I first met Say Sue Me by the pool table in the Basement Pub. The roof was really low, and it was filled with a mix Busan’s seemingly taller than average foreign community, and, well, an unusable pool table. Say Sue Me were chilling on top/to the side of it, having a few too many drinks for having released an album last year called “We’ve Sobered Up”. I pushed through the lanks of b-ballian proportions to slap hands. Jelly from Angle administered the proceedings, and I became cool to to get up in their honest-to-godly* untoxicated faces.
Jelly’s a lot like me. He tells me he always tells people how they can expand. Sometimes, I suspect he’s even relevant (jk). Not so much that night (nk).**
Sumi told me to make her look pretty, looked at my camera, took a sip, and laughed. It was one of those well played lines that was a joke and a jab to everyone in the conversation at the same time.
They went on first. I lodged the audio recorder in the ceiling and got ready.
They sounded good. I don’t write about music, so just listen to it yourself and then apply some words what with you were thinking and then put it in the comments for all to see. I can tell you this though, the crowd was way into them, and I felt like I wanted to go surfing afterwards.
I think I gotta spend more time at the beach. Anyone down for Gwangalli this summer?
*I don’t believe in that dude. Come now.
**You were off point, but you’re still awesome. Get at me if you read this. Nothing but respect (and gentle ribbing). Let’s talk about the future.
I have no idea what that means, but it sounded cool enough to write so I wrote it. Or rather, I typed it. Does that appease the semant prone among you? It better. Maybe I heard it while I was ambushed down-under. Maybe I made it up like a plate of creamy trollops and onions. (An east coast favourite!) While I will refrain(?) from comparing Nice Legs to a disgusting septic treatise on diabetes, I will place them within a hierarchy where they are in a position superior to our aforementioned arielistine baathren. Just baarely. Sheep go baa.
To say the trio-recently-cum-duo of Henry, Lew, and John has been a driving force in my photography, videography and audio… phony, would be a slight understatement. They’ve put up with me shooting off right in their fucking leg-faces for the last year, for one, and they’ve also been cool with my guinea-pigging of their likenesses in my somewhat-self-driven DSLR usage, Lightroom and Photoshop lessons as well.
Just pretend I’m holding a degree that says “19 6 A obe M st r” that I printed myself on an OS/2 only dot matrix printer that only has cyan and magenta cartridges. The metaphor still stands.
Anyway, that allowance of personal space dismissal (Form 7-17B Section 6) goes a long way with me. As does Jon. Now, he’s not around as much because he’s all about hanging out in some European zoo with broodier peeps. (I’ll be bootlegging them too soon enough. Jon, I’ll be bootlegging you soon enough.) Here, in the bootlegs presented above, he’s bringing some of that energy to play in one of the ‘Legs”s darker shows. Everything is set in that rhythm and/or key where you feel really uncomfortable or sad, but you don’t know why. Or rather, I don’t know why.
This is probably why I don’t write about music.
Henry and I go back. Not back to the new-old country back, but back enough to matter back. Straight out, we met each other when we were both in a fully realized and understood broken-ish state, and we didn’t really know where we were going. This made me want to hang out with him a lot more with him, and not other people that had their shit together.
Because that is still kinda painful.
H was way skilled at the musics, but he didn’t have anyone to really music with a lot to the extent that he would have liked to have musicked. He was experimenting with some kinky scenes rather deliberately implied… yet those that his contemporaries didn’t seem to realize existed. I don’t think this really clicked with him though. Now, he’s doing like full-on good, although I’m not going to take any more credit for that transition than I will with the next sentence for it.
I’m a therapeutic god and it’s not because he found someone who understands him nearly completely musically at all.
I first met Lew at a table when she tried to ply me with a handmade sticker that said something in fancy handwriting or typewriting that probably meant something. I refused it, due to my secret loathing for stickers, (they make me gag for some reason, but that’s a secret, so if you act on it, I’ll have to act on you), but she seemed cool with it. She had short hair with a long rattail, a memory from a time when she cared about things that didn’t matter so much right then as they did to her a short while before right then, and a cape that represented a new celerity in her choice of wardrobe that was preparing her for the next phase in her musical existence.
I told her she was awesome within the first 5 minutes, as she was running up the stairs at Yogiga to see someone about a white horse.
They’re responsible for why I annoy the crap out of any band I can find on a weekly basis, and as such you can send all hate mail to firstname.lastname@example.org from now until the eventual self-destruction of Google’s servers when they achieve sentience.
About them all together, in a summary type paragraph, that would normally come at the end of a post, I would have to say that they make some music, and I happen to enjoy said music. I think the time they sang Happy Birthday to me on or near my birthday would happen to be the favourite song of theirs, but it was a limited time offer and I didn’t record it.
I got all up in their faces. I took some moderately good photos.
Let’s cut to the chase. They’re a feminist band, but their bassist is a dude. You’d think that joke would have run dry by now, but it hasn’t, much to Mike’s potential chagrin. Although he’s too English and/or male to call me on my sexism, but you still can. (Full discretion, remember? Read adjacent.) The fourth woman in Baekma (FWB) is a title that will follow him for a while, even though they’re gone now.
Which is sad. The audio below is from their final show last week. I mean their final show period, which happened to happen last week. Happy? No. No I’m not.
Steph and Eilis have both decided that it’s time to move on from Korindie’s reach, and they are being/will be missed. I imagine both of them getting really old (like AT LEAST 50) and sitting out on the porch with lemonade or whatever Ozzies drink, like dingo blood (lite) or some Vegemite smoothie shit, talking to their grand kids about all the crazy shit they did on stage in Asia (vRKT-MHOMPo) and how awesome it was, but thank fuck they left when they did, because otherwise they wouldn’t have done something awesome, like destroy the Republican party or prevent the next solar flare.
I think I’m going to write a comic. The strong woman is a cliché, but I’d like to reimagine that stereotype, but add depth and personality to the characters. You know, to make them like people. It’ll sell a nillion* copies.
Maggie will continue with a solo project. I bonded with her over our mutual love of pie and Taito Cheese and Onion crisps. (BTW, those are the only potato chips I will call crisps. Respect where respect is due.) Korindie will hound her until we hear something. (I’m serious, Maggie.)
Over the year I knew them, I think what impressed me most from my experience with them is the capacity to have meaning and yet have fun at the same time. This threw me at first, I saw it as an inconsistency. But then I realized it’s to keep you from going crazy.
I don’t like writing about music. Basically, genres, chord progressions and fancy gear talk (with the exception of pedals for some reason) can all get fucked. People tell me Mountains are math rock. I am still unsure as to what that means, but I brought a compass just in case I need it.
I’m going to rock that shit. I got a 91% in calculus once in the 90s, and even got some plaque and everything. I was so proud, I haven’t gone to the dentist since.
Whatever. I do like talking about people though.
I met Ali outside of Magpie, and immediately judged him based on my perception of his nationality. He didn’t friend me on Facebook for two months after this, but then we had a talk and I realized you shouldn’t judge people based on where they’re from. Oh, and then a month later he friended me. #victory. Does this make me look like a racist/classist asshole? Yes. Do I care? … Yes, so very yes. But, this page is about full discretion, and I want you to know what you’re dealing with and I don’t have to be the good guy.
I met Blad outside a show, on the mean streets of Hongdae. He was a bit tipsy, but like the best type of tipsy. Like, the type of tipsy where you meet your wife or your new best friend, or how the ending of that show with Doogie Houser should have been. He’s not 14 anymore, throw the dude a bone. Seriously. Look, I’m not saying this happened between the two of us, but it probably happened to Blad and someone more important that night. It was a wee bit magical like.
I haven’t really talked to Stephen, but he seems like a stand-up dude. I mean he’s on stage all day and he doesn’t seem to have any knee or leg problems. He’s still young. He’ll learn eventually.
Start exercising before you’re 30 kids, or get married early.
I didn’t get Mountains when I first heard them. Ali would say it was because they weren’t very good, but that’s just because he’s a modest bastard. I first “got” “them” here at this set linked below, where Blad is, in the best muster terminology I can muster “on fucking point”. (Seriously though, don’t talk to me re music, just listen re said music.) Like, people were looking around at each other going, gaddam, how can they be this on point? Ollie will back me up on this.