Monday Mass

Buying two tickets as soon as I can cos I know it'll be a sell out in such a small venue but later another date is announced at the Roundhouse however I'm sure that witnessing such an atmospheric set in St Pancras Old Church will be an extraordinary event. I later realise that I've got tickets for the 9pm second late show. Not sure if they went on sale first or the 7pm sitting. Sitting being the operative word for most but I'll come onto that. My spare ticket is for Paul as a birthday present as I've not seen a band with Paul for a while, and thinking that he could do with a night out what with having a second nipper, and knowing that he'll appreciate the musicianship. So we meet at Simpsons bar on the Caledonian Road KX end which is like an Irish front room bar where we're treated to what sounds like an old school mix tape with 70s alternative rock and funky grooves. After a couple there we make our way up St Pancras Way and so into the church. Last time Paul was here was for a friends wedding. He tells me that half way through a bloke the worse for wear staggered up the aisle oblivious to the guests and the fact that the vicar was conducting a wedding service and demanded that the vicar give him absolution. Thus given to minimise disruption our gate crasher thanks him and staggers out again. Let's hope there's some of that tonight. We are welcomed by a bar on a trestle table and after a couple of pale ales at Simpsons we decide to stay exotic and plum for the Stella Cidre despite the appalling advert. The place is a fairly small church with about a hundred or so chairs laid out across most of the floor space and some standing room at the back. It's obviously still a working church and has the usual religious wall hangings and celebrations of the deceased scattered about. I think it's CofE and most likely high church as I get a whiff of incense and it has more than a few carvings or plaster moulds of Christ either carrying or on the cross. There's also a small organ above us at the back which unfortunately isn't used this evening. I'm sure one song could've made use of it's swelling sounds.

Very soon an awkward beardy guy that is billed as Radiator Hospital ambles onto the stage and with a quick introduction starts playing simple guitar chords in a big strummy way that makes me think surely I could do that and sings in a nearly off key voice that sounds nervously strained. To be honest at first I'm thinking is this his first gig and has Katie Crutchfield (aka Waxahatchee) ever heard him sing? But half way through the second song of angst straining vocals without a mic filling the church I get where he's coming from and with a warm fuzzy feeling that you get with a little alcohol mixed with chasing around in the freezing cold air then coming into a warm place I let the ambiance of our minstrel filling St Pancras Old Church with his voice and guitar wash over me and I'm memserised and hooked on Rad Hospital. His singing's from the heart reminiscent of Morrissey. We're treated for a few songs with a female vocalist who brings another beautifully romantic dimension to the sound. By the time our hero finishes the crowd are stunned into a reverent silence befitting the building. A post gig web search reveals that this is far from Rad H aka Sam Cook-Parrott's first gig as I'd guessed within 2 songs. In fact he's played as a member of the Waxahatchee band. Another visit to the rickety bar with friendly bar man and outside to visit the plastic portaloo and we're ready for the main event with the standing area getting crowded.

Waxahatchee in the form of Katie Crutchfield take the stage and whilst last time I saw them she did a few songs solo before the band came on for a rocking set tonight it's just her with guest on a few songs. The performance is sublime. Katie's vocals are soaringly atmospheric but with a hard edge that brilliantly complements the often minimalist bluesy folk guitar that is belligerently strummed out to us. In this setting it's an almost spiritual experience and I'm totally lost in the sound flooding over me filling the church as much as any organ and choir surely could. For a few numbers we have Rad H's female vocalist back on the stage and I'm wondering if it's Katie's sister and collaborator Allison (post gig web search says yes it is). We're treated to some keyboards for this and with the two singing together the atmosphere is cranked up a notch. When Katie plays keyboards it's a bit plunky as if she's really concentrating on hitting the right keys and it's difficult to know whether she is indeed just learning or whether she knows that the hesitant style goes so well with the way she plays and sings. I suspect she knows exactly what she wants to sound like and it's the latter. There's real attitude to the vocals as if Katie is giving a confessional to us, appropriately given where we are, whilst also looking us in the eye and saying go on then tell me I shouldn't do those things and feel this way. It's sort of punky folk if that ain't an oxymoron. It feels to me like early guitar blues with a throwback to original folk songs and a forward look to country. Maybe Katie listened to a lot of Big Bill Broonzy when she was growing up. The set flies by and all too soon Waxahatchee leave the stage before treating us to a short encore and then that's it. I'm left stunned and thinking that I've witnessed a special performance tonight. I get the feeling that everyone else there feels the same. Again, maybe it's the setting and all those years of worship but we've been treated to two mesmerising sets letting us drift off into god knows where. As we hit the cold night air Paul and I part company him going north to Camden bus stops and me south to Kings Cross and the Northern Line and back to the mundane business of tube hopping reality. Haven't felt this spiritual in a church for a long time.

Sam Solo

Sam and Crutchfield sister

Sisters doing it for themselves

French Bike Refurb Update

Following Santa's visit the bike was given the final touches of a smart new saddle, matching bar tape, clipless pedals and upgraded brake blocks. And a retro water bottle from Dave Kane's cycle shop in Ballyhackamore Belfast.

For the refurb see here:
http://psicle.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/french-bike-refurb-and-first-run.html

Charge Spoon Saddle - brown with titanium alloy rails
Fizik Superlight Classic Handlebar Tape - brown honey
Shimano A530 Road Pedals - silver
Kool-Stop Dura 2 TripleLite Brake Pad/Holder - black/salmon/grey

Pics:

New Years Eve of Debbie's Birthday

Couple of days before New Year our daughter confirms that she'll be at a sleepover party so Debbie and I search for a fittingly cultural way to see out the old year, welcome the new and celebrate Debbie's birthday which is new years day. Everything is either sold out or has a price tag of £15 plus just to enter a pub so we opt for that steady fall back that is the Windmill Brixton. £15 for us both to go watch a few bands, one of which supported TFWF, plus DJ. And we can cycle there and back. The evening starts well with me accompanying my daughter and her two friends to the party during which walk one decides she has a stomach ache and is too ill to party. After a quick drive to Oval to drop her off home I get changed to go out (put on my docs) and we cycle round to friends for a quick NYE drink. We are greeted by three kiwi husbands and three english wives. Suspecting I've walked into a weird reality TV show my nerves are calmed by being plied with champagne and vintage home made sloe gin. The conversation turns to cycling accidents whilst under the influence and I assure everyone that we'll be cycling on the pavement and taking care to avoid pedestrians. After a final (couple of) ones for the road we're cycling through the cold night to the top of Brixton Hill.

As we enter the Windmill there's a band on stage so we grab a couple of G&Ts (not as tasty or potent as the sloe gin) and sidle to the back of the stage crowd to watch Edna Average who deliver a great set, well the half we caught, of old school post punkiness. The set lurches from hard core shouty drum driven 2 minute blasts to more poppy (as in post punk power pop, not Britney) tunes with a bit more musicianship. Interspersed with some guitar and sax breaks that could be straight from a post post-punk psychedelic neo crusty gig or festival. File next to Alternative TV as they moved from free form punk three chord anarchy noise nearing their out and out pop album Strange Kicks. As an aside, the only Wikipedia entry for Strange Kicks is Italian which is shameful for such a polished album. One of the guys in Edna Average even looks a bit like Mark Perry of ATV with a similar intense look. If you don't know Mark Perry (Sniffin Glue fanzine) and his ATV / Good Missionaries then go look them up. And listen. Way ahead of their time. Back to tonight. The set finishes with an urgency that fits with the moment of rushing to see the old year out and the new in. Must go see them play a full set. Very accomplished.

We are then treated to an indie disco on the crowded dance floor with much nudging and bumping. No grinding as far as I could see - this is the Windmill after all. At one point Debbie points out that everyone seems to be grinning like Cheshire Cats and couples dancing get closer together. There's no countdown or cheering but a spreading realisation that midnight has just passed so everyone is smiley and happy that we've lasted another year and are about to embark on a new one with all the pleasure, and pain, that that will bring. After a breath of fresh air in the back garden, serenaded by barking Roof Dog, we go back into the main room but to be honest the earlier sloe gins are catching up with us both and what with all the excitement of the night we're flagging so we decide to depart and forego the main act. I do catch the start of the Phobophobes as I'm called by nature as I'm unlocking the bikes but can't really give an opinion on them. Soon we're off past the Brixton windmill itself (yes, there is one) and through Blenheim Gardens Estate before coasting down to our home and, yes, by pavement most of the way. After wishing Debbie Happy Birthday again we fall into a much earned slumber.

Edna Average. A worse quality photo than any you'd have found in Sniffin Glue