Pop Noire: Their Dark Material

Tuesday. Worst day of the week by an imperial mile. It’s nowhere. Even Monday has its saving graces. Once Monday is over, you honestly feel like you’ve achieved something, even if it’s only the superlative feat of having gotten out of bed and made it through a whole day at work. When I was more of a lady of leisure, Tuesday held no dread for me. All days blurred into a happy haze of wellingtons, walks on the Heath, sipping tea in cafes. Being poorer than a church mouse put paid to that sort of malarkey, and now I’m working 9-5 (ain’t no way to make a livin’ – oh, I hear you, Dolly P).

So, Tuesday, Tuesday – how to ease the pain you bring? Well, be lucky enough to have pals put on a spectacular showcase of top music in a great little venue. The Shacklewell Arms chaps probably couldn’t believe their luck. Tuesday, the day notorious for people saying stuff like “Go out? On the worst night of the week? Are you out of your tiny?”. Probably like a beer morgue in there most Tuesdays.

But not this Tuesday. Pop Noire are up to their musical tricks again, giving London Town a real treat with its first view of Savages and Lescop. The place was packed to its shabby rafters, the joint truly jumping. First up, Savages. Savages are the new project from Jehn of John & Jehn fame (aka my lovely French pal, Camille). And jesus, they were good. How to describe? Hints of Patti Smith, Siouxsie, Velvets, shoegaze, punk – loved it. And so did the crowd. My funny, smart, gorgeous friend has a stunning voice, intense and compelling to watch. “Hypnotic” according to a gentleman friend. No-one could believe Savages are a new band - tight, polished, cool. Great tunes, top attitude.

A nice pot of Guinness later (I’m virtually teetotal since NYE, folks), and we’re getting the super tunes of Lescop. Having watched the boys in Paris back in November, I was pleased to see them playing off safe home turf and still having a crowd whistling and whooping for more. When Matthieu asked the ladies in the audience to move closer, the ladies moved closer – gladly. Superb evening, good crowd, great atmosphere. Who says Tuesday can’t rock?

(Postscript: My lovely friends asked me very nicely if I’d have a houseguest at Disgracelands, not enough room at the Pop Noire inn. I was more than happy to have Antoine, their Pop Noire partner-in-crime, stay over – he’s a lovely gentleman. As I’ve already posted Lescop’s video on an earlier blog, I think I’ll show you a beautiful bit of film-making by Antoine for a song by his friends, the very wonderful John & Jehn. Antoine is supremely talented, but far too modest to blow his own trumpet, so I’ll blow it for him (oh, leave it, you lot).

http://www.popnoire.com/

Buns

I was recently pleased to find I'm not just good at eating buns, but no slouch at baking them either. And so, last Saturday, following an invitation over the hill for tea by Les French, I could take flapjack and banana bread made with my own fair hand. Don't think they put it in the bin...and chit-chat reveals that I'll be in Paris twice in one week, and then I discover they'll be there at the same time, which is a lovely surprise. This means partying à la Pop Noire ahead, at the launch party for their recent musical collaboration with Lescop: 'La Forêt' (Les French are actually none other than John & Jehn: gorgeous, talented, handsome pair and all-round good oeufs) - superbe - watch here:

Lescop - La Foret (english subtitles) from John & Jehn on Vimeo.

A lovely Sunday spent with The Boss and Dean at Miss J's pied à terre in Marylebone, to discuss all things creative, arty and bookish. No buns here, but I did bring Dean a bit of my bloody brilliant banana bread (alliteration overdrive), and Miss J cracked open the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (get.in.my.mouth.now). As we're looking at Miss J's vast and beautiful book collection for inspiration, I happen across a lovely thing - 'Avedon: Portraits'. Not a book in the page-turning sense of the word, it comes in concertina-style form, filled with his wonderful portraiture. I read the back page, which consists of a portrait of Avedon's father, taken when his father is old and ill with cancer, and a copy of a letter Avedon wrote to his Dad, after finding his Dad didn't like the portrait. The letter is beautiful. I've struggled to find the page in its entirety to show you, but here's a link to most of it, posted on another blog I've stumbled across:

http://www.robertlpeters.com/news/allnews/richard-avedons-letter-to-his-father…/

Mr Avedon Sr.

If you've read the letter link, you should also know that when his father died, Avedon discovered the letter, carefully folded and tucked away in the pocket of his Dad's best suit. Obviously, this made me have a little blub (it's a Dad thing), and my kind colleagues didn't take the piss in the slightest, for which I was very grateful.

Monday brought a houseguest to Disgracelands. Colin Lane is, without question, a great rock 'n' roll photographer. The man who gave The Strokes and Kings Of Leon their pictorial cool is also a laid-back, good-humoured joy to have around. You may be familiar with Colin's work - or at least familiar with the arse of his ex-girlfriend:

Nice buns.

The NME are quite keen on that arse too:

http://www.nme.com/blog/index.php?blog=10&p=11295&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1#more11295

Over from NYC for a press and PR shoot with a new band (the label clearly hoping that Colin will work his trademark narrative magic on these fresh-faced youngsters), I get to have dinner 3 nights in a row with a man who knows his onions on the music front (he lived in Austin in the late 80s, saw the birth of SXSW - nuff said). Some of the best over-the-table conversations I've had for ages (who else can wank on about Bill Callahan like me? Well, it tranpsires Mr Lane can).

Once my lovely snapper has flown off to Warsaw to see more life through his lens, I'm back at the Blunt grindstone. My Paris jaunt means I'll be away from the office on the big day, so I get to enjoy an early birthday cake treat. My lovely workmates know how to treat a girl. As I'm so keen on all things fancy cakewise (Patisserie Valerie / afternoon tea at The Wolseley / Ladurée - that's me), they really pushed the boat out - 3 buns from Greggs. With Santas and reindeers on (?). And trick candles which will not be blown out. There is footage of this, which I'd be more than happy to upload and reveal myself to be the least cool person on the face of this earth, and possibly the most out of breath. Unless I can work out Blogger's little foibles, you'll just have to use your imagination. While you wait, feast your eyes on the envelope my card came in:

Yes, it's a drawing of a big, veiny penis by a lesbian artsist who has a surprising...ahem...'grasp' of the subject matter. And some Xmas buns - in November.

(Postscript: on my recent trip up North, I was doing a spot of charity shop trawling, when I heard an unmistakeable voice. I turned around to discover my old friend Nick Sykes, who I haven't seen for years. This is the man who bought me a ticket to my first ever out-of-town gig, The Jesus And Mary Chain at Leeds University. He also nicknamed me 'Bunman', because I always had a bun or bit of cake wrapped up in foil or paper in my handbag. Almost 30 years have past...some things never change.)

Two Go Mildly Overexcited In North London: Camden Crawl 2011

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.

Luminaire: Wake Week & Lights Out

Little point in me going on too much about the closure of the Luminaire. Everyone’s gutted, that’s a given.

A week of sold-out shows gave the venue a proper send off. I had a busy week, so sadly, I only made it to a couple of them. Fence Collective did a great showcase to kick the week off. Blondie and I had a lovely evening. Particularly enjoyed King Creosote and Pictish Trail on stage at the same time. Superb.

Met up with Kieran and Lou W for a Dry The River matinee on the Sunday. It was a fundraiser for the Teenage Cancer Trust, and a ridiculous bargain at two quid, all of which going to the charity (good old Lumi – kindness itself, even in the death throes). This was, however, a bit of a mistake. None of us had much energy, and although they were very good, even an energetic performance by DTR couldn’t raise our spirits. I had a brief conversation with Mr Inglis and it seemed the Sunday blues had reached him too. And then we ate a weird 1970s meal in a little restaurant on Kilburn High Street, which I won’t name, because I’m not AA Gill.

The Luminaire’s funeral night was a different kettle of dead fish. It was a bit of a riot. Although there were some sad and rather poignant moments (a funny but touching eulogy given by Son Of Dave, hearing Andy Inglis speak about the venue he loved), and some bizarre moments (there was a coffin – an actual coffin…with pall bearers), it was a sterling night. Great music (I fell a wee bit in love with John & Jehn), top DJing, some very expressive dancing, and one truly Formula 1-esque moment, as Mr Inglis hopped athletically onto his bar and sprayed the assembled crowd with fizz (oh, they were begging for it), whilst toasting his venue partner-in-crime John Donnelly. It was the most rock ‘n’ roll wake I’ve ever had the honour of attending.

RIP, you lovely old girl.