For The Record | Issue 25

For The Record | Issue 25

Thursday Night

I’ve always liked Thursdays. A distaste for Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays really doesn’t have to be explained; Rebecca Black has forever ruined Friday for me; Saturday is all about anticipation, and the day itself is generally lost in the buildup to “the night”; Sunday Bloody Sunday is a day of raging headaches, fatty foods, and a profound sense of dread that another week has gone by and you’ve essentially accomplished nothing, and that essay you were going to “knock out” has, strangely, not written itself.

Thursdays, on the other hand, are great. You’re over the hump, the prospect of the weekend puts a spring in your step and, in Dunedin at least, it’s the best day of the week for live music.

This particular Thursday night starts off like so many others. In preparation for a birthday BYO, the girls doll themselves up with too much foundation and lipstick, and the guys button up their shirts all the way, because that’s what you do these days and it doesn’t matter that it’s uncomfortable and doesn’t actually make sense because shirts are only supposed to be buttoned all the way up when you’re wearing a tie.

But I digress. En route to an Indian restaurant we stop at a liquor store and select the cheapest bottle of wine available. Ten dollars later, I find myself ordering a curry and sipping a glass of glorified grape juice.

Our party of 20 drinks fast and erratically, and laughs at everything. Glasses are filled and refilled, emptied and spilled. Before dinner is finished there’s vomit on the bathroom floor.

And then there’s the music. We arrive at ReFuel 30 minutes after the gig’s advertised start-time, but are still 30 minutes too early. We mill around the bar and consider playing pool, but don’t.

At this point in the night, a girl from our group sprays a bathroom stall with Korma-colored vomit, while onstage Dinosaur Sanctuary attempts to inject some life into an inanimate audience.

Two Cartoons play next, and the fuzz-pop duo thoroughly entertain the slowly-growing crowd. Now for the main attraction – Clap Clap Riot enter stage right, and immediately launch into a sweaty and frenetic set.

Suddenly ReFuel isn’t empty, and the audience is jumping along to the Auckland quartet’s euphoric dance-rock. The band finish up with a cover of The Clash’s “White Riot”, and as the music swells, as the crowd charges onto the stage, as my friend Lucy successfully seduces one half of Two Cartoons, Thursday night turns into Friday morning.

For the record, Clap Clap Riot recently released their debut LP, Counting Spins. I’d strongly suggest you get yourself a copy.
This article first appeared in Issue 25, 2012.
Posted 4:25pm Sunday 23rd September 2012 by Lukas Clark-Memler.