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Thursday 8th March 07
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Thursday 8th March 07
Letter from the Editor.Bonjour readers!
Spring is upon us and to mark the occasion we’ve added an extra page to our magazine, not only that but we’ve printed an extra 100 copies due to the overwhelming demand. We can barely contain our excitement. It’s been a hectic few weeks, which has included a tear-away trip to Liverpool to see the sights....well maybe just the bars, if you're ever there check out the Philharmonic, apparently the most ornate pub in the UK....and getting there...take the M6 Toll Road, it’s like being transported to a wonderful European motorway for an hour. Then we had the Lunar eclipse, unfortunately I was engulfed in Bear Grylls on C4, dropped into the Jungle with nothing but a knife, he survived, snakes, termites, rain, severe diar-rhoea and a 100 ft waterfall to make it out. Incredible!Now sit back on your tube, glance at the person opposite you and check for any amusing facial features, smirk, relax a bit and prepare yourself for a brand new illustrator cook-ing up a storm in the kitchen, a near perfect weekend and a bunch of Chelski sparrows tearing up the Kings Road.
-Ed.
these legs handed out your mag this week
Contents
Fancy That?
Sparrows and Tractors
Almost Perfect
7 Stops
Food
Cultural Comment
Bellowhead
Listen Up
Nico
However I have to admit that of late I have indulged in rather more ‘sweet treats’ and rather fewer gym sessions than usual and have thus developed what I believe is referred to as a ‘belly’: Yes, it is no longer a stomach but a bon-a-fide ‘belly’. In case you were wondering I am put-ting this lapse (in what is usually the most flawless of regimes) down to the February blues; the same excuse I am using for the fact that my ward-robe gained - 3 pairs of flat points, a pair of purple suede boots, 4 pairs of footless tights, a pair of grey pinstripe trousers, a wrap top, 3 dresses, 2 lingerie sets, 2 pairs of sun glasses and THE cutest summer Mac - in 3 days! Anyway, back to the main point which was that me and my belly had an Arabian night’s themed party to attend, and with no sign of a ‘get out of jail’ card I went on a mission into the deepest darkest depths of my wardrobe. I emerged looking like a proto-type for Bollywood Barbie; gen-erally more Delhi Days than Arabian nights, but regardless (rather proud of my efforts) I mounted my magic carpet (ok, dads Ford Focus) and off to the party I flew. Now, there are three things you can always guarantee with a fancy dress party (1)That everyone is dreading it as much as you are, (2)You will not be the only one
dressed like a prat; (3)The sheer embarrassment of the whole thing will force people to guzzle copious amounts of alcohol. And this night didn’t disappoint. On my arrival I was satisfied to see that apart from one Smart Alec who had hired an Aladdin’s costume (there’s always one) everyone else had experienced the same difficulty in interpreting the theme from the contents of their wardrobes as I had. There were pillow cases for Turbans, green wigs for...well I really couldn’t say, and trainers, lots of trainers, but none of this seemed to matter (even to the self appointed style Nazi herself)! There was just this general feeling that everyone (in their own way) had stepped out of their comfort zone, and this resulted in a sense of unity and camaraderie (I imagine somewhat similar to that experienced in London during the blitz – People under siege, hatred for a common enemy - in this case the party organizer). Anyway, after a few (too many) glasses of rum punch no one cared (or remembered) what they were wearing anymore, and far from the night of pain and humiliation I had envisaged the evening was actually rather pleasant; a bit of a laugh you might say. This all left me thinking that maybe the problem with society is the lack of fancy dress in every day life. Forget
language and religion, imagine the sense of unity you would feel with your fellow Londoners if everyone was dressed up as something beginning with the letter ‘F’ or their favourite cartoon character! As Mr B said; wouldn’t Fancy Dress Mondays be the perfect ‘Ying’ to Casual Fridays ‘Yang’? However, I thought why wait for this day to arrive? Why follow when you can blaze the trail for true freedom of expression; and what better place to start than on our tubes of black? So, after much nego-tiation with the editor (we argued, I threatened to leave, he broke down, said the publication would be nothing without me, blah blah blah...) I have secured a prize for our very own ‘Fancy Dress on the Northern line Competition’! Send in pictures of you, your friends, the dog next door...whoever, in fancy dress; the best offerings will be printed in the next issue, and the winner shall receive a grand prize! So what are you waiting for? Get out there, and GET FANCY!
This weekend I had to attend a fancy dress party. Needless to say I was dreading it... The theme was Arabian nights, which undernormal circumstances I would have relished(tassels, little tops and jingly hip decorations are right up my street).
miss im
peccable
So there I was, straying from the ol’ Ink Line, chasing a film of esoteric and euro vintage when I slipped for a while into the... but please allow me to swerve a little here to mourn the passing of the Ionic in Golders G, and the fact that so many of those outta-the-way flea pits have gone all multiplex, show-ing the same confexions as the Big Boys, offering less nutritious value than the Corn they flog in the foyer. Makes me weep. This perhaps is a cul de sac, not a swerve, so... There I was in Chelsea, at the eponymous Palais du Cinema, biding my time afore the arrival of my espoused and hankering for some digestible sustenance as I loitered at the entrance of the Wait-ing Rose. Recognising my scruffy unworthiness I retreated, but not before spying a struggling Momma with her chain of stacked trolleys. I say Momma because surely with that Alpine peak of food piled high she musta been feeding an army o’ young uns, but I qualify myself because she just as surely didn’t look as if she’d ever popped a cutie from her belly. Tottering in high heels, powdered, preened and pol-ished to within an inch of her self, she resembled nothing so much as an annorexic sparrow encumbered with an impossible array of wrig-gling worms. And then, afore I had time to do the physix, she literally
flew across the King’s Road before my eyes. Through buses, taxis and irate white van men to the safety of her monster black, tinted window Porsche 4X4 with shiny chrome and full fat wheels. “Some nest” I thought to myself as she fluttered at some hapless passing Yout’ who proceeded to transfer her bags from trolleys to Tractor. The Spar-row quickly struggled indelicately to the running boards, the glinting door handle and then the wheel and seat of her Himalayan Vehicle. The Yout’ had no sooner slammed the backdoor than she was off with a velocity and alacrity that surprised all who witnessed the event. Which truth be told was but myself and a bottle wielding gent of the Street. He burped and I tried to whistle. He turned to find another absurdity to amuse himself and insodoing his gambling rag fell from a pocket. I thought of calling him back but my eyes were trapped by a headline so brazen as to be impassable. The main pic was of some Nag and Jockey in full racing colours. The banner above screamed at me “TEMPTED BY LUCIFER?” and I was caught. Had I just fallen foul of that most insidious temptation? That snide call to judge others of their ill behaviour? For sure she embodied everything I aspire not to be; mate-rialistic, vain, neurotic, selfish, rude
and false, but does that mean that that is who she really IS? Every bird needs a nest and it’s true that the smallest birds crave the safest homes, that the most neglected will put on the wildest show to attract a mate, the most neurotic to untold lengths to provide for their young. So who am I to judge such a fretful and frail bag of bones? And just who is She, this impossible, imper-illed Passer d. domesticus (lat)? Why won’t she feed herself and live on food instead of nerves? Why is she roaming the Borough in such an obviously unsustainable vehi-cle/nest when such a preposterous splashing of cash does nothing to safeguard the future of the young uns I presuppose that she was on the way to feed? Why does she sur-round herself in such a penetrable
SPARROWS, TRACTORS AND LOUIS BY CARDOROWSKI
signifier of wealth amidst a town of wannagets and willhaves? Doesn’t she understand that she has to, as Ray Lamontagne points out, be careful of walls, because when they fall, they will fall on you? But more than all of that, what is she so frightened of and who has made her that way? There is an old saying that goes ‘You can vote for freedom and you will probably lose, or you can vote for slavery and you will definitely win.” What goes begging though is, what do you lose and what do you win? Seems to me our Little Bird has clipped her wings to win a game that has erased her Self from the existence she finds herself in. She looks like she’s wrapped in a Gilded Cage unable to sing. And she deserves neither my judgement nor only my
pity but also my brotherhood, for do we not all, at times live afeared lives? Encumber ourselves for pro-tection? And is not ALL stuff but mere gilding and fancy Ironwork to weigh us down and deny us the potential that we all have within us? And have not I so availed myself with more than my fair share of Ironwork? Deadweight? We change the gilding, repaint the bars but still we’re slaves in cages. Her and Me. And who is to blame? ? ? ? Ooooohhhhh we could go on, couldn’t we?! We could name names! But in the end it’s us. You and Me and Her. Isn’t it? We cave and crumble before fear and temptation, we choose to win a crappy, puerile game rather than play the harder one that we may not win but we’d enjoy because of that. That Louis Cypher is a tricky
buggerer, he used to be found in dark dank corners they say. Now he seems to float across our front pages, screens, billboards and radios unquestioned, and he’s sold us his slavery for the price of our freedom. Good deal for him. Death for us. Albeit a gold encrusted one. Maybe. In closing, I owe the sparrow an apology. Sorry Darlin’. But I know not where to find ya. I could hang out by Waitrose hoping for a return, but I do know where NOT to look, South of the River. I hear those tractors are barred from bridges because of their preposterous ton-nage! LIGHTEN UP!return, but I do know where NOT to look, South of the River. I hear those tractors are barred from bridges because of their preposter-ous tonnage! LIGHTEN UP!
Here’s a HOT tip from Cardorowski Go to the Roundhouse (Chalk Farm and a hop or Camden Than and a trudge on the ol’ Ink Line) to catch ‘The Dream’ a version of Old Bills’ ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ by a gang of Indian Actors in 7 (count ‘em) languages. It’ll well and truly blow your mind. If you don’t do theatre or knows someone who doesn’t, take the trip. It’s everything that theatre should be but rarely is; Spectacular; Exotic; Funky and Funny; Romantic not sentimental; Precise and utterly WILD! If ya don’ know the story already, read the Cliff notes, if ya do, pin your ears back and your eyes open and get reaaaaadeeeeeeee!
One goal shy of a perfect weekend It’s easy to forget how encapsulating our city is. How mesmerising it can be on a crisp spring evening. In particular there is some-thing absolutely wonderful about being a Londoner and wandering through the hoards of junkies, thieves and yanks in Ly-cester square, on to Piccadilly Circus and then down the steps to the ICA. On a mild Friday night the place was deserted apart from a few bodies searching for a ticket to see the brilliant Field Music. Rather fortuitously I was one of those few bodies trying to offload the spare ticket that my mate had lumbered me with as he’d decided to go on a date (with a girl!). Not being used to touting and remembering back to the last time, being arrested on Brighton beach, when I tried to sell the extra ticket we had to the Beach Foot-ball, in which incidentally, Eric Cantona was sent off , I was a little sceptical. How-ever it went immediately and with no trouble from the FEDS. Field Music were by far and away the most professional band I have ever seen, not only that but they managed to wow
their adoring audience at the same time with a breed of harmonic pop tunes that had to be seen to be really appreciated. The show was an extra special one for which they employed a percussionist and a
multi-talented music player to the three piece line up. They tore through songs new and old to everybody’s delight, although rather disappointingly failed to come back on for an encore. The signs said it all though; CURFEW 11pm and it was well past that when the gig finished. It was however the beginning of a weekend (girlfriend/wife/partner/mistress) + (less) Men nationwide could only dream of. If you don’t believe in football then like the BBC newsreaders say, “look away now.” In short here it is....
Saturday morning 10.30am – awake and standing in the park, already sodden with mud, my Saturday morning football team kicks off. It’s a vital cup match, a must win game and within ten minutes we are one
down, the score fluctuates rapidly 1-1, 2-1, 2-2, 4-2, 4-3, 6-3 clawing ourselves back to 6 each and having completed my first ever hat-trick it’s all out attack, only to be denied by a last minute own goal. 7-6 and everybody on the team looks like they’ve woken up in a swamp! But this is football and we understand it, take the winning with the losing, the good with the bad...you get the picture. Anyway – What better way to spend the girlfriend-less afternoon than with a few tins watching the egg chasers run around biting each others ears off. All the
better for seeing theamateur Italians beating the ‘Brave’ Scots. Then home to mingle with friends, in what can only be described as the best Saturday night venue in our darling City: a bar in your garage. Stocked to the max with drink, loud music and anything else you please. Sunday morning 10.30am – awake and standing in the park, a little hungover and even more sodden with mud than yesterday. A less vital game for a different team but nonetheless as much fun, this time not even a last minute penalty could steal victory from our grasp. 4-3. Then off to Spurs, 3-0 up within 20 minutes - it was a dream come true, eventually turning out 4-1 victors with the biggest cheer coming when the Chelski v Ars*nal score and mass brawl appeared on the big screen. What happened after this holds little relevance and is something that I won’t be sharing with the general public but come Monday morning 180 minutes of playing around in a mud bath is beginning to catch up with me....if only we could’ve scored one more goal!
hat better way to spend the girlfriendless afternoon than
with a few tins watching the egg chasers run around biting each others ears off.
W
With three FA Cup
Matches on the BBC
this weekend get
your mates around
and impress them
with a Gourmet
Chicken Burger.
TO SUBSCRIBE TO THE OTHER SIDE PLEASE SEND 5 STAMPED ADDRESSED ENVELOPES TO
The Other Side Magazine, Suite 2,PO Box 39437, Muswell Hill, N10 3HL Please send all other correspondence to [email protected]
hNicolas Wine shop in Muswell Hill have kindly donated a Wine Voucher for this weeks competition winners. To be in with a chance of winning and receiving expert help on French Wines from Alexandre then just answer this question.
Who scored the Winning Goal in the 2006 FA Cup Final?a.Gérard Depardieub.Steven Gerrardc. Gerrard HoullierPlease send your answer to the usual email!
For four people use:4 Chicken BreastsStreaky BaconRocketAvocadoCiabatta Rolls.Sauces
1. Wrap your chicken breasts in the bacon and put them in a buttered frying pan, on a medium temperature.2. While these are cooking chop the avo up and throw it in with the rocket, add some Olive Oil and Balsamic vinegar3. On the Ciabatta, spread garnish at will, Mayo, Ketchup, Chilli Sauce, HP....it’s your decision.4. Put Salad on bottom of Bun.5. Take cooked Chicken and place on top of said Salad.6. Place top half of Ciabatta on chicken.7. Serve with Beers, Crisps and 3-1 to Spurs
w
This weeks competition
EastFinchley
Highgate
Archway
Hampstead
Euston Angel
Kings Cross Old Street
BrentCross
GoldersGreen
BelsizePark
TufnellPark
ChalkFarm
KentishTown
CamdenTown
MorningtonCrescent
WarrenStreet
GoodgeStreet
Moorgate
Bank
TottenhamCourt Road
Leicester Square
Charing Cross
Embankment
Waterloo
London Bridge
Borough
Elephant Kennington
Oval
Stockwell
ClaphamNorth
ClaphamCommon
The best things going on in and around the Northern line both sides of the River
The ALPHA BEAT
Theatre 503
The Proud Galleries
The Dream
Paris by train!
St Paddy’s Day 17th MarchI’ll be down in Brighton for the annual knees up. Live Bandslots of Guinness (if your not afan of the Black Stuff..try mixingit with Tia Maria...YUM)
When you’ve had enough. run 100 yards to the beach and jump in the Sea!
£8-15 for a train there!
Jump on the 41 to crouch end from Archway and get in before the crowdsdo for some hilarious comedy..Thursday’sis try out night...so be prepared forthe best and worst of what North London has to offer us in the way of funny men and women. NB. don’t sit at the front!
a version of Old Bills' ‘Midsummer Night's Dream' by a gang of Indian Actors in 7 (count 'em) languages. It'll well and truly blow your mind.
The RoundhouseChalk Farm
£20
Sat 10th March Make a date with new musicStrokes influenced indie - rock band release their ep at THE SPICE OF LIFE in Soho. It’s on Moor Street just off Shaftesbury Avenue.Rinse it down with a late nightoriental dinner in China Town
£5
Anytime. I walked through waterloo station theother day and realised how easy it is to go to Paris for the Day/Night.For less than a new pair of Nikes you could be living it up with French.Visit the Palais De Tokyo for something other than the typical Eiffel, Louvesame old and then find a little bistro who’s owners do not parlez anglais.
The Fiddler’s Elbow
Crouch End£5-£9 entry
With the FA Cup quarter finalsthis weekend why not spend Sunday at Camden’s Proud Galleries.
Loads of big screensbeer offers and the best part is
that it is lout-less.
Stick around after for live music.
Theatre503 and Strike Ensemble present a riotous and compelling exploration of how society deals with its outsiders by internationally
acclaimed Australian writer Andrew Bovell.
Blackburn Man CityChelsea TottenhamPlymouth Watford
v , 16:00 v , 12:45 v , 18:00
Downstairs at the King’s Head
£12 / £7 concession Tuesdays PAY WHAT YOU CAN
EastFinchley
Highgate
Archway
Hampstead
Euston Angel
Kings Cross Old Street
BrentCross
GoldersGreen
BelsizePark
TufnellPark
ChalkFarm
KentishTown
CamdenTown
MorningtonCrescent
WarrenStreet
GoodgeStreet
Moorgate
Bank
TottenhamCourt Road
Leicester Square
Charing Cross
Embankment
Waterloo
London Bridge
Borough
Elephant Kennington
Oval
Stockwell
ClaphamNorth
ClaphamCommon
The best things going on in and around the Northern line both sides of the River
The ALPHA BEAT
Theatre 503
The Proud Galleries
The Dream
Paris by train!
St Paddy’s Day 17th MarchI’ll be down in Brighton for the annual knees up. Live Bandslots of Guinness (if your not afan of the Black Stuff..try mixingit with Tia Maria...YUM)
When you’ve had enough. run 100 yards to the beach and jump in the Sea!
£8-15 for a train there!
Jump on the 41 to crouch end from Archway and get in before the crowdsdo for some hilarious comedy..Thursday’sis try out night...so be prepared forthe best and worst of what North London has to offer us in the way of funny men and women. NB. don’t sit at the front!
a version of Old Bills' ‘Midsummer Night's Dream' by a gang of Indian Actors in 7 (count 'em) languages. It'll well and truly blow your mind.
The RoundhouseChalk Farm
£20
Sat 10th March Make a date with new musicStrokes influenced indie - rock band release their ep at THE SPICE OF LIFE in Soho. It’s on Moor Street just off Shaftesbury Avenue.Rinse it down with a late nightoriental dinner in China Town
£5
Anytime. I walked through waterloo station theother day and realised how easy it is to go to Paris for the Day/Night.For less than a new pair of Nikes you could be living it up with French.Visit the Palais De Tokyo for something other than the typical Eiffel, Louvesame old and then find a little bistro who’s owners do not parlez anglais.
The Fiddler’s Elbow
Crouch End£5-£9 entry
With the FA Cup quarter finalsthis weekend why not spend Sunday at Camden’s Proud Galleries.
Loads of big screensbeer offers and the best part is
that it is lout-less.
Stick around after for live music.
Theatre503 and Strike Ensemble present a riotous and compelling exploration of how society deals with its outsiders by internationally
acclaimed Australian writer Andrew Bovell.
Blackburn Man CityChelsea TottenhamPlymouth Watford
v , 16:00 v , 12:45 v , 18:00
Downstairs at the King’s Head
£12 / £7 concession Tuesdays PAY WHAT YOU CAN
I saw a celebrity chef pull up outside a swanky London club in his £150,000 Ferrari amidst a volley of snapping cameras and flashes, some half-baked, silicon-infused, sugar-coated blond tucked under his arm, fodder for the tabloids. I have to tell you that I wanted to deck him. Here’s why. You see, Mr Celebrity-Chef, you walk past me without so much as a by-your-leave when actually you should be stopping to shake me vigorously by the hand. It was me (and thousands like me) who put you in your Armani suit and your supercar. You would, after all, be nothing without us — your devoted minions — celebrity-chef junkies who just can’t get enough of you. I did a crude calculation a while back. In my worst years as a user, I would watch around 600 hours of cooking shows annually (that’s not far off a month) and spend anywhere up to £500 on cook books. I would buy gadgets for my kitchen that I never used but was told I had to have. My pantry would be full of ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, let alone know how to use (although they did look good in their expensive glass containers). I would lie awake at night wondering what swanky meal to put together for dinner on Saturday, stress about it all week and then chicken out of the braised leg of pheasant, re-hydrated porcini and
ceps mushrooms in a tarragon and marsala jus with shavings of white truffles at the last minute. I reckon I never cooked a single recipe I saw on TV and maybe less than a dozen from all my cookbooks put together. I would wake up on the morning of a dinner party dripping in sweat, obsessing over how to ensure that the icing sugar was evenly distributed
on the 14-inch black glass plate on to which my (SEE “http://greatgrub.com/recipes/511”) stilton-honey-stuffed-chocolate-coated-grape will be placed. And I would always forget to taste the wonder of my boiled egg and soldiers that I would have for breakfast, the stuff TV shows should actually be telling us about. If there are any TV moguls reading this, you guys have a hell of a lot to answer for. You make millionaires out of some cute, witless girl who encourages us to cook crap meals in less than half an hour. You get studio audiences to whoop with delight when some over-the-hill, face-lifted has-been juggles a handful of garlic cloves. You take an hour out of our lives to show us how to make a pate from a rare wild boar that comes only
Food
Confessions of a celebrity-chef junkie
available in the first two weeks of November. And just when poor sods like me think they are over the worst you serve up some glitzy new show with even more exotic entrees served up in even more exotic locations with ingredients that would have (“http://greatgrub.com/reference/alton_brown”) Alton Brown himself reaching for a culinary encyclopaedia. Show after show, day after day, you keep them coming. Then, just to rub our faces in it, you get us to buy the book that accompanies the series, making loads more cash for your network so that you can employ yet another witless wonder with a regional accent to showcase dishes we will never eat. I bet you sleep well at night on your full stomachs.
In fairness, we need to carry the can too. After all, it is we who set the Skyplus to record these wretched shows and part with our hard-earned cash to buy the pots, the pans, the shakers and makers (and, of course, the books). So much for the college fund. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too many hours in rehab to kick the habit. I found hanging out with buddies who cook real food worked a treat. I have been clean for almost a year now. Truth is, there are some great TV personalities out there who have done a lot for food (the aforementioned Alton Brown, Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson to name a few). The point is most of them are missing the point. Food is not simply a science or just an art-form. It is a necessary function of survival and it just so happens that
our planet has provided us with the most extraordinary variety of gifts that makes our survival — well — tastier. Weave that into a cloth of social fabric that adorns our tables, and you’ve got great grub. Trust me, you don’t need a celebrity chef for that.
by David king Lassman illustrations by Toby Whyte
Skinny JeansDo men with low tight trousers look as silly as I think they do? The answer undoubtedly is yes! A resounding yes. Unless your face is as pale as the dulux dog and your legs could be replaced with a pair of chopsticks there is no way you should be in those ‘Cheap Monkey’ kegs. But who decides this? I mean that in the kindest of ways. Did Christian Dior waltz up to Pete Doherty at a Babyshambles after party and request he dons the ‘skinny jean’ or was the lure of borrowing a pair of Kate’s trousers too much for him. Whatever the case I as a 25 year old male cannot condone them.
Darts?With the Olympics only 5 years away now I have decided to get fit. Possibly fit enough to be part of the British Darts team. Darts....Olympics? Yes it is true the BDA (British Darts Associa-tion) are attempting to gain Olympic recognition. Surely in a sport where the most action involves walking
to the bar to top up your Stella cannot be considered athletics. Fingers crossed people. If we can get Phil “THE POWER” Taylor and Andy Fordham to the Olympics anything is possible. Live the Dream!
ASEYou can’t beat a good science conference, and I say that with utmost meaning. It’s just gone 12.45 and the lunchtime rush has begun at Birmingham University where the ASE (association of Science education) show is taking place and what a day it has been so far. A young Asian man wearing a trilby hat has walked passed backwards and forwards 7 times in the last 8 or 9 minutes, perhaps looking for the free tea and coffee stand. About 10
minutes ago what sounded like a herd of elephants came through the hallway to my left ‘stomp STOMP STOMP’ getting louder and louder until an old Dutch science teacher did his best Didier Drogba impression flying to the floor head first. My initial reaction was that he had had a heart attack or similar but it soon came to pass that he had tripped on the shoddily put together carpet that had been laid in the gigantic marquee. He still sits opposite after being bandaged by the ASE medics, whose skills
are questionable to say the least, one dropped his stethoscope into the fallen mans blood before happily placing in his ear. When the ambulance arrives to take him away his colleagues, all from the Netherlands have been informed that he will be taken to Selly Oak hospital, where? Precisely. Once there I wish them the best of luck getting back to Holland. Now if we add to that the other things that occur there is more than enough material for an entire series of sketch shows. Perhaps
the focus could be on the people who tour around the show with their suit-cases filling them up with whatever they can get their hands on be it, puzzles, pads of paper, gingerbread men, chocolate, one man has even gone so far to ask if he can have my bic biro straight out of my hand....I’ve even witnessed some poaching the single teabags and sugar from the coffee stand. Like I said there is no way you can beat a good Sci-ence Conference.
Cultural Comment
EggsA Food that smells like a fart, case closed. KTTTTTT
BELLOWHEAD, Floral Hall, Royal Opera House, 24th feb 07.
I start with a wahwah Bazouki solo! And if that don’t whet yer appetite, yer dead. How ‘bout a drum solo that threw in the kitchen sink and all it holds? Literally. A horn section that would make James Brown spin, do the splits and rise agaayin!? Might even get Tom Waits to cross the Atlantic! A sec-tion that includes a Sou-saphone! COME ON, I’m telling ya! More violins than a String Quartet, songs older than any Mississippi Bluesman wrote and more energy than the most dan-gerous of speed fuelled punks!! All this and more is Bellowhead. A descrip-tion defying 11 piece combo that agglomerate in unlikely spaces and tear the roof off the sucker! I saw them first on ‘Later with Jools’ and laughed as the Chili Peppers looked on aghast when the Bellows blew them away.
Red Hot style! They had but two songs to strut their stuff and in those brief mo-ments, they strutted, waltzed, tangoed and morris danced all over my head, hands and feet. Left me bleeding and crumpled on the floor begging for more! And they call themselves a Folk Band! Bloody liberty.
So, off to the Opera House, minglin’ with the Minx and the booted and sooted. Briefly. As they traipsed off to some sump-tuous feast of glittering sets, courtly dances, age old songs and the Fat Lady we bounded upstairs to songs the Argonauts sang on their way to Jason’s fleece, 10 skinny blokes and a blonde Cellist, the doing of the
“Lassoo” and a stage that could hardly bear the com-motion! Jigs, reels and the Rochdale Coconut Dance! I haven’t sweated so much since I swung to the Clash City Rockers! Songs of old that tell us that ‘Honesty’s all out of Fashion’, of losing your baby cause you wooed too slow, the
perils of Flash Company, of death by Maiden, the plight of the Sailor who does too much lovin’, and how a May morning walk can bring you face to face with untold beauty... or Death! All of life was there, played at a lick that defied both time and space, their smiles belying the fact that among the band are those who have suffered/enjoyed
all of these events. Nothing like getting truth wrapped up in a dance! Especially when you’re being taught the “Lassoo” for the first time and you wrench your shoulder with glee as the song goes on for everrrrrrrr! I could tell ya that they played the songs on both their records ‘Burlesque’ and the EP ‘Eponymous’ and everyone had a staggeringly good time; that they were hauled back twice for more before ‘health and safety’ demand-ed a cessation of festivities, (probably ‘cause the Minx and Booty Soots were get-ting uncomfortable vibes in their nether regions!) and that my two sons raved until they dropped, but you won’t unnerstand it ‘til you go yourselves. They’re do-ing the Fests this summer, Glasto and the ilk and will probably crop up in the most unlikely places in-between. So KEEP YER EYES PEELED! The records you can get at Bellowhead.co.uk, but the gig’s the thing.
Make Doherty History #003
dcccccccccnCut off his dealer’s phone line
indie boys and a big show gal.
LISTEN UP Lail Arad is drinking an apple juice; she has to drive later. There are no chauffeurs yet, but give it time and this girl could be bumbling around with the contingent of female Brit-ish artists floating around Camden at the moment. Last Tuesday Lail per-formed at London’s Kemia Bar, the private members club below Momo’s in Hed-don Street, to an extremely expectant audience, the Bar is downstairs, under-ground. It screams of mid-dle eastern princesses and far away lands, Persian rugs, flamboyant cushions and wonderful cocktails only add to the atmosphere Lail has created, however, She was not happy with her show, slightly critical of herself. Watching for the first time I couldn’t tell, it was clear however that she was enjoying herself. She performed like a performer, something that her theatre degree has helped her do, giving her confidence to be in control of the stage. She wants to make it big, record that album and tour but she is very focussed, not a single bit wary of the music industry, it appears it is something she wants to embrace. Lail wants to play gigs and
build up a following, play better more prestigious gigs and build that following up even more. Her video on youtube has received 15,000 hits. She recently removed all of her songs from her Myspace page as they were not representing what she was doing live, “I should have new songs up by my next gig.” The songs that were on the website were sort of un-niched, a bit quiet, a bit drum ‘n’ bass, a bit showy and
certainly full of love. All in all though they were good. Lail has a really voluptuous voice that fluctuates up and down and round and round right over the top of her keys. However on first impression it’s still not the finished article. Maybe – she needs to find her true voice? A week later and they are up, on first listen she has achieved what she set out to do, there are elements of Edith Piaf, on ‘Je Suis une Touriste’ she
sings in French, albeit a tongue in cheek Piaf. It’s showy and it works. Lail is playing 93 Feet East in Brick Lane on 27 March, a big venue with a capacity of 600. Whether or not Lail fills the venue is yet to be known but being able to play there is the start that she is looking for. On the other side of the new artists of the north, (of London that is) lies The Alpha Beat, hailing from a garage in the woods of Finchley. A stylish 5-piece, they take inspiration from the vibe of The Strokes, set a fire under it and then doused it with sardonic wit. Frontman Jamie Demitriou delivers the Mrs. Robinson themed floor-filler, “Cold Shoulder” with an attitude at once passionate and insouciant, every inch an icon of cool. Catchy, angular riffs come courtesy of feral genius Nico and his
indie boys and a big show gal.
brother Joshua Watts, both on guitar, and bassist Jash Brandler funks it up, locking in tightly with the muscular aggression of drummer Josh Williams. Every song is wound up so tightly with pop hooks that you can’t help but fall in love with
this band, both live, where brash unpredictability means it’s always going to be something special, and on record, where the tunes have been perfectly captured at Brick Lane’s Soup Studios. The debut ep ‘Sparkle Sparkle’ comes
out on the 10 March 2007 and you can see them at the Spice of Life in Soho on the same day. It would appear to me that like Lail, the Alpha Beat are very pro-active with their music, they both make things happen and
with the commitment they both show will continue to do so for a long time, prob-ably until something kicks off...www.myspace.com/lailaradwww.myspace.com/theal-phabeat
by Sam
what's nico been thinking?
WHAT'S NICOBEEN
THINKING
THIS WEEK
