NEWSLETTER

John Sharkey is the singer and guitarist for Clockcleaner, the band that singlehandedly caused us to rethink music from Philadelphia, new bands on Load Records, and the whole AmRep approach to turning every performance into a single churning mass of sweat and fighting. This is the diary he kept for most of the stops on Clockcleaner’s Fall 2007 tour. As he told us when he handed it over, “No. I am not a fat secretary. I skipped the cities that were boring, hence the gaps. Deal.”


October 27: Now That’s Class, Cleveland, OH
I arrived at the club early to drink with old friends who didn't show up until about the time the clown did. It was my 26th birthday and my asshole friend Deber thought it would be bafo to order me—instead of a donkey show—a fucking clown named Jingles. "Yeah, I'm looking for John Sharkey, he's five years old?" "That's me, asshole." Bwuuh. Not all was lost though. He made penis hats for everyone!

The show was good. Homostupids were total "Look at me, I'm CRAZY" bullshit. Nice blog, dudes. Some lesbian named Julia threw a pumpkin at us during the set. Afterward we drank more with old cretins and a Narnia dork named JoJo.


October 29: Waffle House, Somewhere in Arkansas
We made a vow never to play the South again. Simply put, everyone down here is a genius and we feel out-matched. I mean, how can we as northerners possibly be expected to hold our own against a total ’neck who sits down at the counter and orders DIET COFFEE. I feel small.


November 1: Beerland, Austin, TX
Here is every conversation you will ever hear in Austin: “Blah blah blah, COCAINE, blah blah blah, GARAGE ROCK, blah blah blah BULLET BELTS, blah blah blah BREAKFAST BURRITOS.” This show was cool because it featured the best front row I have ever played in front of. From right to left: two fat pigs grinding their hams into me, one attractive but slightly underage piece—I’d sat 5 to 10—and then SPOT... and then King Coffey. If you don’t know who the last two are, you probably spent high school having sex and being carefree.

We played with some band that sounded like NOFX and then played a gig on a pedestrian bridge. Jay Reatard was supposed to play with us, but was busy hiding coke bags in his guitar pedals.


November 4: 6th Street Warehouse, Los Angeles, CA
Shot a video today for “Vomiting Mirrors” with the true king of West-Coast sex, Monty Buckles. Boy, I have never felt like a bigger dick-duster in my life. "John, put this green makeup all over your face and then mouth the words to the song while these little border-jumpers mock you from off-camera." Just like kindergarten.

We played with Mont's band the Lamps, who are probably the best band in America next to the Bosstones and my girls Mika Miko. For some reason the bartender of this joint kept walking up onstage and into me during the entire set. She looked so peaceful on the floor after I threw her on it. Like an infant on its back. It's almost like she was sleeping. We cleared the room but got paid good. Thanks, LA!


November 6: Hemlock Tavern, San Francisco, CA
All right show. Some drunk cunt decked me in the face during the set. I managed to drag her onstage in a headlock and ask her what her SAT score was. Her answer: “BLAAAARGHH PANTIES!!!” Then her boyfriend bought me shots for the rest of the night both because he hates her and he read that I slagged Dr. Dog. Two men alone in the night, drunk and bonding over our mutual hatred of five girls with beards that play shitty music. Then I threw up on Ry from the Clockjeans’s lawn.

Met Andytai from the internet the next day. She was a babe.


November 8: Backspace, Portland, OR
This show was pretty uneventful. Two dudes in toques drove 150 miles to look at Karen. Afterward we stopped at another bar and I heard what from outside sounded like 14-year-old girls whose parents just bought them wah-wah pedals. It turns out I wasn't too far off. It was The Ponys.


November 9: Funhouse, Seattle, WA
This was probably the worst/best show on the entire tour. We arrived too early at the club so we were left to fend for ourselves in the softest city in the country. What a total cunthole Seattle is. Every bar is required to pretend Mother Love Bone were actually worth a smear. The jukeboxes don't lie. After loading in and playing pool with a local meth mouth, we got greeted by the booker. This bearded, Baby Huey fuckmouth gives us two drink tickets and a stamp for 15 percent off drinks when our stockpile runs out. Yeah, like the physics major with the facial lesions and PBR belt buckle behind the bar is going to be able to do that math. We started paying to a full room and by the third song had cleared the entire bar except for the kid in Catatonic Youth. The set ended with me jamming my tongue in some nancy's mouth. She didn't seem to mind. We took the headlining band’s beer to a Motel 6 after the set, hoping that the girls from Lozen would bust in and rape us. Instead we just cried ourselves to sleep.

JOHN SHARKEY III


TO BE CONTINUED
WESTERN HUMILIATION 2007 | 1 | 2 |

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