays great w/a pick, happening bends w/the strings too. gets my mind going.

   the pad fills up and it's too stuff for me to check out greedo again so I go back to dressing room. damn, if I ain't feeling old fashioned. that bassist w/the funky bass and technique is firing my head up. I want to go out and be wild too. I start thinking about it too much and realize it's been seven nights now since we've played j's tunes. I try thinking of the chords and find I'm spacing on them all! confidence crisis, big time. I won't help w/the set list, I start giving george shit for being into 70s arena rock nostalgia - I really start dumping on him. what a fucking negative creep I'm being. after the set I'll admit this was all stemming from my own insecurites, being a little fucking coward and overcompensating by taking it out on him. when our gig starts, I'm afraid at every chord change, not being sure if I'm right where I'm going. what a fucking choke. j plays and sings like a champ but I'm too lost in my own head to do him right. I don't ruin any tunes and even though in almost everyone I blow some kind of clam (shit, I missed the bass solo in the very first song!), I manage somehow. the crowd is great, the most spirited for a fog show yet, what a vibe but I'm too self-absorbed to really ride on it. what a bozo. I do tell them thanks a bunch though. I can appreciate the life in their emotion.

   we get finished and I apologize to j. I tell him I now realize what was up w/me before the set and though it's not an excuse - there is no excuse - I know now what led to what. I tell him I'm sorry. I'll do better tomorrow, I promise him. I get pretty much silent after that. then drummer matt comes in and talks tons more about alice cooper, I get out of my head and tell him all he wants to know, which riffs I liked, which lyrics. his enthusiasm is so infectious, I just have to join in w/him. it helps me from being so self-absorbed and guilty feeling. what a remedy. thanks, matt.

   the ride back to the ho is happy w/everyone talking it up but not watt. I've become sullen again. get back and right to the deck w/me. I use my pea coat as a blankie and pull the mask over my eyes. thank god for konk.

saturday, february 24, 2001 - melbourne, australia

   same ritual as the last three days. this is a strange for me to tour - in the same town for a bunch of days. you know my usual drill: different day, different town w/out many exceptions. rarely it's two days in town and then I feel like driving the boat around the town a few laps. you get used to that way. never am I like four and a half days docked up. so glad I could rent a bike though, what fun. today I'm going as far as I can sounth on the path, past that 'red bluff hotel.' I'll go as far as time will allow me, we're going to the _rock and roll high school_ later in the afternoon. gotta be back for that.

   knowing the way from yesterday, I jam full speed down the bike path. I've seen all the sights to sandringham but check in on them anyway as pedal like crazy. last night george said he would rent a bike and pedal w/me so I waited 'til eleven but when I called him, he was coming out a konk slowly and said he couldn't hang. oh well, that's ok - I understand but the thing is we gotta bail at one thirty and that leaves only two and a half hours. I'm gonna do another chowdown at the "flatheads" fish pad and that'll take a twenty minutes (just loved that fish, gotta do it). that means I can pedal one way for sixtyfive minutes so it's go go go for watt. he's off! you have to understand, I'm no athlete but I dig pedaling so it's not a race or anything - I just want to get the heart rate up, see some sights, smell some smells and pedal my brains out. I would like to get further out than yesterday to see what's out there. I wail and wail. I think of all j's songs and the chord changes - I'm resolved to make sure I don't repeat last night's blunder. I want to be strong for myself, strong for j and the kids who paid to come see him play. got to get my shit together, I think it over a tonful. back to real time: there's a tiny festival in brighton w/an old man band playing in a tent. a little later, I see something trippy. than sell pads here not through real estate agents but w/auctions right in front of the place! the auction cat throws down a flag and the bidding starts. whoa. being a saturday w/most folks off work, it makes sense I see a bunch. I get to where I was yesterday, the "red bluff hotel" and continue south. st. kilda street has changed to the beach road and the bike path is now called the "beach road bike path." I see a cat learning kite surfing from another one by laying on his back in the sand, flying the thing. must take some guns for arms, looks serious. I wish I was strong enough to try. so many cars out, so glad I'm on a path, so smart and righteous of these cats to have them. I get to black rock and there's shoals on the beaches. the smell of the surf is really strong, like a kitchen cooking oysters w/out the heat. it rushes through my nose and my mouth is full w/the taste of the sea, I love it. time is ticking, I have to turn back. the wind is w/me now and I'm really going, 'flat stick,' I hear the cats here call it. I get to "flatheads" and chow a bunch more of the grilled flathead fish I had yesterday, w/scallions and parsley. damn, is it good! then a real crank to get me back in time - I've made it! j and us fog pile in the minivan and nick takes us to the _rock and roll high school_.

   what a righteous pad! mostly girls get together and play here, there's amps they share and we get a recital from them. a couple of songs each from _tyranny_, _miagi_, _tribal clown_, one w/the name of a greek heroic lady that taught plato about love that I can't remember right (damn, my alzheimer's) and a couple of duets. they're all really good, I'm way into this spirit. I love it! they've made a compilation cd and give it to j. I think what they're doing is really happening. everyone has their own style, they're own way. some of the bands share members. it's a real cool thing they got going. it blows my mind, I'm reminded of me and d. boon sharing music w/each other. I really, really dig it. then it's our turn to give them some songs and we do "maggot brain" from _funkadelic_ and j's "the lung." what a righteous fend p-bass they got here, wow - is it neat to play. when we finish, I talk some w/them and tell them how great I think this whole thing is. the lady who runs this whole thing, stephanie, gives lessons and lives here, providing a space for this creativity. happening! thank you, stephanie, for having us. I'm quite touched.

   we go to chow, I'm joining the fellas for a change. gerard, the australian tour's promoter, takes us to the vietnamese part of town and we eat upstairs at a pad called "thy thy" and have some really good curry squid. then, back to the gig.

   we're at the _corner hotel_ again I read a pamplet dancer gives me on fighting fascists. I can dig it. outside in the back, I meet three cats from a burb here called vermont and we talk about all kinds of things u.s. and australian. funny to share the different angles. backinside, I see _greedo_ again but am scared to relive the _snout_ experience cuz of last night. their bass cat, russ is so good but fear keeps in the back room, hearing him through the timbers, feeling him through the couch. sounds like they got a dj w/them tonight. matt breaks a head w/the greeds - this cat can pound besides foaming over the coop - but the snare from the snout drummer saves the day. cool how the bands help each other out.

   I help make the list this time and we got a real different one. starts w/the stooges' "I got a right," all right! we do eight of the new songs but the other ten are ones we didn't do last night since it's the same pad. george is playing great, even w/slower tempos - that's a trip but still, it's groovin' and I think that's what counts most. he's throwing like a champ. j is the loudest I've ever heard him on stage, I'm bobbing in the guitar bath - what a bath, especially when he hits the phase shifter. unnnnnggggggggg. the only bummer is in the last song when george beefs the intro to the stooges' "I wanna be your dog" and get on the other side of the beat. I can't believe it - on a stooges tune! damn. I'm so frustrated, I yank the 'e' string right off (it's the fattest one). aaaarrrgggggghhhhhhh. that's the only major clam though, I dug the gig much. lame to end on that kind of note but hey, gotta play dangerous and take risks and sometimes the dice say "crap out."

   backstage, billy from the _cherry bar_ visits along w/some of cats from this afternoon's 'recital.' I tell them my feelings about how it was for me to be there and how I dug it so. they want to know a little about me so I tell them. this is a good reason to continue w/what I've been doing, it's like everything ain't just a hustle or some jive. it's wild for me in my head and heart. this is what I like about music. I find it hard to find the ones I need to explain this. I'm tuckered from playing too. no cramps though - none last night either. I know it was from going from pick to fingers w/out being in shape for a stooges blowout. I talk w/_greedo_ too and try to express the same sentiments. I love seeing young people going for it despite all the you-know-what. hell, I dig seeing old people doing it! helps this middle one keep having something worth it to shoot for, to join in w/and be proud to be part of the team. it's a stirring in me, I can't explain it exactly. I just have to be still when it gets to the point where I know the words can't carry what I'm trying to fill in them. into the ride and just smile w/the fist in the air.

   to the ho and I talk a little bit w/eric about ports and harbors. he talks a little bit w/me but after a while, goes silent like he usually does and I'm left in a monologue. sometimes, my mouth races along at the same rate as my mind and they can be probably hard to handle. I don't know why I even joined in, it was noel and eric talking w/each other anyone. what a bozo I am. this is why I like a bunch of by-myself-time on tour. I just get so insane. no one deserves collateral damage. I should eat the grenade. I can't figure what makes me like this sometimes. I've been having some bizarre behavior. maybe I miss my town and it feels like I'm always on display. everyone here could probably use the break, a break from watt! I spend a lot of time on my own but maybe I should spend more. thank god we don't have to konk in the same brain - fucking thank god. glad I played better for j and george tonight though, that's what really counts. ok, now save me sleepytown.

sunday, february 25, 2001 - adelaide, australia

   we're done w/melbourne, time to move on from the state of victoria to the next one on the agenda, southern australia and it's biggest town, adelaide. first, I got some shit to get done though. up w/the sun, splahed and out the hatch for the last chow at "...joes." eggs staring up me like eyes w/yellow contacts, sitting up on sourdough toast w/a scallion mustache and a bacon mouth - I haven't mentioned it but the bacon is like the england kind minus about eighty percent of the fat - not strips like in the u.s. but crumpled bunches. I drown the face w/the "blair's..." j gave me. a waiter comes over to check out the bottle w/it's dangling death's head, I guess these cats think I'm a new regular. no time to write diary though, gotta get back to the ho and scrub stenched clothes - I'm down to one outfit (the one I got on). I do that and then take the pedaler on it's last journey, walking it across the street to the bike shop where I rented it from. she served me well. thanks, bike.

   eleven bells and nick takes us to the airport. an hour and half flight but the clock says it took two cuz adelaide is in a time zone a half-hour behind where we just were. bright and sunny out, right before we head for the ho, I take a shot of the dave's straight out the eight-bottle. it's a short roll and as we near our target, george shows us a picture of the _saints_, the great australian band from the first punk days, all wearing ron asheton shades, like the ones I got. just then I start getting a heavy pain in the gut, I mean heavy. we get to the ho, some fancy pad that has rooms more like apartments and I gotta get to the head quick. I can't even wait to grab the clothes bag, whoa - soon as I'm in I'm kneeling over the can bahfin' my guts out. bahfin' bad, bahfin' wicked bad. then huge sweats and I'm curled in a crumpled ball on the tiled deck, damn. I'm hurtin' crew way bad. I run the bath and pour myself in the tub after somehow climbing over its lip and my head is spinning. god damn am I hurting. after an hour, I somehow get dressed all wet - I can't dry myself - and stumble out to the lobby. I ask for something. they say they got milk but when the go get it, they say the fridge was too cold and the shit is froze stiff. damn. maybe there's something at a deli across the street, I'm told. I stumble over there. I find 'mylanta' tablets. I get back and dump them in some water alka-seltzer style and drop to the rug right there. after another hour, george calls and I tell him I bahfed wicked. nick takes us fog and j to the gig. it's at the _unibar_ at adelaide university and we got soundcheck now. a cat there goes and gets me some pepsi (shit tasting diet but who cares at this point) and along w/the mylanta dose, I belch up the painful gas. I'm shaking and weak but back in the race. dancer tells me about this dream he had last night where me and him were robbing banks. I had the guns and was doing the stickup and he was the getaway man waiting in the car. he said it was a crazy dream, felt actual and intense when he woke out of it. damn.

   the soundcheck is a long one and I'm short on the temper. I just believe j deserves his rhythm section to be fucking tight and I want me and george to play like good d on a hoop court - no fucking zone but man on man. I don't use good tact in my wording though and I will regret this later to myself. george is a good man though and gives me slack and sides that issue and concentrates on getting the monitor man, hans, to make it so he can hear notes and not rumble. thanks, hans and thank you, george. this will payoff come gig time.

   everyone goes to chow but I opt out. I chowed w/them last night and besides, this bahfin' thing slaughters any idea of an appetite I might want to have anyway. it also gives me time to think about my fucking behaior, am I wigging or what? I put the konk mask on and sit in a chair in a big empty back room. hours pass.

   I get woke by nick who says we're on stage in fifteen minutes. ok, I'm ready and I'm narrowing my focus to the head of a fucking pin. I'm gonna get some backbone and work that bass right for j. for george. for the fucking team, kids included. in this way, it's for me too. I'm thinking straight for a fucking change. j writes up the setlist in moments and whoa, what a good one. different than what we've been doing, it has great flow: word-wise, chord-wise, rhythm-wise - I'm way into it. like flying over the most interesting landscape and caught forever in a wonder cuz it's the first time you've ever came across it and don't know what's coming next. george is drumming it up so good too, what a combo. of course j is firing up the guitar wild, that's a given but tonight, the whole deal is different. I really, really like the set. wow, are the drums groovin' and even me, I'm playing more on the money. I'm concentrating like a nun making sure she pricks herself w/a needle sewing w/ecstatic motions and pulses, time after time, harder and harder - oblivious yet fully enveloped. we get to "amma ring" and something trippy happens. when we start smoking it out in the jam, trippy shit happens. I'm trying to wrangle the chords under j in expanding/contracting coilers, like snakes slithering and it just seems to stoke the shit even more - he pumps the motors and lifts the shit right off, I mean right off! I'm closing my eyes anyway and just trying to brail it emotionally when, for a moment - an instant, while he's sending this careening bullettrain of notes off the track and way up the neck - I see amma's face. j took me to see her before, she gave me these three hugs and I know her face. for a fraction of a moment, I could see her through the black of my lids but it was a trip. there was a sensation I had befroe where I was like looking up at corner of room and for split second, it didn't seem the corner was poking in and there was space between me and it but rather the corner was more like a peak or the top of a pyramid and there was no space between me and it, rather I was somehow wrapped around this three sided peak and I was actually the corner. well, this is how I perceived this thing w/amma, like her face draped me in that way, where my sense of perception was lost. I could a 'ting' sound right when it happened and it resonated in my jaw and teeth. I opened my eyes and it was like a dark purple popping into a flash. I could feel a snap in my head, like a nerve going off after hitting a funny bone. it was heavy on me, a rush. I kept it together somehow, I don't even know how I stayed standing up cuz I thought for sure I let go of all the tightness that was keeping my legs taunt. it was something else. whoa. when we finished I tried to tell j about it but it was so hard to get out the right words to describe it. even here I can't really pull out of my head that moment. I want to try though, it was quite singular for me.

   w/the gig done, I felt a great wash over me, like the blood settling back into the body after being forced and rushed into the head from a big bahf - way bigger than the word I had earlier in the afternoon. I felt still and coolness inside my veins. it was eerie but good. like relieved and somehow assured but not know how or about what. it was some kind of serene thing. I know it's weird to foam about something you're part of but tonight had a profound affect on me. in a way, I didn't feel like I was part of its making but more of what it was doing to me. I know that sounds crazy.

   there's a tray backstage w/sun dried tomatoes marinated in olive oil. damn, these are good! I never have had them before - they're incredible, what an orgasm for my mouth, whoa.

   such a mindblow of night for me, a deep impression carved into my head. I konk all full of it. like sleeping w/my eyes bugged open but I think it only felt that way. maybe.

monday, february 26, 2001 - sydney, australia

   having konked under the waterfall of a raging loud air conditoner, the cold rapids finally bring me to pop w/dawn still threatening. no matter, at eight we bail for the airport anyway. of course, I thought I'd be clever yesterday and not bother w/setting my watch so after the hose-down, I wake noel eric a half-hour early for nothng. stupid fucking watt. the shaming of the fool. out the hatch, I creep. find the streets empty but there's a sandwich shop open for some crazy reason. trying to think of why I'd bahfed so hard yesterday, I'm thinking of eliminating possibilities like airplane chow so I think I'll shovel now. I get a smoked salmon sandwhich for like three dollars u.s. it's on what the lady there calls a "double-cut roll." this like a big, thick bun cut three times edge wise so you end up w/four pieces. she piles on so much shredded carrot and sprouts that there's no way I ever taste the salmon. at least she used mustard instead of mayonnaise. like I've been saying, the england influence isn't overwhelming. I hoof about and see trippy birds, ones that like running around maybe more than flying, bright yellow legs and beaks. the clouds are getting lit bright against a bold blue canvas sky, I feel like I'm in a painting. the crew begins to gather in the lobby. the desk lady now has milk that ain't an ice cube in a carton and I get one for gut insurance but j convinces it'll do more harm than good so it's a donate. we're off to meet our plane.

   only eighteen hours in adelaide - damn, didn't get to really see shit. as nick drives us through the town, I see beautiful parks and bike paths - I get a powerful hankering to pedal. see a sign on some ho saying "meals and pokies." nick says 'pokies' are slot machines. at the airport, me and j sit by where I sat yesterday when we arrived and the same thing happens to me again: a lady, now done w/a wheelchair just pushes it my way and it rolls right into me. I must give folks the impression of a wheelchair rack. j laughs. me too. it's ok. maybe better than being confused for a male prostitute. maybe it's karma for dressing up like a plumber back home.

   an hour and a half in the air and we're in sydney. pretty warm but not insane. another white toyota taraga rented for us. seems like we're driving the same in the same car no matter what the town, that's funny. nick takes us to "the rex," a ho in a part of sydney called "king's cross." this area reminds me of new york's time's square when I was first touring in the early eighties. pretty much tourist shit mixed w/hookers, junkies, alkies and porn pads. not really my kind of scene. the park is packed w/wastoids doing their thing and I sit on the most isolated bench to eat a little chow and watch the most trippy birds. long black legs and beaks, almost like those kiwi birds on the shoe polish cans I remember as a kid. like stuff out of a doctor suess book and they come right up to you, no fear at all - I mean close right up, looking for chow and making wild curdling sounds. nick later tells me they're the ibis birds, like in the old egypt hieroglyphics, damn! there's pigeons too, of course, everywhere I've been in the world has them. that got cool coos. intense yellow-eyed gull types also w/a weird little dance that goes along w/their call. I focus on this nature stuff to avert my eyes from the sadness of the human landscape.

   no gig tonight. I walk around. I get "mate, you need a lady?" from lady after lady, "pardon me" from gentleman after gentleman, arrrggghhh, this is driving me bananas. just not my scene. there's a fruit stand and I get some good stuff for the ho. I'm gonna have a party of one. I get a pear, a peach and a plum - three of my favorite things ever. on the way back I get some ginger beer and it says 'ginger' in the ingredients, all right! having got into the reed's through j, I've been jonesing hard since we left the u.s., all we've ever had at the gigs is 'ginger ale' and if you read the label, there's no ginger! just flavoring. bad thing is that it says sugar where reed's is free of that, they use pineapple juice to get the sweetness. ok, upstairs w/the trove.

   first the brown pair though it's half red and half green. mmmm, is it good. then the white peach, though it's light amber and pink. another gush of flavor. mmmm. finally the sweet plum but boy, does it get me puckered, some sours there. what's sydney tv like, I wonder? there's something w/nature, I can watch this for a few minutes to check it out. the most amazing story here w/a lesson somewhere. something on bees and hornets. seems in japan, they're importing european bees cuz the put out twice the honey. however, japan is also the home of the world's largest hornets, two inch long suckers, damn! the european bees guard the hive like idiots, fighting only one at a time, making an easy slaughter for the hornets. an average hive has thirty thousand workers and it takes the hornets about three hours to kill every one of them off and then cart off the bee's baby grubs to feed their own pig-out ones back home. now w/the native japanese bees, it's a different story. the hornets use scouts to find hives and mark them w/scent. the bees don't want this to happen so they find it vital to get the scout before the scent gets laid. they don't fight one at a time, they groupmind it and cover the hornet like a blanket. they don't use their stinger cuz bees only get one shot w/that and die but instead vibrate their bodies while their swarming the hornet and get the temp up to 113 degrees, only five and half degrees from getting killing themelves and take the hornet out. can't take the heat. no scent, no marker for the pecker swarm of killers. I trip on this. is it worth double the honey to highjack a technique that's kept a balance going? are we really so god damn together to fuck w/shit like this?

   well, that's enough tv and dancer, j, eric and noel come up to the room. there's this mag of noel's w/comeback sensation ac/dc on the cover and what do you know what's an article smack in the middle of it? "heroin house," a story on you-know-what in where else? king's cross. like we need an article to find out about right where we're at! funny coincidence though. there's also an article on _cat power_ and the 'serious' debate on how much of the wesley willis portion of the act is just that, (act)ual. following her and her younger male model boyfriend into a fashion store to try on cosmetics make the hatchet job complete. like yesterday reading about the _pixies_ in another of noel's mags (how else would we know of our 'peers'? thanks, noel) where charlie gets the royal shaft treatment - especially from a jerk who supposedly works for him as his european agent. this is the same 'agent' who j scissored a couple months back. this dick 'helps' charlie by saying "the ony reason he's having a comeback is that he's resigned himself to playing pixie songs... people are willing to bear twenty frank black and the catholics songs for five pixies ones." what a baked-ass stupid shit thing to say. dumbfuck needs his cord snipped quick. I wonder if charlie's seen this. j read this before the gig in adelaide and told me he thought of it during the gig. wow. and at the same I had the amma flash. trippy world. anyway, back to the cat power story - this is why I brought it up - they quote richard meltzer saying how's "she's completely guileless..." and so I tell dancer about meltzer, he's too young to know. j met him in portland and digs him and noel is old enough to read richard's writing back in the 60s. I wish everyone who thought I had anything interesting to say about music, especially if it's prefaced w/corn pone like 'rock' would read his latest greatest _a whore just like the rest_ cuz this book would surely make some sense of what I try to allude to. and this man knows how to write. funny, funny shit that you can break over your leg cuz you know the truth has to hurt somewhere. has to hurt enough to poke holes in the phony fat balloons of hot fart gas masquerading as just-take-a-guess. fucking sweaty-palmed shills and richard don't blink and stutters only for rhythms sake, syncopation-wise - part of the beat. beat me. beat. I'm beat.

   ok, done.

   they bail for arcade games. I do some diary and konk. that's it. nope, I pop a few minutes later, look at the clock and it still ain't midnight. good. ring george's room. it's still his birthday and I wish him a good one. now I can konk for real.

tuesday, february 27, 2001 - coogee bay, australia

   sometime in the night I hear music just come on, then it stops, then it's on again - what's up. I pop early but this is way early. was it a dream? I'm back in sueno but maybe only half cuz I'm in wonder how I dream could be that actual - like it crept in from the outside and got into my head, not like I was in a world where there was music but like there was a barge-in or something. I'm in this semi-state for maybe an hour or two and then give in and pull up the mask. it's still dark - the curtains didn't get closed. to the tub and soak. then start some diary. after a bit, I dress to get chow cuz we get a free one - on "the rex." there's quanity on a semi-europe scale like last tour but the quality is nowhere near the same. that sounds weird coming from me but canned fruit? I choke it down. man, what lame tomato juice. can't believe I'm complaining about this - where is my head fucking at?

   back upstairs eric tells me someone had set the alarm radio and there was music coming, several times. in fact, it's still on - he just found the volume and turned it down. that's funny and kind of a relief, you don't really want to keep finding proof you're nuts. reminds me of the last tour w/tom and vince where I thought I again heard some shit in a semi-konked state, something about cats in the street or something and then found out some insane shit went down w/some loony in the pad going off on tom and vince regarding - yep, cats! ok, time to hoof and stretch these legs. we're bailing soon and getting to the beach.

   this is not a nice place here. damn, can folks put themselves in a rotten situation. I'm talking about the sad cases on the streets here, oh boy. my ma has sent me an email w/thoughts she has about the times we're in back home. she don't dig it. she's reading marquee de sade too. fear of fascism plus a wild-ass writer, that's a trippy mood. funny to hear from your ma. she tells me what both my sisters are doing w/goals they got, melinda w/writing and ucla and marilyn w/an acting graduate school thing in nyc. age has nothing to do w/the women in my family learning and thinking. marilyn's the youngest and she's thirtyeight! she's taught school but wants to act. melinda's cut hair but wants to write. they're studying on stuff cuz they want to, I'm very proud of all of them. no one married and nothing traditional but they are my family and it's a good thing, I couldn't think of any other way. we're just us four. wild how our paths have gone and yet it's very easy for me to tell we're from the same creek. we're slow learners but intensely independent. maybe I should say 'slow developers.' also, maybe everyone is always becoming who they are and some folks are just so much more obvious about it. us watts don't hide our crazyness very well either - so what, I love all three of them dearly. it's unfathomable to me what drives us, however and that's ok though - we are watts. wish my pop was still alive to trip on us. his name, even. society or tradition's fault cuz it was our ma who raised us but her name (matranga) was tossed. well, that was her pop's, her ma was a piaia. but then her pop... you know, I think he always did trip on us, always said we were just like her. he even told me to never join the u.s. navy cuz I was just that. ok, I joined the punk navy instead. sorry pop, just had to say that! wild thinking about family sometimes. well, we ain't the cleavers and that's very ok!

   at that fruit pad I went to yesterday, I go and get some rockmelon juice. the lady there grinds it up right in front of me. the cat stocking the shelves tells me he came to australia fortyfive years ago and it's really changed. he said the place had to open the doors cuz the world was opening it's doors. huge changes beginning w/the 70s. my pop used to tell me about coming to australia in the 60s on tour for uncle sam (vietnam war leg) and I can believe what this cat's telling me. there's been lots of changes that way, my pop would've tripped on that too.

   the rockmelon juice is incredible. mmmm. I get some stamps for the last batch of postcards. nick drives us to the where we're moving to, coogee bay. in fact, we're staying at the same ho I stayed at when I first came to australia five years ago for "the big day out" w/the _porno for pyros_ guys. it was a "holiday inn" then. "crown plaza" now. nick takes us on the scenic route, we see bondi beach first and then bronte beach. they're small beaches, protected by bays cut into cliffs but are beautiful. the houses that surround them kind of look like the ones in pedro. we get to the ho and I get weird feelings for me walking in here. that was a bizarre time for me. I very much dug doing it but I was coming from some heavy times and I never really played for another's band before. here I am again, doing it for the second time. all the emotions from those times rush up on me and I feel strange on my feet, almost other worldly. I see the pad down the hill where I ate some kangaroo meat and beets just to see it was like. I want to get shorts and jump in the water. I brought clothes for the winter in the u.s. midwest and japan - it must be like eighty and sort of louisiana-like w/the humidity. not real bad but still muggy. I want to splash and swim, when was the last time I was in the ocean? the only shorts I got are some off-road bike ones my friend doug rockett gave me. gotta get some here.

   nick takes me walking down the street w/all the shops. we find one w/shorts but they're all fucking 'speedos' - damn. I get some w/labels I can get off w/my knife and buy those. about eighteen bucks u.s. I get a terrycloth hat too. fuck getting blistered. there's a huge whole in the ozone down here. nick says the school kids have to wear hats cuz it's so bad. ok, time now to head for the water. wow, a big splash and I'm in the drink. good temperature, I love it. tiny waves breaking in close so no body surfing. well, I try some but can't get it happening so I swim and float around instead. folks sunning on the beach but it's not that crowded, lots of space in the water too. the lifeguards don't sit in towers like back home but sit on some steps. I only let myself out for an hour cuz I'm not getting sunburned. w/no towel, I dry off near those steps. I hear the l hear the lifeguard tell some cats about this guy who got struck by lightening in marlbury that hit him in the neck and exited out his dick. damn! I go up the road and there's a "traditional pork dinner" for cheap. mmmm, I wash it down w/a passion fruit drink. there's also peas, sweet and regular potatoes too.

   back to the ho and I remember the sauna here. I ask dancer if he's ever been in a shvitz (yiddish for 'steambath') and he says he never has but wants to. it's his cherry shvitz. he lasts for almost twenty minutes, great! if you ever have been in one of these, it's way intense. your heart gets going like you're running a marathon and your body just pours w/the sweat. this is a dry heat kind, like they have in scandinavia but there's rocks you can pour water on and really get the waves of heat going. steam is a total temperature conductor. then a cold sower immediately - ooooooohhhhhhhh. it's so intense. his body is blotched red and his hands all tingly but he digs it. I tell about all the poisons getting purged and the body getting clensed besides the big time heart workout. tons of dead skin falls off of him. this is quite something for the dancer. it's great he has the spirit of adventure to try it. he went for the chilies too, much respect to him. kind of the same effect. watt digs it. round two is a dud though cuz these personal trainers come in talking shop and letting all the heat up. what a bogart, we gotta bail.

   we get back and j calls about seeing this movie "requiem for a dream" by the guy who made "pi." I saw that w/elizabeth in nyc and it was intense but when I hear it's about junkies, I decline. I just don't want to see that after being around the real life film in king's cross earlier this morning and yesterday. fuck that. even if it is a good movie, I ain't in the mood so I take a walk.

   I get a big bottle of water - great to have water right when you're done w/the shvitz. I get a nectarine too. mmmm, is it righteous! then back to the ho for this entry here. usually I wait 'til the next morning but fuck it, I 'm doing it now in the room w/george and dancer, though they're still out, it's good to switch up. in fact, I'm finished cuz my weary-ass eyes want me to knock off now - they're bleary from the 'puter screen. what is to become of you, watt? a konked man bound for sleepytown, head full of sueno. that's what's coming up now.

   so ends the last day off of the tour.

wednesday, february 28, 2001 - coogee bay, australia

   pop and look who's awake and reay for shvitz? dancer! all right, bro - he's into it. right away, we're down the elevator and heading for the heat. this time there's no peckers to wreck shit, just us, provoking the pouring of fluids out the skin. this time I bring a newspaper to read while we cook in the kiln. the room is ready and the heat blasting, my pours start flooding like faucets within minutes. dancer's got different chemistry and he sweats but it's more like beads. w/me, the newspaper becomes and rain gutter for the body-burst. I finally have to put the paper on the bench beside me and hold my head forward while turning my eyes to the side to read. there's some good stories. this cat in ireland made a movie on jimmy joyces "ulysses" like thirty years ago and the censors are finally allowing it so irish folks can finally see it. about fucking time! there's stuff in the article that is incredible, like though it was allowed in australia and new zealand, it had to be seen in sexually segregated theatres - no mixing of men and women! for england, parts of molly's soliloquy had to have blank places on the screen and high-pitch sreaming substituted form her spiel. I have to see this film when I can, I love the book so. there's another story about spy writer john la carre saying if folks feel like they're being brainwashed by multinational corporations, they're right cuz they are! this makes me laugh and I point it out to dancer. see, last night he gave me stuff to read while him and the rest of the team saw that heroin movie. there was an article in one called "mediareader" written by his friend about the current state of affairs where folks might now get to choose between a norman rockwell poster and an andy warhol one but the point of choice is moot cuz the truth is that they're using the consumer angle to lull minds into thinking they ain't corraled and milked - objects buying objects so they remain objects themselves and nobody objects. well, here is a story right in the mainstream media. it's not such a secret and this friend of dancers was kind of saying it was or well-hidden anyway. of course, this la carre cat has a book to sell and so he's allowed to speak in the name of promoting it but the point is that things aren't that simple, you just got to look deeper or keep your input resources broader and keeping your bullshit shifter into overdrive, read between the lines. the point of his buddy's spiel was there is no counter-culture, it's been co-opted and I agree but the real stuff is still out there, in bits and pieces. dancer had some good magazines like the australian version of "dissent." a great article I wish carducci could read, "elites vs. populists" since he's bent on thinking the only elites are bill clinton or hollywood people kind. and then one by the former communist party of australia leader, "why communism failed." why? cuz it had to cuz it couldn't work. life, liberty and the pursuit of happines are not proven philosophically - philosophy itself is springs from those "alienables" (thanks, thom jefferson). we're in ourselves "ends" somehow and not just "means" to any theory. that goes w/this new raw-assed full blown global capitalism been sold today. people still count, systems are subservient. if there's at least one lesson to be learned from all that nightmare of the commie error, I think it should be that. dancer's hip to keep his mind broad here and I don't think the other guys really realize this when they make fun of him cuz of his interest in ideals and that kind of thinking. sometimes for the sake of a joke, they can simply put him down w/out actually hearing what he's saying, like a bunch of archie bunkers. since when was that pose so hip? I used to hear the same thing w/in the old days w/the black flag cats. just cuz you can see through the softheads on one side doesn't mean you have to go in w/the other side if they their full of shit too, just to be contrary. you have to be your own person.

   ok, spending some time w/dancer makes me think about this. I've always been able to take care of myself, damn if I haven't had to spend time in the ring, wrestling this out - and I'm still in there. he's twenty years my junior and I see parts of him there where I was. d. boon would've dug him too. it's so sad to know he can't tour w/us on the next leg in the u.s., he's made commitments to his band and has to play gigs. gonna miss him. the cat taking his place worked for kathleen hanna's _le tigre_ and we met him in tokyo. I liked him when I was talking w/him, he's from cincinnati and we rapped about my experiences there and across the river in newport, kentucky where you had to play in the old days cuz cinci was such a squarejohn town. still is but you can play there now.

   boy, is my heart thumping when we get out of the shvitz. cold blast of shower frozen shower and then back in. tons more sweat then another icy hose-down. finally, dry. you can see my pulse right in my arm, you don't have to feel it. boy, am I blasted but purged and that's good. time to hoof now. get a falafel and some turkish coffee, whoa! damn was that falaf good and econo too - get another one! now I'm ready to take foot.

   flea sent me an email about doing this walk. he's got a pad about four hours away but I can't get to that the resources I have this tour. instead, he says take this walk north from coogee bay up north along the cliffs to bronte cemetery. I do just that. the trail is righteous and though the sun is beating down hard, I got my terrycloth hat and the sleeves of my shirt rolled down. I'm wearing shoes but not socks, feels so good after a year of having to have those fuckers on. damn is it humid though. it's ok, like more shvitz! I go up dunhill park and then over to gordon's bay. a lady's throwing sticks into the water and her dog is swimming out to get it, in the waves and shit too. the coast is cut w/these deep and narrow bays that have sand in the base and then rock ledges on their edges at the water's level. perfect for swimming, snorkeling, scuba - see much of it going on. the water looks clean and clear, amazing. trippy bird all around, some big lizards, bunches of cicadas making the most intense and loud whine imaginable - lots of great nature here. then to clovelly bay and up to burrows park and some bowling greens. up and around and just like that, as you turn a corner is this giant boneyard, right on the cliffs. tons of graves, crypt-like w/big statuary making some sort of trippy city of dead dudes. it is surreal, walking amongst them. the waves crashing from the cliffs below makes a constant roar. I take bunches of shots w/the digicamera. of course I run out space. damn, I wish I would've had four or five more disks. quite an amazing journey. thanks, flea.

   hoof back and drop the camera off at the ho then into the ocean at the beach back at coogee. again, the waves are breaking way to close to shore for my liking - don't need to be pounded on the sand so I swim past them and the sea is like a big pool, gentle and warm. swim a bunch of laps back and fourth parallel to the beach but not too long. I am not getting sunburned, I tell myself. back and shower. time to bail to carinbah. it will good to play again.

   first the sky gathers clouds up into an anvil and the most intense rainstorm just bursts. I mean, just like that it's complete dark and pouring like a sieve. so intense. we have to drive through the mess but by the time we reach the pad, it's gone. what a trip. tonight were' at _bizzo's_ in a suburb of sydney, carinbah. the room we're playing is tiny and the stage is behind a wall w/a hole cut in it - like we're playing in a giant tv! funny. the opening band is _waikiki_ and they'll be w/us tonight and the two shows after. they're all young and the manager, daniel used to do bass for ben lee's _noise addict_. they tell me how the "pokies" - slots - are killing the live music scene. clubs are putting them in instead of booking bands and sure enough, upstairs from this pad is, you guessed it, all pokies. damn. they like the smell of my 'backwoods' and right away I look at j and laugh. how many folks say that when they first smell them? they ain't like j though and having to ride in a van w/some dick puffing it up big time.

   they're a good band, spacey and ethereal for a power trio. talking w/them, I kind of trip them out. they're young and the bass player says her dad would dig me and wants me to meet him friday when we play in sydney proper. I spend a some time talking w/daniel about ben lee and his new band (they still have laura, who's sensational), plus evan (we played his wedding last tour), who's been down here w/crazy stuff - ripping up the tapes to a record he worked hard on and then hated it. drove lots of folks here nuts. ben's helping evan out now w/a new one in nyc. funny, how he thought I was some funny old kook 'til he heard my name. it's like that sometimes. I give folks insane impressions and then when they feel safe, it's more like interesting than just crazy.

   our gig is real tough. they cymbals in the little tv set are bashing to the max to say the least. the 'a' note on the bass resonates the whole pad. half of j's amps are behind the wall and blast back at us. it's a tough one, the p.a. way too toy to even get the singing out front. lots of moaning from some cats. the only solution is for them to move to the back - the speakers are set really wide and there's no way you can hear them if your right up front. I wish folks could see that and figure it out instead of trying to talk to j while they're all drunk and make very little sense. maybe that's why. j's just trying to do the best he can. he plays great. I blow some stupid clams - damn. aaarrrggghhh, I wish I could pull them back and re-do them like the backspace key on the 'puter here. there's not that many but still, it grates on me. I break an 'e' string - that one's brand new, what's up? choke-a-loke or what? j's popping strings too. he's been doing a lot lately and told me before the gig he might switch to graphite saddles on his guitars. back to the set, j has four stooges songs in the it, whoa. pretty much of a mime for me but it's fun to do still. these australian cats dig stooges. the really go off for "loose." so do I. at first the monitor thing was frustrating and I hollered over the lyrics to tell noel "I can't hear any of this shit" but then I realize we are playing in what amounts to a little puppet theatre of a pad and it makes me get the shit together and work w/what we have. there's that old vaudeville saying: "work the room." one life is made of many gigs anyway, have to try your hardest always - you'll be better and more ready for the next one.

   we're done and me and j put bags of ice on our heads - the steam just roiling off. I feel like them rocks in the shvitz where you pour the water on them for heat blasts. I've sweated my whole levi. when we get back to the ho, they feel like forty pounds I'm dragging my ass in. so, so glad to get them off. george turns on the tv. I pull down the mask and turn of the awakeness. tired watt - good to be tired watt, out like a light.

read week 3 of the tour diary

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this page created 6 mar 01