Swedish Girl In London

London Life: Bright Lights, Big City. Now what's on TV?

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Sound of Music

The wonderful thing about living in this metropolis is that you can go to any number of cool gigs every night of the week, discovering…

…oh all right, then, you got me! I’m fooling no one. The truth is that I almost never go to gigs, no matter how many “Next Big Things” prance around Camden’s sweaty stages, trilbies at rakish angles, and sneer for Brit-Pop.

Gigs, I don’t dig – OK?

It’s not that I hate music. I don’t. I’m actually rather fond of it as a pastime.

But gigs always seem to involve sore feet, disappointment, bewilderment and a necessity to whoop self-consciously. Take the time we went to see Rickie Lee Jones at Stockholm Jazz Festival, for instance.

Rickie, she’s such an intriguing chick on CD, her little-girl-lost voice humming the saddest, happiest songs you have ever heard. Rickie on stage, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. She was the sourest pill I have ever come across, snapping “please, be quiet” angrily after each applause, before racing through her next number. Afterwards, she galloped off stage like a pony in the Grand National Derby and never returned to do an encore.

Rickie, Rickie!

Then there was the time Tini took me to a gig at the student union of St Martin’s College. The entrance fee was in support of their graduation show, so I had to go, in the name of Graphic Design. Oh, and they served cheap G&Ts. Happily, we had quite a few of those before the music started up. I’m not really sure why it took such a long time to install the instruments, seeing that they consisted of…

A) a harmonica & strange, rubber-like feet, operated by a guy in a Medieval hair-cut
B) an out-of-tune guitar, strummed with more passion than talent by a geezer who also served as a very gravely vocalist.

Now Le Francais wants us to go to a gig on Sunday. I believe some friends of his are playing. They have worryingly been described as “funk-fusionists with an indie edge”. Au secours!


At 10:55 AM, Blogger josephknecht said...

Oh god

I wish you luck

Just remember, as the 73rd person treads on your toes and you feel them going black, as some tit pours beer on your head, as some would-be rock god bores you to death with his nasal whining, incessant whingeing, and talentless buddies, that... er...

You could be talking to a patronising Slovenian girl?

Or being attacked by the little people from your tv.

So it could, in theory, be worse.



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