Here at Korindie, we’re nothing if we aren’t honest. And here’s the honest truth. I thought that Grey was touring with a revamped version of Henry Demos‘ old band Watersports at first. So, here I am, in the front row in nothing but a funnel gag and a leather harness… and all of a sudden I’M the weird one. The front rows DID NOT get wet. Zero out of five golden whips of shame.
The club floor is supposed to be a judgment-free zone.
Without the waterworks, they still put on a pretty good (yet vanilla ㅠㅠ) show, as I’m sure you can tell from the above recording for which I expertly pressed record and then stop. Grey, formerly (and kinda currently?) of the Killer Drones, played from his new album, and all were enthralled. Except the person who stood directly under the fucking microphone and talked about tequila all night. I think I was able to cut most of it out, but seriously dude, whoever the fuck you are, it’s fucking tequila, stick a fucking worm in some vodka and you’re done.
So Grey has like this new album, but he needs people to play it. For some reason, he decided to get a bunch of nice, decent people, and then name them the Warm Jets. The Warm Jets. How else could anyone interpret that? I mean, aside from above. Like, you had a Dyson dryer on bass? I don’t get it. Did these people owe you money? Actually, don’t tell me. Some dark secrets never need to see the light of day. Grey’s a pretty smooth dude though, so it’s probably spy code for something. Or he’s a cult leader?
Oh, grow back that mustache. It was awesome. And spy-like. Hmm. Maybe cult leaderish?
Right. The band. John Wade, Grey’s old band mate, also of the Killer Drones, is the guy you call when you want an awesome bassist, but you can’t be outclassed/upstaged by Mike McGrath’s freaking sweet moves. He stands there, plays the licks, and has a good time without bumping into your shit. He always strikes me as the guy who will help you out in a jam, and put up with your choice in recent band names. Also, I think his dog might eat me. Will your dog eat me dude? Like. Don’t let your dog eat me.
I’m fully convinced that Ethan Waddell doesn’t have a job. He’s been in like 74 different bands, and subbed for everyone during their allotted hagwon vacation period*. Ethan, how are you supporting yourself? Do these people pay you? Wait… are you in Grey’s mustache cult? Do you have Stockholm syndrome? Blink twice for yes, and once for very yes. We can get you home, Ethan. We can get you home. Mama and Papa Waddell miss you (I guess?), and all your pedals.
BA, or Brad is another one of those people that’s like in every band that needs a drummer anywhere in the city. And he operates a recording studio. And he manages the Barberettes. Brad, I want to know your secrets. All your secrets. It takes me 2 hours to open a web browser and write a shitty article. GIVE ME YOUR SECRETS OF SPACE AND TIME.
Whatever. It’s cool. I can just live with a 16 hour day like the rest of us. Sniff.
Okay, enough shit. Grey, right now is in France, pretending to be bourgeoisie, or Spain, pretending to be..umm… some Spanish word I don’t fully understand. I’m not jealous. He’s touring for his new album. Sigh. I wish I was in their cult. I’d have something to do for 16 hours a day. And maybe I could get me some paella.
Grey, bring me back some paella. I’ll pay you back in cult dues.
*For those of you not in the know, it’s two days in December, and 8 days at the end of your contract.