Friday, July 16, 2004
"I write the gossip column for 'What's On in Stoke Newington'. It's a big piece of paper with "Fuck All" written on it." - Alexei Sayle, a very long time ago.
Went up to Stokey with M and S yesterday, a call had gone out through the Barbelith network so we headed to The Eye, miles away from anywhere down Stoke Newington High Street, mingling with community hipsters. We lasted for one band, which luckily had one of our friends, A, in. I've got no idea what their name was, especially as they seemed to give themselves different names between songs. They were fairly ramshackle but then A admitted afterwards they'd done practically no rehearsal or played much before. The middle of their songs were fairly good as they built up a fairly good wall of sound/drone thing, but they had no feeling for each others rhythms so some of them slipped out of time with one another. There's a place for charming amateurishness in music but you need to be experienced to do it well. The next band sounded like someone pitchshifting a Radiophonics Workshop CD trying to find the frequencies that make humans loose control of their digestive organs, we retreated to the other side of the club, then found we appreciated it more by leaving and walking up the street to another pub where we could no longer hear it. We stayed there for a while, then went to catch the night bus to Old Street, from whence we made our various ways home.
Went up to Stokey with M and S yesterday, a call had gone out through the Barbelith network so we headed to The Eye, miles away from anywhere down Stoke Newington High Street, mingling with community hipsters. We lasted for one band, which luckily had one of our friends, A, in. I've got no idea what their name was, especially as they seemed to give themselves different names between songs. They were fairly ramshackle but then A admitted afterwards they'd done practically no rehearsal or played much before. The middle of their songs were fairly good as they built up a fairly good wall of sound/drone thing, but they had no feeling for each others rhythms so some of them slipped out of time with one another. There's a place for charming amateurishness in music but you need to be experienced to do it well. The next band sounded like someone pitchshifting a Radiophonics Workshop CD trying to find the frequencies that make humans loose control of their digestive organs, we retreated to the other side of the club, then found we appreciated it more by leaving and walking up the street to another pub where we could no longer hear it. We stayed there for a while, then went to catch the night bus to Old Street, from whence we made our various ways home.
