Analogue Adulation
Back in the heady days of 2000 i started my own website. Nothing fancy, just a few reviews of films, music some photography of mine. I saw it as a way to practise my html/dreamweaver skills and the thrill of having your website was still quite, thrilling.

anyhoo, without much effort i managed to snag some free vinyl from a few record companies, i return for some reviews etc. nice, easy and potentially rewarding. all good.

In 1996 i had become hooked on the icy stark vibes of Finlands very own Pan Sonic, the band formerly known as Panasonic. I loved them with a subwoofer trembling intensity.

So when i saw an advert in The Wire looking for suggestions and help organising dates for their Round the World Tour, i didn't hesitate in suggesting a few decent quirky venues in and around Glasgow. However the guy gets back, said he had checked my site out, and asks if i could organise their tour diary.

Essentially i would get updates and pics from their tour manager and i would transfer it all to my website.

I could have cracked one out over a ring modulated sine wave right there and then. The downside was that they were only playing London and Dublin, with the Dublin gig being at the very end of the tour.

I decided there and then i would get to Dublin and see the gig, no matter what. So days turn into weeks and the constant updates, first hand experiences and cool photos where ramping up my fanboy vibrations. It was all great fun and i didn't get paid a penny.

However, Blast First said they would put me up in a hotel for the night of the Dublin gig. WAHEY, im in, this is it, i'm part of the entourage, i'm almost IN the band.

Well, as good as.:)

The day arrives and i arrive at the airport without my passport, in my excitement i had forgotten it...as you do. However this was pre 9-11 and as i was only going over to Dublin, she lets me fly without it. My luck is in.

I arrive at the hotel before anybody else. So when the ask if i would like the room with the balcony, i accept. Knowing that the balcony room was probably for someone more important and talented than me. BUT I DON'T CARE, IM LIVING THE DREAM.

I arrive at the venue after a quarter bottle of stupidly expensive Jamesons. Dublin doesn't seem to do cheap off licenses. I meet up with the tour manager and shake the hand of Ilpo, one half of the band. I'm gliding along on a greased rail of excitement and adrenaline...i'm accepted as 'part of the fabric that is involved in bringing this tour together'. I. Have. Arrived.

I meet up with a few locals and enjoy a reefer of hash oil.....it works as a catalyst to my wigged out brain and i end up pretty sparkled. We get to the gig and i am in my element. Now although Pan Sonic's music can be described Industrial Ambient, there are many moments of raw hardcore beats and crackpipe rave. Elements that my chinstroking gig going friends don't seem to appreciate. they want to sit and take it in like a fucking art installation. The place is trembling and pulsing and these cunts want to sit in silence.

Fuck'em, im too far gone to care and i twitch and vibrate along as best i can, interjecting occassionaly with the odd vocal howl as the tones reach painful levels. A great gig all in.

So i'm standing talking to one of the locals about teh boring crowd when up walks Pan Sonic themselves, we exchange a few pleasantaries and Ilpo wants to tag along with me and the locals and go to a club. We agree and set off.

So there i am, walking the back streets of Dublin, engaged in conversation with one half of my favourite band. The other two guys are walking ahead. It's friendly and unforced, but best of all, i don't feel like a tit, i am holding my own. We talk about music, Finland, John Peel, all the good stuff. Can it get any better? Yes, yes it can.

We arrive at the club abd Ilpo offers to the get the first round in. Holy shit, here i am, being bought s pint by one half of Pan Sonic. Quite surreal, but it will be getting even more surreal later on.

Even before we finish the pint, the club is closing and we deicde to head back to one of the guys flats. it is a beautiful old art deco building and we are ushered into his front room/studio set up.

He sets about rolling a joint, at which Ilpo puffs greedily..I have some too, but am a bit pished and still stoned from the hash oil. Minutes later Ilpo is asking where the toilet is, and proceeds to whitey in the toilet. We can all hear him wretching and an extended air of surrealism floats into the room. The guy who owns the flat is in awe that he has a electronic music star vomitting in his toilet. I agree.

He returns and suggests heading back to the hotel. We all walk back, but by now its about 4am. I ring for the nightporter who eventually arrives and Ilpo, staggers over and apologises that he is, "a bit late for checking in".

He had went straight from the hotel to the venue and hadn't checked in. So 4am, and he's just getting the room key, i am doubled over with the gigglies and after a many hand shake we head to our rooms.

I wake in the morning it is about 30 degrees and i have the worst hangover ever and have to get back to Scotland without a passport. I do.

Well worth it though.



...i may roll out my abortive meeting with Aphex Twin next. It's still a bit painful though..
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 15:18, 2 replies)

if you ever return to the emerald isle,
give me a nod and I'll point you towards the cheap(er) booze.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 15:27, closed)

Funny as fuck
My Swiss mate threw up all over my toilet once, literally all over the walls.

The reason why? He's just shy of seven foot tall and was unable to turn around in my tiny lavatory in time to reach the bowl.

The dude was effectively trapped in there, having Jackson Pollocked a curry and about 12 pints all over the show...
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 15:43, closed)