So an intention was born, a plan of action formed and party partners secured. A double video launch for The Plastics and Taxi Violence at the new Zula Bar did nicely, very nicely indeed. I've never known to leave a Taxi Violence gig without bruises, and their set last Friday night greatly exceeded expectations.
At one point, amidst the moshy madness that every Taxi Violence gig descends into, I glanced down to my left hand - covered in blood it was, a trail of blood on the speakers, which I had been clutching in order to save myself from being crushed into the stage... "I don't think this is my blood." Showing it to my party partner in wonder we discovered that her hands were also covered in blood, her blood. Poor dear had scrunched her hand down on some broken glass on the stage and, caught up in the moment, hadn't even noticed. We attempted to wash it off with the leftover remains of vodka found in abandoned glasses before us and continued with the moshing.
Later, relocating to the edges of the pit to recoup, we witnessed a few failed stage dives and some truly amazing ones by the crazy munchkin of a man that is Papa Smurf as well as latest addition to the TV mascot army; "Big Head" (who joins Papa Smurf and that crazy axle grinding maniac Bingo) . Poor Big Head faired even worse than us in the heaving crowd and lost an eye in the process. Yeah it's all fun and games till you lose one, nothing some glue won't fix though I'm sure. Check all the crowd surfing drama below.
Breathing a slight sigh of relief when the gig was over, damage control began. I rescued my shattered broken Humpty Dumpty phone from the mosh pit floor, three pieces spread wide and far. Amazingly, it lit up and beeped a sign of live when put back together. One crisis dealt with, the next was a tequila disinfectant bath for my friend's damaged hand and a make-do, mummy-like bandage of toilet paper.
The events of the evening turn somewhat fuzzy from this point on, but a few snapshots of madness remain in recollection: The Thong Song being played upon the dance floor; apparently it's one of the all-time classic love songs - go figure; The diminutive Papa Smurf looking up at me, and directly into my eyes, while he sang along to "You're too good to be true, I can't take my eyes of you ... " Eek, slowly backing away; Some very minor kleptomania - sorry to the guy whose cigarettes we jacked from his back pocket (non-smokers that we are) ; A giggly mission to the Purple Turtle to find our designated driver; Squishing six ladies in various stages of drunkenness, and one sober lady, into one car and heading to the Shack for sustenance in the form of the best borewors rolls you're ever going to find at 4 in the am.
Head hitting pillow ...
Oh unholy little demon of debauchery, I hope you are sated and wait at least till my many bruises have faded before whispering sweet nothings in my ear again.
Photography by the talented Laura McCullagh, for more photographic magic check her FB page
