Clubfeet were recently asked to do a best of the year for Culture Bully and they came back with this Cocktail List for 2010. Monte Cooper, keyboard player and vocalist in Clubfeet also came with his, check it.
MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS 2010; by Montgomery Cooper of Clubfeet
Fruit = Goodness
In October I flew in from Europe to go to Perth, Australia for a music festival called OneMovement. I was sitting next to an older English gentlemen who looked like he might have been the sound engineer for the Birthday Party, so I introduced myself and we shook hands. Someone was talking very loudly nearby about Converse, and my new friend Martin turned to me and said “Monty… what IS Converse?” I looked at him – “Martin, you’re taking the piss?” He said: “No really, what IS it – I mean I’ve heard the word, but I really have no idea.” I laughed and said “you’re fucking kidding me.”
I was thinking it was awesome that I could be in the Southern Hemisphere, in the most isolated city in the world at a (pretty random) music festival talking to someone who’d clearly just stepped out of a time-capsule marked 1979.
I asked him “what the fuck to you do with yourself Martin?”
He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye and said: “I book Glastonbury.”
Butcher Blades vs Clubfeet
I got a text from Clubfeet’s manager at about 3am one Saturday night which read: “I’m in Melbourne, at some warehouse party, and the band has totally ripped your song off. Or did you rip them off?”
Five minutes later he texted again: “And it sounds kinda like Justice meets the Lion King… wtf?”
Then another: “I just met the band – it’s Butcher Blades! They just did that remix!”
About an hour later: “I’m coming now, I won’t need anything to sleep in. Do you have any scotch.”
About 30 seconds later: “Sorry that last one wasn’t meant for you. But are you in Australia? Can I borrow $20?”
Splendour in the Grass – Richard Ashcroft
I was on my way to see the Pixies headline Splendour when I got pulled aside by a friend walking over to see Richard Ashcroft from the Verve on another stage. “COME WITH ME” he screamed at me. I replied: “ghgoihgkhh.””Come on” he said, “let’s go see Richie!” He put a drink in my hand and I got caught into the slip stream of his enthusiasm.
He led me across fields of golden youth and beautiful music to a remote, lonely side stage miles from other humans and the 40,000 strong festival. We walked in and there were maybe 30 people loitering near the front of stage in a tent that was erected for 3,000. It was pitch black but if you turned around you could see lights and no silhouettes.
“Can’t we go watch the Pixies?” I asked him, but he was already silently mouthing “you come in on your own, you leave on your own” and had a half smile and a peaceful look on his eyes. I took a sip of my drink and shrugged.
Eventually Richard’s band came out and the music started – it sounded pretty delicious, a bit of Manchester flavour (or Wigam I guess) and he’d taken a leaf out of Ian Brown’s solo book and had a giant Hindi percussionist playing tablas and gongs… and then Richard came out strutting with a tambourine in hand. He looked out at the crowd, all 30 of us, and started shaking the tambourine like crazy. We cheered! He danced across the front of the stage. We cheered! About 2 minutes in he leant down as close to the ‘crowd’ as he could get from the stage and shouted “why don’t you go watch the fucking Pixies”, before throwing down his tambourine and storming off stage.