Spring: Gettin' Busy With It

Sometimes, I wonder where time goes. Well, I can tell you. It flies. When you’re having fun (and other stuff), that is. It’s been a busy start to Spring.

Popping into my favourite café one day for bunting chat, it turned out that Massimo was a little short-staffed. And so, my new temporary employ as waitress began. I managed to get through a whole Saturday and Sunday without major incident (apart from a little spilt milk, which I didn’t bother crying over). According to my new boss, I acquitted myself very well, and there’s a job for me if I decide to change career direction:

Small Helping

Lucky me, I was invited along to The Borderline to see Arbouretum play (by Anthea at Thrill Jockey records). I’d wanted to see them for a while, but the last time they played, I was away Down Under. So, I rocked up at The Borderline for an evening of heavy noodling. It’s a small world, this. I bumped into Michael Singing Adams, whose girlfriend Lucy also works at Thrill Jockey. I had no idea. I see them at so many gigs, but never knew what she did for her spending money. Thoroughly enjoyable evening - Arbouretum were well worth waiting for. I haven't seen a band look so pleased to be applauded in ages. They kept putting their thumbs up. I love this.

Somerset House was holding the second Pick Me Up, this year curated by a friend and graphic design favourite of mine, Anthony Burrill. Anthony is a clever man – his work is so simple, and often plagiarised. It’s a standing joke that my home is like a little museum of his work. Anthony very kindly gave me a really nice goody bag of his stuff and I bought a print by Linus Kraemer, depicting 360˚ of cake. I like cake, me.

Met Up with Helen P, Lou W and Scooter Steve (he wants to be known as this on my blog – just passed his bike test, he thinks Biker Boy sounds a bit on the camp side, and that pointing out he has a scooter is a little bit cooler, in an espresso-sipping/Dolce Vita kinda way. I've explained carefully that he won't get a new girlfriend by having a snappy moniker on my blog - getting a decent personality would work better). Saw The Boss from Blunt too. She was slightly worse for wear, having been up until 3am at a friend’s surprise birthday party. I think the only reason she came along was because Ian Stevenson, one of the very fine graphic artists Blunt represents, was part of the exhibition and doing a spot of DJing at the event. It was good to see Ian and his luxurious beard, whose work (his work, not the beard – the beard is brilliant, but its talent for art has yet to be discovered) is superb, funny and with a dark side that appeals to me greatly:

The Beard can't draw...yet

All this fun culminated in a massive piss-up at Aces and Eights. This is a relatively new bar by Tufnell Park tube station – painted black with diner-style booths, bit American dive bar, with a selection of decent whiskey and beer (LouLou - come back from NY soon - it's like Dick Manitoba's lite). There are a row of bras hung above the bar – I think the premise goes that if you hang up your bra, you drink for free. This was very tempting, as the imported ale I was necking was over £4 a bottle. Wisdom, however, decreed The Lads should stay in their lacy confines. It was a good night. Lots of old friends, some not so old, all good company. DJ played some top tunes, which culminated in me acting out, in bastardised sign language, the entire lyrics of Bat Out Of Hell. There was also a picking-up competition. Newly named Scooter Steve won this by trumping me, picking up both me AND Lou W at the same time. Like some mental Scales Of Justice. Hilarious.

I had a photoshoot for The Times at The Royal Albert Hall with Hamish. Hamish Brown is a well-known portrait photographer – he’s snapped pretty much every famous modern footballer you can imagine, and a whole heap of top musicians (his shots of Iggy and Dave Grohl are two of my favourites). It was a pretty straightforward shoot, but this didn’t stop me from having a bit of a sleepless night (will pre-shoot nerves ever go away?). It was a nice team on the shoot, all was going well. Until the schoolkids turned up. 200 of ‘em. With bongos:

Little bongo-bashing fuckers

My views on bongos are well documented. Bongos are fine when placed within musical arrangements, preferably as part of a combo, kept within a properly constructed tune. Not just fucking getting banged on randomly by some crystal-toting trustafarian outside his tent at a festival at 7am. Or, by some idiot standing right next to me on a train platform while I was trying to get to work in peace (fo' real - picture my indignation – if he hadn’t been so handsome, I’d have decked him). Needless to say, the acoustics in the RAH are excellent. So, try and imagine the aural hell for me as 200 little shits knock their skins about while I’m trying to work. Aaw, bless ‘em.

Luckily, I got out at a reasonable time, meaning that I could catch up with pals to see Pål. Pål being the Norwegian phenomenon that is Moddi. Met up with Kieran, Bernie, Nads and Scooter Steve (how long can I keep calling him that? It may get shortened to SS, but the worry there is if I put him in a black leather trenchcoat, he actually might look a bit Herr Flick). Benjamin Folke Thomas on first. He had a good voice, decent fingerpicking, and quite a good line in chat between songs. Moddi up next. He has a new cellist this time (I hear from The Scot this is a regular occurrence – ten a penny, these pretty and talented cellists in Norway, it would seem). His performance was excellent, but I think because I’d seen him do such an amazing set quite recently, it didn’t blow me away quite so much. Maybe it’s because I was so tired from my 5am start. Briefly saw The Scot and Ken, his music PR friend. Ken seemed quite pissed, The Scot didn’t. Hence, Ken was very funny and making some truly terrible jokes, which were rendered brilliant by their sheer crapness. Saw some of Ed Laurie, but by now I was flagging badly – I think I may have started to nod off…sorry, Ed.

Next night, we were very kindly invited by Elbow’s management to see them play at The O2 arena. I’m no fan of big gigs. I struggle with anything bigger than The Forum, it’s just not my cup of tea and most of the acts I want to see wouldn’t be playing somewhere like that anyway. And I've been listening to a lot of Bad Brains, not Elbow. But thanks to Hamish doing a sterling job on their recent PR shots, we were being treated and actually, a treat was in store.

Despite my reservations, it was a lovely experience. We travelled to the venue by riverboat; collected our treat tickets; sat in front row seats; watched a great band do some top songs; saw a witty, charming front man have an audience in his Northern palm; had a thoroughly good evening. I even shed a tear at one point (bloody pathetic – must get a grip, and also a bit more sleep).

All this fun has to have a downside – it came in the form of a two-day stomach bug with added flu symptoms. And so, as Spring has now officially sprung, I’ll be doing a little personal Spring cleaning. Which means nothing more racy or exciting than taking better care of my poor, fragile old body, getting fit (I'm in the market for new trainers and a tennis racket tomorrow) and maybe painting my toenails. Cos that’s how I Spring roll.

Moddi: Out Of This World

When you're lazing in bed on a Sunday morning, with no real plans for your day, looking blankly out of the window at threatening February skies, it's always a treat to get a call inviting you along to see some music. After a quick jaunt to a vintage fair to see Smiff flogging her wares (she flogged me a very nice black gentleman's dress scarf), I drove through rain and hideously bad traffic to The Wilmington on Rosebery Ave.

Teatime shows on a Sunday are a great idea. No need to stay out late if you have to be down the mine at 5am on Monday, it's a nice, gentle way to spend a few hours without clock-watching and getting those Sunday Evening Blues (not that I suffer from that problem, being a right lazy bastard and complete part-timer). I was greeted by The Scot and lovely Joe Soundman from The Slaughtered Lamb (also erstwhile soundman for The Local and lift-taker back from EOTR with Bernie and Kieran). I didn't click at the time, but the chap actually sitting on the door was introduced as Jack, who turned out to be none other than Jack Cheshire, the headline act for the evening (love a bloke who can multitask, me).

After a quick chat with the chaps, I settled at the bar. First up, Deer Park. Actually, it seemed it was only a bit of the Park, just Mark Park in fact. Very good too, nice bit of harmonica, sweet voice. And anyone who chucks in a bit of Mr Gram Parsons (Burrito Brother of the highest order) at the end of his set will do me just fine.

Chit-chat followed. I was introduced to a very charming man called Ken, who is a music publicist and friend of The Scot and Howard Local. Amusingly, I think he thought I may be a musician - quickly disabused him of that notion. He'd come to see Moddi play, as he hadn't had chance before. And what a treat was in store.

Norwegian Pål Knutsen (Moddi) first came to my attention at EOTR last year. I was lucky enough to see him perform once on The Local stage, but not as lucky as Bernie and Kieran, who saw him do another fascinating set in the fairy woods (avoiding Norwegian Wood puns like the plague here). I think the woods at Larmer Tree are a magical enough place for someone so otherworldly to perform. His music is beautiful, weaving and twisting, quiet, then loud, haunting. It's very difficult to put into words how diverse it can be (not often stuck for words, so that says a lot). Just him and a cello player tonight, and the pair of them created such beautiful harmonies, not just with their instruments (he plays accordion, piano, guitar), but with their gorgeous voices too. I think I said "wow" out loud after one song. Dead eloquent, I am.

Last up, multitasking musician and part-time doorman Jack Cheshire. I'd never seen Jack perform before but he was superb. He has an interesting voice, with a very slight crack in it (always a fan of that). He strums his guitar like a demon at one point, and I remember thinking he must have a very strong right wrist (this can come in handy for the chaps...when carrying things, for example). And yet another cover, this time one of Liverpool's finest, the Bunnymen's Killing Moon. Rather well done, too.

And then it's over. There's a bit of hanging around, and then I get to eat dinner with The Scot and the Moddi duo. I'm very ashamed to say that I can't remember the name of the lovely cellist - hopeless memory strikes again - and I didn't like to ask a second time. Pål really is a fascinating character and I'm quite smitten with his oddness. Some decent Italian nosh later (melanzane parmigiana - hoo-haa!) and some interesting chat (Norwegians apparently don't have a word for please - EH???), and it's time to pay. I get out my lovely tan wallet. The Scot gets out his lovely vintage wallet. Pål gets out a luminous orange zipped felt purse with a face on it. I tried not to stare but it was hard - I may have gawped (powers of description are returning).

I'll be recommending to all I know that they see Moddi play at The Slaughtered Lamb in March (it's only a fiver, for fuck's sake): https://www.wegottickets.com/event/107997 . It has to be money well spent, and who knows, you might get to catch a glimpse of that mighty orange purse too.

Nice jumper, Pål