them to stop obscuring their view of Batman. It was 2am when Rocket From The Crypt finally graced the stage. Only a band who have spent 15 years rocking the fuck out of everything and everyone could transform this awkward environment into a fucking rad farewell show. Strapping the crowd in with “On A Rope” and “Born in '69”, they shook the uptight New York City hipsters until they were loose enough to dance and sing along. And laugh. And not take themselves so seriously. It was like Rocket were dishing out Electric Current Therapy to the crowd: reprogramming them to have some fun. Someone even offered to buy me a beer! And they were in control, alright. I've never seen Speedo interact in such an evangelical manner before; preaching better than those guys who sell God on TV, only Speedo was spreading the powers of rock 'n' roll. Sharing his faith that rock 'n' roll will continue even if Rocket From The Crypt will not. Any one of us can do it, Speedo told us so. “Ladies and gentlemen, you're just as capable of being as full of shit as any band!” RFTC and the entire crowd climaxed in unison with “Take That!” and “Everybody Smoke Pot”, but it was over far too soon - I guess because the whole evening had run late. The Hard Rock Café announced that the crowd could take home any Halloween decorations they wanted, so I scored a huge glow in the dark skeleton, almost as tall as me.
SAT 29th October 2005
I saw a real Coke truck today, doing its Coke delivery rounds. Drank some booze and walked around Manhattan drunk just laughing at the retards dressed up in Halloween costumes. Halloween is just a licence for every guy to dress like a girl, and every girl to dress like a prostitute. We should do it in Australia.
SUN 30th October 2005
Went to look at Ground Zero where the Twin Towers once were. It's just like a hole with a fence around it. Drank three beers at CBGBs, then I couldn't find a toilet for forty blocks. Felt like my bladder and kidneys were rupturing. When I finally had a piss I felt like I was on ecstasy. Drank more. Went to my 5am flight to San Diego so drunk I wasn't sure if they'd let me on. But they did, suckers.
MON 31st October 2005
(THE LAST ROCKET FROM THE CRYPT SHOW. EVER.) Thaddeus from The Heartaches picked me up from the airport and drove me to his house - known as the Stabbin' Cabin. I opened the door to find Mandy and Melanie: two girls with messed-up beehives, hungover and asleep on the couch. That's when it sunk in that I was in San Diego. “Why's it called the Stabbin' Cabin, Thaddeus?”. He said “Oh, I don't know. Coz it's a cabin, and it rhymes.” But Mandy told me later that it was named by an old housemate who would only fuck his girlfriend out in the back cabin so no one could hear. There'd been a huge party the night before down at Thaddeus' bar as Rocket From The Crypt fans from around the world arrived in San Diego for the official farewell. By all accounts it was a totally messy night and the bar sold out of absolutely everything. The girls put their beehives back up, and I gave them Beroccas (They don't have Berocca in the States). Then we drove around San Diego looking for Halloween costumes. Mine was simple - I dressed as a cat - but Thaddeus had to find four white hats for The Heartaches. They all dressed in white and painted X's over their eyes - so
they'd look like dead milkmen. But the X's looked fucked, so they scrubbed them off and went as living milkmen instead. The show was in a ballroom on the ground floor of a four star hotel, The Westin. Rocket From The Crypt had arranged a deal with the hotel where tickets were $30, but a ticket and a hotel room was $175. Any extra people in your room was $25. The tickets and hotel rooms were pre-released to the Swami Records email list and almost sold out immediately. So for one night only this extravagant hotel was completely taken over by one thousand rockers dressed in Halloween costumes. I've never seen anything like it. It was like some kind of global rock 'n' roll horror convention. Everyone put so much effort into their costumes. And everyone was so friendly. A guy dressed as a witchdoctor gave us some prescription pot. I asked “What makes it prescription?“ He said “The fact that I got a prescription from a doctor saying I smoke it for medicinal purposes.“ I said “Wow. I didn't know medicinal marijuana use was legal in the States!“ “No, only in California. So if I get caught by a federal cop I'm fucked.“ The witchdoctor's weed was very fucking strong, so we just kinda bugged out on the crowd for a while. There was a Bronx fan / jogger who'd been hit by a car, cowboys, Indians, skeletons, zombies, adult babies, way too many full-body animal suits for the hot Californian weather. All these people dressed up and dancing in front of the bands. Crazy awesome atmosphere.
The Heartaches' amps buzzed with natural distortion having been sent into overdrive from their speed-tweaked rock 'n' roll. They cranked out a 20-minute set of pure punk fucking rock, and I fucking loved it. They're all about the tunes, not the 'tude, though their singer had some great moves (and looked the best in white pants). The Bronx jogged onstage in matching tracksuits to Queen's “We Are The Champions”, then stripped down to full lycra wrestling suits (those things that are like bike pants and a leotard combined). Jorma was even drumming in a wrestling helmet. It was impressive, if totally fucking repulsive. There was nothing left to the imagination with the bulge in Matt's pants only a few feet from my face. Joby and James were rocking out, bending over, slamming their guitars into their amps, but all I could see was arse. At many times I nearly forfeited my front row position for the safety of the bar, but I hung in there, covering my eyes and watching through the cracks between my fingers, thinking “Must review show for Danger. Must review show for Danger. This new song is great, easily as intense as any track on their first album. Oh no, James is holding his bass up in the air and I just saw his dong through the lycra. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Rocket will be on soon.” It was The Bronx's first show in eight months. They played for almost half an hour and fucking nailed it. As Jorma trashed his kit and the four of them jogged back off stage I could only look forward to hearing their new album... And them all putting their clothes back on. And Rocket From The Crypt! I wanted to buy a “RIP RFTC” shirt but all night the queue was fifty people long. So I waited until just before Rocket were onstage to get my shirt. The merch guys swear they've never held so much money in their hands before. I ran into the packed ballroom just as Speedo and the gang walked on in their Voodoo Halloween costumes. I got myself down the front, but got sucked into the middle of the pit. The crowd was going so fucking nuts. During the second song an entire beer was thrown all over me - and that's not the one Speedo threw into the crowd. It took me a few songs to get to the safety of the front/side of the crowd. This was worlds apart from the New York show. RFTC, fuelling off the manic crowd, were super-charged - five hundred times more energetic than in New York. I was so thankful I could make it to both shows. They worked the crowd into an absolute frenzy. People were throwing shit around, parts of their costumes were breaking off and surfing over the crowd. I found a great cowboy hat, but mostly these miscellaneous objects ended up on the stage. Speedo was hit in the face with a toy gun, prompting him to try to settle everyone down. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the lost and found. Do not throw your cheesy motherfucking costumes up here!” San Diego's Santa Ana conditions (meaning that the sea is sucking hot wind out from the desert and dragging it over the city) combined with one thousand manic fans, overheating stage lights and a gutful of booze to create a dizzy and disorienting feeling. Was this dehydration or the realisation that this is the very last time Rocket From The Crypt will ever be on stage? They played for over two hours, seeming to touch on every RFTC song ever recorded. You name it, they played it. They did over an hour of encores, each time coming out in a new costume: matching white cowboy shirts with embroidered red roses; black and silver glitter shirts. All uniforms from past tours. And with each encore the crowd only got more and more crazed and emotional.
UNBELIEVABLY BAD
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