L to R: possibly Person 2, Me
This weekend, I was mostly crawling round Camden with Person 2 (I'm protecting someone's anonymity here - all will be revealed). We imbibed a modicum of booze; ate a vast selection of (un)healthy snackage; absorbed a plethora of rock 'n' roll and did a motherload of walking. Honourable mentions go to:
- Turbowolf - first up and certainly a highlight. Loud, hairy, witty. Team Bristol - fuck yeah!
- Bears Den - you can get a lot of sound from an acoustic guitar, drums and a cello.
- John & Jehn - sharp, angular, Gallic, sickeningly attractive, superb.
- Phantom Band - stunning. I've waited long enough to see them and they didn't let me down. Can't beat a beardy redhead with a good voice (unless it's Mick Hucknall and then I could beat him - with one of my slingbacks)
- Civil Civic - hmmm...bit of bias here...they are 'encouraged' (his term for 'manager') by The Scot, and Ben Bassboy writes a devilishly funny blog, but you can't use that as a basis for deciding whether they're any good or not. So I watched. And they're really bloody good. Must tell the Scot - he needs to 'encourage' these boys a lot more.
- Dry The River - lovely half hour spent in the baking sun on the roof of The Roundhouse listening to some superb harmonies.
- Team Ghost - atmospheric, synthy, filmic (closed my eyes, managed not to swoon).
- Kong - mental. Imagine Johnny Vegas/Les Dawson head-dressed as a Japanese samurai, lead singing for a metal/hardcore band, with a bass player wearing a plastic mask and red nylon y-fronts, and a drummer thinking he's Leigh Bowery (make-up included) but much, much harder and Northern. Got that? Now, whatever you're thinking, add some then up that by the power of a squillion and you're not even close. Mad, but done with aplomb and some very funny between-song banter.
Other shouts go out to: Pret A Manger's yoghurt coated nuts (fuck yeah!), Abbey Tavern's thrice-cooked fat chips (triple fuck yeah!) and a 2am supper of edamame beans, rye toast, and ruler of all brown spreads in a jar, Marmite (simple creature, me).
Quote of the weekend overheard (Ladies toilets, Underworld): "I can't keep going to see shit bands just so I can be near him". I almost intervened, suggesting she find her own shit bands to watch, and if he was worth it, he'd be following her round. But no. I washed my hands (metaphorically of her situation, and physically, just in case of maverick urine splashage) and left, shaking my head.
Downsides: none, really. I suppose there was a lack of...ahem...how can I put this delicately? A lack of...movement in one of our party (you'll have noted that this party consisted of two, me and Person 2 and there was plenty of movement going on for me - draw your own conclusion, friends). As we left the Crawl for the last time, heading back to Chalk Farm and beddy-byes, Person 2 (not me, the other person - you know, the one with the...trouble) said she thought she could feel a little undercarriage action taking place. "Hooray! It's going to be the Great Kentish Town Shit Tsunami of 2011!" I suggested drunkenly, thrilled at her impending release. (NB: I'm very aware I shouldn't be joking about tsunamis at the moment, whether shit or otherwise, but well...I was drunk and I generally mean well - happy now?).
Thought of the Weekend: If I had a Euro for every pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers I saw this weekend, I'd be retiring to me chateau in the south of France (wearing my Jean Vuarnet's, naturellement).
All in all, jolly good fun. Could I have wanted anything more?
Cowbell. Camden needs more cowbell.
