I almost burnt the house down tonight.Well,I could have. And I blame punk rock. Totally.

Let me set the scene….

So it’s one in the morning.Unwisely I have chosen to wear my dove grey Stevie Nicks suede boots.I look hotter than a four alarm fire but my feet are fucking killing me.But they match my Russian fur hat and awe inspiring  lace lashed cleavage.Big lipped Pollack killing machine.What can one do?…

There I am,abusing the unwashed masses on the door as it is Saturday night once again when a sinuous slip of a girl breezes by and says “Michele,you smell amazing“. She swoons and I smirk. “Why,thank you honey!” I reply “It’s Bulgari..Shit! ….excuse me!” and I bolt to the bus stop and dial Lili White-tiger’s didgets.

“Wake up,wake up wake UP” I mutter in a panic as the phone threatens to ring out.

“What’s up mama?” says the white-tiger sounding all warm and fuzzy

“DUDE!” I bellow with no small amount of relief ” I left my Bulgari candle burning on my dresser!”

So the poor kid,woken by my dumb ass ,stumbles into my bombsite of a boudoir which by now smells like a high priced hookers knicker drawer and averts disaster.


So why is it punk rocks fault?….

Because my feet haven’t touched the ground since I saw OFF! at The Annandale on Wednesday night.

I am walking into stationary objects,I am listening to everything on eleven,I am laughing in fool’s faces.I am powered by punk rock and you can’t tell me shit.

Elvis wept.

I never really go out or do much anymore.I fib to well meaning friends and say that I have dengue fever and have to stay home and practice my solo stuff, which really means playing Lynard Skynard songs and not getting dressed in anything more complicated than a bikini and usually my Indian head dress and not answering the phone nor the  door.But there are some occasions that you know are going to be holy,that the planets will align and you will feel like some kind of fucked up flesh conduit for mucho raw power.You feel it in your waters.One can get retarded and high from that much ohm.

And I did.

My errant ex told me that I had to go and see OFF!  when they got here.I was going to anyway,um hell-o?, duh.I mean the punk rock pedigree that was going to lay waste to one of my all time favourite venues? C’mon! And then you have the fact of The Hard-ons doing the support mixed with Lili’s birthday.

Let’s just file it under sure thing shall we?

Can I just say here,for the warped record,that I have pretty much seen and been blessed enough to play with some of the greatest bands of all time.( Bar Elvis and Lynard Skynard and heaps of people that brought the farm way before my existence.) That said,The OFF! show made my top 20 shows .I opened for the Germs in Norway,stood side of stage for Motorhead at Wacken,Saw Ronnie James Dio under a full moon in LA……my list is awesome and goes on.

Wednesday night was up there.

I had my hand over my mouth for half of it.(“Oh the humaity!”) When I get around that much power and electricity and every pore and cell in my body opens up and blooms hot.I am Bon Scott’s live-wire baby.My heart and genitals have been as dry as a Mormon wedding for eons but something in me sprung a leak as I stood halfway to hardcore heaven by the bar swooning,Matt and Dan Rule,the brothers who own The Annandale smiling at me and passing me free drinks.I don”t know if it was the red bull or the raw power but tears were running down my face at the sheer majesty that I was beholding. Stage divers flailing,Keith Morris, a punk preacher handing it down for all the ages.My Black Flag tattoos itched and I was home.

First time in twenty long fucked up barren months and I was home.

Because for the orphan’s,fuck ups and lost boys? Sound is where we dwell,it is our shelter.If you don’t get it? You are not of our kind and you never will.

I thought I was going to have to peel myself off the carpet it was that good.

I felt beautiful and alive.Electric and hot. I knew it wouldn’t last and I didn’t care. Locked in a moment,wanton and greedy, I sucked it from the air and swallowed  whole.I was utterly ruined by it. Destroyed and delighted at the fact. All hair, hips, tits and lips.A tsunami of rock ruled wench. The music engulfed my being, licked me with flames and redeemed me. This is religion baby.This is the alter when my heathen ass kneels and worships. The sacrament of sound placed on my soft waiting tongue. Hungry,starving….Dunked by drums in the raging river, gilded by guitar,baptised by bass. Brothers and sisters this is the Gospel.

The pub was packed and steaming,seething with it.Glorious!  And everywhere I looked I saw familiar faces that lit up to see me in return! What a gift! .Hy-Test Luke, a beer in each hand,Mo Mayhem leather clad and dangerous from the Hell City Glamours,The Rule Brothers,Blackie,Ray,Murry,Matt “Fuckin'” Reekie in a blur of red wine.Lil in the front row shooting the war. These are the times that I want to bottle so fucking badly. The glorious times that you survive your life for. The shows that make all the shit fade away. The nights that you wish would double back into the darkness from which they came and start over again on a loop for a sweet fucking teen-aged forever.

It’s better than falling in love.It is love.

The only one that will never leave me…..

New friends and old. Of course the only person who doesn’t drink ends up behind the bar serving all and sundry after the show. I remembered all the nights that I have spent up those stairs as an artist and a guest and I smiled.  Caught up with Nate who told me that Pat was sick and that was why he didn’t make the show. Bummed. Last time I saw him was when we opened for The Germs in Oslo freezing our asses off.. A fine dude. Told Nate about my new band and the two bass attack,he laughed when I told him that I wanted so much low end it made people shit. He is so cool. Kind guitar god Dimitri and I worked out that we are pretty much one degree of separation away from everyone but Los Angeles, like all small places, is like that. It felt good to have a laugh.

It made me miss the West coast so bad.Gotta tell you,it’s hard when the circus rolls out and you are not with it.

I couldn’t sleep till the next day.It got me that riled up,Slayer shows have been known to have the same effect on me except that after Wednesday night I didn’t come home and kick everyone out of my house.( True story,1998.)

Went and played a show in Wollongong on Friday with Blackie.Kick ass acoustic at a hot shit record store.I had that great lonesome feeling coming home on the train when you feel sullied and indestructible.Watched as a drunk and two 15 year old girls got into a yelling match and then continued to read Vera Ramones book which hit home a touch too much (Two Bon Scott era AC/DC references in one entry? I rule.Its ok,thank me later. Bow if you must…)

I then had to catch a bus.I got in round 3am and felt like I was doing what I was ment to be doing which is a rare and welcome vibe not to be sniffed at.It’s a kick that people come to see me play.I feel like I should be paying them.It was different when I was playing with bands.You can duck and weave you dig? But this? This is just me,usually with my foot and my mouth and my eyes shut tight.

And sometimes,not always,but in some silken moments,the noise that comes out of me is better than any fuck or drug.It rattles me to my tired core. Hardwired to my heart and cunt.Just magic.There is nowhere else I ever have to be.I soar.I almost fell off the stool.

And that is the high that keeps you chasing it.

I got told that some people get the call and don’t answer.Me? I work at the telephone exchange,baby,I connect the calls.I put you through to the party line and I have the best phone voice in the goddamn world.

I waited for the call and like a good little flannel clad foot soldier I followed the battle plan to the last decibel and detail.(“Sir! Yes Sir!”)

I was built for this…

Not only was the acoustic show cool, I scored some Emmy Lou Harris vinyl which has lead me to sing in a higher register in the shower between doing my eternal rainroom interview with the late lamented Lester Bangs.It has also lead me to think that I need the ankle length hooded cloak that she is wearing on the cover.

And I scored a Roky Erickson doll. Hello?

To quote Nine Pound Hammer….

“It don’t get no better than this.”