Lately I've been feeling like an old lobster boiling in hot water, raising my claws at the wooden spoon, too stubborn to just fuck off to the other place, choking on globs of salty seaweed. Trying to resist certain agents attempts to tear my thorax apart. Keeping my meat all to myself.
But not tonight.
I forced myself to take a day off from work today.
I'm a workaholic, that's why I threw the word "forced" in there. I'm terrified that if I leave the shop for five minutes, I'll miss out on a sale, and then I won't be able to pay the rent or eat. Well, that's bullshit, because I've paid the rent two months ahead, and the cupboard has plenty of batchelor chow in it. It's sort of true though, in that whenever I close the shop, six people arrive wanting (in order of demand):
1. pumps.
2. tubes.
3. tyres.
4. lights.
5. servicing.
6. a whole goddamn bicycle.
So forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive at the thought of not only closing the door, but being someplace else on the other side of town, nowhere near it.
But I did it (cue applause).
I even left my brand new project, a Honda VT250F, in the workshop- hardly chopped. Granted, I stayed up all night ripping the seat, fairing, tank, battery housing, rear suspension, and other unnecessary crap off, and cutting the rear section of the frame off with a grinder, but I can't sleep nights, so I can damn well do as I please. I call her Rhonda, coz she's a Honda. And because my favourite Aunt is called Rhonda. She goes 160kph on her rear wheel! (The bike, not my Aunt.)
*gush*
See? I can't even get out of the shop in my damn blog! So...moving on.
Today was lovely and warm, and I walked around the city and caught up with friends new and old, making absolutely sure I didn't hurry anywhere, or stress, or think about Rhonda, and all the things I want to cut off and weld to her when I get back. I had a haircut. I talked to Lord Monkey. I talked to Shelena. I talked to Kellie. I patted some dogs. I met a crazy guy called Ivan, who is one of the new bouncers at Cherry bar, and listened to some of his stories from back in the day, and marvelled at his insane collection of old Harleys, Mercury 2 doors, and Mercedes'z (which he keeps photos of, in his jacket, at all times).
Good shit!
When it started getting a bit darker, I trammed my way over to St Kilda, which (for those of you outside Oztraya) is beside the sea (well, the bay), and full of cafe's, bars, restaurants, hookers, addicts, and wankers, in that order. I had a catch up with more long neglected friends at The Vineyard, and walked out of there at about 10pm.
I was changing trams in the city, or about to, when I remembered a place I hadn't been in years, and wondered if it was still there. It's this crazy Karaoke bar in Chinatown, up one level in a lift with bullet holes in the wall.
Clem, remember this place?
The lift doors open, and you're right in there, and everybody looks at you like you just pissed in their beer, because they are all so seriously hardcore into karaoke, and they are there to win, take no prisoners, because KARAOKE IS FUCKING SERIOUS BUSINESS OK? AND IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, REFER TO THE HOLES IN THE ELEVATOR WALL. So yeah, big deal over there.
This place has bouncers, okay? They hang out in the dark corners, with long leather coats, because they are huge in Eastern Europe, and that's where they hail from. And just when you think they are the baddest humans you will ever come that close to, they get up on stage one by one, and sing the theme from 'The Lion King' or something. But you can't laugh, because it's SERIOUS.
SO by this stage I have a coke, and I'm shit out of luck finding a table, or a chair, so I sit on the floor, off in front of stage left.
The DJ is doing his best approximation of "...this is Jenny from Canoga Park..." (without the wet tee shirt), and if you don't know what I'm saying here, you really need to start listening to music, and not whatever it is they feed you on the radio nowadays.
Segway.
Back in the '80's, I was a young teen. I've said it before, but back then, the radio really meant something. It was a lifeline. I'm totally serious. Yeah, we had ghetto blasters, and all that cool old skool buttery flava-ey shit, but it was the radio that mattered. On the weekend, when the American Top 40 with Kasey Kasem was on, you stayed at home and listened to it. Every fucking song. Whether it was The Bangles, or Phil Collins (who utterly rules), or Twisted Sister, you listened to it. And you loved it, because there was something about the 80's that was so all at once so diverse and yet totally unified, something so inverse to yourself, so you kinda just fit into it, something that broke down all the barriers, and owned you to the point where it still owns you today. Have you ever heard another band like The Eurythmics?
It's pretty obvious my favourite music comes from these days.
It has a very special place in my life, it reminds me of the days when I was relatively carefree (at least by comparison). Back when I could listen to Bruce Springsteen and just dig it, as opposed to listening to Bruce Springsteen now, and relating to it to the point where I feel like he's speaking for me sometimes.
And so, in Hell's karaoke bar, in between the divas belting out Mariah (pretty goddamn convincingly, I'll admit), somebody would get up and destroy a Talking Heads song, or cum all over your face singing Wham!, or depress everyone by attempting Sly and Robbie. And I thought, "You know what? If you want the 80's, I WILL GIVE YOU THE MOTHERFUCKING 80'S!!!", so I walked up to the DJ and and got him to play a Steve Perry (from Journey) song.
Oh Sherry.
If you've never heard of it, i want you to punch yourself in the face really hard, right now. I'm serious. The rest of us are gonna sit here and wait for you. Hurry up.
So, I wait my turn, and after some utter fuckmaster totally obliterates one of the only good songs U2 ever did, I walk up and drop some serious 80's shit on everyone in attendance.
And it was so cool, because if I had've done 'Good Times' by Jimmy Barnes and INXS, everyone would have known what was going on. If I dropped 'I wanna Rock' by Twisted Sister, they would have sat back and gone "Oh yeah, this one...let's have it!"
But no.
I'm up there under the budget light show, with my fully sleeved arms tattooed to maximum capacity, and I've got these tight jeans on that I never wear, but it's laundry day, and all around me this swirling tinkly synthesizer is starting up, and everyone is just sitting there going "What exactly the fuck is this?"
And then I sing it.
"You should've been gone!
Knowing how I made you feel,
And I should've been gone!
After all your words of steel.
Oh I must've been a dreamer,
And I must've been someone else,
And we should've been over.
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And this song is so angsty and mental, it's so dense and huge, the drummer is doing these insane hi hat warp speed manoeuvres, and the guitar solo has all those 'wow wow wow' things in it, and you can imagine Steve wrote it with like, sixty bazillion arrows sticking out of his back, just singing his guts out, not giving a flying fuck whether or not Sherry's Dad hears him and backs the family Dodge over him, because he fucking LOVES SHERRY, but he knows it will never work, and he's gone through so much hurt and heartache he really doesn't give a shit if someone hits him with 2 tonnes of Detroit steel.
It's so wrong it's right. It's what Bon Jovi wished they could pull off, it's so Industrial America, and it rules because it's HONEST.
If you're a guy, and you haven't felt like Steve Perry, you're like, six years old, or a paedophile. And if you're a girl and you didn't want to be Sherry, even though Steve rocked the biggest mullet you've ever seen, and had a nose that Julius Caesar would have approved of, then you're a frigid bitch.
There, I said it.
And I'm singing my guts out. I'm shredding the living shit out of my uvula, and I love it. I am feeling every word of it, and exorcising all the demons this shitheap of a month has dumped over me. All the pain and rejection, and hope, and lost hope, and desire, and confusion, and wait a minute, who is that girl?
"But I want to let go
You'll go on hurtin' me
You'd be better off alone
If I'm not who you thought I'd be"
She's sitting at the end of the bar, and she's looking at me like a cat looks at cat food. She's got these laser beam eyes, she's got these legs and that torso, and...well, a head with hair on it, and it all looks A-1 awesome, top quality, Grade A distraction material. She's kinda smiling, but it looks more like it hurts than a smile.
She had freckles, and they were programmed to just destroy you instantly.
"But you know that there's a fever
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else
Can't you feel it burnin' on and on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And the guitar solo kicks in, and is all 'wow wow wow' like I told you already, and I take the opportunity to walk right up to her and kiss her dead on the mouth.
""But I should've been gone
Long ago, far away
And you should've been gone
Now I know just why you stay
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on""
So yeah, I do that, and she kisses me back. Right there in the karaoke bar from Hell. And I see the security guys elbowing each other in the ribs, like "Did you just see that?", and I'm standing on the top of my own personal mountain as I say, and she's blowing parts of my face off with those laser beam eyes, because they're open again, and now my moment has passed I am overcome with nervous energy and self defeating thoughts, so I go sit down back where I was before, and my back is to her.
And three more people get up and waste their time because no one was going to be able to top Steve Perry. Not in a million years. Not even Steve Perry stood a chance.
And then I ate my words, because right then I see this pair of legs walk by, and the carpet is bursting into flames, and that girl is grabbing the mic and strangling it like there's no tomorrow, and after what came next, I wouldn't care if there wasn't.
These huge chords kick in, and she tosses her hair to one side, because she's got one of those Chrissy Amphlett fringes that is all in her eyes, and all of a sudden she takes a deep breath in and lets out the biggest "Whooooah" you have ever heard, and if you know Patty Smyth, and her song 'Warrior', you know exactly what I'm trying to tell you here.
Seriously, i could go on for about six hours regarding how amazing it felt to have that song hit me in the chest and brain and cock, but let's cut to the chase...
...she sang the damn song, and she sang it AT ME.
"You run, run, run away.
It's your heart that you betray.
Feeding on your hungry eyes,
I bet you're not so civilized.
Isn't love primitive?
A wild gift you wanna give...
Break out of captivity!
And follow me stereo jungle child!
Love is the kill, your heart's still wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache...
Bang, bang, I am the warrior!
Yes I am the warrior!
And heart to heart you win,
If you survive...
The warrior, the warrior.
You talk, talk, talk to me.
Your eyes touch me physically.
Stay with me, we'll take the night.
As passion takes another bite.
Oh, who's the hunter?
Who's the game?
I feel the beat call your name.
I'll hold you close in victory.
I don't wanna tame your animal style!
You won't be caged!
From the call of the wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache,
Bang, bang, I am the warrior.
Yes I am the warrior,
And VICTORY IS MINE!!!!"
...and with every "Bang bang", she thrust her hips at me like she had a tail like a horse, and was whipping me in the face with it. And that would have so been just fine.
And when she sang "Victory is miiiiine!", she couldn't have been more right, with her left arm straight up in the air, pulling a massive devil sign with that chipped chrome nail polish, and a tattoo of the ace of spades on her inner wrist.
Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and Patty Smyth beats Steve Perry. Hands down.
Still, if you were born in the 80's, you probably missed out on these, two of the greatest songs ever written and performed, in the entire history of music. Seriously, who fucks to Bach? Tell me.
"Yes yes, but what happened next!?" you breathlessly intone...
Well, as soon as the song was over, she brushed her black hair out of her face, and went to sit down right next to me. Of course I said "Oh no you don't", and took her by the hand, and down into that elevator and out of the building stat.
And that's all you're getting, because this blog post is all about the music.
Go find it. If it doesn't change your life, you're dead already.
"Bang bang!"
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
