Wannabe indie?

Tonight two fairly newish bands take to the stage at the womb-like Metro in an attempt to pierce the paper thin wall that separates the confirmed no-hopers from the wannabe, upwardly-mobile, ‘almost there now’, middle-rank arsenal of trendier, zeitgeisty, Lauren Laverne-loving types.

First up is Their Hearts Were Full of Spring, with violets, hyacinths, hollyhocks, bluebells and all that lachrymose/macabre, Nick Cave/Adams Family Values inspired imagery liberally sprinkled around the stage (microphones with floral attachments, it’s like SO Victorian melodrama meets Tim Burton).

The guys have come on leaps and bounds in recent times, especially since I last saw them at the Betsy Trotwood under the moniker The Bleeding Hearts, and they’ve definitely made acres of progress since their Boy Wonder incarnation. Lead singer (and aspiring cult leader) Markus is actually showing signs of amiablity and verbosity this evening. Whatever next? Audience participation? A group hug? You never know.

So on to the Bib, and something entirely different. In fact, the early Paul Smith (accountant chic) lead singer, and his Kill Bill/Yoko Ono sidekick for the night, are definitely several degrees of separation from the aforementioned melancholic tribe. The band of misfits are fun to watch and their repertoire has some stomping good toons in it, including Jobs online and other observational oddities about contemporary city life.

All together a fun night was had by all. I haven’t laughed so much for ages (in a good way). GSG.

Christmas 2006- tales of exhileration and amusement

So my father’s finally got the message and decided to buy me a ‘little extra’ present this year, i.e. a wee bottle of Gordon’s gin, to comfort me during the long winter nights. Hurrah, my parent’s had a revelation. Yes, I am a grown-up. It’s official, bless him.

So what else has been happening? Well there’s been mulled wine drinking (of course), outdoor ice skating of the wobbly but not humiliating variety at the Natural History Museum (I always seem to stay at the same level, never getting better, never getting worse, but then I do only go once a year), plus work-type guzzling and gorging (including a seventies night where the haute de cuisine was spam fritters and black forest gateau), then there was the piece de resistance- the pre-Christmas slide-athon curtesy of the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern (slides are now ART, how great is that?).

My newbie friend, Guinessgal and I had a whale of a time what with the whole slippy-slidy retro experience. You can really let yourself go and take a trip back to your (in my case) far distant youth- plummeting headlong through the futuristic silver tubes that look like something out of seventies sci-fi fantasy Logan's Run or Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. In fact it’s impossible to go away without a smile on your face (GSG actually went a bit further and wanted to shout 'again, again, again' telly-tubby style). As the sign in the hall says ' The slides are fast and the experience is physical'. Yes, it's (literally) a blast.

NB. If you’re planning to go on the Herculean level 5 slide, then go straight up at your allotted time and what ever happens, DO NOT LOOK DOWN, as there’s a fair bit of screaming and flailing of limbs that goes on, from young and old alike (GSG and Guinessgal went on the 3rd floor slide, not from any lack of guts and gaul however, merely because it was difficult to get tickets when we arrived at 3.00 in the afternoon- getting scared out of your wits is quite popular it seems).