Twickenham Treats

On Friday night a couple of mates and I went out for a few drinks in Twickenham. With the whole town being geared towards rugby, The Red Lion is one of Twickenham's only live music venues. It's an unpretentious but lively place. The drinks are fairly cheap and the locals are surprisingly chatty.

The pub is laid out in an L shape and the stage sits in the recess of a corner. There's not a great deal of space but enough to ram in a load of sweaty fans. The band we stumbled upon were pure comedy. As soon as I saw them I thought of Simpsons cartoons. This is more or less what they looked like:


Another happy edition to this spectacle was the band's bame: Four Wheel Drive. What's not to love about that? Jeremy Clarkson would cream his pants at the thought. A four wheel drive wagon roving around full of half naked wannabe rock stars. Nice.

As I stood in the audience I cast my eyes around and noticed that in my black leather jacket, short skirt and boots combo I had inadvertently merged with the substancial fan base. They were loving the music, not shy and getting really getting stuck in. Many of them were wearing black t-shirts with the band's logo splashed across them in massive letters. Later, in the pub garden, these geriatic rockers revealed their various links with the band. They were all uncles, aunts and cousins showing great pride and support. It was heart-warming to see.

Seriously though, this band were doing the old-school rock thing and putting on a spirited show with absolutely no pedals or effects. Unusually the front man was on the bass. He was the only one who remained clothed throughout but you got the impression it was because of his wee belly that he probably felt self-concious about. The lead guitarist was wearing some rather fetching leopard print leggings which set off his massive frizzy barnet nicely. At one point two band members climbed on the amps and played from there. Real Simpsons style behaviour. I reckon the drummer was the most talented and energetic member of the band. He was going for it, pounding away like there was no tomorrow.

Verdict: Great entertainment but there's nothing cool or cutting edge about this band.

The ENEMY

It's LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. Can't stop listening to this band....

The Windmill

I've found another little indie hangout serving up quality music within its grotty stained walls. This place is called The Windmill and can be found about a 15 minute walk from Brixton station up Brixton Hill.

On your first visit you'll find yourself asking an obliging local for directions due to the obscure location of the place, down a quiet residential street. It's an odd looking place daubed in nasty, bright coloured murals with a menacing slobbery mad looking hound standing centry on the roof. (Having visited the place the logo on their website makes sense.)

The building itself is a run down, clapboard clad piece of nasty 80s architecture not disimilar to the Jockey in channel 4's Shameless. Outside is a walled smoking area with a couple of pub benches but don't make the same mistake I did; it doesn't stop there - through the back door is another garden and a wicked little shed room where you might steal a cheeky smoke.

Like all the best music venues in London this place is cavernous and atmospheric with back to back posters on the walls and band stickers on the loo doors. Actually the loo doors are a blog entry themselves as they've proved to be hugely entertaining with epic scrawling discussions (I'm on a date with a complete fuckwit - should I a- get fucked and try and ride this thing out or b - do a runner, c- politely explain that I have a dodgy tummy? Answers below....) Or another classic scrawl simply said "Alive - only just". I don't reckon the back of the loo door is the best place to promote your band though - might seem a bit sordid.

The sort of people at this gaff are quietly in the know. Not your regular Brixton types - they look like they may have strayed from Hoxton, although I'd say that they have less of that Horrors English indie look and a bit more of the Seattle check shirt influence. Or maybe I'm just speculating and talking shit? Maybe it's just because Merge's new indie signing Telekinesis (who hail from Seattle) were billed to play. Additionally I met two perky septics in the toilets who seemed like the sort of characters an actress like Zoey Deschanel would play. God, I'm really rambling now....

All you need to know is that this is a wicked little place to hole up on a weekend day when the venue hosts at least eight to ten bands. Even Friday nights you'll get your four pounds worth with at least four well-sourced bands taking to the stage. Get thee down there (just don't get mugged on your way).

The Big Pink - Velvet

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OA3twi3iSNQ

The Thames Festival and a beach rave up

Yesterday I spent some good times along the river on Southbank at the Thames Festival. This was a free cultural event with live music and other artsy bits and pieces.

For me, the highlight of this festival was undoubtedly The Dukesbox and the beach party. The Dukesbox is a novel little band of travelling musicians who sit in a caravan styled like a juke box and play any tune you ask of them simply by putting your money in the slot. It's a fantastic idea and the band drew a big crowd. They are a talented bunch of lads; capable of remembering thousands of tracks. We had a great time bopping around to them.

The night ended with a mad rave up on beach at about midnight. Now beach rave ups aren't common in London. Firstly where the hell is the beach??? In actual fact at low tide there is a wide beach below the walls near to the London eye. Here some enterprizing types had set up their decks and a wicked sound system. A diverse crowd were grinding closely whilste trying not to stumble over in the sand.

There was a euphoric buzz among the crowd. A lot of drugs were being got through and satellite groups of dodgy looking characters were hanging around with fierce looking dogs on the end of leads. Generally there was a feeling of goodwill amongst the dancers although laced through the energy of the party was a heady concoction of latent sexual tension and violence. We were dancing like there would be no end; it was one of the last warm evenings of the dying summer and we were damn well going to get the best out of it...until the police came to break us all up at around 5am.

An apology.....

Any of you performers out there, I've got an apology for you...

When I'm at gigs I tend to be a) very over-excited and b) more than likely tanked up. This is not a great combination to be greeted with if you are in the zone and psyching yourself up for going onstage. The last thing you will want is me bounding up to you and quizzing you or launching into a diatribe about dramatics behind the journey to the gig. Equally, if you are reeling as you come down from your performance buzz you probably won't want me in your face either!

Example of my ill-judged chitter chatter:

Me: Danny! Danny! (Earnest - if he doesn't hear me we may never make contact with there being no mobile phone signal)

D: (Looking a bit shell shocked after playing to massive Glasto crowd.) Oh hi Jude. Glad you made it.

Me: How did it go? How was the audience? Did you get a good vibe up there? What was the sound like? You didn't get a sound check did you?

D: (Completely taken aback) Well, I'm just feeling a bit numb right now.

Cue drivelling apologies from me. Danny makes his excuses and leaves - fair play!

SORRY GUYS. Will try to calm self down in future and not bombard you with eager-beaver questions and puppy-like over enthusiasm!

Jude x

This week I have been mostly listening to....

Kasabian, The Maccabees and The Enemy.

The worst set of the summer

The out and out worst set of the summer award has to be awarded to Noah and the Whale for their poor effort at The Secret Garden Party. Before I start slating them I've got to confess that I've just read in someone else's blog that Charlie Fink, who heads up the band, had just recovered from a recent bout of the flu.

Well, we didn't know this when we saw the set. My friend Kat had been wanting to see them since the disastrous Bestival '08. We waited in great anticipation, perched in a great spot on the hill, for the band. I know this is ignorant of me but I genuinely didn't know the song they were famous for, 5 Years Time, or indeed any of their music.

They appeared for all of about ten minutes, struggled their way through a couple of tunes before shrivelling up into a wad of gum on the floor - well not quite, but that is how it seemed. It was a complete non-entity of a performance.

Someone should have told these lads about the performance enhancing properties of some of our favourite rock and roll substances.

Also, Noah and the Whale, what a wishy-washy, sappy name for a band!

Love this track....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFM_kTAYVsU

Stunning track, less great vid

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fs1wkwAMQc

Battle of the Bands Final at The Pilton Party

One of my favourite bands on the unsigned circuit, Strangefruit (I'll introduce you properly later) had got themselves into the final of RockStar 09, which is a battle of the bands where the winner gets to play Glastonbury 2010 as well as record at Peter Gabriel's Real World Studios. The final was to take place at Worthy Farm, on the Glastonbury site, as part of the Pilton Party. This is given in early September every year to thank the local people for their tolerance during the festival. This year was the first time the party had gone public and had been announced on Radio 1 with the illustrious line up of Florence and the Machine and Dizzy Rascal.

Ali and I decided that this was a great opportunity for a road trip, the only problem being that she wouldn't be able to get out of school until 4pm and Jamie from Strangefruit had told me that they could be up as early as 6:30pm, depending on the draw. Undeterred, we set out on the journey which, according to the AA route planner should take two and a half hours.

We bombed down the motorway doing 90 a lot of the way and relentlessly switching lanes. In the car I'd lined up some quality tunes from the likes of Kasabian and Pendulum and we were both feeling psyched up. We knew it was going to be a mission and a half but we were damn well going to try. It was all a bit like a scene in a Richard Curtis film. (Fuuuuuuuuuck, Fuuuuuuuuck, Fuckety Fuck) At any minute I was expecting Ali to slam the car into reverse and speed back to the overshot slip road doing 50. That didn't happen but we did get stuck behind some bastard rural vehicle thing that was crawling along the country roads down to Shepton Mallet and refused to turn off. Mofo. Things were getting extremely tight.

We had heard from the band that they were up at 7pm, so this bought us an extra half hour. But creeping further west there were more feckin' villages than we had ever anticipated. They just kept coming and what would the set up be like when we got there and where the hell would we park the car???

Finally, after getting swallowed deep into the narrow country lanes, walled by dry stone, we were filtered down to the site at Worthy Farm. We must have come from the wrong direction as no-one else seemed to enter the party from this field. We ditched the car and legged it towards the music. The yokels on the front gate were adamant we couldn't come in without a wristband. We were so close. We asked them about this Dick Vern character who had our wristbands and they directed us to the backstage entrance. Here there was more confusion as we were turned away again.

"Have some fucking compassion, that's our band on up there." we pleaded, hearing Strangefruit belting out their familiar set.

Finally we found this Dick Vern character, got our wristbands, ditched the car in the manner of a drugged up 14-year old joyrider, and headed for the party. The ground was boggy and I stumbled over a rope gashing my leg badly. (But that was OK because I thought the blood dripping from my legged looked pretty rock and roll!!!) Ahead of the barriers we could see the stage was now empty. We had missed them and were absolutely gutted.

This is what Jenny Maxwell looked like up there: Fucking stunning.

I'll be reviewing their next gig next Friday at Bangers & Mash at Proud.

Which brings me onto the act that we did see; Florence and the Machine. Now, I have to admit that hearing this band on the radio I've not been sucked in by the hype. Barring a few exceptions I don't like the sound of female vocalists, preferring the darker gravitas of male voices. I often find female vocals too saccharin and airy fairy. To me, this red-head was another bird who's sound was altogether too frenetic, too feminine and I couldn't figure out what she was singing about.

The crowd was largely made up of Somerset locals and rambunctious teens that smelled of their mother's laundry detergent. They were in high spirits and eager to see this near mythical performer. Buoyed along by the atmosphere they began chanting. "Get your tits out Florence." and the more unsavoury "Will you do me with a dildo Florence?" - nice.

Ali and I were about two rows back in the mosh and fiercely holding our ground where these young whippersnappers would have ploughed through us and taken our spot. It's lucky I hadn't drunk too much because this was not like an audience I'd been in before and I was getting wound up. A 15-year old boy in front of me who was named Conner and who had a mouth full of train tracks valiantly attempted to keep his wanker friends at bay (he thought I was 19 - score!) but the heaving throng got the better of us and we retreated after Flo's set.

Florence herself was inspirational. I was completely taken aback. She emerged like some Tolkein Queen to her specially decorated microphone and put on a show that was breathtaking and otherworldly. I wasn't sure about the whole flowery mic thing; it seemed a bit twee and girly to me. As she performed the cohesion behind her act became obvious. She was like a high-priestess; a touch of Bianca Jackson crossed with Morgan le Fay of Arthurian times - very Glastonbury.

The bat lady cometh

I was thinking this woman must be about 30 as she had a stage presence that commanded the audience, and would have us singing with her or bouncing as per her request. It turns out she's a mere youngster of 22! I couldn't believe it.

Her poise was spectacular and her pitch-perfect and full bodied vocal was punctuated with elegant flicks of the wrist and curves of her long, pale limbs. Like a dark witch she cast a spell over us that even the harshest of critics would be powerless to resist. (The teeny-boppers were still misbehaving). I reckon she must have studied some Arabic dancing because there were definite hints of the East in the way she moved her hips and twisted her hands.

Her set was long, about an hour, and full-bodied. She gave us everything we craved, from the euphoric highs of You've Got The Love to the intensely uplifting Dog Days Are Over (except I thought she was singing "The dark days are over" and I prefer this as a lyric, so there I was carried away with that thought. - Yes, the dark days are over! Rah, a walk in the park has never felt so good.) The drumming of this tune was fantastic; like the mad hypnotic pounding of some tribal ceremony. Of course she had our appetite fully whetted as she finally satisfied us with Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up). I still don't know what this song is about, my sister knows, it's something about raising a gift(?). This was sung an octave lower than you hear on the radio but sounded wicked with us mortals joining her as she lead us to her strange Florence-styled paradise.

This girl-woman is simply remarkable and even if you don't like her tidily produced poppy tracks, live she is a force to be reckoned with.

This week I have been mostly listening to....

Pendulum and The Horrors....not feeling so perky this week.

This week I have mostly been listening to...

The Beta Band and The Aliens.

Crawling under the hedge into the '80s

This Saturday my sister, Ali, and I were having a "quiet night in" when one of our great friends, Big Ali, called us to ask if we wanted to go to a '80s revival festival that was going on in the neighbouring town.

The festival, called Rewind, was a new and surprising initiative for the stuffy upper-middle class town of Henley-on-Thames. I am sure that in the wake of this festival there will be plenty of letters to the Henley Standard complaining about the noise and signing off as appalled of Church Street. I feckin' can't stand that sort of Henley person.

Now the line up of this festival wasn't one that appealed to me: The likes of Kim Wilde, Rick Astley, Bananarama and Belinda Carlisle, but I was pretty tanked up and the venture sounded like a laugh so we bundled into Big Ali's car.

There was never any mention of the cost and in her savvy way Big Ali had struck gold finding a hole in the hedge we could squeeze under. We crawled from the dim quiet of the car park into a world of tents, lights and excitable people in their fourties.

We were just in time to see Kim Wilde on the main stage. I was surprised at how big this festival was. The camps were full and the main stage was massive with huge screens flanking the sides. The crowd was pretty stagnant. There were some keen men with "Marry me Kim!" plaques. I tried to edge my way to the front of the audience but the bodies were unyielding. I had to keep apologising to lots of middle-aged women who thought I was being pushy.

Meanwhile Kim was doing her thing, addressing the crowd in her warmly enthusiastic voice. The menfolk were looking thrilled by her. She was striding around in a sort of all leather get up with a diamante looking garter round her upper thigh. She looked like she was having a great time and was giving a polished and buoyant performance. She sang some of her classics like Kids in America and a pretty cool cover of Depeche Mode's Enjoy the silence. The audience, escaping the confines of their average Saturday night in watching Casualty on BBC1, were appreciative and walked away at the end of the set murmuring in disbelief "Nearly fifty? How can she be? I hope I look like that at fifty!".

So '80s pop is not really my thing and I did get a bit billigerent with that crowd of stiffs but still it's good to see older people getting out and investing in their passion for music. Writing this blog entry has made me realise I should probably address the fairly strong ageism I foster. Oh dear; not very PC. Will try to improve.

Audio.Video.Disco at the Dublin Castle

The Dublin Castle in Camden is one of my favourite London venues. I love the dim grottyness of it with the weight of its musical significance practically dripping down the red walls.

Summer drinks in the garden of the Edinboro Castle followed by a gig in the Dublin Castle is an absolute winner of a night. You can't go wrong.

On Friday 21 August it was Ben Larson's Night: Headlining were Dead on TV with Audio.Video.Disco, Ash Node and Ray Dar Vees supporting.

Now if I was a bit more of an edgy type I might have been into Dead on TV but they didn't really grab me when I was doing my homework listening to my space pages. Their sound is way too avant-guarde for me! Also, by the time they came on I was a wee bit too worse for wear to pay attention if you get my meaning. (An excellent journalist - always on the ball!) I also somehow managed to miss Ray Dar Vees who sounded absolutely class on their my space but there's plenty more time to get to know them in future.

Audio.Video.Disco have an strong background of gigs behind them, having played alongside Alphabeat at the Clapham Grand and headlining at the Astoria 2. They are unashamedly poppy, and "not afraid of writing catchy melodies". They're the sort of band that many journalists would turn their noses up at for not being cool enough. I think that they're an extremely marketable band with a tight sound. However, the music industry is saturated with bands with a similar sound so they would have to do something else to grab our attention.

But for the unsigned circuit they put on a damn good show. I loved their set (yes I was buzzing on a vodka induced high) and found it especially good music to bounce up and down to - always a good sign in my books! The rest of the audience were rather more restrained, athough I could tell they were enjoying the music. It was the time of night before people are loose enough to dance and there was a big gap in front of the stage that the audience were too tentative to enter.

Richard Berkshire's vocals are sweet - he's got good pitch and tone and there's a gorgeous clarity to his voice. The band make a great team and their song writing skills are excellent. I think there could be big things ahead if they just evolve that little bit further.

The Gentleman's Dub Club

The Gentleman's Dub Club are a band that I stumbled upon on the Saturday night of this year's Secret Garden Party. We were barreling around in our costumes, happily-go-lucky following the sounds towards different tents. We hadn't really planned our time so when we found ourselves in this particular tent we picked up on the air of anticipation and knew something good was about to happen.

The tent was absolutely packed and everyone was buzzing. Somehow we managed to get ourselves to the front of the crowd. Within a few minutes The Gentleman's Dub Club were introduced and a striking young man wearing a black vest and black cap took to the mic.

Dub isn't music I listen to on a regular basis but GDC's sound gripped me and I was powerless to resist their concoction of vocals, drums, trumpets and truly sensual sax. The crowd were going mental, all swept away on the same euphoric high. Their performance was life-affirming and none of us wanted it to end. Really I would say you would have to be there to know what I'm talking about but if you listen to their my space page you will get some idea of how powerful and original their sound is.

Tracks like No Misery and EST somehow seem to capture the way the world works. Sometimes GDC's message is political and in other tracks the lyrics can be more introverted. The nine piece band make enough volume for even the hungriest listener. Their style is an original blend of ska, reggae and dub. The front man, known simply as Jila, is prodigiously talented. GDC are actually signed with Ranking Records and have an EP out called Member's Only.

Their next London gig is on Friday 28 August at the Rhythm Factory and I will be there with bells on.

Blabbermouth: a total NUT

Blabbermouth is by no means your average folky singer-songwriter type. My sister, Ali and I, came across him at a gig where we had gone to see Tim Kay. We loved Kay's uplifting, My World, track that had been used on one of Jamie Oliver's TV cookery programmes and had made contact with him through Facebook.

Tim Kay was alright but nothing to write home about and we haven't been to watch him since, although have occasionally indulged in playing his poppy tune. Blabbermouth, however, was a true spectacle who we've developed a bit of a friendship with.

Blabsy is a very troubled, dark and tormented man but he is also dryly funny and his performances are punctuated with impromptu black comedy as he mercilessly heckles his audience. It's obvious the guy has chronic self-esteem issues and if a member of the audience gets up to leave he savagely attacks them. A bundle of laughs you're thinking. I know he doesn't sound like a palatable prospect for a gig but somehow Blabsy has crept into our hearts and Ali and I accept him for the flawed, knarled little package he is.

He's a great songwriter and lyricist (although quite a few of his tracks are unhealthily preoccupied with his own death). He's got a good eye for the depressing details of modern life. Yet, despite all this, a couple of his songs, like My Dancing Heart cut through the prozac saturated tone and unexpectedly lift the listener up. Ali and I have been known to do some backing vocals for Blabsy - always a good excuse to shake things up with a few harmonies.

Verdict: a unique and shadowy little folk-puppet man, sitting on his stool intermittently spitting insults and singing charming little ditties.

Foreward

To me music is life. Slowly and steadily I have been gaining more and more momentum in my passion for music until this summer I've reached a sort of fever pitch. I'm at a gig every week, sometimes several a week. I thought to myself why don't I start reviewing these gigs and providing a blog that reflects what the musicians on the unsigned circuit are doing?

I'm not officially a music journalist although my day job is as a writer and deputy editor on a yachting magazine. I'd love to write more about music although I appreciate that it is extremely difficult - you have to really know your shit and write in an imaginative and lyrical way. It's totally different to the kind of journalism I'm used to so the blog will be a way to explore this new style of word-smithery.

Having spoken to some friends who's bands are really taking off several of them told me they were none too keen on mainstream music journalism. They explained that many of these journalists are failed and embittered musicians dishing out savage criticism from ivory towers. They also mentioned that these journalists often think as a herd unwilling to accept a band that might be considered uncool.

I am not a failed musician although I do have a pretty good musical ear (god bless that middle class upbringing with the forced upon violin and piano lessons). I've also been known to belt out a few numbers in various musicals although I'm pretty loathe to admit this now. So I do have some concept of music with which to guide me on my new mission.

I want to let all the musicians I review know that whatever I may write about you I admire you immensely and wish I had the courage to perform like you do; with guts, determination and brio. I know you're all working so hard and it seems spectacularly unfair that there just aren't enough record deals to go around. This blog is dedicated to all of you. You rock my world.

Jude Benning, August 2009