The type of scarlet that I am about to unfold on you is a specific type of mortification. It’s when you don’t necessarily do anything cringey but everything and everyone around you is SO MORTO that you, in turn pull a full body reddner on their behalf and die.
So I’ll set the scene for you, a scarlet movie if you will:
Venue: Whelan’s, Dublin
What are you doing there? Shakey Graves is playing *Directors Note* (Can we change this to Aslan for the movie, as flight for Shakey Graves will cost actual money, Aslan are willing to do this for a six pack).
Temperature? Eh, why is this important? Dunno. Shitty and foggy. *Directors Note* (Pity it wasn’t raining, that would have really added to the tension).
Cast? Everyone from the nut house, me, Steve the doorman and Scarlet Johansson. *Producers Note*(Unlikely we will be able to get Scarlet Johannson, as she is actual Hollywood superstar, will Daithi o’ Shea do?).
I get to Whelan’s just after 8 and have to wait for my mate outside, ’cause “2 mins away” in Irish time means 20. I am entertained by Steve the doorman (name changed for scarlet reasons). *Directors note*: ( Daithi o Shea has agreed to play Steve the door man, but he has asked to change the location of entire movie to Tralee).
In the next 20 minutes I waited for my mate, I had about 57 cigarettes and realised that this gig is populated by 80% either North Americans or Australians. which, like, grand, I love American food and Home & Away. So as I mooch around in the laneway, two girls walk up – one is an American, one is an Australian– then Aussie girl (lets just call her Oz) whips out literally the smallest guitar of all time, like it was basically a tuned spoon – and starts strumming away and busking, not for money, but for a ticket to the show.
I mean, I don’t know if that’s like a “thing” in Australia, to busk for tickets, but here it’s a little weird, so everyone is kind of like “Story with yer wun?” anyway, she’s singing away and her friend is just standing beside her nodding her head, while the rest of us question our existence. Then two American lads walk up the lane FUCKED OFF THEIR TITS, and one of them (let’s call him Bradley) goes over to Oz and starts trying to sing along with her to a song that is clearly AN ORIGINAL COMPOSITION. Not a man to be put off by such a frivolous thing as lyrics, he begins to make random noises and mumble incoherently to the tune. Me and Steve the doorman are just looking at each other like “Fuck sake lads.” So oz gets MAD frustrated coz she can’t concentrate on her song because Bradley is distracting her, by just singing bullshit noises. Oz stops playing and Bradley is all “Are you going to the gig?” and she’s like “No, I’ve no ticket, that’s why I’m playing for one.”
Bradley (Oprah Winfrey style) screams “I HAVE A SPARE TICKET!!!” cue Oz being ecstatic and forgiving everything he has just done. Then Bradley, out of nowhere, picks up Oz and just starts running up and down Whelan’s lane with her screaming, “WE HAVE TICKETS, WE HAVE TICKETS!!!!” like a fucking maniac.
He eventually lets her down, gives her the ticket and then goes up to the door to try and get in, like nothing has just happened. Steve the doorman (after witnessing all of this), tries to stop the scarlet in its tracks before it spreads and is all “Not tonight, lads.” Their poor little confused faces. They’re like “Whaaaaaaaa?” and Steve is like “Think yizzer a bit well on.” but the Americans don’t speak Dublin so they’re like “Dude. What, what the fuck, duuuuuuuuuuuude???”
Through all of this I am bent over in the alley laughing like a Youtube baby.
Steve, beginning to break, “Tell yiz wha. Come back to me in 15 minutes and I’ll see what your story is then.”
Confused Americans: “You’ll see our story? What will you see? We have tickets man!!!”
Steve, who has now just given up: “Just come back to me when yizzer relaxed a bit right!!”
I never actually got to see how this ended coz my mate arrived and I had to leave this Shakespearean tragedy mid act. So, let’s pretend they did get in.
So, then the gig itself. Serious sound issues in the first 15 minutes, everything sounded like it would fucking explode at any minute. It does eventually give up, leaving Shakey to do first half of the set acoustic (which was actually fucking brilliant). So, scarlet contained for now, we get on with show. Then in the middle of a beautiful, slow, heartfelt tune we all blatantly see these two tools (who must have been his roadies) trying to “discreetly” shuffle a gigantic fucking Marshall amp onto the stage behind him. This completely wrecks the ambience of the tune while I lose my shit laughing in the corner. Imagine two giants each holding a side of a massive amp and just Chuckle Brothers “To me, to you” style bringing it on stage mid song.
I stopped looking when they got the amp caught in the fucking curtains cause the stage is tiny. *Directors Note* (For financial reasons, in the movie the amp is going to have to be a cardboard box with the world AMP written on it).
I decide to go have a wee, as one does after 48 drinks and I’m just standing in the ladies wondering if Zayne will ever make up with Louis, when THUUUUUUMP – a girl behind me fucking DROPS and in the process, pushes another girl who falls onto ME. She is FUCKED. Bitch went smack-down. It looked like a dead body hitting the deck. Everyone is like, “Is she hammered, is she dead, is she having some type of scarlet attack???” We pick her up and she is Liza Manilli shades of disorientated but alive. We all pretend to be adults and get her water, wondering if she’s ok, asking her questions and this young wun, who had been in front of me in the queue, just randomly says out loud to everyone, “I’d love some weed! Can anyone else smell it? Does anyone have some???”. Someone just fucking planted to the ground in front of you, but yes, yes I would love some weed. Thanks.
It’s not even 9.30pm yet AND it’s a fucking midweek gig. Actually, I should have led with that. That’s worst part about everything. I had to work the next day. The most eventful thing that should ever happen mid week is that your Netflix takes too long to load.
Anyway, I go to the loo coz I’m fucking niagara falls bursting at this stage, come back out, wash my hands (I just wanted to get that in there) and then SMAAAACK! she fucking GOES DOWN AGAIN. Literally, like someone who has fallen into sudden paralysis. It was MENTAL! So, now some person with medical experience is there and decides she either has sudden onset scarlitis or she’s drugged up to her eyeballs.
She then awakes from her SECOND FALL, like she’s just been at a spa. NOT A FUCKING BOTHER ON HER. She’s all, “Oh, did I fall? I’m not even that drunk. Don’t know what’s wrong with me,” *Shrug* While everyone else is in a state of WHAT THE FUCK? I leg it in an attempt to avoid the 3rd, likely fatal fall. *Producers Note* (Good news, Liverpool girl from First Dates Ireland has agreed to play drunk bitch but we have to provide the pills).
The rest of the night consisted of me avoiding the bathroom for fear of stumbling upon a corpse, some bloke at the bar giving out about how much Prince music the DJ was playing (HE HAD ONLY DIED THAT DAY!) and was saying some homophobic shit ,whilst simultaneously trying to chat me up while I mentally scream “go away you fucking gowl, Conor McGregor wannabe, spa!” “I like girls who can drink a pint.” Words that actually left his mouth. I thought of 47 ways to make lemonade out of him. *Directors Note* (Let’s hold auditions in Coppers for guy at bar).
The night ended with Shakey Graves playing the last song with a towel on his head covered in blood cause he had whacked his head off something else on the deathtrap of a stage. I fucked off in a scarlet haze never to be heard from again. *Directors Note* (Ending is a bit dramatic, let’s end with you puking outside the venue instead).