Friday, June 30, 2006

suspenders are things they sell in victoria's secret

It’s a good thing I have an IQ of more than, say, 70. I mean, some less clever people might find having to relearn the English language a task. They might be constantly chided for asking if anyone wants to “go to the movies” or telling people their “cell phone number.” They might have people mocking them for their curious mid-Atlantic twang and pronounciation of certain words. And they certainly might be a little embarrassed if they asked a male assistant at TopShop where the “suspenders” were, when they actually meant “braces” [the things that hold your trousers up], and got a raised eyebrow in return.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

we. are. your friends.

A visit to Trash with Jackie Boom Boom and my sister was preceded by buying a four quid bottle of vodka in Holborn Sainsburys then sitting on a stoop and sharing the vodka three ways between us, into bottles of coke. A classy start to my first foray into the London scene…

Security seems much tighter than NY – my bag got searched and my hipflask confiscated [bastards!] – although I was allowed to pick it up at the end of the night. We headed downstairs to the bar. My sister’s first comment to me: “Oh my god, I’m so… Abercrombie & Fitch compared to everyone else!”

Bricolage played a set. My sister tried to con drinks out of people [surprisingly successfully, I might add…] Two different kids I started talking to also turned out to be Misshapes regulars. The place got so fucking smoky [a mixture of cigarettes and, apparently, a smoke machine. How 1990s of them.] you couldn’t see more than a foot in front of you at one point.

We left just before three, before the place shut. Jackie headed to the Camden-bound night bus with some kids while Fi and I wandered aimlessly around the West End, more or less heading for our night bus stop, but stopping for madam to get chips and pitta and talk to men in tuxedos. As we were waiting for the bus in Trafalgar Square [dawn just breaking, the first rays of daylight slowly climbing down Nelson’s Column] we ran into a guy we’d been talking to earlier. We ended up doing the music writer chat thing. He kept stealing Fi’s ketchup for his own chips and started singing the Simian vs Justice tune for us, until the N9 turned up.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

a wireless summer solstice

wireless festival



It's the longest day of the year and we're in Hyde Park for Wireless. The crowd: an assortment, some could have come straight from watching a game at the pub, others look as if they belong against the Misshapes wall. There's even a few who look like they've bunked off school to be there.

The Like play first, as we stroll in, mentally noting the location of the frozen margarita stand, and how the line for that is much less than that of the beer tent. Gogol Bordello, with Hutz wearing what appears to be a pair of Aston Villa soccer shorts over jeans, go down a storm, telling everyone to wear Purple. We head to the XFM tent to jump around to the Young Knives briefly before heading back to see Dirty Pretty Things. It seems DPT believe their own hype, and merely dial in a lacklustre performance. Iain Super-8s some of the Raconteurs, who do a little better than Barat et al in my opinion, but a lot of their set is taken up trying to get someone about fifteen feet ahead of us to put down their fucking red umbrella.

As the crowd breaks in between sets, we move forward to stake out a spot for Belle & Sebastian. Stuart Murdoch is still on my list of men-to-marry, but he sounds like he's losing his voice. When they disappear off stage, we scarper as fast as thousands of people crammed in front of the stage will let us, to find bathrooms and food. We go to the MySpace tent and groove to White Rose Movement, then head out to see the more-or-less headliners, The Strokes, play the final set.

By now it's pretty nippy, and we can't be bothered to head into the heaving mass of people so while James fetches us cups of tea, I sit down on a patch of grass way back, where, it turns out we have a perfect view of the screens, and if we stand up, a perfect view [albeit far back] of the stage. We sip our tea and try to warm up, and The Strokes get into their set. As people run past us to join the crush, it seems a fair few people have decided it's just as good at the back, and a small Strokes dance party is going on back there. Toe-tapping helps with the keeping warm, I discover.

Eventually, as The Strokes play the last song of their encore, we start sneaking off to the exits, hoping to beat the rush. When I get to the bus stop on Bayswater Road, however, it seems other people have done the same - and headed back a stop, resulting in full buses not stopping. I manage to squeeze on to the next 94 that turns up and am so tired I end up sitting on the stairs of the double decker, ears ringing, legs tired from standing and dancing, but glancing out the window I notice it's still not wholly dark, and the longest day of the year has given daylight a pretty good show.

The Strokes



[full set of photos]

Sunday, June 18, 2006

oh, blue states lose...

I think this might be one of my favourite Blue States Lose quotes ever:

"... the only thing you can do is consult the Idiot’s Guide to Being a Hipster, by Headband Guy. There it is right in Chapter 2, titled “Hipster Health Care: Sparks Tongue, Coke Nose and You” (it’s right after Chapter 1, which just has the sentence “Get a job at American Apparel” cut and pasted 5,000 times in a row)..."

I got a healthy dose of the AA employee 'tude in the Carnaby Street store the other day. I didn't realise it had travelled across the pond from NY.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

walk the south bank

So a last minute decision, and we headed to The Scoop over by Tower Bridge to go to the open air cinema to see Walk The Line [think Bryant Park movies by Tower Bridge]. It was a beautiful evening and while we waited for the drawbridge [I feel so medieval saying that!] to go down, we stood on the bridge looking down the river. When we got down to the ampitheatre, it was packed. The theatre bit itself had already been shut off, and people were sitting around all on the towpath. There was no way we would have seen shit. So we gave up and decided to wander down the south bank of the Thames.

I think it was something I needed to do, something to remind me just how great London can be. It was beautiful. We - that's me, my bowling-ball-bellied pregnant friend M, and Izzy who'd twisted her ankle earlier in the day - ended up walking all the way down to Hungerford Bridge, past Waterloo. We walked up the small lane next to Charing Cross at about 11pm, eating Twister ice lollies we'd just bought in Embankment tube station and guessing who of those walking past us were headed to Heaven.



london silhouettes

standing on the bridge

london

more london bridge

Friday, June 16, 2006

The Doctor Is In

Fuck it, if I really thought David Tennant was in there, I'd have braved the mosquitoes and gross smells to pull open the door.

Tardis

Thursday, June 15, 2006

2-0

After lunch at Wagamamas [mmmmm - hadn't been in about 15 months] with the lovely Emma, I headed back home to theoretically do some work. An hour later I woke up, disoriented, realised it's 4:30 so got my swerve on to Hammersmith, where I met M & S outside the Palais.

If you've grown up in West London, the Hammersmith Palais is kind of a rite of passage - fuck it, maybe it's one for those that've grown up in North, South and East London too, I have no idea. But it's one of those clubs that have been around forever. It's a little bit grubby now, it's gone through various ownerships and name changes, but of course has still always been known as the Palais, even when it was technically Po Na Na. It's now home to School Disco on a Saturday night - not a place I'd recommend.

For the England v. Trinidad & Tobago game on Thursday, they'd opened up the Palais to mailing list members. They had two big screens, table and chairs and so on. We walked in from a bright sunny afternoon and I was instantly blind it was so dark inside. We stumbled our way through to the main club area to see the two screens and a lot of people [and smoke. I always forget it's smoking in bars here until I'm actually in them. Drives me mad. The smoking ban is a good thing.] We made ourselves comfortable by one of the bars - the HD TV above the bar had a much better picture than the big ones - and watched the game. It was kind of a weird place to watch the game, but it did provide for a good atmosphere with that many people. And holy shit, when Crouch finally fucking scored in the 83rd minute, the place went craaaazy.

Monday, June 12, 2006

yo' mama

Did anyone else think the England game on Saturday was actually kind of rubbish? And did anyone else want to smack Paredes and/or the ref in the second half? Winning 1-0 by a Paraguayan own goal... not especially something to be proud of, boys.

In other news:

As my NY peeps throw the Sonic Youth release and after party, I finally manage to upload the SY interview from the current issue of Flux magazine.



And. Also. Whilst interweb-surfing this morning in an Editorial Assistant capacity, I came across this. I hope it brightens up your Mondays as much as it has mine...

Friday, June 09, 2006

find the silver lining in everything

Being unemployed [and broke] may suck, but it does mean that I get to enjoy British Summertime while it's here.




Monday, June 05, 2006

According to James:

Badgers are the most "Metal" of all woodland creatures.

"I mean, look at them, they're already in full KISS makeup. They just sit in their warrens talking about the new Slayer album."

Sunday, June 04, 2006

how funky is *your* - er, robot...

I'm *so over* the World Cup and it hasn't even started. It's inescapable. If it wasn't enough that bloody England flags are everywhere, it seems like every single advert - no matter what it's advertising - has a football theme.

Enough already. We get it. Big soccer tournament thing going on, starting verrrrry soon.

Saturday night our "let's go out" plans were scuppered by S. getting sunburnt [yes, you read that right. Sunburnt. In England. There is sun here... sometimes.] Instead we hung out and made cocktails, and I wore my sunglasses inside against the glare of her burn...

I was also schooled about the England team, and it turns out there is one good thing about it.

The RoboCrouch.

Peter Crouch, all six foot seven inches of football player. Who likes to do the Robot dance every time he scores.

Maybe if we win the Cup [hahahahaha] we can get him to do the Funky Chicken...

Friday, June 02, 2006

ride 'em cowboy

So I'm walking up Shepherd's Bush Road to the studios again when this guy steps out in front of me. Tight black trousers. *Amazing* bum. Seriously biteable. Then I look up and realise he's wearing a police riding helmet. And that the Police Horse truck is parked by the end of Hammersmith Police Station. And he's actually a mounted policeman.

Who knew Hammersmith Police force had such great butts among them??