The <3 of Cain
Last night I excitedly galloped down to the Gaelic Club to see the Mark of Cain on their first tour since… forever. Man, I’ve been looking forward to seeing them play live - never seen them before, even though I’ve been a fan since I hosted a seriously dodgy community radio show as a teenager. That radio show was unfortunately flung over the airwaves at a crucial turning point in my musical taste, when I was undergoing a serious conversion from top 40 pap to a developing fascination with all things heavy. This all meant that quotes such as “Wow, that was Ace of Base’s new track, hooray! And now, Machine Head, with Deaaaaaaath Chuuuuuuuuuuurch” were not that uncommon.
But who doesn’t love the Mark of Cain? Well, a lot of young’ins, I guess - there weren’t too many people under 25 last night. In fact, the entire crowd seemed to be made up of everyone in Sydney aged over 30, on steroids, and still listening to Triple J. 
Now, I’m all for moshing (god, what a 90s word that suddenly seems to be). But why is that I always get stuck behind the dude with the sweat glands of Iain Hewitson who moshes in the most annoying, disruptive way? I’m more of a “bobber” - I’ll bang my head along to any awesome songs but I’m fairly stationary most of the time. In fact, so are most of the people around me. But I always get stuck near some ugly dickwit (note that if they were hot, any bodily contact would normally be fine) who moshes in really freaking stupid ways?
Last night I was stuck behind someone who was composing a method of diagonal moshing that I’d never seen before. He’d spread his legs apart diagonally and just whiplash back and forth. Jesus Christ it was annoying.
As for the Mark of Cain, bless their souls, as my friend Kate remarked - do they really need to continue being such angry men? I mean, angry dudes playing heavy music is always hot, but I at least expect to see them crack a few smiles or jokes at a live gig. I’m now absolutely convinced that after 90 minutes of angrily glaring at each other, the Mark of Cain lurch offstage, stare at each other for five seconds, then roll around on the floor laughing and pissing themselves that they kept up the we-so-GGGRRRANGRY! act for another night. Either that, or they seriously all need some hugs.
My car licence has now been renewed, and although I did attempt some Mark of Cain angriness, regrettably I was also being hammered with a pulsing migraine at the time my photo was taken… so now my new licence photo looks like I’m angry, but have also taken a bottle full of downers and am slipping away from conciousness. Fantastic.
Meanwhile, America is now sentencing kiddy-fiddler priests to 100+ year sentences. Because those fuckers be invincible with their uber-priest-powers, y’know.