Monday, September 13, 2004
Broken Toyz
Rob recently took me to see a band called The Broken Toyz (note the “z” in the title, it’s relevant).
It was, to say the least, an experience. We met up at his place so I could drive, not being a heavy drinker (any more). We then proceeded to the bar, about an hour ahead of when the band was scheduled to start playing, so we could get in. Now, maybe it’s just me, but I hadn’t really been out much in the past few years – maybe a beer here or there, maybe a couple of drinks or an hour or two after work – but the evening crowd is NOT the same as the “after work” crowd. The “after work” people are just on their way home, they’re not getting rowdy, they’re not there to cause trouble. The evening people? Are there for show, and to cause trouble. I think it may even be a prerequisite that they either show something off or try to start something, or, alternatively, pick up.
We met up with some of Rob’s friends, who all seemed like fine folks (really, he knows a lot of people, that guy, and they all seem cool). Everyone was laughing, everyone was chatting, everyone was having a good time. And this was long before the band started. A lineup formed outside. Minor tragedy - some of the friends who hadn’t planned ahead got left outside and couldn’t get in. But we were OK, we had good seats. We sat right by the pool tables.
Sitting by the pool tables might sound like a good idea until the foolish pool players try to start playing pool DURING the band. Then it’s all getting elbowed, or being shoved by an errant player, or having a stick whack you in the eye. One of the freaky pool players, a very tall individual with poorly maintained hair, tried to start a fight with one of Rob’s friends. Imagine! He actually shoved. He did not come off looking at all good during the altercation – he ended up looking like a pouty twelve-year-old. Rob’s friends all looked incredulously at the guy because no one could believe anyone who was there to see Broken Toyz would start something that stupid.
We ignored the pool players, and as the evening wore on, the place got more and more packed. By the time the band was set to go on, there wasn’t much in the way of room left, standing or otherwise. The endless sound checks finally stopped, and the band made their way out onto the floor.
The band consisted of a Lead Singer/guitar, Bass Player, Guitar Player and one helluva Drummer.
If you hadn’t guessed from their name, they’re an ‘80s cover band leaning more towards the metal side of the fence. I knew we were in trouble when their opening number was Van Halen. They played some Guns ‘n Roses, Def Leppard, Metallica, Alice Cooper and a bunch of other stuff I remember but have no idea who originally did the songs. Rob was hilarious. He was smiling, and laughing, and rockin’ out. The band was hilarious, as well – they put on an amazing show.
The best entertainment, by far, was the drummer. He was, of course, all decked-out in ‘80s garb, complete with hair that was either real or a reasonable facsimile. He would stand up to drum, stand up ON the drumset, stand up on his chair, leap from whatever he was standing on and crash into the drumset in a spectacular display of drumming expertise. He would twirl the drumsticks, repeatedly and often, and would also toss them up into the air between beats. The best was when he didn’t catch them, he’d just whip out a new drumstick from a cache of drumsticks beside his seat. It was pure hilarity and entertainment. They should play at least once a month, and the place would be packed.
After the first set, a bunch of the friends left. I can totally, totally understand why (what with it being a weeknight and all), but we did not leave. It was too much fun to be had. We remained, throughout the break chatting and drinking and generally having a good time.
The second set started up again and it was even rowdier than the first. By then, a good deal of the crowd was either totally drunk or well on their way, as evidenced by the two crazy drunken bitches (who must not have been in even grade school during the ‘80s, but there you go, I guess) who lurched their way over to the bar to a) order drinks, b) crash wildly and drunkenly into other people, c) spew, and finally d) lurch away afterwards, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
At that point, also, I had to pee, so I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room. Let me say this about that: it shouldn’t have been called a “ladies’ room”, it was most definitely a can, and not a really nice one at that. There were two stalls, and as I entered the room, two “girls” went into one, and two “girls” went into another. I believe the first set of girls were just in there saving time and space or whatever and might just have been really comfortable with one another, but the second set of “girls” were not in there to pee at all. They were in there for an entirely different purpose, and I had to stand there, waiting and unfortunately hearing everything that went on. You know, if you’re in a crowded bar, and you want to fool around with your same-sex lover, please go home or at the very, very least go outside to your car or even just a dark corner, because those of us that are in there who have to pee probably have to pee pretty badly, and/or are drunk (like the girls who came in after me looking relatively unstable, probably hoping for a nice can to spew in and were sorely disappointed by the extended wait time). When the first set of “girls” exited the stall, I made my visit a short as humanely possible and went back to the table in a kind of disgusted awe. I did get a good look at their shoes, however, and spent the rest of the evening trying to get a good look at their faces.
The Crazy Drunken Bitches from the bar (who were probably no more than 23, really) had lurched their way over to the stage by then, and were whoopin’ it up pretty good. There was a scuffle, and a couple of badly thrown punches, one well-thrown punch and a guy with a possibly broken nose. All hell broke loose, bouncers were called in, and the Crazy Drunken Bitches had increased in number. Calls of “cat fight” were bandied about, and sure enough, each of the Crazy Drunken Bitches were individually hauled away. Two were sequestered in the kitchen, and in the process of sequestering, one of the Crazy Drunken Bitches’ tube tops popped right off her tops, and everyone was treated to an eyeful. The band must have heard about it because very shortly thereafter, they offered some sort of prize to the first girl who’d run up onstage and show everyone her tits, for which I understand there was a race complete with pushing and shoving. Man, these people get a little wild. I must be old, because I certainly don’t remember any of this happening when I was a kid. (Either that, or I was really out of it…)
As the second set came to a close, all the available drinks on the table were rapidly consumed, and Rob and I made our way to the door. Outside on the street, a scene to be seen was unfolding as not one, not two but five cop cars and two paddy wagons were there to corral the Crazy Drunken Bitches. Seriously? Seven City Police vehicles necessary to capture and detain no more than three or possibly four women, at least two of whom would probably be let go with a stern finger-wagged warning?
We had to laugh. And laugh we did, all the way home. All in all? A glorious evening of mayhem and fun. You say they’re back in town around Christmas?
It was, to say the least, an experience. We met up at his place so I could drive, not being a heavy drinker (any more). We then proceeded to the bar, about an hour ahead of when the band was scheduled to start playing, so we could get in. Now, maybe it’s just me, but I hadn’t really been out much in the past few years – maybe a beer here or there, maybe a couple of drinks or an hour or two after work – but the evening crowd is NOT the same as the “after work” crowd. The “after work” people are just on their way home, they’re not getting rowdy, they’re not there to cause trouble. The evening people? Are there for show, and to cause trouble. I think it may even be a prerequisite that they either show something off or try to start something, or, alternatively, pick up.
We met up with some of Rob’s friends, who all seemed like fine folks (really, he knows a lot of people, that guy, and they all seem cool). Everyone was laughing, everyone was chatting, everyone was having a good time. And this was long before the band started. A lineup formed outside. Minor tragedy - some of the friends who hadn’t planned ahead got left outside and couldn’t get in. But we were OK, we had good seats. We sat right by the pool tables.
Sitting by the pool tables might sound like a good idea until the foolish pool players try to start playing pool DURING the band. Then it’s all getting elbowed, or being shoved by an errant player, or having a stick whack you in the eye. One of the freaky pool players, a very tall individual with poorly maintained hair, tried to start a fight with one of Rob’s friends. Imagine! He actually shoved. He did not come off looking at all good during the altercation – he ended up looking like a pouty twelve-year-old. Rob’s friends all looked incredulously at the guy because no one could believe anyone who was there to see Broken Toyz would start something that stupid.
We ignored the pool players, and as the evening wore on, the place got more and more packed. By the time the band was set to go on, there wasn’t much in the way of room left, standing or otherwise. The endless sound checks finally stopped, and the band made their way out onto the floor.
The band consisted of a Lead Singer/guitar, Bass Player, Guitar Player and one helluva Drummer.
If you hadn’t guessed from their name, they’re an ‘80s cover band leaning more towards the metal side of the fence. I knew we were in trouble when their opening number was Van Halen. They played some Guns ‘n Roses, Def Leppard, Metallica, Alice Cooper and a bunch of other stuff I remember but have no idea who originally did the songs. Rob was hilarious. He was smiling, and laughing, and rockin’ out. The band was hilarious, as well – they put on an amazing show.
The best entertainment, by far, was the drummer. He was, of course, all decked-out in ‘80s garb, complete with hair that was either real or a reasonable facsimile. He would stand up to drum, stand up ON the drumset, stand up on his chair, leap from whatever he was standing on and crash into the drumset in a spectacular display of drumming expertise. He would twirl the drumsticks, repeatedly and often, and would also toss them up into the air between beats. The best was when he didn’t catch them, he’d just whip out a new drumstick from a cache of drumsticks beside his seat. It was pure hilarity and entertainment. They should play at least once a month, and the place would be packed.
After the first set, a bunch of the friends left. I can totally, totally understand why (what with it being a weeknight and all), but we did not leave. It was too much fun to be had. We remained, throughout the break chatting and drinking and generally having a good time.
The second set started up again and it was even rowdier than the first. By then, a good deal of the crowd was either totally drunk or well on their way, as evidenced by the two crazy drunken bitches (who must not have been in even grade school during the ‘80s, but there you go, I guess) who lurched their way over to the bar to a) order drinks, b) crash wildly and drunkenly into other people, c) spew, and finally d) lurch away afterwards, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
At that point, also, I had to pee, so I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room. Let me say this about that: it shouldn’t have been called a “ladies’ room”, it was most definitely a can, and not a really nice one at that. There were two stalls, and as I entered the room, two “girls” went into one, and two “girls” went into another. I believe the first set of girls were just in there saving time and space or whatever and might just have been really comfortable with one another, but the second set of “girls” were not in there to pee at all. They were in there for an entirely different purpose, and I had to stand there, waiting and unfortunately hearing everything that went on. You know, if you’re in a crowded bar, and you want to fool around with your same-sex lover, please go home or at the very, very least go outside to your car or even just a dark corner, because those of us that are in there who have to pee probably have to pee pretty badly, and/or are drunk (like the girls who came in after me looking relatively unstable, probably hoping for a nice can to spew in and were sorely disappointed by the extended wait time). When the first set of “girls” exited the stall, I made my visit a short as humanely possible and went back to the table in a kind of disgusted awe. I did get a good look at their shoes, however, and spent the rest of the evening trying to get a good look at their faces.
The Crazy Drunken Bitches from the bar (who were probably no more than 23, really) had lurched their way over to the stage by then, and were whoopin’ it up pretty good. There was a scuffle, and a couple of badly thrown punches, one well-thrown punch and a guy with a possibly broken nose. All hell broke loose, bouncers were called in, and the Crazy Drunken Bitches had increased in number. Calls of “cat fight” were bandied about, and sure enough, each of the Crazy Drunken Bitches were individually hauled away. Two were sequestered in the kitchen, and in the process of sequestering, one of the Crazy Drunken Bitches’ tube tops popped right off her tops, and everyone was treated to an eyeful. The band must have heard about it because very shortly thereafter, they offered some sort of prize to the first girl who’d run up onstage and show everyone her tits, for which I understand there was a race complete with pushing and shoving. Man, these people get a little wild. I must be old, because I certainly don’t remember any of this happening when I was a kid. (Either that, or I was really out of it…)
As the second set came to a close, all the available drinks on the table were rapidly consumed, and Rob and I made our way to the door. Outside on the street, a scene to be seen was unfolding as not one, not two but five cop cars and two paddy wagons were there to corral the Crazy Drunken Bitches. Seriously? Seven City Police vehicles necessary to capture and detain no more than three or possibly four women, at least two of whom would probably be let go with a stern finger-wagged warning?
We had to laugh. And laugh we did, all the way home. All in all? A glorious evening of mayhem and fun. You say they’re back in town around Christmas?
