10.06 pm, wednesday, september 3rd. 1 block from the roseland theater.
feeling highly self-satisfied as i approach the roseland: managed to eat myself silly at a late dinner with visiting parentals and still depart with plenty of time to allow my wristbanded self to get into the mogwai show - as clearly evidenced by the almost-total lack of a line outside… (dr)
10.07 pm, wednesday, september 3rd. 1 block the other side of the roseland theater.
so, turns out they line up down the other side of the roseland theater, i see. all the way down that side, as it happens. still, at least 23 minutes ‘til mogwai plays, so ‘head up, son’, as they’d likely say back in blighty. (dr)
10.43pm, wednesday, september 3rd. 1/2 block from the roseland theater.
band’s already through a couple of songs, and security has just announced that the venue’s at capacity and no more red wristbanded wonders will be admitted tonight. shite. really?! the line dissipates quickly so i move up close to the doors to check for any vague signs of hope. (dr)
10.56 pm. roseland theater.
this mogwai light show is physically painful. even when i close my eyes i feel like i'm being abducted by really rude aliens. but the bright flashes are on beat, which is cool. (cj)
10.56 pm, wednesday, september 3rd. 1 block from the roseland theater.
apparently the many curfew-kiddies starting to stagger out the show with hands over their ears means that (a) mogwai still play as painfully loud as they did when i last saw them 7 years ago, and (b) security has changed its mind, as the doors have opened up again and i’m beckoned in. (dr)
11:03 pm, wednesday, sept. 3. roseland:
it took me about a half hour for mogwai’s set to hit, but as they tear into “hunted by a freak” it starts to make sense. the guy next to me with dreads and a cut-off tee agrees: he lights his joint, lifts both fists in the air and yells “epic shit, mannnnnn.” and he’s totally right. (mm)
11:03 pm, wednesday, sept. 3. roseland:
two valley girl types are leaving the mogwai show, on their way to the old 97s. "i don't know how they got so popular without a lead singer," one says. her friend replies, "people go all apeshit over stuff that's different." "yeah," says the first girl. "but they're not that different." philistines on the sidewalk. (am)
11.26 pm, wednesday, september 3rd. inside the roseland theater.
mogwai has just crushed me with the ever-stunning “ex-cowboy”, so i relocate to the bar to celebrate with a bevvie and figure out if my ears might still function at all. proceed to be entertained by the girl in front of me shaking her booty to post-rock in a wildly innovative and highly inappropriate manner. decide to stick around for further bevvies… (dr)
11:52 pm, wednesday, sept. 3. roseland:
mogwai close with the 18-minute long “like herod,” aka the song that starts off all gentle atmospherics and slow-motion guitars before suddenly erupting into the loudest three-guitar assault i’ve ever heard. about four minutes in, as it creeps to a halt, the crowd is “sssshhhhhing” everyone and one dude is literally shouting for people to shut up. i close my eyes and can almost feel my skin peeling off. (mm)
12:06 am, thursday, sept. 4. roseland:
fuck my ears. (mm)
hello folks, here’s a fresh new instalment of the utterly captivating story of living on the road with mogwai in the usa. don’t expect it to be the absolute truth but do expect some witty vignettes related to our musical and non-musical experiences in buses, hotels, venues and crack dens. here we go with the tour.
portland, oregon. day before the gig. we somehow manage to stay in a novelty/rude hotel called the jupiter hotel, which has barstaff that can only be described as the most discourteous and uncivil people that have ever had the pleasure of serving me 6 pints of beer. i amused fuck buttons (our support band for the tour) with my comment card left at reception describing how to improve the hotel experience. i remember commenting that pumping out 100db acid jazz through the hotel pa system at 8 o’clock in the morning was not a top-notch method of enticing guests back. i also was disappointed that the lollipop at the side of my bed turned out to be a rubber sheath for acts of extreme and brutal violence. later, we met up with some local friends and went to a great, great bar for a tumultuous and dangerous drinking spree which ended up with drunken burgers being rammed into mouths and the potential for significant vomiting the next morning. drunkly, we ploughed back to the hotel de dilettante for a last minute molesting by the egregious barstaff before a night of beautiful slumber began, interrupted only by snippets of ear-splitting jazz-funk throughout the early morning.
next morning. potential realised as almost everyone looked like they’d been chased relentlessly during the night by gary glitter down elm street. it was time for one of weird portland’s saving graces, the stumptown coffee house. this coffee is by far the best thing to come out of america since liquid cheese and has helped many people in portland to enjoy their retirement at the age of 24. it’s time to say hi to our excellent road-crew as they set up our gear for the first time in this country, hoping that one of them hasn’t forgotten the hammond organ which will be suspended from the lighting rig for barry to make his now trademark big entrance. we wait for many long hours until fuck buttons play with our very own john cummings doing their sound engineering duties, which means that soon this band will have halved their fan-base through profound deafness. and now, we take to the stage, dressed only in vermillion, panting, eager to please this crowd of ravenous, atavistic beasts with our powerful sonic booms. the kids go wild, rioting and looting the surrounding areas following the concert. what this means in portland is that 7 comic shops get burgled. one last thing, if our single “batcat” fails to reach the top 10 in the uk, we will proceed to
release one home address per week of a glasgow rangers football player. nacho was the warning shot, wait till we get round to your first team players. put a donk on it.
