Tradition states this must be wrote, so I decided to have some fun with it!
Calla @ The Bowery Ballroom, New York City, NY, USA
15th Semptember 2006
Twas a cold and damp night in New York City. Our two Britsh heroes stomped the crosswalks looking for a good time, hailed a yellow cab and headed downtown. The streets were desolate and the sidewalk was at peace, the only sounds to hear were that of the immigrant taxi driver population slamming horns in their bid to fit into a gap, just half an inch wide. In actual fact this was to be probably the most bearable noise they would hear all night. After a few wrong turns and some dodgy navigating the two legal aliens found their way to one of NYC’s premier rock/indie venues, The Bowery Ballroom.
Upon entering the protagonist’s wondered where everybody was? were they all just being fashionably late? or did they know something our heroes didn’t? After ordering some beer flavoured tap water, upstairs they climbed to the topmost balcony to drink and be merry. Upon reading the name of the opening performers, Electropussy, there was an huge air of disapointment when 3 old and tattered floyd fans took to the mighty stage. Their name is about all the memories deemed worthy to remember. A table of empty liqour vessels encouraged the monster inside and the urge for rock and roll.
So the protaginist’s decended into the gathering ensemble. Afront of our warriors, weilding mighty axes was Lake Trout. Sadly no lady in this lake, or in fact no trout either. But they did make a racket similar to actual music with earshattering walls of sonic pleasure, made for the most content moment of the evening.
From here the night took a sinister twist, for the crowd were fixated upon enjoying our head honcho’s Calla. After ten minutes of attempting to sleep standing up, such was the quality of the noise, our protagonists retired to the bar to re-fuel. A few more bottles down they decide to make conversation with fellow fair maidens to mixed effects. “Shhh”, “Go Away…” and “I’m trying to listen…” were muttered as our sharp thinking champions donned Australian accents to avoid unneccesary trouble. Only for their ‘cunning plan’ to be rumbled by a higher intellect. A sober scouser with a deft ear for a british tone!
Still merry and cheery the band struck their final chords and everybody left wondering, can i have a refund? or how am I ever going to get back those 2 hours? Not to be disheartened our protagonist’s left with a smile and a slightly off balance walk, so not all was as bad as it seemed. “To the batcave robin!” were the last words slurred as they entered their carriage bound for 1st and 72nd.