Rainier and Wedding Music (rough.)

It was their first dance and everybody cried. Everyone. Really.
The room was all champaigne and candles and aftershave and
a circle in the middle where one of the handful of couples I’ve
ever seen that no one had reservations about slow-stepped
into eachother and began the waltz. Perfect wedding eye-contact.
not a dry eye.

Writing alone and in public is an invitation. For interruption,
unwantedconversation. At the bar at a place that’s fast becoming
a “haunt” I liveunswayed by schedule or finances, get another.
I’ve not been writing long, they aren’t busy and this is a thought
to finish. Plus, I haven’t been interrupted yet.

I’ve been involved in executing—at some level—a fair
number of Weddings. Dj, best man, usher, something.
Ritual is important but always better when the Bride and
Groom are Having Fun Up There. The nervous pre-vow clap.
The blush-and-giggle. The spontaneous high-five.
Good food at the reception, if not an open bar.

The bartender isn’t interested that his music choice
triggered these memories, or what I’m writing, or that
I write, or if he is, that’s the wrong assumption to make.
Still, bringing it up is part of the ritual. I have still
avoided interruption, but take thoughtful pauses as I consider more.
Rainier is not a slow sipper.

What makes a great wedding song? Believability. That
the couple has reached into what they think of love
and pulled something out together, both rare and welcome.
That if they can find the right song, perhaps they
just might be ready for anything.

These are unexpected thoughts, ponderances, not plans.
I’ve long stopped making assumptions. Things I work out on paper
but never read as I ease into new haunts. Bartender wipes the
counter down with the absent vigor of one who’s been at this for years.
I lift my glass in deference without even thinking.

________________________________________________________________________________-
this is a few drafts away from anywhere close to "finished" or "let's read this out somewhere" so I'm welcoming comment.

Stuff Happens 2: Brief Roundup-->

-->Went good. Crowd participation in non-invasive ways. Solid readings from everyone and a greater variety of writing and performance styles. Once Huw gets that noise onto disc we'll get it to the folks in London and start having some Content for When the Site Goes Live.
Thoroughly satisfying as my last curated event in Swansea, provided you don't count the going-away-type-event that I've scheduled so that people can't give me grief for not telling them exactly when I was leaving. I mean, it should be fun and everything, picnic and djs at Mozarts and lots of people (according to facebook-invite-responses) and stuff, but every minute I'm hanging out with people now is time I'm not finishing my packing.

If I feel like being a twat, I'm totally playing "wild horses."

June! Everything faster than everything else.

Over a year ago I had a post called "It being March already is fucking up my chi." I think this is true, still-- i.e. perhaps my chi remains fucked up, from last March, but the fact that it is now June seems more in line with how I feel than had it continued to be May. Which is good cuz I sure as hell can't change it.
and this month is filling up. I don't have a dayplanner but maybe I should:


June 1st: Today. Return to work.
June 5th: Minion Fest-- The Antagonist's Print Relaunch. Featuring DJ Sets from Punk John, Gothfunc and er, we'll go with Kilogram, who will be playing all the hottest* indie punk, post-rock, garage metal, ugly country and synth-thrash. F'reals.
June 11th: The Crunch, featuring Simone Mansell Broome.
June 12th: Possibly, tentatively last day of work and subsequent Rhyddings-Goodbye Party*.
June 13th: Happy Birthday, Mom. Also, Mystery Action at The Halfway House, featuring Lewis Watkins' new band, visual art from Dan McCabe and a spoken word set from myself.
June 15th: Happy Birthday, Dad, Brielle*.
June 18th: Last Crunch I'll be at for a while. Doing a farewell-type feature and hopefully "moving" lots of "units" to fund my "trip" to "London."
June 19th: Gig in Cardiff with Mab Jones at O'Neil's.
June 20, 21st: IOI reunion in London. Probably grab tea with Katie Weston and maybe look up Nia as well for while-I'm-here hellos. Happy birthday me.
June 30th: MC for Gemma June Howell's "Inside the Treacle Well" booklaunch.
July 3rd: Stuff Happens 2! MC/Organise/Oversee/Promote. Featuring Peter Read, Susie Wild, Leslie McMurty, Wood Ingham, Liza Penn Thomas, uh, Adam, loads more people and artists. Launch of the Global Poetry System website.

somewhere in there add: at least 2 Graffiti Walks*, maybe recording with Punk John, a trip to Newport with Dave Beer*, loads of more Seeing Wales and More of the UK While I can, the whole packingandgettingridofthingsthing and of course lots and lots and lots of genuine, meaningful, reflective times, unforced and completely natural. ahaha.

* probably 3 songs by McLusky, a Pavement (for a sense of history) and like, something by Neko Case and about half of "Lets Stay Friends."
* I may actually die from various bodily failures at this point, rendering the rest of the list moot.
* Hey Brielle, do you want any sweet Welsh swag?
* Taking pictures of, not making.
* At Cardiff Central I heard someone talking about Newport and took it as a sign from God that Dave and I and maybe Roy need to go to Newport and get very very drunk. I'm not even kidding.

It's a song that just makes you want to travel

Wednesday I got paid. My policy on getting paid is that even if you have gotten far less money that you hoped/needed (which was certainly the case this time around) you should still allow yourself some fun. Because if you can't waste a bit of money the day/weekend you got paid. . . well shit, son.
So I went home and stashed most of my wages (paid in cash) where I always do and left the house with twenty pounds. The leaving-with-only-what-you're-willing-to-spend policy is also helpful in keeping things on the "oh, I shouldn't have bought that CD/last beer/t-shirt" range as opposed to "Shit>.!! I just spent everything i own and some of what I don't on dogfights, cocaine and women of the night."

Headed to Coyote for a punk gig. Coyote is about the size of someone's living room, so the music doesn't have to be great, just genuine. As it was, I saw Exeter band The Dead City Stereo who I keep ending up seeing on accident; I'm starting to recognise their songs. I don't go to many gigs at all, so the fact that there's a band (from out of town, no less) I've seen more than twice surprises me.
I also remember when that was my life.

At the gig I met up with Dave Beer and his Newport buddy Stubbs and we headed down to Mozarts for their first ever Open Decks Night. That's right. Show up with music, the in-house DJ shows you the ropes and you get 20-30 minutes to play whatever you want.

No one was there. Which was ideal, really. The Punks (john&jess) showed up and Keiran (who had his best buddy from back in the day visiting. It was mainly us and the staff, so I ended up getting to spin for an hour. Thing is, Rick had just played a pretty great set of proto-punk and leather-coated indie (Sonics, Brian Jonestown, The Only Ones) and Gemma went before me with a consistently bang-on set of '60s soul and r 'n' b. I knew I couldn't compete on that level of single-minded focus.

so what to do?

The answer (as is often the case in matters of life, death, taste or religion) lies with Steve Albini and The End of Radio. (see video above.) I believe the song to be one of the great combinations of music, lyrics and ideas of the last five years. . . that, however doesn't make it traditionally melodic, atmospheric or less than nine minutes long.
The beauty of leading with something like that is you can pretty much do anything you want after it.


This had a drunk-off-Stella-and-Tuborg Dave Beer jumping around and shouting HIT THE NOOORTH! into the faces of anyone there. There were a few people there by then and I just ended up playing a fairly trad-Graham set; some "anything by Ladytron" for Keiran, TV on the Radio and so on, closing with McLusky's "To Hell With good Intentions." Which i'm not posting here because if you know me, you've probably heard it. Enjoy some synth pop and Welsh instrumental maths, though.




This segued nicely into the next set, which was Hollie playing a mix of classic rock song and bands that sound like The Bronx.

"This is a total abortion of taste."-- Keiran, on the aforementioned set, possibly during a track by Boston.

So. From one abortion of taste to another, Adam, Keiran and Ian and I went and got Curry. At 2 a.m., when eating more always sounds like a good idea. The problem is, while nominally better for you than the dreaded Kebab, Curry is even worse the next day. It sits inside you and seeps through your skin; even the act of showering feels like you're wallowing in your own filth. The day after a post-midnight curry one genuinely feels like while there may be fleeting joys in life, nothing will ever be clean or whole again, for the rest of your life.

Which isn't necessarily how you want to feel getting up at 9:30 and rushing to the station to meet your girlfriend to catch a train to Cardiff.