During my time at uni, I put myself through school as a bartender by earning tips at The Opera House, a kickass venue in Toronto. Choice cuts from the cornucopia of stories I have to share – which I will, until the day I die – here.
Big love to Josh Miles Joudrie, who laboured as a sound engineer during the three years I worked as a peddler of alcohol.
He recently passed through London for two nights on tour, so we went out for drinks, as you do. London is like New York. Everyone comes through at some point.
I hadn’t seen Josh in a decade.
Three hours traipsing down memory lane over pints? Time well spent.
One anecdote: The first gig I ever worked.
Cyber metal lords and unparalleled theatrical originators.
Me: “Watching them cover the walls in plastic sheeting was unforgettable.”
Josh: “Forget that – watching them cover the monitors, cables and sound desk buttons in cling film was even better.”
Me: “Watching the naive bartender sluts come to work in white was fucking hilarious.”
Josh: “That show was nothing compared to the open-air acts that featured set changes, background flats and the alternate costumes for hot or rainy weather. They had a 53-foot trailer. Watching a golf cart full of disembowelled babies [puppets, not humans] trundle across a field was priceless.”
One of the most amazing things about metalers: they are almost always, without fail, chivalrous and well-mannered.
RIP Dave Brockie, you theatrical, unparalleled, nutcase genius. As my dad, promoter Gary Cormier, once said: “These guys were total gentlemen. I would work with them any time, no matter the cost.”