Fatality Posts New "Towards DisasTour" Blog
Toronto’s thrash party monsters Fatality recently wrapped up their two-month North American “Towards Disastour” in support of latest album, "Psychonaut."
Vocalist Spencer Le Von has again checked in with Dead Rhetoric.com about the band's days in Seattle, WA and Vancouver, BC and why he's “A lover not a fighter, also not a lover." Excerpts are available below, or you can read the full tour blog at this location.
How come there are so many gorgeous people living in big cities? Do all of the attractive people in each part of the country just decide to live within the same 10 blocks of each other at all times? Do they do it just so they can be close enough to one another to share jeggings and hair care tips? I love the looks on everyone’s gorgeous and well-maintained faces when we pull up in our huge tour van and the door swings open to let loose a pile of degenerate Canadian degenerate slobs.
When we are driving through an area highly populated by the genetically advantaged, like all groups of men in each other’s company, we always start yelling the vilest shit. The kind of irredeemable comments that would make you lose your job mopping up a porno theatre. This is particularly so when the windows are rolled up and everyone is in a good mood. It’s kind of just what guys do, because deep down, all men are monsters. My favourite moment is when someone in the van sees a pair of nice legs further down the road and comments on them, only for them to turn out to be that of a man, or worse: it’s a girl that’s way too young. That’s an awkward moment ain’t it? “Dudes look at that girl all the way down the street at the cross walk. That chicks a 10!” “Bro, I’m pretty sure she IS 10.” Good from far, far from good.
Seattle is one of those places where all the people are beautiful, but the weather sucks, so no one gets to goddamn enjoy it! Maybe that’s why Kurt Cobain was so troubled: instead of the women of his era wearing yoga pants and tube tops, they all wore long johns, flannel shirts and jeans. They all looked like Al Borland from Home Improvement with tits. We played at a small bar called “the Kraken”. The stage was so small that when I leaned back during our performance, Mason’s jittering crash cymbal would bite at me. At one point I remember getting too much momentum towards the end of the stage and my legs failed. I have the grace and balance of Bambi on a frozen pond. As I was careening towards the edge of the stage my stupid legs buckled and I clumsily went flying off the stage, hit the floor in a front roll and ended up flying out the front doors of the bar with my guitar around my neck!
I was so excited to hop across the border into Canada for 36 hours and a gig in Vancouver. I may have had to do 2 border crossings in 3 days, but hey, they know how to make coffee the way I like. Everyone split up all over the city except Mason, Adam and I ended up spending the night at my cousin Colin’s place. He is endlessly interesting because he was a professional nightclub musician and comedian in the 70’s, travelling all across Canada as a one-man band. It goes without saying that he has a ton of great stories. I remember him asking me what the difference was between our first album, Beers from the Grave and our new album, Psychonaut. I told him, “the main difference is that as I get older I have a greater wealth of experience, therefore I have more to write about and wield more colours to paint with. My first album is full of songs that were basically written about my dick.” He looked at me, took a pull on his cigar and said, “Short songs, huh?” Never too old for a dick joke.
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