Thursday, November 11, 2010

Thursday 11 November 2010


Thursday 11 November 2010

An idiot prayer.

Through the night I experience disrupted sleep thinking about the previous evening.  Was that a good or bad experience?  How to gauge?

When the alarm buzzes and I flip on Daybreak it is to the sight and sound of David Cameron beaming from China condemning the student minority that caused the trouble at the tuition fee protests yesterday.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have raised them to £9000 in the first place and all this could have been avoided.  Just a thought.  To be honest though as far as actual violence goes/went it looks relatively tame, a five minute surge followed by some fires and a lot of huffing and puffing.  These were stormtroopers squaring off against children.

It feels cold again this morning and on the weather report they are showing snow on the Pennines.  Here is comes.  However looking out of my window thankfully the vehicles are not frosted, it is just drizzling.

Bearing that in mind I am hitting LIARS at Heaven tonight I opt for hoodie over coat (I never wear my coat to gigs).  This decision might prove my undoing.

Stepping out indeed the rain is grubby and unnecessary, misery at a time when there is already enough to go around.

On the drive to the station I find I only have to sound my horn twice during the race.  A third opportunity gets offered to me but I am wimp.  That car was too close for comfort.

Finally I get to the station and walk out onto the platform where the labourer lads are nowhere to be seen today.  Indeed the rain appears to have scared most people away and when the train arrives as I board I easily get my seat as the Sturrock Gang are out in force.

With all six train journeys having experienced delays this week, here we go on lucky number seven.  Best of luck National Express East Anglia.

The rain actually appears to scare the plate crowders away today.  It is for the win.  Unfortunately elsewhere however somebody on the train has a JLS ringtone.  Fucking idiot moron.

Eventually we begin crawling at the usual Forest Gate/West Ham axis of evil but thankfully somehow we do not fully beach.  Wonder we might not crawl through here either.  I can dream.

In the end the train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.01AM, two minutes late.  The perfect streak of delay just about continues, remains in place.

Chinese OCD Man is back today and with it he pats down copies of the Metro with more gusto than ever.

From here I ride across town listening to The Boatman’s Call and especially the threesome of “Idiot Prayer”, “Far From Me” and “Brompton Oratory”.  These songs floor me.

When I finally get to St Johns Wood it is into a wind swept morning reminiscent of the penultimate episode of season one from The Sopranos where Junior lines up Tony’s assassination under the advice of his mother.  The wind here particularly reminds me of that scene where Junior and Livia in the queue at the cinema.

Briefly I toy with the idea of heading to Starbucks but it is less than twelve hours now since I had my last one so that might not be the best idea at this time.

With the wind sweeping me away I step into the restaurant ahead of the Filipino for the first time this week.

I am still listening to “Idiot Prayer”.

Today I continue with the October accounts although my progress is somewhat hampered when my boss pesters me about his laptop and how the Barclays bank application has not be reinstalled.  This is not my fault or error.

At 11PM there is a two minutes silence for Remembrance Day, which in my experience always tend to get punctured by senior members of staff.  As the radio mutes right on cue in the distance our various bosses can be heard chatting away on their mobiles.  Even the Filipino was in mind call on hold to a supplier hangs up to offer respect and observe the silence.  Not for the first time in my life afterwards a work colleague says “at least we did our bit”.

From here I waste the rest of the morning trying to sort out my boss’s computer.  In the end I wind up having a nice conversation on the phone with a lady called Abby from Cheshire.  Ultimately though I am too busy to be arsing around and dealing with this.

Into the afternoon I happen across the blog of my American friend where I discover that she has put her wedding and honeymoon pictures up online.  Why do nice things happen to other people and not me?  Serious question.

With this thought still ringing in my head 5.30PM arrives and with it once more The Boatman’s Call (especially still “Idiot’s Prayer”) playing almost non-stop on my iPhone at the moment.

My destination this evening is Charing Cross which requires a ride on the Bakerloo Line to get there.  I hate the Bakerloo Line and when I get to Baker Street and time to switch lines I am advised/warned that the line is experiencing delays (when isn’t it?) so I just remain on the Jubilee Line and exit then emerge at Green Park to take the picturesque walk to Charing Cross along Piccadilly and via Trafalgar Square.  Things could definitely be worse.

In the end I still manage to arrive at Charing Cross in time for 6.15PM.  When Racton turns up I am still listening to The Boatman’s Call.  This does not necessarily mean I am going to be good company this evening.

Taking my dining suggestion on board we head to Fire And Stone where for once we do not have to wait and indeed it is downright quiet.  I order a Jakarta pizza as it promises the weirdest combination on the menu and the suggestion that it will be hot and spicy.  Tonight service is good and conversation flows as we plough through proceedings since Blue Valentine a few weeks ago.  Later we even go for pudding.

Soon we are exiting the pizza joint and heading towards Heaven but knowing that the bar there is likely to be silly expensive we go search of a real pub.  We wind up in a pub called The Sherlock Holmes.  I know that this is the name of the pub because the recent movie with Robert Downey Jr is playing on the TV screens.  Here I get the privilege of paying £4.40 for a pint of Peroni.  Where is this economy heading?

The highlight of the pub visit turns out to be when a woman that looks like Harvey Keitel bowls in.  Being my favourite actor this is much to my amusement but Racton does not agree and it is much to his chagrin that I remain insistent she is the spit of him.

Eventually we up to Heaven where things are quiet.  As we enter and security checks Racton’s bag he is pretty much laughing at us when he asks if he has anything dangerous in there.  In contrast the lady taking tickets is far more fierce.  When will lesbians learn that the Hitler comb over look is not necessarily a good one?

Upon entering the venue the SIAN ALICE GROUP is onstage doing their thing churning out less than gold.  The lady herself (SIAN) appears to be loving it though as she bangs away on her cowbell.  Ultimately they remind me of Bardo Pond without the drugs or distortion.  This performance requires patience that I do not have.

Looking around Heaven is a really nice room.  Its appearance is industrial and vast; I would imagine it to be heaving and grinding when full, full of gays.

When LIARS hit the stage they are devastating from the off.  Tonight the crowd really is not worthy of their performance, it is too light on the ground to justify such expanse and effort.  All in all it is a strange audience with people of mixed ages and abilities, not necessarily hipsters.  Some however are super enthused, as if LIARS are the only band for them.  Others however appear happy to talk through the entire performance.  Its all hard work for everyone involved.

LIARS smash out a pretty much perfect set.  The new record has its moments but hardly extends the band’s legacy so it is with gratitude that tonight’s set feed off the entire breadth of their catalogue and does not see the band shy of performing the “hits”.

On the whole LIARS remain a truly jagged and crushing proposition.  With a gangly singer called Angus that looks half like Gibby Haynes, half like Luke Skywalker (and all lanky string of piss) he is an intimidating presence as behind him the destructive qualities of his band unfold in the most punishing and pleasing of motions.  This is a noise band that has managed to contain and harness their sound into something stunning and effective.  In some ways they remind me of Health but that act were followers of this band and generally unable to focus and deliver in targeted fashion.  This is where beats collide with disarming and distorted guitars with view to harnessing devastation.

Very early the classic kick in as the spastic rhythms make it easy to gyrate and compound in the audience.  Onstage there is a lot of energy being exported, more than this sparse audience deserves.

About half an hour into the set Angus announces “good night” but fortunately remains on the stage as they curious disclosure proves something of a misunderstanding or joke on his part.  Instead they continue to bash through proceedings while drunk and mouthy people around us give commentary prompting Racton and I get to a better spot closer to the act.  As I said, weird audience.

After more blasts of noise the band eventually calls it a night as it crashes through the light curfew time of only 10.20PM.  When they come back for a brief encore with the night still young only three members return for a noise jam seemingly aimed at ensuring our eardrums go home ringing and bruised.  Then that is it.

As we exit Heaven a metal detector has now been set up at the entrance for an added element of security.  Are gay people known for assaulting each other with metal weapons?

From here we board a tube at Charing Cross and head off in our respective directions home.

In the end I board the 10.48PM train which somehow sees me stepping out of the station at midnight.  Where did that delay come from?

When I get home there is a letter from Countrywide.  I cannot face it.

I go to bed.

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