gin soaked girl

This blog is about me and my adventures in the land of gin. Yes, gin is a country and I've visited it often. In fact I've conducted a passionate love affair with the place. Bought the t-shirt and definitely been to the duty-free. Along the way, I've been to a few gigs and undergone a bit of a personal renaissance. This blog celebrates the art of growing old disgracefully. Roll up. Roll up. Come join the fayre!

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

I'm converted!

The Rakes at the Islington Bar Academy, 27th June 2006

Ok, so I've caught on at last. I've signed up, bought the t-shirt. Got the angular, spasm-inducing virus that has swept the nation, or at least the Spitalfields-liking, indie-orientated London crowd. I'm liking the Rakes now! Listening to cd and everything. Maybe it's because I was at a manageable, FREE, gig, not unduly bothered by inconsiderate oversized behemoths, not squashed and squeezed like a mouldy banana, or annoyed by throngs of polka-doted teens, AND I was drinking an inadvisable amount of Strongbow and wearing my new converse trainers, but I just got the whole vibe this time around. During previous encounters I've always felt a bit uncomfortable and slightly underwhelmed, but this time the intimacy of the surroundings made me feel just about as excited as I'll ever be at a Rakes gig, I predict. The presence of vodkaslut and cidertramp was also a bonus (God bless all drinking buddies). Converse, who organised the free event, should also be heartly congratulated. And, no, this is not a 'damn with faint praise' type review; I'm really warming to that bloke called Alan and his cohorts.

God bless all gangly-bodied, arm-waving, white-shirted, floppy-haired indie boys with a yearning for the days of scooter bikes, leather jackets and fistfights at seaside resorts. When I watch them I feel a bit of a yearning myself, of a type I'll keep to myself though if you don't mind. They seem old-fashioned somehow; I imagine them spending evenings in grotty pubs playing darts and talking about their 'dollybirds'. Oh and having wrestling matches at summer fayres on Clapham Common and winning a smoked ham as a reward.

Indie boys are good.
GSG.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

No, it's not a joke!

The Wireless Festival, 21 June 2006

Watching self-declared 'gypsy punks' Gogol Bordello at the Wireless Festival this year made me think all sorts of strange things:

1. Maybe I should stop straightening my hair, and let it cascade unfettered, like someone half my age
2. Maybe I should give up my soul-defacing job in the City and go live in a caravan, embrace life on the road, learn to play the fiddle
4. Maybe I should start wearing bells around my ankle
5. At the very least I should wear purple more, and velvet waistcoats, with covered buttons
6. And consider dating men with artistically coiffered hair and indecipherable East European accents (where I should find these men, I have no idea, there must be a special club or something)

Yes, that would be fun.

As for the rest of the festival this year, and I hesitate to say this as it featured cute and sexy bands like Dirty Pretty Things (working the black look so so well), The Raconteurs, and The Strokes (love that Casablancas guy), but it was rather lacklustre. Julian Casablancas did his best to reach out to the crowd during their headlining set, ‘because this stage is just too far away’ but the sound was all wrong or something, I’m not sure exactly what. The Pimms bus (yes, bus) was chic and visually right up my street (the product they were selling won multiple brownie points too), and I liked the sound sticks or whatever they were meant to be (but not the strange men on stilts, there's something decidedly creepy about that), but I really didn’t get to the whole ‘let loose and forgot what country you come from’ state of mind which has featured in previous jaunts to places of iniquity such as the Reading festival (2004-05). I know I’m getting older and I really shouldn’t expect this any more, but you can’t help remembering…

Oh, and lets make it clear, I do love the Strokes. Did I say that? But not the Pigeon Detectives. They so need an identity check. Are we Hot Hot Heat? or the Kooks? Will someone tell us who we are? It's always a bad sign when you leave the tent and straightaway can't remember a single song. GSG.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Up and strumming

Larrikin Love at Kings College, 7th June 2006

Folk, punk, ska, reggae, fiddly-pop a la Dexys Midnight Runners circa 1982- exactly how many cultural influences do these guys need? Luckily for us the different rhythems blend together effortlessly tonight at the kiddie-jungle that is the Kings College (four flights up and no lift! GSG got plenty of impromptu exercise on her mission to sample the musical delights of the Larrikin Love universe, oh yes). The result is a seductive package; rich in content and surprisingly well-developed in style. The toe-tapping calypso-fusion is irresistible, infectious and incendiary, and the members of the band are all great, charismatic performers. Lead singer, Edward Larrikin is a particularly crowd-pleasing boy-genius and the supporting performers (tonight a trombonist and girlie guest singer) add to the feeling of spontaneity, generosity, and inclusiveness. All hail the Larrikins! And Kooks, take note- this is what a real up and coming band with potential (long-lasting not transitory) looks like. GSG.
 

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