Black Mountain, Dark Horses

So...when I hear that one of my top fave bands are going to be in town, I go to buy tickets. Sold out. SOLD OUT??? What? Why? Distraught, I start thinking about who I know (it's NEVER what I know...) who might be able to scratch backs/grease palms on my behalf. And then lo and behold, the Great Gig Deity deems that Black Mountain will do TWO dates at the Lexington and this denim-clad Cinderella will go to the ball.

I get to the Lexington unfeasibly early. Not cos I'm keen, I'll have you know, but because I finished work at 6 and it's not that far away. So, I grab food (Snickers), beverage (shandy) and settle down in a corner to wait for Nads to arrive. Am amazed to see band sitting right next to me. Not wanting to end up grinning like a nutter or coming out with some wank like "oooh, I love you lot", I occupy myself doing a bit of paperwork and a couple of overdue phone calls. Nads arrives and we head outside, saving me from suggesting a hairy group hug...

We have a catch up, then head up to see the support, Dark Horses. I liked them. Very cool girl singer, sporting a cape (I like capes - it's the 70's-meets-medieval-Flake-ad-wannabe in me), and clearly a heavy adoration of Ms Patti Smith, which is no bad thing. She has a really strong, clear voice, but can do the sweet thing too. They actually are quite dark, those Horses.

Was pleased to see Alex Milas, editor of Metalhammer there. Alex is a huge, hairy American and is very adorable. He's a talented journalist (winner of Press mag editor of the year 2009) and a friend of the Old Punk who sells him his Metal Blade wares for his magazine on a regular basis. Alex tells me he's never seen BM live, and is really quite excited. Well, that makes two of us, love.

But let's cut to the chase. When Black Mountain take the stage, there's a change in atmosphere (not least cos of dry ice - love a bit of that, dodgy ex-goth that I am). And when the opening strains of "Stormy High" ring out, you just know you're in for it. And as they follow it up with the next three tracks off "In The Future", I suddenly think I'm at an ATP Don't Look Back event by accident. All that changes with their latest offering "Old Fangs". Great. Check out the vid:

And there's more new stuff - and I love it all. Particularly a track which goes very 70s Heavy Load, and another which is heavier still. Could I love these people any more? (I may be gushing a bit now - jesus...). And then "Don't Run Our Hearts Around" and I know we're coming to a close. But they don't get off that easy, and an encore brings another couple, finishing with a bloody corking "Bright Lights". Stunning.

And then it's over. And all that shandy means a trip to the Ladies...after relieving myself, I bump into singer Amber BM, and relieve myself all over again by telling her how great they were. She's a real sweetheart. Turns out even more so, because seconds later I can't find my wallet and heading back into the loo to look, she comes out of the loo I've been in and has a look around with me, whilst telling me how much she loves my handbag. Turns out the big hippy handbag is the culprit and wallet is hiding within. I'm such a knobhead.

As we leave, Nads and I peruse merch - there's a megadeal for a ticket to see BM supported by The Black Angels AND a t-shirt - for £15!!! Ever the Yorkshirewomen, we love a bargain, and money changes hands...roll on the release of Wilderness Heart in September (which I'll be buying like some spod überfan when they play at End Of The Road, whilst wearing my t-shirt and having yet another big Black Mountain lovewankspoutoff, no doubt...)

Nice, Nice, Very Nice Mr Mangan

I'm a bit in love with Canada and I haven't even been there. The land of the Maple Leaf has produced some of my favourite artists of all time, topping the list are The Band and my fave heart of gold, Mr Neil Young. I'm having a wee love affair with Black Mountain too.

So when Howard Local tells me he's in cahoots with the Canucks to set up a Canada day celebration of musicians, I'm thinking I ought to slope along. Busy, busy at work, so being unsure if I'll make it, he's kind enough to let me and a friend turn up, on-spec kinda thing.

Lovely sunny evening, and Nads and I roll up to the Lexington, nice old boozer on the Pentonville Road, which has a decent venue above (reckon it holds a couple of hundred). Hook up with Howard and Andy, who turns out to run The Luminaire in Kilburn, which really is one of my fave venues ANYWHERE. He's a very charming Scot, and we end up chewing the fat until it's time to go inside for some music. We've missed the first act almost (The Mighty Low), so just see the very last number.

Next up is Artur Dyjencinski, who is just great. He has such energy, a great backing band (bizarrely, he has a hot blonde pouty rock chick guitarist on a classic Gibson SG, who looks like she should be knocking about with Motley Crüe) and they really get the crowd going.

Superb finale from Dan Mangan. He's charming, funny, immensely talented, and has the ability to sing the song "Basket" with such a passion that he reduced this lady to proper tears (this was a bittersweet moment, actually, as the last time I saw Dan play, I was in Oz with Mr Ward).

Normally, I'm a little embarrassed by sing-a-longs but when the crowd know every single word to "Robots", I really do love it (obviously, I'm not singing along - that'd be daft). I spot Steven Broken Family Band belting it out, which just makes me smile. Sometimes, the reward for not being a lazy get is SO worth it.

(postscript: on an energy roll, I head for the Macbeth the following night to see Elephant Stone and their Psychedelic Friends - who could resist??? And although I like Elephant Stone - Rishi Dhir is ex-High Dials, plays psych-sitar!!! - I much more enjoy the sunny, blissed out, swirly pop of Koolaid Electric Company. Nice Tom Wolfe reference too. And just as I was leaving, Mr Young was belting out "Cinnamon Girl. The perfect end to Canada Day.)

Three Kings

Like some kinda fangirl, I became more than a little giddy when I heard that my favourite swirly heavy were riding into town. Having been introduced to Dead Meadow a few years ago by Mr Ward, they fast headed for the top of my list of must-see bands whenever they're around.

Having sneaked a couple of guestlists off a very benevolent Howard Local, I was gutted to hear my dear friend Blondie wouldn't be accompanying me due to family commitments (she's rather partial to heavy too), so at the last minute, I invited my successor to Disgracelands, the lovely Andreina.

First up, Wolf People. I really like these fellas - they seem to incorporate the right amount of guitars, noise and denim which suits me nicely. Bit of a shame they lost the flute guy who used to stand on one leg (now where have I seen that before...?), but great nonetheless.

Next up, Duke Garwood. I've already waxed lyrical about him right here, following his support of my darling Mr Lanegan a few weeks ago. He had a couple of techy hitches, but kept a smile on his face whilst playing some lovely dark country blues. His drummer is a very cool, older bearded chap who knocks his skins about beautifully.

And so to the main attraction, incorporating their new album, with the first UK screening of their film "Three Kings" as a backdrop. If I'm honest, the boys took me so far away with the fairies whilst they played, I hardly noticed the footage, which seemed to consist of them wandering around in the desert wearing tie-dyed vests, aviator shades and flares (sigh...Stephen McCarty). My eyes were closed quite a bit actually, apart from the minute when an überfan tried some hilarious crowdsurf move, with absolutely no takers to support him. NONE. Very funny. Also, it was the birthday of pisshead short-sighted bassist Steve, and the band seemed to be having a ball. They were truly amazing - when they went into what I only know as "Untitled Bonus Track" off Feathers, I think I may have gone into a psych vortex (maybe).

Got roped into giving a few lifts after the gig, so as we hung about waiting for Howard and his friend Paul (very familiar looking...turns out he's the older brother of Mister Seven Woods/Thunders Rick), I spoke to singer Jason Simon (sweetheart) and a drunk but very jolly birthday boy Steve. Trivia time, kids - Jason Simon's uncle is none other than David Simon, creator of the HBO brilliance that is The Wire...so, Ladies, we have him to thank for McNulty and Stringer Bell...

Whilst loitering, I also spoke to the creator of a special silkscreen print for the show, Adam Pobiak. I've admired his work before (in fact, he laughed as Blondie and I had once gatecrashed his birthday bash), so I was more than happy to part with a few bob to be the proud owner of this:

Printed on really great quality brown paper (and you know how I love that), with plenty of swirling patterns, big hog bikes, horses, mushrooms - all my favourite stuff! You can see Adam's work here:

http://pobiak.com/

To summarise - believe I've seen my gig of the year, no kidding. Three Kings indeed.

(Postscript: I went to see Rangda the next night. A supergroup consisting of the individual talents of Ben "Six Organs" Chasny, Sir Richard Bishop and Chris Corsano. Went on my lonesome, got there just in time to see them set up and take the stage. And in parts - superb. And in other parts...well, erm...it was a bit of a racket. Little bit hit-and-miss for me. As discussed with Thee Sonic Assassin, "free jazz" might not quite be my thing. And after Dead Meadow the night before, maybe even Zep would have had a job on getting me going. Actually, strike that - that's just silly talk.)

Folking Wankipedia

It's been a funny old night. I arranged to meet up with Bernie and Kieran for a night at The Local in Crouch End. Never fails to be a laugh, music is always decent. Kieran and I were first to arrive, and god knows how, we get onto some discussion about whether doctors abuse their power (do NOT read on, Mr Green , my oldest friend and newly qualified quack - we're not tarring you with any of this...). Mr McG reckons he once had a bad cough as a kid, and the family doctor did some sort of test which involved sticking two fingers up his bum (I am absolutely laughing my head off as I write this). Neither of us are sure what said Doc ascertained from this, but it seems a sketchy thing to do and I plan to do a bit of research myself...not sticking fingers up bums, just finding out if this is a normal procedure, thanks very much.

Luckily, at this point Bernie turns up to turn the conversation away from anal investigations... She's driven over, as she's suffering some huge hangover. We get more drinks and head downstairs. And the probing gets brought up again...at this point, there is mention of the time Wardy emailed me to say he nearly crashed his Uncle's car whilst listening to some story about Prince and an act known as 'frottage'. I'm a bit vague on the terminology, so rely on my old friend Google to help out. And there, right at the top is 'FROT" on Wikipedia. So, I click on it. Imagine the hysteria when the following picture pops up on my iPhone screen:

This is how you 'FROT'

In case you're not sure what you're looking at, you can read all about it here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frot

I hope that clears this up. Sounds like a little innocent heavy petting to me. Not sure why it gives you green hair and pubes, though...

Anyoldways, it's hard (oo-er, stop it, missus) to concentrate on the first act, cos we're laughing too much. Then Steve J and Jo turn up and it's always bound to descend further...and it does. Once the 'frot' art is out there, Steve counters with a couple of pictures he's taken from the toilet walls at a Mexican restaurant on Upper St, Islington (and bear in mind, someone commissioned this 'art'):

Exhibit A, m'Lord

Exhibit B, your honour

Honest to goodness, I'm not sure where to look first. But I would like to draw the reader's attention to some key action:

Sombrero dude's face on right, vibrancy of the lady parts, dude weeing on left (exhibit A)

Death getting a blow job, whilst smoking a cigar and holding a bottle of grog (exhibit B)

Oh, and by the way, during all this hilarity, we saw a blinding set by Alex Highton (he sings in a regional Northern accent - hooray!), accompanied for part of his set by the double bass genius of Jonny Bridgewood and drumming of Mr Howard Monk. Even Alex dissolves into laughter at one point as he witnesses his own set descend into free-jazz-folk...Alex is followed by the very wonderful Oh Ruin with full band, which is good stuff too.

But award for best act of the evening goes to the appearance of the illustration accompanying "FROT" on Wikipedia. Truly a 'hard' act to follow (stop with those Carry On sex puns RIGHT NOW, young lady...)

I Love To Boogie

Had a bit of a quandary tonight...go to the pub with mates, or go to a gig alone. Now, doing stuff on me lonesome has never bothered me before, but I haven't done a gig on my own for quite some time...sadly, due to Valerie Singleton status, reckon I'll have to get used to it. So, the bullet was bitten and I drove off for the Garage at Highbury to partake of a little heavy.

Got to the venue and got a parking spot right outside the back door - perfect. Went inside, paid in and entered the room - about 6 people watching Hush Arbors. He has a sweet voice, Keith Wood (Mr Arbors) and I enjoy being able to hear every word for once. He's joined by a girl on stage for his last four songs, who also has a lovely voice but I didn't catch her name. Must try harder...

And this is where my legendary staying power comes in. I have to loiter about sober for another hour before the main act. Luckily, I love to people watch, and also luckily for me, the place fills up quite a bit so I don't end up staring at the same 6 people.

Earlier, a couple of dudes come in and they stand by me. As I have no idea what Endless Boogie look like, I aren't to know that the band have been standing right next to me all night until suddenly they all walk up to the front and start putting guitars on and twiddling with gear.

And then they're off. Singer Top Dollar (am not thinking he was christened this by Ma) says "we are Endless Boogie and this is our last song" which is pretty funny, as it actually IS. They do one lonnnnnnng song which goes on for ever, like a never-ending droning jam. They are loud, heavy, swirly and quite brilliant. The perfect tonic...just what I needed in my current state of mind. You can have a bit too much folking sometimes...

Mr Lanegan

I went to see Mr Lanegan again tonight. For once, I won't waffle on about how he is the most amazing singer, send shivers down my spine, moves me to tears, makes me ache inside etc etc tra lalala - although he does all these things for me and more.

Rough Diamond

Stunning set - he sang Misirlou beautifully, accompanied by lovely Dave Rosser on acoustic guitar, and a new find for us that night, Duke Garwood. I spent a perfect night with good friends.

(Postscript: bought an extortionately priced ticket off a tout for this - originally, the gig sold out straight away, had to be moved to a bigger venue...but it was worth every single goddamn penny)

King Of The Kop

Another day, another styling job...so, I get a call to sort some stuff for Lucozade Sport. This generally means some model or another pretending to sweat as if they're actually doing some physical activity with their balls ('scuse me French)...except this time I'll be working with Steven Gerrard, Liverpool supremo and great Scouse hope for 2012.

So, after a whole mass of fannying about by the ad agency (are any of my jobs any different??? does any client know arse from elbow??? Pope/hat/bear/shit/woods?), I've collected the appropriate clobber and am Liverpool bound via Mr Branson's finest rail travel. I spend the journey with my favourite make-up artist, the lovely Panilla. We arrive pretty early, so I decide to put a call in to James the photographer, just in case... "Get here as quick as you can" he said "the shoot has been brought forward a couple of hours!" I hear...no real surprise, a common occurrence when dealing with the sporterati.

Get to Melwood (Liverpool training ground) and set to work ironing the lovely Bri-Nylon type sportswear (people under 30, worry not - Bri-Nylon is a thing of the past - the only interest you could have in it is its ability to make your hair look as big as Vince Mighty Boosh if you rubbed your tresses against it vigorously...ps, all sportswear is made of something akin to this sweat-making shite, even if they do dress it up with titles like Dri-Fit, Acti-Dry or TitSweatFree...er...made that last one up). Once creasefree, the gear is whisked off to be worn by our top Scouser.

There's quite a bit of waiting around (often the case despite the seeming urgency implied earlier). But then we get out to the training area, the lighting is set, and he appears. I've met him briefly once before (I used to be the stylist for the England team photographer, and set up the very last England team picture taken at Wembley Stadium), but I always forget how impressive these sporting types are in the flesh.

James has the lights set up, so Stevie G gets slotted into his spot and works his magic with the ball. And I forget how truly great sportsmen make it look so easy. And he's fucking WELLYING that ball, but it looks like a tap, no effort whatsoever. And then he hits one of the poly flats at the side of the shoot and breaks it clean in half. Gets a round of applause. I know from my old boss Mooney that he's a really nice fella, but he seems so serious, so focussed.

Gerrard's manager (Glaswegian, man-in-black raincoat, hard-as-chuffing-nails) suggests (yeah, you take that as a suggestion if you like, James, but he's thinking more concrete footy boots at the bottom of the Clyde if you don't crack on) that we might only do a couple more goes at this. James, ever the superstar professional and top snapper that he is, complies and he's calling it a wrap. All good, all happy. The lovely Steven signs a footy card for James's little boy, and I dare to say hello and send my regards from Mr Mooney, which wins me a pic on my iPhone (HE SMILES!!! IT'S UNHEARD OF!!!). Am over the proverbial moon, it's a game of two halves, early doors etc etc...

The smile (sort of)

Top day - working with my favourite photography team, snapping one of England's best footy players, at my fave footy club (a lifelong passion for this team - started with Mr Shankly as a kid, coupled with King Kev, Hughes, the Kennedys, Clemence, Heighway, Supersub Fairclough...glory days followed in no small way by the likes of Paisley, Fagan, Dalgleish, Hansen, Souness, Lee "he's fat, he's round, he bounces on the ground, Sammy Lee, Sammy Lee", Hansen, Rush...the list is endless, and I live in the past, after all).

Big fan of soundbites, me - I leave you with a couple of Mr Shankly's finest:

"Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I can assure you, it is much more important than that".

"If Everton were playing at the bottom of the garden, I'd pull the curtains".

When told by Tommy Smith in the 1960s that he couldn't play because of his knee injury he replied "take that poof bandage off, and what do you mean YOUR knee? It's Liverpool's knee!"

Class.

(Postscript: we were shite at the World Cup. I mean REALLY shite. Bill Shankly would be turning in his grave, if only he wasn't a dour Scot, so he's probably laughing his dead tits off, along with Alan Effing Hansen)