No, I didn't put my clocks back either! But then, I went out and got drunk last night...at least I've made it up and out of bed this week. Just.
'Cos last night was the majority of Hallowe'en events around town, and there was stuff going on at The Crypt. But first: this year was noticeable for being the definite point at which the commercialisation of Hallowe'en in the UK took over the (heavily-distorted already) symbolism of the event. The weekend nearest October 31st has become Fancy Dress Weekend for the majority (at least in Hastings last night), with dozens of fairies, cowboys, super-heroes etc It wasn't even that the shops had run short of Hallowe'en costumes, accessories or make-up (they were stuffed to bursting point with displays, making up for the generally slacker-than-usual pre-Christmas period this year), and these costumes hadn't been even slightly varied to make them scary or sinister. So it's student rag-week stuff, essentially, now.
Still, Rufus and Jim, who were playing at Brass Monkey later in the evening, had made the effort and come out as zombies. Reuben had a Beethoven's corpse/Brian May's lovechild things going on (doing the best with what he had around). An initial pint at Tin Tins' (one of the quitest, but best, bars in town - really relaxed) with Michael and Caroline, Lisa and Marcus, was followed by a trip up to the Brass Monkey. Reuben had a bottle of fake blood, which he passed to me so I could do the Wayne Coyne just-been-shot-in-the-forehead look. It was effective enough to pass as a Hallowe'en outfit and get me in at a reduced rate (scarier than my all-black T-shirt, jeans and steel-toe capped boots anyway). We didn't stay remarkably long, and, with Jamie, then went back around to get down The Crypt, though the queue had appeared by this point, and most of the others headed to Smugglers instead. But 15 minutes wait got Reuben and I in, although just in time to miss Burn Burn Burn, which was a major pisser, alleviated by bumping into Ellen on a visit home from University (I'd hoped she'd be coming out, but had no idea if she even knew what was going on at The Crypt that night). We used to work with her: a really good person. But we couldn't really hear each other, so made-do with sign language before her lot went home. Regular John played to an audience of freaky clowns, and though there energy and intent was there, the sound seemed to be too low, or I was just losing my hearing that night after all. Good that both they and Burn Burn Burn were dressed-up too (so much so that I failed to recognise Del in his wig and doctor's coat whenever he passed by and waved).
Another group, called Ego, from Northern Ireland, also played later - a fairly ordinary indie-rock bunch, but they gave it their best. Headed off home eventually, getting accosted once-or-twice by people who though I had a genuine head-injury. Was together enough to step in the bath and get most of the blood off of me (Reuben, Jamie and I had got a bit splash-happy with the bottle, and it was all over my face and chest by the end of the night: fake-blood is sexy, goths got that bit right). Just some left around my mouth this morning, looks more like rouge, and with my pale hungover complexion I look like some Cabaret rent boy. Again.

A last-minute opportunity to go to The Nightmare Before Christmas over in Camber this December has left me over a hundred quid down on my wages this week, which is good except I've gotta limit quite which of the many gigs happening over this Hallowe'en weekend I actually go to. Passed-up on DM Bob & Country Jem at the Brass Monkey last night (though Carrie texted during the evening to say how much I'd be enjoying it) in favour of the cheaper, earlier option of Ojm and Gorilla at Smugglers; though we did also get to see a fragment of Enjambre Acustico Urukungolo playing in the foyer of St Mary-in-the-Castle as we passed by (a percussion-focussed international jazz/latin collaboration, featuring Trevor Watts, who we could see blowing away on his saxophone in the corner), which was a bonus. At Smugglers, a series of PA disasters meant a late start for Gorilla, and a lot of violent heckling from the rockers at the bar (they can't help how good-looking they are, but it fucks the old soaks off), which Gorilla took in their stride, funny kids. They only had time to play four long songs int the end, each one an overdriven filth-rock gem in the Sabbath/early (very early) Sub Pop style. Serious guitar soloing, posturing and posing, heavy heavy and humorous. Was watching with Matt and Bonj from the Regular John band, who were headbanging as hard as they could, bearing in mind they were sandwiched up against the jukebox. Ojm (Italian label/tourmates of Gorilla) headlined, and it took me a fair while to get what their intentions were, as every time I though I had them pegged as a straight tribute to some classic rock act, they'd veer off in another direction (they're Black Flag! Led Zeppelin! Sham 69! Thin Lizzy! erm..!) It was only after a cover of TV Eye, when the next song entered a Tom Verlaine-style extended angular solo and a micro-disco drum workout, that I realised that Ojm were intending on chucking every punk/rock element they fancied into a seriously overdriven energy-vortex. The singer was yelling away (in Italian, or very incoherent English) up on a chair with his shirt open, as the guitarist (with total white Hendrix 'fro and paisley shirt) pulled out every trick in the book; until the set degenerated over the course of about 10 minutes as each member gradually slipped away, guitar feeding back loops against the amps, leaving a drawn-out fuzz-heavy climax of subsonic Earth/Melvins destruction between the drums and bass. I had my doubts at first, but Ojm ended up being seriously impressive, and I'm very far from being Rock myself. They're down at the Dragon bar again on Monday night (though I'm forgoing that for Smugglers again), if you wanna try and work them out yourself.

Bit of a rough weekend, but I'm actually sober, so here we go.
Yesterday was the day of the much-anticipated Four Tet/Caribou/Russian Futurists gig at Harpers. Met Lee, over from Brighton, at the Pig at 7pm, and had a couple of pints. Rat (who used to play with Infect years ago, and is now in a new band who've not plyed live yet) was there; first time I'd seen him in ages, so that was good. Harpers were late opening, so I took Lee to the famous Smugglers for the first time. Some folk-duo were playing, and I tried to convince him of the fact that the pub is the crucial venue in town at the moment for local musicians. Several of the staff were off-duty and completely trolleyed already (Simon Bush, this means you), and Lee and I left when Kate started yelling at Ewen down one of the microphones.
Downstairs in Harpers then, and they've removed all the draft beer, forcing a switch to bottled stuff (not a good move in the long run, as I tend to avoid strong lagers 'cos they get me too pissed). Joined by Lucy's sister and her friend (Charlie and Lucy didn't come over for the gig, in fact hardly anyone we knew did), and then Dave Valentine. We sat and drank there, and missed The Russian Futurists upstairs, but made it up in time for Caribou, who were phenomenal. Realy good to see them in such a tiny space, though their inspired accompanying films started messing with my head after a while. Unfortunately, I lost track of what was going on by the time Four Tet began, and at some point I registered that I was going to pass out, so I just said goodbye to Dave, went home and crashed. Not a good move, as I'd said Lee could stay at mine, and I hadn't told him I'd gone (he was down the front with the two women, and I thought he would be able to make alternate plans). As it was, he got confused and pissed-off that I'd vanished, and went along to the house afterwards, but couldn't wake me by banging on the door as I was sparked out, so had the double hassle of paying for a taxi back tohis parents' place in Bexhill, and having to wake them in the middle of the night. First I knew of this was when I woke up this morning with several texts on my phone from various people, including Lee. Big apologies there, I seem to be very unreliable at the moment.
Anyway, I actually had My Worst Hangover Ever all day, which was a suprise seeing as I'm 32 now. But seriously, unable to face eating, drinking, moving or talking, and lots of throwing up on an empty stomach. It may have been down to the sausage and chips I'd had from the chip shop the afternoon before, or I may be losing all my alcohol tolerance, but it was horrid. I was feeling really sad about falling out with a mutual friend earlier in the year as well, and was in a really really sorry state. The only thing that stopped me doing something damaging to myself or my property was the knowledge that Everything Feels Worse When You're Hungover, and that I'd give it 'til the end of the day before I abandoned all hope. Had to ignore several texts and emails for stuff from the label (Axis Deer and Flying Marrows were both asking), and also had to pull out of going round Regular John's place to hear the new EP. But eventually, a pizza, some cups of tea and the new New Order dvd compilation pulled me through, and I was able to get down to The Street for the tail-end of Dean and Jim's set. They were supporting Ghostwriter again, who's a one man band from Austin, Texas, and is fantastic every time. Everyone was out for a change, particularly those on the Rumiko Jr axis, and I stuck to coca cola and had a good time of it. But I need to sleep, so I've left people there, and come back and written this. Enough already, bedtime.

Thursday evening - stayed in, and got into bed at 11pm to listen to Wrong Music mayhem on Rob Da Bank's Radio 1 programme: Hot Roddy, Ebola, Mully, The Gross Consumer, DJ Scotch Egg and Shitmat. Glad I did as well, genius funny. Reuben had texted to see if people were coming out: though I didn't, he did, and texted again later 'cos he'd come across Tom Chaplin (Keane) playing unannounced in a pub in town. Mentioned here only to show that it's not all private jets and supermodels for them yet.
Friday - First In Last Out with Carrie and Jamie. Beer was drunk.

Dean & Jim down The Street last night already. Much the same set as the night before, but a few more covers thrown in to fill out two sets (The White Stripes - We Are Going To Be Friends, The Band - Get Up Jake, Violent Femmes - Blister In The Sun, The Mountain Goats [via Number One Cup] - The Monkey Song, and a final, acapella 'cos Dean's hands were knackered from playing guitar, attempt at They Might Be Giants' Number Three). Lots of people out for a Wednesday (and some fightin going on outside thanks to a bunch of idiots from Yates'). Went along with Carrie, Reuben turned up and taped the set on his walkman, Wookie and Richard Hart arrived later. I wore my new coat (fishtail snorkel parka) with it's enormous jedi knight -style hood. Just a general, fun night. I was in a good mood 'cos I'd managed to get my head straight after 6 months of being messed-up (the clarity occured while I was having dinner round my mum's in the afternoon watching Neightbours, so you never can tell). No-one posted on the message board all day though: it was my day off, so I kept logging on to check, as there wasn't much else happening. Can't think of much else!

Went down Revolver last night to see Dean and Jim playing their first gig of the week. Passed that Italian busker outside the bar, gave him some small change as he was chatty and playing in the rain, but decided not to invite him along to the gig in case he's secretly deranged, or something.
Tim kept putting James Blunt on the cd player between sets, fuckin hell.
Dean and Jim on form again, and Dean debuted another new song, which was definately a good 'un, though I can't remember what it went like. I don't know if Reuben's housemate Nick had seen them play before, but he was really into it. Jim reminisced about Go Bear! Go! between sets. He wants to be in a fun band again: any takers? The lad's a guitar hero!
Kim was on the Leffe and playing up in a fairly amiable way, but he reached a point at which he knew he'd drunk too much, and headed home. People are apparently asking him why his url is on the Dizzy Tiger site, and aren't believing that he's doing music as well, so he's hoping we can get the complation out soon. It won't be for a while yet, though.
Matt from Regular John was out, celebrating the conclusion of recording their new ep (for Dizzy Tiger), though it's to be mixed by Colin Gibson still, and all the artwork and funding hasn't been put in place yet. It looks like there might be some work over the weekend to do on this one, plus he wanted me to interview them for the week-after-next's Hastings Observer piece, to go in with whatever John Hill's already writing I suppose - don't know if that's gonna work though, but will try. Helen Rider (who must surely have seen Regular John play several times by now) was asking him if he was in a band, 'cos he looked like he should be (Matt was rockin the Cambridge undergraduate look). He said he wasn't. Matt's best plan for Regular John at the moment has involved emailing (and getting a reply) from Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley, who runs Smells Like Records, with a view to sending stuff to him. Good plan. Much enthusiasm for the Regular John/Rumiko Jr split single to be recorded; they're planning out their version of Rome in their heads at the moment, but the words Lee Renaldo-esque were mentioned, and when Dean and Jim then played the song I could see what they're getting at. Matt also mentioned a number of more technical things about chords and timings, and I just nodded and smiled, as if I had any idea what he was referring too...Don't shatter the illusion - too late!
At one point I tried to move a jar with a candle in it across the table, but it was too hot to touch. I warned everyone else, so Reuben decided to find out for himself, and got burnt too, of course. Later in the evening I probably patronised him at great length with "first time living in a shared house" advice, but I was at the rambling stage of the evening by then. Mind you, Reuben had recently burnt their oven out, so maybe it helped.
Step, Jonathan and Jamie turned up late: too late for me to remember much about what was getting said, other than that everyone is looking forward to Dean and Jim's other gigs down The Street this week, and that Ghostwriter is awesome. Jamie mentioned Tom Waits in this context, so Step started telling me all about Tim Armstrong (Rancid, Epitaph Records etc), who wants to put some of Step's stuff out (I didn't ask if this was old or new material: but apparently he'd funded some of the Mescaleros stuff coming out a few years back, which makes sense). Go Step!
Also that evening: Sophie brought her old Sega Megadrive down for Dean: "The Ultimate Games System" said the box, surely they knew that wasn't going to be true, even when they printed the packaging? Sonic The Hedgehog wagged his finger sternly at us: "Don't be suckered by those lying Sega bastards" he seemed to be warning us.
Josie and Matt Jukes were there too, along with some more of Reuben's housemates, a few blokes in shirts and ties who'd wandered in, and one or two of Dean and Jim's other mates.
I was hoping a woman I'd met there a fortnight ago might be out too, but she wasn't.
That's your lot.

Later...