http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm Thu, 11 Aug 2011 21:39:16 GMT http://bandzoogle.com http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=1179970 How much time should be spent at a petrol station? Probably not more than 10 minutes if you're just refuelling. How about 5 hours? I write this from an overpriced cafe at a service centre. The cafe is overpriced because they deem their products, 'organic'. That's a license to be expensive. So I started counting bogans but lost count because there are so many that frequent petrol stations. The number of bogans is infinity, they are eternally free flowing. Then I tried counting non-bogans, hence ending up back at the 'organic' cafe. Nuts, berries and seeds, I feel like a hunter/gatherer. I wonder if my nomadic ancestors had to put a handful of nuts on Visa. Odd times. So, what goes on tour stays on tour. That effectively means us. We are stuck on tour, trying to get back to Brisbane from Sydney. Ah, yes, that old unleaded in the diesel tank trick. It's an easy mistake, though, particularly after reading the 'diesel only' sign on the petrol cap. Anything is possible when you're hungover, the world is your inconvenient oyster. We all learnt that hire car companies hire cars out, and that's about it. If a problem occurs during the hire period your call will be transferred to about 17 people at the company. They will all give you entirely different information then end the call with a nonchalant, 'can't help you'. It's in fine print on the contract. Quite frankly, it would have been more helpful phoning 1800-sex-bomb for roadside assistance. After Euan spent 2 hours on the phone an under-sized tow truck arrived. If only cars could talk. The 12 seater van was eventually towed away and the Rooftops were split up. I stayed at the service station. So, in entering my 5th hour here, I have so far made a small city out of coffee stirrers, I've sufficiently measured the speed of the McDonalds slippery dip, and I've even designed a new line of fashionable truckie wear. It features a wife-beater leotard which comes with a large piece of cheddar cheese to grate on your stubble. I'm still in the organic cafe. The toilets have a 'Baby Change' sign, but I have not seen people exchanging babies inside yet. Good idea, though. McCoy has spent $40 here so far. Scott just purchased a muffin with extra mould icing. Penicillin is organic, probably an extra 5'er though. I feel like I'm stuck in this horrible petrol station loop. Brisbane, where fore art thou? Last night we played at the Mac in Surry Hills, then spent the night in a hostel dorm with the one guy in Sydney who snored like a V8 engine giving birth to a litter of baby V8 engines. Oh my dog.... Sleep tight, everyone. Sleep uptight. The hostel was clean, but that's usually how people describe hostels. I mean, what else is there to say. It's just beds in a room, it should be clean. It would be odd if I complained about my lack of bar fridge, jacuzzi and chandeliers. Moreover, I tend to expect fluorescent lights, the token dorm snoring guy, and 2010's worst club hits being played in the foyer at a hostel. They also include numerous showings of your worst photo ID everytime you try to do anything, and that ridiculous deposit for a towel that looks like something Oliver Twist once used a s toilet paper. It's a few hours later. I currently write to you from Sydney domestic. I could have made it to Brisbane in a rickshaw by now. Darren and I are flying back to Brisbane. Virgin apologises for a 45 minute delay. Of course, today has been one gigantic delay. It's like someone pressed pause on us getting anywhere. I'm Michael J Fox in Doc Hollywood. 80s. We splurged on airport massage chairs. Oddly, it was like sitting on Darth Vader in the form of a horny caterpillar. Just what we needed. We were fortunate that Chelsea rescued us from Caltex Never Neverland and drove us back to Sydney for pre-flight ciders in Newtown. It was the obvious choice to make a toast to unleaded petrol. For dinner, I ordered a garden salad, but would have got more value for money if I rammed my face into a small shrub. That's actually on the menu now. The previous night I burnt my tongue on lava and coriander soup. And the night before that I dined on noodles in Oil of Olay. I must back track to this night. Before Sydney we played at Valla Beach. You know it's going to be a top night when you hear, "Blondie, you're up for the next round of pool". I don't wanna be Blondie. Sorry, Deborah Harry. Joe did mention to me later that that was better than some dude telling him he looked way older than everyone else in the band when he is actually the youngest. It's the moustache. There was also the woman who said, 'You don't know what sax playing does for menopausal women.' Again, it's the moustache. The dancing crowd was fronted by a guy called, Hoover, who actually did dance just like a vacuum cleaner. The first night of the tour was in Armidale. We made our way there through much bitumen turbulence and roadwork areas that resembled the end of the world. Ipswich motorway, what are you trying to be? It's a Jackson Pollock. The Armidale Club could have been a quiet gig but thanks to a trivia night and an open fire we had an enthusiastic audience. The night also involved trying to play Pac man with an unresponsive joystick and playing pool with an unresponsive cue tip. Many thanks go to Molly and Mike for putting us up, their glorious home cooked meals and electric blankets. Signing off from flight DJ999 dogs and petrol x
I write this from an overpriced cafe at a service centre. The cafe is overpriced because they deem their products, 'organic'. That's a license to be expensive. So I started counting bogans but lost count because there are so many that frequent petrol stations. The number of bogans is infinity, they are eternally free flowing. Then I tried counting non-bogans, hence ending up back at the 'organic' cafe. Nuts, berries and seeds, I feel like a hunter/gatherer. I wonder if my nomadic ancestors had to put a handful of nuts on Visa. Odd times.

So, what goes on tour stays on tour. That effectively means us. We are stuck on tour, trying to get back to Brisbane from Sydney. Ah, yes, that old unleaded in the diesel tank trick. It's an easy mistake, though, particularly after reading the 'diesel only' sign on the petrol cap. Anything is possible when you're hungover, the world is your inconvenient oyster.

We all learnt that hire car companies hire cars out, and that's about it. If a problem occurs during the hire period your call will be transferred to about 17 people at the company. They will all give you entirely different information then end the call with a nonchalant, 'can't help you'. It's in fine print on the contract. Quite frankly, it would have been more helpful phoning 1800-sex-bomb for roadside assistance. After Euan spent 2 hours on the phone an under-sized tow truck arrived. If only cars could talk. The 12 seater van was eventually towed away and the Rooftops were split up.

I stayed at the service station. So, in entering my 5th hour here, I have so far made a small city out of coffee stirrers, I've sufficiently measured the speed of the McDonalds slippery dip, and I've even designed a new line of fashionable truckie wear. It features a wife-beater leotard which comes with a large piece of cheddar cheese to grate on your stubble.

I'm still in the organic cafe. The toilets have a 'Baby Change' sign, but I have not seen people exchanging babies inside yet. Good idea, though. McCoy has spent $40 here so far. Scott just purchased a muffin with extra mould icing. Penicillin is organic, probably an extra 5'er though.
I feel like I'm stuck in this horrible petrol station loop. Brisbane, where fore art thou?

Last night we played at the Mac in Surry Hills, then spent the night in a hostel dorm with the one guy in Sydney who snored like a V8 engine giving birth to a litter of baby V8 engines. Oh my dog.... Sleep tight, everyone. Sleep uptight. The hostel was clean, but that's usually how people describe hostels. I mean, what else is there to say. It's just beds in a room, it should be clean. It would be odd if I complained about my lack of bar fridge, jacuzzi and chandeliers. Moreover, I tend to expect fluorescent lights, the token dorm snoring guy, and 2010's worst club hits being played in the foyer at a hostel. They also include numerous showings of your worst photo ID everytime you try to do anything, and that ridiculous deposit for a towel that looks like something Oliver Twist once used a s toilet paper.

It's a few hours later. I currently write to you from Sydney domestic. I could have made it to Brisbane in a rickshaw by now. Darren and I are flying back to Brisbane. Virgin apologises for a 45 minute delay. Of course, today has been one gigantic delay. It's like someone pressed pause on us getting anywhere. I'm Michael J Fox in Doc Hollywood. 80s. We splurged on airport massage chairs. Oddly, it was like sitting on Darth Vader in the form of a horny caterpillar. Just what we needed. We were fortunate that Chelsea rescued us from Caltex Never Neverland and drove us back to Sydney for pre-flight ciders in Newtown. It was the obvious choice to make a toast to unleaded petrol. For dinner, I ordered a garden salad, but would have got more value for money if I rammed my face into a small shrub. That's actually on the menu now. The previous night I burnt my tongue on lava and coriander soup. And the night before that I dined on noodles in Oil of Olay. I must back track to this night.

Before Sydney we played at Valla Beach. You know it's going to be a top night when you hear, "Blondie, you're up for the next round of pool". I don't wanna be Blondie. Sorry, Deborah Harry. Joe did mention to me later that that was better than some dude telling him he looked way older than everyone else in the band when he is actually the youngest. It's the moustache. There was also the woman who said, 'You don't know what sax playing does for menopausal women.' Again, it's the moustache.
The dancing crowd was fronted by a guy called, Hoover, who actually did dance just like a vacuum cleaner.

The first night of the tour was in Armidale. We made our way there through much bitumen turbulence and roadwork areas that resembled the end of the world. Ipswich motorway, what are you trying to be? It's a Jackson Pollock. The Armidale Club could have been a quiet gig but thanks to a trivia night and an open fire we had an enthusiastic audience. The night also involved trying to play Pac man with an unresponsive joystick and playing pool with an unresponsive cue tip.
Many thanks go to Molly and Mike for putting us up, their glorious home cooked meals and electric blankets.

Signing off from flight DJ999

dogs and petrol x]]> Thu, 11 Aug 2011 21:39:16 GMT D635AEBF81FC6948859FD05D31969C5F http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=1068321  Day 1 On the first flight I was separated from the rest of The Rooftops. I ended up sitting next to one of Fran Drescher's cousins, who opened with, 'You'll have to put up with my whinging, this is my very first flight'. Really? I thought those people only existed in 1990s TV shows. I couldn't work out if the print on her baggy tights was leopard or giraffe. Dear Supre, never sponsor me. Luckily her squeals were so high pitched that the frequency was unable to be heard by me. I looked outside the window and pretended I was a cloud. Unfortunately plane food is like cinema food. It's either overpriced malnutrition in a packet, or anything more substantial acts as a stomach tampon. I only had enough money for a cookie, gluten free at least, but with the shape and texture of an overused discus. Once we were in Sydney the price of everything increased by 20%. That's what happens, or maybe that's just airports in general. My 'burger rings' purchase lead me to think how lacking in burger they are, but more accurately taste like flavoursome battery acid. Customs confiscated my toothpaste but let me through with my razor. You be the judge. The flight to New Caledonia was on an older style plane, one that makes you think it would be ok to smoke on board. After brainstorming how little French I knew, I seemed to manage to communicate the word, 'wine' quite well. After arriving in a delightfully balmy Noumea airport it became clear after a while that our instruments did not fly with us. Wonderful, no tenor sax, no bari sax, no drums, no keyboard. Darren did have his trumpets though. We also had no details of where we were going, except that we were meeting a guy out the front whose name might be Fred. Fail. What to do but hit the bars. The local beer in New Caledonia is boldly called 'Number 1' but I had absolutely no idea what else I ordered off the French menu. When it came out Euan said, 'I hope you're a sausage girl'. Well, if I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me.... Unfortunately I needed francs. We ate chopped up sauteed meat from bowls with toothpicks. I felt as though we were dining like posh dogs. Meanwhile, I think you can call any tiny expensive dish, tapas. The bar tender pretended he inspired the film , 'Cocktail', which didn't bother me since he made rather generous drinks. Hello, G and T. I was preoccupied with the fish in the sea. Day 2 I awoke to a sparkling blue paradise outside my window, comparable to a Harpic toilet cleaner ad. The "buffet" breakfast turned out to be bread and jam. It was quite delightful though. I could have sung about it with the Von Trapp family. As much as I wanted to drink the coffee I couldn't bring myself to swallow what tasted like liquified hippopotamus breath. We eagerly awaited news on our 'lost in transition' instruments. Qantas and Virgin took turns blaming each other for our lack of musical equipment. Miraculously our instruments arrived in Noumea with McCoy. It was such a relief that I didn't have to play what could have been a toy casio keyboard. I'm not a hipster, people, what can I say. That night we played our first gig at Bodega, where we had been the night before. The bar was full and vibing, I had the strongest gin and tonic ever, and we all had our instruments. Win! Day 3 It was a slow start to an overcast day, particularly for the guys who stayed out till 6am and arrived home in a hotdog stand. I spent the morning reflecting on the jetty, only to realise that the sea was reflecting me back. So dreamy. After we ate lunch at a place modestly called, 'The Best Cafe', we wandered around town inspecting what Noumea's shopping district had to offer. Well, let's just say that I have developed a recent obsession with the bright floral muu muu. Life would be so brilliant if I had a wardrobe full of oversized flowing dresses to select from each day. And I would save on maternity wear. That one was for you, mum. I've been trying to convince The Rooftops to adopt the muu muu as a stage costume. Stick figures in tent dresses, all the way. Trying to find decent coffee became drinking more beer, well it did for Joe and me. This meant more 'Number 1'. That night we played at the Omao, an asian themed bar. Gin tonique was all I needed to know. McCoy ordered us a 4 cheeses pizza and miraculously no aortas were blocked through the night. The crowd enjoyed our set, as we warmed them up for the predictable DJ mash-ups to follow. Day 4 How many mouth injuries can you sustain from stale baguettes? It's not a riddle. My internal mouth rooftop feels as though I've been gnawing on shards of cement for the past decade. McCoy and Joe joined me on the jetty, where a group of Polynesian ladies fished persistently. A school of fish hovered below us. From a distance Euan said it looked like I was fishing with my mind. Mind fishing, I love that concept. It was a cruisy day, playing cards, killing time, deciding we couldn't afford to snorkel. Incidentally, our Hotel was not actually near anything, except the beautiful water. The hotel shop is all there was, a small corridor of frozen food boxes and snacks. It looked like someone who wanted to play, 'shops', had filled their walk-in-wardrobe with food. I bought some red wine to share. It surely had to be better than the balsamic vinegar, come Castrol GTX cheap red Joe had bought 2 days earlier. The rest of the dudes bought frozen pizzas before realising no one had ovens to cook them in. I can't believe Euan bought a 3 cheeses pizza after the night before. Still, his aorta shines. I decided to continue my sea appreciation at the rock pools. I'm sure there is more to a sea cucumber than what they give away in conversation. We did exchange numbers though. I wonder if we should also be facebook friends? Before we were due to play at the Cafe Malicon we dined at an Italian restaurant. Papa Joe and I decided it was a mojito kind of evening. Mistake. Worst mojitos ever, a concoction of mint, Easy-off-bam, and way too much sugar. I still drank it. On that occasion I think the wait staff should tip me, not the other way around. 'If I drink this cocktail I will charge 10%.' It was an ultra fun set, I think because the venue made me feel like I was a pharoah on the set of 'The Golden Girls'. When I left the gig I realised that my ears were alive with the sound of feedback. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Day 5 Another morning walk followed by a beer on my verandah with Joe and Scotty. We had an earlier gig at Les bout des monde. A smiling crowd surrounded a couple of gents gyrating awkwardly to our tunes. After the gig our new friends led us a to a karaoke bar. Things usually go down hill quickly when you end up at a karaoke bar, and tonight was no exception. I'm not sure what it was that made me want to try the bright green drink, perhaps just the fact that it existed. It was called 'Get 27', and I'm convinced brewed by Listerine. I may have been drunk, but at least my breath was minty fresh. After Euan sang 'I'm Yours', I couldn't differentiate between the green laser lights and my drink. Exit, stage left. I shared a cab with a dog, who was strangely comforting in a vehicle being driven by Miss Grand Prix 2011. Oh my dog! It was like trying to get home in an epileptic mosquito on wheels. If the dog had hands it would have held onto me for dear life. Instead his foot pads pressed against my legs with every jolt. After arriving at the hotel in one piece I hugged the dog goodbye and made the crucifix gesture on his chest. Dog bless you! Day 6 I would like to thank Maxylon for helping get through the day and back to Brisbanistan. Also, thank you to our new friends in New Caledonia, including our tour manager, Fred. That did end up being his name. dogs and petrol x
On the first flight I was separated from the rest of The Rooftops. I ended up sitting next to one of Fran Drescher's cousins, who opened with, 'You'll have to put up with my whinging, this is my very first flight'. Really? I thought those people only existed in 1990s TV shows. I couldn't work out if the print on her baggy tights was leopard or giraffe. Dear Supre, never sponsor me. Luckily her squeals were so high pitched that the frequency was unable to be heard by me. I looked outside the window and pretended I was a cloud. Unfortunately plane food is like cinema food. It's either overpriced malnutrition in a packet, or anything more substantial acts as a stomach tampon. I only had enough money for a cookie, gluten free at least, but with the shape and texture of an overused discus.
Once we were in Sydney the price of everything increased by 20%. That's what happens, or maybe that's just airports in general. My 'burger rings' purchase lead me to think how lacking in burger they are, but more accurately taste like flavoursome battery acid. Customs confiscated my toothpaste but let me through with my razor. You be the judge.
The flight to New Caledonia was on an older style plane, one that makes you think it would be ok to smoke on board. After brainstorming how little French I knew, I seemed to manage to communicate the word, 'wine' quite well.
After arriving in a delightfully balmy Noumea airport it became clear after a while that our instruments did not fly with us. Wonderful, no tenor sax, no bari sax, no drums, no keyboard. Darren did have his trumpets though. We also had no details of where we were going, except that we were meeting a guy out the front whose name might be Fred. Fail. What to do but hit the bars.
The local beer in New Caledonia is boldly called 'Number 1' but I had absolutely no idea what else I ordered off the French menu. When it came out Euan said, 'I hope you're a sausage girl'. Well, if I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me.... Unfortunately I needed francs. We ate chopped up sauteed meat from bowls with toothpicks. I felt as though we were dining like posh dogs. Meanwhile, I think you can call any tiny expensive dish, tapas.
The bar tender pretended he inspired the film , 'Cocktail', which didn't bother me since he made rather generous drinks. Hello, G and T. I was preoccupied with the fish in the sea.

Day 2

I awoke to a sparkling blue paradise outside my window, comparable to a Harpic toilet cleaner ad. The "buffet" breakfast turned out to be bread and jam. It was quite delightful though. I could have sung about it with the Von Trapp family. As much as I wanted to drink the coffee I couldn't bring myself to swallow what tasted like liquified hippopotamus breath.
We eagerly awaited news on our 'lost in transition' instruments. Qantas and Virgin took turns blaming each other for our lack of musical equipment. Miraculously our instruments arrived in Noumea with McCoy. It was such a relief that I didn't have to play what could have been a toy casio keyboard. I'm not a hipster, people, what can I say.
That night we played our first gig at Bodega, where we had been the night before. The bar was full and vibing, I had the strongest gin and tonic ever, and we all had our instruments. Win!

Day 3

It was a slow start to an overcast day, particularly for the guys who stayed out till 6am and arrived home in a hotdog stand. I spent the morning reflecting on the jetty, only to realise that the sea was reflecting me back. So dreamy.
After we ate lunch at a place modestly called, 'The Best Cafe', we wandered around town inspecting what Noumea's shopping district had to offer. Well, let's just say that I have developed a recent obsession with the bright floral muu muu. Life would be so brilliant if I had a wardrobe full of oversized flowing dresses to select from each day. And I would save on maternity wear. That one was for you, mum. I've been trying to convince The Rooftops to adopt the muu muu as a stage costume. Stick figures in tent dresses, all the way.
Trying to find decent coffee became drinking more beer, well it did for Joe and me. This meant more 'Number 1'.
That night we played at the Omao, an asian themed bar. Gin tonique was all I needed to know. McCoy ordered us a 4 cheeses pizza and miraculously no aortas were blocked through the night. The crowd enjoyed our set, as we warmed them up for the predictable DJ mash-ups to follow.

Day 4

How many mouth injuries can you sustain from stale baguettes? It's not a riddle. My internal mouth rooftop feels as though I've been gnawing on shards of cement for the past decade. McCoy and Joe joined me on the jetty, where a group of Polynesian ladies fished persistently. A school of fish hovered below us. From a distance Euan said it looked like I was fishing with my mind. Mind fishing, I love that concept.
It was a cruisy day, playing cards, killing time, deciding we couldn't afford to snorkel. Incidentally, our Hotel was not actually near anything, except the beautiful water. The hotel shop is all there was, a small corridor of frozen food boxes and snacks. It looked like someone who wanted to play, 'shops', had filled their walk-in-wardrobe with food. I bought some red wine to share. It surely had to be better than the balsamic vinegar, come Castrol GTX cheap red Joe had bought 2 days earlier. The rest of the dudes bought frozen pizzas before realising no one had ovens to cook them in. I can't believe Euan bought a 3 cheeses pizza after the night before. Still, his aorta shines.
I decided to continue my sea appreciation at the rock pools. I'm sure there is more to a sea cucumber than what they give away in conversation. We did exchange numbers though. I wonder if we should also be facebook friends?
Before we were due to play at the Cafe Malicon we dined at an Italian restaurant. Papa Joe and I decided it was a mojito kind of evening. Mistake. Worst mojitos ever, a concoction of mint, Easy-off-bam, and way too much sugar. I still drank it. On that occasion I think the wait staff should tip me, not the other way around. 'If I drink this cocktail I will charge 10%.'
It was an ultra fun set, I think because the venue made me feel like I was a pharoah on the set of 'The Golden Girls'. When I left the gig I realised that my ears were alive with the sound of feedback. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Day 5

Another morning walk followed by a beer on my verandah with Joe and Scotty. We had an earlier gig at Les bout des monde. A smiling crowd surrounded a couple of gents gyrating awkwardly to our tunes. After the gig our new friends led us a to a karaoke bar. Things usually go down hill quickly when you end up at a karaoke bar, and tonight was no exception. I'm not sure what it was that made me want to try the bright green drink, perhaps just the fact that it existed. It was called 'Get 27', and I'm convinced brewed by Listerine. I may have been drunk, but at least my breath was minty fresh. After Euan sang 'I'm Yours', I couldn't differentiate between the green laser lights and my drink. Exit, stage left.
I shared a cab with a dog, who was strangely comforting in a vehicle being driven by Miss Grand Prix 2011. Oh my dog! It was like trying to get home in an epileptic mosquito on wheels. If the dog had hands it would have held onto me for dear life. Instead his foot pads pressed against my legs with every jolt. After arriving at the hotel in one piece I hugged the dog goodbye and made the crucifix gesture on his chest. Dog bless you!

Day 6

I would like to thank Maxylon for helping get through the day and back to Brisbanistan.
Also, thank you to our new friends in New Caledonia, including our tour manager, Fred. That did end up being his name.

dogs and petrol x]]> Wed, 29 Jun 2011 23:27:56 GMT 6A85C8B88E7F289A8DED0977C7D5CCAB http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=889299 We all love that drive south from Brisbane down to the the coast; a sea of never ending road construction, speed cameras and Australiana mutant baby murals. Ugh, who was commissioned to paint on those road walls? Hideous.  The Rooftops were due to play at the Rails in Byron Bay this weekend. You know you have reached Byron when every vehicle but yours is a Wicked Camper van. We played 3 sets at the Rails. The first one was pretty chilled, although there was one older gent who broke into the opening sequence of Riverdance at the side of the stage. That was enjoyable for me. I think he peaked too early though.  For the last half of the gig the bar filled up with nuns, people dressed as dice, a dude in a monkey suit, and 'Bargearse', who shook his artificial flab with grace on the dance floor. I wasn't sure whether there had been a B-grade costume sale earlier in the day, or if this was some kind of annual get together for the characters who didn't make the cut for 'Alice in Wonderland'. After high fiving the monkey, I noticed the dice people rolling around on the floor. I suppose that's what dice do, really, isn't it. It seemed awfully awkward though. I think the overall success of an actual di lies in the fact that it does not have limbs. Before I knew it I was forced to wear one of the dice costumes with the rest of The Rooftops. Apparently it was a photo opportunity. I'm not sure who for. I was on an episode of 'Gumby'. You also know you're in Byron when you are offered a post gig joint from behind a Wicked Camper Van. This is why there are so many Wicked Camper Vans in Byron. After the Rails closed we wandered the street to find that many other places were also closed. Of course, you could still get kebabs and pizza. Why is it that these are the only late night options after drinking? Why can't I ever find broccoli on a stick or a cube of salad anywhere? Hold the gravy. That night we stayed at the Great Northern, which I can highly recommend if you want the experience of feeling like you're trying to sleep in a hospital bed in the middle of a rave. I slept from 7am-9am. Porridge for breakfast, it's always a good idea at the time but after the second mouthful, I am Oliver Twist. Well, it was cheap, but it also became cold quickly and formed an anzac cookie. Perhaps I should've ordered pizza or kebabs, and then started drinking again. Well, fun times in Byron, Rooftops. Sometimes when people abbreviate our name to The Roofies, I wonder if we really want to be known as a date rape drug. Ok, love you guys. dogs and petrol x
We played 3 sets at the Rails. The first one was pretty chilled, although there was one older gent who broke into the opening sequence of Riverdance at the side of the stage. That was enjoyable for me. I think he peaked too early though.  For the last half of the gig the bar filled up with nuns, people dressed as dice, a dude in a monkey suit, and 'Bargearse', who shook his artificial flab with grace on the dance floor. I wasn't sure whether there had been a B-grade costume sale earlier in the day, or if this was some kind of annual get together for the characters who didn't make the cut for 'Alice in Wonderland'. After high fiving the monkey, I noticed the dice people rolling around on the floor. I suppose that's what dice do, really, isn't it. It seemed awfully awkward though. I think the overall success of an actual di lies in the fact that it does not have limbs. Before I knew it I was forced to wear one of the dice costumes with the rest of The Rooftops. Apparently it was a photo opportunity. I'm not sure who for. I was on an episode of 'Gumby'.

You also know you're in Byron when you are offered a post gig joint from behind a Wicked Camper Van. This is why there are so many Wicked Camper Vans in Byron.
After the Rails closed we wandered the street to find that many other places were also closed. Of course, you could still get kebabs and pizza. Why is it that these are the only late night options after drinking? Why can't I ever find broccoli on a stick or a cube of salad anywhere? Hold the gravy.

That night we stayed at the Great Northern, which I can highly recommend if you want the experience of feeling like you're trying to sleep in a hospital bed in the middle of a rave. I slept from 7am-9am. Porridge for breakfast, it's always a good idea at the time but after the second mouthful, I am Oliver Twist. Well, it was cheap, but it also became cold quickly and formed an anzac cookie. Perhaps I should've ordered pizza or kebabs, and then started drinking again.

Well, fun times in Byron, Rooftops. Sometimes when people abbreviate our name to The Roofies, I wonder if we really want to be known as a date rape drug.
Ok, love you guys.

dogs and petrol x
]]> Fri, 08 Apr 2011 00:39:53 GMT A896896BF0BBDD38FA82C2C9C0124B83 http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=679069 Woodford Folk Festival 27/12/10 - 1/1/11 MUD, SWEAT AND BEERS   Day 1   This is a blog about a bog. I arrived at the festival site just after 8am, only to find that our campsite was a miniature lake with some woman's four wheel drive bogged in the middle of it. After looking around it dawned on me that putting up a tent at Woodford would have been no different to erecting an origami rice paper triangle with toothpicks. Really, I could have just waved a flag over my head and it wouldn't have been too unlike staying in a tent. Everything was so incredibly wet that I thought we were on the cusp of evolving back into amphibians. After moving my car to the least boggy spot I could find, I spent the rest of the morning in the Green Room. Of course this meant that I had to listen to 15 different gypsy bands rehearse 15 different gypsy songs simultaneously. Head hurting. We decided on cider at the Committee Room. Euan came in looking like the river otter that he is, after managing to set up his tent in among other friends. McCoy joined not long after, he looked as though he'd just returned from a fishing expedition on the high seas. Meanwhile, Chelsea was stoked to have a cigarette out the back with Bob Hawke. She later realised that her shorts were completely split at the back. Bob wouldn't have cared. Blanche may have. Our first show was at the Bazaar, beautifully timed during a torrential down pour which ensured we had a crowd. I felt as though I had just dragged my keyboards in off the Kokoda Trail. During the gig people actually sang along to our songs. Euan didn't even have cue cards for them. I left the Woodford soon after, of course not without being towed out of the least boggy bog in car park. Aaargh.... Day 2 Thank goodness for gum boots, the four wheel drive of shoes. I saw one lady wearing cardboard gaffa taped to to her feet. I don't think that trend will take off. There were so many tie-dyed clothes for sale. I think this was because the rain made all of the colours run. That makes sense. I spent some time at the Trailer Trash Stage, a stage surrounded by graffitied caravans. If you didn't have gum boots some type of levitating device would have come in handy. This place was a mush pit. I waded through inches of mud to get to the bar, which surprisingly had not slid down the hill into the stage below. I kept thinking that soon enough it would dry up and everything would be firmly cemented into the ground. Woodford would be one big fossil, due to be discovered centuries later by some archaeologist with no sense of fashion. They would find all sorts of odd things buried in the dried up mud. The security guard at the bar had an epileptic fit. I watched the fluorescent vested people come to the rescue, navigating an ambulance golf buggy through thick brown slush. I think he is ok now, as long as they had medical supplies on board and not golf clubs. The Rooftops played at the Joyluck Club at the same time as the festival headline, Arrested Development. Dang! Meanwhile, everyone too young to know who Arrested Development was came to our gig. Hello everyone born after the mid 90s! The Joyluck Club tried to be civilised with tables and chairs set up, but how civilised can you be in mud and manure. I can't help but wonder if there are pigs somewhere in the world complaining about lounging on finely woven carpet. Day 3 Not raining but still incredibly muddy. When the sun finally does come out here the evaporation is going to be so intense that people will probably be sucked into the sky. You could be talking to someone one minute then the next they are gone. Perhaps then when it does rain again it will be raining men, hallelujah. I checked out some of the day's entertainment, which incidentally includes festival-goers as well as performers. Everything and everyone is entertainment. They just don't know it. I wandered through fire breathers and bilby lanterns until I settled at the First Nations Stage, definitely one of the smellier stages. In front of me stood Snugglepot and Cuddlepie. All of my children's books were coming to life around me. I'm sure I passed the Hungry Caterpillar earlier in the evening. Woodford is where the wild things are. On this night The Rooftops played at the Grande. The back stage area looked as though someone had spilt 43 truckloads of chocolate Yo-go everywhere. Mud, glorious mud. Our enthusiastic crowd came up with a Rooftops dance move which involved making a triangle with your arms. Ok, I would like to change our name to 'Pelvic Thrusting'. I didn't see enough of that on the dance floor, or even some jazzercise moves would be nice. Mr Percival jumped on stage for one of our songs and brought the house down, including the Rooftop.   Day 5 I decided to skip day 4 because technically we didn't play. Our first gig of the day was at 2am. This time was too early rather than too late, although there were still a few frisky felines and young bucks swaying around the festival. Day 5 was new years eve, no rain. We played at the Bazaar at 11.30pm just after the 3 minutes of silence. That 3 minutes seemed to go forever. I thought my candle was going to burn down to my fingers and set my nails on fire. I suppose I would play piano faster then. Meanwhile, we had the best audience ever for this gig, even better than Oprah's audience. And we didn't have to give everyone a free car. Even though the newly developed Rooftops dance looks like humans impersonating Mr Squiggle's rocket, when there are hundreds of people doing it, it gives me an ecstatic shiver. It looked like some kind of crazy cult gathering, without the mass suicide. After the gig the rain poured, as did the alcohol. From there the evening was a blur of butterfly wings, glow sticks, emergency ponchos and funky sousaphone bass lines. Happy New Year...... Day 6 After 3 seconds of sleep on a yoga mattress as thin as sandpaper, I re-entered the festival grounds on new years day. The Chai Tent was full of horizontal bodies. What did they put in that chai? I'm pretty sure the bodies were alive, although the harpist on stage did give the tent a rather heavenly feel. People may have thought they had died and gone to the Chai Tent. The Rooftops' last gig of the Woodford Folk Festival was at the Trailer Trash Stage. For the last time we unloaded our gear from the trenches, more commonly known as 'Instrument Lock-up'. We waded through the mud to the backstage area. The gig was great and the crowd was loyal through the rain. The standout act at Woodford this year would have to be RACQ. Like mud through the hour glass, these were the days of our lives. dogs and petrol x 27/12/10 - 1/1/11
MUD, SWEAT AND BEERS
 
Day 1
 
This is a blog about a bog. I arrived at the festival site just after 8am, only to find that our campsite was a miniature lake with some woman's four wheel drive bogged in the middle of it. After looking around it dawned on me that putting up a tent at Woodford would have been no different to erecting an origami rice paper triangle with toothpicks. Really, I could have just waved a flag over my head and it wouldn't have been too unlike staying in a tent. Everything was so incredibly wet that I thought we were on the cusp of evolving back into amphibians.
After moving my car to the least boggy spot I could find, I spent the rest of the morning in the Green Room. Of course this meant that I had to listen to 15 different gypsy bands rehearse 15 different gypsy songs simultaneously. Head hurting. We decided on cider at the Committee Room. Euan came in looking like the river otter that he is, after managing to set up his tent in among other friends. McCoy joined not long after, he looked as though he'd just returned from a fishing expedition on the high seas. Meanwhile, Chelsea was stoked to have a cigarette out the back with Bob Hawke. She later realised that her shorts were completely split at the back. Bob wouldn't have cared. Blanche may have.
Our first show was at the Bazaar, beautifully timed during a torrential down pour which ensured we had a crowd. I felt as though I had just dragged my keyboards in off the Kokoda Trail. During the gig people actually sang along to our songs. Euan didn't even have cue cards for them. I left the Woodford soon after, of course not without being towed out of the least boggy bog in car park. Aaargh....

Day 2

Thank goodness for gum boots, the four wheel drive of shoes. I saw one lady wearing cardboard gaffa taped to to her feet. I don't think that trend will take off. There were so many tie-dyed clothes for sale. I think this was because the rain made all of the colours run. That makes sense.
I spent some time at the Trailer Trash Stage, a stage surrounded by graffitied caravans. If you didn't have gum boots some type of levitating device would have come in handy. This place was a mush pit. I waded through inches of mud to get to the bar, which surprisingly had not slid down the hill into the stage below. I kept thinking that soon enough it would dry up and everything would be firmly cemented into the ground. Woodford would be one big fossil, due to be discovered centuries later by some archaeologist with no sense of fashion. They would find all sorts of odd things buried in the dried up mud.
The security guard at the bar had an epileptic fit. I watched the fluorescent vested people come to the rescue, navigating an ambulance golf buggy through thick brown slush. I think he is ok now, as long as they had medical supplies on board and not golf clubs.
The Rooftops played at the Joyluck Club at the same time as the festival headline, Arrested Development. Dang! Meanwhile, everyone too young to know who Arrested Development was came to our gig. Hello everyone born after the mid 90s! The Joyluck Club tried to be civilised with tables and chairs set up, but how civilised can you be in mud and manure. I can't help but wonder if there are pigs somewhere in the world complaining about lounging on finely woven carpet.

Day 3

Not raining but still incredibly muddy. When the sun finally does come out here the evaporation is going to be so intense that people will probably be sucked into the sky. You could be talking to someone one minute then the next they are gone. Perhaps then when it does rain again it will be raining men, hallelujah.
I checked out some of the day's entertainment, which incidentally includes festival-goers as well as performers. Everything and everyone is entertainment. They just don't know it. I wandered through fire breathers and bilby lanterns until I settled at the First Nations Stage, definitely one of the smellier stages. In front of me stood Snugglepot and Cuddlepie. All of my children's books were coming to life around me. I'm sure I passed the Hungry Caterpillar earlier in the evening. Woodford is where the wild things are.
On this night The Rooftops played at the Grande. The back stage area looked as though someone had spilt 43 truckloads of chocolate Yo-go everywhere. Mud, glorious mud. Our enthusiastic crowd came up with a Rooftops dance move which involved making a triangle with your arms. Ok, I would like to change our name to 'Pelvic Thrusting'. I didn't see enough of that on the dance floor, or even some jazzercise moves would be nice. Mr Percival jumped on stage for one of our songs and brought the house down, including the Rooftop.
 
Day 5

I decided to skip day 4 because technically we didn't play. Our first gig of the day was at 2am. This time was too early rather than too late, although there were still a few frisky felines and young bucks swaying around the festival.
Day 5 was new years eve, no rain. We played at the Bazaar at 11.30pm just after the 3 minutes of silence. That 3 minutes seemed to go forever. I thought my candle was going to burn down to my fingers and set my nails on fire. I suppose I would play piano faster then. Meanwhile, we had the best audience ever for this gig, even better than Oprah's audience. And we didn't have to give everyone a free car. Even though the newly developed Rooftops dance looks like humans impersonating Mr Squiggle's rocket, when there are hundreds of people doing it, it gives me an ecstatic shiver. It looked like some kind of crazy cult gathering, without the mass suicide. After the gig the rain poured, as did the alcohol. From there the evening was a blur of butterfly wings, glow sticks, emergency ponchos and funky sousaphone bass lines. Happy New Year......

Day 6

After 3 seconds of sleep on a yoga mattress as thin as sandpaper, I re-entered the festival grounds on new years day. The Chai Tent was full of horizontal bodies. What did they put in that chai? I'm pretty sure the bodies were alive, although the harpist on stage did give the tent a rather heavenly feel. People may have thought they had died and gone to the Chai Tent.
The Rooftops' last gig of the Woodford Folk Festival was at the Trailer Trash Stage. For the last time we unloaded our gear from the trenches, more commonly known as 'Instrument Lock-up'. We waded through the mud to the backstage area. The gig was great and the crowd was loyal through the rain. The standout act at Woodford this year would have to be RACQ.

Like mud through the hour glass, these were the days of our lives.

dogs and petrol x]]> Wed, 05 Jan 2011 21:20:00 GMT E6BB0E30C0F45AB4A5F019D6DAC4D5EC http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=627132 Brisbane - Sunshine Coast 3/12/10 - 5/12/10 Day 15 The Rooftops commenced shooting a film clip for the 'Something So Familiar' single. I won't divulge too much information about the clip but I can say that it was filmed inside Julia Roberts' mouth. Actually it was shot around the Valley and New Farm. I can also say that my concept of 18 sumo wrestlers rolling down a hill for 3 and a half minutes did not eventuate for the clip. I may pitch that one to Madonna instead. My scene was shot at Gertie's, where you can get fabulous drinks and live music weekly. That wasn't a plug. Pepsi. Euan was shot singing the song twice as fast as what we play it. He did a great job doing double time whilst we all laughed it him from behind the set. It will be synced in normal time though. I don't think I'd be so great doing my keyboard parts twice as fast, well at least not the organ solo. Meanwhile, I made sure I did my best 'Bold and the Beautiful' face for my scene, as unnecessary as that may have been. In the final scene, we were meant to be hanging out together at a party in a fabulous apartment. It felt quite natural to be chatting to everyone with cameras all around us. It was kind of like 'Big Brother' but without the obnoxious stereotypes. Pink champagne with a flower bud in it is my new best friend. Gigantic loads of appreciation goes to Nat for organising the whole day. Day 16 Before heading up to Noosa we performed on the Queen St Mall main stage to promote the Woodford Folk Festival. The rain in Brisbane stays mainly on the stage. You know you are doing a Queen St Mall gig when packs of emos yell nothing loudly over your songs, in attempt to steer the attention onto themselves. Black mascara in the rain is not so cool. There are also many families with prams. I like to call them pramilies. Your entire audience are just passers by, all except for the smokers. Yes, the Queen St main stage is one giant community ashtray. Our onstage sound was rather awesome. I know this because my vocals actually sounded clear, and not like a muffled Sandra Sully singing the late night news behind Euan's vocals. After the gig we headed to the Noosa Marina. I successfully managed to steer Rafael and myself off a round-about and into a delightfully inviting marsh. I had created another exit. At least we didn't end up in quicksand. Quicksand used to be in heaps of movies, but you just don't see it now. More quicksand in romantic comedies would work for me. I opened my car door and The Rooftops album fell out into the muddy water. Dang, I hadn't even listened to yet. Meanwhile I apologised to a toad I narrowly missed and we waited to get towed out of the bog. A ridiculously giant mosquito attacked Rafael. We were in another land now. I started to feel like we were the guest stars on 'Lost'. Weird, why didn't Jack just call RACQ? He's probably not a member. A most friendly character by the name of Jarred was our knight in shining 4 Wheel Drive armour. I wondered if all he did was drive around the streets looking to help people in danger. After he towed us out a mechanic called Justin looked over the car and gave us the all clear to continue on to Noosa. He was also very lovely and should have his own claymation series. Every now and then Rooftops' parents appear at gigs. Tonight it was my mum's turn. Mum's love The Rooftops. Although, just watch your mums' around Darren. I can't believe he asked my mum for a massage. Dude! The gig was spectacular, as were the bands we played with, The Flumes and Direct Influence. We ended up back at Mikey's place with some red wine, warm Asahi and stale vita wheats. That is the perfect combo deal. Beat that, McDonalds. We reminisced about the tour over ping pong. Day 17 Well, the Peregian Originals gig was cancelled due to rain, so the night before was actually Rafael's last gig with us for awhile. He will be missed. Memories, like the corners of my mind. Misty water-coloured memories of the way we were. Sing it, Barbara! Or is it Brabra? dogs and petrol x 3/12/10 - 5/12/10


Day 15
The Rooftops commenced shooting a film clip for the 'Something So Familiar' single. I won't divulge too much information about the clip but I can say that it was filmed inside Julia Roberts' mouth. Actually it was shot around the Valley and New Farm. I can also say that my concept of 18 sumo wrestlers rolling down a hill for 3 and a half minutes did not eventuate for the clip. I may pitch that one to Madonna instead.
My scene was shot at Gertie's, where you can get fabulous drinks and live music weekly. That wasn't a plug. Pepsi. Euan was shot singing the song twice as fast as what we play it. He did a great job doing double time whilst we all laughed it him from behind the set. It will be synced in normal time though. I don't think I'd be so great doing my keyboard parts twice as fast, well at least not the organ solo. Meanwhile, I made sure I did my best 'Bold and the Beautiful' face for my scene, as unnecessary as that may have been.
In the final scene, we were meant to be hanging out together at a party in a fabulous apartment. It felt quite natural to be chatting to everyone with cameras all around us. It was kind of like 'Big Brother' but without the obnoxious stereotypes. Pink champagne with a flower bud in it is my new best friend. Gigantic loads of appreciation goes to Nat for organising the whole day.

Day 16
Before heading up to Noosa we performed on the Queen St Mall main stage to promote the Woodford Folk Festival. The rain in Brisbane stays mainly on the stage. You know you are doing a Queen St Mall gig when packs of emos yell nothing loudly over your songs, in attempt to steer the attention onto themselves. Black mascara in the rain is not so cool. There are also many families with prams. I like to call them pramilies. Your entire audience are just passers by, all except for the smokers. Yes, the Queen St main stage is one giant community ashtray. Our onstage sound was rather awesome. I know this because my vocals actually sounded clear, and not like a muffled Sandra Sully singing the late night news behind Euan's vocals.

After the gig we headed to the Noosa Marina. I successfully managed to steer Rafael and myself off a round-about and into a delightfully inviting marsh. I had created another exit. At least we didn't end up in quicksand. Quicksand used to be in heaps of movies, but you just don't see it now. More quicksand in romantic comedies would work for me. I opened my car door and The Rooftops album fell out into the muddy water. Dang, I hadn't even listened to yet. Meanwhile I apologised to a toad I narrowly missed and we waited to get towed out of the bog. A ridiculously giant mosquito attacked Rafael. We were in another land now. I started to feel like we were the guest stars on 'Lost'. Weird, why didn't Jack just call RACQ? He's probably not a member. A most friendly character by the name of Jarred was our knight in shining 4 Wheel Drive armour. I wondered if all he did was drive around the streets looking to help people in danger. After he towed us out a mechanic called Justin looked over the car and gave us the all clear to continue on to Noosa. He was also very lovely and should have his own claymation series.
Every now and then Rooftops' parents appear at gigs. Tonight it was my mum's turn. Mum's love The Rooftops. Although, just watch your mums' around Darren. I can't believe he asked my mum for a massage. Dude! The gig was spectacular, as were the bands we played with, The Flumes and Direct Influence. We ended up back at Mikey's place with some red wine, warm Asahi and stale vita wheats. That is the perfect combo deal. Beat that, McDonalds. We reminisced about the tour over ping pong.

Day 17
Well, the Peregian Originals gig was cancelled due to rain, so the night before was actually Rafael's last gig with us for awhile. He will be missed. Memories, like the corners of my mind. Misty water-coloured memories of the way we were. Sing it, Barbara! Or is it Brabra?

dogs and petrol x]]> Fri, 10 Dec 2010 00:00:00 GMT 127C3142868035003EC18D7256819F5D http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=594288 Gold Coast - Brisbane 19/11/10 - 20/11/10 Day 13 Well, I don't think I can call doing a gig two suburbs away from my house, a tour. That's sort of like calling my daily piano practice in the lounge room a concert series. Nevertheless, Brisbane and the Gold Coast were the next on the Rooftops' tour list. I was excited about not flying anywhere this weekend. If my arms were actually wings I may feel differently though. Euan, Scott, and I headed to the Gold Coast ABC studios to do a radio interview and performance. Who should we run into in the foyer but John Howard himself. Ah, it was only last weekend that we found ourselves impersonating him in Canberra. He high fived us on his way out to his getaway limousine. Actually, that didn't really happen. But, his left eyebrow did brush past me from a good 1.5 metres away. After setting up in our studio we were interviewed by Mary-Lou Stephens, based at the Sunshine Coast Studios. We played our single, 'Something so Familiar', then Sting's 'Englishman in New York'. Enjoyable times. That night we played at the Loft on the Gold Coast. Whilst Euan ate a bird nest sculpted from deep fried onion, I wrote out chords on a wristband for McCoy's substitute, Stu. I was told that our drink options were either beer or wine. That's normally fine, unless the wine is from Cat Urine Estate Wineries and the beer is a rejected German export from the 1880s. The Loft was quite a cool looking venue. I felt as though I was on the set of a tasteful 70s porn film, without the porn bit. We played after a band called Dog Tags. Unfortunately there were no dogs in the band. Before starting our set a man who looked like a baddy from MacGyver hovered around us. He thought it might be fun to play a few notes on my keyboard. Why do people do this? If I was an accountant I wouldn't have a drunk dickhead come in and add up numbers for me. Get away from my keyboard, shoo. This is the bit where I use my imaginary taser. Take that! Our set ended up being rather awesome, and we even bought in quite a few people off the street. They weren't even homeless. The Beards played after us, and rocked as usual. Day 14 Euan, Scott and I headed to 4zzz studios to plug our Brisbane single launch that evening. I really shouldn't have a mic. I mean, you start out just responding to a simple question and before you know it you're talking about taking over the world via sexual favours on the air. How does this happen? Euan has such a soothing voice for radio, it's probably best that he does all the talking from now on. That night we played at GPO, which Euan insisted stood for Great Performance Opportunity. And there I was all of these years thinking it was Global Positioning Onions. After sound check I was really hoping some people would come and fill up the room, as it sounded like we were playing in a giant toilet bowl. Before our set Scott and I stood at the bar for 6 months before we were served. During this time I watched the bar girl walk around in a circle, trying to find her bottle opener. It was like watching a cat chase its tail in slow motion. I ordered two drinks to save time on the next one, and of course she came back and gave them to someone else at the bar. Maybe the GPO should be BYO. We played after Anarchist Duck and The Beards, who were fabulous. Our set was delightfully lively. Thanks for coming along, Brisby. Stay tuned for Woodford and the album release. dogs and petrol x 19/11/10 - 20/11/10


Day 13
Well, I don't think I can call doing a gig two suburbs away from my house, a tour. That's sort of like calling my daily piano practice in the lounge room a concert series. Nevertheless, Brisbane and the Gold Coast were the next on the Rooftops' tour list. I was excited about not flying anywhere this weekend. If my arms were actually wings I may feel differently though.
Euan, Scott, and I headed to the Gold Coast ABC studios to do a radio interview and performance. Who should we run into in the foyer but John Howard himself. Ah, it was only last weekend that we found ourselves impersonating him in Canberra. He high fived us on his way out to his getaway limousine. Actually, that didn't really happen. But, his left eyebrow did brush past me from a good 1.5 metres away.
After setting up in our studio we were interviewed by Mary-Lou Stephens, based at the Sunshine Coast Studios. We played our single, 'Something so Familiar', then Sting's 'Englishman in New York'. Enjoyable times.
That night we played at the Loft on the Gold Coast. Whilst Euan ate a bird nest sculpted from deep fried onion, I wrote out chords on a wristband for McCoy's substitute, Stu. I was told that our drink options were either beer or wine. That's normally fine, unless the wine is from Cat Urine Estate Wineries and the beer is a rejected German export from the 1880s. The Loft was quite a cool looking venue. I felt as though I was on the set of a tasteful 70s porn film, without the porn bit. We played after a band called Dog Tags. Unfortunately there were no dogs in the band. Before starting our set a man who looked like a baddy from MacGyver hovered around us. He thought it might be fun to play a few notes on my keyboard. Why do people do this? If I was an accountant I wouldn't have a drunk dickhead come in and add up numbers for me. Get away from my keyboard, shoo. This is the bit where I use my imaginary taser. Take that!
Our set ended up being rather awesome, and we even bought in quite a few people off the street. They weren't even homeless. The Beards played after us, and rocked as usual.


Day 14
Euan, Scott and I headed to 4zzz studios to plug our Brisbane single launch that evening. I really shouldn't have a mic. I mean, you start out just responding to a simple question and before you know it you're talking about taking over the world via sexual favours on the air. How does this happen? Euan has such a soothing voice for radio, it's probably best that he does all the talking from now on.
That night we played at GPO, which Euan insisted stood for Great Performance Opportunity. And there I was all of these years thinking it was Global Positioning Onions. After sound check I was really hoping some people would come and fill up the room, as it sounded like we were playing in a giant toilet bowl. Before our set Scott and I stood at the bar for 6 months before we were served. During this time I watched the bar girl walk around in a circle, trying to find her bottle opener. It was like watching a cat chase its tail in slow motion. I ordered two drinks to save time on the next one, and of course she came back and gave them to someone else at the bar. Maybe the GPO should be BYO.
We played after Anarchist Duck and The Beards, who were fabulous. Our set was delightfully lively. Thanks for coming along, Brisby. Stay tuned for Woodford and the album release.


dogs and petrol x

]]> Wed, 24 Nov 2010 04:50:34 GMT 6CC323C6C7539BDEC6C56FF8EE0E5A73 http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=581712 Canberra – Sydney – Maitland 12/11/10 – 14/11/10 Day 9 We flew into Sydney, land of the tolls. I don’t think all of those tolls were there when the First Fleet arrived. Maybe there were just trolls under bridges back then. Although, thinking about it, the national anthem does say, ‘We’ve golden soil and wealth for tolls’.  Rafael navigated a 17 point turn out of a tight car park in another soccer mum van. This time we left the soccer mum at the airport as there was no room for her. It would have been great to have someone cheer at our gigs and bring us cut orange pieces during set breaks, though. Why didn’t we budget to take a soccer mum?  We didn’t get far before realizing the boot was open, so we decided to clog up Sydney Airport car park to fix the situation. We were hated, particularly by the car park attendant who took on the persona of dragon lady. McCoy responded with, ‘Sydney’s congested anyway.’ We headed to Canberra through endless traffic, and eventually stopped at a roadhouse. You are never going to find the food you want at a roadhouse, you find the food you are going to have to have. Touring is not for tummies. It was a tough call between the 3 day old sausage wrapped in leathery bacon or the mini pizza which looked like fake vomit found in a novelty showbag. Rafael’s spring roll was a deep fried exhaust pipe filled with paper mache. We didn’t belong here. We had to be at Canberra’s Front Gallery fairly swiftly so of course we accidentally drove to Parliament House. Darren entertained us with John Howard impersonations. Unbeknown to us, we were looking for an address that didn’t exist. Euan gave us some brilliant directions over the phone, ‘You’ll find it, it just pops up out of the blue.’ We really needed Chelsea, particularly since our map lead us to drive around a Canberra Hospital car park for 11 minutes. Thanks goodness this wasn’t our ‘Amazing Race’ audition. The Front Gallery was a great little space with a retro vibe, small dogs and a weird doll holding the mixing desk. Our support band was, ‘The Fun Machine’. They were unsurprisingly fun, and reminded me of ‘The Grates’. Our show was fun as well, and quite amazing, really. It was famazing.  We were told to try the place next door for breakfast because quote, ‘They have a great atmosphere, although the food is disgusting.’ What a great selling point. We crashed at Euan’s Dad’s place then ate a delightfully undisgusting breakfast. Day 10 We drove back to Sydney, only making one stop behind a giant statue ram testicle. Band photo! Actually, we’ve been pretty slack taking photos on the tour, yet another reason to have a soccer mum on the road.  Before our gig in Sydney we ate a quick Italian meal. The restaurant included a complimentary little girl who threw her balloon at McCoy every 3 minutes.  That night we played at the Mac in Surry Hills. There were many personal highlights at this gig; meeting the guys from the US Airforce Band, being proposed to, and being told the band sounded ‘black’. This, to me, is the highest compliment one could ever receive. And the other highlight was mistakenly receiving twice as many drink cards as we were meant to. Celebrate good times, come on. Of course, I paid for this the next day, and not on eftpos. Day 11 I woke up next to a tank of turtles. I quite enjoyed watching them, but whenever one made eye contact with me it was awkward, kind of like when you’re in your car at a red light and the person in the car next to you looks back at you. Sheesh. Turn green, turn green!  After a quick breakfast in Newtown we headed towards Maitland. G’day, Maitland.  Eating after drinking the night before is a precious thing. If only my eggs weren’t so eggy. We stopped at a music shop in Newcastle to pick up a drum kit for Scott. Go into any music shop and you will find the same 3 teenage boys playing bad guitar riffs loudly. It’s a universal law.   We played at the Grand Junction Hotel to a row of men with tightly folded arms resting on established beer guts. Tough crowd. (Most of the crowd were outside enjoying the incredibly warm evening).  When Euan mentioned the hot weather to the audience, old mate number 3 responded with, ‘Nothing hot ever came out of Brisbane’. We finally made it through the gig, and then they wanted an encore. How bizarre, Maitland. Unsurprisingly, we did not sell any organic cotton Rooftops t-shirts. I must tell Nat to get onto the wife-beater singlet range. I couldn’t help but wonder how different the toilets were in the venues we’d played at this weekend. There is such variation from pub to pub. They’re either falling apart with locks missing and rather vacuous pen scribbles on the insides, or cosmetic labyrinths with sensors everywhere. Sometimes I don’t know how to wash my hands. Where do I even put my hands? How do I dry them? Which one is the toilet? Day 12 We woke to the ongoing news of our venue change for the Brisbane single launch. The Rooftops will be at GPO this Saturday night.  I actually suggested we do the gig at Coles but no one went for it. So, GPO it is. Do come along, Brisbane. dogs and petrol x 12/11/10 – 14/11/10

Day 9
We flew into Sydney, land of the tolls. I don’t think all of those tolls were there when the First Fleet arrived. Maybe there were just trolls under bridges back then. Although, thinking about it, the national anthem does say, ‘We’ve golden soil and wealth for tolls’.  Rafael navigated a 17 point turn out of a tight car park in another soccer mum van. This time we left the soccer mum at the airport as there was no room for her. It would have been great to have someone cheer at our gigs and bring us cut orange pieces during set breaks, though. Why didn’t we budget to take a soccer mum?  We didn’t get far before realizing the boot was open, so we decided to clog up Sydney Airport car park to fix the situation. We were hated, particularly by the car park attendant who took on the persona of dragon lady. McCoy responded with, ‘Sydney’s congested anyway.’

We headed to Canberra through endless traffic, and eventually stopped at a roadhouse. You are never going to find the food you want at a roadhouse, you find the food you are going to have to have. Touring is not for tummies. It was a tough call between the 3 day old sausage wrapped in leathery bacon or the mini pizza which looked like fake vomit found in a novelty showbag. Rafael’s spring roll was a deep fried exhaust pipe filled with paper mache. We didn’t belong here.
We had to be at Canberra’s Front Gallery fairly swiftly so of course we accidentally drove to Parliament House. Darren entertained us with John Howard impersonations.
Unbeknown to us, we were looking for an address that didn’t exist. Euan gave us some brilliant directions over the phone, ‘You’ll find it, it just pops up out of the blue.’ We really needed Chelsea, particularly since our map lead us to drive around a Canberra Hospital car park for 11 minutes. Thanks goodness this wasn’t our ‘Amazing Race’ audition.

The Front Gallery was a great little space with a retro vibe, small dogs and a weird doll holding the mixing desk. Our support band was, ‘The Fun Machine’. They were unsurprisingly fun, and reminded me of ‘The Grates’. Our show was fun as well, and quite amazing, really. It was famazing.  We were told to try the place next door for breakfast because quote, ‘They have a great atmosphere, although the food is disgusting.’ What a great selling point. We crashed at Euan’s Dad’s place then ate a delightfully undisgusting breakfast.

Day 10
We drove back to Sydney, only making one stop behind a giant statue ram testicle. Band photo! Actually, we’ve been pretty slack taking photos on the tour, yet another reason to have a soccer mum on the road.  Before our gig in Sydney we ate a quick Italian meal. The restaurant included a complimentary little girl who threw her balloon at McCoy every 3 minutes.  That night we played at the Mac in Surry Hills. There were many personal highlights at this gig; meeting the guys from the US Airforce Band, being proposed to, and being told the band sounded ‘black’. This, to me, is the highest compliment one could ever receive. And the other highlight was mistakenly receiving twice as many drink cards as we were meant to. Celebrate good times, come on. Of course, I paid for this the next day, and not on eftpos.

Day 11
I woke up next to a tank of turtles. I quite enjoyed watching them, but whenever one made eye contact with me it was awkward, kind of like when you’re in your car at a red light and the person in the car next to you looks back at you. Sheesh. Turn green, turn green!  After a quick breakfast in Newtown we headed towards Maitland. G’day, Maitland.  Eating after drinking the night before is a precious thing. If only my eggs weren’t so eggy. We stopped at a music shop in Newcastle to pick up a drum kit for Scott. Go into any music shop and you will find the same 3 teenage boys playing bad guitar riffs loudly. It’s a universal law.  

We played at the Grand Junction Hotel to a row of men with tightly folded arms resting on established beer guts. Tough crowd. (Most of the crowd were outside enjoying the incredibly warm evening).  When Euan mentioned the hot weather to the audience, old mate number 3 responded with, ‘Nothing hot ever came out of Brisbane’. We finally made it through the gig, and then they wanted an encore. How bizarre, Maitland. Unsurprisingly, we did not sell any organic cotton Rooftops t-shirts. I must tell Nat to get onto the wife-beater singlet range.

I couldn’t help but wonder how different the toilets were in the venues we’d played at this weekend. There is such variation from pub to pub. They’re either falling apart with locks missing and rather vacuous pen scribbles on the insides, or cosmetic labyrinths with sensors everywhere. Sometimes I don’t know how to wash my hands. Where do I even put my hands? How do I dry them? Which one is the toilet?

Day 12
We woke to the ongoing news of our venue change for the Brisbane single launch. The Rooftops will be at GPO this Saturday night.  I actually suggested we do the gig at Coles but no one went for it. So, GPO it is. Do come along, Brisbane.

dogs and petrol x]]> Thu, 18 Nov 2010 06:10:00 GMT 8D4BEC75180223EBC50944AE5D1E05DE http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=573290 Adelaide - 5/11/10 - 7/11/10 Day 6 It was time to hit up the Adelaidies and gents. We were booked with Tiger again, the submarine with wings and left over food rations from the set of M.A.S.H. The vomit bags are the same bags kebabs are served in. Mmm. Well, it seems as though I have ruined any chances of Tiger sponsorship. Sorry, guys. I don't know why planes even bother to leave room for legs anymore. Surely, they'd make more money with more seats all crammed together. Legs can go in the overhead compartment, but there may be an excess charge. If you know The Rooftops, you will know that the legs are plentiful. There is definitely a greater leg to body ratio. We picked up a soccer mum van and headed to our hostel at Glenelg. The reception was a bar. All receptions should be bars, at doctor surgeries and everything. We checked into a large old room with beds, it was kind of like a friendly orphanage. The bed sheets were so papery that I didn't know whether to put them on my bed or wrap fish n chips up in them. Thankfully the pillow cases later came in handy for us to transport Rooftops merchandise around in. Who needs bags when you've got pillow cases. That night we played at the Queens Arms Hotel. our supports were The Bearded Gypsy Band; a very young non-bearded band, and Pimpin Horus; a big ball of purple fuzz funk. The crowd jived conservatively to us, only to be shown up by a 90 year old Czech manther in a white tailored suit. He definitely carved up the dance floor. Post gig, we wound up at the Belgian Beer Cafe for obnoxious 90s dance music. It was like being in a high school library with an over-excited DJ. We backed it up at the Crown and Anchor then headed back to the friendly orphanage for a big sleep before the next day of intensive pick-pocketing. Day 7 It was a beautiful day in Glenelg so we decided to have a band meeting beachside (?). I tend to remember it more as being held hostage by a flock of bitchy seagulls for 3 hours. If only I could get what I want by thrusting my beak in the air and raising my wings. Note to self, purchase beak and wings. We had afternoon beers at the Jetty Bar, the venue we were due to play at that night. At that time of the day it was a thriving TAB. Chelsea assured us that it did actually change into a music venue. What are the odds? We were supported by Gemini Downs. I'm not sure if feedback was actually part of their sound or not. I should have bought a CD to see if their recorded songs also contained feedback. What a unique idea. During our set the on stage sound was cranked. I was unfamiliar with the brand of speakers, which I pretended were giant cheese graters with sound coming out. I have never heard the Nord sound so terrible, but we totes rocked it anyway. There weren't enough mics to go around, which was fine with me because due to a recent chest infection I sound like Chewbacca on back up vocals. It was delightful to see people moshing and spilling beer all over themselves to the sound of The Rooftops. Day 8 After no sleep and the waft of fights outside our room that night, we headed back to the airport at 4.30am. I made the mistake of having a hash brown for breakfast. All morning, with regret, I kept singing, 'The final hash brown', to the tune of 'The final Count down'. Do do do dooo, do do do do doo. Stay classy, Adelaide.
Day 6
It was time to hit up the Adelaidies and gents. We were booked with Tiger again, the submarine with wings and left over food rations from the set of M.A.S.H. The vomit bags are the same bags kebabs are served in. Mmm. Well, it seems as though I have ruined any chances of Tiger sponsorship. Sorry, guys.
I don't know why planes even bother to leave room for legs anymore. Surely, they'd make more money with more seats all crammed together. Legs can go in the overhead compartment, but there may be an excess charge. If you know The Rooftops, you will know that the legs are plentiful. There is definitely a greater leg to body ratio.
We picked up a soccer mum van and headed to our hostel at Glenelg. The reception was a bar. All receptions should be bars, at doctor surgeries and everything. We checked into a large old room with beds, it was kind of like a friendly orphanage. The bed sheets were so papery that I didn't know whether to put them on my bed or wrap fish n chips up in them. Thankfully the pillow cases later came in handy for us to transport Rooftops merchandise around in. Who needs bags when you've got pillow cases.
That night we played at the Queens Arms Hotel. our supports were The Bearded Gypsy Band; a very young non-bearded band, and Pimpin Horus; a big ball of purple fuzz funk. The crowd jived conservatively to us, only to be shown up by a 90 year old Czech manther in a white tailored suit. He definitely carved up the dance floor. Post gig, we wound up at the Belgian Beer Cafe for obnoxious 90s dance music. It was like being in a high school library with an over-excited DJ. We backed it up at the Crown and Anchor then headed back to the friendly orphanage for a big sleep before the next day of intensive pick-pocketing.

Day 7
It was a beautiful day in Glenelg so we decided to have a band meeting beachside (?). I tend to remember it more as being held hostage by a flock of bitchy seagulls for 3 hours. If only I could get what I want by thrusting my beak in the air and raising my wings. Note to self, purchase beak and wings.
We had afternoon beers at the Jetty Bar, the venue we were due to play at that night. At that time of the day it was a thriving TAB. Chelsea assured us that it did actually change into a music venue. What are the odds?
We were supported by Gemini Downs. I'm not sure if feedback was actually part of their sound or not. I should have bought a CD to see if their recorded songs also contained feedback. What a unique idea. During our set the on stage sound was cranked. I was unfamiliar with the brand of speakers, which I pretended were giant cheese graters with sound coming out. I have never heard the Nord sound so terrible, but we totes rocked it anyway. There weren't enough mics to go around, which was fine with me because due to a recent chest infection I sound like Chewbacca on back up vocals. It was delightful to see people moshing and spilling beer all over themselves to the sound of The Rooftops.

Day 8
After no sleep and the waft of fights outside our room that night, we headed back to the airport at 4.30am. I made the mistake of having a hash brown for breakfast. All morning, with regret, I kept singing, 'The final hash brown', to the tune of 'The final Count down'. Do do do dooo, do do do do doo.
Stay classy, Adelaide.]]> Wed, 10 Nov 2010 03:40:00 GMT 80DDB1018B449BDCE7F04F8D14300882 http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=543857 Melbourne - 28/10/10 - 30/10/10 Day 4 The Rooftops boarded an evening flight to get their Melb on. It appears as though Tiger Airways does not depart or arrive at an actual airport terminal, but rather the airport car park. I'm surprised they supplied us with stairs leading up to the plane doors and not just a rope for us to climb aboard. No, they were great, the flight was fine. Although, the airline should be informed that any food that you 'just add boiling water' to is not called, 'gourmet'. Perhaps in prehistoric times noodles in a cup was gourmet, but now, not so much. No. Upon arrival I got stuck in a rotating gate with my coffin-like keyboard case. The guys rescued me. I can't believe one of our interview questions asked which one of us would win in a fight. We don't even have a winner in arguments. We are Switzerland.  We checked in to a Hostel, or should I say, a fluorescent rabbit warren with many odours. There is something very weird and cult-like about hostels.  They are so communal, with lame activities and rules. I'm convinced YHA is some kind of denomination. We headed to Lygon Street for beer, pizza and service without a smile. We toasted Scott's birthday and also welcomed Chelsea into the band as our official manager. I think she should wear a monicle. Day 2 Darren and I grabbed some late breakfast at a place that served the kind of food which only tastes good after 17 cheap beers. We decided to kill some time by looking at the Vic Markets. Actually, I think I'd like that time back. Markets sell everything you don't want or need. Stall after stall, I was reminded of this. No, I don't want a packet of 6 koala key rings, a t-shirt about farting, or a golden cat ornament with a tilting arm. Darren kept attracting a man with a head of hair growing on his shoulders so we left. That evening we headed to Yarra Junction to play at the Renaissance Festival. I didn't really know what to expect at this festival. In fact, that is exactly what I got; something I did not expect. It was as though we had found Victoria's very own Bermuda Triangle. Some of the people at the festival were more like human art installations and some of the children were like Hansel and Gretel ghosts. I didn't quite know where we were but I figured it was somewhere between being on the set of, 'Lord of the Rings' and in a dream Andy Warhol probably had. We actually were joined by Gandalf at one stage. He  specialised in spontaneous choirs. He laughed the melody of 'Advance Australia Fair' to us, then did other impressive vocal popping and whistling noises before he whisked off into the night. I was convinced that he lived in a large flower bud that only opened at night to let him out for throat singing and eating tofu. Later on in the evening I thought that I saw Falcore, the luck dragon from 'Never Ending Story', but it was really just a large golden retriever. We were wondering if we were still going to play after the first band managed to cut the power. They were followed up by a female vocalist/accordionist who was probably an extra in 'Beetlejuice'.  Hippies will dance to anything. I could have just turned on a blender. Dance! Euan describes it more as flailing than dancing. Whatever it is, they need space.  Cheech and Chong were doing our sound. They kept referring to the leads as spaghetti, then decided to repatch everything before our set. It was like watching stoned ants build a new nest before the rain. We jumped on stage with eager anticipation. Our set felt very special and we were received very well.  Day 5 It rained all day long, so we did the typical Melbourne thing and pushed a giant ball of red knitting wool around the city. Actually, we just drank awesome coffees. That night we played at the Brunswick Hotel. Darren insisted that we have Jager bombs before the set. It was a fine call, and I surprisingly did not feel like a college frat boy trying hard to fit in. It was fun. We played after 2 great bands, Soul Safari, and Deadly Are the Naked. Cheers to Adam for letting us use their back line and for using the word 'breastify' as a song lyric. Our set really felt like a winner. If it were a human I would've taken it to dinner. But it was 10 songs so that probably wouldn't work. See you spoon, Melbourne. dogs and petrol x Peta Melbourne - 28/10/10 - 30/10/10


Day 4
The Rooftops boarded an evening flight to get their Melb on. It appears as though Tiger Airways does not depart or arrive at an actual airport terminal, but rather the airport car park. I'm surprised they supplied us with stairs leading up to the plane doors and not just a rope for us to climb aboard. No, they were great, the flight was fine. Although, the airline should be informed that any food that you 'just add boiling water' to is not called, 'gourmet'. Perhaps in prehistoric times noodles in a cup was gourmet, but now, not so much. No.

Upon arrival I got stuck in a rotating gate with my coffin-like keyboard case. The guys rescued me. I can't believe one of our interview questions asked which one of us would win in a fight. We don't even have a winner in arguments. We are Switzerland.  We checked in to a Hostel, or should I say, a fluorescent rabbit warren with many odours. There is something very weird and cult-like about hostels.  They are so communal, with lame activities and rules. I'm convinced YHA is some kind of denomination.

We headed to Lygon Street for beer, pizza and service without a smile. We toasted Scott's birthday and also welcomed Chelsea into the band as our
official manager. I think she should wear a monicle.

Day 2
Darren and I grabbed some late breakfast at a place that served the kind of food which only tastes good after 17 cheap beers. We decided to kill some time by looking at the Vic Markets. Actually, I think I'd like that time back. Markets sell everything you don't want or need. Stall after stall, I was reminded of this. No, I don't want a packet of 6 koala key rings, a t-shirt about farting, or a golden cat ornament with a tilting arm. Darren kept attracting a man with a head of hair growing on his shoulders so we left.

That evening we headed to Yarra Junction to play at the Renaissance Festival. I didn't really know what to expect at this festival. In fact, that is exactly what I got; something I did not expect. It was as though we had found Victoria's very own Bermuda Triangle. Some of the people at the festival were more like human art installations and some of the children were like Hansel and Gretel ghosts. I didn't quite know where we were but I figured it was somewhere between being on the set of, 'Lord of the Rings' and in a dream Andy Warhol probably had. We actually were joined by Gandalf at one stage. He  specialised in spontaneous choirs. He laughed the melody of 'Advance Australia Fair' to us, then did other impressive vocal popping and whistling noises before he whisked off into the night. I was convinced that he lived in a large flower bud that only opened at night to let him out for throat singing and eating tofu. Later on in the evening I thought that I saw Falcore, the luck dragon from 'Never Ending Story', but it was really just a large golden retriever.

We were wondering if we were still going to play after the first band managed to cut the power. They were followed up by a female vocalist/accordionist who was probably an extra in 'Beetlejuice'.  Hippies will dance to anything. I could have just turned on a blender. Dance! Euan describes it more as flailing than dancing. Whatever it is, they need space.  Cheech and Chong were doing our sound. They kept referring to the leads as spaghetti, then decided to repatch everything before our set. It was like watching stoned ants build a new nest before the rain. We jumped on stage with eager anticipation. Our set felt very special and we were received very well. 

Day 5
It rained all day long, so we did the typical Melbourne thing and pushed a giant ball of red knitting wool around the city. Actually, we just drank awesome coffees.
That night we played at the Brunswick Hotel. Darren insisted that we have Jager bombs before the set. It was a fine call, and I surprisingly did not
feel like a college frat boy trying hard to fit in. It was fun. We played after 2 great bands, Soul Safari, and Deadly Are the Naked. Cheers to Adam for letting us
use their back line and for using the word 'breastify' as a song lyric. Our set really felt like a winner. If it were a human I would've taken it to dinner. But it was
10 songs so that probably wouldn't work.

See you spoon, Melbourne.

dogs and petrol x

Peta

]]> Mon, 01 Nov 2010 08:35:00 GMT 61B443C4B75B402B35D66BEC72B17B91 http://totherooftops.com/blog.cfm?feature=1827835&postid=529632 Toowoomba and Armidale, 22/10/10 - 24/10/10 Day 1 We headed up to Toowoomba in a 12 seater van. Destination: The Spotted Cow, a pub and not an actual cow. I'm not sure that many people would come to our gigs if we played inside cows.  Anyway, this was a pub with a greater selection of beer than what I imagined, some nice imports and even cider on tap. For the times, they are a-changin. Meanwhile, the band rider is of course, Carlton Draught. That's because musicians apparently don't have any taste buds. The Rooftops isn't really a Carlton Draught type of band. There was perhaps more swilling than drinking, particularly with the waft of hoegaarden so close. Nevertheless, one does not argue with free beer. In fact, one would look quite ridiculous to argue with free beer. We were also given loads of free pizza, which we also did not argue with.  The Rooftops had 2 support bands, both did not have bass players, so I just pretended I was listening to them on really average headphones. McCoy offered his bass skills but was denied, in the nicest possible way. Our set was fun times. It was extra radical to have people there who knew us from Woodford and the Bowery.  We have t-shirts to sell now, too, not just CDs. I couldn't model one because a girls' small is too big for me. Not sure how that works but I will have to wait for the next shipment of extra smalls and barbie doll sizes.  When Euan announced that we had t-shirts for sale some dude in the crowd yelled, 'F@$# that, I've already spent my dole money'.  He did buy a single though. Meanwhile, Rafael was kindly informed that a saxophone should be called a moistophone. Wow, what are these people in Toowoomba into? Day 2 Cookie whipped us up a breakfast at Bon Amicis. The toilet keys were rubber fish carcasses. We accidentally left two bottles of water and some chocolate back at the motel room. For some reason it was important for us to retrieve them, particularly McCoy.  Anyway, the staff had already thrown them away, "apparently". I'm pretty sure they were planning on having a crazy water and chocolate party though.  I decided to do the first leg of the drive to Amridale. It felt like I was driving a boat over bitumen waves. At last, I was captain, but not in a Casey Chambers song. I wouldn't want that. There were lots of road signs with kangaroos on them. there were no road signs with moths or butterflies, or any other insects. We hit a lot of those. The front of the van was one big bug crime scene.  We almost ran over a turtle as well. There were not turtle road signs either.  Euan grew up in Armidale so we stayed with some of his family friends. They spoilt us with champagne on arrival. They didn't tip it over us, as they do do after the car racing. We just drank it.  We were booked at the Armidale Club. The support band was an acoustic duo who played swing covers of Metallica and Rage Against the Machine. Our set went really well. Some dude raided the club house awards cabinet and he kept presenting us with girls' hockey trophies from 1984. Day 3 I noticed that the tour van was now full of trophies, medallions, and swimming ribbons. We had not won any of these.  Meanwhile, our tour manager, Chelsea, had an accident with her roll-on deodorant, which mostly ended up on McCoy's jeans. I secretly think McCoy was just very excited, and couldn't contain himself. So, there we were, all seedy on the way home in a tour van full of stolen awards from the 1980s and deodorant giz. We stopped at a place in Deepwater which had a sign out the front,  "Best Kebabs in Town". I'm sure they were the only kebabs in town and also for a good 157km radius. I can also highly un-recommend the kebabs, particularly due to the mould manifesting on the pita bread. Anyway, that must just be how they do it in Deepwater. I should have bought a side of Exit Mould, but then it occurred to me that that would be worse to eat than the actual mould.  What a conundrum. There was an odd woman drinking a chocolate milkshake in this place and it looked as the she was an extra in a film.  Either that or Avis Rental had sent her to spy on us.  We eventually made it back to Brisbane in one piece. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for a few bugs and a not-so-swift lizard.  Sorry to all. Thus ends the first leg of The Rooftops tour. dogs and petrol, Peta Toowoomba and Armidale, 22/10/10 - 24/10/10

Day 1
We headed up to Toowoomba in a 12 seater van. Destination: The Spotted Cow, a pub and not an actual cow. I'm not sure that many people would come to our gigs if we played inside cows.  Anyway, this was a pub with a greater selection of beer than what I imagined, some nice imports and even cider on tap. For the times, they are a-changin. Meanwhile, the band rider is of course, Carlton Draught. That's because musicians apparently don't have any taste buds. The Rooftops isn't really a Carlton Draught type of band. There was perhaps more swilling than drinking, particularly with the waft of hoegaarden so close. Nevertheless, one does not argue with free beer. In fact, one would look quite ridiculous to argue with free beer. We were also given loads of free pizza, which we also did not argue with.  The Rooftops had 2 support bands, both did not have bass players, so I just pretended I was listening to them on really average headphones. McCoy offered his bass skills but was denied, in the nicest possible way.

Our set was fun times. It was extra radical to have people there who knew us from Woodford and the Bowery.  We have t-shirts to sell now, too, not just CDs. I couldn't model one because a girls' small is too big for me. Not sure how that works but I will have to wait for the next shipment of extra smalls and barbie doll sizes.  When Euan announced that we had t-shirts for sale some dude in the crowd yelled, 'F@$# that, I've already spent my dole money'.  He did buy a single though. Meanwhile, Rafael was kindly informed that a saxophone should be called a moistophone. Wow, what are these people in Toowoomba into?

Day 2
Cookie whipped us up a breakfast at Bon Amicis. The toilet keys were rubber fish carcasses. We accidentally left two bottles of water and some chocolate back at the motel room. For some reason it was important for us to retrieve them, particularly McCoy.  Anyway, the staff had already thrown them away, "apparently". I'm pretty sure they were planning on having a crazy water and chocolate party though.  I decided to do the first leg of the drive to Amridale. It felt like I was driving a boat over bitumen waves. At last, I was captain, but not in a Casey Chambers song. I wouldn't want that. There were lots of road signs with kangaroos on them. there were no road signs with moths or butterflies, or any other insects. We hit a lot of those. The front of the van was one big bug crime scene.  We almost ran over a turtle as well. There were not turtle road signs either.  Euan grew up in Armidale so we stayed with some of his family friends. They spoilt us with champagne on arrival. They didn't tip it over us, as they do do after the car racing. We just drank it.  We were booked at the Armidale Club. The support band was an acoustic duo who played swing covers of Metallica and Rage Against the Machine. Our set went really well. Some dude raided the club house awards cabinet and he kept presenting us with girls' hockey trophies from 1984.

Day 3
I noticed that the tour van was now full of trophies, medallions, and swimming ribbons. We had not won any of these.  Meanwhile, our tour manager, Chelsea, had an accident with her roll-on deodorant, which mostly ended up on McCoy's jeans. I secretly think McCoy was just very excited, and couldn't contain himself. So, there we were, all seedy on the way home in a tour van full of stolen awards from the 1980s and deodorant giz. We stopped at a place in Deepwater which had a sign out the front,  "Best Kebabs in Town". I'm sure they were the only kebabs in town and also for a good 157km radius. I can also highly un-recommend the kebabs, particularly due to the mould manifesting on the pita bread. Anyway, that must just be how they do it in Deepwater. I should have bought a side of Exit Mould, but then it occurred to me that that would be worse to eat than the actual mould.  What a conundrum. There was an odd woman drinking a chocolate milkshake in this place and it looked as the she was an extra in a film.  Either that or Avis Rental had sent her to spy on us.  We eventually made it back to Brisbane in one piece. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for a few bugs and a not-so-swift lizard.  Sorry to all. Thus ends the first leg of The Rooftops tour.

dogs and petrol,

Peta

]]> Tue, 26 Oct 2010 05:45:00 GMT 1EEF3354766BBE269346FB82B2C49A60