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Red Hot, cool and fun.... a great choice of music Print E-mail
Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Sample ImageBoxing day and it’s time to get out of the house and down to the Wheatsheaf Hotel Thebarton for a spin with the Lonely Cosmonauts.  Led by the Award Winning Don Morrison and featuring some other guys, the Lonely Cosmonauts play great Australian…no…SOUTH Australian Roots music.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageFriday Night December 27 blues and swing dancers alert: the Red Hot Blues Band will be playing at the Semaphore Workers Club, the Esplanade, Semaphore. Red hot blues and cool sea/gulf breezes. And… truly Ice Cold Coopers Pale. The Semaphore Workers Club is the Home of Blues and Roots music in South Australia.

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageAlso on Friday night December 27, the Fun House of Blues launches at the Wheatsheaf Hotel Thebarton with Gail Page on the Tonsils. Fun House brings together the talents of some of the state’s finest musicians under the reign of Enrico “Mick” Morena. Master of the Sticks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageSunday December 29… nearly over for 2013 but there is still time to pull on your RM’s and kick up your heels to some foot-stompin’ country music (did you like that? I should write this shit for sony or Nashville, eh?) … when Amber Joy and the Holy Men present Boots…. Country Music from the Cradle to the Grave with all the bits in between especially the bits where you get your periods and your voice drops and your girl/boyfriend cheats on you and your favourite blue healer dies in a flaming car wreck and your best mate screws your missus and you find true love with a wrinkly who can’t find anyone else who will tolerate them. Experience life at its most poignant while dancing like there’s a cure for cancer at Boots, Railway Country Music Club at the SA Sea Squadron, Barcoo Road,  West Beach.  Matinee 1 – 5 pm;    Do this: call Trish Hamilton 0413 522 516 for info and bookings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Sample ImageA short story from Tsunami Steve of the Surfing With Scissors Combo:  "So, Christmas Day is Wednesday.....New Years Day is the following Wednesday...... I guess there won't be much on in between will there?  The hell there won't!!!  Tsunami Steve and Surfing With Scissors no less, will be at The Gaslight Bar, Chief Street, Brompton, Sunday, 29 January, to fill the entertainment void between these two apparently important events!!  Forecast is for 33 degrees and a possible storm.....better get in doors where you know there'll be a Tsunamim, and enjoy some reverb drenched surf tunes, sexy sax and summer songs from our poolside temptress!  The owner has assured me he will have the air-conditioning mended by then, so it will be comfort and fun all the way!!  2:30 till 6pm... a measly $5 to help the poor struggling musicians buy some sausages for their evening meal!!  We'll provide the fun, but we need your help!  See you there....."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Sample Image

 Poster says it all.....DANGERMAN at the Exeter on Rundle, Jan 2.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Screaming Believeres at the Gov

 

Sample ImageThe Gov on January 4, The Screaming Believers , Adelaide's great unheralded band of the 80s, present an increasingly rare performance for their loyal fans.

Sample Image Blurb (lifted):  Screaming Believers – In October 1981 The Shreds became The Screaming Believers and their original material started to take off. ‘Show me Your Money’, a 4 song EP recorded live at the Union Hotel sold out in 2 weeks, was No. 1 on 3D radio & University Radio 5UV & top 10 in Sydney & Melbourne alternate charts. By 1985 the Believers
were achieving international success with their album ‘Communist Mutants from Space’
which became top 10 on University/College Radio in USA & Europe.
They were accurately dubbed “the darlings of alternate music” in Adelaide in a book about South  Australian music. ‘The Bellies’ as they are affectionately known by their cultish fans, performed at The Gov for a reunion in 2010. 650 punters on the night can attest to how good that was. In response to continued requests for more performances they will play The Gov on Jan. 4th 2014 featuring the 1993 line-up.
The Screaming Believers will be supported by Vic Conrad & The First Third, and “1757”.   (opening 7:30 PM)

 

 

Sample ImageThe Gov: Friday January 10. Hi-de-ho and it’s ROOTS 6 AT THE GOV….. BACK AGAIN BY POPULAR DEMAND....

Featuring artists from the success of The 1st Deep South Festival in 2012 and "The Van Morrison Tribute Night"  in 2013: THE STREAMLINERS, PERSIA AND THE BLUES ROYALE & STEVE BROWN BAND.
Proposed Schedule: THE STREAMLINERS 8.30-9.30
PERSIA & BLUES ROYALE - 9.50-10.50
STEVE BROWN BAND - 11.10- 12.10

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageJanuary 12 (Sunday) Sweet Baby James and Rob Eyers at the Gilbert Street Hotel and then James and Rob join the Red Hot Blues Band along with the Shades of Blue and some other fukkers for a rock-out with their respective pizzles out at the Gov, (see next item)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageThe Gov:   Sunday January 12, truly a Rock and Roll dance marathon.

Sample Image Gail Page + Proton Pill, UK Blitz, Red Hot Blues Band & Shades of Blue on Sunday 12 January 2014 (opening 3:00 PM)

 

 

 

 

 

Sample ImageBig Smoke is playing at The Fed at Semaphore January 26th -7pm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The  adventures of the Hobbit and the Dwarf Touring Eleven

 

In the house of the wood-alcohol elves

 

Goodgrief, Master Wizard, keeper of the bong-lighter and founder of the  Magic Circle of Circular Rounds,  has undertaken to help the Dwarf Eleven touring team reclaim the ashes of their historic ancient shovel-shaft which was burned by the new owner - Smarmy the Squatter Worm - of their hallowed hollow in the ground, Iron Nub.

Needing a water boy and a scapegoat for any misadventures on the journey, the quick-thinking wizard recruited a useless and unsuspecting hobbit, Dildo Bagman, to fill out the numbers to a ‘lucky’ thirteen. Not much of a hand with the ball, Dildo could however, deliver a nasty underarm that rattled the ankle bones of many a surprised contender, and not much of a run-maker although he was never-the-less as hard to remove as a herpes sore, being able to absorb bouncers to the head with not much more than a blink, his daddy owned the bat and ball.

The journey had been filled with usual attacks by rabid spongerubber octpussies, vengeful Freddy Krugers, aggressive foxtel salesmen, lying Joe Hockups and conniving Personality Testers when, they stopped at the edge of the dark and brooding Tiger Woods.

The team shivered with fear at the sound of divots being ruthlessly hacked out of the ground, unseen inside the impenetrable forest, and the eerie sounds of ‘fore’ echoing through the ball-bruised boles of the brooding hanging trees and caddyshacks.

“Oh, my,” said Goodgrief as they approached the ticket booth for entry into the Tiger Woods, “I’ve suddenly remembered I left a cauldron simmering on the hearth at home. Must go. Have Fun,”  he said, adding: “But whatever you do, don’t drink anything that is offered to you by anyone in that there forest. Ok?”

“What do you mean: ‘anything that is offered to you by anyone’?” enquired Throstlebeard, the captain of the Dwarf Eleven and the number one fast bowler.

“Oh…nothing much. Just take my word for that it would be safer to gargle sewer water, that’s all; toodle-ooo.” And saying that he vanished like a week’s wages into a poker machine.

Three day later the grumpy party was sitting gloomily in the middle of a clump of sweaty underpants in the unbearably humid Tigerwoods, huddling around a dismal fire, drinking decaf coffee made from dank swamp water and toasting giant tarantulas which seemed to be plentiful at this point of their journey.

“What I wouldn’t give for a possum right now,” moaned Lardarse, the off-spinner.

“I thought this was a possum,” said Bifocal.

“Jeezeus fukn wept,” shouted Kikipoo, “… are you thick as well as blind. How many possums you know got eight drumsticks?”

“Call this a drumstick, said Glowin, whose family mined for uranium, “ ...now this,” he shouted, hoiking up the leg of his dungarees to expose a plump and faintly glowing pale thigh “... this is a drumstick!!!”

In the silence that followed this outburst the team plus Dildo, quickly became aware of the presence of a different species among them. Suddenly, appearing right in their midst, was a stringy, bearded unit, wearing patched denim overalls, a tattered hat and a filthy beard. When he grinned at the dwarves his mouth showed teeth that looked like the top two lines of a crossword puzzle.

“Howdy, folkses. Ah see Ya'll's enjoyin' the hairy cooter ya'll's bin an' poached frum my royal is-tate!”

“Be careful of whom you are accusing with what,” advised Dwayne, Rhodes Scholar and Old Etonian dwarf. “And who the fuk are you, anyway, you racoon molester?”

“Ah'm Cletus Kunkle, King of the Wood-alcohol elves and ah'd akses youse who you all is but it'ud take to long for ya'lls to answer so Ah jest akses yez all nicely to come along with me en' mah bruthers en' mah cuzzins up to yonder cabin and git stuck inter some woodsy hospitality to help wash down thet charcole-broiled hairy cooter.”

“Well I’ll be hogtied,” muttered Oik.

“You'll hev tuh wait yore turn, little Putty-butty,” said Cletus with a wide three-tooth grin. “But we’ll get to you, even-chew-ally!”

The meeting house of the wood alcohol elves was a chain wire fence away from being a refuse tip. Built on the side of a denuded slope it overlooked its own open sewer which boasted fetid banks piled high with excrement and kitchen refuse.

Settling in a rickety-old cane-weave rocking-chair, Cletus addressed the visitors. “Howdy ya-a-a-all en' welcome to the Big House of the Wood-Alcohol elves. We’s all was gittin’ a bit bored with our own company so we sez it’s nice o' youse to drop in. Now, why don’t we all sellerbrate with a little snort uv our special home-made tonsil vanish,” he said as he waggled a scrawny hand in the direction of a monstrous bubbling ‘licker’ still. “… and git all primed up for a little session uv rough handling... hyuk!”

“Hey guys,” said Baleful in a stage whisper…”Remember what Goodgief said... ‘don’t drink anything anyone offers us’…”

“En' you’d be right there, little fat mullygrubber,” laughed Cletus… “But we ain't gonna offer it to yez; We's gonna force it down your throats and then we's gonna…..”

“Oh no...!!!” shrieked BonBon. “Not That!!!   Noooooooo!!!”

“Oh ye-e-e-s, little butter-butts,” Cletus roared, his beard wagging ferociously as his Adam’s apple yo-yoed gleefully up and down. “We's gonna play banjo moosic at yer. Right At Yez.

“Arrrrrrrrgh!!!! Aieeeeee!!!!!” screamed the horrified Eleven plus One.

“Squeal like pigs, you little fatty fukbutts,  but yore in for a banjo jamboree!!!’

“And a good reaming out afterwards. HAAA haaa, heee, hyuk hyuk etc!”

“Oh God, no… No!” shouted Dildo, tearing out his Elton John hair transplant. “I’m not doin’ that sober;  let me at that moonshine still, the quicker the drunker the better!!!”

“No, Dildo!” said some of the dwarves with mock concern.

But it was too late, in thirty seconds and a bunch more minutes, Dildo chugalugged a gallon of moonshine rocket fuel before any of the dwarves could be bothered to try to stop him.

As they watched, Dildo turned completely white, his eyes bulged, his tummy trebled in size and exploded with a wet thump and a flame as long and as red as a dragon’s dick shot out of his arse while a waxball shot out of each earhole. In the next half-hour Dildo was the life of the party, dancing with his pants off,   kissing racoons, dry-humping tree stumps and eventually vomiting on Cletus sister, Clytorus, before running headlong into a tree and passing out.

When he was again aware of his senses, Dildo counted them and found them a little wanting; he could hear because his ears were ringing like a telephone orchestra, he could smell because he could smell that he'd shit his duds, badly; he could taste because he still had acrid bile in his mouth but his biggest concerns were that he couldn’t feel his tongue and he was blind.

He panicked.

And thus it was that he inadvertently saved the dwarf eleven from a fate worse than death.

In his blind panic he ran in confused circles and eventually burst into a clearing where the equally stonkered dwarves were tied over barrels, their dungarees around the their ankles, with eleven teams of drooling, priapic wood-alcohol elves eagerly stropping their truncheons into tumescence for an evening of dwarf-reaming when Dildo erupted into their party, screaming like a terrified banshee, flailing like a windmill with St Vitus’ dance, and scattered the startled throng. His long, clumsy, hairy feet accidentally kicked out the chocks under the barrel holding Throstlebeard. Throstlebeard's barrel rolled down the hill and set off a chain reaction by bashing into one dwarf-laden barrel after another, sending them all rolling down the hillside, bumping and bouncing the hapless shovel-jockeys, to splump oozily into the crapstrewn sewer.

Dildo followed the dwarf’s horrified screams and took a straight line to the sewer through the camp kitchen and slipped in a pile of hog-shit. His feet encased in the slimy muck, Dildo skidded like a mud-skier down the greasy path towards the sewer whence he joined the rest of the dwarves on their bobbling, gurgling, spluttering float to freedom, down the rotten River Turdwash to Shitsville, the capital of Dungland, perched on the poxy lip of Lake Poopond.

 

Next week: see how Dildo recovers his vision - thanks to his daddy’s private medical insurance extras cover - and manages to save the dwarves’ lives yet again by stealing ten gallons of amoxycillin and a wheelbarrow full of antiviral drugs to combat severe Dysentery and Hepatitis ravaging the soft little dirt-scuffers. Episode also includes news from abroad that Goodgrief had stunned a crowd at an eight-year-old birthday party by extracting a rabbit from his pointy hat and then pulling a hare out of his arse – an Ethiopian highland hare, otherwise known as Lepus starcki.    Goodgrief shocked both kiddies and parents when, after extracting the animal from his ring-piece, absent-mindedly asked the rhetorical question: “How the fuk did that get in there?”

 

 
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