Glastonbury 2009

Ahoy, groupie renters. I write this from the box bedroom of my parents' house in Essex. Top floor, far right window as you look on us from the outside in. The curtains are closed or I would wave. Sorry about that. Anyway, now is the time for a break from catching up on giving the people who read my beloved Kruger free things. It seems summer is the time give things away. The sun makes us more generous souls, I believe. But yes. Not only this but it is also time for a post-Glastonbury analysis. A dissection of the good, the bad and the "do you know who I am?" brigade. My heart and mind remember the weekend just past as one of utmost excellence, although my feet and knees would tell you a rather different story, could they form words and that.

For the most part of the weekend, I wore a bright orange high-vis tabard. This was not a fashion statement, more an obligation should I wish to remain on site. I would like to tell you that Michael and Emily Eavis have introduced a Glastonbury law which says all festival goers must dress in such a way but alas, it was because I was working. Simultaneously raising money for charity, dancing like a psychiatric patient to new and old bands and making sure none of you blaggers and chancers got entry to the festival. Thank you Oxfam for letting me do so, although I would like to take back some of that thanks for making me work through both Maccabees sets. The cheek of it.

But. On to the more important matter of who I did see. The highlights of this seemingly endless list were as follows:

Two Door Cinema Club. So good I watched them twice. Northern Irish synth-pop. Maybe signed to Kitsune. Maybe not. If they are, I want to be them. Perhaps I shall marry them instead. Watch out for maybe some exciting future announcements about Two Door, some other Norn Iron bands and RaG in the coming months. We may have something up our sleeves.

Kap Bambino. French electro. Is my life. Or a vast majority of it anyway. Yeahhhh.

Metronomy. First time without Le Stebbing. Ohhhh Stebbing. Twas good though, apart from the fact their lights are no longer push lights. And that the PA people cut the power before they could play Radio Ladio. Bastards. On a Stebbing related note. I spent most of my second shift making eyes at Michael Your Twenties, who was wristbanding for Festival Republic. I don't think he noticed my eye-making, or at least I do hope else that'd be well embarrassing, innit?

Golden Silvers - Another Universe made me bawl my eyes out whilst outside relentlessly heavy rain killed my tent.

General Fiasco. More Norn Iron-ness. Included in the watch out announcement 2door statement above.

Rumble Strips. Why can't I love you in London? A new song to add to the this-is-how-I-feel-about-Goldsmiths catalogue. Its getting quite expansive.

The Big Pink. Whom I also saw twice, and both occasions without meaning to. First on the way to see Animal Collective, I was diverted by the reverberations of their synthy noise which never fails to make my body shake with excitement. Second, whilst queuing to get a copy of the Guardian the next morning, the acoustic strains of Velvet made me squeal rather loudly OHMYGODITSTHEBIGPINK. And thus, I stayed and watched them and marvelled at how I could actually hear Robbie's voice for once, what with it being acoustic and synth-less and all.

Bombay Bicycle Club. Whom I am now interviewing tomorrow eve. But sadly only, it transpires, over the phone. With Jamie. Who. Is Kirsty MacColl's nephew. INSANE. This is probably good that I'm not interviewing Jack as he does make me literally weak at the knees a bit. Anyway. Park set. Good times. I was loving life whilst burning my face. Yayyy.

Hockey. Good dance routine to Work, is all I'll say.

Passion Pit. Beatzzz. Jarvis Cocker dedications. Sleepyhead.

Klaxons. In fancy dress. I LOVE YOU.

GoodBooks. Last ever show. I got strangely emotional and actually cried in the first four bars. In full view of Max. Low point.

The Soft Pack. Kept giving me strange looks. Ohhhh dear. Blistering garage-rock watched by pretty much no one as everyone else was being stupid and watching Karen O. Soft Pack > YYYs.

Nick Cave. SEXXXY.

Blur. Obviously... the best thing I have ever seen. Somehow two rows away from the front. Odd. But also sweaty and wet and ewww but also, in the words of Oasis, mad fer it. Badhead and Jubilee and Oily Water and Trimm Trabb and NO ESSEX DOGS. Sad times. Damon crying made me cry (even more). Graham did a VERY sexy dance to the slowed down drum intro of Song 2 which they have apparently failed to broadcast to the world via the BBC. I would complain if I were you. It was hot. Ending on The Universal obviously had the predicted effect of making me weep my tearducts dry. I love you Blur. A million times more than anyone could ever understand.

I return to the old London tomorrow afternoon, phone Jamie BBC, go to Asda to stock up on strawberry cider because I don't think I can handle going cold turkey, maybe go see Deerhoof or maybe instead go see Jamie T. Who knows. You will. After it has happened. YEAH.

It really really really could happen

If you've read only one of these hear self-indulgent ramblings then you will probably know how excited I am about the Summer of Blur. On Monday, I woke to the news I might've yet again missed out on getting a ticket to an tiny intimate show. Picture this: I'm still half-asleep having just awoken at 1:30pm on a sunny afternoon in New X. I lazily reach out for my mac and check my emails from my bed. Out of force of habit, I click onto the NME home page and then wake the fuck up at the Blur secret gig headline. And then I read the article and feel deflated. 170 wristbands, first come first served, Brixton Academy, 11am. 2 and a half hours ago. Blur. 170 wristbands. I came to the conclusion that they'd all be long gone. Just in case, I checked Graham Coxon's twitter. And then Brixton Academy's. And their home page. And the Blur website. And the Blur forum. And there, there came my flicker of hope. Just about 45 minutes previous, someone had posted saying they had got the 75th wristband, with only ten people behind them in the queue. Could I make it in time? I don't know.. it takes 45 minutes and two buses from New X to Brixton. I had money though, I could get the train and tube... I toyed with calling Brixton Academy but decided against it because otherwise I would stay in bed moping for the rest of the day. And besides, the sun and fresh air would do me good.

So. I raced to Brixton, got annoyed at slow people on the tube (whhyyyy do you walk so slow when you're in a city. You can't be living at country pace in the city. Especially not when there's Blur wristbands to be got) and legged it down the road to the Academy. There was probably about 4 people in front of me when I got there and a very nice steward who mocked my studentness and music journo ambitions, and gave me a slip of paper with the number 170 on. The. Last. Wristband. Halle-fucking-lujah. 'Twould have been embarrassing to have collapsed on the Academy's steps in fits of tears. Probably the one occasion I have been glad to live south of the river. I knew it would pay off one day.

Anyway wristband safely fastened around my wrist (fittingly, the one with my Blur-related tattoo on), I went about my business until it was time to head off to Rough Trade East for the show. Some sexy boy with slicked back hair and one hoop in his left ear offered me a "snout", the first time I'd ever heard someone refer to a cigarette as such. He looked fairly young and I'm not sure of his actual age (so this may become slightly paedophilic but such is life..) but I do believe that I would like him very much. Sadly, I lost sight of him and now we shall never know what would have become of us. Oh yeah, and Blur played and it was probably the best thing I've ever seen. Maybe. On a par with that Pete&Carl Hackney reunion thingymabob. Or slightly better. Its hard to tell when you're older, wiser, more mature, less emotionally unstable etc etc. But anyway, as it was to celebrate the launch of the new Midlife compilation, the set was mostly tha hitzzzz, but with Advert and This is a Low thrown in for good measure. I did some crying during Tender and almost during Beetlebum, End of a Century and perhaps a couple of others. Alex James might have seen me crying (low point) and given me a sympathetic smile (high point). In between his trademark side-to-side fringe flicking, natch. And now... now, I cannot listen to, read about, watch, play anything but Blur in anticipation of next Sunday somewhere in a field in Somerset. Kind of over the Goldsmiths thing... haha. All I wanted was a special bit of intimacy. Would have been nice if it was somewhere that meant something to me but there you go. Maybe I should take it as a sign. We'll see. In the meantime, can we all keep our fingers crossed for Essex Dogs at Glastonbury, for that would truly make my life. If they do play it, there will definitely be tears and tattoo stroking and I'll probably come back and call it the most life-affirming (cliche, ew) moment of mine and anyone else's life, ever.

Oh yes, and in case you were wondering. My tattoo reads as such: 'You'll catch the flu or you'll catch the city...' Its a line from Essex Dogs aka my favourite song ever, about people from Essex and how there's only really two main paths they take in life. The flu - Essex4Life, born there, live there, die there; or the city - make your escape to the Big Smoke as soon you can. Its like a reminder that if I fuck this up I'll be catching the flu, cos there's no way in hell I can afford to stay in London. Oddly, since I got it done I've been getting better. There's been less twatting about and more trying to sort my life out. Apart from Monday night post-Blur when I ended up in hopsital, but that's another story for another time, as they say.

"You never finished the chapter but you finished the song..."

I tried reading Stuart Maconie's latest literay release but then some twat in the flat below decided to put on Babyshambles full blast. Now, don't get me wrong, I am more than a little partial to a bit of the Doherty but I cannot read and listen to music at the same time. Instead of concentrating on the words on the page in front of me, I find myself trying to interpret those pouring into my ears instead. So, the book got laid to rest and 6Music turned on to cover any sound of Fuck Forever. The dulcet tones of Steve Lamacq greeted me and presented me with the new problem of how I will never be the female version of the great man. Lammo (along with Blur, obviously) is my hometown hero, being a fellow Colchestarian. At Reading last year, I stood 5 yards away from him and shook a bit. I would've spoken to him but he was deep in conversation whilst taking a break from compering the NME/Radio1 stage. 'Twould have been rude to interpret for the sake of a few bits of advice and me going more embarrasingly fangirly than I would do over any musician. 

This week was mostly spent recovering from Camden Crawl, "dancing" into May (although drinking would be a more accurate description of activities) and losing my Vietnamese cuisine virginity with TEETH!!! 

On Thursday, one of my favourite venues played host to the NME/JD/Adidas House Party with the Rifles, the Rakes and Young Fathers. Except it wasn't in the tiny room most 229 gigs are held in, but in some bigger room next door that felt more like a school hall than a concert venue. Strange. Young Fathers are a Glaswegian hip-hop trio with the best dance moves this side of Metronomy. Dance moves seem to be the in thing at the moment, don't they? No complaints here. Then, unfathomably, The Rakes played. Meaning the Rifles were headlining. THE RIFLES, for gawd's sake. Sub-sub-sub Jam rip offs who no one actually gives a flying fuck about. Headlining. Over the Rakes?! Insanity. Apparently they headlined Brixton academy a few months back too. The world has gone mad. Not that the Rakes are the greatest band to ever grace the Earth but seriously, if you had to choose, you would totally choose them right? Not content with confusing the fuck out of me, Joel from the Rifles then came and stood in front of us and proceeded to suck the face off his girlfriend for THE WHOLE SET. Jesus. Just go put on a Rakes CD and do that in your dressing room and leave me to watch Alan Donohoe's awkward stage movements in peace, yeah? Needless to say, we left after the Rakes had finished and went off to Ally Pally for the turn of the month celebrations. 

Friday, I headed up to Camden to interview aces fuzzy noise purveyors TEETH!!! in a bus shelter on Delancey Street, before joining them for Vietnamese on Parkway. I am not very good at chopsticks. Tofu is good though, and TEETH!!! are excellent company. Sunday, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, was Gaslight time. Anto Dust played a couple of her sombre lullabies before Kieran Leonard enthralled us with one of, if not the, most impassioned and, at times angry sets I have ever seen him play - raw, unadulterated emotion combined with poetic melody that had me on the verge of tears at more than one point. For once, I think this is not because I am somewhat emotionally unstable but because it was truly, astonishingly moving. 

And that is that. I have spent much of this Bank Holiday Monday sleeping, which I suppose is what they're there for. This week holds reunions and instores and training for Glastonbury, which, by the way, is only 6 weeks away. Exciting times ahead. 

"...with your chin on your knees like you belong"

Listening to this week: 

The Maccabees - Wall of Arms

Patrick Wolf - The Bachelor

Bombay Bicycle Club - I had the Blues But I Shook them Loose album sampler

St Vincent - Actor

The Big Pink - Velvet

Camden Crawl

I ache. A lot. I think my knees have been replaced with my grandma's and my feet with massive slabs of concrete. Camden Crawl, innit? 

Yes. For the past two days I've been racing (or, indeed, crawling) around the streets of Camden in the name of music and now I'm paying the price. Still, worth it for a weekend of secrets, surprises and sonic indulgence. Friday started with cramming onto the roof of the Hawley for drinks and smokes and the killing of time, before we headed off to the Edinboro Castle for a pop quiz. Pop quizzes are my life. Aside from the viewing of live music, I don't think there's anything better than sitting in a pub and answering questions on obscure music trivia. Alas, we didn't win, but we did play under the name Toothpaste Quizzes, which can only make us winners in my eyes. Halfway through everyone got a bit overexcited because Madness turned up to do one of their "guerilla" gigs. I sat unimpressed and waiting for them to sod off so I could get on with the serious business of pop quizzing. I hate Madness, I do. 

Anyway, we didn't win and we didn't lose, we just performed mediocrely. Disappointing, I'm sure you'll agree. So with that in mind, we went to find something less mediocre than ourselves. Namely the following bands:

The Von Bondies - yes for US garage-rock! New and old songs that all sounded ace, but none as much as C'mon C'mon aka song of 2003. 

Man Like Me - grime + brass + dancing boys = a hella load of summery fun. Single Dad reminds me of back home in the badlands of Essex. Aw :)

Kitty, Daisy & Lewis - it has been decided Lewis is 'the shiz'. True story. Yeah, they're good fun but I spent most of the time clock watching so we could get back to the Electric Ballroom in time for... 

The Big Pink - we missed most of the set. I felt sad. Some obviously-fucked guy bumped into me and then gave me death stares for a long time which was quite frightening. No one really seemed that into the band and stood quite far back chatting, for the most part. I was saddened. The Big Pink are aces, I don't get how people can't see it. I stumbled across them at Concrete & Glass last year whilst looking for Steve Lamacq and fell in love, quite by accident. I think they suit the Macbeth more than the do 'leccy Ballroom, mind. 

James Yuill - was surprisingly good. I think I was expecting more of a Newton Faulkner gone electro vibe but it was more Maps gone acoustic. And as Maps are wonderful, so was James Yuill. 

Your Twenties - can't you see I'm feeling over the top? OUI. Joe and Oscar from Metronomy were watching Stebbing's new band, which was sweet. The floor of the Enterprise scared me a bit, cos it felt like it was going to fall through. YT were lush though and not scary at all. YES YT. 

Teeth!!! - LA electro-punk is one of my favourite things. As are screaming, jumping frontwomen in fuck-off cool leggings. I want to be in a band like Teeth!!!

Plugs - pleasant surprise. Morgan DIOY,Y?'s "new" band. Better than DIOY,Y? by a long shot. 

Selfish Cunt - MY LOVES. Don't suit Koko one bit. Too big. Martin Tomlinson didn't seem to care though judging by all the cavorting he was doing on stage. What a guy. Another band I don't understand the hate for. Although I think there genuinely is something you have to be able to "get" with SC, moreso than the Big Pink anyway. 

And then. Bus home. 5am. an hour's sleep. Do it all again. Saturday was calmer in some respects, but others a hell of a lot more frantic. I had been told by NME acquaintances that Blur were to play a secret gig at the Spread Eagle at 3:30pm. So. I sat in the Spread Eagle all afternoon, getting ridiculously excited, miserable and fucking tired. In the meanwhile, we saw: 

Roses, Kings, Castles - yeahhh. Good banter. 

Meme Love - fuck off. Please. You look awful, you sound offensively bland and you can't throw cake for shit. Get. Off. The. Stage. 

The Barker Band - made me lose my will to live. 

Tim Ten Yen - started off good then got progressively worse. Also, what's with calling all your songs beautiful?! Strikes me as a bit arrogant and like he loves himself a bit too much. Beautiful? A corpse could compose better. 

Graham Coxon - Blur didn't play. Graham did. At 5:30pm. ARGH. I had to stand on a table to see though, which was obviously well fun. Yes for table standing. I love Graham so I wasn't that upset that it was just him. He played songs only from his new album and was on top banter form. Johnny Borrell was there too; I laughed.

Alessi's Ark - only caught a few songs but she was quite sweet. I fear she could get a bit mundane if watching/listening to her for too long but in short bursts, she's ace. 

The View - I don't think any one band has such annoying fans. Seriously. Being in the Roundhouse with 2000 of them is like hell on earth. And Pixie Geldof was there watching them/waiting for Kasabian. How uncool. 

Blk Jks - were whack, we went back outside until they'd finished and got mocked by some guy who'd been kicked out. Fun times. 

The Big Pink (agaiiiin) - I love them. More than life. 

So, no Blur and some very aching limbs. My ears are still ringing far too loudly to be considered even remotely healthy. Tinnitus 4 life! At some point soon, I shall get some proper sleep but not tonight for it is Gaslight Sunday and then all-nighter so I don't miss Blur Goldsmiths ticket announcement at 9am tomorrow. At some point I might fit in some work. But I doubt that very much. 

xx

Concerning Blur, Goldsmiths and the start of a new mission

Blur have announced two tiny warm-up shows for their contrastingly massive festival appearances and Hyde Park extravaganzas. June 13th sees them going back to their hometown of Colchester and the East Anglian Railway Museum, then on the 22nd to Graham Coxon and Alex James' former university, Goldsmiths. Tickets were made available to the fan club this morning and have SOLD. OUT. 

Picture this: I'm lazily surfing the net from the comfort of my bed and head to NME.com for a catch up on some music news. The first headline I see is 'Blur announce dates for intimate warm-up gigs'. CLICK. Colchester's there as has been suggested by the band for a while now but there's another one.. GOLDSMITHS? I sit up so fast I make myself dizzy and scream so loud the cleaner literally turns off the hoover and says something that vaguely resembles "are you okay?" Um, no. Blur aka one of my favourite bands (easily top 3) are playing at Goldsmiths? Like, not even 10 minutes walk from where I'm sitting now? I am most certainly not okay. Especially not when I find out its already sold out a few minutes later. I could cry. 

I already had plans to go to the Colchester show, once announced. Before my parents decided it was a good idea to move to some quaint little market town in the middle of nowhere, North Essex, we lived in Colchester. I lived there, Blur lived there. So I saw it as an opportunity for not only them to go back to their roots but for me to do the same. Ace. Goldsmiths is an entirely different situation. Alex and Graham studied here in 1988, where they met and formed Blur. Essentially, I am a bit ridiculous and base all major life decisions on music-related things and so when it came to deciding where to go to uni, chose Goldsmiths purely because of the Blur factor (and because of No Pain in Pop and the scene based around Angular Recording Company and their 'The New Cross' sampler. But mostly because of Blur). Before I came here, I was really excited. I thought there'd be loads of amazing bands playing in our SU and everyone would be really cool, take music far too seriously and dress like they were on the catwalk even when they were going to Sainsbury's. Alas, I was wrong. Most people I've met are nothing like that and I've only been to two gigs at our SU (South Central/The Ghost Frequency & Those Dancing Days/Sky Larkin/La Shark). Blur playing there is like the stuff of dreams, even with its dodgy lighting that makes everyones faces go a shocking pink colour that is guaranteed to sketch you out when you're fucked and the bastardo security who ask you if you have a ticket and when you say you're on the list assume you think you're better than everyone and insist on acting like cunts just so you know you're not. In short, if I don't get into this show I will cry. Sure, a week later I'll be seeing them at Glastonbury but its not the same, is it? I'm hella excited about watching Blur in a field with 120,000 other people but watching them in the dingy GCSU with 300 other people would be far more magical. I could pretend it was 1989 and they were still called Seymour, that it was the beginning and not 20 years in. 

The mission to find Blur's PR and charm my way onto the guestlist starts here. In the meantime, I'm going to stare at the building they'll be playing in from my window, feel very sorry for myself and listen to the whole back catalogue until I can take the torture no longer.