HOUSE SHOW LOVE

I'd just like to say how much love I am currently feeling towards my household. The house is an ancient dilapidated crate with pounded-flat carpet and one bajillion over-confident mice who don't pay rates, encrusted with the accumulated filth of six or more generations of sharehousers, but it has character. Everyone in the house is a musician, meaning that two out of three nights someone will be playing live music, and every second weekend or so we have a house show.

They are inevitably epic. About ten thousand disaffected youths who I don't know descend on our tiny living room to listen to the latest hippest underground band, including the superb residents Kitchen's Floor and Cured Pink Radio, make out, break our furniture, and spill beer everywhere. Once we found a squashed mouse the next morning. We think someone dropped an amp on it.

Last night was particularly good. This amazing punk group from Sydney called Royal Headache played and almost blew the windows out with awesome. It was a mosh in our living room: forty people packed into this little box, smashing into each other and crowd-surfing (yes), with me right in the thick of it, soaked in beer and other people's sweat and sporting a swelling headwound. Shogun, the singer, was almost engulfed by the crowd, yowling into this shitty mic and headbutting the people nearest to him. The songs were short, fast, catchy, and loud; it was outstanding. The crowd bayed for more every time they even hinted at finishing up. I bumped into one of the housies this morning as we were cleaning up and we both said the same thing: Man, what a good night.

Our place: great venue.

Edit: Footage from the night, thanks to ETERNAL SOUNDCHECK.