Bandwidth

Some people will tell you alcohol is no good.  They’ll say it’s bad for your health, it’s a waste of money, and nobody likes a drunk.  Those things may or may not be true, but I refuse to believe alcohol never does anything good.  Two nights ago I was standing at the bar in a way too crowded Spring And Airbrake waiting to see Hayseed Dixie.  I would have been waiting for quite some time, because I was in the wrong goddamn bar.  Turns out last minute they changed the venue to the Limelight, to accommodate The Maccabees, who had been shunted out of somewhere else.  I have a sneaking suspicion that had I been there to see The Maccabees, you would all be much more interested in reading this, but I have no idea who the fucking Maccabees are and I wanted to hear some bluegrass.  Anyway, how exactly did booze get me out of this predicament?  Well there I was at the (wrong) bar, mixing up a Jack and a Becks to form the most potent and delicious of boilermakers when some fella next to me exclaimed, ‘Jesus man what are you putting in your beer!?’
‘Whiskey,’ I told him.
‘Fuck,’ he said, ‘if you do that to all your beers you’re in for some night.  I suppose you don’t have work tomorrow?’
‘Actually I do,’ I said, ‘but fuck them – they can deal with me.’  Laughing, he asked me who I was there to see.  I told him I was there to see Hayseed Dixie, and he gave me a puzzled look.  I assume you can figure the rest of the story out for yourself.  And so you see – that goddamn boilermaker saved my night.  Who knows how long I would have stood in Spring and Air listening to some shitty indie music wondering when the hell Hayseed Dixie would go on?  Not only that, after I asked the barman if I was indeed at the wrong show, he told me yes I was, and that he would take me over to the Limelight to make sure I had no trouble getting in.  I told him that was cool, but I wanted to finish my drink.  So I hurried the bugger into me (a sure sign of the direction my night would take) and he took me over to the Limelight, whereupon he gave me another Becks and another Jack, completely gratis.  I fashioned my second boilermaker of the night, gave him an appreciative nod and made my way towards the stage, where the support band where finishing up.

Incidentally, this show was not an assignment for Bandwidth, but since I have been dubbed their ‘rock n roll correspondent’ I decided it would be wrong for me to miss it, and went on my own initiative.

[Editor’s Note: Ian dubbed himself our ‘rock n roll correspondent’.]

Hayseed Dixie formed, I believe, as a bluegrass/country tribute band to AC/DC, and grew from there to the band as they are now – playing a mixture of rock n roll cover songs and their own material.  Their sound is so alien to anything I’ve ever encountered that at first I found it hard to get my ears around it.  A few songs in though, and on to my third boilermaker, it would have been impossible to not be affected by the band’s energy and enthusiasm.  Standing four abreast across the stage (no drummer, ya see) like a police line-up in a chicken rustling case and playing everything from guitar and bass to banjo, mandolin and fiddle I guess this shit is either going to be right up your street, or right off your radar.  I love country music, and though I’m more inclined towards the outlaw stuff, any kind is cool with me – bluegrass included.  And as strange as it sounds, a bluegrass (or ‘rockgrass’) version of Ace Of Spades works.  Really.  And although it is cool to hear all the classic rock tracks they cover, I’d say I enjoyed their own stuff just as much.  On top of being balls out awesome musicians they also came across as seriously cool dudes, who were very surprised and gracious about the reception they have always received in Belfast.  When they finished their set a couple of the guys came down to sign stuff and have photos taken.  I decided to buy a CD and get it signed, and only realised then I was totally tapped, so I settled for shaking their hands and telling them the show was awesome.  I’m not sure if they were perplexed because I didn’t buy anything, or want a photo or a signature, or just amused by how hammered I was, but they didn’t seem to know what to make of me.  Then again, very few do.

I spent my last two quid on a beer in Katy’s and I guess I should be glad that my lack of funds broke the vicious cycle of boilermakers I had fallen in to.  Because I then marched off to a cash machine, lifted a twenty and went to Annie’s.  By this point I was functioning on instinct alone and I just sat very quietly at the end of the bar sipping a whiskey.  I don’t know how many boilermakers I had, but on top of all the straight whiskey I think even one more could have been disastrous.  I went to sleep that night and saw a strange light at the end of a tunnel, blinding at first.  When I managed to fully open my eyes I realised it was just sunlight coming through my window, threatening to set fire to my brain like the whiskey soaked rag that it was.  I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.

** Scene Missing **

Mere coffee and painkillers weren’t going to get me through work, so I broke out the big guns and had a smoothie.  It did the trick, but by the time I got home I just wanted bed.  So, just go to bed, right?  Wrong.  Not for a dedicated arts journalist like me.  My assignment: a performance of the play ‘Rhinoceros’ by the Queen’s drama department.  If you’re anything like Larry, you might be wondering what the fuck I’m doing going to see a play.
‘What the fuck are you doing going to see a play?’ asked Larry.  I don’t follow exactly what Larry is on at any given point – I merely distinguish between ‘up’ and ‘down’, and unlike our last outing, I’m not talking about his penis.  Anyway on Tuesday he was ‘up’, and he wanted to know why we were going to see a play, instead of partying.  I told him he was a filthy philistine and we were going to see a play because I damn well felt like seeing a play.  Except I didn’t.  I didn’t figure on having a wicked hangover, and all of a sudden the whole idea seemed like folly.  Larry told me he wasn’t going and I told him I didn’t give a shit.

[Editor’s Note: It was not Ian’s decision to see Rhinoceros.  Will was supposed to go, but couldn't due to unforeseen circumstances.  See postscript.]

When I got to QFT the first thing that struck me was how beautiful everyone was.  I mean that as literally as it sounds – I have never been surrounded by so many beautiful people in my life.  This was not as fortunate as it sounds, because I felt exactly how I looked – like an ugly refugee who, less than 24 hours earlier had been mixing whiskey and beer and singing along to a bluegrass version of Green Day’s ‘Holiday’.  An impostor with a hangover and no knowledge of theatre whatsoever.  A goddamn loser.  So I had a beer.  Fuck it.

When I was shown to my seat I had to walk along the front of the stage, in front of the audience.  It hit home just how ballsy those students must be to get up there, because for three seconds I felt as awkward and exposed as I’ve ever felt in my life, and I was just walking to my seat.  Anyone who says acting is easy can kiss my ass.  So when the lights went down, I was already in a position of awe, but still hung over and still not used to the format since I am, essentially, a film guy.  It only took about two minutes for me to forget all about that, though.  This play was absolutely fucking class.  The material is a classic, which helps, I guess, but the actors totally nailed it and judging by the audience reaction I wasn’t the only person who thought so.  It was genuinely funny, and not the kind of funny that makes you think ‘oh, that’s funny’ but the kind that makes you laugh from the gut before the thought that it’s funny can cross a synapse.  What, proper funny?  Yes Tommy, proper funny.  I would go into more detail about why the show was so good but I’m not a goddamn theatre critic and I’d probably just end up talking about the frequent cleavage shots I was treated to from my second row vantage.  And that would just be far too crass for a cultured theatre-goer like me.

Maybe the whole experience happened just the way it should have.  Hayseed Dixie came just long enough after the weekend that I was ready for more serious drinking, and I saw Rhinoceros with the subsequent hangover, which only further proved how fantastic it was, because when I go out in the pissing rain with a bitch of a hangover, and come home glad I did, whatever it was must have been pretty fucking good.

PS – You might have noticed this article doesn’t have an illustration.  It is actually Will who does my illustrations (yes, he has another fucking talent) but recently he has allowed his artistic vision to spiral out of control.  For this article he insisted he could get a photo of a real live rhinoceros wearing a trucker cap and a t-shirt with a confederate flag, and promptly took a plane to Africa. Tragically (but unsurprisingly) he was gored by one of the beasts and is not expected to recover.

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