Saturday 11 May 2002

Hey man - chicks with picks! Already! Wowowow! The Juddmeister has just entered the jovial House Of York (which, lest you forget my friend, very much rhymes with RAWK! Okay!!!!), and payed my "quid" to get in, and there's half of my fave recording artistes who are girls. Man, these girls, they're not just girls, they're Angelica. Well, they're half of it. They could be "Ange", or "Lica". Come to think of it, man, they could be "Geli" if they wanted, and, shit man, they can have what they want so far as I'm concerned. There they are, with two far-out looking guitars that are all bulky and have holes in them, and they're telling me they "want a piece of the action". Hey - Alllllrrrriiiiigggghhhtttt!!!! Ladies, you got it. The Juddster will supply. They said they got a new record out, but on that they're twice as big - like, how will I be able to tell that when I'm listening to them? Mind you, I have quite a good imagination, I see crazy shit like that all the time. I swear, man, my bedroom is at least twenty feet long, but, right, me and my girlfriend Ally measured it, yeah? And it's, like, about eight feet long! EIGHT FEET LONG MAN!!! What a gyp, I nearly freaked. I guess tape measures can be wrong too, sometimes, but I was soooooooo bummed about that. Anyway, back to Angelica - they're soooooo great, man. They sang something from "the Whicker Man" - far out! Like, I haven't heard of Alan Whicker since he brought a film crew round to meet my Uncle Jim. He was nice about it, and all, he said there was just some things the world wasn't ready to see on television yet. I didn't know he'd made records as well. Anyway, I was waaaaaaay excited, because I heard that people were only going to be playing for, like, twenty minutes, but we got extra-Angelica helpings tonight, so that's a big thumbs up from the Freischmeier camp. Alright!!!!!

I never saw The Puma Sutras before tonight. Wow. They're so good, they gave me nightmares, even after I woke up. Man, I seen a whole load of crazy bands before, but I don't think I ever saw one that was that tall before. They could have been downstairs and still been on stage at the same time. The lead Puma (hey, what's his name? Is it, like, Lion-el, or Simba the Sailor, or....er.....Larry Eopard, or something?) is so tall that they can't build guitar straps long enough for his guitar to reach down to the ends of his arms. Like, far out. Really far out. And then, guess what? They start singing and playing as well. Wow. Being really tall just wasn't going to be enough to sustain the whole set, I suppose, but I could have watched it, all the same. Anyway, the music's cool. The first song went "Glory, glory, glory", and I kind of flipped, because I thought it might be "Gloria" by Laura Branigan - you know the one "Gloria, you don't need the number, Glory Gloria.....". I think it's about Gloria Gaynor, but it got a whoooooole lot of airplay on Radio Freischmeier when I was young. Anywho, it wasn't that one, but it made me think about, well, being small. Again. And the next song goes "La LaLa LaLa Laaa" all the way through it. Wow. I knew that one pretty well by the time it was done, let me tell you. The he starts singing about "The Eighties", and snouts and cakes. Well, I guess even pigs have birthdays and get nostalgic, but, hey, don't tell Charlie Manson that, eh? I'm kind of glad that Charlie Manson's in prison, actually - imagine how much he'd freak out if he heard the Puma Sutras - you just think you're getting it, then this guitar solo flies at you from out of the skies and...woooooeeee .... you could be hang-gliding or like flying. But not like a bird. More like a bat. They've got real good hearing, Bats. I think anything that doesn't dig the Puma Sutras can't have good hearing.

Speaking of ears, here's Beef Sharky, my main men (apart from the very wonderful Jennie who I except from the "men"ness of that, but, obviously, not from the "main"ness of it). Man, I know I'd certainly had a few bottles of Bud by this point, and the ol' room looked a whole lot more interesting, and I kinda think that that's the way it was for Beef Sharky. I see Beef Sharky as being like the A-Team - The main guitarist singer-type dude is, like, Hannibal, Jennie is Face (obviously), and then the other guitarist is BA and the drummer's Murdock, and they're there fighting and arguing, and BA's been on the sauce, and Hannibal's trying to get the plan to come together and forget about the fact he can't bag Audrey Hepburn no more, and Murdock's trying to build a drum kit out of an old Toyota and some cans of paint and.... And THEN they have to play some songs together as well. Imagine how awesome that would have been. The A-Team always built like really cool cars in ten minutes at the end. Imagine, like, if the plot had been that James Hatfield couldn't write any more songs, yeah, so he hired the A-Team to finish off the next Metallica album? Wow. I got a hunch that it would sound like Beef Sharky. Imagine the two in your head, man, it'll blow your mind right off. Except that when Murdock flies the drum kit into the side of a barn, Face and Hannibal wouldn't sing you a duet whilst BA replaced the propellers on the Hi-hat. Man, they blew my fucking mind. Wow.

Man, I was kind of glad they did, though, because it meant that when Seraphim came on stage, I was very much in the clear - I didn't have nothing left for them to blow out! See, you got to be up early in the morning to get one over on the Freischmeister, but, man, I assure you, being up early the next morning was one thing I most certainly was not about to be doing at that point in the evening. For tonight - Let the RAWK commence. Man, I went to mosh, as did, ooh, eight men, seven men, six other man, but not their dog (woof woof). I moshed almightily, as Seraphim rock - WITH THE ANGELS!!!! Major dudes. Major respect. Major beer problems. I got stood in the middle of the room, and all I could see in front of me were dudes moshing, and all I could see behind me were dudes laughing. Man, it's soooo cool when music lets everyone have a good time. And I looked up at the ceiling, and thought, man, this is all too much, man, it's much too much, it's too too much. So I took another bite from the Bud, and that's kind of the last thing I remember - I came round for a bit a few minutes later, and Seraphim were going "Show me the way to the Heights of Oblivion". Show you? Show you? Man, where do you think I live!!!!!!!!!! Although, thinking about it, my man Alex lives in Abraham Heights with some theatre dudes in a big house. Maybe Seraphim heard the directions wrong. Actually, they must have done - I was right the way to Oblivion, and I ended up on the carpet. Oblivion isn't that high up at all.

That's all she wrote, guys - what more can I tell you? Well, if this is how much of a good time I can have for ONE FUCKING POUND, next time I DEMAND to be charged five pounds entrance. Man, imagine how great a time I could have for that much.....

Judd Freishcmeier
juddfreischmeier@hotmail.com