tuesday: the dodos were playing; the evening happened. arty bar: pints. chairs in the carpark out back, fags, heavy dub on the jukey. the pizza shop above sends down anything you want for a fiver. chuck tells me about the mud at the festival. joey and dante show up. joey's bleached her hair again. she tells me about the men at the hospital who expose themselves despite being heavily medicated. they see things too she says and often attack her. car: drive up the road. joey drives like a maniac. dante says most folk don't like being in the car with her, i can't see why. gig: there's band on stage channelling ian curtis, but he has angelic blonde curls and a well pressed check shirt. wine: dante tells me about the oven he works with. it can get really hot, hot enough to melt metal. euros childs plays on the stage; the benevolent spirit of john peel circles the ceiling. i wonder if i can still spell gorky's zygotic mynci and try and recall the EP of theirs i own. john looks down on me and smiles. i'll never forget you, he says to me. chuck tells me that zurich has a lot of good bands. fags outside on the plastic chairs, one buckles as i sit down. i manage to stay upright; the smoking masses applaud. whiskey. the dodos take the stage and batter the shit out of it. one of them smashes a rubbish bin by way of percussion. when he's not doing this he sits down and has a beer. they play mad freakouts with beautiful melodies but it's almost acoustic. the crowd dig it. i dig it. i dig how heavy it is without any distortion, like dark matter adorned with twinkling constellations.
jodi by the dodos
