On Monday I went to see Radiohead. I can’t write about music, I lack the talent in a big way and I’m also slightly terrified that if I discuss Radiohead on the Internet, Shaun Prescott with attack me like a clown while I sleep, so all I am going to say is that I did not use social media at all during the gig (if you know me, this is a huge indicator of the level of my enjoyment) and the stage and lighting design was without question the best I have ever seen. I should have prefaced this by saying that I am very old and don’t go out much and rather than seeing live music and studying the stage and lighting design, most nights I am to be found in bed, mouth-breathing while I “F5” my Twitter feed so I am by no means an expert.
I will say this: they closed with ‘Idioteque’ and when I realised, I screamed and grabbed the knee of the person to my right because ‘Idioteque’ is my favourite Radiohead song.
Since turning 30 a month or so ago, I have slowly started to crumble physically. My knee gave out and then when bending over in the shower (!!!) I put my back out. I am also halfway to deciding what to do with my hair, so it’s part purple, part green where the purple is fading and white, where all my white hair is coming through. In other words: I am stunning, all the boys love me.
I am going away on my first ever hens weekend this weekend, after which I am going to embark on a Very Serious Exercise Regime not for the usual reasons of increased health and weight loss, but because my February 2013 is looking like this:
13th: Swans – Manning Bar, Sydney
15th: Old Man Gloom – Billboard, Melbourne
16th & 17th: All Tomorrow’s Parties – Melbourne
26th: Puscifer – Enmore Theatre, Sydney
Unless I change something drastically, I will spend all of March crying and rubbing Deep Heat into my ailing limbs, thinking fondly of the days when I had enough endurance to stand in sweltering heat while a stranger urinated on the back of my legs, all for the pleasure of watching up close as PJ Harvey play a 45 minute set at the Big Day Out. Or the days when I almost got crushed watching Celebrity Skin era Hole and realised Courtney Love was no longer my idol as I sailed over the barrier and into the arms of a security guard as she exposed her breasts in some kind of self-proclaimed feminist protest against Korn. Or the days when I fainted the first time I saw ISIS and remained standing due to the crush of the crowd and the fact that my feet were glued to the beer-soaked carpet of the Annandale.
These things all took energy, energy I no longer have!
When I am jogging at the gym and eating black bean wraps for the 76th night in a row, I will motivate myself by remembering it will all be worth it when I’m packed in with a bunch of strangers, drinking warm beer in the evening while Michael Gira wails about what it’s like to be heaven’s darkest god.