Jram Royal: you fucking californians think you're the god damn kings of the fucking world
Our Lady Peace is one of my favorite bands. I fell in love with them in 1997 when KOME started playing "Superman's Dead" and we've been together ever since. Lucky for me, OLP has so far only cracked northeast America, so I can still see them in small venues on the west coast packed with transplanted Canadians.
andrew lentz in the 08.09-15 issue of la weekly
"An Our Lady Peace show presents a perplexing scenario: an altogether worthy yet unspectacular melodic rock act who somehow massage their audience into a quasi-religious euphoria of Jimmy Jones proportions. A classic case of the crowd being as entertaining as the band, OLP's House of Blues audience produced prolonged, pitch-perfect sing-alongs, not only to the hits but to tracks from the new album Gravity, released only a month earlier: 'Innocent' and 'Bring Back the Sun' conjured a forest of arms aloft and heads thrown back in eyes-closed, lip-synching ecstasy normally reserved for rock's most hallowed names. Our Lady Peace have tapped into something greater than the sum of their parts and are clearly offering the elements essential to both music and meaningful life: inspiration and escape."
I AM NOT A FUCKING CULT MEMBER, GODDAMMIT!
THESE PEOPLE ARE CULT MEMBERS! I AM NOT A CULT MEMBER! IT WAS THE CANADIANS!
Farmboy Mike and his buddy Chris from Washington visited Telcobox Nick and I in Los Angeles and sober hi-larity ensued. Mike captured the events of the day pretty well in his two posts: Dry Ice Part 1 and Dry Ice Part 2.
Some notes on Mike's posts:
Nick told me to tell the dry ice vendor that I wanted a block of dry ice, so I asked him for a block of dry ice…because…I was going on a road trip…and I needed to chill the cooler…and…uh…yeah. Despite my bad lying, the vendor agreed to sell me a block of dry ice for $30. "THIRTY FUCKING DOLLARS?" I thought. [sigh] "Aight… I'm a team player. I can afford this." Turns out Nick meant to say "half a block of dry ice." We ended up using less than a quarter of this giant block of dry ice, leaving me with lots of pricey carbon dioxide, which I proceeded to waste by dumping in the clogged urinals and unflushed toilets of my frat house.
Also, Nick's dad seemed more interested in blowing shit up than anyone else. In the Part 2 post, there's a photograph of him filming a Mountain Dew bottle, waiting for it to explode. The bottle, however, didn't seem to want to burst, so he got his BB gun and shot the mother, destroying his patio furniture in the process and loving every minute of it. Afterward, psycho dad suggested that we go inside because "the police are definitely gonna do a drive-by inspection over this," only to remark minutes later: "The police have probably come and gone by now. Let's go blow up some more stuff!"
"I smell it! I SMELL IT, ROCK!"
I should add that Academy Award® nominee Michael Clarke Duncan was standing right next to The Rock and no one paid any attention to him.
What started out as an unhealthy internet obsession resulted in a guy I had just met pooping off my balcony…and a lifetime of memories! I mean, how many people get to have their fucking HERO drive out to their house and sleep with them? I consider myself a very lucky man.
Check out the WankerCounty File. It's the closest thing you're gonna get to an archive on this site. It'd be a little better though if WC still existed.
And yes, Tony Fader is still my hero going into 2003.