Future Pleasures

Getting to this gig is a struggle what with me flagging badly in the day and with the tube strike. To set the scene and so you get your monies worth regarding music footie cycling. The tube strike strikes Tuesday evening and goes thru to Thursday night. The perfect storm is set with strong winds and lashing rain hitting London for most of the week mixed with kerb hopping pedestrians and newby racer boy cyclists. So I'm cycling into work and back all week. Wednesday I cycle into a force 8 gale coming back from work to play 5-a-side in Stockwell. Knackered before I get there I play a surprisingly brilliant game scoring 3 headers from pitch long balls courtesy of Frank of the pin point passes. I get at least another 6 goals and if one hadn't been unfairly disallowed due to some ball to hand infringement way back in defence it would've been double figures. When I say surprisingly brilliant I mean that the boys were astounded and it was probably the shock of me reaching 3 goals including a header that made them all weak kneed and led to my others. As the clone boys who play after us (they pass the ball stay in position and don't swear at each other and storm off the pitch in a strop, so what's the fun there) don't turn up I'm rushing around for an hour and a half before cycling back home. By the time I reach Stratford Thursday morning my legs are aching and my head sore with all that precision heading. At least the ride in was dry. By the time it's time to leave for the EIY gig tonight it's chucking it down and I really can't be bothered getting a soaking on the way to Angel. I splash out, or rather don't, spending £5.90 on the High Speed 1 Javelin which gets me from Stratford to St Pancras in 7 minutes. Great way to travel and empty justifying my extravagance. I get to the Lexington on time and mingle with the trendy crowd while awaiting Simon and entourage. Simon, Jules and George eventually turn up over half hour late bitching about expensive Waggamamma meals, having gone on the bus via Euston blaming poor George's bus navigation skills (he's a kid and don't live in London so what do you expect?) and the rain. Anyways we've missed Jupiter C so it's barge past the crazy cloakroom queue and upstairs to the gig. Simon's lost the tickets and fortunately they don't ask us for them at the top of the stairs. The crowd are a lot older than I expected - I thought it would be youngsters with beards and drainpipes but there's a few ageing punky crusty types and other assorted grey / no hairs.

And so to the gig - hope you're still with me and not nodded off.

East India Youth takes the stage in suit and tie looking like a young Wilko Johnson even down to the haircut. He launches into a couple of his slow ones. Maudlin was Debbie's verdict when she listened to him but I'd say James Blakeish and gets me swaying on my feet. He plays some nifty keyboard runs and the rest is a Mac and twiddly knobs. In a while he ups the tempo hitting us with state of the nation sounds (i.e. 80s electronica) before strapping on the bass guitar and really going for it. Not sure I could hear the bass as such but he seems to loop it back through the Mac and synths to produce a massive swirling sound underpinned by a hard core beat. There on in we're treated to a cacophony of sound taking us through 80's avant garde synth to 90's hard core edgy house and into this century's mash up thrashy dance. The nearest I can describe is Squarepusher but that may be cos he's thrashing away on the bass like it's the last gig he's ever gonna need it for. Then onto the keyboards headbanging all the while reminiscent as Simon points out of, dare I say, Rick Wakeman in his more noodly theatrical period. That's the look you understand not the music. But without long hair or a cloak. I digress. After bringing us up to a crescendo of banging techno thrash and me praying that I get to see him in a muddy field or damp tent this summer he softens the sounds a little and brings us all down to earth and catches his breath with a more boppy dance floor tune before shouting goodbye, taking that through the synth loop and walking off stage to critical applause. Manically brilliant.

Lo Fi Foto

We resist the after disco like everyone else it seems and trundle out into the wet night air. The other 3 are off on the bus with Simon having to pick up his bike at Waterloo. Why oh why? I faff about getting my waterproof trousers on then losing keys then phone then keys again in my numerous pockets and by the time I leave the bloody rain's stopped. Uneventful ride home through Blackfriars except for some extremely impatient black cabs. They are usually pretty good to cyclists in London these days but I think a lot of out of towners are plying their trade with the tube strike and they don't realise that London will soon belong to cyclists. We are taking over. The future is ours. The future is East. The future is India. Youth has the future!