Four into three is 75 pee

My Birmingham days housemates are all at my gaff today (Friday 4th) although not necessarily at the right times. Simon leaves in the early morning and goes straight into town from work to meet Simon who's working down here and then comes over to mine for the evening whereas Jon comes here straight from work and don't make it into town but Simon is jet lagged and not seeing any of us today. Work out which Simon is Ramsay or Olly or Simon yourselves. After a couple of festival strength G&Ts courtesy of Debbie and beers the 4 of us (me, Debs, Ramsay, Jon) pump up the bike tyres, audit the lock situation, don our helmets (compulsory) and with one front and back light between us we snake off up to the Brixton Windmill to hand over our £3 each for our wrist stamps. It's pretty empty in here and the first band, or bloke, is on. Mark Hex has backing tape and plays a fuzzy guitar singing odd ditties and I think he's pretty good. Others are not convinced. I guess I do cos as I'm trying to play myself he seems fairly proficient. Some of the backing music is good and with the shouty singing some songs are a little Sleaford Mods like. We retire to the smoking room realising that you don't need to light up here it's so full of smoke. Next up are Baraka who are two great guitarists and a drummer. The guitarists swap between rhythm and lead with some great soloing. The drumming is mostly a sort of jazz soft shoe vibe picking up to a harder edge when the guitars go fast furious and punky. They are a great band jumping from 70s ish guitar rock to hard rocking riffing to post punk grunge power chording. Jon reckons a cross between Dire Straits and The Fall (I think that's what you said Jon) and I can't argue. At the end the singer asks us if we want to end with two songs or one jam. I immediately shout "jam" which is a great choice if I say so myself as they launch into a ten minute rocked out jam festival style. Fantastic stuff. After we get to chat with the singer guitarist in the garden and he seems chuffed that we tell him how great they are. By this time the place is full and the bar staff busy. Ramsay persuades me to buy a round of chasers in the form of Jager Bombs which both breaks my bank and sets the tone for the night. I'm feeling generous tonight and buy a large brandy for some lonely trendy youngster who Debs accidentally pushes in front of at the bar. He's a nice enough guy so glad we bought him a snifter. With renewed vigour we sidle towards the stage as Great Dad take the stage. Another great band. Drummer standing at his kit thumping out great beats a lot like those indie Killing Joke type bands (that is a very good thing). Singer who has a brilliantly energetic stage presence often shouting in a Mark E Smith way (why do all bands sound as if influenced by Hawkwind and all singers by MES?). This a little odd as he's dressed and moves around the stage a lot like Mark Almond. The third of the trio with long hair swaps between flute (you don't see many of those at the Windmill), saxophone and I think a guitar but the Jager Bombs have befuddled me memory. Overall it's a great rocky psychedelic sound a bit like a sophisticated updated south London scene Blurt. Last up are headliners Italia 90 who half of look like regulation skins (you can't tell really by the awful photo). They start fast and furious and I'm inevitably drawn into the small mosh pit to jump around with their diverse group of fans. At times they slow down and psyche out a bit but it's mainly full on punkiness. They end quite abruptly and then we are left to have one for the road and dance around to the disco, which no one ever dances to, which the DJ gets bored with and puts on a Beastie Boys mix tape which suits me and Ramsay down to the ground and we dance regardless. The ride home starts ominously with Ramsay crashing into a wall within 50 yards and ends farcically by him overshooting the house and having an argument with a discarded Christmas tree. Oh what festive fun! Once safely back inside we drink tea, eat crisps and play an impossible chair stacking game. No, not with real chairs but little plastic ones. 

Saturday is a slow wake up with various of us vowing never to drink Jager Bombs again, until next time they are offered I guess, and after breakfast Ramsay leaves (by the way I've got your hair gel). Early afternoon Jon drives me and him to Dulwich where we meet up with Simon and watch the Hamlet lose 2 nil to Bath City the second being a crazy back header own goal.

Great weekend. Cheers guys. See you all in March for 1970 punking pub rock. Except Olly - see you tomorrow night for Galette des Rois.

Mark Hex

Baraka

Baraka again

Great Dad

Italia 90 another ghostly pic

As you don't get many photos of us enjoying ourselves (whoever I happen to be out with) here's a few from Debbie.

Ramsay looking smug - that was on the way out. To be fair the bike isn't that easy to steer.

Jon trying to sit on the saddle.

Jager Bombs certainly perk you up!

I'm not nodding off honest

Yay! His eyes are open...

Before the match

Dulwich back at their old ground - pity they lost to Bath City

New Year New Bands

Lounging in the loft with Debs drinking prosecco celebrating her birthday listening to my yuletide present of the soulful Jungle (yellow vinyl). Heavenly. Before I get on to the Brixton Windmill NYE bash you will all be waiting to hear about my various transport tales so here's the route and a few snaps of my cycle ride out to Woodmansterne and Farthing Downs:
https://www.strava.com/activities/2038316783

Deb's grandad's old house in Carshalton

Woodmansterne church

Woodmansterne

View over London from Farthing Downs

Days of the long shadow at midday

Celebrating the arrival of 2019 and Debbie's 5Nth birthday I've got tickets for us and Pete and Wendy for the sold out Brixton Windmill bash. We cycle up to catch the end of the first band who are (now I may have all the right bands but not necessarily in the right order) Jacob Slater who sound pretty good but not good enough to stop us ensconcing ourselves on the surprisingly free sofas that Pete and Wendy are lounging on. Next up are Peeping Drexels who deliver a great set with a pretty standard rock and roll undercurrent with vocals a bit Mark E Smith shouty. Solid drums and bass (put him out front the poor guy's hidden away) with two great guitarists running through heavy riffs, rock n roll twanging and solo-ing and psychedelic interludes including one moonlighting on soulful swirling keyboard. Sort of The Fall meets Velvet Underground which, yeah, sounds pretty damn good and was. The crowd get going too with moshing and the singer crowd surfing (think it was that band). Anyways goes down very well and this side the the place is packed. Great start. The whole place is jammed by now including outside and the snug (aka smoking shack). Full of young trendy types and everyone is getting in the mood. The disco is retro and everything before the birth of 95% of the punters here - everything from Sweet's Blockbuster to Teardrop Explodes. Fine stuff. Next up are the hotly anticipated Yowl who deliver a pretty good punky energetic set but don't seem to have quite the edge that the Peeps have. So a little disappointing but sound promising and probably worth checking them out again. The bar is packed but not too bad with lots of bar staff. I catch some chancer whippersnapper supping my IPA and when I call her out she apologises saying she thought it was hers (even though she's drinking shorts) and in embarrassment offers to buy me another pint. I let her off given it's the season of good will to all men, women and cheekly teenage dirtbags. Horsey are next and Pete and I sidle through the crowd to get a view (why are these young uns so damn tall) whilst Debs and Wendy chat and laugh, mainly the latter, back on the sofa which seems to be free all night. Horsey if I remember rightly although I may be wrong are another energetic punk mix with a charismatic front man. Sorry, a great shortage of any female musicians tonight. Something of the Fat White's about them and the crowd love it. Good but think they need to find their own groove. I'd put my pension on them being from South London - that sort of vibe. During their set we're back with the sofa sitters to celebrate the passing of New Year which has a count down this year (unlike previous where it passed unnoticed by those on the stage) and I think the set stopped after that. Or maybe restarted And also of course we celebrate Deb's birthday. Cheers! After singing Happy Birthday to her outside, to which everyone else was too damned cool to join in, we come back inside to see Hotel Lux who are a bit dreary. Well, they sound good with a Portishead throbbing sound but maybe we need something a little more upbeat at 1 o'clock new years day and we're all chatting too much to take a lot of notice of them. After that we hang out outside then on our sofa listening to the Slow Dance DJ playing mainly old stuff and watching the cool punters leave. Then we all part ways after new year / birthday hugs. A great way to see in 2019.

Peeping Drexels

More peeping

Last of the peeps

Hotel Lux. Possibly.

Deb's birthday transport - no expense spared by your faithful blogger!