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.

Friends and brains

There was a person under a train at Finsbury Park to add to the standard chaos caused by the Jubilee disruption. I decided that my Sunday laziness was going to far so with great effort I decided that it was about to make something productive and get myself out there. After three buses refusing to stops at my home stop for som unknown reason (I had a shower and I did not have a black eye), I took the first but to King's Cross and walk my way to Euston from there.

Wellcome Gallery, one of those ever-free places which were missing from my list. What made me go is a big banner I found on the tube saying 'Brains' in capital letters.

As the brief announced, the exhibition was not trying to explain the human brain but to explore what us humans have done to it in terms of medical intervention. A member of th staff at the entrance of the room announced the sensitive content of it and made me aware of in case of feeling dizzy, I should no doubt contact any of them for help. Such harsh warning before entering the exhibition made me doubt one second of my threshold of then amount of gross-ness I could copy with. In spite of all, I composed myself and went inside.

Brains turned out to be a small but well layed out exhibition perfect for us curious and not very fussed about medical stuff. Preserved brains (some call it pickled), first medical approaches for surgical intervention or diagnosis, a wide display of scary skull slicing instruments that looked more from a carpenter (or pizza slicer) more than for surgeons and all sorts of books and studies from the earliest findings in the subject.

A 24 minute footage of some brain intervention with local anesthesy that involved lots of thingies similar to scissors to hold the scalp appart (excuse my lack of medical knowledge, I'm an engineer) made me understand the reason of the staff warning at th door of possible dizziness. But what really caught me mind was a 'pickled' brain from a victim of a head shot, in which it was possible to see the trayectory of th bullet and the consequent damage (although the bullet display was not the original).

Pickle. Indeed

After replicas of th nervous system and observation of drawings and photographs from the beginning of th XX century of heads of dead persons showing their perfectly groomed moustaches so traditional from the era, I completed the exhibition with a littl bit more knowledge about our body and headed to my next stop of th day.

Premonitory findings

Euston Square, not part of my usual station, so plus one for my tube station personal collection, I took circle Lin that was, believe it or not, WORKING!!, and arrived at Liverpool Street. Spitalfields market was specially festive in spit of the stalls not working today. The Truman Brewery in the corner plus the famous fish and chips shop Poppies was boiling with the crowd drinking outside, wearing all sorts of flags and golden jewelled crowns. Jubilee indeed.

Crowd surfing but walking, I made my way to Rough Trade East to check what was in store and hang around a bit. Looking at the entrance banner I discovered that a New Yorker band that i have been following for a few months was there launching their debut album and performing in about half an hour.

Friends they are called. I happened to see them in winter at the Lexington on their first in gig in the British capital so this felt like a reunion with your school friends. While browsing through books and new releases, and by the way, unconsciously playing to recognise as much bands as possible, the drummer from the band started the sound check, so I left what I was doing and positioned myself at them back of the shop. Little by little, the members of the band showed up to double check their running and the feedback from the speakers, and gathered in the far corner to wait until the stage time and to Samantha Urbani to show up.

Compared to last february Nikki was looking surprisingly scruffy, let's say because the band played at Field Day two night before and there were still some effects. Matthew was still wearing his favourite denim jacket but had changed his shirt. Lesley is still dead serious on the set and kind of worries me. Oliver the drummer, the perpetual happy guy that makes you want to hang out with him and at 17:00 finally Samantha showed up. Her voice was recovered compared to the winter gig and she showed even more enthusiasm, after almost half a year of gig experience.

There were Friends, putting themselves out there, playing a full set for their album launch and doing their best. Samantha's sassy-ness since second one, and repeatedly jumped off the stage to dance with the crowd as she liked doing.

Probably due to the very fun and cheeky performance of the band, and Samantha's explanation of hidden third image on the band's album cover, as gig was finished, the public run to the shelves to get a copy of their debut album Manifest! without hesitation.

By the way, Matthew was playing the triangle. I was seriously impressed. You got to love those triangle players. For real.

They should have played 'Va Fan Gör Du', but still, they were good.

To finish the day, I must openly admit that I have reconciled with Boxpark, as I mysteriously have ended up here without planning it too many times already this month.

One cup of coffee, a mint tea, a peach muffin' and some italians besides me mesmerised about the china of their cups after, here at Foxcroft & Ginger, while listening to Angus & Julia Stone version of 'You're th one that I want', I close the day.

Still there is sunshine. Smells like barbecue and it has rained for just a couple of minutes today.

Let's see how I return home now. That will be another story.

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.