Apparently what you’ll need if you go to Gatecrasher. A tiny, ambulance shaped tissue box. Plug those knife wounds with Thomas James Illustrations (click above)
Whatever happened to Gatecrasher?
The side-walks of Leeds told me that someone got stabbed there a couple of years ago – but that’s probably just a guise for it being shit. It’s more dignified to have a stabbing that closing solely due to you being a shit club. He was so shit the other clubs didn’t throw him a going away party. No hats. No party rings. Stands to chance he packed his one bedroom flat into a beige wheely-suitcase, got on a late night mega-bus to Slough and for the last couple of years has been slowly building up the courage to attempt suicide (again). That’s what I’d do anyway – if I was Gatecrasher.
Then today a new track walked into my office.
“Hello Track..”
“Hello Tom!”
If you can’t get the visual, he’s red, about 10 inches tall and has those glue on googly eyes. I don’t even know how he recognised me with glue on eyes, glue does not function like optic nerve.. SIDETRACKED.
Anyway, this track and subsequently tracks, reminded me of Gatecrasher. But accompanied by a pantomimic gasp of awe was the realization that they were actually quite enjoyable. This was new ground. Firm, un-salty ground. So, how can Gatecrasher be shit when music I’ve associated with it can, in fact, be pretty good? The answer is, I don’t know – and it seems a waste to ask my psychologist when I’m making such headway on discovering why I believe I’m Britney Spears for the first 11 minutes of each waking day.
The answer is maybe it wasn’t that bad (he says while his hipster side crawls away to die). Begs the question why I can’t remember any of the non-shit times though. Maybe repressed memories? Maybe – but it seems a waste to ask my psychologist when I’m making such headway on discovering why I believe I’m Britney Spears for the first 11 minutes of each waking day.
