Good Vibrations

No travel news I'm afraid but we (me, Debs, Paul, Daisy) did eat in a lovely bohemian Kurdish veg place (Hawraman) just along from the gig which was at the Camden Assembly. So good I wrote a rare review on TripAdvisor. We get to the venue fashionably late and catch up with the proud parents Beckie and Simon and various family members downstairs before trooping off upstairs where we catch the last half of the last song of the support. The bar surprisingly clears and armed with drinks we sidle down the side of the room in readiness for what I think is KAWALA's first gig in their home town since their record contract signing. Well deserved too!  They come on to rapturous applause as the place has a lot of fans here, probably quite a few locals as the boys grew up in Camden. They launch into their set which is a great mix of what I think is called indie folk with African dance beats or the edgier side of world music. Not my usual fare but with the vocals throwing out old style jazz rapping and with a poppy vibe they hit the spot and the audience agree. They are pretty engaging as a band, well the main two guys Daniel (family friend) and Jim (great name). Dan especially gives us a bit of chat finding out exactly how many of us haven't seen them before (a few but not many) and cracks a couple of jokes. Also gets a fair bit of audience participation encouraging us to sing one of the choruses, clap, comes into the audience for a stroll around and so on. Also introduces each of the band which is sadly lacking at gigs these days. And the band are all great musicians. Drum and bass strong backing, electric guitar shredding (as Dan call it) a couple of great noodly solos one straight outta old grey whistle test which I'm sure Whispering Bob Harris would love. Indeed Kawala are right up his street I'd imagine. Dan on acoustic guitar is great and has given me second thoughts on trying to learn - that looks way too difficult. And the two of them on vocals are what make them stand out from others in a jazz scat style. I think they're better tonight than I've seen them before maybe because the place is literally bouncing. Maybe it's their sound or maybe it's the venue but the walls and floor are vibrating which seems to give them a harder edge than I've seen before and one I like. They don't tease us by leaving us with no encore and although it's a short set they leave us on a high with an electric energy buzzing about the place. We trundle downstairs for a last couple of drinks to relax, chat and chill out to easy listening rap before goodbye hugs all round and an uneventful journey back south, you'll be pleased to learn.

Kawala (c) Debbie

One with the drummer

Shredder, Daniel, Jim

No Cross In MDB

I’m running late and Simon’s cried off as listening to his new Gong purchases so I train up and over to New Cross and amble over to the New Cross Inn which is heaving with spikey haired outsiders. And that’s just outside the pub. Inside it’s all leather bristles studs and acne. Well, not so much of the latter as back in the day cos we’ve all grown up. But it does seem like a bit of a timewarp I’ve not seen so many mohicans since Digbeth Civic Hall times or yore. I show my bar code and get my hand stamped, it’s the nearest I get to a tattoo and makes me especially conscious that I’m lacking in the skin defacement department compared to e veryone else. Squeeze to the bar trying my best not to get pushed into the already lively mosh pit that seems to be 80% of the audience. The bar is surprisingly empty, as in people not buying drinks cos they’ve all been to the offy. I shuffle towards the back and watch an excellently vibrant punk rock band who’ve obviously been plying their trade for a good few decades. The Restarts are a great three piece with a blindingly throbbing bassist / singer (the bass was throbbing, not the player) which makes me think of ditching my guitar playing and getting back into full on bassiness. The crowd love them too with a lot of surfing going on. Mind those big boots on yer head. I resist the urge to jump into the mosh as it looks a bit dangerous and I keep bruises a lot longer than I used to when a snotty nosed spotty faced punk rocker. The Restarts revitalise the punk’s not dead garage intensity of the 80s and damn good they are too. The crowd are hardly young but not many my age and I guess this is their time. After I while I spot Pete sidling through the crowd – he was two yards from where I bought my pint all the time. We escape outside to hear ourselves think and get a breather (it’s funky in there and I don’t mean that in a musical sense). Soon the band stop and everyone piles out for a smoke so Pete and I sneak in to a near empty floor and bar. Whilst sussing out the loos (cubicles with about 8 degenerates in each sniffing and giggling) Pete finds the downstairs bar which is very civilised with big cushioned near cubicles and we nurse our pints chatting boats, redevelopments and old bands. Soon the shouting begins upstairs and we venture up to the rammed again floor positioning ourselves safely away from the mayhem. A little disappointed that the balaclavaed Moscow Death Brigade have only brought two with them and no band just backing tracks. Doesn’t diminish the music though which is old school punked up politically charged rap like if the Beastie Boys were a punk band. Which yes they were so think as they crossed over and rocked the house. And this house is certainly rocking. Our Russian anti-fascist heroes are cranking up the energy and don’t seem to mind their stage being invaded by those doing a quick 1^st and 4^th fingers in the air jig and then leaping with gay abandon into the audience. At one point I swear there were more boots off the ground crowd surfing than on the ground supporting the crowd surfers. A fine sight. The crowd’s interesting too as in addition to the mohawks there’s older hippy types, dreads, a couple of skinhead girls with whispy bits around the ears and even a couple of casuals. Not sure what they made of us. Pete was definitely sporting the only puffa jacket in the place and I didn’t see anyone else in a denim jacket. Certainly not with a Ladyhawke badge on the lapel. At this time it does get a bit dangerous for me in a very dodgy situation. Not being quizzed on my badge, everyone here is live and let live even if you charge into them on the dance floor, but I go downstairs to the loo and the ceiling is bouncing up and down 6 inches at a time. I am not exaggerating. I was seriously worried that mid flow it would come crashing down and I’d have a size 10 18 hole DM come down on my head. Or worse. I could hear the basement bar’s whiskey’s jumping up and down. As I come back up a few folk are carrying a big TV screen out of the dance floor for safety. I don’t think the venue expected quite this much excitement. Pete is boiling so we troop outside which takes a while where we’re serenaded with soul and rap by a local dude and given it’s nearly 11 and it’s pretty straight up rap inside and it would take ages to get into a space we “do a Simon” and bail out for the evening. I think we’re at the end of the road where Debbie’s dad was brought up? An uneventful train ride home to Streatham Hill and so to bed. No photos as a lot of anarchists don’t like it so respect that. You missed a good un Simmo.

Pixies' Round House

It's at the Roundhouse which isn't my favourite venue and it's half a ton to get in (plus photo ID) but to see the Pixies play their first one and a half albums it's going to be worth it. Shaun my old gigging mate from back in the early 90s who I met on the commuter train to Gospel Oak as one of us was reading an Arsenal fanzine got the tickets. We meet on Drummond Street with John and sink a few pints whilst chatting about bands, football and current affairs. My sensible plan to eat goes down the drain and I suffice with a packet of plain. Shaun and I say farewell to John and tootle off to Chalk Farm where we sidestep past kiddies with their trick or treat buckets. I guess Halloween is an appropriate time to see the Pixies come out to play. The queue in stretches down to the garage due to photo ID checking and we have a couple of cans to pass the time but soon enough we're inside. There's no support but a sound and light show creating the atmosphere for a great build up and then the lights dim and the Pixies take the stage. Shaun and I squirm our way to the front to get the full effect and cos the sound in this place is crap anywhere else than in the mosh pit area. The band are hot as you'd expect after so many years of practice. Thundering bass, great drums with his at times odd syncopation, guitars crashing around each other and that distinctive voice. We're treated, as you will no doubt know knowing the albums, with the extremes of almost folk like grungieness building up to a crescendo through to out and out pogoing punk mayhem in the mosh pit. They span a lot of styles whilst always grounded in the sound that is recognisable as the Pixies. And tonight they play with an energy and fluency that highlights what great music they've written. They are intense and are less rock than last time I saw them in a damp field in the west country four years ago. Maybe shows that their later songs are more mainstream than their first outburst of creativity. At times buoyant, at times dark, often both as in Nimrod's Son which given it's subject the chorus is sung heartily by all in the place. So the set is a blinder with no lows at all. Unfortunately for me and my usually lazy comparisons of bands to other ones I can't really do that with the Pixies because, well, they sound like the Pixies. After what I guess is the last song of the 2 albums they're playing they exit with a few waves and despite raucous shouting for more - mainly initiated by Shaun - the lights slowly come back up and we realise the pixies are all worn out poor little mites and returned home to their wee little round mushroom houses for a cup of pixie tea most likely made out of their wee little pixie mushroom houses. Handy hey? Most likely on Edgbaston Golf Course, remember that Ramsay? Sorry, a digression. We shuffle outside into the damp Camden air and walk down to the Elephant's Head which has an even weirder looking crowd than usual due to Halloween, to be honest it's difficult knowing if the individuals are dressed up for the occasion or simply goths dressed as usual. We have a drink watching a few singer guitarists play with the happy crowd jigging about to them. A nice end to the night if a little conventional compared to what we've seen. A great night all in all and maybe the Roundhouse ain't so bad after all. Cheers Shaun - I owe you one damn fine gig...