Kicking Against the Canned and Pre-Ordained...

Jesus... What a crazy fucking evening we had at Warehouse 9 in København. Half the audience was pissed out of their minds, and the other half seemed to be whirling on a centrifugal contact high. Yet the mob was in the thrall of the best sort of madness, and their intoxication sent a resounding, soft Dali fuck-you to the soul of orthodoxy. (Anders, the affable and endlessly positive promoter, told me after our performance that the venue had sold 26 crates of beer over the course of the soiree. None left in the house whatsoever...) At least one quarter of the attendees were defiantly queer, and so involved with the performances we and Sudden Infant gave that they elevated the extant vibe through the rafters and into the clear, very chilly night sky. (That same vibe was last seen stumbling through the Tivoli gate with a dirty yellow boa and seven-inch stilettos...) The rapture seemed a little too easily achieved, however, and I wasn't entirely convinced that we had earned the howls of approval we were accorded. We performed with far more skill in Århus, and the spoils were thus far more sapid. Fuck, I shouldn't complain, really, but I am, and that's the perfectionist in me. Tonight we shall have to regain our focus...

More about this mad jolt of an evening later... Tons of pix to sort through as well.

TS