Fog clearing, barbarous microbial onslaught over, remnants beaten back beyond
the gates, herbal remedies cast away and supplanted by Jamesons Irish,
incendiary press clippings fluttering at the edges of a receding fever dream
(thanks to the Fates for the eternal J.Depp). The tour has begun. The rite of
pre-tour illness and self flagellation complete.

The Nash in Geelong was patchy but alive for both band and audience, a good
start and proof that a viable take on The Vineyard is a reasonable, if remote,
possibility. Adelaide's Governor Hindmarsh heaved, a reminder that nothing ever
comes easy in this game, but still had its glorious moments. Gaz and Dan Drones
spelt out that they weren't going to take it easy on you soft Augie March fans
with some withering acoustic takes peppered with abuse and barely concealed
distaste for the bourgeois entity we have all created. For future reference
Adam and I are rooming with them and Gaz uses face creams while Dan sleeps
standing up because "it gently spins the wheels of my chakra", or some shit.

Essendon went to sleep for a quarter and donated a game to Smack Mum FC while
Hille saved Orangutans in Somalia, Watson continued building his model Fokker
and McVeigh donned a black and red hairshirt while dragging a granite footy up
Mt. Major and managed 5.3 for Dookie United in the same breath. Which would be
a different blog you'd think.

Coolangatta Thursday which, as I passed on to Gaz, would become Uncoolangatta as
soon as he and Dan stepped off the plane, needs SUPPORT people. As do all the
shows. You will not see this show again. The set lists are without precedent.
The ability of the band to reach inside some of the most challenging and artful
tunes penned in the last decade of this nation is at its muscular peak. Forced
to listen to what we've done, rather than wilt and cringe we've been moved to a
condition which cannot be framed by nostalgia, it's something more potent
because it has legs and voices.

RALLY THE TROOPS, OLD AND YOUNG, IT'S AUGIE MARCH WITH ALL THE FRILLS, IT'S THE
INTIMATE, SNARLING CORE OF THE PEERLESS DRONES, IT'S THE SHOW YOU WILL NEVER SEE
AGAIN AND IF THE PAPERS AND THE RADIO AREN'T INTERESTED ENOUGH THEN WE NEED YOUR
TONGUES WAGGING FOLKS. WE ARE POOR AND DIRTY AND ANGRY BUT WHEN WE SING IT'S
THE HERALDING OF TRUTH AND MYSTERY AND IT'S FOR YOUR EARS, WE WILL NOT LET
OURSELVES BECOME MIRED IN THE MEANINGLESS HORROR OF THE CONTEMPORARY DEADWATER,
WE WILL NOT WATCH SHOWS ABOUT COOKING SHIT, WE WILL NOT ACCEPT MEEKLY THAT WE
CAN ONLY HAVE EITHER GIN OR WHISKY ON THE RIDER NOT BOTH, AND WE WILL BLOW YOUR
MINDS.

On behalf of AM, The Drones Duo and The Arnold Horns,
GAR