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the sailors cheerfully arrived at the HIGH FIVE in columbus OH only to have the club pull the plug on the show at TEN FUCKING THIRTY AT NIGHT because the club screwed the pooch on promo & no one was at the club. so the sailors scrambled to walk onto a show at the last minute while the bartendress, jamie, used her 'girl power' (her words not mine) to coerce some promoter at the bar next door to let them on the bill (jamie's quote 'i didn't think wearing my booby shirt would come in so handy tonight...' ). in the end aussie charm won over jamies tittie power (and trust me they were very powerful boobs) cuz the sailors taxed in large and jamie failed to produce anything besides open mouths and pitched tents. the sailors managed to schmooze their way onto a show at a seedy shithole punk bar at 1.50 am. they rocked the house (on borrowed equip) until 2.20 am. then they proceeded to secure $20 from the door on a bill they weren't invited to be on, sold $100 dollars in merch, got a free fucking case of beer from the bartender (in addition to the one jamie at the high five ponied up as severance pay). it was truely a night for the punk rock history books and i dear friend was there to watch it unfold and document it in excruciating detail for you.
Slide Mania review:
Click image to enlarge
Here's Two Bucks, Asshole...Bend Over!
The Ethos of The Sailors
Finally got my hands on some recordings by The Sailors, and they're...Well, I'll just have to write something about them soon. For now, here's a "review" I posted to a mailing list the day after their Chicago show this past Fall:
"The Sailors show was first-rate. The singer guy was wearing a fur vest over his bare chest and had that sleazy long-hair-shaved-on-the-sides look, like a Canadian tattoo parlor janitor or something. They played "I Want to Fuck Your Ass with the Fist of My Cock"* and a bunch of other rousing shanties, including a cool garagey version of the switched-on moog fave "Popcorn." Their guitar sounds were boss: a kind of low half-destroyed catalytic converter barf from one and a twangy single-note Red Krayola lead sound on the other. Great gtr interplay. The singer did a long speak/sing thing where he talked about going to the Sears Tower and fucking the coat check girl, and then he spun a fictional tale about scoring H in Melbourne but people didn't realize it was fake and the room got really attentive as folks craned in to try to pick up tips. Then the singer took out a divining stick, declared it a "Wet Pussy Detector," and weaved through the crowd, being comically dragged along by the vibrating twig, meticulously avoiding all the Strokes-looking hipsters and finally stopping at the biggest, stupidest, leather-jacketed Da Bears guy drinking at the bar, and said, "HERE'S THE WET PUSSY! THIS MAN'S ASSHOLE IS THE WET PUSSY!" The guy got pissed off and went up to the stage woofing and shit and I thought there were going to be some fisticuffs for a brief second. But I was still laughing my ass off. Bonus points for the lyrical nod to Jon Wayne's "Mr. Egyptian" (from "Texas Funeral"; awesome obscure '80s Texas punk)."
[* "I Punch You," Violent Masturbation Blues (Dropkick Records, Australia, 2001)]
Translated from French to English by www.google.com - See original here
It is because I had listened to some extracts of Meet The Bellrays in Fnac which I left my lethargic retirement to go to Marseilles to see them in concert. All the observers were unanimous: they are animals of scene. The inrocks even had been just split of a praise on two pages (it should be said that Bellrays are programmed with the festival of Inrocks) which I read only afterwards. In short, all the signals were with the green and it is the light heart which we left in forwarding to the Station to Crystal, small room full with the best memories in concert (I saw there the memorable concerts of Sleater-Kinney and Elliott Smith).
There was a first perfectly unknown part, The Sailors. Four types with the banal pace, of the holes full jeans, with Tee-shirts without form, which seized without complex the scene to level us of a furious and jouissif punk-rock'n'roll. No the bass player, two guitarists, a beater and an approximate organist who always seemed to engage Sister ray of Velvet (and which answers the soft name of Géronimo). One was entitled to discharges of guitar, ease, refrains worthy of Ramones ( Your cock, my Ass , Abattoir blues , I punch you... with the best of my cock or a trick like that). In short, these heteromosexuals Australian, as they indicate themselves, played us all the turns of the jouissif punk-rock'n'roll as if they were with each song the inventors. And I did not regret having come.
For more on this gig see above website...
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