Audition Tape

Hello,

I saw on your website that you have a space for a booking this Saturday. I am emailing to let you know: your problem is solved. Wynnum Sunday to the rescue. You may have heard about our band through the local 'buzz', but if not, let me try to capture our 'essence' (like it could be captured, ha!).

OK, close your eyes and picture this. Closed? Oh right. OK, well keep them open to read this, but IMAGINE you're surrounded by thousands of pumped-up concert-goers, cheering at peak of their vocal chord capacity: WYNNUM-SUNDAY!

And then, Ka-Blam! Fireworks, pyrotechnics, and dry ice fog like you've never seen it before, and the curtain slowly raises. The incendiary wail of the guitar hits you in the face like a Mac truck, as Marc Rogers, sans shirt, gets lit up by the spotlight. The crowd goes wild. He may stand still as plank, make rude gestures at the crowd, offend most women, and be medically diagnosed as tone-deaf, but this man can ROCK!

But then, out of the back, comes the most complex and bad-ass beat you've ever heard. Hit spotlight! It's Ollie Garrison, drummer extraordinaire. He's going to town on his four piece set, mouth slightly agape as he tries to concentrate, raising his arms awkwardly in between hits. This is Rick Allen if he had two arms, and then broke them so they didn't work quite as well.

And when you think it can't get any better, a voice, the likes of which you have no comparison hits you. John Lennon? Chump. Neil Young? Pussy. Bono? Fuck Bono. Bono sounds like a cat being run over by a slow moving train compared to our frontman Colin Rodger (no relation to Marc). Women instantly buckle at the knees and faint. Men turn gay. This Scotsman redefines the word 'music', and then respells it as m-a-g-i-c.

Picture that. I hope to hear back from you soon. I have enclosed our demo video. Hold on to your seat, Mr. Promoter. I hope that you and Shady Grove Estates are ready to bring the house down this Saturday. Also, we play for free.

Wynnum Sunday.