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November 15th, 2009

The words are so familiar

I quite safely and without hindrance found my way back to the new venue, the José Cuervo Salon. The venue was of a nice medium size, not unlike, for Melbourne listeners, the Hi-Fi or Palace before the unfortunate fire and wrecking ball. Probably not at all like post those events.

The support band, some kind of experimental screaming and weird noises thing, elicited an interesting response from the crowd: Mexicans will give, as a collective entity, a sea of the one finger salute interspersed with the old rotten tomato effect. The only cheer during this set was when the singer received a full cup of cerveza to the face. But, they admirably held the stage until they were finished.

The 'correct' assessment to give for how FNM played is that they were terrible, they couldn't contain their mutual loathing to the detriment of their musical prowess, and it was a disaster.

Now that my lady friend who is coming to Mexico prior to the Oceania leg of the tour, and will thus miss out entirely, has read the above and has maybe gone to get a sandwich, the true assessment is that Faith No More have lost nothing in the last ten years, though I don't think anyone could live up to the decade of expectations aficionados will have saved up. Rest easy that they are playing tight. The only low point was that Midlife Crisis was lacking somewhat; it just didn't have the musical layers of the recorded track. But, that is a small quibble, considering the impact of the rest of the show. One thing the Australian crowd will not get is Evidence sung entirely (well, almost) in Spanish. Who knew Señor Patton could speak almost fluent Spanish (calling the crowd gringos when they sang in English) and maybe even Italian (I caught those slips; I make them myself)?

Anyway, because my camera does not do well in low lighting, I found these. Judging from the angle, this lady was seemingly standing next to me for at least part of the night, and we probably went home with each other's sweat on our respective t-shirts, amongst that fine cocktail of fifty people's sweat you gain being third from the front in a mosh. The lucha libre mask was thrown up from the crowd (in fact, as it was being slapped into my face prior to hitting the stage, I feared it was a pair of Kylie Minogue hot pants).

I have now met some awesome locals who go to gigs most every week, so watch closely as this journal slowly decays into being a concert review.

This lunar cycle

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