Off the KERB

As usual, it all started with a tweet. I started following my favourite street food stalls on Twitter and one day they happen to be next door. Hashtag KERB Peckham, and I starred it and followed it up to hear more about it.

 

It all happened quite organically: some friends are in town, Friday night... shall we go to Frank's? Hang on, night out in Peckham?

But I could go back in time even further, when it all really started with a tweet more or less a year ago. It came from Le Cool in one of their summer newsletter. I went to read it, a year ago, back to when it was still sent in horizontal format. That's when I found out about Frank's. I was still living in North London, and venturing it down South to Peckham seamed rather outrageous, specially for a night out. But still, the concept of a terrace, a bar, in a multi-storey dodgy car park was really appealing (I have a thing for Brutalist Architecture), but the terrible Summer and other social events did not allow me to attend in 2012. I must admit though, that I manage to brave up and go to the Rye to visit the stunning Old Waiting Room, and tried to, quickly, find the location of Frank's for further reference, but I felt sort of unsafe for me that day.

So my third impromptu visit to Frank's happened this last Friday, in an attempt to get away from the weekday mayhem, for a well deserved drink after work and to have an excuse to be outdoors with my friends. Safe as usual, I took the bus 37 (bus 37 is the new 29) and got off at Peckham Rye high street to wait for my first friend to show up. My friend T took the wrong overground, so I had half an hour to spare in an unknown neighbourhood. This time I had things planned a lot better: as preventive measure, I decided to follow up my starred tweet and find out where the KERB was. Last Friday at Frank's involved an hour queue for not arriving at the right time, and this time, considering the amount of friends expected to come at different times, it was going to be quite a hard work logistics operation.

The entrance for the Kerb was opposite to the station, at The Bussey Building, opposite to Blenheim Grove, and trust me, rather hidden unless to follow the stream of hipsters towards it. A very narrow entrance lead to an also narrow corridor to a backyard. To my surprise, street artist Phlegm had been there before, at the entrances of the CLF Art Cafe (which hey happens to be the house of the famous Roof Top Cinema). But this time, I turned to the right, to proceed to be checked but quite big bouncers (really good guys though). Right next to the fenced entrance, I also saw ROA on the walls. Double divine signs to reassure me that I was going to the right place.

 

 

 

 

 

And there I was, at the KERB. After a few seconds I realised: No matter how much I love the Street Feast in Dalston... well, I have it right at my doorstep now.

It was just 6:45 and already look pretty exciting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then I saw some steps, and some signs signalling a Roof Top.

I followed them. A bit like Alice in Wonderland.

 

 

 

And whoa... second Roof Top of the evening and then it al clicked. It is exactly the same roof top I could see from Frank's (I know, it takes me a bit of effort to figure this kind of things out). So more music, more food stalls (Fleishmob... Schnitzel!) and more drinks.

 

 

And after exploring, I went back to Frank's. Did not queue. Gathered with my friends and moreover, I enjoyed the stunning views from the top. And back to the Kerb, this time for real, until it shut at 24h00. Nobody wanted such summer night to end.

 

 

 

 

But recapping to the important bit. What is Frank's?

Well, somebody a few years back, had an idea. Peckham, the new Dalston (?), unexplored territory until not long ago. It is located in a multi-storey car park next to the Pekchamplex. A place which you would not think to go in winter, for the fear of probably being stabbed or to interrupt a drug deal in one of its floors. But in summer it changes: you can feel the stream of hipsters going towards the stuck-in-the-past cinema. Just follow them to the right... am I going in the right direction? There is a yellow door. The pedestrian access to the Multi-storey park, and just because it is not dark you don't feel like you're going somewhere dangerous, but there is no way you can explain those directions to a friend that is coming 10 minutes after, because your friend would never think is going in the right direction.

So you open the yellow door and start going up the concrete stairs and think for a second that at some point in your life you had a car, but you know for sure that you did not park it there. Keep going up and you see what it looks like Malarky has drawn a cheeky monster on one of the windows. Keep going up and you exit the stairs.

Now you are in the parking space. Cars, a few cars...

Oh, a queue!

Ok. You feel reassured, you are not in the middle of a drug deal, but in the place to be down South on a Friday night, and hence the hour-long wait to get inside.

 

 

 

 

But what can I say? It is definitely worth it.

 

 

 

And mind you, the views are the most stunning views in London. Forget about The Shard.

 

 

 

 

 

And because it is a British Summer, the clouds come and threaten to ruin it all. But it doesn't matter.

 

 

But this is the great thing about the British Summer. You have to embrace the sun and the outdoors, because you certainly don't know how long will it last. In London, we don't have a beach, but we certainly have the vibes, and the places.

 

On the way back home, I got lectured about great pubs around the Rye and I can't wait to see them all, but that will be another story.

 

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.

Pillow Fight Day

I am back. We are all back. We have been hibernating from October. We have survived 6 months of freezing cold. I have lost the count of days of full snow, blizzards, painful rain, and donkey belly coloured skies. I had to tape our old sash windows with brown tape to avoid the draft while contemplating a mushroom grow on the outside frame.

Just like somebody could predict the future, some guys decided to organise a stress reliever event the first day of the real Spring in London. On the 7th of April, we saw the first real sun filled day of 2013, and stayed until the the sundown.

The lions of the square kept their cool, impassible of what was happening.The International Pillow Fight Day in Trafalgar Square was the perfect excuse to venture to the city centre, forget about the tourist and be surrounded by breath-compromising and non-painful war; with pillows.

 

 

Definitely not suitable for asthma or allergies sufferers, but highly stimulating for laughter and carefree sensations: London was smiling again.

And London will keep smiling, but that will be another story.