Is there any good reason
why someone needs to visit Las Vegas three times in four years? I’m not quite
sure how or why I’ve found myself in this position, but each time has involved
much the same experience: losing money, seeing Rancid, and both loving the
place and getting incredibly sick of it at the same time. On each occasion I’ve
left there, it’s with a palpable sense of relief, but also a yearning to go
back almost instantly and throw more notes into a machine. Vegas is a strange
beast… And it was even stranger on this visit, given that we were there
primarily for the 17th Annual Punk Rock Bowling Festival, a four day
and night extravaganza of bands, beer and bowling (or, to put it more
accurately, of people trying to outdo each other in their quest for the
silliest hairstyle, most obscure band patches and of course, to see who could
get the most obnoxiously drunk on PBR). I’m happy to report that my Blistering
Tongues back patch seemed to be suitably obscure enough, getting both comments
from and photographed by strangers; in a sea of Turbojugend, I was a proud army
of one. Need to work on my obnoxiousness though, American punks outdo everyone
on that…
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| #Tonguesjugend |
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| Looking out over Vegas to the mountains from the Downtown Grand |
For people who knew they
would be partying intensely for four nights to come, you’d think we may have
taken it a bit easier on our first two nights in Vegas, but alas. We had a room
on the twentieth floor of the Downtown Grand Hotel with a perfect view over the
city and surrounding areas for the first two nights (in hindsight, we should’ve
stayed there the whole time, because there was no escaping the madness when we
moved to the Golden Nugget, which was the official hotel of Punk Rock Bowling),
and we proceeded to make the most of the downtime before the festival doing –
what else? – gambling and drinking. After a lot of ups but then some very large
downs - but endless free Heinekens while we remained attached to the slot
machines – our money at least was eaten up by some cool machines (that damn
Michael Jackson one again, along with a Beetlejuice and a Mad Men themed one).
Day two began with coffee
across the road at the Commissary, which would become our usual starting point
for the day while in Vegas; coffee is always a necessity, and the free wifi was
an added bonus. Honestly, I have no idea how people used to travel in the days
before internet; how do you figure out such important details as bus routes,
where to find fake chicken wings, and reloading money onto your card once
you’ve blown all your US dollars gambling? I’m glad the world has progressed
beyond traveller’s cheques and fold-out paper maps.
We spent a couple of hours
exploring the downtown area east of Fremont Street, which has been revitalised
noticeably since our last visit in 2013 (and almost unrecognisably so since our
first trip, where it was pretty much a no-man’s-land full of drug dealers and
the like that every guidebook told you to avoid). In a fit of gentrification,
heaps of cool little bars and shops have sprung up, and they now have a snazzy
new container park as well (sorry Christchurch, theirs is better; they have
vegan hotdogs). I even ended up buying a new pair of glasses (in a rare act of
forward-thinking and organisation on my part, I had remembered to bring my eye
prescription with me to the US for precisely this situation), at what must be
the world’s raddest glasses shop; it’s called Monocle Optical, and is run by a
young guy who was inspired to become an optician because he only has one eye
and as he described it to me, wanted to be known as the ‘one-eyed eye doctor,’
hence the monocle of the title. They had the best range of quirky and unusual
frames I’ve come across, and of course monocles too. Despite being sorely
tempted to get a monocle, I came away with a pair of (admittedly kind of hipster-y)
glasses in a style I’d been after for ages. And I didn’t even end up losing
and/or breaking them at Punk Rock Bowling, bonus! I then took my
newly-spectacled self for some hang-time and blog writing at our hotel’s pool,
which was mighty pleasant until it began to rain. Granted, it only lasted for
about five minutes, but come on, it never rains in the desert, what’s with this
weather curse we seem to be bringing everywhere with us?
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| Yes please, we would like a PBR that size thanks |
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| The entrance to the Vegas container park, complete with giant attacking insect |
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| Container park awesomeness |
Soon it was time to catch
a bus down to the Strip to meet up with our New Zealand friends Betty and
Jamiane (also in town for the festival), and to finally go and see Mad Max:
Fury Road, which you’d all been talking up on Facebook since it reached NZ a
day earlier than here, and which was either going to be utterly mind-blowing,
or the most over-hyped movie ever. Hooray, it was the former! And there was
something extra cool about seeing it in Las Vegas, it must be said. Although if
you think the previews are annoying in NZ, try the US; first they have the
short previews, then just when you think the movie is about to start, it’s time
for the long previews. A good half hour later, we finally got started on Mad
Max, which if the other previews were anything to go by, is the only film I’ll
bother seeing this year.
After a long bus ride back to downtown, the four of us
then grabbed dinner and beers at Mickey Finnz, trying our best to tolerate the
terrible covers band drowning out conversation. From there we checked out
Insert Coin(s), a huge nightclub with a bar in the middle and retro arcade game
machines around the perimeter. Much fun was had knocking back rum and coke
while playing Frogger and Dig Dug (yay for 80s Atari childhood memories), but
it was kind of weird putting coins into machines in Vegas without the
possibility of a payoff at the end (not that that ever seems to happen anyway).
Back on the Fremont Experience, we bought some cheap and strong but incredibly
disgusting premixed drinks at a convenience store – actually Betty’s mango-rita
was passable, but the rest of us regretted our choices – and I forced everyone
to stand round and watch a Michael Jackson impersonator for a while. Not
content with having lost some money the previous night, we went back for more
and this time it was a Sea Monkeys machine that was my downfall (I’m not
surprised, those things were a disappointment when I got them as a kid as
well).
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| Apart from that orange one, the ultimate drinks of disgustingness on the Fremont Experience... |
Terrible photo, but this MJ impersonator was epic, he went through like three costume changes
On Friday morning we
checked out of our first hotel, and then had four hours to kill before we could
check in to the next one. Just as we were sitting drinking coffee and wondering
how to entertain ourselves without gambling, Las Vegas rewarded us with an
earthquake. I thought Sam was shaking the table we were at but no, it was a 5.4
quake, certainly enough to feel, but over fairly quickly at least. We’d seen
the preview for the disaster movie ‘San Andreas’ the night before, and I
definitely don’t want to be in that neck of the woods if/when it ever goes off…
I hear Dunedin also had a bit of earthquake fun and games recently too, and
flooding as well; how very apocalyptic of you all, I hope there’s still a city
for me to come back to next year.
We were sufficiently recovered from the
earthquake enough to enjoy a short nap as soon as they let us in to the Golden
Nugget though (punk rock HQ, I’m sure all the other hotel guests wondered what
was going on with all the strangely-dressed folk taking over the hallways and
pool), and then it was time for a quick dinner at Red Sushi and then the first
gig of the weekend. The actual main festival shows didn’t start until the next
night, but they had smaller club shows in bars downtown on the Friday, and we
had managed to get tickets to one at the Beauty Bar, with Los Creepers, the
Hangmen and The Humpers playing (there were other shows I wanted to go to more,
but they had sold out months ago, almost as soon as they went on sale. You’ve
gotta be quick with ticket-buying over here, as I’m learning). We arrived early
enough to catch all three bands, and it turns out I even knew one of the songs
from a compilation album I’d had as a teenager. The venue was very cool; we’d
been there on our last visit, but hadn’t realised then that in addition to the
front bar (decorated like a kitsch beauty salon, complete with sparkly
blowdryers), there was also an outdoor stage where the bands played, open air
but hemmed in on all sides by tall buildings which were decorated with street
art pieces. My photos were a blurry dark mess though, so I can’t do it justice,
but it was a pretty awesome venue. Post-gig, it was midnight snack time, and we
got a second dinner at a diner in our hotel that was open 24 hours. I’m ashamed
to say that this was not the only occasion on which a second dinner was to
occur…
The outside stage at the Beauty Bar
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| Alexis Dias street art piece, Downtown Vegas |
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| D-Face street art piece, Downtown Vegas |
Saturday was the first
official day of the festival shows, starting at 3pm. Of course, we didn’t have
our act together by then, and weren’t particularly desperate to catch any of
the early bands anyway, so faffed about having a late lunch, coffee and engaging
in a frustrating search for wifi for most of the day (of particular importance,
since it was my Mum’s birthday in NZ, and so an email was in order). We
meandered along to the parking lot that was the site of PRB around 6.30ish, as
TSOL - the first band we wanted to catch - were on at 6.55; oh how naïve we
were. It suddenly all came flooding back to me that I actually hate festivals,
somehow having blocked previous experiences from my mind…
The entrance was on 7th
Street, and as we approached, we saw with dismay the line to get in snaking
back further and further, and we finally joined the end of it back on 6th
Street. Needless to say, we missed seeing the first band (although could at least
hear them playing); the line progressed at a snail’s pace, and it took us over
an hour to get in. Guh… But happily, we met some friendly Canadians in front of
us in the line, who ended up giving us some of their beer and tips for Canada.
A shame they were from Vancouver and Edmonton though and not Toronto. One of
them had her eight year old son with her, who had a mohawk and proclaimed
himself to be the biggest Rancid fan ever; I thought it was probably best not
to get into a fight with a small child over this… Once we were in, I do have to
admit that it was the most effective festival set-up I’ve come across – yes, the
usual gross portaloos and long waits in lines, but they had some amazing food
trucks (vegan beer battered avocado tacos for dinner!), heaps of stalls
(everything from guitars, records and skateboards for sale, to a punk
photography exhibition, to every kind of band merch you could ever desire) and
the beer wasn’t as hideously over-priced as I was expecting. And unlike every
big festival/concert I’ve been to in NZ, the promoters hadn’t oversold it, so
you could actually move around comfortably rather than being packed in like
sardines. We saw Sick of It All, then had dinner and looked at stalls during
Mighty Mighty Bosstones (I may like ska, but I have some standards!), and then were
raring to go for Rancid.
From the opening strains
of ‘Maxwell Murder,’ it was clear that Rancid playing all of their classic
album ‘…And Out Come the Wolves’ was going to be amazing, and they did not
disappoint. I guess I’m a control freak, because I really liked being at a show
and knowing exactly what order the songs were going to be played in (timing my
toilet and beer-buying breaks accordingly). My only quibble was that they
played a number of extra songs at the end in addition to AOCTW, and only one of
them was off their new album, which I really like and wanted more of. I wonder
if bands will ever get to the stage of playing not just a classic album in its
entirety, but their whole back catalogue; I could totally go 7+ hours of
Rancid. At some point we met up with Betty and Jamiane (quite a feat in a crowd
that big, without phones or wifi to facilitate things), although as this was
only the first of the three festival nights, we restrained ourselves from
hitting the town, and I think made it to bed around 2am; admittedly very boozy,
but at least the sun wasn’t coming up like most of our previous post-Rancid
partying experiences.
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| Arty legs shot; eating dinner at PRB |
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| Yep, I wasn't up the front this time, but they were still good from a distance |
I’ll spare you all the blow-by-blow
account of the rest of the festival, which generally took much the same format
as the first day (we arrive later than we should, wait in line, drink some
beers, see some bands). By the second day I was already feeling the accumulated
effects of so many nights of partying before PRB even started, but I soldiered
on, and we made it to all three nights (I had secretly planned on piking for at
least one of them, but couldn’t bring myself to do it in the end). On the
Monday we went back and visited the Vegas Strip during the day, and it was
refreshing to get away from the Fremont area and it’s constant punk party to
somewhere comparatively more calm (who would’ve thought that the Strip would
ever be the place you’d go to escape the chaos). The bus tickets we bought had
to be used for the return trip within two hours, but after lunch at Diablo’s
Cantina which included margaritas in glasses the size of fishbowls, time got
away on us a bit; there may also have been some gambling (OMG! Kittens). I
don’t feel bad about this though, having managed not to touch a single machine
on either the Friday or the Saturday, so feel I earned a little
irresponsibility.
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| How could this not lure you into gambling?! |
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| Pirate ship ahoy, outside the Treasure Island Hotel on the Strip |
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| Sam taking the piss when I forced him to model for a photo in front of the Beatles thingy on the Mirage Hotel on the Strip |
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| This is me in front of a fountain at the Forum Shoppes that I've had a photo taken at each time I've been to Vegas. I'm going to Photoshop them together for some kind of 'watch Andy get older' sequence, hopefully culminating in me hunched over a walker with a brandy in hand, still gambling in Vegas in my nineties.... |
When we decided to try our
luck getting back on the bus with long expired tickets, we had the misfortune
of hopping on to one where there was a guy actually checking tickets (we had thus far
not encountered the fabled ticket-checker). He either had no idea what time it
was and that our tickets were now void, or did notice, but doesn’t get paid
enough to care, and we were safe. Back at the hotel, there was time for a brief
pool excursion before the final festival show, and while making our way there,
we got talking to a guy in the elevator heading to the show who had a full
box of PBR (the beer, as opposed to PRB, the festival; this kept confusing me
too) who didn’t want to carry them all with him, so we ended up scoring some
free beer for poolside consumption.
Many of the festival goers
must have partied themselves out by the Monday, as there was no huge line to
get in this time, and the show had a decidedly more laid-back atmosphere. Also
notable on our last night; finally, a gambling win! For Sam, not me… After the
festival, we came across a Batman machine (retro, Adam West Batman, the best
kind), and Sam managed to win back all the money he’d lost, plus about an extra
$40. On that happy note, we met up with Betty and Jamiane for goodbye drinks,
and high roller Ovens shouted us all margaritas (definitely what you need when
you have to get up at 7am to catch a bus the next day).
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| Betty, Jamiane and Sam with 'last night in Vegas' margaritas. Those lucky jerks got to sleep in the next day though! |
Until next time, Vegas
(yup, let’s make it four visits)…
Punk Rock Bowling highs
and lows:
Bands we saw: Los Creepers, The Hangmen, The Humpers, TSOL (well, heard while waiting to get in), Sick of It All, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Rancid, Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine, Turbonegro, Murder City Devils, Refused, The English Beat, The Skints, Agnostic Front, Conflict, Dropkick Murphys.
Best band: Rancid, no contest. Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine second, Agnostic Front better than I expected. Of the club shows (which admittedly we didn’t get tickets to many of), the Skints were the stand-out.
Celebrity spotting: Oliver
Peck! OMG! Who would’ve thought that a judge from a reality TV show about
tattooing would invoke such excitement?! I was too scared (or sober) to run
after him and ask for a photo at the time though, and then didn’t see him
again unfortunately. Honorable mentions to Natalia Fabia - my favourite artist - getting into
the elevator as we were leaving it in our hotel; Greg Hetson (from Bad Religion
and the Circle Jerks) just casually manning the photography exhibition at the
festival; and Vinnie Stigma from Agnostic Front (accosted by and getting photos
with some punks in the hallway of our hotel, and then still being stuck in the
same spot getting accosted by a different group of fans when we passed by again
half an hour later).
Biggest disappointment of
festival: The secret special guests at one of the club shows turning out to be
the Mighty Mighty Bosstones a-freaking-gain; they already played earlier that night at the main festival, no fair! I’d been absolutely convinced it
was going to be Tim Timebomb and Friends (to the extent that if I was a gambler
– ha! – I would have put money on it). Much lame...
Interesting new friends
made: A group of crust punks from Albuquerque, New Mexico. While we whine about
the fact that all anyone ever thinks of when they hear New Zealand is Flight of
the Conchords, they had the same complaint about Albuquerque and Breaking Bad.
Apparently they don’t have a meth problem (not even a blue meth one), and there
are now fans flocking to their town in droves to do RV tours. It’s been so long
that I’ve since forgotten all of their names, apart from the guy who called
himself Yucky; the power of a memorable name I guess. We also hung out with a lovely couple from Baltimore (hi Jax!), for whom – yup, you guessed it – it was the
Wire everyone commented on.
Biggest jerks: The girls
staying in the room next to us at the Golden Nugget. Rising routinely at 7.30am
each day, and with the loudest and most piercing voices in the history of
annoying, high-pitched girls, they alternated between shrieking and talking
earnestly about themselves: “I just wish he would look beyond my beauty and see
what else I have to offer.” I did have a hopeful moment one afternoon when they
had a screaming match because one of them hadn’t texted the other that the
situation would implode and they would pack their bags and leave, but it was
not to be. We ended up sleeping in way later than we should’ve each day,
because we were forced to lie awake between 7.30 and 9.30 each morning (usually
after a late night) listening to their drivel, and even earplugs couldn’t help
the situation.
