God Is An Astronaut Owe Me A Pint!
I got that giddy feeling again. I hadn’t felt it since I went to see Tool in the Point in 2006. God is an astronaut were coming to town! I’ll admit that I’ve only recently grown attached to the whole Post-rock genre but in the time I’ve been listening to it, God is An Astronaut are a band that constantly stuck out. Accessible, yet intricate.
Electric Avenue, Waterford was the venue - and it was packed!. However, to put things into perspective, God is an Astronaut have been selling out large venues all across Europe all Summer long,yet I describe Electric Avenue as being packed whenever there’s more than twenty people spread out around the place! It’s as intimate as it gets, and even though I only arrived to see the supporting act, Library Tapes, finish up, I was still able to get a table right at the front!
Even though I’ve been listening to them practically non-stop for the past month in anticipation of this gig, I can’t recall their set list! I can only say that it was absolutely mind-blowing! There was something old and something new with each and every one of their songs leading up to epic climaxes. This was the type of gig that you didn’t jump around to, or mosh to, but simply stood there in awe, desperately trying to take in not only the statutory rape of your ears, but the assault of your eyes through the form of a synchronised visual display!
In hindsight, that was my problem - I paid too much attention to the music instead of my drink! I made the “newbie” mistake of leaving my drink on the edge of the table I fought so hard to get. On the very first song, once the sound of the guitars and drums married each other for the infamous “wall of sound” effect of post-rock, my pint slid off the table! I heard the glass fall, but assumed it was one of the skangers behind us who must have taken a wrong turn and ended up in this place! Anyway, I turn around and go to take a drink - an invisible drink! Not to worry, I only have to buy another. If it was any other band I probably would have complained though!
The rest of the show was epic to say the very least. When it was over, I went up to the band to congratulate them on their show because it’s always nice to see bands put so much energy into a small show like this. I bought their intriguingly self-titled latest album and a t-shirt and asked the entire band to sign it. I also talked to Thorsten, their “frontman” so to speak, about how their gear was stolen earlier this year. I have a lot of respect for a group of people who can bounce back from a set back such as that and continue on. A lot of people would have had their souls destroyed there.
Afterwards, and
read onCan I leave a cash table with Money? Please.
“It’s my last orbit”, I announce to the table. I’ve been at the table since 11pm and my stack has yoyo’ed back and forth but at least I’ve made money. Or so I thought.
I look down at pocket eights and am facing an early position raise of €7 which has been called in one spot already. I flat call, playing a stack of around €90, and the big and small blinds also come along for the ride! And what a ride it was.
My stack is now exactly €80, so I say to myself “No set, No bet” because I hate cashing out for odd amounts. However, any possibility of my hand hitting the muck vanishes when the flop comes down J-8-5, two spades. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but there’s a bet of €21 which is then called by the original raiser. I push for €80 and would have been happy to take it down there because I figure I’m going to be dodging spades if I’m called. The thought of someone taking down a pot on the flop is frowned upon though and I find a begrudging caller.
I try and decipher what exactly I have to dodge on the turn and river but I’m not appeased. I announce my hand and am told only that I’m slightly ahead. The turn comes a red six. It only completes a gutshot, but in a game like this, it should be viewed as a scare card. My opponent doesn’t look like someone who’s just sucked out and as it transpired, he had not yet hit his straight. The river is a red nine.
He triumphantly throws up J7! I swear, had I ate any food at the break during the tournament, I would have got sick all over the table. I don’t get angry or shout abuse. I just put on my coat and walk away, silently wishing that I could be that lucky in an important pot. Even if it’s just the once!
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