vendredi 16 Mai 2008, 5h48m
Much like the Camden Crawl, a night where many bands play in many locations with varying numbers of people wanting to go see them, these city sprawl festivals have a nasty habit of going one of two ways. Surprisingly good with new music discovered and a great atmosphere, or more effort than it's worth. Unfortunately, much like the one time I did go to the Camden Crawl, this ended up completely in the latter category.
I started the evening alone watching Collapsing Cities based on a tip off from a guy I used to live with being good friends with the singer's brother. The Vibe Bar's first floor had only a handful of people for such an early time of the evening, but still the band looked bashful as they played. Their disco beat driven pop-rock is hardly something new and any nuances in the limited toned vocal style were lost in the mix leaving the performance lacking much variation with nothing about them making you want to hear more… until the last song. The song stripped away the layers and stuck to a simple catchy melody which played to the band's strengths. This song alone was promising enough to make me want to check out their album when it gets released at least.
After they finished, I met up with others to watch The Displacements next door at 93 Feet East. Their cliched pub rock harks back to the dark days of britrock from the nineties. Whilst not being captivated by the band, it struck me as odd that all draughts were off except for Carling at such an early time on an inevitably busy evening. After two songs we'd heard enough and necked our pints before moving on.
After a bit of a walk we arrived at The Old Blue Last in order to see Times New Viking whose name seems to be doing the rounds in hype circles at the moment. The H word left me expecting to see the first queues of the night (scarred memories of The Camden Crawl come flooding back) but fortunately we manage to squeeze straight into the packed, inhumanly hot stage area. After a long time spent setting up the equipment, and throwing grapes at the audience, a bunch of tattooed guys eventually break into some sub Bleach-era Nirvana drone rock. Less than a song in and one of their guitar string breaks. Not being Brixton Academy, the guitarist has to restring before carrying on. Foolishly, we carry on waiting as the stringing and tuning takes quite some time, although the banter from the band was amusing enough to keep us kind of entertained as we waited. Once proceedings continued, we were treated to the same song again, or so it seemed, until the other guitarist breaks a string and the same frustrating started all over again. Eventually, it clicks that I'd misread the schedule and this isn't Times New Viking after all, but Shitting Fists. A communal "aaaaaah!" goes around and we watch the stage area empty out as we wait for the set to end. Eventually the band leave the stage and what we assume to be Times New Viking take to the stage to set up their equipment as we wait in anticipation. And then we wait some more. And then we start to feel faint from the temperature up there. And then the band look like they're rea-… and then we wait some more.
Half hour behind schedule the band finally start playing but despite only being a three piece, the sound is so imbalanced and excruciatingly loud that it's near impossible to pick out any melody from the sonic assault, even for a noise pop band. We stick it out for a little while before one of our party snaps and can take no more of this Old Blue Last claustrophobia. A touch frustrating as I was looking forward to seeing Jay Reatard, but under the circumstances, I hardly put up much of a fight and we move on.
We decide to head to St Leonard's Church to hopefully catch the end of Atlas Sound and then see The Duke Spirit. We miss Atlas Sound unfortunately, but manage to arrive in time for the start of The Duke Spirit's set. After walking in, we decide to have a wander around the church the naughty-schoolboy feeling that childhood conditioning causes kicks in as we witness these scenes of contrasted familiarities. Tattered ribbons hang from a cross behind the band and their sleazy rock sound suits the occasion perfectly. The focal point of the band is most certainly their singer as she writhes to the music, playing up to the mostly male audience as her sultry voice reverbs ridiculously around the church. We watch a few songs, but despite their obvious proficiency at what they do, their tired sound just isn't one that appeals to me, so we decide to move on to 93 Feet East to settle for the rest of the night.
We arrive in time to see the Archie Bronson Outfit setting up their equipment and get a good space towards the back of the room. As the band draw nearer to starting, more an more people pile through the entrance next to the stage and despite there being huge empty spaces further back, no-one dares traverse any further than a couple of metres from the door epicentre. A couple of songs into the band's set, and a £3.80 can of Becks from the bar (how unsurprising that ALL of the draught taps have now run out!) and nature calls. What followed was a twenty minute journey through a gaggle of angry people, trying to make space where there was none in order to get to the only entrance or exit from the main hall (the front door had been closed off as fire exit only, presumably to save on door staff). Despite empathising with their pain from the constant traffic of people coming and going from the venues, barging past to see another band elsewhere whilst you're actually trying to watch a band, it was no excuse for the elbows, shoves and shouts I received from those I patiently struggled to get past, apologising as I went. By the time I'd gotten back from the toilets, I noticed my bag which I had been carrying in my hands through the crowd had been opened, but thankfully I didn't notice anything missing despite my wallet sitting invitingly at the top. At this point we'd had enough and left the venue through the fire exit to go somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here.
Once outside, only two of us had the resolve to continue with the mood generally pretty low at this point, but determined not to end the night on a low, Danny & I decided to carry on. We settled on The Vibe Bar watching The Strange Death Of Liberal England I think, although I was past caring at this point. They played an enjoyable set, though I was hardly paying attention to the music at this point, as the frustrations of the evening outweighed the enthusiasm for the new music in front of me. After a short while, we cut our losses and began the long trek home. Much like this review, the memory of this evening won't be about the music, it'll be about the bullshit in between.