photos by Pia Alvendia
As it does every Autumn, the peculiar form of mental instability known as Amoebapalooza descended again upon the employees of Hollywood’s finest record emporium! Once again, the results splattered out upon the King King stage in glorious 3-D scream-o-rama for the delight/bafflement of drunken spectators! Did you have to be there? Yes, you did. Will reading this chronicle and perusing these photos do? For now, it must and shall.
Amoebites are, as you may know, an incorrigible, shameless breed of rockers, and they love nothing better than for their employers to enable this addiction by engaging the King King for the night of musical mayhem known as Amoebapalooza. On this night, Amoebites may strut the stage, tread the boards and wail out their rock & roll demons, which often take the form of a bunch of crazy tribute bands. Every year there is eye-popping rock insanity onstage, wailing guitars, felonious wigs, Goodwill glamour and crazy silver stuff taped all over one’s jeans. Was this year any different? A bit more rockalyzing, a bit more crazy, but in essence, about the same as hanging out with a bunch of Amoebites any night of the week, plus a lot more Manic Panic hair dye and big amps! Did I remember every little thing? No, my own vodka intake did not allow that, so if I leave anybody out, forgive me, and let me just say now that it was all completely awesome. And you’re probably in the pics!
The whole mad affair was kicked off with the tuff rock sound of the Cigarette Bums, helmed by Amoeba’s own Steven Carrera but dominated by the wild sax stylings of whoever that guy was. Little did he know that he was lighting the match that would send the whole Amoebapalooza shithouse up in flames over the next few hours!