So far, so good

I told R to meet me at 8pm sharp at the given address last night near Hampstead. 'It is not a venue' I warned him. I did not really want to reveal much of what was going to happen so far away from home. Since I moved to Brixton, to the South, it feels like an adventure to actually travel for something further than Regent's Park , but I knew this occasion was worth the trip.

The details about the whole event were really vague, which made it even more mysterious and magical. Again, as usual, I got to know about the date on Twitter, whilst following one of the participating bands, so I blindly investigated further about how to assist.

I was running a bit late, so my last text read something like: 'Please, get some drinks and meet me at the address if you get bored. It is Joe's house and organised by Meike. Not my friends', which probably made R more disconcerted. But I finally arrived before the 8pm time stated on the last info email, received the day before with some little instructions, and what is more important: the address. We walked through the hilly and leafy streets of Hampstead Heath station surroundings until we reached the address.

It literally felt just like a friend's house you are invited to, except from (I presume) Meike at the door with a clipboard with the guest list, but yeah, we all brought our own (booze, no food allowed, although I witnessed a quite sofisticated Pimm's on the spot with pre-cut fruit in fancy plastic cups) and us, the guests, we found our way through the door and towards the garden, leaving the stage, the living room to the left, accommodate ourselves in the backyard while the event was being prepared. It really felt like a friend's party, one of those you assist as a plus one and you don't know anybody, but you can tell that everybody was in a good mood and quite expectant of what they, us, were going to experience.

The house was lovely and so were the owners, mingling around to make sure everybody was feeling comfortable and enjoying. The fact that the garden faced the Heath and the two cats were wandering around jumping the fences made you think that you were not in London, but more in a country house somewhere far away from the big smoke. The impressive thing is that in spite of being a stranger's house full of random people, everybody was civilised and respectful with the house, for a change, which felt admirable.

I cannot remember the name of the Master of Ceremonies. I just remember that he wore glasses, a hat and that he was the perfect person to run the night and present the acts. He gave us a shout to finally congregate in the living room, either inside in the rug or outside near the conservatory al fresco. He explained what this was: A SoFar Sounds(@Sofarsounds) evening. and he, very enthusiastically explained how it worked, the beauty about its intimate character, and finally, he introduced the first act.

First act: Jono McCleery (@JonoMcCleery), song writer playing acoustic guitar accompanied by 2 other guys guys, helping him with the percussion,  a laptop/synth and acoustic bass. Beautiful voice and the perfect start for the evening.

The second one was the most unexpected one: The Boxettes (@theBoxettes) was a group of 5 girls that didn't require any sound check or gear van because their only instruments were their voices. Their only aid was an old school diapason, so Beat-boxing and harmonising, they managed to sing 3 brilliant R&B songs sounding as complex and full as playing Justin Timberlake (ok, maybe this is not the best example) at full blast on your stereo. It was just impressive to listen to all those sounds coming from their voices. They were having a great time and so were we.

After a short break to rearrange the instruments for a final act, we took the opportunity to actually get ourselves inside, as the sun had disappeared and the living room had a few spare gaps left to sit. Again, just like your mate's party, sitting in the rug just felt comfortable, cosy and intimate, perfect for the third act.

Poet Matthew Cuban (@MatthewCuban), an artist from Jacksonville, Florida, master of the spoken word and apparently usual act of the SoFar acts all around the globe: from Tasmania to London and currently residing in Leeds. I was not expecting a poetry act, but Matthew was just impressive. A very cheerful guy, incredibly expressive and engaging and really powerful message. Truly enjoyable.

Finally the fourth act was the reason for me to apply to this specific session: Shields (@BehindShields), a 5-member electro-pop band from Newcastle, which I had seen live before at the Shackewell Arms this last winter and did not disappoint at all. Band who supported Everything Everything in Cambridge the previous night and still, they were quite overwhelmed by the talent of the previous acts of the night. This time, with a stage smaller than the narrow Shacklewell Arms, they still managed to get a drum, three acoustic guitars, a bass, a keyboard and their fantastic colour light props. I was looking forward to see them unplugged, without amps, and obviously, they didn't disappoint. 4 tracks in total, including their famous (and brilliant) Mezzanine, a new piece from their new album (work in progress at the moment), well supported by 'uuuuuhs' from the crowd and the night ended with Silhouette and endless clapping (I was really looking forward to their cover of SBTRKT's Pharaohs, but didn't happen). And speaking of crowds, these northern guys are famous for sharing their drinks during their performances but in this occasion, a member of the crowd (@ImoWatson512) gifted them with 'Special Brew'.

At that was it, 10:30pm and time to wrap up. It kind of left us wanting more but better keep it as it is, as it was: 4 incredibly talented acts playing low-key in somebody's living room. All around the world. That is SoFar.

And I think it is a brilliant idea.

I wish I had a bigger living room, but that's another story.

It's a wrap

I went back home from Christmas, like everybody does. Back home with mom and dad, back home with the family and the usual quarterly meeting with what used to be you old room. Quarterly meeting with what used to be your old computer and 6-hour train ride to the North to visit the relatives and time enough for self-reflecting.

It is past 21-12-2012 and we haven't died. This was a far bigger hoax than the stupid year 2K computer crash that managed to sell all sort of fixing crap to avoid a stupid figure disaster that some PhD IT engineer apparently didn't thought about back in the early days.

All and all 2012 has been a pretty good year. In fact, now aged 26, I am enjoying things, little things, even more than before. Seems like this great City has caught me right at the peak of my cultural development, so I have enjoyed every single minute of it.

2012 packed the greatest of celebrations and all that involves them: Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Olympic Games. Transport for London suffered a major facelift and now is looking better than Mel C post Spice Girls Era. Summer was surprisingly calm in the centre and London was dressed to impress all year long (let's not count Bishopsgate Road, near Dirty Dicks: this bad boy cannot be kept clean, not even putting a bin every foot).

East London has been crowned the official trendsetter and people is not afraid of popping around deep Hackney on the weekends anymore. In fact, hipster media says that you should be seen in postcodes around EC1 and E19, while WC1 to W1 are so 2010... Street Feasts conquered the hearts of us skint Londoners, which now we have forgotten about eating a meal sitting down. A fiver per item, and sitting on the floor of a derelict warehouse is what you have been supposed to be doing this last summer, while testing the new lager or real ale from the microbrewery round the corner. The 'shabby chic' has displaced the Swedish angular white furniture. This year's all new places required a menu written in white chalk in a blackboard, mismatched school chairs, exposed wooden floors and old mattresses as up-cycled lamps.

People in 2012 didn't want to eat small portions in a massive designer plate anymore. People pilgrimed around the city in search of the latest pop-up food joint to eat in cardboard boxes with their fingers. Because just in case you didn't noticed, hot dogs are not in anymore (except Big Apple Hot Dogs or Bubbledogs): the new fast meaty solution is the burrito in all shapes and forms. High end fast food.

But I lied when I said that E* postcodes were the only ones allowed this year. In fact, the dirty South is the alternative for the Dalston Superstars. SW2 is getting strength, and I could really support the fact since I moved to Brickstance (the stone of Brixi, a saxon Lord). I can support this affirmation as i brought with me on my train 4 London-related magazines which, as the season demands, wrap up the year, and all 4 of them affirm that the best Burger in town can be found In the upcoming Brixton Village, really, at Honest Burgers. Really good burgers are now the new fish and chips. We don't want more beans on toast. Because last year, the best burger was crowned up on the East, on a shy school yard, at the Netil Market in London Fields, off a caravan with old school speakers, but people thought it was a bit too much to pay 8 quid to eat the burger under the rain, Lucky Chip.

Before somebody asks, NO, I haven't tried those famous burgers, but I have had dinner in nearby places around the market and both for quality and price, I have reassured myself in the fact that I will never ever set a foot in McDonalds or similar again, as Prima Donna served me a burger in Ciabatta Bread of the size of my head for less than a Whopper menu. However, confessing myself as guilty as all of yours, I will admit breaking the rule when very late at night, after a big night out, the local chippie that offers chips and chicken for 2 quid is an effective reliever and needed cure for the next day hangover.

I must admit that now matter how hip people want to eat, they now and then want to it their buttocks in any sort of horizontal surface for a while. The same way that in spite of trendy burritos and Mussels and chips pop-up, people still adore the good old pizza, and for me there are two choices: South for Winter and East for Summer, and famous reviewers agree. I almost felt down off my communal wooden bench at Franco Manca at the Village but Hackney Wick rocked my socks after a very gloomy day, the sun finally set and showed my path to Hackney Wick and something divine served me Potato and Sage pizza at The Crate that made me forget about the Olympics and my wet socks.

And people back home keep telling me how bad food this in this great City, and I chuckle inside thinking: oh, you have now idea, and it is better it stays that way. People keep telling me about surviving the bad weather, which fair enough, has been a nightmare this last summer, but as cure for it, somebody decided to chuck tons of fine sand on top of the Roundhouse and named it the Camden Beach.

If still not enough, a group of people decided also to start a market down the canal and THAT was absolutely beautiful. Floating market: brilliant. 

I have eaten a two course dinner at a Supermarket and I have discovered secret roof terraces in Dalston

But yeah, living aside Street Food, Food Markets and pop-up shops, in spite of me being fully employed and spending horrendous amounts of time commuting, I managed to see probably all the bands I wanted in the best little venues of London, managed to go to crazy corners of the city: end of tube lines or brand new postcodes to discover derelict bunkers or party in potential festive venues that now have closes for stupid organisation and lack of safety.

Bands, lots of bands: Sleigh Bells, Spiritualized, The Raveonettes, Glasvegas, The Cribs, DZ Deathrays, Dark Horses, Two Wounded Birds, Mika (!!!), The Crookes, Hanni El Khatib, Jack White, Electric Guest, Crocodiles, The Pukes, The Futureheads, The Pukes, The Buzzcocks, La Femme, Dirty Beaches, Deap Vally, Django Django... Even one of the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, with Imogen Heap included.

And I feel like awarding the venues: The Lexington for value/money and cool for having two floors (but he quiz night sucks), Roundhouse best layout, Shacklewell Arms for being awkward to get there, Birthdays for opening way before Rita's was built, Electric Ballroom for its quirkiness, Heaven for the stinkiest (piss and beer), The Union Chapel for being the most beautiful venue in London, The Old Blue Last for its convenient location and dead chip gigs, Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen is alright, intimate, Koko never fails but is way too red, Ally Pally for being ridiculously big (and sort of tropical) and Shoreditch Park (interesting story behind it) for being a cool park to host a city festival.

And is not all about music: I have managed to interact with a lot of my favourit artists working around the city and has left me thirsty for more. The annual meeting at White Cross Street Party introduced me to Milo Tchais and Stephen Ball, Rich Mix gave me a massive showcase of Cityzenkane, Tony's gallery showed me that a bicycle rode by Christian Grillitsch can turn out into pretty interesting art pieces, and the list just goes on and on.

Aw, good times.

Happy New Year 2013.

Definitely more stories.

Camden Crawl 2012

Sunday at the Camden Crawl. Only a 10 minutes bus ride from home commuting wise and pretty much hassle free.

The day started at the Press Room at Camden's Holiday Inn, where we got ourselves geared up for the day.

James Allan from Glasvegas happened to be around for a bit. All dress in black in his also black leather jacket. With a (yes, again) black guitar (like mine!) probably 20 times more expensive than mine, decided to grab a chair, accompanied by his cousin Rab sat down and played a couple of tunes in acoustic. Nice start. Needless to say, Rab was also wearing black. I liked James sunnies, now that I remembered.

With Regent's canal at the back, the press room was warming up for the last night of the Festival.

By 5 or 6 pm the bands were hungrily waiting at The Diner's door, queueing to grab a bite before the event. We made it on time to the restaurant avoiding all queues. Perfect timing. 

For you information, this was the set menu for lunch from the winners, I mean, the bands, and the roadies. True story.

Due to our lack of knowledge about most of the bands listed on the line up, we decided to gamble and play by venues. We had the risk of going for the worse bands, but at least we could cross out from our personal list venues that we hadn't been on before. We decided on the starting point to be The Jazz Cafe, so we crawled into the rest of the venues on the way to the Lock Market, in a very optimised number of them optimising the number of venues per hour.

Binary. When we arrived it had already started. I liked the first tune that I heard but the rest resulted a bit much for me though. They had energy, must admit. The crowd was not helping much either, we were probably 20-25 in the floor. Post-punk stuff.

As it finished, the lead singer, angrily threw away the microphone, not sure if he was making a statement, he was clumsy or he just fancied doing so. Anyways, after Binary, we headed to the Electric Ballroom, in which I had the opportunity to see a couple of months ago Sleigh Bells. I visited the Ballroom a couple of hours before for undisclosed reasons. Quite funny actually. 

On the advertising wall next to Camden Road I found this VERY disturbing ad to prevent hearing loss with loud music.

Yes. It was a mega big nail.

Ghetts. When we arrived at the EB, there were just two songs left. A very overpowered bass and speakers left us a bit like the ad above but still, we did enjoyed the performance. Chaps from East London apparently. Not my immediate type of thing but made us dance.

After chatting in the Press Room with some people and realising about the hype from the fact that Supergrass' Gaz Coombes was playing at The Cuban and how tiny was the venue, we decided not to care much about the gig but to go to the venue itself just for the sake of our curiosity. While having the conversation, I wasn't really realising who were we talking about until it suddenly hit me. Funny was that I am pretty sure that I bumped into Gaz him self minutes before, on my way back from the Barfly and thought: 'isn't this guy the chap from Supergrass?'. Turns out yes, he was.

Random Impulse. Funny thing is that before entering the venue, our friend C hinted us with the permanent 'sick' smell that The Cuban has at all times. It certainly remained yesterday. It was indeed a very small venue, and again, we played for the location more than for the band. Turned out to be quite a good gamble. A very unusual lineup of musicians turned up on the stage of the cuban themed pub. Main singer Jover Walker, which I just read to be named the Black Ed Sheeran (!!!) from North London. A very energetic bloke surrounded by the rest of the band to play their 'Britraprocker' music show (yes, first time I heard this word myself, but it is the right denomination according to The Guardian).

Mr Walker himself made all introductions accompanied at all times by his classical black Fender Stratocaster. On this left, 'Baby Face', that in other context would look like the typical 20 year-old IT friend that everybody has, but in this case, he was kitted up with an electric guitar too and which by they way, was not a bad guitarist at all. At the back of Walker, 'Delicious Bob', a funny action guy in the drums and finally 'Uni', the newbie of the band and certainly the youngest (and I wouldn't be surprised if somebody asked for his ID before being allowed into the venue). The first thing that really shocked me was the size of the 6-string bass that 'Uni' was carrying, that apparently was an *googles it* Ibañez SR506. The poor thing looked pretty shy on stage in spite of the size of his instrument (sorry for the very obvious pun). But certainly, the very disturbing thing was imagining the story behind that mix'n'matched lineup, how it turned out to be together.

Jover made his homework quite well encouraging all of us in the crowd, unaware of their existence a few minutes ago, to engage with their songs and he certainly achieved it. 'Come on, some sing along with me guys. It's easy, just LALALALALA with me and you guys can pretend you heard the song before'. The lyrics talked about everyday issues 'like having no money and going overdraft' and all sorts, with melodies very clearly influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, but nevertheless, they all made us had a really good time. 

Yeah, some random and not necessarily exciting Street Art that I found on the way to the venues. 

Look! Naughty Queeny!!

Two Wounded Birds. Under my preferred list, I had jotted down the presence of 'Angry Birds' (nickname given by my friend C), in one of the probably dodgiest venues of the night, the Dingwalls. As it happens when booze is involved in any activity, a group of 18 year-old spent the whole gig dancing inebriatedly right in front of the band, putting them and the rest of the crowd in not a very good mood. 'Marry me Johnny (the main singer)' were screaming constantly. Nevertheless, their american vintage shirts from the guys and the fog machine diverted our thoughts from the disturbing group of kins after all. I sort of felt bad for the band as they were not officially listed on the program and they were just announced on Twitter a couple of ours before the event. Despite of all disruptions, the show was pretty good and the played a bunch of what I suppose are going to be, the tracks of their new LP.

As C wanted desperately to see The Cribs, we ran downhill to Koko (well, we didn't run that much), to try to get in as soon as possible before all the crowds filled the venues. As I had suspected, I had the feeling that this year's CC2012 was not as crowded as the previous one (most probably because of the HORRIBLE WEATHER), so I knew we were not going to have any problem to get it. In fact, we could even get the chance to be there halfway through Glasvegas show (win! 2x1). It was certainly a big contrast, seeing them a couple of ours before sitting down with their acoustic guitars and a couple of ours after with their full lineup and their standing-up drummer girl. 

Once the Scottish had finished, we feared for our lifes for a couple of minutes as Koko was dangerously crowded close to the bar and the toilets, which by the way, everytime I see them, I think they used to be secret war tunnels or something like that. They are certainly narrow and confusing. After the masses cleared at some degree, we placed ourselves closer to the stage to have a better view.

And The Cribs started their show.

Just in case anybody had any doubt, they ARE from Wakefield.

Even though all the hype around them and the fact that they appear in every single issue of the NME, they couldn't beat my physical exhaustion. Taking on account that I had just slept 2 hours the day before because unfortunately I had my phone stolen, their 15-song show appeared to me painfully long. After 3 of the songs, I refused get showered by flying pints of beer and moved to the side to a covered place. The views were fantastic and I was almost witness of the potential death of a drunk woman certainly excited dancing amusingly exited from one of the balconies in front. Fortunately, the night turned out safe as the husband hopessly holding her by her belt for safety.

While hiding from the pushing crowd and while easing my pain from my sore neck, I found out a furry creature on the corner of the little cave. After minutes of paranoia, it turned out to be a very tacky handbag from the lady besides me.

After 5 more songs, I couldn't the energy of the band, but for some reason all the songs sounded the same to me. By the time they were playing the 13th song, non-stop between each, I decided that I had had enough, and headed home for a much needed rest.

It might be a fact that we didn't make the wisest choice of bands at the beginning of the day, or at least the most interesting, but it certainly turned out to be extremely funny.

I forgot to say that in our way back, that resulted not as short as the way in, we witnessed a non-programmed last gig in the bus itself, performed by a very stoned Rastafari. 

Oh, and I high-five-ed with a walking Banana.