My biggest issue with The Irishman wasn't that it was 73 hours long, it was that Pesci & De Niro roles felt reversed. In every other film, Pesci is up and coming younger buck, and De Niro is the older, matured fella that's got it figured out, but here, it was back to front. Dinner to breakfast as my mum would say. Had they been in their usual roles I might have had more truck with it. But alas, Vegas.
We flew in for a gig with Amy Gabba, ska band, nice girl. Not sure how we scored a set at Punk Rock Bowling, but we did, and we were schedule for 10pm on a Friday night, prime real estate. We stayed at the Nugget, and I quickly came to realize that the "lights, glamour & action" of Viva Las Vegas was a load bollocks. Anything off Fairmont St. was a total fucking dump. The homelessness & drug addicts were ripe & rampant. Now before all you bloody do-gooders out their get your backs up about that comment, you can shut up. I'd love to find a solution to tackle some of these issues & create housing for anyone that's unhoused or help more people with addiction issues. It's wild to me that we have these casinos brining in hundreds of millions a year and two streets over we have people living in tents. Don't get me wrong I'm not some naive cunt that says "tax the corporations", but surely theres a middle ground we can reach. Because I'll tell ya, whatever the solution is we currently have, ain't working.
After wading through one of the many tent cities we came across that weekend and making an emergency pit stop of some fresh ink, always a necessary item to cross off the to-do list, we came to our watering hole for the night. Hogs & Heifers. Dressed in our standard dive bar decor of bras, underwear, dollar bills, stickers & graffiti, Hogs is basically a Coyote Ugly rock bar in the middle of the dessert. The barmaids would line dance on the bar, pour the frostiest drinks and best of all, light your smokeo for ya. Service with a smile. Much like my adventures in Paris, I can tell you that the cigarette industry is thriving in Vegas, and so it should be. There are few pleasures in life greater than wielding a Les Paul and having a lit Marlboro Red on the go. Pure happiness. If you were to ask me for a "Rock n Roll Rule Book", this simple act would be pretty close to the top nestled somewhere between "don't be a cunt" and "don't touch the soundy's faders".
The gig went very well, great crowd, great sound, great stage and best of all, the line dancing as we played. I've played some good gigs in my day, and this remains in my top 5. This gig taught me a really important lesson in the world of music though, so for all you muso's out there, listen up:
1. The show must go on. 2: It doesn't matter. I rocked up, plugged into a borrowed amp and met half the band for the very first time. People in the crowd don't know the dynamics, and nor should they. Like you, they're simply there to have a good time, drink a few wet ones and see a show. So let go of your anxieties, count to 4 and play the damn set. It's easy. Literally nobody cares if you're note for note perfect. Don't get me wrong, learn your material and know what you're doing but if you can't make a guitar and amp sound good, you should go home and practice.
We partied pretty hard after, god knows what time we got back to the hotel but I'm pretty sure it wasn't much before the sun reared its ugly head and I'm almost certain I used a bath towel as a blanket that night. Outside of Hogs and a few other things we found along the way, I have to be honest and say I fucking hated Vegas. The panhandlers are out of control, its wildly expensive, and considering the prestige, glamour, and allure to it, it's a total fucking dump. Unless we get booked for another gig, I'm going to make it a mission to avoid this place for the rest of my damn life.
Hogs & Heifer 6/6.
Las Vegas 0/6.
Comments
Post a Comment