Sick Night At Lounge 41

Lounge 41, Workington (27.03.15)

With the epic first gig of the year in Wakefield still fresh in our minds it was time for the Bombs and myself to load up the trailer, stock up on beer and turn the music up loud as we set off for the mighty trek up North to Lounge 41 in Workington - gig number 2 of 2015.

In the space of a month between blogs a lot had happened in Bombs Land. Foremost, the new album is coming along very nicely with some real game-changers being recorded. From your typical SB Scando/American rock 'n' roll to the third part of the Southern Rock Devil Trilogy (following Darkest Horse and Black Chariot), then possibly one the most expansive sounding songs ive ever heard; and a ballad that David Coverdale would be jealous of. I truly believe it will be venerated as the Bombs finest hour.

Also, if you are a follower of any SB social media outlets you may have noticed the Bombs featured on the cover CD of Classic Rock Magazine with a killer little write-up which described the track "Lights Over Phoenix" and the band perfectly. This is a true highlight of the bands career, we are all keen to thank you all for the continued support over the years and hopefully there will be much more to come.

Anyhow, back to the gig report. The way down was littered with much conversation as per, some intellectual, some incriminating but always entertaining. Subjects ranged from Class's annoyance over Gibbons being credited as the writer of Lights Over Phoenix in Classic Rock (credit stealing scoundrel was the phrase, wondering how much he had paid them), to which of the Heartbreakers is better - Johnny Thunders or Tom Petty (I got threatened with being left in the woods if i suggested Thunders is better than Petty... excuse me for having an opinion). Then we had a trek down memory lane with Class spinning an EP (Crimson Mask) of the Bombs earliest work featuring ex members Ronnie Bomb (now a highly respected producer for such bands as CSOD and the Bombs) and Jimmy Kage (Damo's brother and killer guitarist). Although the production wasn't the best it showed how deep-rooted in the punk scene they were at that time in their lives. It does, however, show they could go up against any in the veins of Rancid and The Clash.

After nearly 2 and a half hours, a crate of bud and a silly amount of piss stops we pulled up at the venue. It is a small yet awesome place with cheap cider and Jager shots available. The Soundman/Promoter Bootzie was found and proved himself to a top man who couldn't help us out enough in terms of gear and stage times (all venues take note, provide more people like this when putting on gigs). Business taken care of; me, Damo and Class got a table at the Indian restaurant next door and put the world to rights over a Jalfrezi, whilst JG and Scotty ventured elsewhere not wanting to sample our commonwealth cousins finest cuisine. With Gig time near and "Rock You Like A Hurricane" on the playlist (they must have known i was coming) the Bombs kicked it into high gear, with the audience filling up to a modest capacity they proceeded kick ass with a current greatest hits set-list, soon to be revised with new tracks and a great new cover. After the gig was over, and a quick run around for Captain Merch-boy over here, the gear was packed up and followed by a celebratory shot of Jager for me and Damo (g'won the freaky naughtyz). We set off back to the blackest of pools in high spirits.
Now at this point things went down hill for your humble narrator. One thing I'm realising lately is that some forms of alcohol don't agree with me in the slightest, whiskey being one of them and now joining the list is Rose wine. The details are sketchy to say the least but from what I recall i started a rant at two fathers in the band  about how having an offspring should not limit their partying antics (it kinda should) and lectured JG on how life is for living not working and how much coming out drinking beer and pursuing women is a much better idea than an early night and a good breakfast ready for a day's graft. JG described this the next day brilliantly to me as a Fisher Price philosophy. Anyhow, as the miles rolled around and Blackpool became clearer on the horizon the wine started kicking my ass and with no plastic bag in sight, I emptied my stomach contents over myself and my best Hardcore Superstar T-shirt. Although this would have been a great opportunity to give Class and Scotty (the front seat boys) a puke shower, I thought better of it and resigned myself to being that guy (again) who should know when to stop or at least know what agrees with him. Then again it ain't rock 'n' roll to obey limits is it? Drink till you puke then pass out... been the way forward since the early days of partying... well that's what I tell myself.

From what I've since been told by Class, I nearly made JG heave and Scott was dry wretching and making all sorts of overly dramatic noises whilst wagons and juggernauts rolled past us (what a sight we must have been). This was not the worst part of the journey, having woken up back at mine the next day i found someone had stolen my cigarettes from me whilst in my stupor. I'll give you one guess at who that may have been...

Damien you owe me 8 cigs Douche-boy!

Shame i passed out as i missed out on a fine comical moment when Scott dropped Damo off right outside his house, slightly pissed himself, he proceeded to walk half the length of his street then turned round and had to ask Scott which one was his house.

Until the next blog stay cool and Rock n Roll \m/

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