Sunderland

The day is covered in glue. Everything is moving slowly. Sleep sticks behind our eyes. The sun never breaks out from behind the gray curtain of moisture, and the clouds flirt with the idea of raining, but the downpour never materializes. It’s that kind of dreary day when a constant pour of rain from the sky would be an exciting distraction.

Instead, we drive circles around Sunderland, unable to find our club. We park in the loading bay of a TK Maxx and scout around. My mind is more interested in why it’s called TK Maxx. Are J’s more expensive to trademark in England?

We find where we’re looking for and Charlie quickly learns that he’s put on some weight so far on tour.

Foals. I know the name, but not the music. At least not well. But this country loves them. Every other band we play with is a Foals-clone. One of tonight’s is fronted by a cute dude whose swivel moves bring to mind the BoogieMan from Nightmare Before Christmas. Maybe that helps give an idea of how strange tonight is. Hmm, this billboard right outside the club entry way might help paint the picture clearer:

To add to the uncanny mix, the rape and murder scenes of A Clockwork Orange happen to play on the video screen during BBE’s set.

I go upstairs for a breath of fresh distraction and am met with a sex toy machine.

I’m pretty sure I know exactly what to do with the Heaven Beads, but I’m not quite sure what the Love Eggs are for. S&M eunuch role-play? In any event, all of a sudden A Clockwork Orange playing downstairs seems even grosser.

This stuff is pretty gross too. It has a piece of bison grass, not bison hair, in it. Or at least they say it’s not bison hair.