Twenty-two is arguably one of the most overlooked of all birthdays, especially considering that it follows the infamous twenty-first, which is celebrated almost religiously within Western culture. The pressure to celebrate your twenty-first has become such a 'tradition' within our society that all other birthdays pale in comparison. So with this knowledge in mind, I was rather content to spend my twenty-second birthday going to my good friend Emma's twenty-first birthday, and then visit Al's Bar in order to be serenaded by the aural exploits of two incredible New Zealand examples of post rock - Mountaineater and Jakob.
After 'getting in touch with nature' and paying my $20 (which says something about the lack of awareness/support for non-mainstream music in this country) I found my way to the front of the expectant crowd, just in time to see Mountaineater. I was as excited to see them as I was to see Jakob. Having seen Mountaineater previously at GBM and on the local stage at this years Big Day Out, I knew I was in for a brutally heavy show. They did not disappoint. How three guys can produce such a ferocious wall of noise is beyond me. Each song is a beautiful assault, a mesmerizing journey that leaves you utterly exhausted, but in the most rewarding way. Mountaineater's frontman Tristan Dingemans, armed with an array of effects pedals and a menacing voice, personifies the raw power and passion of Mountaineater's sound. I am eagerly awaiting their forthcoming album, and I think it will be interesting to hear how they manage to reproduce the sheer force of their live set into recording environment. The only distraction from Mountaineater came in the form of drunken douchebag that felt the need to scream "WOOOOO" at every opportunity.It would have been hilarious, if he wasn't standing next to me the whole time. Despite his doucheiness, I have to thank him for providing me with the means to win a beer from Ayla, based on the ridiculous amount of times he yelled "WOOOOO".
A quick cigarette break allowed me to return to a state of excited anticipation about finally getting to experience Jakob live again. I hadn't seen them live since watching them open for Thrice in Auckland in 2007. A Jakob live show is an intense journey, with each song a meandering beast, a concentrated and deliberate attack on your senses. While Jakob haven't produced any new recordings since 2006's Solace, they played a wide variety of their discography, including my personal favorite 'The Collar Sets Well' from their first album Subsets of Sets. Watching Jakob live, it is easy to see why they have such a loyal following and why they remain New Zealand's premier representation of post rock. They are so tight, it is a joy to watch how each member compliments each other. While post rock can sometimes lack direction and focus, Jakob never stray off course, each moment building and exploding into a wall of noise. It was a shame that Al's Bar had to close at Midnight due to ANZAC day, as I'm sure Jakob would have extended their set, but even so, it was fully worth the money and effort, and I can't wait for them to come back to Christchurch.
I came away from the gig mentally and physically exhausted, but completely happy that I had spent my twenty-second birthday watching two of this countries best examples of post rock in fine form.
Check out the pics: http://www.alsbar.co.nz/galleries/gallery.php?gallery=g76 (Mountaineater)
And: http://www.alsbar.co.nz/galleries/gallery.php?gallery=g78 (Jakob)
Monday, April 26, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Flat crawl vol.3/ or how I ruined myself with the drink.
Misery and carnage. That has been my worldview in the weeks since the third annual St Albans (SACKS YO) flat crawl rolled through your local. Having been present during the prior two 'experiences', I was confidently convinced that I had the measure of the event, and began drinking... early. Far too early it seems. I guess when you're struggling to remember exactly what hour in the afternoon that you became drunk then you must be prepared for more than the usual nights antics. Alas, my preparation consisted solely of drinking and I clearly ignored all warning signs.
The night started in with afternoon drinking in my room, listening to a plethora of great music. I continued to drink into the night, counting the albums down, impatiently awaiting my flatmates to be ready. This didn't happen until after the first two flats had already felt the wrath of the illustrious St Albans crowd. Finally we set off in search of partying, drunken swagger and all.
We managed to make it to the Log Cabin, officially the third stop, and the festivitalies commenced. Once again for me, this meant more drunk, this time with an agreeable crowd in tow. The next few flats passed in a drunken blur of shouting, chain smoking and nonsensical conversations.
By the time the flat crawl made it to our Cranford fortress, I was well gone. Moving from gin, beer, vodka and back to gin had taken its toll. I know our flat hosted food and drink but I didn't notice any of that. The last stop of the flat crawl was the Cranford Castle, and this is where my night took an abrupt end too. Feeling dizzy I quietly moved to the back of the garden to clear my head... which ended in a cycle of passing out and vomiting. This continued for quite some time until people managed to get me inside and onto a bed (thanks John), with a bucket at my disposal.
I awoke suddenly at 4am, and spent the next 5mins vomiting heartily into the strategically placed bucket. After vomiting, I staggered down Cranford St and back to my flat. I had a hugely restless sleep and woke up to more vomit, which became a common theme for my Sunday. The whole day I had intense pains in my stomach and kept vomiting. That night I went to the after hours surgery and had to get an injection to stop the vomiting. I spent the next three days unable to move or eat, with intense pains in my stomach. I moved back to my parents house for the week so they could look after me. The pain got so bad that I had to take sleeping pills. I can't even describe how shit those few days were. Basically, I got alcohol poisoning and had developed gastritis due to the vomiting. My internal organs were bruised and swollen, hence the intense pain in my stomach. The pain and lack of eating lasted until Thursday, in which I finally began to feel better. I returned to my flat on Saturday, a whole week since the trouble began. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but its safe to say that I'm going to lay off the drinking for a while. Because fuck going through that again.
The night started in with afternoon drinking in my room, listening to a plethora of great music. I continued to drink into the night, counting the albums down, impatiently awaiting my flatmates to be ready. This didn't happen until after the first two flats had already felt the wrath of the illustrious St Albans crowd. Finally we set off in search of partying, drunken swagger and all.
We managed to make it to the Log Cabin, officially the third stop, and the festivitalies commenced. Once again for me, this meant more drunk, this time with an agreeable crowd in tow. The next few flats passed in a drunken blur of shouting, chain smoking and nonsensical conversations.
By the time the flat crawl made it to our Cranford fortress, I was well gone. Moving from gin, beer, vodka and back to gin had taken its toll. I know our flat hosted food and drink but I didn't notice any of that. The last stop of the flat crawl was the Cranford Castle, and this is where my night took an abrupt end too. Feeling dizzy I quietly moved to the back of the garden to clear my head... which ended in a cycle of passing out and vomiting. This continued for quite some time until people managed to get me inside and onto a bed (thanks John), with a bucket at my disposal.
I awoke suddenly at 4am, and spent the next 5mins vomiting heartily into the strategically placed bucket. After vomiting, I staggered down Cranford St and back to my flat. I had a hugely restless sleep and woke up to more vomit, which became a common theme for my Sunday. The whole day I had intense pains in my stomach and kept vomiting. That night I went to the after hours surgery and had to get an injection to stop the vomiting. I spent the next three days unable to move or eat, with intense pains in my stomach. I moved back to my parents house for the week so they could look after me. The pain got so bad that I had to take sleeping pills. I can't even describe how shit those few days were. Basically, I got alcohol poisoning and had developed gastritis due to the vomiting. My internal organs were bruised and swollen, hence the intense pain in my stomach. The pain and lack of eating lasted until Thursday, in which I finally began to feel better. I returned to my flat on Saturday, a whole week since the trouble began. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but its safe to say that I'm going to lay off the drinking for a while. Because fuck going through that again.
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