May Your Christmas be as Beautiful as This Tree is Pink!
Ian’s Dream, as Told to Gail
We had rented some hotel room in Melbourne as a party pad. I was
there with a bunch of friends, we were smoking something special in a
weird way — putting it on the stem of these miniature palm fronds.
This guy kept leaving the door open for some reason.
We’d closed the door when there’s a knock on it. We open it and it’s
the hotel manager, with a large group of expectant/confused kids
behind him. Like a hundred kids. We’re a bit freaked out, what with
the funny smell and everything, but the manager starts going on and
on, talking about how glad he is to have us here, how we’re
beautiful, and that it’s a real honor for us to stay in his hotel and
visit the town of Melbourne. What the fuck? Eventually we figure out
that he thinks we’re a band from Chicago named ‘Beautiful’ (do they
exist? It’s not a very Google-friendly name), hence the look on the
After a while, the band shows up, and we have a good laugh over the
whole thing. I give them my phone number so they can call me next
time they’re in town, writing it on a slip of paper. The singer looks
at it and goes ‘Koss… that’s what’s written on the headphone amp
that we have in the studio.’