Last night I saw Skinny Puppy's last-ever show. It was emotional. They broke 4th wall during the 2nd encore. Did the "and on keyboards..." thing which, for industrial music, is the equivalent of Marcel Marceau going into a monolog. "In the words of Fakir Musafar, we are gentle people in a vicious world, and we have to take care of each other." They even posed for a group photo with a nearly-sold-out Paramount. It was something else. This morning I paid for Peacock so my family can watch Eurovision.
man, that show looked incredible. glad you were able to be a part of it.
It was really vital because the radio station took me from "I'm going to give you $5k a year in sponsorships" to "I'm gonna sell my DDJ400 and never speak your fucking names again" in the space of four hours on Friday. I wrote a long "what the fuck" email to someone I trust on Monday, got a "fuck off and die then" response and yesterday, called and had two half-hour conversations around "you can't make someone not suck by telling them they suck". Ultimately I must work at the pace of those people bent and broken enough to occupy the center of the Venn diagram of "government employees" "teachers" and "broadcasters." It is a witches' brew of Pareto-Principle underachievement and lethargy and holy fuck it bugs. But all that had been resolved to "we don't hate you we hate everybody" and "when you tell me three times I'm holding you up I will possibly think about not doing that at some point in the future" to the point where I was actually enjoying being a radio DJ again. Seeing fuckin' 2300 rivetheads together in a room was sumpin' else.