However, because I agree with it so very violently and would extend this Loud Denunciation to everyone who chats while there is something happening up the front at a mic or on a stage, I shall now quote the relevant passage from today's post by the wise Amanda from Flop Eared Mule:
I hate chatters at gigs. Were you people raised by wolves? Wolves who hate music? Michael Gudinski, are these people your employees? Because I really think we could get unions onside for a WorkChoices-style exemption allowing such clowns to be sacked on the spot. The "You don't get to work for a record company unless you STFU at intimate acoustic gigs" Fairness (to the rest of us) Test. I'm going to start the Facebook group right now.
I'm there.
12 comments:
We are legion.
I am embarrassed you read it before I had corrected "less people" to "fewer people."
Hahahaha.
Didn't even notice. Too busy admiring your blog design and, as ever, your truly excellent taste in music. Saw K. Chambers here in Adders, some years back when only true experts like yourself knew much about her, being the support act for Emmylou (on the Red Dirt Girl tour IIRC) -- in a somewhat tumbledown inner-suburban venue full of hushed Emmylou devotees who for the most part embraced Kasey on the spot. Buddy Miller also got a whole set of his own, with Emmylou quietly playing supportive guitar up the back. They were all fabulous. Nobody chatted.
It IS a sexy blog, isn't it?
Can we add to the list
-- people who chat through movies
-- people who smoke in crowds
-- people who make you stop reading and turn off the light even though you only have ten more pages to read
Ta.
Since you both mention it, the excellence of the site has nothing to do with me, except to the extent you get credit for having awesome friends.
Phineas in Chicago is responsible for it all, design wise.
Do feel free to buy the things he is selling.
Amanda, that site is looking purty indeed. I have a very nice Ralph McTell tribute to Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan, Gates of Eden - have you heard that? Ralph's rendition of that "Hey hey Woody Guthrie" number (AND the title track) is most affecting.
Duck, since WHEN does someone else get to turn off a light? Jaysus - buy yourself one of those dinky little clipon LCD things. And tell him to go sleep on the couch. Worse than whipping, that is.
And please DO add people who go to Bennett's Lane (jazz venue in Melb)and talk.
Not to confuse these, however, with the hilarious sexagenarians I met at Bendigo Gallery last month who were laughing very loudly at some sculpture - one maintained his plumber mate could have made it. They were too loud, but gee, they were funny.
Thanks for the natter, Pav!
I WAS USING A DINKY LITTLE LIGHT.
I must blog about this.
"I WAS USING A DINKY LITTLE LIGHT."
And he still made you switch it off? With 10 pages to go?
Say what?
You know, those of us who (usually) sleep alone (and Joni was wrong, you know, NO bed is too big) do have our down days, our dark nights of the soul, our bleak black sloughs of despond, etc, though I must say I do not have them very often at all, especially not these days. But I do have them, just every now and then, thinking Oh I should have stayed with X, or tried harder with Y, or exercised more underhanded feminine wiles on Z.
But next time I'm having one, whenever that may be, I'm going to say to myself: 'If I were Ampersand Duck, I would be having to switch off my dinky itty bitty book light. With only ten pages to go.'
And it will snap me right out of it, and I will go to sleep happy. After I have finished my book. And started the next one.
What's even worse is when you're having a good conversation at some venue and some idiot on stage starts playing so you have to raise your voice to be heard properly.
Yes, that is also very annoying.
I am for balance in all things.
Nabs, you would be too much of a gentleman to make someone turn off an itty bitty light with ten pages to go, I think.
Pav, I made my husband read your comment ( he is the patron saint of leaving lights on so wives can read, he does lots of other silly things, including snoring, but that he does not do. And he needs to feel virtuous occasionally, it's a leftover from being an altar boy.)
Duck, I am in mourning. Ten pages. TEN. Those pancakes would have to be pretty freaking marvellous. Do blog about it soon.
Or the chatters who've annoyed you through the opening act because they're only there to see the headliner. Damn them all. Although it was especially nice when Freedy Johnston took the Paul Kelly expat fans at the Kitchen to task, not that they listened.
Sounds like someone's never endured really awful performance poetry.
Extraneous noise can be your friend.
Post a Comment