I am toying with the idea of splitting from RaG.

*bombshell*

Last night, after a Maccabees instore and Passion Pit sighting on Bishopsgate, I went to the newly re-opened Garage in Islington for a sort of album launch party in celebration of the release of Bombay Bicycle Club's debut album. Having only ever seen them at festivals (and an instore on Tuesday evening but its pretty much the same as a festival isn't it really? The crowd is never made up completely of dead-on hardcore fans of the band, usually mostly people who want to check them out but don't want to pay on the off-chance they don't like it), last night was my first proper Bombay headline show. I only got there in time to catch the last two songs of Bongo Fury's set but I liked what I heard. Go listen to them here. Thanks.

Anyway. Essentially, the show was one of the best I have seen all year and maybe ever. I'm not sure on that last point but what makes me think it might be is the fact I spent the whole bus journey home itching to write and making creative decisions for my magazine. Sadly, I have no internet access in my room at the moment so I couldn't act on this when I got in. All that thought and desire though was brought on as a result of watching BBC absolutely kill it under the hot stage lights. I think if something can inspire that much creativity and ambition within you then it must be pretty great, right? Right. And I can remember most shows that have had that effect on me, and there's not that many of them, relatively speaking.

I'm considering the name Thamesbeat. You know, like that ill-fated NME scene that all of the bands who were apparently involved with it completely denied the idea that there was such a scene? It seems quite appropriate. I moved to London for the music, all I ever used to dream about was living in London for the music. I don't know. Good name? I'm awful at coming up with names for things. Comments would be welcome. Ta. Anywho. Why not just make a hard copy of RaG? Er, because no one takes us seriously under this moniker. And I very much want people to take me seriously please. Even if I don't, someone else should yes?

Finally. Flashguns new EP Matching Hearts Similar Parts is my new found favourite record of the moment. They're having a launch party tonight at Ginglik in Shepherd's Bush. You should go because I can't. I'm off to Ireland in a matter of hours for Oxegen festival, where upon my return I shall no doubt ramble on more about Bombay Bicycle Club. Sozzzz. xxx

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

National Record Store Day

Today is National Record Store day, a celebration of independent record stores across the UK and hopefully a reminder of how bloody fantastic they are that will jolt people into spending a bit more dollar in them. I went down to Pure Groove this afternoon, soaked up some Farringdon sun and watched Patrick Wolf perform dressed as Dracula, if he were a biker. It's been a while since Patrick released anything and his live shows can range from the astonishingly brilliant to the terrifyingly disappointing. Today fell into the former category, with a handful of new songs that make you think, if they sound so... perfect in a record shop instore then how mind-blowingly out of this world are they going to sound in a proper venue/on record? Seems like the Wolf is back on form. 

After, we got interviewed by a freelance journalist (who also goes to Goldsmiths, yay us!) about our record store habits. He was Scottish and nice and let me ramble on about kids today, download culture, how record stores have to have more than just records to get people through the door and how I had more money to spend on records when I was at school than I do now. Good guy. When I was 13 and read the NME for the first time, I realised people actually get paid to listen to records, go to gigs, talk to bands and then write about it. Hey, and they get free records and don't have to pay in to shows. Perfect job. I decided pretty snappily that that's what I wanted to do, but even though I thought I could probably get whatever records I wanted without spending a penny, I still thought I would buy copies, so I could have the full artwork etc. Alas, I'm far too skint to actually do that, which is a massive shame because talking to that journo today made me realise how long its been since I actually bought a record with my own money. I see CDs/vinyls on merch desks at the end of shows and think I need to own that record but I could probably do with that £5 or however much so I can get trashed or get a bus or something. Besides, I can just email the PR company and get a link or a CD-R, right? And that's me, who's writing about bands and (hopefully) introducing people to them and making them want to go out and buy their records, so what about everyone else? Most people go on the internet and find a link where they can download a record for free and then sit back and enjoy, guilt-free, without paying a penny. I hate this new download culture where everything is so accessible and immediate, where people think there's nothing wrong with downloading it for free and then not going out and buying a physical copy. Where no one cares about the artwork or the colour of the vinyl, or even what label the record's released on. 

I hate this new download culture because its changed how we consume music in terms of money and the environment in which we access it. Now, you can get the new Art Brut album (before its even out) from the comfort of your own home and record shops are having to provide other services to get people coming in to their stores and spending money. Pure Groove is essentially a coffee bar now. There's hardly any records, and what stock they've got are on the wall behind the bar. I remember going into the shop when it was still on the Holloway Road and spending ages flicking through boxes of vinyl in a tiny space crammed full of music and thinking it was heaven. I almost applied to London Met on the basis that halls were on the Holloway Road thus my local pub would be Nambucca and my local record store would be Pure Groove. And then Nambucca burnt down and PG moved to Farringdon, cut its stock to a top 100 records and lost its charm a bit. My love for it is deep rooted and will last forever but its just not as good now. Especially not now the emphasis is on serving espressos rather than selling the new No Pain in Pop compilation. I had to deliver some issues of Kruger there the other week and it was the first time I'd been in since they'd started serving drinks. I didn't even notice the records behind the bar and went back to the office more than a little confused. 

This wasn't meant to turn into such a rant but the subject angers me greatly. I just want to be able to sit in a grubby little shop and search for new records to fall in love with, not some flash joint full of rich kids desperately trying to be cool sipping on lattes where I can't even touch the things I want to buy. 

Graham Coxon played later and was amazing. Only new album stuff, which was nice. Folky and beautiful. It was good to be able to hear Graham talking in his hushed Essex tones too. Yes. Coxon makes me happy, very much so. 

Otherwise... I went on a massive Blur kick yesterday due to the warm-up show announcements and then looked on the GCSU site late last night and almost cried with happiness at the implication that Goldsmiths students might be being offered tickets somehow. All doubts I had about coming here are now erased. Yay Goldsmiths. Also, um, sorry for whining on the internet about not being able to go. Woe is me an'that. Sorry. I am a spanner. Contrastingly to that "yay Goldsmiths" bit there, I made myself upset earlier reading the No Pain in Pop interview in Loud & Quiet in which it is revealed the Amersham Arms (aka coolest pub, like, ever) has stopped putting on live music until the East London line is back up in 2010. I don't even understand. Surely Goldsmiths kids will go to gigs there? Fuck non-NewX-ers if they can't be bothered to travel. Give me my New X dream back! Oh, Amersham. I think I really have missed the boat on this one. What I would give for someone to come along and give us our scene back. And now, I can't wait until next month when I can move to somewhere with good things happening rather than being stopped. 

This week we've been listening to: 

The Big Pink - Velvet (single. of. year) 

Blur/Graham Coxon 

Chairlift - Bruises

Patrick Wolf - Vulture

Boy Crisis 

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. 

South East, East End and the North (update 5)

Happy Easter! Personally, I'm not a fan. Chocolate hurts my teeth. Sad times. I opted for the newest TANAOU 7" as a pain free substitute though, which is pretty ace seeing as it comes with Kapowski and An Escape Plan covers on the B-side. Although it does make me miss Northampton more than it should. 

This is going to be kept brief otherwise it'd turn into a novel to rival War & Peace. In terms of length, not quality. I don't think I'm up there battling it out with Tolstoy just yet. So. 

Irish girls came over for a weekend of adventures and hijinks, and of those there were plenty. Sunday was market day and we walked all around the East End, fighting through crowds and soaking up the sun. Petticoat Lane, Brick Lane Up Market, round the corner in Truman Brewery (Rough Trade!) We thought we spotted Mik Whitnall of Babyshambles non-fame but then realised the Mik wannabe in question looked far too healthy for this to be even in the slightest bit possible. Hah! A few vintage shops later and we emerged on the Bethnal Green Road and made our way up to Columbia Road. Trying to get down that road when the market is on is like trying to get from the NME tent to the main stage at Reading when its time for the headliners to play. But worse. Oh my life. We were on the hunt for gladioli so I could pretend to be Morrissey but alas, we found none. Instead, I bought some tulips and decided they would be a suitable replacement. At some point they got christened Morrissey, I think after I'd ingested alcoholic beverages but I'm not sure. I hope it was otherwise I am essentially more of a spanner than I thought. Anyway, we also visited some old school sweet shop where they still sell sweets from big plastic tubs, like the good old days and then did some sightseeing in Bethnal Green before stopping off in Hackney for some lunch. A good East End day. Later in the evening, we trekked up to Alexandra Palace to take in the views and then walked back up to Muswell Hill, visited some woods (which don't look half as bad as some people make out, half of RaG included. Drama queens, the lot of you) and then walked down to Archway for the Gaslight where Kieran Leonard played with a full band and I started to really like the way his EP (or what I've heard of it at least) is sounding. Its taken me a while, when I first heard it, it made me a little sad because I really disliked it. Maybe because its so different to how I usually hear those songs played, maybe because I find him with just a guitar and his lungs more powerful and moving. Its starting to grow on me though, which is an entirely good thing. Anto Dust played a couple of songs too, both of which seemed inherently sad and brought me down a little. 

Monday, we went to Regent's Park and then Camden before heading to Moorgate to go on a Jack the Ripper walk. Which we then didn't do and just went and got frappucinos and sat in Spitalfields instead. Two of us went to Islington Academy, where we found boys with good arms in bands called Canterbury; the other two went to the woods and got scared. Hah. Canterbury are a funny thing - all the time we were watching them I felt like I shouldn't like them but then there was this huge underlying feeling that I did, and that in actual fact I kind of love them. The confusion. After their set we decided that love is ok, even when it feels a bit wrong. So. We love Canterbury! But not as much as we love Johnny Foreigner. Aw. New songs and new songs and a few old ones for good measure, and we can honestly say JoFo are one of our favourite bands, live or otherwise. They were our headliners of the night even if they technically were only main support; we left before Hundred Reasons because they're whack. On the way home, we got barked at by men in a white van. How hilariously predicatable. 

We visited Mick Jones' Rock&Roll Public Library the next day before Irishers went home, as well as St Paul's and a Salvation Army cafe, but that is another blog for another time. After recovering from all the adventuring, I went to Canary Wharf and fucked off the people in Pizza Express good and proper by ordering only tomatoes and doughballs, and then only giving them a 15p tip. Shouldn't have tried to ignore me and seat City boys behind me first. Bastards. And then. Disaster. Dancing round my room to the Clash, I tripped on my chair and spilt vodka and lemonade all over my laptop. Which then died and refused to turn back on. I should probably never dance ever again, something always goes wrong. I am obviously dance retarded. So, I write this to you from a shiny new MacBook Pro, yay! Thank fuck for insurance. After a little (read: massive) cry, I dusted myself off and headed off out to see Official Secrets Act at the Borderline. Good show, good atmosphere, and surprisingly I really enjoyed it. I was introduced to Lawrence from OSA afterwards who is basically a winner. Anyone who initiates high fives two minutes after they've met me is clearly a good guy. 

And now, I am back in Essex, working my way through a mountain of promos for review. Worst one so far is far and away The Saturdays. I have never wanted to cut my ears off so badly as when listening to that. Its some Red Nose Day charity single, which makes me even angrier because if people will only give money to charity when buying overproduced dirge such as this then we are truly doomed. Instead of buying it, a more charitable thing to do would be rid the world of no-hopers like the Saturdays. Jesus. Its not all bad though; I've got Dan Black's new single and something from the Jessie Rose Trip (who're going to be getting compared to Amy Winehouse a fair amount, I'd imagine). And Marianne Faithfull. Otherwise, I've been getting re-obsessed with the Maccabees and continuing last week's Bombay Bicycle Club love-fest. That is about all, having been without my iTunes for most of the week. Sad face. 

Anyway, I'm going to go and watch my family eat too much chocolate and wish I was back in London. Tonight I'm missing the Gaslight AND a house party. I hate you, Essex. Frohe Ostern etc etc xx

Ohai, Sentinels (RaG Weekly Update #3)

Dear reader,

I write this from under my covers, having now been awake for a full 43 hours. I took some sleeping pills; they made me feel more awake. The irony. Anyway, I'm ridiculously happy because, for the best part of 24 of those hours, I have been internetless and now, finally, I am not. Thank you Goldsmiths IT geeks for apparently working on a Sunday.

This aside, this week has been pretty ok. We've handed in dissertations, discovered how to walk from Brick Lane to Liverpool St (and not via Aldgate! Success), spent far too long listening to one song, actually literally dreamt of Glastonbury and done a bit of political debating too. Win.
Shows attended: 2. First, Official Secrets Act at Rough Trade East. The best thing I can tell you about this is Lawrence's make up is fucking amazing. That, and er, the album's, like, well good? Yes. Maybe a bit overlong, but good nonetheless. Secondly, Instigate Debate at the Boogaloo. Politics and music combined. Essentially, good for the fact that we actually got well into our given topic (inequality) and had a proper nice discussion, which, let's face it, is not likely to happen next time we go down the pub. Alas, we didn't win the gig at our house or a "flip camera" (whatever the fuck that is) but we did get to see Kieran Leonard (best bit = WILL YOU FUCKING LISTEN), Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly (not that great, soz) and Fionn Regan (beautiful beautiful beautiful) play short sets. After watching the Jungle episode of the Mighty Boosh last night, I would like to point out how much Fionn Regan looks like Tommy but, y'know, with less cheese and more hair. This is not meant to be an insult. But it is. I think.

Last time I went to sleep, I had a literal dream about being at Glastonbury. It was quite bizarre. I was wearing a tshirt not dissimilar to my newest Tellison one (green with pink image/text) apart from it said Alexander Lee Perry on it. I have absolutely no idea who this is. Peter Doherty was headlining the Other Stage. The wristbands were blue. You had to pay a pound to get a wristband. I somehow got through without getting one and set up my tent then had to go back and when I returned to my tent found some randomer sitting in it. Which didn't bother me in the slightest, I just pretended they weren't there. I met some girl and she gushed over my tshirt. I went and lay in front of the Pyramid Stage and woke up. On the basis of this, I'm predicting blue wristbands for this year. They looked pretty lush in my dream so I hope I'm right.

Talking of which (kind of), Reading & Leeds line-up announcements tomorrow! Rumours are Kings of Leon, Arctic Monkeys and Radiohead are headlining. Opinions: KOL - not bothered. Never seen them, can't be fucked now they've gone all MOR FM arena rock. Arctic Monkeys - never seen them due to utter ridiculous reasons like family holidays, age restrictions and shit internet connection at the worst possible time. Would very much like this rumour to be true. Radiohead - not a fan (cue everyone looking absolutely shocked because.. what? I have an opinion of my own and it is that Radiohead are mostly overrated and boring? Sue me). So. 1 out of 3 ain't bad, I suppose. I mean, last year I didn't watch any of the 3 main stage headliners so its an improvement. Anyway, the smaller tents are obviously where its at. Los Campesinos!/Johnny Foreigner in the Carling tent last year was fucking beyond belief incredible. Which moves us on to...

I think I mentioned last week about new JoFo songs. Ghost the Festivals is officially my new favourite song. It reminds me of the last night at Reading and going to see JoFo at Club NME at the Rivermead and then walking back to the campsite in the early hours feeling so very much in love with that band. I do kind of miss waking up with my face wet from the condensation on the side of the tent and how you hardly even think about eating all day for near enough a week because you're far too busy having a wicked time watching bands. Summer can't come soon enough.

Right. Listen to new Johnny Foreigner then, and Line & a Dot, My First Tooth, Jose Vanders and the Big Pink. I'm off on a culinary adventure. Just before, mind, a tip - porridge, strawberry jam and banana is a bad idea. I'm about to try out tuna and cheese omlette so I'll let you know about that one.

Kisses.

Feed Me a Box of Words

Hello.
Its 4am and I've exhausted my limited DVD collection. Tonight I've watched Brick (yeah... what? I don't get it. Just... why?), Girl, Interrupted (Winona Ryder singing Petula Clark = win) and my all-time favourite, Almost Famous. After all this, I cannot sleep. Bad. Insomnia drives me to iTunes and searching podcasts for something good to watch/listen to. And I find...

BeatcastTV.
Basically, mostly live videos of aces as bands, the majority of which seem to be filmed in Kingston. I've just finished with watching Tubelord at the Luminaire (not Kingston..) and Sam Isaac at the Fighting Cocks. They've also captured Johnny Foreigner, Dananananaykroyd, Pulled Apart by Horses, Pennines... essentially most of the bands I'm feeling right now. Thus, I'm now firmly of the opinion Beatcast is ace.

If not just for the wealth of video and audio footage, but also for the fact I'm now on a full-on Tubelord binge. I've still not seen these kids live and I really need to. I almost did once. I saw two songs of their set at the Macbeth in September, supporting Metronomy, but then PRs and journalists invited me up to the roof for smokes. Like a true pro, I abandoned Tubelord and stood in the cold night air trying to convince Artrocker's Reviews Editor to listen to the TANAOU album, simultaneously flirting with a PR guy whilst discussing Micachu and the Shapes. THE SHAME. I hate the feeling I'm turning into some stereotypical stand-at-the-back-talking-to-yr-industry-friends hack. Note to people who know me: never let me get like this. If I do, please either make me snap out of it or kill me, whichever is easier.

Anyway. Tubelord have two shows in Camden in the coming weeks for me to rectify my deserting, and y'know, you probably should go too. I hear they bring it live.

Listen to them here. Start with Propeller. It is truly amazing. Never fails to give me goosebumps. One of my favourite things is when bands can make you feel alive in just three minutes. Tubelord do this better than most.
x

P.S. On a completely unrelated note, if you HypeM search JoFo, there are some really old songs come up, as well as a couple new. In case you were wondering. 'Ohai, Sentinels' is pretty darn gut. Yes.

Findlay Brown @ The Lexington, 18 March

Our good friend and guest reviewer Grete introduces us to the 21st Century Elvis...

[My friend and I] were talking before the gig and he told me he'd be big in a year, like Brixton Academy big, and I wide-eyedly said "Really?" and thought nothing of it. "I better go down front and see if I can get some good pictures," I said, halfheartedly, might-as-well-ly. My friend nodded seriously. I was starting to freak out...what's going on here?

My friend had mentioned something about a quiff. Yeah whatever. I don't even know what that is. There was someone on stage with long be-you-tifful hair. Nope, not him. That was the guitarist. And the guitarist had a be-you-tifful Gretch! Man... I lusted after that Gretch.
But then a man walked on stage...and yes, THAT's a quiff so it must be him.

I'd listened to his tunes on myspace and they were nice but I wasn't impressed. Not my kind of music really. Bit too sugary, bit too...not my thing. But live, the sugar was gone. There was treacherous honey instead. There he was - an objectively handsome man on stage in front of me (yeah, that don't impress me much), with bucketloads of charm and charisma (I wasn't born yesterday, I can handle that - to an extent - but yeah, I think I can). And yet I was turning to mush and in the most spectacular of ways. There is no helping that. What else was there to do but to give up and give in? His whole body is music. The way he sings, dances and moves. With a bit of show(off) thrown in, but it's healthy and enjoying itself as well as laughing at itself.

As I was heading home I was in shock. I bloody well looked like I'd seen Elvis or something. And I had! His name is Findlay Brown.
And perhaps humiliatedly I thought "I wonder if this is because I'm a woman? Am I just charmed by...charm?" But no, my friend was pretty bloody impressed with him as well. Then my mind wandered off...I wonder if Elvis did to men what he did to women? Turn them into a mush, I mean. Well, Quentin Tarantino found him to be beyond his heterosexuality ("If I absolutely had to have sex with a guy it'd be Elvis") so who knows.

But I think it isn't just the charm; it isn't just because i'm a woman. This guy is fucking incredible. The songs are good, the delivery is fantastic and his band is ace, by the way. He behaves like a legend. He plays like a legend. He is a legend. We'll be hearing from him.

All photos © Grete Anton 2009

The Gaslight

Alright lovers?
RaG spend pretty much every week counting down the days til Sunday. It's the new Friday, y'know. Of late, we've been spending our Sunday evenings in our respective homes longing for our regular folk&blues entertainment to be returned to us and, at long last, it has. Hurrah!
The Gaslight is a lush as night of acoustic wonderment, hosted by our fine acquaintance, Mr Kieran Leonard (who always delights our ears with his beautiful and often dark poetic tales of love and all that sort of thing, as well as fulfilling his compereing role in a frankly delectable manner), held from this Sunday onwards at the Hideaway on Junction Road - just a few minutes walk from Archway underground station. Those of you who attended the night at its former home, The Wishing Well in Hornsey, may have caught some of the following performing (and those of you who didn't missed out on...): Billy Bragg, New Rhodes, Anthony Love, Grainne O'Neill, King Dog... plus more other delightful musicians and wordsmiths.
For the relaunch, The Gaslight welcomes Babyshambles' bassist, Helsinki frontman and Mongrel founder Drew McConnell to add some extra value for money to the already-totally-bargain-tastic £2 entry fee. Come down, show some love, let's stop there before I start quoting The Feeling at you...
Click attending on the below facebook event invitation thingy and magically invite all your friends/acquaintances/enemies without even having to say a word to them. Yay for social networking and its actually quite anti-social paradoxes. Oh, join the relevant groups as well an'that, yeah? WICKED.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/event.php?eid=54658522383

Dirty Pretty Things Irish Tour

2:43 on the 453 to Deptford Bridge. 24 hour buses are my saviours multiple times a week. The Christmas lights on Regent Street always make me smile in a state of sobriety; intoxicated they make my eyes blur and dance. Same with the London Eye. When I first moved here it used to change colour every night. Then, it stuck with green for a while. It made me sad to not have a new colour to gaze upon after a night out in Central. The best time I've seen the Eye at night was when I came back from Ireland and was squashed against the window on the packed out bus. I felt miserable and tired - I'd left behind friends and memories, the end of an era was drawing near and to top it off, I was pressed against glass for 45 minutes just so I could get home to the Penthouse and the grimy New Cross streets - but then I saw the constantly changing colours spinning around the wheel. That's when it felt good to be home.

My aforementioned trip to the Emerald Isle was one of the best weeks of my life. A whole 5 days with friends I seldom see, going on adventures and planning more to keep ourselves warm in bus shelters at 3am. A supporting cast of beautiful people and a few from the other end of the spectrum too. It is exactly a month today since we boarded the plane to Dublin, me having almost decided not to go due to lack of funds and a night of no sleep. In the end, it would have been worth missing sleep for a month and having no money for a year.

So I returned, missing Irish rivers, long coach journeys and the constant unpredictable happenings that would occur in every new town. I became even more disillusioned with my programme of study and stopped caring about getting up in the morning. I stayed up all night and slept all day. Ate plates of lettuce leaves and not much else. Smoked too many cigarettes and consumed too many drugs. Found the bottom of the bottle held not the answer but more of the problem. Continued with the bi-weekly minor emotional breakdowns until things started to come good again. Stared at photos of all I'd left behind. Decorated my room with postcards, posters and posers and listened to fireworks raining down outside. Opened post and shut my eyes, dreamt of places far away. I didn't want to leave London, just the timetable I was meant to be following.