SON OF THE RETURN OF MORE UNNECESSARY DETAIL 3

Around dinnertime, MCB called to say he was too sick to go to the show. Too sick to rock. I couldn't remember what time we were due to converge at Ruby Tuesday's so I lingered uneasily at home until 8:30pm. I must've gotten there a little before 9. I saw Mark Ward at the bar, he of Ramsey and...drummer in my first band in high school, the Uncultured. Little piece of trivia for you. Darrin & Maryann were already making themselves at home. Gourley showed up, followed eventually by Steve & Rachel.

The first band set up slowly & did a quick soundcheck. Then began the truly interminable lingering. Holy hell. I'm still not sure how I held out. After 30-45 minutes, Phantodswent on. The guitar, bass and drums were locked in on some kind of Fantomas/Mr Bungle/King Crimson/bright-twang preset that, for me, destroyed as it created. They'd play a thrash thing into a doom riff off the back of this fucking clean guitar tone and then just slam to a halt. One of the songs had some truly insane, inspired syncopation that just blew me clean away. Personally, musically, emotionally, Fantods' set was devastating. And I haven't even mentioned the singer's voice & her two keyboards. The singing was intelligent & tuneful and somehow brought the melange of sounds & moods to a catchy, near-pop fore. Which is no easy feat. Their sound is unique. And, yes, I'm in love.

Ramsey went on at midnight & hogged the stage forever. They were nice guys but fucking hell. This pushed everything for us back even further...we went on around 1am! What is the point of that, I axe you. I mean, really.

I was dead tired before we even started and tried to make up for it by pushing myself harder. It was pretty terrible. We opened with a bunch of new songs which proved to be my undoing because oops I forgot how they went. It was shambolic and there was nothing to hide behind but shouting, belligerence and being infantile. I don't know if we ever got on track, musically. Steve was/is/always will be a professional, a rock, the beacon of calm confidence, a ROCK island in a sea of lame futility. The rest of us couldn't even remember the old songs most of the time. Our old songs. That we wrote. Yeesh. I got home around 2:30am, charred beyond recognition. And I have Steinberger shaped bruises around my torso.