The Jonestown Show

Last Wednesday has slipped away into memory, what memory remains at least. Glad of the fact that unlike some who attended, mine seems relatively intact, and free from too many distortions, aside from those inherent. An experience can be lived but once, through coloured glass filters; though its populous imprint on the mind can be readily called upon to grace consciousness time after time.

A pre-party was planned, Corey & Yolande’s palace in the Valley. Only a small gathering was expected, but as it unravelled, more and more bodies slowly sauntered in, filling to capacity. With them came the cigarettes and other stimulants, a cloud hanging like fallout over the preparatory daze of smiling faces, awaiting. Drinks enough and we were off, a bottle or two in hand.

Everyone was there at The Arena, all good company. Seems the somewhat elusive Brian Jonestown Massacre had slipped inside many a mind, making certain they wouldn’t want to miss bearing witness to this spectacle, not for the world. And so the night drew on, the people stumbled, and the Jonestown boys played to ears ablaze.

From a few rows back I stood watching, absorbing, a few times puling the camera out to record some snapshots in time. Also manage to catch some commotion video, nailing honey to the bee.

Evil genuis show, no encore for the sake of one; respecible in light of our apparent tameness as an audience. Tambourine James is following them to New Zealand to learn a few moves. Catch them if you can.

The BJM at The Arena

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