Our Last Gig: Observatory Santa Ana


It’s a nice way to kick off the year, nice and easy:
Playing the local shed on a Friday night, the bill packed with chums.

But it’s freaking cold out!

...wearing the overcoats inside the club, yo!
…wearing the overcoats inside the club, yo!

Yes, we are talking about the weather, what do ya expect?
We’re old folk now, and the major topics of conversation around here are weather, sensible footwear and good local deals on vitamins…

...forget about the Black Flag reunion--this is real news!!
…forget about the Black Flag reunion–this is real news!!

Oh, you smug Mid-westerners and East Coasters laugh at our frail tolerance to the chill…fuck ya’ll—I’m talking into the 40’s out there!!

Listen, it’s all relative, am I right?
So we aren’t used to seeing our dialogue telegraphed in puffs of white fog.
And just the odd millimeter of frost on the morning windshield is enough to launch a thousand breathless Facebook updates.

But do we giggle at your antics, hmm, when the 2.1 temblor hits the Eastern Seaboard and sends ya’ll scurrying underneath the door sill?
Do we laugh at yer awkward erections when the girls bare three inches of ankle come Summer time?

Yeah. Yer right.
We do.

..we will rebuild!
..we will rebuild!

It was only a few weeks back we played the Observatory, but when we heard old chums Lower Class Brats were coming through town we begged for a slot.

Besides, with our pal Ronnie now manning the bass duties, we had to take advantage of the opportunity to heckle him from side stage–finally!

That's my boy!
That’s my boy!

It’s nice, the subtle renovations of the joint, as the old Galaxy was looking a little worn those last few times.
Just a bit of tweaking to the sound system, a new space in the lobby and a drink station front of club, and the place is feeling fresh again.

Our favorite though, has to be the bar and lounge upstairs, relatively empty as the groms haven’t figured out how to get up there yet!


..and this is before soundcheck.
..and this is before soundcheck.

We are billed third out of five…..and we like!
Oh, in the old days bands would fight over who gets to play last…..eh-kids!
We are getting used to this middle spot, quite befitting for us older statesmen.

On a regular Friday we’d already be in Pajamas and waiting for the milk to warm at this ungodly hour of 10pm, having already done three pushups and composed an angry letter to those wiseacres at Levi’s:

Dear Sirs:
In what way are these jeans actually a relaxed fit?
Perhaps you need a brief lesson on the mature male anatomy–
I bid you good day!

Killer sets by The Scarred and Media Blitz:



……. and then we are pushed onto the stage once again!








It is a young crowd tonight, but they seem to put up with us ok.
They don’t know any of our songs, but they’ve been taught not to sass their elders.

Besides, they’ve seen the goddamn stickers and patches around long enough….we must be someone!

...alrright, let me just catch my breath and I'll be right with ya!
…alrright, let me just catch my breath and I’ll be right with ya!

The Brats come on and kill: the crowd going nuts, Bones has ’em in his pocket!



And then it’s time for Cheap Sex to whip the crowd in a frenzy.




We watch the wild pit from the cozy balcony, Jameson in hand, like blowzy chaperons at a Catholic school mixer.

..watch those hands, Mister!
..watch those hands, Mister!

The band features the second tallest man in punk rock…. well, first if it’s late in the evening and Uncle Mike is feeling a little slumpy–ya got me?

And then it’s backstage to greet old pals and say our Happy New Years.






Those goddamn yacht rock hoodlums!
Those goddamn yacht rock hoodlums!


We head out to the night, happy to kick off another year right.
Good to catch up with pals and crank the amps once again.

They roll open the bay doors and we head out, Anvil cases in hand.
And ya know what? It’s not that cold at all….!

Once again, many thanks to Sals Photos for the awesome pix!

Posted in CH3

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