A Complete Explanation Of Everything

A cold war? Did I say, a cold war?

Nothing of the sort, myself and my bro had our troubles growing up, the usual sibling rivalries I guess but we get on pretty well. I'm only a year older and I think the last time I beat him up must have been over 17 years ago. Although, he did hit me with a badminton racket a few years later (mental note: hit brother with badminton racket next time I see him).

Anyway, he taught me the rudiments (or as one of our primary school teachers used to say: "the rudy bits", nice guy that teacher, had a swastika on his shoulder and specialised in physical abuse) of reading music and the principle behind stringed instruments and basically that was it.

I was off really. I never had, probably never will have the ability that he has, the guy has perfect pitch for christ's sake. I'd kill for that, any person who loves music would.

But I like to think in the trade off, I got something he didn't and maybe that's bullshit but our musical tastes are very different. His, heavy on the over produced sometimes worthy, oftentimes not so, more mainstream stuff. I've always gravitated towards the edgier sort of stuff, rock, indie, alternative and all that, which for my brother has always held a distinctly mysterious attraction.

We have some common ground but for the majority of our musical existence, we've spent the time slating each other's taste. Which I suppose is par for the course for siblings.

So, bass guitar in hand, I retreated to the cold of the garage and learned bits'n'pieces of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, all the grunge classics. My favourite bassline to this very day is still probably Sliver by Nirvana. Although from a technical perspective, Boogie Wonderland is the all time best bassline in the world ever if you want my personal opinion on the subject, go on, go have a listen and tell me it doesn't fucking rock.

But I shy away from the funk and remain an aficionado of the Peter Hook - Joy Division, Krist Novoselic - Nirvana and Ben Shepherd - Soundgarden variety in bass terms.

Back to the garage, I was soon joined by friends from school and we took our fledging steps in attempting to knock tunes out, of course, no drummer. Drummers in Dublin being a commodity that is as rare and valuable as it gets. I've said of Dublin for many a year, Dublin the home of a 1000 rock bands, you could throw a rock down any main thoroughfare and hit a guitar player. Guitar players, singers, we have. Drummers, we don't. Especially at 15/16.

Anyway, it became abundantly clear within a couple of months that my comrades inability to keep basic rhythm was going to prove a stumbling block. The inability to remember chord changes and the tune was somewhat of a hindrance. I had graduated to a standard where I was looking to actually hear songs approaching full realisation.

I was just starting college at this point, we'd had a failed attempt at putting together a farewell to all that concert for secondary school in one of the local pubs, can't remember why it didn't go ahead in the end.

I was going to Kevin Street, DIT in the centre of town and outside of spending my time chasing after one particular black haired girl, I found time to hook up with a mate from secondary school who transferred in a month or two into first year. Keith played keyboards, or wanted to play keyboards. And more importantly, he had the idea of a band. He had the motivation and the blind faith required to do it.

We talked about it over a disgusting pint of Oyster guinness in the Porter House, in the aging computer lecture halls at the top of the old part of Kevin Street, in between his online harrassment of some female in administration in Trinity. Keith loved Faith No More and Mr. Bungle and all things therein related. Pretty soon, we were odysseying out into the green wilds of North County Dublin to join up with Willow and Tierney and it wasn't long before we were plucking out passable versions of Evidence by FNM.

Willow was a guy I worried about. I still do. I have no idea what he is at but he had the perfect makeup to be either a touring guitar player with Faith No More or a serial killer. He had an obsession with Sandra Bullock and an innate ability to replicate, note for note, on the shittiest of equipment, Jim Martin's solos off of Angeldust on other records with consumate ease. Over time, he began to morph into a clone of Mike Patton. Dyed his hair black, starting wearing the black suit, white shirt, skinny black tie. We were playing Ricochet with a dodgy trial drummer and I swear to whatever remains spiritually significant to me that the fucker actually did a somersault mid song.

Tierney was Tierney. A former secondary school acquaintance who was probably the only guy more cynical than myself. He never really made practice or whatever the hell we were doing.

We had a good stab at writing a couple of things but not despite Willow's unquestioned ability, he just didn't have it to write original music. Not then anyway. And Keith was still struggling with the black keys.

Probably the fullest tune we got done (notwithstanding Keith's lyrics for "Foetus Fetish") was a terrible tune called "Bon Jovi (the Patriot song)" which was thus entitled because the music was faux Bon Jovi, Slippery When Wet era and had Keith doing a whole skit on the 1916 rising over the top of it.

Time was dragging on. We were still auditioning for a real lead singer and a proper drummer, one with more than two brain cells and only platonic feelings for livestock. We put up ads across town as nascent bands are wont to do. I remember chatting to this 40 year old rocker who rang up, strangely he was more dissuaded than we were upon learning the collective age of the band, I still maintain to this day he should have given it a shot.

Anyway, I was growing disillusioned as time drew on. My musical biological clock was ticking and I felt the time was right.

I opened up the back of Hot Press and started circling the musicians wanted ads.

Next time out: Gigantic, The Panic & musical differences.