being the adventures of a young woman whose principal interests are rape, ultra-violence and SP

Subject:	fresh, fresh, we want fresh!
Time:	1:55 pm.
Mood:	sick.

skinny puppy/vverevvolf grehv
something weird happens to us in the days/weeks/months leading up to a Skinny Puppy show. it's like, for those few weeks, we can't see anything else. doesn't matter when or how long before the concert that we actually get our tickets, the countdown begins. and then, as the day draws nearer, we, surprisingly level-headed and calm, would discuss our plans more in-depth; how to organize our finances appropriately to furnish the drug stash; when to pick them up in relation to the show; who might come along or meet with us; and for me, what in the hell am i gonna wear? etcetera, ad nauseum. it's always in the back of my mind...which is exactly why i can never seem to stop blubbering incoherently about my favourite band, even more so, in those crucial weeks leading up to the event. then, when the show has finally come to pass, we'll be on a high for a couple more days, discussing song choices and happenings someone might have missed, before cold, unbearable reality sets in, and we trudge onward, as per the usual.
i know, i know. it's all so very depressing and heartfelt.
but no, really. you should see my Facebook status messages of the last few weeks. bloody despicable, i tell ye what--even for me. but i couldn't help it. i knew this, my third time seeing Skinny Puppy, almost five years to the day of my first seeing them, and almost twenty-four years to the day since their first touring gig for Bites at the Phoenix in Toronto--at the time known as the Diamond--was going to be oh so speshul. i could feel it rumbling attractively in my guts, and lower bowel.
or, no, wait. that's just a conveniently timed fever, arriving mere days before the fact. oh, goody. flu, SARS, h1n1, scurvy, i didn't care if i was puking up my innards Captain Howdy style. i was going, of course, 102 degree temperature and projectile lung butter be damned.
i woke up Friday morning (erm, more like afternoon) to find Denes smiling down upon me. i bolted upright, at least as quickly as i could um, bolt, considering. not this again...
"mmmphfra? ...the fuck? you're not taking my picture again, are you?"
"have you seen any of the SETLISTS?" he was practically shaking me.
i held up a hand, letting him know that before i could respond to anything, i needed to clear the pipes ie. hack up my lungs and brain matter. "you know i don't read any of that stuff," i said once i was finished, examining the Kleenex for any unusual colours or species.
"can i just tell you ONE THING?"
i shrugged. "go for it."
"ASSIMILATE!"
i was excited to hear this, of course, as this is one of the songs i knew i had to hear live before i died, but any elation i felt was downplayed by this goddamned flu of mine. "nice," i said. "i'm sick. wake me up at four."
indeed, it took swallowing about eight ibuprofen tablets as well as the abatement of, ahem, less legal options, to get me out of the house and into the....what is this? relatively mild? November evening, even though i was barely vertical and still picking crust out of my eyes.
still, i felt better. in fact, i was SO relaxed, i passed out on the Subway along with Denes, and we missed our stop. by only one, but still. this has been happening to us more and more often these days. Denes always passes out on Subways, but I'M the one that's supposed to remain awake so we can get off at the right stop. at least, that's what i soon came to find.
"why didn't you stay awake? this is all your fault."
"shit babe, you DO know it's only one stop."
but when we got off on Dundas cross to the other side of the platform, we found it was much more than that. there were no stairs leading us to the other side. the only way, it seemed, to get to the other side was to go through the turnstiles and have to pay again. but that couldn't make sense. it was like we were in a vaccuum.
it was then that we saw the sign instructing us to get a transfer and take it to the other side and explain the situation, which we did, without a hitch.
onward.
we arrived at the club and it was only a short wait before the line started moving forward, and we were told to have our bags open and ID's ready. i got mine, of course, since i knew getting carded was an inevitability for me. but--guess what? I DIDN'T!!! fer like, the first time in my nearly 25 years. a bonafide miracle! you'd think that by now the drugs would have begun ravaging my good looks. alas...
nothing at the merchandise booth besides clothing, not even a measly keychain, as we soon found out they left all that stuff in the States because it was too much of a hassle to bring it all through Canadian customs. having ordered t-shirts from an American website, i felt their logic. apparently, though, they were selling Last Rights on vinyl to anyone who knew the password--which was "Michael J. Fox"--courtesy of the Litany folks. but the merch guy seemed royally pissed off at anyone who even brought it up, ranting and raving, flingling flecks of spittle, cursing the website and swearing that "they'll have to take that posting down, THERE'S NONE LEFT you skull-fucking shit-eating MAGGOT"
so ....that was that.
Vverevvolf Grehv, true to my prediction, sucked royally, but if you ask me it takes some balls rocking out on stage like that as if you're some angry kid grounded to his room for OMIGAWD a WHOLE WEEK. he started his set with a robust howl into the mic, in which someone near us yelled "now THAT is the way to start a show!" but shortly thereafter we were all seemingly enrobed deeply in our own ennui.
onward.
we were pretty close to the stage throughout his set, but either the sickness or the drugs (couldn't tell which) started to make me feel really lightheaded, and i was secretly worrying how i was even going to make it through Puppy's set. i went to grab another water and on our way back we found a cool pocket about 15 ft. from the stage, underneath an air conditioner. i swear that was my saving grace, right there. the only issue with that spot was, it was hell trying to get any decent pictures. in fact, i got not a one.
but i'm afraid i'm getting a wee bit ahead of myself.
when i lights when out and i heard the opening strains of "Love in Vein" i nearly shat myself with joy. for the first time since i started seeing them Ogre emerged for the very first song, clad in an amusing hodgepodge of skeleton costume, doctors' lab coat, dunce hat, and walker. he hobbled about the stage as if in pain, and you actually believed him.
sigh...what a showman.
Justin Bennett, as i've come to expect, handled the stool duties (heh heh mm heh, stool duties) while cEvin Key took his spot, as is customary, on a high riser above the stage.
as always, as the show progressed he shed various layers of his costume. for the second song, "Hatekill", he ditched the walker for a cane, granting him more mobility, but soon that was doffed as well and he stood on his own. by the time "Addiction" started my thoughts were confirmed: this was going to be one helluva show. it was a good crowd too, old-school, and for that i thank the legal age stipulation. damn kids.
there was a glass cage to the extreme left of the stage, initially covered with white sheets, which Ogre stepped into to perform "Dogshit/Deadlines". it was also equipped with a monitor and a camera pointed at him so whatever he did in there was transmitted to the large screen on stage. speaking of which, the backing videos Skinny Puppy are so famous for were very simple but high on psychedelia, another regret of mine since i couldn't get a proper picture. ...for which i'm glad other people managed successful video/image captures, without which i might have trouble recalling specifics of the evening, what with seeing through my drug salad fog and all.
after that, they got into some newer songs ("Politikil", "Pedafly" and later "Pro-Test" and "Ugli")--nothing from the as-yet-to-be-released new album--but i couldn't help but notice they sounded a bit, erm, weird, for lack of a better word. tinny, maybe. i had heard that they didn't bring their "fancier" equipment along with them on tour this time around, so that could have been the reason. personally i think it was the venue. i don't think they were outfitted for a band like Skinny Puppy, whether they played there twenty-four years ago or not. i'll say it before, i'll say it again: the Phoenix sucks, and are a bunch of assholes.
take that, Phoo-nix.
all was forgiven when "Rodent" broke out--another one Ogre performed from his glass prison, spurting blood on it's walls to the immense delight of an apparently bloodthirsty Toronto--which sounded amazing. as did "Morpheus Laughing" and the much awaited "Assimilate", in which Ogre donned the dunce cap once more and...i dunno, lit it on fire or something--because it was smoking at the top, see.
of course, what's a Skinny Puppy show without "Warlock"(or for that matter, the homeless black man i always see outside the venue? let me be the first to say, that homeless black man has impeccable taste), which was the first encore, flanked by a live brap. "Far Too Frail" sealed the deal, and with a salute and a "thank you, Toronto" we were sent on our way.
honestly, i would have tried to meet Ogre again this time around, and i heard he mingled with some fans after the show, but i was just too sick and wanted to get home as quickly as possible. so we did.
onward.
clearly, this was the best setlist of any SP show i've ever been to. despite the lack of any new material the whole affair felt fresh, very fresh indeed. sure, i wished the sound quality was better, but while it drowned the newerish songs out, when they played their older material i almost felt as if i was there, twenty-four years ago, in the exact same spot. mind you, i wouldn't even have been one year old, but i would have held my own, come hell or high water (or scurvy).
for Skinny Puppy, anything.

*cue Paula Cole's "I Don't Want to Wait"*

7 digs - bury me.