Mosh pit adjacent at Guitar Wolf
Founding member of Guitar Wolf and Lead signer, Seiji, holds the microphone wearing a leather jacket and wraparound sunglasses.
“Hey,” my friend says, “I’ve bought these tickets to a Japanese garage band playing at the John Curtin Hotel. Do you want to come?”
Yes!!
It’s been about eleven years since I lost most of my vision. This has given me many gifts, including the fact that I have become more adventurous, and also, I now have a well-honed sense of the ridiculous. And anyway, Guitar Wolf sounded like fun. Not that I managed to listen to any of their music before the gig. But when all seemed bleak and stressful in the world around me, jumping up and down and dancing it all off had a particular appeal.
On the way to the gig, I confessed to my friend that I had armed myself with Berocca, paracetamol and a large supply of industrial grade ear plugs. I’m pretty protective of my hearing at this stage. Speaking of protection, thank you to all of those people who helped save the venue for the night’s entertainment – the John Curtin Hotel – an iconic union movement landmark.
We arrive early enough to catch one of the support acts – some young boys in their twenties who look like teenagers to my friend. They have brought lots of mates to cheer them along and it’s a happy crowd. We boogie a bit to their rock tunes which sometimes remind me a bit of AC/DC. The carpet is authentically sticky. There are two gorgeous trans women standing in front of us.
“Do you think I should tell them they are beautiful?” My friend asks.
“Who doesn’t like being told they are beautiful,” I reply. A lovely conversation ensues.
Between support act and Guitar Wolf, the audience swells. I try not to think about COVID risk in enclosed spaces. Apparently, I can’t entirely shake my Girl Guide sensibility. My friend describes the distinct subculture we find ourselves in. A mix of big guys who are giving off a bikie vibe, hard-core hipsters with elaborate and painful-looking piercings (sorry if I’ve used the wrong words to categorise this group), rock music aficionados with eclectic taste, and two women in their fifties – one with a white cane and visible earplugs scrunched into her earholes. I feel like I am at peak dork, but I don’t care.
Guitar Wolf is not in a rush to take the stage. There are sound checks and the band room upstairs at the John Curtin seems to become even more intimate with the volume of people. My friend wants to get closer to the stage. That’s where the amps are so I am not keen! We move forward. The lights are cut. Guitar Wolf picks up their tools. Japanese rockers – some of them our age. They have eighties stylings like big black Roy Orbison sunglasses. One wears a leather jacket with nothing on underneath. My friend is totally loving their stage presence. A big booming guitar note rings out. It vibrates my sternum.
“Are you OK?” My friend asks.
“Bit scared,” I admit.
Guitar Wolf are loud. Really freakin’ loud. Thank God I had the sense to bring the plugs for my ears. But the band is hilarious and adored by this audience. They are also really great musicians. Along with everyone else, I jump up and down, I throw my hands in the air. I scream and I laugh.
Then we get a bit too close to the mosh pit and I find myself lurching sideways.
OK, this is fun, but I can’t help seeing a headline: “Blind woman dies in tragic mosh pit accident”.
Relationships require compromise to ensure longevity. My friend escorts me to the safety of the wall well back in the room, out of harms way, and she goes back to the front for more moshing.
I am happy as a clam on the wall, white cane out – not that anyone could see it because it is way too dark in the room. I’m transported by the music. I can literally feel the endorphins whooshing around my body.
It is good to be alive!