Seaside Rock

Never keen to miss out on hanging out with a bunch of good friends, I'd have been mad to say no to Kieran when he invited me to fill the spare berth at last weekend's ATP curated by The Breeders. Cash has been sparse this year, but as he even offered some sort-of Christmas Club payment scheme, then even someone as skint as this Cinderella gets to go to the ball.

Drove down with Nads. Great journey, good chat, top music (listened to Wardy's radio show, Broken Family Band, culminating in some very loud Back In Black on arrival). Hooked up with Kieran, Bernie, Martin, Sarah B, Sonia and settled in (chucked bag on bed, got beer in hand). 

I almost made the mistake of missing The Bronx as first band. They were a great start to the first night (singer has a Henry Rollins fixation, methinks). Other highlights include:

• booze
• Bon Iver (so good - blubbing with Nads...getting to be a habit...)
• Buffalo Killers - good 70s rock vibe, great vocals

I flaked out a bit around this point, so I went back to the apartment on my own, and joy of joys, Rebecca was on TV. I've seen that film at least 20 times, but never tire of it. Clever Hitch, evil Danvers...had Pot Noodle and curled up on the sofa...

Supper

Up early on Saturday - who could lie in on a bed that uncomfortable, with the rubber sheet crackling every time you turn over? Rubber sheets...middle-aged bed wetters must be all the rage at Butlins... We cooked a huge communal breakfast - I drank about a gallon of tea, trying to get over my hangover. Went for a wander, then out for the first band, Whispertown 2000. Ok, but a bit too cute for me. Blood Red Shoes next - good, lot of noise for two people. Bumped into Michael (Folk Idol fake beard wearer - see Viking Gods post) and his lady friend. Shared my Jaffa Cakes with them (nothing if not generous, me), then sneaked back to the flat for a little lie-down (point to note: this WAS NOT a nap, it was a lie-down...). Managed to rouse myself for Wire, who were great, and woke me up a bit. Next up, Mr Albini.

Shellac are unfeasibly tight, random and brilliant. From the moment Steve straps his guitar around his waist, Bob step up to the mic, and Todd holds those sticks high, I am pretty giddy. We (T & V, Nads, Tom, Ulanda) all go up front. I bump into John Doran (lovely big hairy journalist - Stool Pigeon, Metalhammer, Plan B, Drowned In Sound, Classic Rock...) and it's nice to catch up. Haven't seen him since the pirate ship and the Metalhammer Awards, which is a massive blur due to Jäger intake... Anyway, back to Mr Albini et al. They are so good. When they play "End Of Radio" and say "John Peel was a helluva guy", they get a huge cheer. They hold a hilarious Q&A with the audience while Steve retunes. "You with the beard" said Bob. "Oh...you all have beards" he noted. They completely lifted my spirits after my earlier lull, so I waded straight into the beers...

Popped over to watch a bit of the Breeders. Kim and Kelley Deal are twins, Kelley being minutes older than Kim. She often plays the age superiority card, and they have great banter. Kelley is into knitting (aren't all ex-heroin addicts???) and is running knit-a-thons throughout the weekend. Kim has one of my favourite voices in rock - I still listen to Pixies all the time, and at a weak moment, Gigantic can still make me get mushy. But here's the problem...they clash with Tricky, and after reading a recent review in The Observer of his recent performance, it seemed madness to miss him...

What a smart move. When I got back to Centre Stage, he was already on stage. The sound was incredible. And he is mesmerising. I honestly couldn't take my eyes off him. Not just because he's so well kept, naked and has great ink...I close my eyes and drift off a few times...mmmmm...

Need food, so fish and chips beckon. Go with Nads and Ulanda and the lovely chap who serves us asks if we're all sisters, which is very touching, as I'd be proud to be a third sister to that family. Once we've stuffed our faces, we go back for Zach Hill. Now, it's a well-known fact that I'm a big fan of all things drummer. But 45 minutes of just drumming of a mental odd style is too much even for me. It was a big self-indulgent drum-wank-fest. But the spotty youths at the front seemed to like it...

Last but not least, Mariachi El Bronx. Ok, so The Bronx play loud, fast melodic hardcore. And their alter-egos play mariachi. Yup, the same guys dress up in Mexican outfits and play mariachi. Freaky. But good! And Kelley deal appears on stage and duets with them:

Top fun. Holy Fuck are last, and despite them being pretty good, I have to pass and get back for some kip.

Sunday dawned. Pissing it down. Felt very ropey. Needed fresh sea air and a walk. Ended up in...McDonalds. Only about the third time in my life that I've ever been in one, but I needed to steal their internet connection for a Skype session, so needs must and all that...then on to Tesco for painkillers. Back just in time for HUGE breakfast cooked by the lovely Bernie. Caught a bit of Times New Viking (ok), but then remembered it was T's birthday. Bollocks. Went back to Tesco, bought him a cake and candles, and arranged a surprise sing-song in the pub. He looked genuinely touched, so well worth the effort made in my feeble state. Couldn't concentrate much...saw a bit of Melt Banana (melted my face, let alone banana). Time for hair of the dog. Sat with Hudds posse over beers, when during a discussion about music, Tom mentioned Lonnie Donegan. Ulanda said she knew I really liked him. Confusion reigned. Turns out she meant Mark Lanegan. Not the same. Very, very funny. Imagine Mark Lanegan in an arran jumper playing a washboard, I beg you...

Watched Shellac again. And it was just as good second time around. Then Supersuckers. Wow. I couldn't stop smiling. We all loved them. Showbiz. Any band that has a song called "She Used To Be Pretty, Now She's Pretty Fucked Up" has to be a winner. They told us "we have Supersuckers crap for sale in the tenty thing outside", so being a couple of supersuckers, me and Tom bought a CD and a tshirt. Merch stalls - endless hours of fun...

Final band of the weekend - X. Now this was an odd one...because it wouldn't have mattered whether they were good or not (incidentally, they were pretty good) because my entire group of friends were completely entranced by the guitarist, Billy Zoom. Imagine if you will...a guitarist, one part Rutger Hauer, one part Christopher Walken, James Dean outfit, with a thimble of Bing Crosby in the parup-a-pum-pum Bowie video and teeth like a Yorkshire Terrier (!?@*?!). While you're imagining, try and picture that Rock Frankenstein looking at every single girl in the audience and mouthing stuff like "you and me, let's get it on" and much worse. Hilarious. And I've just Wiki'd him - he's 61.

Billy Zoom Spreads 'Em For The Ladies

The finale of the evening and the weekend was a stint in the Crazy Horse Saloon (who thinks these names up?), where music lovers of all ages get shitfaced and dance their little tits off to anything that takes their fancy. Our fancy was taken by the Stooges, Only Ones, and a particularly energetic stint of pogoing to Joy Division. I blame the Jim Beam...

Had to be up at 9am. Oh dear. Not good. Bad head. Gut rot. Long drive ahead. Fond farewells accomplished, I noticed the sun was shining, and after such a great weekend, it would be rude to be too miserable...Ray Bans on, we waved bye-bye to Butlins...until next year.

Viking Gods In The Lord's House

We have an understanding, me and The Lord. I leave him alone, He leaves me alone. But it's OK for me to pop round His gaff occasionally, if there's something good going on. He's started putting some good nights on in London recently. Hmmm...not sure He's the booking agent, but I feel He must surely approve...

Just in from Shearwater and The Cave Singers at Union Chapel. Met up with Nads, Brummie and Screwy in The Hope and Anchor, then straight over to get a good pew...got there just as the first support act went on (Hospital Ships). He was OK, but the call of the bar was stronger. Managed to neck a beer each, just in time to get back for The Cave Singers to go on stage. Me and Brummie are like a couple of kids. We absolutely love this band, not just because they go for it, but because they look like they're having such a good time whilst they're doing it. They play quite a few new songs (merch stall beckons), but Helen and Dancing On Our Graves are the stand out songs. (Derek the guitarist tells me afterwards that the new album isn't out until August - bollocks).

Straight back to the bar. I recognise a bloke at the bar. "Are you Michael? I think I made you a beard once", I asked. He started laughing and his girlfriend (recent acquisition, by the looks of it) laughed too. She said he'd shown her this beard only the other day. I made it for him about 18 months ago, at a Folk Idol Xmas Party. I sat on a stool knocking fake fur beards up for some of the crowd and acts. Went down a storm. I'm amazed he kept it - the way she was chuckling, am wondering if they've incorporated it into their fledgling sex life...

And then Shearwater. I've seen this band three times now and they have really grown on me. Jonathan Meiburg has the most clear, strong, stunning voice, backed up by a total fox on double bass, guitarist, bassist, but more importantly, the drummer in Shearwater is Thor. Thor Harris looks just like a Thor should look. He's like a viking god, flowing chest-length blonde hair, bulging muscles...if only viking gods played the following instruments: 

Drums, hammer dulcimer, xylophone, glockenspiel, water bowls, found instruments and homemade instruments (thanks, Wikipedia)

What are found instruments? Stuff out of a skip? Frankly, I don't care. And neither did Brummie. A woman who loves drummers as much as I do couldn't fail to be gripped by Thor. I'd tried to describe him to her, but when she spotted him, she was in heaven. They played a superb set, were called out to an encore, and as they finished the last song, the clapping started, and Brummie waved at them. And God bless him, Jonathan waved back at her. I completely pissed my pants laughing.

Hammer Of The Gods

(Postscript: Thor is also the drummer for Bill Callahan. If I ever see them both, doing their thing, on a stage, at the same time...well, I might just mess my pants.)

Whippin' It Real Good

I have no idea where Ohio is. But I know the name of a town there so well. Akron is the home of one of my all-time heroines, Miss Chrissie Hynde, before she saw sense and moved to England. The town also spawned the wonderful Black Keys. And it's the birthplace of the punk-kitsch-freakshow that is Devo.

Got a last-minute call from The Old Punk to say that we'd wangled tickets to see them on Wednesday (hooray for free - tickets were £35!!!). After a small communication breakdown, I collected him and Blondie and headed for The Forum (big fat HMV sign over the door still makes me wince). Parking spot right outside the door - perfect. Huge queue - not perfect. No queue for guestlist - perfect again. Get our passes and go inside and straight upstairs. Big Fish has called to say we have a VIP table (good lord - when does this happen? I can't bear to sit down at gigs, but I'm actually pleased...must be me age).  Bobby Gillespie is on the table next to us - Primal Scream aren't really my thing, although Screamadelica is a top album and takes me back to some very good times in the past. I've never found him particularly attractive, but he is better in the flesh than in pics I've seen in mags. Video footage starts on the big screens...

And then they come out. Yellow boilersuits, great moves, massive sound. Electric atmosphere. They are so tight. The crowd has a mental spazz-out when they play 'Mongoloid' (can I say 'spazz-out'? Or will the PC police spank me?). And there's something really heartwarming about watching a crowd full of mainly men, forty-and-fifty-somethings, wearing red plastic plantpots on their heads, completely freaking out to a band they love. I absolutely adore this shit. 

Lunacy

For anyone who believes in that kinda thing, tonight sees the Scorpio Full Moon. Once a year, it makes us sting-tailed types madder than ever (apparently). I've had a pretty frenzied couple of weeks since I got back from NY, both socially and mentally. Not sure I can blame all this on outer space, but it's nice to use it as an excuse...

Was sitting contemplating my life on a park bench at Alexandra Palace, flask of camomile tea for company, when my phone rang. It was Miss P. Miss P is easily one of the best women I've ever met. Although we've only known each other since I moved to London, our friendship has become one of my most valued, usually only reserved for folks I've known for donkeys (cautious type, me). She's a very talented art buyer at my favourite ad agency, and we click on so many things, work and life related. Mammoth chat ensued (life, work, men, family), and I was just lamenting how quiet I'd been workwise, when I had another caller trying to come in. Told Miss P I'd call her back. It was a styling job for Vodafone/Man Utd/Champions League - wahey! Tried calling Miss P back - engaged. Eventually, she called me back...weirdly, whilst I was off the line, she'd had a call from a producer friend asking if she knew any good producers who might want to start a new production company up...oooh, could this be Moon The Loon fixing stuff up for me?

Finished the styling job. Everyone's thrilled, as I managed to source all the things the clients were panicking about (leave it to the professionals), so I am loved by all on the job. My pal Sue (überstylist and top woman) had something I needed to borrow, so I popped in for a cuppa. I asked her if she was feeling a bit mental at the moment..."YES!!! I am off my trolley!" she shrieked. I told her about the Moon stuff...Sue is a Scorpio too, so she was thrilled to hear she had an excuse to act like a nutter. Her husband Howard says she doesn't need an excuse, but did confirm she had been extra-freakish for the last few days.

Went to the supermarket on the way back, as Smiff is coming for tea before we head out to a birthday party. I was at the checkout. In front of me was a small, very old man, at least in his 80s. When paying for his stuff, he got out a small carrier bag. It just wasn't big enough for the things he'd bought. Checkout lady said 'do you need another bag?' but then proceeded to only look for the thin bags and she didn't have any left. So then she suggested he look in the carrier recycling box, which I did on his behalf - empty. I could feel his embarassment, as he said, 'I'll just carry them in my arm'. This old dear was using a stick, for fuck's sake. I went to grab one of the 'pay-10p-cos-it's better-quality' bags and told her I'd pay for it. 

What is this country coming to? I'm all for recycling, but when did it start being OK to make some sweet old pensioner struggle with his shopping cos he'd inadvertantly not brought a big enough shopping bag? Fucking carrier bag police and smug middle class 'my shopper is made from recycled angel tears and old tyres'. I think I was more sensitive because he'd bought a massive box of Tetley, a McVitie Manor House fruit cake (my Dad liked that) and a big box of Kit-E-Kat. So now I'm thinking of him sitting at home, all on his own, with a nice cuppa and a slice of cake, whilst Tiddles cleans herself after a lovely bowl of Rabbit 'n' Chicken in aspic. I can barely speak to checkout lady, I am so cross. Not sure I can blame my fury on lunar activity...

Off to the party. The party is the "I'm 29 for the next 5 years" party for the German Blonde. GB is a lovely creature. We've known her for a few years, but in the last couple of years, she has blossomed. She is the girlfriend of my very dear friend Hands Randall. Hands was ladyless for a long time, and we used to discuss waiting for the right person to come along. And finally she did. They are unbearably cute together, and oh-so-very much in love (you can actually feel it between them, I kid you not):

She dressed in this gorgeous 40's outfit, her hair was stunning, she looked wonderful. It was a brilliant party - like a family wedding, saw loads of people I haven't seen for ages. Midnight arrives. Wandered home by the light of that enormous moon. I've had a good long stare at it and concluded that there might be something magical in it after all...