#shitkicker saturday

[movieassholes]

You gotta be a man to do that.

Lizard - The Hills Have Eyes (2006)

[sea-salted-wolverine]

Okay so last week was a shitkicker and was literally so bad I spent the better part of the week trying to delude myself into thinking it was a good day. Like, we're talking, "the sun is shining and I'm here to see it so today is a good day" and "I'm having a bad day- fuck me I am not haveing a bad day- I'm having a good day- I'm not having a bad day". Denial is a powerful tool for mental health, apply judiciously. I get that everyone on earth is kinda having a shitty year but it feels like things just kinda escalated in my little corner

The 7th had a huge snow storm that brought traffic to a stand still. No one could leave the house and university class was online anyway. Batshit customer demanded to pick up her gear anyway. I drove in because I was the only person with keys to the shop that could get to the building. It took me a solid 2 hours going 15mph on the highway. The snow in the parking lot was up past the fenders of my truck. Crazy lady gets 10 out of 18 of her survival suits back but the other 8 still have holes in them because our only repair tech is also the only one who answers the phone or runs the computer or handles customers or cleans or disinfects anything or stores gear. I'll give you one guess who that person is.

Did you guess me? Good for you. Fun fact this was not the case in October.

Crazy lady swans off through the snowed in parking lot and because she cant find the exit, blasts straight through the ditch and onto the road.

I say fuck it and leave. I've been at work for 2 hours. I have made 24 dollars for my trouble. It takes me another hour to get home.

The 8th is Saturday and I'm supposed to be at work. No one can drive. There was another 10 8nches of snow last night. I say fuck work and go to dig out the plow truck. The canopy over the plow truck collapses as I walk out to clear the snow of it.

I do not scream.

My partner and I get the truck running and go plow people out of their driveways and then go do the shop.

We come back home and the heater doesn't work. We just spent most of last week frantically trying to limp the thing along because no heat at -20°F is in a word fucking unpleasant. At least now its 40 degrees warmer because if the snowstorm. We take it apart again. The house smells like diesel. The house smells like exhaust. The house is not cold because the wood stove can keep up at 20 above zero but it won't keep us through the winter.

There is no saving the oil heater. We need a new one.

Its 730 and neither of us have eaten. I start rice in the pressure cooker so I can throw a tasty bite on top and call it dinner and that dies too. Explosively.

Dinner is half cooked rice and microwaved curry.

Sunday is spent finding a way to stretch our increasingly thin budget to buy a new heater. Between us we actually have 2275$ and we will still cover the mortgage. Somehow. All our Christmas gifts will be hand made this year. The next thing that breaks will stay broken.

Monday, power outages due to snow storm. No wifi, no zoom meetings. Another 8 inches of snow. This is now more snow than my city gets for the full year.

My boss calls sobbing. The dog died. Joey, an 11 year old, 130lb mastiff with a tumor the size of a football on his liver has been her constant companion for at least 8 years. The pandemic has confused the bejesus out of him because while he loves the lock down and going out to play every hour or so he doesnt really like the concept of strangers in masks. Hes a guard dog and doesnt understand that men in masks coming into the shop are not here to kill mom they're wearing masks so they don't kill mom.

Mondays the shop is closed anyway and I spend it installing the new heater. It doesn't quite fit in the space the old heater came out of but its warm.

Tuesday, I go to work, everyone cancels class, I once again gently explain to a regular that eugenics is bad. I would like to curse him out. I cant. He drops a grand on scuba gear and leaves, talking about how great his trip to Mexico will be.

I do not scream.

A friend calls to ask how I'm doing. Not great. Yea, her niether. She asks if I want to go out to the backcountry with her over the weekend. I explain that my leg physically does not move and I'm downing copious amounts of advil to remain upright. The doctor sent me in for an MRI but has not yet called back. Plus I'm supposed to go to Valdez for the weekend and actually go diving. That I can do with limited use of my leg.

She says yikes, take it easy, take care of yourself, I love you.

I say, yikes, I'm tired of taking it easy, I wanna play, I love you too.

Hit me up if your plans open up and we can do something gentle on your leg. She says.

God yes. The cold woods away from people sounds like paradise. I dont even care that it will cause me rending physical pain to get there. I need a break.

Its Wednesday. I go to school. I get pulled over. Miraculously I dont get a ticket. I'm white female and conventionaly attractive, maybe not so miraculous. I rolled through a stop sign but I'm pretty sure I couldn't afford a ticket.

I get a text in class. One of the instructors who works with the dive shop has tested positive for covid. I haven't seen the man in 2 months. I needed a spare instructor but he was nowhere to be found. But hey, evidently that's a good thing.

I go to work. I vacillate between doing the job a 4 people and having nothing to do.

I go to the grocery store because I misjudged my last monthly grocery run and even though I'm increasing my exposure I'm out of cheese and tea damnit.

The store is packed. Pandemic who?

My partner and I haven't had a date nite in a while and this week has been shitty. I want a nice dinner. I pick up a couple boxes of the carton sushi which isnt terrible and is about as nice as I can justify on the new budget. I grab a gallon of milk and a few other things. I forgot my wallet in the truck and the cashier is chill and sets my stuff aside while I grab it.

I pay and take my stuff home and realize I left one of my bags at the store. No cheese or tea for me.

Thursday. 10am my phone goes off with an emergency alert. The govoner has grown a spine in light of recent elections and is instituting a voluntary lock down. My state has 500 new cases a day. That might not sound like a lot but theres only 300,000 people in Alaska and we've got poor medical infrastructure.

Unfortunately Alaska is full of Alaskans and nobody can tell us what to do. Nothing changes. 7pm rolls around and I'm teaching scuba classes in the pool.

I load a few hundred pounds of scuba gear into the back of my truck. In a wet wetsuit. In the snow. In a fabric facemask. 6 feet apart. In the pool.

I dont get paid for pool time.

Over the summer we had 6 dive masters including me, all big burly dudes, much better suited to picking things up. Its November and I'm the only one.

The kids I'm teaching are going to Hawaii. They're 10 and 13 and so wildly excited about breathing underwater its beautiful to watch. And they're traveling to an island. In a pandemic.

Friday.

Unload scuba gear so it doesnt get stolen out of the back of my truck while I'm at class. Were doing a make up lab today. Hey of the five student in my class only one of us has covid so theres that.

My boss calls an let's me know that shes left for Valdez without me. If I'd like to make an 8 hour drive by myself in a snowstorm I'm welcome to follow.

I'm in class till an hour before shop closing. I'm not driving across town so I can run on the open sign for half an hour.

The shop stays closed on Friday.

Saturday.

I explained to everyone we had business with that the shop would be closed over the weekend and Friday. I planned on being in Valdez. Hell I canceled plans to be in Valdez.

I open the shop and immediately field calls about why we werent open. I start to explain about the Valdez trip and logistical difficulties and then I realize that shes not mad about that. The woman was here before I opened early this morning. We have never been open that early. The hours are on the door.

A regular comes in. Hes also confused as to why I'm here.

Sunday finds me curled up in bed, reluctant to leave. Getting out of bed has not played out well for me recently.

A friend comes over to chat with my partner about specialist rifle parts. This isnt that wierd, he works at a gun shop and they've been discussing upgrading my partners current rifle set up.

He is wearing a full Scottish kilt. Red tartan. Looks very lovely.

I make zucchini bread and my proportions are a little off because I have too much zucchini so it's a little over moist but it's good. I'm recovering from an asskicker of a week and next week will be better.

Monday morning:

Baby brother has covid

Dads getting the results of his rapid test tonight.

Mom isnt getting tested because she says she doesnt have symptoms but that's not the fucking point mom.

So, I'm not going home for thanksgiving. I'm not diving in Valdez. I'm not skiing backcountry.

I'm not sick. I'm not flat broke yet. I dont have a ticket. I have a job. I have people who care about me. Im managing my physical and mental health as best I can. Im just fucking exhausted.

[drnucleus]

Burn This – A Review in Thirst, Energy and Hilarity

When @leofgyth offered me to go with her and a group of friends to see Adam Driver star in Burn This on Broadway I was ecstatic. Go see our fave in person and hang out with some fellow Adam Stans/Reylos? Hell yes. Also, there be spoilers ahead so BEWARE.

So, in preparation I bought a copy of the play. I read if four times before seeing it Saturday night. Mostly because Jimmy, aka Pale – Adam’s character has dizzying monologues that rail and race along a rollercoaster of emotion that on the page make them hard to follow. I knew though, instinctually that Adam would pull off the dizzying effect to great degree.

The house music was all 80s great new wave hits that set the right tone. From Manic Monday to Voices Carry. I was immediately transported to a time when I was too young to remember much aside from the music blaring from my mom’s record player.

Now I don’t want to spend this entire review thirsting after Adam. Because believe me, no one who goes into that play comes out not thirsting to some degree. I’ll get to him soon. But first I really want to talk about the other three characters in the play. What they brought to it. How they fared up against Adam’s intensity and undeniable energy.

First up, let’s talk about Burton. He’s Anna’s off and on boyfriend. He’s a screenwriter, rich, successful, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s enamored with Anna despite the fact that they seem more square peg-round hole as a pairing. He’s funny, however. His entire monologue about how there are no good movies in Hollywood and how everything gets remade every ten years is hilariously accurate even 32 years after the initial Broadway run and just goes to show that not much has changed three decades.

Burton is flawed. Entitled. Spoiled. Not used to understanding the financial struggles that Anna and Larry have gone through. But he has a good heart despite himself. He’s played by David Furr, who is almost as tall as Adam, and pretty fit too. He’s a big guy with a teddy bear like quality about him that makes you feel comfortable in his proximity. He brings that sort of energy to Burton and you kind of feel for the guy that he is the supporting lover who gets passed over and not the romantic lead. His interaction with Pale is limited to one scene of spectacular inebriated fighting and revelation. His interactions with Anna are soft, and bring out his insecurity as a writer, and the rambling disjointed way he describes his ideas hit home for a writer like myself.

Let’s move on to Larry. Oh Larry. He’s gay. A marketing exec. And dear fucking GOD he is the hidden gem of this play. I went in expecting excellent performances from Keri and Adam and they no doubt delivered. Larry consistently stole scenes from every fucking cast member, Adam included. He was so funny and his timing and delivery were perfection. From him flopping himself down on the sofa whilst playfully calling Anna a slut for fucking Pale. To him singing the song Pale sings to her to tease her about hearing the entire tryst. To his reaction to Burton’s story about getting blown by some rando guy in the snow in his twenties. To the call back to that moment with something along the lines of “Hey Burton, look, it’s snowing, wanna find a dark doorway?” He’s cheeky and enigmatic and loves Anna with a brotherly protectiveness that is so lovely.  Brandon Uranowitz is the actor who plays him and he’s a delightful surprise. When I read the play I was paying far more attention to Pale and Anna’s connection than to the wise cracking gay man she lives with. Definitely pay attention to him if you happen to be going to the play. He’s so wonderful.

Now let’s dish on Ms. Russell. At first blush you can tell she is really starting to get her bearings as a stage actress. To be frank, stage acting is very different than screen acting. You have to emote more, you have to be slightly over the top to ensure that even the person in the last row can feel the intensity of emotion you’re displaying. Whereas on a screen it’s easier to be subtle and still have the same effect. What bits of her acting style have changed since she’s started the play have shown through and shine through a beautifully nuanced performance that not even two unscripted improvisations by Adam Driver could completely throw her out of character for more than a split second to give him a “Are you fucking kidding me?” look a chuckle and then move on. She gives emotion and vulnerability as well as a gigantic emotional brick wall around herself as Anna as both Pale and Burton try to bust it down. With only Pale who is the one to break through.

She walks herself through grief. Anger at Robbie – her dance partner who dies suddenly and is the emotional center of the play as she tries to move from being a dancer to a choreographer. Desperation for connection – with Burton – only to shove him away when his enthusiasm and compassion become too much. To her frightened exchange with Pale upon their first scene together to how he busts down her walls and makes her reach out to comfort him through his pain of losing his younger brother. She holds her own against Adam’s explosive performance. She has her own moments that are just as gut wrenching but in her you feel the tight containment of her discipline as a dancer that beautifully juxtaposes Pale’s explosive grief.

I knew going to see Adam would be an experience. Having seen his performances on the big screen and the small screen I knew this was a role he would both love and find so much meat to sink his acting chops into. This is Adam at his finest. He’s an emotional trainwreck throughout the play. In his first scene he steals the audiences attention, commanding it as he paces like a caged animal, ranting about parking and pot holes, and Ray the bartender who he decked out for not shutting up to full on the floor, full body sobs with real tears and screams of grief. His dialogue is dizzying and circular, coming back around several times with the same questions. He plays inebriated, drunk, coke high and belligerent with an authenticity and veracity that makes it almost too real. Pale has no filter. He thinks it he says it. Bluntly. Boldly. It’s the exact kind of snark and sass that Adam is becoming famous for a la Adam Sackler in Girls and the explosive anger of Sackler and his even more famous character Kylo Ren/Ben Solo of the Star Wars franchise. His physicality and range of emotions in his opening scene is enough to give the audience emotional whiplash.

His acting ability in person is even more powerful than it is on the screen. You feel the emotions he sends out as a wave of energy that engulfs and enslaves the room. We laugh at his snark and quick wit, but the audience grows quiet as Pale begins to work through his intense grief. There’s a humanness to Adam’s style that makes you believe that he is not just some actor playing a part but that he IS Pale in those moments. That type of immersive acting is something I personally will never forget and am so grateful for seeing in person.

Physically, I didn’t think Adam could get more attractive than I had seen in photos, tv and movies. Oh boy was I wrong. Every review I read. Every interview with female costars I’ve read. All of that previous knowledge did nothing to prepare me for the reality of seeing him in person. The minute you hear his voice, yelling just offstage for Anna to let him in at five in the morning, the hair on the back of your neck stands up because you know an entrance™ is about to be made.

Bursting on stage he gets uproarious applause from the audience as he launches into his initial rant about pot holes, and finding parking in a city that’s dying of crotch rot. He’s so good at going from 0-100 on the emotional scale at the drop of a hat that it’s startling to witness in the same room.

From him taking off his pants to not wrinkle them your eyes immediately go to the stark contrast of his pale legs against the black socks, shirt and underwear. Or to him gliding out of Anna’s bedroom on his second visit there in her purple floral silk kimono (that he ripped the sleeve of rather accidentally) with it open to reveal more pale skin and tiny euro black briefs that made the entire audience audibly inhale. Adam’s costumes throughout the play go from sleek suits to the fun comical use of a woman’s robe to a leather bomber, jeans and shitkickers. His stage presence and physical form is a veritable feast for the eyes as his voice, intonations and blue collar diction is just as entertaining. He improvs as I mentioned before, once when he did a little twirl that seemed like it was extremely on the fly, an amused smirk on his face as Keri almost broke out laughing. And again, when they’re on the sofa together and he did something that surprised her but I can’t quite pinpoint what that was having only seen the play once.

All in all this is a play where nothing happens and everything happens. Four people processing grief in varying degrees. From Larry and Anna’s personal grief as Robbie’s found family, to Pale’s outrageous self-destructive spiral and Burton’s tangential disconnected sympathy. It makes Burn This and Lanford Wilson’s prose jump from page to stage with veracity and life that I think would make the playwright proud.

[nwbeerguide]

The 10th annual Vancouver Craft Beer Week Festival (VCBW) returns June 8th and 9th

Press Release

Vancouver, B.C., May 14, 2019—Celebrating 10 years of craft beer and craft beer culture, the most anticipated craft beer and cider festival in Western Canada returns to the PNE Fairgrounds June 8 and 9, 2019, for a full weekend of live music, food, art, craft beer and cider, games and good times. The 10th annual Vancouver Craft Beer Week Festival (VCBW) caps off a 10-day citywide celebration of craft beer culture and community, running May 31 through June 9. For a complete list of VCBW citywide events including VCBW’s 10th Anniversary Kickoff Party on May 31, visitVancouverCraftBeerWeek.com.

In the spring of 2010, just after the completion of the most successful Winter Olympic Games in history, a few craft beer enthusiasts gathered around a table over a pint and a timely idea: to create a week-long festival to showcase “real beer”—and so, the first Vancouver Craft Beer Week was born. The first VCBW Festival started at a small venue (Heritage Hall on Main Street), hosting about 100 beer aficionados and 15 breweries. Now, a decade later, the city-wide celebration lasts 10 days, with more than 50,000 people taking part in dozens of events across the city—including 15,000 people at the annual VCBW Festival at the historic PNE Fairgrounds—all honouring the province’s favourite commodity.

VCBW 2019 Festival highlights:

• 100 + breweries and cideries pouring more than 300 beers and ciders 

• Festivalgoers can create a list of must-try breweries and favourite standout beers in advance through the VCBW website 

• An incredible lineup of food trucks and food purveyors including local favourites DownLow Chicken Shack and Big Day BBQ 

• BC Ale Trail-er pouring 10 craft breweries from the furthest reaches of B.C.’s Ale Trail 

• BC Farm Crafted Cider Association’s cider row featuring a variety of cideries from across the province 

• United States Brewers Association has chosen the VCBW as their exclusive Canadian festival partner four years in a row. They are crossing the border to present 20+ breweries and 40+ beers, many of which have never been poured in Canada 

• Live interactive painting with the Vancouver Mural Festival 

• Go RV’ing presents a camp style lounge outfitted with one of their popular retro trailers 

• VIP Section catered and presented by Whole Foods Market 

• The BC Lions will have two players onsite hosting a football toss on the Saturday, and two members from the Felions Dance Team on Sunday 

• No stress transportation to the festival with dedicated Evo valet parking (attendees must plan an alternative safe ride home) 

• Live music lineup includes BB, Campfire Shitkickers, Dead Soft, Eleven Twelves, Foxy Moron, Rain City, the Spillionaires, the Tanglers, Woodhead, Mark Woodyard & Friends, Vinyl Ritchie, Young Friend, plus the Carnival Band, Hip Hop Tricycle, DJ Sheldon Knight and DJ Hebegebe.

VCBW 2019 Festival 

• Saturday, June 8 from 2pm to 7pm, and Sunday, June 9 from 12pm to 5pm at the PNE Fairgrounds, Vancouver. Single day, weekend passes and VIP tickets available now at VancouverCraftBeerWeek.com starting at $39.

VCBW is committed to providing a safe space for all genders, ethnicities, abilities and sexual orientations to enjoy and ensuring that craft beer is promoted and appreciated responsibly by adults. All volunteers, staff, and attendees should enjoy their experience free from harassment, assault or intimidation—any such behaviour will not be tolerated. As with all VCBW events, Serving It Right rules apply—attendees must be 19+ years of age and provide two pieces of ID. VCBW guests are reminded to drink responsibly and plan a safe ride home.

-30-

About Vancouver Craft Beer Week 

Celebrating 10 years of craft beer and craft culture, Vancouver Craft Beer Week (VCBW) has become the most anticipated beer and cider festival in Western Canada. VCBW has evolved from Canada’s first-ever craft beer week into a cultural engine that showcases music, food, art, and craft beer at events across the city starting the last Friday in May every year. VCBW 2019 kicks off on Friday, May 31, continuing throughout the week with events and programming all over the city, culminating at the historic PNE Fairgrounds on Saturday, June 8, and Sunday, June 9, where more than 100 craft breweries and cideries will be pouring 300+ beers and ciders. For more information and to purchase tickets, please visit VancouverCraftBeerWeek.com.

Find Vancouver Craft Beer Week Online

Website: VancouverCraftBeerWeek.com


Facebook: /VancouverCraftBeerWeek


Twitter: @vcbw

Instagram: @vcbw


Hashtags: #VCBW #VCBW2019 #tenyearsofVCBW

thumbnail “Vancouver Craft Beer Week 2018 Festival at the PNE Fairgrounds.” courtesy Photo by Mark Yuen

from News - The Northwest Beer Guide http://bit.ly/2Wcz4Cx

[tymihoward]

#shitkickers It’s always darkest before the dawn… stay focused on the light! YOGA SCHEDULE THIS WEEK: Monday: 9:30am @charlestoncommunityyoga Tuesday: 8:00am @charlestoncommunityyoga 4:00pm @thewondererchs Thursday: 4:00pm @thewondererchs Friday: 9:30am & 4:30pm @charlestoncommunityyoga Saturday: 10am @o2fitnessclubs #jamesisland Sunday: 10am @charlestoncommunityyoga #tymihowardyoga #jamesislandyoga #manifestyoga #charlestonyoga #manifestyogadaily #yogateachertraining #yogateacher #godwinks (at Manifest Yoga with Tymi Howard) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf30ktnODLH/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fireinmoonshot]

could you do a halloween request with Whiskey with prompt 31 ??

Halloween Prompt 31 - Reader x Whiskey.

Pairing: Reader x Whiskey. Warnings: None.Word Count: 476Prompts: “We should do a couples costume.” / “We’re not a couple, though.”

You’re both supposed to be finishing up mission reports, but as soon as Champ had left the room half an hour ago you’d pulled out your phones and started procrastinating. You still had two days until you had to turn them in, at least.

Whiskey is sitting across from you, his legs kicked up on his desk and his phone in his hands. He’s frowning slightly. You look over at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?” You ask.

He looks up at you, frowning still. “What?”

“Is something wrong?” You push further.

Whiskey shakes his head. “Why do you think somethin’ is wrong, darlin?”

You shrug at him. “You’re frowning.”

“That’s just my face, darlin’,” he chuckles softly and looks back down at his phone.

You smirk in reply and look back down at your phone, continuing to scroll through twitter and try and find something to occupy yourself with. You figure that you probably should be actually working on your reports, but twitter is too interesting to drop right now.

So, you continue to scroll. And that’s when you see the advertisement. You gasp.

Whiskey looks up at you, just as confused. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You look up at him, eyes wide. “Shitkickers is doing a Halloween Bash on Saturday night. Do you think we should all go? I could get Ginger in if you can convince Tequila. It’d be so much fun!”

He frowns at you and chuckles. “We’re not teenagers, darlin’. Halloween is stupid.”

You pout at him. “Don’t be such a party pooper, Whiskey. I think we should go! We’d get to dress up, drink away everything all night, and who knows, maybe you’ll find a sexy Nurse there who can tend to your every need until the next morning.”

“I don’t need a sexy Nurse, darlin’,” he smirks up at you. “Besides, costumes are overrated.”

“They are not!” You fire back. “I dressed up as Wednesday Addams last year. And the year before I went as Sandy from Grease. You could totally pull off any costume, you know that? You could even go as a cowboy if you wanted!”

He shakes his head. “I’m not goin’, but I sure would like to see that Sandy of yours one day.”

The thought hits you instantly and your eyes widen. “We should do a couples costume! I’ll go as Sandy and you can go as Danny! You’d be such a great Danny Zuko—oh my God, we could go as a country Sandy and Danny!”

He frowns at you. “We’re not a couple, though.”

“Who cares?” You shrug. “You want to see me as Sandy, then you’ve got to go as Danny!”

Whiskey ponders over this for a little while before sighing and shrugging. “Fine, darlin’. As long as you don’t make me sing and dance along to Greased Lightnin’, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[plungermusic]

The sounds of California… the climate of Seattle.

Maverick Saturday had the real flavour of the West Coast, particularly on the open air Southern Sounds main stage, with a wide range of the Golden State’s sun-drenched sounds and an increasingly ominous Rain City sky.

Kev Walford & Kelly Bayfield [main picture] were the ideal breezy main stage openers, with Crosby/Nash-like increasingly complex multi-voice harmonies on Money Rules In My World Now, and the moody Renaissance-style proggy folk of The Whistling Man with Kelly’s limpid clarity and a gooseflesh-raising midbreak of noodling Telecaster, soft mallet toms and lush wordless Crosbyesque harmonies.

Robbie Cavanagh [below] proved every bit as good as we recalled from previous hearings: from the big bold Jackson-Browne-at-Glastonbury sound of Get Out Alive with its anthemic progression and punchy chorus to the slow country waltz of Roles Reversed where Robbie’s breathy emotive vox and simple acoustic were backed by Everlyesque harmony interjections and pedal-steel-aping slide guitar. New song Helpless showed a sure hand with sweaty Memphis soul, with impressively soulful vox and twangsome solos from both Robbie and Neil Watkins. Eaglesy flavours abounded in Scars, with its portentous hook and slick multi-part vocals, and in the closing shitkicking two-step of Choked Up where the sublime harmonies shone in an a cappella passage.

Imogen Clark returned looking and sounding rather different to last year: the floaty troubadouress dress and delivery replaced by a spangly all in one trouser halter top and a similarly gussied up mainstream country sound. Easygoing fine vocals (and great backing from fellow Aussies Lachlan Bryan and the Wildes) delivered a Sheryl Crowish Late Night Girl and an anthemic Take Me For A Ride which left folks of a certain age humming Baba O’Riley…

A quick trip to the barn brought plenty troubadouress vibes in the solo acoustic set of Lilly Winwood [below], a deconstructed Big Skies ballad-style take on her father’s Can’t Find My Way Home amply demonstrating her big powerful vocal (genes really are everything!)

Returning to the main stage we caught a surprisingly young lad doing a brief but accomplished burst of Duelling Banjos before Lachlan Bryan and the Wildes’ own set. Lachlan’s gritty-but-mournful stationhand vocal fitted the excellent Outback outlaw country of Ballad Of A Young Married Man perfectly, with plangent electric guitar and girly harmoniess. Imogen Clark returned the favour by returning for bvs in the cinematic shamble of Deathwish Country and to duet with Lachlan on the old time Basics Of Love, while the dreamy Buddhist Priestess with lush keys had Hannah Aldridge guesting.

No Coward Soul drew the short straw - as they began their (for Plunger) curate’s egg set alternating upbeat danceable rockabilly meets Mumford & Sons cider advert tunes, with more intriguing numbers with touches of sophisticated latinate rhythms and some off-kilter Dead-style lopes, the long threatened drizzle set in, prompting an outbreak of brollies, cagoules and military spec rain capes [and the retirement of cameras, sadly].

Don Gallardo showed a very British sense of irony: Stay Awhile (with its “Sun is gonna shine” lyric) with great pedal steel came as the rain intensified and the exodus for cover began. There was more fine steel work (and weather references) in the relaxed Diamonds & Gold, and an appropriately dreich North Dakota Blues. Lilly Winwood brought her powerful voice to the bustling Shine A Light with chiming pedal steel and sunny harmonies, a slower How Many Days with its anthemic wordless vox-led coda, and the wistful acoustic two-hander Rhyder’s Song. The threatening chug of Banks Of The Mississippi, driven by choppy guitar and tight 1-2 beat, evoked the Stones’ miss you, which the band obligingly segued into in an extended coda!

The joint prize for bad luck and perseverance went to Seattle’s Massy Ferguson: their brand of grungy, southern rock-informed, clap-above-your-head stadium country (providing the punchline to a “Charlie Starr, Tom Petty, Kurt Cobain and Ronnie Van Zant walk into a bar…” gag) was ideal sun-drenched festival crowd-pleasing fare. As it was they played a spirited full-on set to a knot of (just plain drenched) die hards who lapped it up: screaming along to Powder Blue and jigging about to the metronomic Can’t Remember and Maybe The Gods with Rachel Harrington guesting. Wolf Moon was a brief moodier interlude with trad sounding melody and nice harmonica, but the set closed with the hypnotic hybrid of Lou Reed and Springsteen, Momma’s In The Backseat with its overdriven guitar harmonics and a proper ‘big rock’ ending.

Conceding defeat to the rain Jeb Loy Nichols [above] was moved indoors to the Peacock Stage. Perhaps he’d originally got a band lined up to play with, but here (with only the one acoustic guitarist and his own 3/4 guitar) he delivered a very mellow set that would have been incongruous following what preceded it on the main stage. His soft silky vox and soul-cum-jazz-cum-calypso songs (including the highly apt As The Rain, Long Live The Loser and Room 522) evoked Labi Siffre crossed with Gil Scott Heron (in my kinder moments: less kindly, Val Doonican crossed with Jake Thackray). At any other festival it’d have been raining wee-filled Woodpecker bottles outside.

With stirring, resonant voice, occasional electronic drums and atmospheric electric guitar accents Angel Snow [below} returned us to the West Coast in dreamy ambient country: the kick-driven dance-meets-Petty Secrets with its complex beats and chiming guitar, and the Viktor Krauss cowritten Lie Awake combined for a modern rework of Nicksian reverie or Miranda Lee Richards trippy whimsy.

Despite Ray Hughes’ mohican, Black Feathers’ old time harmonies delivered to a single mic were more in the vein of traditional Americana: the gentle, slow Lighthouse On Fire saw his-and-hers shared verses with wife Sian and a thrilling a cappella close, and more a cappella featured in the folky, backwoods Down By The River.

You can’t get more country than a former rodeo rider… Rachel Harrington not only brings the CV but also a classic Tammy/Patsy breaking-but-strong nasal Nashville twang, and a nice line in intersong banter. After the “a little ironic” Sunshine accompanied by JD Hobson on sweet dobro slide, and Hush The Wild Horses’ lazy four-footed stroll through Laurel Canyon, the lilting, folky-picked I Meant To Go To Memphis was prefaced with a tale of falling off the wagon thanks to the peculiarly British practice of “adorable little half pints”. That may have lain behind the tremulous country waltz Drinking About You, too, although military marching chants were the surprise inspiration for the Elvis-meets-101st Airborne rockabilly of Drop Zone.

Norton Money (Broken Island’s Dan Beaulaurier, Jeremy and Anna from Hallelujah Trails, and drummer Jamie Shaw) were the discovery of the weekend. A Cordovas-y combination of twangsome country, louche Dead-ish lopes, tight harmonies and jamband sensibilities ran through Queen Of Tunitas, the Mexicali-spiced Kickin’ & Cursin’, and a cover of Warren Zevon’s Carmelita with Anna taking soft impassioned lead vocal. Latest release The Ballad Of Hi & Lo (which we promptly bought right after the show) gave us Hey Lucy (one of several Caleish shitkicking boogies); Dream The Same Dream (after a Fistful Of Dollars intro) was a haunting minor key epic with soft mallet cymbals, hypnotic bass, fragile harmonies, and extended jamband plinking, while Lie Awake’s easygoing shamble developed into trippy Dark Star noodling and intertwining wordless multi-part vocals.

Hannah Aldridge covered almost the whole Americana spectrum in one set, from the folky acoustic-only emotive introspection of Gold Rush with her clear strong drawled vox and judicious harmonies from Robbie Cavanagh; through a cover of Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings’ Ruby with fine fiddle from Chance McCoy and bassist Gustav Sjödin swapping to guitar and lead vox, right through to Burning Down Birmingham, a rollicking, country rock epic with the crowd providing a lusty choir-and-clap backing for Hannah [below] to sing over.

Rich Hall’s parody / pastiche / homage to country (with a large dollop of stand up) was a hoot. From established routines like the riff on Ipswich girls (punchline “it could’ve been worse… she might have been from Colchester”), the critique of The Little Drummer Boy, (“… what is he going to do? Bonham triplets? Purdie shuffle? Nope… ‘pa-rum-pa-pum-pum’, Jeez”) to improv-ish songs for Gary and his partner, My Eritrean Trucking Buddy (dedicated to a local trucker) and the song for a psychiatric nurse about how country tropes and characters are all explainable by mental illness. His finest hour though came with his Bob Dylan song… with Bob on stage this evening we won’t spoil the surprise.

Having been caught out with the post-11 finish the night before we made good and certain to book a taxi for the 11.30 scheduled close on Saturday, but thanks to cumulative overrunning replacement headliner Will Hoge was so late on stage we only caught Oh Mr Barnum’s stately progress with high taut vox, relaxed rhythm and expansive overdriven guitar; and about thirty seconds of the rattling Pettyish freeway-cruiser Secondhand Heart before scooting off already late for our long-suffering cab driver…

[frayedpatches]

Raven Cycle Fic Recs!

The Pynch section yo

- Wonderterror Weekend by nimmieamee - E - 49k

Adam Parrish gets Saturday off and spends the day falling in love with Ronan Lynch.

He also spends it fighting monsters, visiting Europe, and traumatizing people. But falling in love with Ronan Lynch is the part he chooses.

- With Quiet Words I'll Lead You In by @jesper-fahey - T - 20k

In that moment, Ronan looks like some kind of ferocious monument to a new found god; young, but infinite in power and a furious kind of sharp-edged beauty. Adam’s lungs feel a little short of air, but it’s probably just due the cold.

“I was freezing my fucking balls off out there.” Ronan complains and, just like like that, the illusion is shattered. He is a boy once more.

Cabeswater is trying to get Adam to realise something, but he's struggling to understand what. When he and Ronan break down in the middle of nowhere, Adam finally finds himself with enough time on his hands to figure out some things about himself and his feelings.

- Keeps Me From Unravelling by @jesper-fahey - N/A - 11k

Whatever response Ronan gives, it’ll be the truth, not just spilled platitudes; it makes Adam desperately want to win his approval. Ronan, this enigma of a boy with the ability to create anything from nothing, who has dreamed some of the most amazing, ridiculous creations. Adam chews on his bottom lip briefly, before forcing himself to stop. To be casual.

Ronan stops, stares at the gift sitting on his lap and then barks out the loudest laugh in delight. “Fuck, Parrish that is hideous!” His eyes are alight with a wild kind of joy.

(Or the one where a prompt generator gave me "Adam Parrish knits Ronan Lynch a hideous sweater" and I ran with it.)

- Heart of Stone, Heart of Flesh by @charmingpplincardigans - T - 28k

The elk appeared out of the shadow of the forest canopy as if materializing in mid-air. He was as tall as the moa, but also had massive antlers that reached up and tangled with the branches on the trees. His coat was a dusty chestnut color with a white starburst over his chest and smattering of white across his cheeks and nose. The elk leaned over the fence and bent his massive head, as if showing Adam deference. To Adam’s right, Destroyer knelt down on her front knees and dipped her nose into the grass.

To Adam’s left, Ronan bent his head too, like he was about to say grace. When he spoke his voice was soft and low. “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you. I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

(Or, the one where Adam is a veterinarian and Ronan has dreamt up a whole menagerie of extinct/magical creatures.)

- Amor gignit amorem by @amethystinawrites - G - 3k

Considering everything that had happened and just how desperately Adam wanted to get away, he hadn't expected to find anything like peace in Henrietta.

Trust Ronan to prove him wrong.

- Roses on Parade by Jamesina - M - 8k

Adam accidentally ends up in Ronan's dream and Ronan is very Ronan about it and Adam is very Adam about it. Gansey is also briefly very Gansey about things.

Alternate summary: Adam has feelings and hyperventilates about it for 9,000 words.

- Heavenly Wine and Roses by Jamesina - M - 4k

Gansey has everything under control.

- Roses in Between My Thighs by Jamesina - E - 6k

Four things that could have ruined them but didn't.

- the hang of being alive again by @ronibravo - M - 12k

Falling for Ronan had felt like going to speak at the same time as someone else after a long silence, two people bumbling over their words to say, no, sorry, go ahead about three times before one of them says what they were going to say.

- mapping territories by @cheselle T - 3k

“I’m not going to offer you a briefcase of money and demand you stay away from him,” Declan said. “This isn’t a fucking telenovela.”

“I can’t believe,” Adam said, “you just said the word telenovela out loud.”

-- or, Declan has a talk with Ronan's boyfriend.

- adam parrish is in love (or, you can take the boy out of the south) by heyfightme - M - 4k

“Alright Parrish, I yield. What is it, then? You miss the Daisy Dukes and shitkicker boots on those cowgirls back home?” “I’m from Virginia, not Texas. Not a lot of cow-anybodies.” “I refuse to believe you don’t know anyone who lives on a farm.” Parrish rolls his eyes hard enough to shake the earth. “Stewart, of course I know somebody who lives on a farm. Just no cow-people. There’s a difference.”

---

Adam is in college. He has a roommate. Adam's Virginian accent has gotten him curious. Also, Ronan comes to visit.

-Somnium Meum Vestrum by shoulderbone - T - 8k

Ronan smells like smoke and spice, like the memory of a home he's never had; like a feeling he dares not name.

- Without Having To Say by @charmingpplincardigans - T - 24k

“Yeah? Which was the big guy downstairs? Because my good Catholic upbringing didn’t make the distinction.”

Out of nervous habit, Ronan brings his wrist up to his mouth and chews on the leather bands there. He’s been wearing them and chewing on them since he was sixteen. It’s a wonder there’s anything left to them at all. He feels the same way about his good Catholic upbringing.

“I think,” Adam says, quiet now. “That he wasn’t very nice, but that he wasn’t ever given a reason to be. I think it was self-defense.” It’s an explanation that sounds both close to home and far away. He looks up and out the window. His gaze gets caught there, distracted for the first time since they started.

Ronan looks as well, but it’s dark out now and all he can see is the shadow box reflection of the room against the black behind. Set against the rest of it, Adam’s hunched over reflection looks small and dark. Ronan is little more than a few swaths of stark negative space cut against the white glow. Neither of them has a halo.

(Or, that one where Adam is an art major and Ronan agrees to model for a sculpture of Satan.)

- maybe i dreamt you by @memordes - T - 17k

Adam seldom dreamt of other people. His dreams were nebulous, winding, leaving him with abstract impressions. But there was Ronan, solid as flesh—and from there, the dream left Adam with the echo of a feeling.

It was one hell of a feeling, though.

The not really/necessarily pynch fics

- Things That Go Bump In The Night by mochroimanam - T - 9k

Subtitle: The real ghosts are the friends we made along the way! The gang goes to a Halloween haunted house attraction, only to find that things are a bit more....realistic...than expected.

Ronan reminded himself, viciously, that he interacted with a real ghost every day of his life. But Noah’s moments of otherworldly strangeness had nothing on this specter’s air of sheer sinister deadness.

Adam took a step forward next to him, and Ronan’s hand shot out, fingers gripping Adam’s sleeve. Being cornered like this made Ronan feel the same way he’d felt trying to get out of the dank cellar – claustrophobic and scared and angry. “Parrish,” he hissed, trying to pull Adam back. The girl was a good 20 feet away, but it still felt too close, and being any closer seemed like a decidedly bad idea.

- Out for Re-henge by @charmingpplincardigans - G - 7k

Blue has a favor to ask of Ronan while Gansey and Adam are away. She ends up receiving much more than she expected. (Or, that one where Ronan teaches Blue to drive stick and they have adventures.) Post-BLLB.

- we built this city by @fahye - T - 13k

"As you keep pointing out, I've died twice," said Gansey. He was so bright that Henry almost wanted to look away from him, and so compelling that he couldn't. "I don't care what I'm supposed to be doing."

[savagegardenforever]

TO THE MOON AND BACK Rolling Stones Magazine - Australia june 1998

All Darren Hayes could think was "This is not happening!" It was a mantra the Savage Garden vocalist kept chanting to himself, but it wasn't taking. The nascent pop star went to take a sip of his Powerade, but then the Edge cracked a joke and Hayes involuntarily laughed, spitting purple liquid all over himself. Supermodel Helena Christensen giggled as the singer coughed and spluttered. The rain clouds were clearing in the aftermath of the Sydeny leg of U2's PopMart tour, and Hayes had climbed the various levels of celebrity patronage - the shitkicker VIP tent; the serious VIP tent where Midnight Oil were rubbing shoulders with Keanu Reeves and Samuel L. Jackson - to here: U2's dressing room, "The Bunker". He was on his own. The other half of Savage Garden, the calm, assured keyboardist Daniel Jones, was back on level two. "This is not happening! This is not happening!" he told himself. When Bono's assistant bought Hayes in, he walked past Adam Clayton and had to remind himself to be cool. But f**k it, there he was, sitting there in the corner wearing a boxing hood and those black wraparound shades: Bono himself. The Fly, McPhisto, the man who wrote "One", the man who'd just left 50,000 people enthralled. Darren Hayes's goldstar was sitting a few metres away. It was happening. Hayes was dripping wet. The Powerade had simply added to the downpour he'd already stood through, dancing at the tip of the catwalk, alongside the other true believers, lost in the music. He'd had the chance to meet Bono the previous August, when PopMart was in Los Angeles. Hayes had been transfixed bu the show but decided not to go backstage. He didn't want to be the millionth hand Bono shaked, another beaming face to be forgotten. It was different now. Over the last year Savage Garden had sold approximatley four million albums around the world - they were on the course to double that - including a phenomenal 800,000 in Australia alone. They'd scooped the 1997 ARIA Awards and had a number one single in America with "Truly Madly Deeply", the first Australian act to do so since INXS with "Need You Tonight" in 1987. But Darren Hayes didn't want to meet Bono because he felt successful. He would never dare compare Savage Garden's achievements to U2. No, Darren Hayes wanted to meet Bono because he was starting to realise the baggage that came with the success. Savage Garden were in the midst of a sold-out national tour and he was starting to feel like he had nothing more to give, that he'd been stretched so thin he would either break in two or simply dissipate. A few nights before, in Tasmania, he'd been asking himself before a show if he could go on, if not tonight, then next week, or next month in New Zealand, or the month after that in Asia, or the looming months beyond that in Europe and America. He was wondering why they'd become a teen sensation, if he could keep his marriage out of the public eye. All of these thoughts were racing through Darren Hayes's mind. And then Bono was looking at him, gesturing for him to come over and talk ...

Let it be said again: Savage Garden are a phenomenon. Together with the Spice Girls they have spearheaded the return of pop music to the top of musical charts around the world, giving focus to the desires and needs of a generation of teenage, on the whole female, fans. But behind all this is two young men from suburban Brisbane. Polite, inquistive young men who worry a lot about what's happening to them, how they should handle success, how they can prove that their brand of pop is one which will mature and grow, which will reach for resonance and a sense of belief. When I first meet Savage Garden they are preparing to have thier photo taken. It is a Saturday afternoon and Savage Garden are standing in a Sydney hotel suite, looking at clothes, prior to shooting new press shots for America. On the Sunday and Monday, with a show also scheduled on Sunday night, they're to shoot a high-budget clip for the US release of "Break Me Shake Me". Hayes is wearing all black, most noticeably a pair of jeans armour-plated with PVC. With his locks now cropped, his dewy features have lost some of their femininity. He moves around constantly, even if he fights the flu, breaking into snatches of song, delving off into varied topics of conversation without warning. Now he's appraising outfits. "How much is this stuff?" he asks the stylist, who's lacing up Hayes's boots for him. "$290 for the top and $220 for the pants, less 10%," comes the reply. Hayes pauses, then snorts. "Tell 'em to get f**ked," he retorts. Sitting on a bed, patiently having his makeup done, Daniel Jones laughs. The keyboardist is tall and rangy, with blond, spiky hair. Up close, you can see the handful of acne scars which pit the right side of his face. When he smiles, which he does often for someone so observant and low-key, his angular face becomes quite disarming. He watched the PopMart show at the mixing desk, standing beside Helena Christensen. "I said hello and then spent the rest of the show trying to smell her," he notes, grinning broadly. Because they own their very successful records - they only lease them to Roadshow Music in Australia and New Zealand and Sony Music for the rest of the world - Savage Garden have a degree of control most bands can only dream of. "There's not one cent spent, not one colour used on a front cover that we don't approve," Hayes later explains. "It's very comforting." Right now, Savage Garden are working it for photographer Robin Sellick's camera. Hayes is a natural, staring off into the middle distance while standing in the foreground, masking his face in the very definition of broodiness. Jones stands behind him, biding his time for a practice he clearly doesn't place a great deal of faith in (although he's never less than professional). As the shoot moves from hallway to penthouse, Hayes takes front and centre in every shot. "I'm always aware that I'm in the front in every photograph, but it's not because I step in front of him," he says. "Daniel takes two steps back. People just assume I'm an egomaniac." The first album that both Hayes, age 25, and Jones, age 24, bought was Michael Jackson's Thriller. George Michael is a name they both mention with respect. Out in the suburbs of Brisbane both youngsters were pop fanatics, giving vent to their obsessions. Jones was so taken with the video for "Thriller" that he and a friend started digging graves behind his house so they could recreate the video; he even began work on making the famous red jacket. Hayes went one better: he built a paper maché ET and rode around with it in the basket of his bike. But the divergent paths the two took towards Savage Garden illustrate the differences between them. By the time he was 13, Jones was more interested in making music than listening to it. He'd started buying keyboards and sequencers, creating musical beds for songs. On the New Year's Eve of 1989, aged 15, he did his first two gigs back to back, with a covers band, and walked away with $400. He never went back to school after that. Financially astute, by the time he was 17 he owned his own PA, which he regularly loaded in and out of every pub and club in Queensland. "I kind of miss those moments," Jones recalls. "I enjoyed some of those innocent pressures more than these serious ones." Darren Hayes had far more trouble realising his dreams. "My whole life," he declares, "being a singer or performer was all I ever wanted to do." But growing up in one of Brisbane's rougher suburbs didn't make this easy. There's an undercurrent of anger in Hayes when he describes those years, as if he's still upset at how people tried to deny his dreams. "Most people I went to school with had two babies before they were 20. One guy is in jail for armed robbery. Another one died in a car crash while on cocaine. Another one is a pimp. That was the level of my peers. I didn't know a single person who was even a singer. My family weren't that encouraging - which is not a criticism - but my career choice was the most alien thing you could do in my family." Hayes started studying journalism at university, but then threw it in. "My mission was to be a star," he remembers, speaking with an earnestness which can easily veer into melodrama. With his then girlfriend, a fellow Madonna fanatic, the pair auditioned for theatre college. "I got in, she didn't, so I gave it all up for her. And three months later she dumped me. I was gutted." Hayes started a Bachelor of Education majoring in Primary School Teaching, "something I did not have a drop of passion about." Still obsessed with his dreams of fame, he was sitting in a lecture in 1992, reading a Brisbane street paper, when he saw a "Singer Wanted" ad for a local covers band, Red Edge. Replying to the ad he found himself in a band room, being stared down by Jones and the rest of the band. Red Edge didn't know any of Hayes's favourites, while the prospective vocalist ("I always knew I could sing, I knew I had soul") hated their Oz rock/top 40 repertoire. He sang a piece from Little Shop of Horrors, and even though his voice broke halfway through, he was in. It was not an easy adjustment. Hayes is not technically inclined, and he perversely refused to learn the words to the band's set, relying on lyrics sheets instead ("I still don't know the words to 'Khe Sanh'," he announces with pride). The experience, he concludes, was "hideous". Hayes is walking down a corridor to a meet and greet. In the lounge, Hayes is joined by Jones, fresh from dinner. Five girls - before some shows the number has been as high as 50 - appear breathless and nervous. There's nothing studied about teen hysteria, it has an immediacy which distances it from the adult world. Savage Garden are comfortable with it. "So, would you like us to sign some stuff?" asks Jones genially. Tickets, CDs and a stuffed bear are produced. Photographs are taken. One of the girls is red in the face because she's not taking in enough oxygen. "You all go to school, don't you?" asks Hayes. The girls indicate yes. "Well let me give you a lesson about school. All the kids that were popular end up on the dole with babies. All the nerds end up pop stars." "Hey!" retorts Jones. "I was never a nerd." "Darren is brutally honest, even to himself," answers Jones when asked to describe his bandmate. "Sometimes he's his own worst critic. He's so honest that anything he's feeling comes to the surface, which really helps clear the air in the type of intense relationship we have. He reminds me of a kid, not in a bad way, but in his naivity." Asked the same question, Hayes replies, "He's probably the most intelligent person I've ever met in my life. He doesn't say anything unless he's thought it through and it's right. It might take him two or three days, but he'll come to you and say, 'I think you look really insecure when you do that. I'm just being honest.' And you'll go red because he's absolutley right. Intelligent. Calm and confident. He's devoid of insecurity." When U2 brought the Zoo TV tour to Australia in 1993, Red Edge was scheduled to play a residency in Alice Springs. Darren Hayes didn't have to think for long. He left the band. But the other thing he was pondering was writing songs with Daniel Jones. The two had slowly developed a rapport, and Hayes was impressed that Jones and several other band members already had a music publishing deal. The actual songs, however, he hated. "They were watered down 1927," he laments. "It wasn't really my thing," says Jones. "But then I hooked up with Darren and left that band." The pair began to experiment. Happily working by himself at home, Jones would create the musical backing, Hayes would suggest refinements and then add his vocals. The fourth song they wrote together was their astral retooling of "She's Leaving Home", "To The Moon & Back," and afterwards they knew they were on to something. "I turned around," says Jones, "and said, 'This is as good as anything out there. It's as good as U2, or a Seal song - the benchmarks.' That's when we became really serious." Savage Garden's five song demo - the duo envisaged themselves as a studio project and were heavily influenced by U2's Atchung Baby - was well-recieved, although the pair were disheartened by the amount of music industry players whose first queries to them were, "What do you look like?" and "Can you dance?" The duo eventually signed with veteran manager John Woodruff (Baby Animals, Diesel, Icehouse) in 1995 and he remains the linchpin of the Savage Garden organisation and their business partner. It was a relationship forged in adversity. Because they couldn't get a record deal (whether because no one could see the band's potential or because no one was willing to give Woodruff a deal for his own record label is unclear), Woodruff self-financed the album, bringing the pair to Sydney for eight months to record at the home studio of veteran producer Charles Fisher )Hoodoo Gurus, 1927). Hayes first choice for a producer was George Michael. Living in a Kings Cross Hotel on a diet of noodles and missing their families, Savage Garden struggled to finish their album. Their doubts were constant, their aims shifting each month. Woodruff licensed the album to start-up label Roadshow Music, whose early signings had been anything but auspicious. Their first single, "I Want You" - a Hayes tale about an extraordinarily vivid dream where he met and fell in love with someone so deeply that when he lost them upon waking he became depressed - was released in June 1996. "What makes me laugh about our record is that we couldn't get a deal, so we signed to the joke of the industry, Roadshow," Hayes explains. "We had dodgy artwork, dodgy videos. We had trouble getting airplay at the start. Basically, we fulfilled every criteria to be unearthed by Triple J." [Triple J is an Australian youth radio station that plays alternative music] "The day I realised how commercial we were was the day I realised that Triple J didn't playlist 'I Want You'. I was thinking that it would be an indie-pop hit that they'd play. Then it was like, 'Actually, you're the most played band on the Austereo network.'" He pauses, then smiles. "And I'll take that any day." The band did their first in-store appearance as "I Want You" climbed to number three on the charts. "All these 13 and 14-year-olds turned up, screaming 'Darren! and 'Daniel!'" remembers Jones. "I was like, "Oh f**k!' I didn't want to go through that." By the time "Moon & Back" and then "Truly Madly Deeply" had gone to number one, to be followed by their self-titled debut album in March 1997, Savage Garden had acclimatised to their new surroundings. Hayes and Jones make no bones about making commercial music, but under that banner they see a world of subtle differences. "I think the best pop is the one that shoots from the hip," asserts Hayes. "What troubles me sometimes is that we've always wanted to be completely true to ourselves, but people always assume that since we make pop music it has to be calculated and all about marketing. It was never that. There are a lot of pop bands and vocal bands which just aren't real. They're not coming from a real place." "What's so magical about the record we made is that it's so innocent and earnest. It went out there and said this is what we want to be. We didn't care about hip or cool. It was unassuming. I think we write really good pop songs, we have a great ear for a melody and we have a directness when it comes to emotion." Savage Garden's show is mildly choreographed, well-designed and given to U2 homages (which Hayes happily admits to) that the young audience (seeded with the over-30s brought in by "Truly Madly Deeply") scream along to. With just one album and a handful of b-sides to draw on, there are noticeable low points. But live, Savage Garden are a guitar band. Jones plays more guitar than keyboards, while their stage sound is fleshed out by a rhythm section, extra guitarist and backing singers. "I think we're a pop band desperatley wanting to be a rock & roll band and I think that's what's funny about us," claims Hayes. The strangest moment is when Hayes, who has so much desire and extreme emotion projected at him from an audience he works relentlessly, dedicates a song to his wife, Colby. Fans want their pop stars to be free and magical, not married with a home in the Brisbane suburbs. Hayes is vocal on every topic bar one: his wife of three years. "I think it's strange to be young and married," he says, choosing his words carefully. "Imagine being young and married and a pop star. It's tough. We refuse to be an example pf a happy marriage to anyone. The reason I very rarely talk about Colby or do a Women's Weekly spread about our new glamour house is that it's hard enough being married without being a celebrity couple. When you're happy together they love you, but Jesus, when there's problems they don't care, they tear you to bits. And I'm not ready for that." Both Hayes and Jones (who is also in a long-term relationship) decided from the start not to discuss their private lives with the media. On their first tour in May 1997 a tabloid journalist who wanted to follow up his interview with Hayes with a quick phone chat was directed by Woodruff to call him on his mobile: "His wife Colby has it." "The next day he writes some article in the paper: 'Exclusive: Singer Tries to Hide Wife!'" spits Hayes, recalling the spectre of John Lennon, who really did keep his first marriage a secret under management orders. "When did I ever say I wasn't married? When did I ever say I wanted to talk about my private life? What the f**k does it matter? Is my music different because I have a wedding ring?"

For one second I knew what it was like to be Savage Garden. After their solf-out show I leave the Entertainment Centre. Their road manager directs me out the door to the car park. As soon as I open it the 500 fans awaiting the band's departure scream in anticipation. It is electrifying, even a little scary. But when they see it's only an anonymous figure, 500 fans go, "Ohhhhh." Pop music is a cruel, cruel mistress. Last October, the flight to Sydney for the ARIAs, where they would clean up 10 awards, Daniel Jones told Darren Hayes that he couldn't take it anymore and that he was ready to leave Savage Garden. The music, which is all Jones really cared about, had been overtaken by promotion. Instead of being allowed to hide away in a recording studio, Jones was giving 40 interviews a day in America, traipsing across Europe miming on TV shows in every country. "It was pissing me off. Music was becoming more about talking about it than actually making it. I had to get back to the studio. I enjoy it and I miss it. The whole moster size of this machine takes it away from you," he notes. "The whole pep talk I now give video directors and photographers is that I don't want to be up the front. I've drawn a line for myself, and that's the compromise I had to make to deal with being in this band. Now everyone understands what it is about these two people. One wants to be here, the other wants to be here." He holds up his hands to indicate the difference, the gap between them is a metre wide. "That's the deal we made around the time of the ARIAs, but to be honest I think I've always done it," claims Hayes later. "I've always been lumbered with it because everyone assumes I love it. And lately I'm the one saying I want out, I can't do this anymore. If we ever broke up it would be because one of us wanted to be George Michael and one of us wanted to be Dave Stewart." Right now though, the topic the pair are focusing on is their next album. "We matured faster than the album," Jones says. In their mid-20s now, they're not always comfortable playing the songs they wrote as 19 and 20-year-olds. At the end of their concert Hayes tells the cheering crowd, "We have to go away now and think it all up again." "It's seriously not about chart position," clarifies Hayes. "I want a career, so if it sells half as well as this one, thank you, I'll take that. I believe a career is about ups and downs. It shouldn't be a steady gradient. The next record has to be true to itself. It won't be a knee-jerk reaction to critics. To turn around and make a Portishead album would be a big mistake. We'll f**k around with technology, we'll f**k around with drumbeats. We're courting William Orbit at the moment, because we heard the new Madonna record and I thought, 'I like what you added to that record. You added spice and flavour without taking over.' And that's what we're looking for. We want to grow up a little bit. And we're prepared to do whatever it takes." Darren Hayes was thinking that Bono was a wise old man, a wizard. The icon was talking about life, how he searches every day for new inspiration, music, their show, and Hayes was rapt, once more the little boy in love with a mysterious extra-terrestrial. And then he started to tell Bono how he felt, like a rag doll that had been twisted around too much. How sometimes after a show he considered himself a prosititute because he had to give so much from his soul to every person in the room. Bono leaned closer to Hayes and grabbed his hand, putting it to his chest. Hayes could feel the pulmonary kick of the Irishman's heartbeat. And then he spoke: "As long as the music comes from here," he said, pushing Haye's hand harder against his chest, "then it's going to scream louder than any of the kids will." And for the few seconds that followed, Darren Hayes felt at peace with himself.

[thebargainbin]

Goodbye Charlie

The band was playing the same shitkick we danced to every Saturday, just a little faster, a little louder.

Someone mentioned something about the wicked, shriveled up body currently being carted from Mercy Hospital to a grave somewhere.

“Thought he’d live forever”, the barman said while pouring us another round. “But to be honest, I’m glad he died here.”

“This town’s a miserable place.” He raised his own glass of whiskey. “A perfect place to rot.”

[movieassholes]

Yes we really want to hurt you. Yes we really want to make you cry. Yes we really want to shoot you. Yes we really want to make you DIE!

Dennis and Elwood - Without a Paddle (2004)                        

[movieassholes]

I’ll be honest with you, Barry. I will not lie to you. I stole it from the hangar. I found a lot of money there...so much money.

JB - American Made (2017)

[movieassholes]

What the hell? Who's the dead man that hit me with the salt shaker?      

Sea Bass - Dumb and Dumber (1994)

[movieassholes]

The man to my left is Django Freeman, he's my deputy. In my pocket is a warrant signed by circuit court judge Henry Allen Laudermilk of Austin, Texas, for the arrest and capture, dead or alive, of John Brittle, Ellis Brittle, and Roger Brittle...                            

The Brittle Brothers - Django Unchained (2012)                                           

[movieassholes]

Now, come on, boys! Where's your spirit? I don't hear no singin’. When you was slaves, you sang like birds.

Lyle - Blazing Saddles (1974)

[movieassholes]

Mr. Tilghman may own this bar, but the liquor he serves is supplied to him by Brad Wesley. Now, Pat McGurn is in the employ of Mr. Wesley, his uncle.

Pat McGurn - Road House (1989)