Bubble Boys: A Tour Diary with Tucker B's
Or, Exhibit A in the case of Tucker B’s and the Wolfmother national tour
So the little Caboose known to yr mummy and daddy bentest as the “Tucker B’s” hit the road for a few lily shows with a lily bandy called Wolfmother. Also along for this freak show of a fortnight are Dungen ((((prolapsed: Doooooon-yem)))) from Swaziland. Via our web site, here is what some of Australia’s finest young butterbeans were kind enough to write of our efforts:
“no word comes even close to describing u try hard faggots and your shit geneless gaylord “noise” go die in a hole.”
“your music is retatded! u other people are probly emos so no give a shit about u guys FUCK UP! now the tucker bs lol what fuck ups u guys looked cool at challange stadium in ya HK metal looking dress, then u play the queerst asss fucking “noise” ive ever heard.”
“tucker b’s are very EMOTIONAL.”
“You permanently damaged my friends eyesight with your lasers last night (Wolfmother, Brisbane). Fortunately for her she didnt have to watch you wearing leather skirts and capes during your set. I was considering destryoing my ears so I didnt have to hear.”
“you don’t deserver your motherfucking genitals. they will rot along with your stinking taste in music.”
“Honestly the worst band I have ever seen.”
“god u guys sucked bad.”
“you killed wolfmother go play in traffic.”
“yeh… you guys were pretty good with wolfmother last night… but you need to get clearer lyrics! some catchy lines like JOKER AND THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT!”
“u guys are fucking retarted if u call that music there’s no gene to it wtf is with sticking laser lights 2 ya foreheads anyway”
“im goin to cut your cocks off so that i can stop your seed from spreading i will never stop untill i make sure that your music is completely destroyed in every aspect.”
“Your music is the strangest shit ive ever seen and ive seen some crazy shit. WTF is up with the red lasers on your heads?”
So we were asked by our girl-fences in Wolfmother if we wanted to open the shows on their Oozier album launch tore. We checked if they had asked the right bandy, they were sure they had, and so we said ‘YEAH’. We sent through our standard rider request:
- 1 carton of Coopers Green
- 1 bottle of vodka
- 1 bottle of whiskey
- 1 carton of Red Bull
- No water.
We got it all too, Walter; clearly this was not going to be our normal kicking the can and who’s a FATHEAD today? routine around the country.
Matt Maguire – The Reacktor
Matt Rudas – Ticky Touchwood
Darren Nuttall – The Hush
Andrew Houston – Nigel Neck-Tie.
The Lade, Day 1 – The Thebarton Theatre
After about 2435 hours of practicing and staring into the impending broken dream doom of opening for the Wolvers, we are about ready to sniff the fever of opening band stadium rock. We are flying down to the Lade, which is nice as we normally lose one member of the band to pyhsck-hosis (lala) when we drive to that fine Blister of the South. We meet Dimples, our soundman, at the Acaridae Airport and go to check in to our hotel to catch up, hold hands, gather our nerves and ensure that we continue to be Eggheads, no matter what happens on this tour. Should be easy.
We have so many questions about how things might work on a tour like this; we throw them at Dimples as he has been on a few big tours in the Auckland/South Oz regional area. Turns out he is not going to shed too much light on our dark-skulls: Good boy, Dimples. We call an Ader-Ladey taxicab, brush all our teef up, spit in our hair, lick our cheeks and head down to the “Thebby” (as the local knobbies call it).
The Thermo is a lovely old theatre. We look for the Wolfmother trucks (there are 14 on this tour). We find them; big shiny and Bright-Wight, all of them playing “Woman” from the speakers that sit like spears on the top of them. Our gear has come down on the trucks so we only have our guitars and handbags, which is a cheap, but easy thrill. We walk up to a member of the Theatric Security Company and gently ask for his assistance to get in. He asks who we are, looking at our guitars. We tell him who we are (Wolfmother). He bows his head and lets us saunter through. We shimmer by in a cloudy mist of magical tucker dust.
We meet Gaylene, who is the tour manager and the big boss we have to be nice to. He gives us all our passes and all his rules. Ticky Touchwood smiles at him and tells him that we will be good boys and won’t cause any trouble and won’t ever be late and will always be in tune and will always finish on time and won’t invite dumb friends backstage and won’t take drugs and won’t get drunk and won’t smoke in dressing rooms and won’t eat the Wolverines food and won’t be too loud. Ticky is a suck-hole but Gaylene does scare the living garlick out of us so we were happy he lied to him.
Each night we have a half hour set and we start at 7.30 (zackly), a half hour after doors open. We have sound-check at 5.00 o’clock everyday. We meet the Doooonyen men, they are really sweet and skinny. We soundcheck and everything is working good and proper, we are nervous and dumb during soundcheck. We retreat back to our dressing room, which is shit hot, complete with Chesterfield lounges, mirrors and lights, a smoke machine, food and booze. We have promised ourselves (me to him and him to me) not to get drunken or drudged on this tour before playing, we manage to do this (tonight) and walk out on stage extremely sober at exczackly 7.30 to about 2000 kiddies and wolfmen fans. Despite our own personal doom-chants, there is an awesome roar as we enter the stage and the lights go up. We play well, but it is a complete blur and each of us has quite a few special moments in terms of our ears being completely filled with motor oil (zzzz). We survived, we can do it better, it was even fun. After we play we eat our din-dins, which is sleazily the best food any of us have eaten in the last twelve years. After desert we watch the Wolves absolutely destroy the place, they play incredibly and are the daddies to the 3500 numb-nuts in attendance.
After the Wolfie set we venture into the Ladey suburbs in search of the worst gutter drugs imaginable. We have conversations and give hundreds of dollars to men who are half ferrets and half tendon. Once we get back in the city we go and check out Doooonyen at a little club, they play for about two hours and are a Swaziland groove machine. Then we roll home in a rather large, shaky bubble.
The Lade, Day 2 – Thebarton Theatre
We faff around during the day, playing badminton and chasey until about 3pm when we head back to the Thebbo. We are a bit more relaxed today, largely because we have been in a magic bubble for the last 17 hours. It’s Faraday night in the Lade, when the big tendons and their 16 and 17-year-old friends come out to play. The second sold out night can only mean that the people who come along tonight are the people who were too lazy to line up for tickets the first time, that is to say: BAD SNIVELLING DOGS who want to TEAR APART INDI-HOMO BANDS WHO DON’T SING “MINDS EYE”. A shivering paranoiac climbs into our Tucker b jumpsuits, nobody else seems aware of the impending doom of this whole evening. The Wolvies, Doooonyeam and their crews set up in the catering room eating lamb, salmon, veal, turkey and jasmine soufflés; we crawl into our dressing room and start to drink, drink, drink. It’s 6.30 and our rider is all drunken up.
We hit the stage ready to knife fight 15 Adlealdiey cops, let alone play half an hour of shady pop songs. Tonight is probably the best we have ever played in leather skirts. However, our Official Tendon Forecast™ is spot on. We get heckled very well tonight by the crowd, they are well lacquered and those who have had their drugs begin to realise they are going to going to run out before the Wolfies take the stage (((Doooooom))). They deliver their newly found bile and fear to us, we take it like abused wives and engage the odd Ladey flapper in a nice little "oh that’s a shame Bunny" routine. Dimples tells us it was a good show. Good boy Dimples. Good boy band. We carry on drinking and set ourselves up in a little hidey hole side of stage and watch Doonyen and the Wolf Finger, they are both great. Wolfmum raze the temperature inside the hall to about 60 degrees. By the end of their rock set myself, Ticky, the Reaktor, Hush, Dimples and the Dragooon men are sitting in our underpants, sweating and drinking and singing along to the skinny guy with the Afro. We carry on after the show, making sure there is no booze left in the whole fuggin palace. We discover Doonyang believe in magic bubbles too.
Millburn, Day 3 – Festival Hall
We have got an early start today, off to Melbourne and off to the Forum. We are a bit excited because Dimples tells us this is where The Beatles played when they toured Millburn – turns out it is just a big gym and that Alice in Chains played there too. We spend the day sleeping, eating and cuddling at Marcus from Deloris’sss house (which is a lil’ bit smelly: piss maybe?). Today our moods flippy flaps between spring and autumn. We arrive at the venue at about 4pm, soundcheck and eat and drink.
It is beginning to feel like some sort of strange sport playing to these crowds. The deal is that we buffer ourselves with songs, booze, pharmaceuticals, leather skirts, muscle tops and fantasy (trust us); they decide within the first minute if they like us or if they want to smash our faces in (don’t trust them).
When we head out on stage we are ready to play, Ticky and I tell stories to the crowd; telling them that the show is off, Wolfingerer have broken up, Wolffinger like boys more than girls. They really react well, really relaxed, really refined. Again, we play like fantasy warriors; again, the crowd sprays us with horrible buzzwords. It’s not as bad as it sounds, most people love us and let us know, but it is only ever the twenty or so hockey players who hate you that you seem to hear…
Perf, Day 4 – Challenge Stadium
This place is the country’s biggest netball court. If you’ve got a tribally big game planned, you should book this joint for a Sunday afternoon.
We had a 6.30am flight from Melbourne this morning and like the bad boys we are, we misted it. We was still out drinking and drugging, weren’t we? Yeah mate, that’s right: Whoosh. Getting to the airport was horrible, getting ourselves onto a plane to Perf was even funnier. They loved us at the Qantas ‘Check Your Brain’ that morning, we were quite the modern-day-men-boy charmers.
Challenge Stadium is hilariously huge and smells like chlorine. It is so fuckin’ loud tonight I can still hear it. It’s great fun, we play well and people scream at us (both good and bad advice, thanks mum).
Perf, Day 5 – Hyde Park Hotel
Tonight is our own show at the Hydey, we are playing with some good buddies and there are lots of friendly faces and nobody heckles or wants us to get off. There are about 3000 less in attendance than we have grown accustomed to, and it’s rather nice. Back to normal: We spend most of the evening in the car park selling tracksuits and driving from one lonely end of Perth to the other, looking for amplifiers and vowels.
Sidney, Day 6 – Horder Pavilion
Today is Andrew from Wolf-Fingers birthday (he’s 49). There is to be a party after the show. The wolvers and wolf-crew all have glitter in their eyes; there are whispers of a special night.
The first person I see when I arrive today is Johnny Knoxville. For a grown man, I am way too excited about this. I call my mum. She tells me to eat some food. The Jackass dudes are here to do a video clip for the “Joker and the Thief” with the Wolf-angers. Stevie O, Wee-man, Bam Margarita and the Big ‘guy’ are all here, beating the shit out of each other and covering each other in beer, piss and shit. Totally awesome, dood.
There is lots of stuff happening tonight that to us seems superfluous to getting merry and having a good rock show: Boo-hoo. The place is full of Channel V, MTV and Jackass folks. This means extra leads and wires and rules and eggheads. We trip over all of them. We play really well again and are met with nice applause and clap claps.
Backstage tonight is the most nuts it has been all tour, us and the Dooonyang men are more or less as we have been at the end of every night (wobbly), but everybody else is ready to get shaky as well. We all head to Ruby Rabbets, a club in Darlinghurst, and flash our magical ‘AAAAAAA’ Wolf-finger cards and are escorted upstairs to Lala land. Tonight it is an open bar (all three shelves), free food and four shady Tendon-men who are here to help you with what would you like? It’s a glorious party; one moment you are sharing a daiquiri with a dear friend, the next you are wolfing a can bong with Stevie O in the female toilets, the next you are a Columbo-Mex-Argi-Helicopta-Mechanic. Sniff.
Sidney, Day 7 – Horder Pavilion
Today’s show is a dizzy repeat of last night. It seems as though every body else is struggling from the effects of the party, as they should be Caroline. We are not feeling any ill effects however. In the fierce sport known as ENDLESS PARTY we are known for our meticulous planning and vision, especially myself and Ticky Touchwood. We bring enough POWA to ensure a righteous party ensues, all evening and all the next day.
Ticky and I share a bottle of scotch after our show while we talk at music impresario John Watson as he watches Wolffinger. We sit on either side of Mr. Watson, and deliver no-stop babble and yammer in his ears and spit at his ears about us, our band, our label, our videos, our songs, our records, our preferred songs to play live, our band members and their financial problems, our relationships and the fact that we think all our band members are cunts until we pass out from too much blood pressure to the head and too much sweat on our red faces. We think he might call soon about some sort of deal.
Brisbann, Day 8 – THE LAST DAY – River Stage
I wake up on the way to Brisbane. Dimples and the Hush are cuddling me. Ticky is dancing in the aisle of the plane. Dimples tells me he has used my credit card to book a penthouse in Brisbane, as a special treaty for the last night. Tonight’s show is outdoors at the Brisbane River Stage in the city’s Botanical Gardens. It is quite amazing and easily the most spectacular pub we have played in. Tonight’s crowd is a lazy 6500.
As always, the Brisbane kiddies are a little looser than elsewhere; tonight has a boozed up Mad Max vibe. They like us; they like doonyang and they absolutely love the Wolfinger. We invite the Doonayang crew back to our suite for an evening inside the bubble. We spend the evening throwing paper airplanes down onto the freeway below. Ticky and Mathias Dooyanger develop a new musical enterprise: Commercially attractive and economically sensible humming inside the bubble. We both agree to be more like each other. The sun comes up. Hi.