The Zombie Road House

Our band went 40 mins north-west last night. A road trip to the road house. Visions of the Patrick Swayze movie dancing in our heads. It wasn't exactly like that movie, but sort of like it.

The trip was a short tour of the slow death of suburban culture. No burning buildings, but lots and lots of empty strip malls: big, hulking empty spaces, cheesy theme restaurants, the consumer paradise crash-landing on hard times. This is the land of sprawl: lots of manicured lawns, lots a stream-lined corporate headquarters.

It's a car culture. No one gets anywhere unless they have wheels. It's a culture that celebrates easy money and cheap gas. That celebration seems to be fraying around the edges, or no, it's collapsing in slow motion, vanishing before our eyes. Lots of deadness. A true zombie culture. A dead way of life. These people just don't know it yet.

The r&r show itself was pretty disappointing. A huge place, a hollow palace dedicated to gambling, drinking and lousy food: cold beer and big heaping plates of fried shit. I mean it just looked like mountains of fried shit heaped up on a plate! And much of the audience was big; I mean enormously fat. Maybe it has something to do with all the artery-clogging empty calories?! Who would of thunk it?

We played a short set. We gave it a valiant effort. But the sound was terrible. Loads of first class equipment, big amps, expensive p.a., a supposedly experienced sound guy, but it was all for naught. The sound was cheap, thin, booming, muddy.

We got out of there intact, but sort of muddied by the whole thing; vowing not to go back.