Music

I’ve been tossing this idea around for a while now, but it’s starting to take shape. I know a lot of you have been asking for one for a while, so I’m finally going to record a solo album. Real solo solo this time, with plenty of just me and the guitar, with a few friends helping out here and there. Not entirely sure if it’s going to be a full length album or a long EP yet, so that’s still up in the air, but I’ll look into getting it done in the second half of the year.

There are a few definite tracks already: Hope & Crown will feature, and so will a track I learned from an old busker in Victoria, plus a piano ballad and one of the covers I’ve been tossing around live. If you’ve got any requests of songs to stick on the album, drop a comment and I’ll see how it’ll fit.

Dear friend FMJ has started sketching out some ideas for an album cover, so I’m looking forward to seeing how that comes up. You can see some of her other stuff here.

I’ll be coming to Brisbane next month to play a show at the Troubadour with Ben Salter (The Gin Club, Giants of Science, et al), so come along if you’re up that way. Thursday June 10th, the Troub, with Ben Salter and Tash Parker.

In the meantime, check out the latest on my other band Ride the Tiger. (MySpace here).

Catch you all later,

Linc

I once knew a girl who liked to pretend her life was a TV show, and all her friends were bit players. I was an A-list friend for a while, but eventually got written off the series. This is an alternative-ending version of the song, which I rewrote specially for my sister’s wedding. I didn’t want to post the video before the wedding, so now that the presents have been opened and the hangover’s almost gone, here it is. Linc.

Apologies that the embedder isn’t working, but here’s the link.
Reruns (apologies to Christina)

So I went and bought a shitty webcam so I could maybe show you some songs I’ve been playing with for a while. This is a track called Still Be Around by Uncle Tupelo that I play live sometimes. I’ll upload some more over the coming weeks as I get a better idea of how the piece of crap works.

We got a few gigs coming up this month, starting with a solo gig this Saturday night, supporting Evan Dando (of The Lemonheads), and with special guest James Dilger (Sole Stickers, The Reactions). I’m a massive fanboy of Dando’s, so I couldn’t be more excited about getting to share the stage with him. Show starts at 10pm at the Republic Bar.

To top that, the next week features a full Lincoln & the Insiders show with young Texan Ben Kweller, also at the Republic Bar. Again, I’m a massive fanboy. As a side note, this will be the Insiders only Hobart show for a while.

Launceston fans, we’re finally coming up to play another show for you. This time on the 18th of April at the Nothern Club with Melbourne swagger rockers The Vandas, and again with James Dilger’s new band Sole Stickers.

In dot point form:

Saturday 4th April
Evan Dando, Linc, James Dilger – Republic Bar, North Hobart (tickets)

Wednesday 15th April
Ben Kweller, Lincoln & the Insiders – Republic Bar, North Hobart (tickets)

Saturday 18th April
The Vandas, Lincoln & the Insiders, Sole Stickers – Hotel New York, Launceston.

Cheers everyone.

See you at a show, and stay tuned.

Linc

So, apparently, Australia is now one of the fattest countries in the world. Tasmania, it also turns out, is the fattest state in one of the fattest countries in the world. Now, I’m well aware that I’m not responsible in any way for that statistic – hell, I don’t even have an arse (note, for future reference: Linc has no arse) – but that’s gotta be a worrying sign. A state full of poor, unemployed, fat bogans that didn’t finish grade eleven. But we all knew that already.

I saw a uteload of said fat fuckers on my way back from Eastlands the other day. Imagine if you bought five human-sized balloons, stuck them in all in a car, and THEN inflated them until they consumed ALL CONCEIVABLE SPACE in the car. It was like Gilbert Grape’s mum had been squashed into a small aquarium fishtank.  This is basically what I saw. Fat. Fucks.

In other news. Lochie J put me onto this band. He calls them math rock, I call them awesome. They call themselves Giraffes? Giraffes! and I don’t know anything else about them. They don’t like giving much away on their website.

Check out the video Giraffes? Giraffes! live in New Hampshire (i can’t embed it for some reason)

The Scandal are about to launch a new 7″ single. I worked with the band in the studio a few months ago, and this is probably the best thing that’s I’ve produced so far. Check out the new single up on the band’s myspace.

Having a three hour drive to get to Melbourne was a blessing after the previous day’s eleven hour marathon drive. The weather once we got there, however, was not. Forty three degrees, I heard someone say. I have honestly never been in that sort of heat ever. It was bullshit (or boowwshit, as the old guys say it, jowls a’danglin’).

We check in at the FLAGSTAFF MOTOR INN, and make our way to Brunswick to the venue. Nice place too. In fact the whole suburb had a nice je ne sais quoi about it. Actually, that’s a bit of a misnomer in translation, since we knew exactly what it was about Brunswick that gave it a certain charm, and that was the total lack of electricity. Literally. The whole suburb’s power grid was out, due to a whole chunk of Melbourne being blacked out from the heat. Shit was melting fuseboxes all over the place. This blackout also extended to the very pub at which we were to play.

But, since this has been a tour of ‘making the most of it’, we were all ready to do an acoustic show in the dark, just for the hell of it, when the power came back on. Not to worry. But, everyone had already decided to stay at home with their working air conditioners by this stage, so we played a quiet little show to a few very supportive fans.

Where were we staying again? Oh yes, the FLAGSTAFF MOTOR INN. Now, this place had a few things: a working air conditioner, a relatively clean bathroom, a TV, and BEDBUGS. I woke up bitten to shit with, like, a dozen of the little fuckers running around under the bedsheet.

You can't see much, but these are a couple of the little scabs.

We cracked the shits with management and demanded a refund (which is proving difficult for the moment), and hotfooted it to another hotel across town.

At this point, I thought we were in the clear, but I thought it would be wise to double check the bags, and sure enough, the bags were crawling with the little fuckers as well, trying to hitchike along with us. Or last full day of tour, and a Saturday in Melbourne no less, and I spent the day with a can of bug spray, a dozen maxi-sized garbage bags, and a roll of electric tape, trying to suffocate the little shiteaters (or bloodsuckers, technically) in the thrity-degree heat.

In the meantime, Hamish has got an ear infection from one of the scummy hotel pools along the way, and asked for directions for a doctor from last night’s infested hotel (THE FLAGSTAFF MOTOR INN, from memory), only to arrive at an accupuncture clinic. Thanks guys. You’ve been great.

It’s just about time to head to the Public Bar in North Melbourne to play our very last show of tour. Still pissed I couldn’t go and see Ryan Adams last night or tonight. Naw well. Laters.

Did I tell you someone got shot outside our hotel? Surfers Paradise – what a place. Road rage, they say. Unleashed a hail of gunfire, they say too. What a place.

Thanks a billion to Jordan Millar and the Question for playing with us at the Hopetoun in Sydney on Wednesday night. What a great bunch of guys. Top work from Mikey from the Question especially, having played three shows straight, and then had to get on a plane at eight the next morning to go to LA to play some more.

In a rare rock and roll moment, there was even an after party for the show, thanks to a gracious host. However, by the time we drove the van back to the hotel and walked back to the party, it essentially involved two guys sitting in their loungeroom pulling cones and the rest of us sitting out in the backyard talking about how the other two were just pulling cones. Good times.

There are currently five of us sitting in a hotel room in Sale, too hot to wear shirts, trying to get drunk on whatever we’ve got left, after having spent eleven hours in the tour bus to get here from Sydney only to find that the gig here had been cancelled. Still, in this heatwave, we’re quite happy to have a night off.

Brunswick hotel tomorrow, in the forty degree heat. Watch me melt.

From now on, whenever someone says “have we got everything” and I say “yeah, I did the double check,” don’t for the love of god believe a word I say. Some guy from one of the other bands comes running out to the van just as I was driving off and asks if anyone has left a a Maton acoustic behind. Clearly it’s not mine, since I don’t own a Maton. I do, however, own a different guitar in a Maton case.

Shit. I was just that close to leaving my guitar at a pub. What a dickhead.

Good news is that Joe is feeling a little better after the whole dirty taco fiasco, and we’re all set for a couple days in a row of shows, continuing with tomorrow night’s show in Newcastle.

Tonight’s gig at The Lansdowne in Sydney was as hot as the devil’s underpants, but we played a couple of good shows, and thanks to all those who made it along. The Lazy Flies are a great bunch of guys, and they played a great set of sitting-back rock and roll. Great tunes.

Later mofos.

I was pretty bummed that the one thing i left in Hobart was my pair of cheap sunglasses. Since I’ve been doing most of the driving so far, I’ve had to borrow everyone elses sunnies so as to avoid being blinded and driving up the arse end of some Eurotrash sportscar, of which there seem to be plenty.

So my mission for the day was to buy a new pair of aviators. Ray Bans for $240? Nieehew I don’t think that will be neccesary sirs, given the five dollar peices of crap I found at some shitty souvenir shop in the city. MIssion accomplished, leaving me to spend the rest of the morning drinking coffee on Brunswick Street, before meeting the rest of the band and driving to Geelong.

Now, I thought there was some kind of law about having to be a certain age in order to work at a bar. Maybe things are different in Geelong, but we ate dinner at some pub in the city, and I was greeted at the bar by a kid, who was no word of a lie about thirteen years old. This little squeaky-voiced blond kid with a buzzcut and a purple t-shirt someone had given him for christmas asked me if i preferred my bourbon in a short glass or tall. The little fucker couldn’t even reach across the bar to hand it to me.

There’s this bar called The National (or The Nash) as the locals cleverly refer to it. Cool enough place, which reminded me a bit of The Tote in Melbourne, but the clientele had just finished high school, and were very concerned about looking different to the slappers at the cover band pub down the road. It was essentially as you would expect if you were drinking at a bar somewhere in MySpace.

Good things about Geelong: The Houses (a cool young band that we’re playing with again in a few weeks), Steve from Spinning Half studio, and a couple of cool venues.

Uncool things about Geelong: as far as I can tell, most other things.

Travel Hobart to Melbourne – Bar 303, Northcote.

The trip to Melbourne isn’t worth blogging about, save for the fact that it was only Hamish’s second ever plane trip. Also not worth telling is the story of picking up the tour van and collecting the gear from the freight company, although I did manage to stab myself in the finger with a pocket knife while unpeeling the seven layers of bubble wrap that sheathed every piece of fucking gear we had, which, as it turns out, is not quite enough bubble wrap to stop a keyboard in a case getting broken. We now have an electric piano which is missing a few black keys in the upper octaves, but who the shit plays that high anyway.

Setting up at Bar 303 in Northcote, and the bar manager didn’t seem to give a shit about much. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he certainly wasn’t the most helpful dude in the world. I pointed out that his gig chalkboard had Dom Cooley advertised as ‘Dom Dooley’ and he just kind of grunted at me.

It was about this time that Stan realised that he didn’t have a hi-hat clutch. A small but essential piece of kit that we’d left at the caravan park (that’s right, we’re staying at a fucking caravan park). Once we’d driven halfway back, realised that we’d forgotten the keys to the cabin, driven back to the venue, and hit the road again, I thought I’d try my luck.

The Great Apes (soon to change their names) live not too far from the venue, so I thought I’d have a crack at dropping in to see if Emily or Will were at home. The door opens, and flatmate Callan is standing there looking at me, thinking I know this guy. Who the fuck is this guy, and I just kind of blurt out ‘Don’t have a hi-hat clutch, do you?’ So he disappears into his room, and comes out holding a shiny silver clutch in his hands. We have some awkward conversation where I try to get out exactly how excellent this guy is, but I end up acting like an ungrateful dick, and get back in the van.

So we got our shit sorted, and played a show to around ten people. After selling some discs and taking the fuck all we made on the door, we paid our soundguy and came away with the less than impressive total of seven dollars.

We ate dirty, dirty kebabs from some shifty guy who kept looking at me like he had just wiped the lamb under his stinking armpits, and who insisted on playing some shithouse Euro-doof at a hundred ducking decibels in the shop, and went home. To the caravan.

And what a dirty kebab it was too. Fucker.