global day of action, auckland style

September 26th 2000 was another day in a string of global solidarity protests. This time we were in league with the protesters at the World Bank meeting in Prague [Czech Republic]. As you can understand, we are all very angry at the World Bank (and all banks) for their actions in creating 3rd world poverty.

So I rolled up to the designated meeting place for the protest, slightly sceptical because it was at the Auckland University (or government brain-washing facility). I expected to be greeted with droves of dirty punks and the like, but instead there was no one. As I wondered if I was early, a small group of about 20 people cruised up. It seemed from their placards that these people were university students from the communist group - you could tell because of the large advertising for their Socialist Worker newspaper that was on every placard. I was even more sceptical, but hey, I was here to protest, not to judge these people.

They got up with their megaphone and tried to goad the indifferent students who were sitting in the quad eating their lunch to come on the protest. It's amazing the ability of these "normal" people in their trendy expensive clothes to not only ignore protest cries, but to ignore them in such a way that it seems that like it's not even happening. I was sitting there watching the proceedings, and it was like the communists existed in a vacuum.

Eventually Willy turned up to represent the punks with an anarchist flag, and then it was time to march. I was a little surprised to see the police following us right from the start. There were only a few of us, and the chants that we hadn't rehearsed were a little weak sounding as everyone got to grips with the words:

* Seattle, London, Prague, Melbourne - Babylon it's time to burn!
* World Bank come off it - the enemy is profit!
* World Bank, what a lie - you don't care if children die!
* Multi-national corporations - genocide in the starving nations!
* The peoples' persistance - will globalise resistance!

We walked from the quad down to Wellesly Street, staying on the footpath until we got to Queen Street, where there were quite a few more police cars. Here we took to the road, disrupting the traffic. I think that the communists must have got permission for the protest, because the police cars made way for us, and the officers walked with us and directed the traffic.

Since we were on Queen Street, there were lots of people about, and our chants gained volume - although at times they broke down as the communists with the megaphone couldn't quite decide which one to start with next. As I looked at all the vacant faces staring at us as we walked down the middle of the street, I felt energised in a way I haven't since I danced in the streets of Wellington. There is something about being the "odd one out" that gives you a feeling of power.

Of course no one knew what we were on about, and it wasn't so obvious, but somehow our numbers swelled to maybe 50 people. We walked to Albert Street, where Tradenz have their offices. Tradenz is a government agency which deals with the World Bank and advertises New Zealand overseas as a great place to get cheap labour and stuff like that. The communists leading us knew the number of the building, but we ended up walking up and down the street a couple of times before they worked out which building it was. It seemed that it was in the ANZ Bank tower.

So we gathered there, and the communists gave some speaches about what we were protesting about, and a girl named Victoria who'd been an organiser for the S11 protests against the World Economic Forum in Melbourne spoke about how important it is that we get out and show them that we are against their capitalist agenda. All this fell on deaf ears - there were no public around except for the suits flowing in and out of the building. They all gave us very bemused looks, and some particularly smug ones laughed at us.

I wondered what would happen at this point, as it was a bit of a stand-off: the police were all standing around (about 20 of them, with about four cars and one truck: probably enough to subdue us if they needed to, and they looked like they weren't in a hurry to go anywhere and solve any crimes or anything), we were all standing around (rather at a loss for what to do next, and none of us with any bricks to throw), and the people in the building were sitting in their building unaware of our existence.

Eventually the communists with the megaphone decided we should head back to the university for some coffee [grown in the 3rd world for consumption in the 1st world - I wonder if the communists saw the irony]. They were a little worried at the lack of solidarity that this might seem to show, but we could all see that there was no ready target here to make an impression on.

So we headed back down Queen Street, stopping outside all the banks that we passed to "chant and wave placards" as the Herald put it in a small column on page four the next day. We also handed out a lot of flyers to people explaining how the World Bank creates 3rd world poverty. Of course, people never read stuff like that, and if they had I'm sure they would have thought it to be the ravings of crazed lunatics. It's safer for them not to know how the world really works.

Wellington managed nine arrests and the front page in The Dominion. Still, there's always next time to start the riot...

j-day @ albert park, auckland

This was part of a worldwide protest against cannabis prohibition. I thought it was a good cause, and people I knew were going, so I headed down to Albert Park to meet them.

I came, I met, I sat down amongst the large crowd in front of the rotunda, I was shocked and disappointed to find out that none of the people I was with had a lighter. But anyway, we soon solved that problem and then we all sat around not talking and listening to the pretty music.

Jesse James & Sista Mystic were playing. They sounded pretty cool, I remember that much. Maybe they were Reggae, maybe something else. They had nice voices.

And then out of nowhere, I saw someone I recognised walking up to me. I couldn't for the life of me remember who they were. It was pretty damn trippy, and then I clicked. It was Danny from Daemon, and he was a long way from home.

He stopped and chatted with me about how he was on holiday here in Auckland; about how things in Nelson were pretty fucked up since the big drug-raid on Xanataph's place some time around New Year's; about how there might not even be a Nelsonian Black Metal Sabbat this year.

I still couldn't get over how trippy the whole situation was. And then King Kapisi came on stage. This guy was fucking hot. Him and his DJ were really blowing shit up when the sound cut out. But not to worry, they continued on, his DJ backing him up as a human beat-box. It was magical.

Then it started to get colder and darker, King Kapisi finished his set, and everyone took off home. And I had no choice but to go too. But you know, it was a pretty mellow day. I'm sure it didn't do anything to help the cause, but maybe one day...

counteract @ kings arms

Well, the Anti-Kati boys invited me along to see Counteract because their friend Unique is in them. I decided that it might be fun to go out for once. So we turned up to this ridiculous pub, deliberately late enough not to have to see all the other bands on the bill. We pulled up some chairs near the front and waited. DJ D>Form and their other friends were all there.

Eventually they came on. It was ridiculous. They sounded like Korn. The bass player even played his bass down real low to the floor, just like the Korn bass player, especially once he broke his strap. We sat through this 90s metal for a while, then something fucked up with the bass amp or something, so we got treated to some accapella and some free-style from Unique. When they got going again he took off his shirt. This rammed the point home. Angry young white boys. Playing metal.

When it wound up we headed off to The Box for [regular club night] The Realness, but the hip-hop dancefloor was practically empty. I went home feeling more than a little cheated.

dancing in the streets

We [me and Rorn] had cruised down to Wellington for some reason that I forget, and we ended up sitting in Cuba Mall, drinking with a large selection of our friends, and of course my sister's little chihuahua Miguel Sanchez. Miguel attracted lots of attention, especially from a crazy looking little child with blonde hair and blue eyes. I didn't know where she'd come from or where her parents were, but I decided to let her hold Miguel.

Then my sister pulls me aside and says "That little girl is a devil. Me and Rose were up in Central Park one day and her and her siblings were causing no end of trouble for us. We were just trying to have a quiet smoke and she kept coming up and saying stuff like 'I'm telling on you' and 'My brother said to say "Fuck you"' I tell you that little girl is a devil." Now, I know my sister isn't one to make these sort of things up, so I started keeping a very close eye on the little devil.

Anyway, Wellington being Wellington and all, there was some sort of festival or carnival going on, and presently the Wellington Carnival Street Band set up on the stage in Cuba Mall and started to play for us. It must have been about 17:00, and a large number of people were walking past: heading home from work or getting in some last-minute consuming before the shops shut. Everyone was rushing by, hardly pausing to appreciate the music.

So we got up and danced. We danced like people possessed. It was easy: they were playing an infectious set of horn-orientated samba and swing: the beats were funky and the groove was upbeat. We had not heard any of the songs before, except for the «Muppets» theme song, but it was some really cool shit.

As I danced to the free music and watched the busy busy people bustle by with no time to spare, I couldn't help think that here I was having free fun while the (capitalist) chains that hold them down give them no freedom and no fun. I came up with my new slogan: "fun will always be free!"

The little devil girl was running around, and so they gave her a small percussion instrument to keep her amused. And they let Sammy Vulture join in on her violin. It made me feel so happy to see that such things could go on even in the nasty big city. But of course eventually it had to end.

After that Sammy and me cruised down to see the installation/performance art piece Urban Dream Capsule, which involved four men living in the window of Farmers for 10 days or so. There was a small crowd watching them. Sammy soon made this a large crowd, because she whipped out her violin once again and started playing to the men. They started dancing to her music, causing the crowd to laugh.

When she had finished playing she tried to get some money off the crowd: afterall, she was busking. But the men in the window "tut-tuted" her, and so she got nothing for her efforts, which I thought was kind of sad, seeing as it's how she makes her living.

All the excitement was over, and the autumn evening was starting to get a bit chilly, so we left, our fun ended for the day. And hopefully someone who saw us dancing will have taken a little of that free spirit into their hearts.

one love festival @ point england reserve, panmure, auckland

As we [me, Rorn, Billie and Stacy] drove out to Panmure there were lots of signs to follow: this was obviously an event of large proportions. When we finally got there, the streets were jammed with people and cars, all there to celebrate Bob Marley's birthday. Eventually we got to the gate, and they invited us to pay for car-parking. We did, and then drove around looking for the perfect spot.

Most of the spots under trees were taken, but we finally found one. We really needed it because our rats were living in the van at the time, and we really needed to have the rats in the shade while we were enjoying the festival, or they would have died. We went to drive over to the spot, but then one of the officials came up to us and said "Could you please park over there?" We explained the situation to him, but he said that he couldn't help us. You see, the spaces under the trees were reserved for handicapped parking only.

We looked at the cars parked under the trees. They were surrounded by large, healthy looking specimans of Polynesian manhood, presumably the people who'd got there early enough to get a park under the trees. The official's logic was completely bogus: the handicapped people had no more need to park under a tree than anyone else: afterall, they were going to spend the day at the festival, not sitting in the carpark. And the fact that the trees were on a hill that would probably have made egress to and from their vehicles more difficult for handicapped people.

So we parked where we were told and had a discussion amongst ourselves. We were angry at the officials, the whole thing seemed to have a very money-hungry bent, and everyone we'd seen there looked very unfriendly and most un-loving. So we said "fuck this shit" and took off, causing trouble by being about the only people going against the flow and trying to leave the place.

We went and had a lovely picnic together and then went to the beach. I think we got the better deal in the end.

Deaf Terrorists @ Indigo

The first time I saw these guys was at a party, where there were about 50 people crammed into a little dark lounge entirely covered in black plastic. It was hot and loud; the crowd was slamming with the band as they played; they blew amps; someone collapsed, and as for the music: well, the drummer had drunk a 40-oz. of vodka and was playing about as slow as a dub drummer, but it still somehow worked. It was crazy, but maybe just because I was there with a schizophrenic who was tripping on peyote...

Anyway, I found out about this gig on the day, and a gold coin donation and something to do on a Wednesday night seemed like a good deal. Especially becuase they were the only band playing and I wouldn't have to sit through fuck-knows-what to wait to hear them play.

The gig starts. Right from the start it's total destruction. The band has an old photocopier on stage, and they start destroying it, and every one is jumping on stage helping them. They open some cans of creamed corn and start throwing it at the audience. The audience starts spitting back and everything starts flying and people are jumping everywhere and Dan from Fatal Error has the mic more than Blair does and everyone's yelling good-natured insults about people's mothers and through all this they're perhaps tighter than I've ever heard them, mainly because Little Dan is sober for once and is drumming up a storm [he just does this for fun, he's really destined to be a Jazz drummer].

And then about 40 energetic minutes later it's all over and everyone either migrates to the bar or goes home. And it's only about 10pm but I feel satisfied because it was practically free for all the entertainment I could wish for and I've had all the dancing and jumping I can handle. May Jesus smile on these guys and bless them with his goodness.

heavy metal apocalypse in the last days of the world feat. 2nd Nelsonian Black Metal Sabbat

Late December 1999 saw us [myself, Natas and Rorn; collectively (pretending to be) a band called Fellator] pile into a van and take the ferry across to the South Island. Our destination was the sunny city of Nelson; our mission was the second Nelsonian Black Metal Sabbat. For all we knew it could of been the last: the end of the world was fast approaching.


We arrived late afternoon on the day before the Sabbat, and of course it was dead sunny, so we asked the Nelsonian Black Metal royalty where we could find a beach. Now, if you know anything about Black Metal, you'll know it's a totally beyond Gothic, death-worshiping, Satan-worshiping, beyond-extreme branch of Metal. Consequently the responses went something like "A beach?" - "I don't go near water. Not even to shower." - "Do you want to go kill some hippies?" . We flagged it and went and pitched camp up the Maitai Valley, a green area on the edge of town with a river running through it, where all the boy- and girl-racers come to meet and burn-out.


We woke up the next morning and had hours to burn: the Sabbat wasn't until 20:44 that evening, the exact time of the Summer Equinox: the descent into darkness. We spent the day in town, shopping and frying in the sun. Why is the sunniest place in New Zealand also the Black Metal capital? We paused to laugh at some little teenager with Korn shaved in the back of his head. It seems that there will yet be another generation of angry white boys into Metal.


We cruised up around 18:00 and found no-one at the site: kept deadly secret until the day of the event [and even then only given out to those in the know, or as a set of map co-ordinates on the internet] so as to avoid lots of people just coming for a look. Wouldn't want to scare an unsuspecting public: these Black Metallers are dangerous.


Eventually the PA people turned up and Natas played roadie as no-one else was around. The fans started straggling in around about 19:00, and a sorry bunch they were too. A couple of fat, unattractive Metalheads and a couple of worried looking little teenagers who'd bicycled to the remote Smiths Ford site near the top of the Maitai Valley. I think they wished they'd listened to their mothers and stayed away from that evil music.


Around about 20:44 some people came running up the road: it was Dead BC from Daemon and Agramon from Goatvomit. The about 10 people who'd gathered by this time ran back down the road with them to the scene of a rolled car, and we helped them move it off the road. They were all buzzing about their brush with death, and couldn't help but wonder at its timing.


After last year's late start Xanataph, the ringleader of the whole Nelson scene, had promised that this year everything would be on time. He finally rolled in at about 21:30, and in style befitting such a king: he was riding on the bonnet of a Kingy [Holden Kingswood]. The cheers went up from the assembled crowd as they knew that now they could finally get started.

It was probably heading to midnight when the first band started playing: Bloodwych were in fine form, displaying that they were metal gods with a 90-minute set of gratuitous Metal covers: Venom's Countess Bathory, Black Sabbath's NIB, Van Halen's Panama... It went on for a long time and wasn't too tight, but the small crowd was mainly made up of friends rather than curious new-comers needing to be won over, so it was accepted warmly.


In between sets we got DJ Nightmare 666, a goth from Wellington with a large Black Metal CD collection who kept the crowd warmed up with such favourites as Satyricon, Emperor and Ulver: including, shockingly, the rather progressive (for a Black Metal fan) trip-hop sounds of their latest album «Themes from William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell». Me and Natas went up and asked if he had any Celtic Frost or Sodom, but it seems that this guy wasn't as metal as he was posing as, and couldn't produce the hits from the 80s.


At this time the much anticipated set by Fellator was cancelled. We decided that we were too misanthropic [too Black Metal] to be bothered playing, and went to sleep instead. I did wake up for snatches of some of the other bands though: after all, it was suitably loud and I wasn't quite dead. A band I believe were called Bentari had some keyboards and a female vocalist and sounded very Gothic and not so Metal. There was also a jam session featuring Kez Bizarre with her dark poetry which I found even more trippy than last year even though this time I was sober. It infiltrated my sleep like a knife in my brain. I think it must have been about 05:00 when I woke up to Daemon making some noise. Somewhere in there I managed to miss Goatvomit, who Natas assured me where very fast and heavy and cut the Black Metal picture in a satisfying manner. Beltane, Xanataph's flagship Black Metal band unfortunately didn't play because their drummer didn't turn up.


As dawn came the fires were still burning and Apocalypse Now was showing on a projecter, although the light made it very hard to see and the sound wasn't too hot. The people who'd stayed all night started packing up; the police turned up to ask questions about the fire and the wrecked car and the general feeling was more of disappointment at all the fuck-ups than of the celebration I felt last year.


Since it was all over, me and Rorn got the hell out of Nelson and headed down to the West Coast. Boxing Day saw a pattern emerging that was to become all too familiar: we ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. I hitched in to Westport to get some petrol. It was hard going to get a lift back, but suddenly I was saved. Out of nowhere came a black ute, and the driver stopped. He then proceded to drive me down the windy, narrow country roads at a ridiculous speed, all the while playing Guns n' Roses «Appetite for Destruction» at a loud volume. Such Metal things just don't happen to me anymore.


A few days later and the situation was getting desperate, so we headed back to Nelson. By this time Ramelia had arrived in Nelson, so we hung out with her and Natas. We were sitting around in town when suddenly this black Valient pulls up and six giant rednecks get out of it. Painted on their car were the words "Sloppy Hole Patrol Y2K Tour" and then their names [stuff like Macca and Dazza]. We were rather offended at such sexist and ridiculous redneck behaviour, so we chose the choicest pictures out of a gay porn magazine that we happened to have lying around and stuck them to the windows of their car. We then sat back and laughed at the reactions of all the rather conservative locals as they stopped to look and then realised with horror what the pictures were. Eventually one of the rednecks came back to the car and ripped the pictures off: throwing them inside the car for later viewing. We laughed.


Ramelia was in town for The Gathering, so the day before it we took her out to Takaka. On the way we picked up some hitch-hikers. The first two were a couple of resourceful lads who were planning to hike into The Gathering the back way: a good way to avoid paying for the $100 ticket, but requiring a good knowledge of the hill-country surrounding The Gathering site and the willingness to hike for the best part of a day through some harsh terrain.


When we stopped for the next one, it seemed like we may have made a mistake. This guy seemed really drunk. But then we saw the tell-tale look in his eyes and realised that he was wasted. He proceded to show us the large bag of pills that he was carrying around with him and made some really typically confusing conversation.


We dropped them off somewhere and then looked for a place to stop for the night. People were camped everywhere along the side of the road and in every park and reserve we passed. Eventually we settled on the rather amusingly named Pu Pu Springs, and set about drinking the mini-keg that we'd liberated earlier in the day. This led to a rather amusing scene with some German tourists a few hours later...


We woke up in the morning and didn't leave early enough. Consequently we ended up in the traffic jam on the top of the Takaka Hill. There we ended up parked beside an emu farm. One guy got out of his car and went over to pet them. He got bitten. Nastily. We turned the Madonna tape up louder and waited. Luckily we'd come early enough to only have to wait about half an hour. As we got to the gate of The Gathering we came upon our old friend Bernard: The Gathering afterall being run by The McGillicuddy Serious Party, a political party of very sensible and fun-loving quasi-anarchists that Rorn was a candidate for at the last election.


As we cruised down the other side of the hill and looked at all the people stuck in the kilometres of traffic jam, we were glad we weren't going. Most of the people were dressed conservatively and expensively: an indication of how mainstream and commercial this event has become. We laughed at the people sitting in the traffic jam in taxi-vans, their meters ticking. It all just seemed a little ridiculous, and we were glad to be away.


At a bit of a loss, we eventually found ourselves at Smiths Ford, and decided to spend New Year's there. There was not another person there, and no sign of civilisation at all. We were completely alone and isolated. It was quite a magical atmosphere: not knowing whether it was all going to go down in flames or not.
It wasn't until around noon the next day when a vehicle drove past that we decided that we hadn't been lucky enough to be the only ones left on earth. Still, there's still hope eh?