Henry Rollins: The Column! Hunting, Gut Stew, and Sex With Your Sister
[Look for your weekly fix from the one and only Henry Rollins right here on West Coast Sound every Thursday, and come back tomorrow for the awesomely annotated playlist for his Saturday KCRW broadcast.]
Still in Australia, get used to it! I will be here for quite a while. Things are going very well here. I am several shows in, and the audiences have been great. The icing on the cake is that the record stores have been quite forthcoming: Jimi Hendrix's Are You Experienced mono Japanese pressing and the Record Store Day Devo Live in Seattle 1981 2-LP set at reasonable prices were welcome additions. Not to mention Total Control's Henge Beat album, direct from the band, with some of their members showing up at one of our Melbourne shows.
As we were discussing last week, Australia is full of great bands, with more coming up all the time. I just got a great stack of singles from the Vicious Sloth record store in Melbourne. I must confess, I am not familiar with any of them, but the A-sides sounded great so I picked them up. I will get them all into future radio shows this year as soon as I can.
At this moment, we are blasting down the highway, straight outta Sydney for a show in Newcastle, about a three-hour drive. Not looking forward to this, postshow getting back to the hotel, but that's how it is. We are listening to a live CD called Odd Din by Australian band Scattered Order, which road manager Ward brought along for our journey. Head-ripping noise jams!
A few nights ago, I was on a popular television talk show here called Gordon Street Tonight, hosted by Adam Hills and Hannah Gadsby. They are both extremely funny. The guests were me, brilliant U.K. comedian Simon Amstell and the daughter of Steve Irwin, the 13-going-on-31-year-old Bindi, the most intense child I have ever been around in my entire life.
As Bindi went on in her singsong, utterly demonic prepared infomercial statements about her family's zoo and fond memories of her departed father, I looked out at the horrified audience, who stared at her in slack-jawed unease. I found myself leaning so far away from her and her mother that I was almost in Simon's lap.
At one point Simon became completely exasperated and exploded. "Who's writing this stuff for you?" Bindi stopped, smiled and kept on talking. It's time for another chapter of The Omen -- screenwriters, get your pens uncapped!
Lest we take ourselves too seriously, this is part of an interview I did for a local paper here, called The Weekly Review: