Wednesday 18 June

We are one of the most demure bands in rock.

Proof was on the flight to Melbourne. Our airline of choice has only recently started serving hot meals and Michael and myself decided to front the cash to purchase such menu items. Bad move. The beef burgundy (sounds good) was a disturbing , over-microwaved mush that while edible, was more like a soup or stew. In fact, I’ve had chunkier soup. When asked afterwards how it was by a stewardess, my lame response disappointed even me. “It was…alright”, I lied.

When we arrive in a frosty Melbourne our car rental company who shalln’t be named haven’t got the van we booked. Reminds me of the Seinfeld car rental episode, “That’s why you take the reservation, so the car will be there” and “You’d better give me the insurance cause I’m gonna drive the hell out of this car”. We get a Tarago instead which is fine, for now.

The Avis woman seems to recognise the band name and Sun, in retrospect she may have been lying.

Thursday 19 June

I sleep through my alarm as the car rental guy arrives to swap the Tarago fro a van. Eventually, the front desk rouses me. We go outside to make the trade but the guy can’t start the van, the key doesn’t turn. So, he has to wait while another guy from the rental place comes out with another van.

Finally we get a working gear van and we pick up the hire gear in time for a late breakfast.

What a shocker! Bad food has already been a hallmark of this trip. The coffee is especially bad (but that is in part due to my becoming a coffee connoisseur/wanker recently, a promotion from mere addict status). A plus for the joint is that the staff are enthusiastic at us being a band from Perth.

We fill in the arvo with a touch of Fitzroy shopping which is excellently located within walking distance of our HQ. Michael buys some pants despite well-founded concern about the nature of the button fly. I rather gamely try on some maroon polyester flares (come on, they were $10). Unfortunately they didn’t leave too much to the imagination – they lifted and separated, so to speak. The flares would have been a gutsy fashion choice in the first place, but in this size I don’t think even Robert Plant would have the balls to wear them.

Thankfully I find good coffee at the Lady Luck.

The night’s show is at the Duke of Windsor in Prahan. The venue is small. It’s cold outside. It’s late on a Thursday. Everything seemed stacked against us on this one.

Caroline Tran turned up to see us and Rhys did a live cross to Robbie Buck on Triple J. Pity that the first band ran over time and she had to call it a night before catching us.

Barney and Mike arrive directly from the airport having travelled on a later flight than the rest of us. Barney is also as sick as a dog.

So things ain’t looking good, right?

Thanks to a small but amazingly appreciative crowd, we play a blinder. And I don’t use the term lightly. This is what you always aim for and occasionally you attain it. We rocked! Sorry to sound big-headed but I can’t help it on this one. I can’t believe how happy it made me feel, after the show I skipped down the road.

A short while from the end someone in the crowd called for ‘Athiest’s Lament’ and insanely we tried to give it a go. To put it in perspective, we have only played the song live twice both at CD launches and both utilising tape backing for the repetitive piano line. We certainly hadn’t rehearsed it. But against our nature and probably better judgement, we give it a go. Hey, improvisation! Despite Michael recovering from a voice-shredding flu himself, he pulls out all stops and sings it note perfect. Spine-tingling, the whole bit. The instrumentation is acceptable considering it was coming back rapidly as we ploughed on. But the crowd appreciated our effort and it endeared us even more.

All up, an absolute cracker that deserved to be seen by more people, even if I do say so myself. I’ll shut up now.

Friday 20 June

It’s been less than a day and a half but the horseplay has already begun. Fletch, our normally amiable sound guy, was flinging complimentary biscuits as Rhys, who in reflex defensive action turned and ducked – straight into the edge of my very solid acoustic guitar being held by Barney who waiting to get past the warring factions. The casualty was Rhys’ eyebrow which suffered a deep cut needing five stitches from the nearby Freemasons’ hospital. Thankfully being a Martin guitar, the wound was very clean, precise and not jagged.

Speaking of drawing blood…
Earlier in the day, Fletch had gone to a piercing parlour with a view to having his impressive nipples pierced, well one at least. He was swabbed clean, the dots were drawn where the incision was to be made. At the critical moment (looking at his own half naked body) Fletch decided it wasn’t him, despite having a burly tattoo artist with full arm tatts telling it wouldn’t hurt. So close, but the Fletch’s nipples remained untouched.

After dinner we walk back through a dark, cold park. We see some silhouettes of what looks like a big cat underneath the trees. As we get close the ‘cat’ darts up the tree. More shadows appear beneath what seems to be every tree.

They’re possums. And they’re big.

The tame critters come up to us and sniff our shows and a couple take a nibble on my sneakers. One of us mentions Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ and we start to fear we’re being surrounded. So we back out of there before they can regroup in greater numbers like Sand People in Star Wars.

Inspired by a hidden camera show on the inhouse Foxtel and perhaps Fletch’s brush with the needle we pass the evening exposing our nipples for Fletch’s video camera shouting the US high school catchcry “Spring break!”

Saturday 21 June

We kickstart the morning in a frigid park with that ol’ band fave – hackeysack. Most of the day is again passed in Fitzroy. Rhys pays a visit to Triple R radio and enquires why they have our old CDs but not our latest.

Before the show I inexplicably crash out but I wake up in time to play at the Empress. We play first on the bill, acoustically and end up with biggest crowd and best response of the night, seemed like it anyway. We get called for an encore but can’t do it time wise.

Ben Fletcher’s The Devoted Few put in a great show that goes down a treat too.

A girl wearing pyjamas in the pub suggests that I should cut out the middleman. When I ask her how I cut out the middleman, she says by shooting him. This is my cue to leave thanks very much.

Sunday 22 June

Where does the time go? We wasted most of today in Chapel Street doing more shopping and eating. Gotta say that Perth NEEDS a Borders store. Man, I love that place, music and books as far as the eye can see. I could live there or at least spend my entire salary there.

Can’t tell you much more interesting that happened until dinnertime really. And even then, there was only minor friction involving what has been reported as possibly the worst Subway outlet in Australia.

Anyway, the show is a small downstairs bar not far from Flinders Street Station in town. I feel like this is a place I have seen in a dream. In the Green Room there is a strange PA that faces both the bar, which is kind of separate from the rest of the room where the left speaker is facing.

We play quite well. Not as well as the first show but some people who came to both preferred hearing the songs for a second time. I suffer a Ben Lee moment when in the midst of rocking out I slip on the uncarpeted boards and pull out my cable (wouldn’t have happened on a bigger stage). Fuck, that feels bad. Leats I wasn’t on national telly.

We manage to receive an encore and do Shot First.

We are once again told that we deserve to be playing to bigger crowds but the bar makes a loss on the night.

Monday 23 June

I haven’t taken a tram in several trips to Melbourne, so I decide to pop my cherry. My like most first times, it’s memorable for all the wrong reasons.

It smelled like piss.

Why? One of the other public transport users had peed himself. Thanks mate. Way to spoil my first time. We quickly move to back of the tram.

We head to Federation Square, a piece of architecture that looks like it’s been blown up. The older lads, Fletch and Rouse, have gone by foot and beat us there by about 60 seconds. We all check out the lecture theatre and it looks like it has a fantastic art gallery, there’s a Sidney Nolan show on that looks mint. The centre also has a great art bookshop that had all the boys with their noses down in books none of us would probably ever buy but they were all very nice.

After some awesome coffee, we take the slow walk back to our place. On the way we stop that at the awe-inspiring St. Patrick’s cathedral. It has captured our attention all week and it’s even better from the inside with jaw-dropping stained glass windows and an enormous pipe organ. And if you forgive me for sounding like a hippy for a sec, I have another instance of déjà vu in the garden outside the cathedral. I’m sure I have dreamt of running water and a sunken garden just like the one here. I have this experience quite often and have been told it means you’re following your destiny. Ok </hippy mumbo jumbo>

We walk a bit further and go into the ‘possum park’. We hear a weird sound in the trees and suddenly the sky goes black with bats flocking through the treetops. The bats are pursued by a young lad in the back of ute beating on a garbage can. The purpose of this is hard to pinpoint because the bats simply go from one tree to another and back again. Queer.

In a fine way to top off a week's tour, we get some drinks, stay in and order Indian food to our room.

Tuesday 24 June

The flight home was uneventful. I was kept up all night, so I slept fitfully on the plane my jaw dropping open embarrassingly as I'm known for doing when I pass out. Nothing more to report.

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