THIS SHOW IS STRICTLY 18+
Midnight on a dark and stormy NYE 1973. In a desolate holiday town on the east coast of New Zealand’s North Island, a nameless covers band, having finished their nights toil gnashing out four sets of Van Morrison, Santana, Chuck Berry and Grateful Dead songs held a meeting.
The chill coming up through the cracked floorboards of the rundown temporary band house shivers the candlelight as distant thunder mutters in the jagged hills across the harbour. The task was simple. The motley bunch of kiwis sprawled around the room on threadbare couches and mattresses that by candlelight almost obscured the stains left by previous occupants had to come up with a great name for their band, They were due to play in two weeks' time at NZ’s first ever rock festival, headlined by Black Sabbath and they needed an identity.
The piano player assembled the runes and the ancient book and threw the I Ching (google it) He opened the book with a flourish and...
