Sunday, 31 May 2009
Maccabees mini-Irish tour 09
A couple of us went on a mini-Irish tour this week. As a result, I'm now suffering fun times withdrawal. Argh. Crying on the 45 when you've just left a one day festival of weirdo electro underground obscure freak-noise early is not a good way to spend your Saturday. Anyway, I wrote a little tour diary sort of thing. Follows.
Dublin, May 27th.
I am an idiot. I think this is a fairly indisputable fact. On the plane over yesterday, I decided today would be a nice day for a spot of drinking. So. Down two alcopops and then a huge bottle of red wine. And then, well... this would all be fine apart from the fact I then decided it was a good idea to go talk to Felix White aka A BEAUTIFUL MAN WHO I RESPECT VERY MUCH. Fuck you, Beaujolais. I think I forced myself on him a bit. Can't really remember. Not sure. But quite certain. The lovely George wrote my name +1 on his Blackberry and I squinted very hard to check he'd spelt it right. Idiot.
We (myself and sober Sarah) went back to Sharon's halls in the supremely-better-than-Goldsmiths Trinity, where I threw up and fell asleep. When I awoke, Sarah made me coffee (which I hate at the best of the times) and I had to leg it to the bathroom for round 2. By this point Sharon had gone somewhere so we left too. Stumbled back to the Academy where we found New Amusement supporting. We both found this slightly strange seeing as we saw them support the Rascals at Whelans almost exactly a year ago. Odd. I fell asleep on a sofa at the side of the room and awoke to find Sarah wasn't there. Massive low point. Feeling hugely better though, I managed to sit up and on Sarah's return managed to go and stand in the crowd in preparation for the show.
I love the Maccabees, right. Seriously. Stupid amounts. I paid £30 (to a tout, natch) in to their Electric Ballroom show at the start of the month and worried that maybe it was a bit of a bad move. Pfft. As if. They make me feel more alive than a shot of adrenalin straight to the heart. Anyway, tonight's show has made it a pure rock solid concrete fact that they are in my top 3 favourite bands of all time. Super duper aces, as per. Now I know the new songs almost as well as the old, it all fits perfectly, coherently...
After, we saw little point in hanging round and thus legged it catch the last train to Gormanstown and then back to Sarah's fairy tale house in the middle of the desolate Irish countryside for proper beds, tea and toast. Lush.
Belfast, May 28th.
Having woke up surprisingly unhungover, we set off on the four mile trek to Gormanstown in the somewhat vain hope that we would catch a bus to Drogheda in time for the only bus to Belfast. Thumbing for a lift most of the way, our mood plummeted as our disgusting sweatiness escalated. Classy. Luckily, we turned up at the bus stop just seconds before the bus and thus made it to Drogheda on time for the one o'clock coach. Winner.
Two hours down country roads and one international border later, we arrived and met the one and only K Hole before walking down to the appropriately named Katy Daly's bar, next to the venue. Dodgy looking men were sat outside and tried to engage us in conversaton. We refused and instead went and apologised to Felix for my behaviour the previous day. Thanks to Sarah for telling him about me falling asleep at the gig. NICE ONE. George waved us over a bit later and put us on the list and then we went and got much needed food in the same place we went after I interviewed Dirty Pretty Things last year. We found some steps opposite the venue where we sat and talked absolute rubbish as per, smoked, redid make up and tried to work out if security were ID'ing on the door. Not quite sure why but I loved the steps.
Supporting at Spring and Airbrake was Cutaways, essentially a twee-er Johnny Foreigner, with more focus on synths. They were quite good, but the underlying feeling that I recognised them from somewhere was kind of annoying. After, I thought I saw my number one favourite Northern Irish boy WITH A GIRL so we had to go and check that out. Luckily, I was wrong. Phew. Maccabees came on a little later and owned it. I always get a bit teary when the crowd go mental for them so I spent most of the set fighting back the floods. And then they played Mary. One or two drops might have made it through.
With hours to kill until I had to catch the coach to the airport, we hung around for a bit and had a pretty surreal chat to Orlando about McDonald's, prostitutes, hairy legs, and Billy Bragg. Nicest guy ever. We thanked George and Felix for the list and then went to sit in a kebab shop to kill time. Some guy came in and tried to talk to us but we couldn't understand a word he was saying. We think he tried to tell us a joke. I think its probably quite hard to be funny when you have your ear safety pinned to your head. Literally. We vacated the premises soon after his arrival and went to get the coach to various places. I had some vague form of sleep then sat in the airport for two hours listening to all my Maccabees on my iPod and watching the sun rise, whilst drinking a cup of tea from Starbucks with half a bag of sugar in it. Gross. Oddly enough, I wasn't even too excited about coming back to London. For all the freaks and weirdos we'd had to endure over the last couple of days, it'd been hella fun and the end felt more than a little premature.
Sad.Face. Since I've been back, I've distracted myself by listening to these beauties:
Jack Penate - Everything is New
Pagan Wanderer Lu
Jamie T - Sticks and Stones
Emmy the Great - First Love
Blur - The Great Escape
The Virgins - One Week of Danger