The first reading of last night’s gig listing made my young heart race: Art Brut, Clor and Black Wire – all on one night? Fantastic. Where Where Where?
No, they couldn’t have meant that. It must have been some kind of typing error. But no, it seemed my time to enter the strange new world of superclubs was about to arrive.
After three or four costume changes, trying to decide on something borderline chav borderline pretty; after half a kilo of gin; after a day of trying to feel brave about it all; we finally left. I’d read warning after warning about the labyrinthine ways of Fabric but I hadn’t taken heed of these warnings, and the sight of a million staircases threw me into confusion. Escher would have loved this place.
Tiny corridors join up the thousands of bars that seem to grace every spare corner and somehow we found the gig area, just in time for Black Wire. Since seeing them at Koko a month or so back, they are still very skinny, have very good cheekbones and are still absolutely brilliant.
Like Vincent, Vincent & the Villains, Clor were one of those bands who, not matter how hard I tried, I just kept missing them. We tried to see them a year ago at the Windmill and ended up catching only the badly dressed Sluts of Trust. We tried to see them at the Barfly before Christmas and got there too late. But, surrounded by a very drugged audience, finally found myself in front of them. The lead singer looks very much like a Shiver-era Chris Martin but that’s about where the parallels end. They are very noisy and very good. Slightly angry looking too. They look like the kind of band that should own pitbulls.
Time bounced about a bit here and the next thing I remember is Art Brut suddenly being on stage. One song in and the guy next to me asked if was a Battle of the Bands gig. Fuck knows what kind of high standard Battles he’d been to before – because Art Brut were superb. One of the best gigs I’ve seen them do. The sound was perfect, you could hear every word Eddie poured out. Oddly, he kept getting groinally groped by some girls at the front. Proper hands on cock stuff.
I was so happy after their set, especially after hearing the Art Brut album for the first time only the day before and being blown away by just how great it sounds. They’ve done a really really good job of it. Rusted Guns of Milan sounds so so so so good.
The real Emily Kane was there too (for you hello style gossipmongers – she is a very tiny girl with dark brown hair). Eddie looked nervous but (and here I’ll throw caution to the wind and risk him reading this) he also looked really really good. New haircut and nice black shirt. Much nicer than the boys whose clothes helped us play Ben Sherman Bingo.
So today I feel ropey. The prospect of Frog is about as pleasing as the feeling of scurvy that is gracing my body today.
It wouldn’t all be so doom worthy if I hadn’t have gone out on Thursday night too. But The Proud Gallery exhibition opening party promised free booze, Metro Riots, The Rakes and photos of our favourite scummy band boys looking glamorous in photos.
The Rakes dropped out, though were spotted walking around the exhibition, lazy fools. Metro Riots were great, and still sound like Merry Go Round horses with S&M habits. But the highlight of the evening had to be the shoes element. I’m not giving anything away but I shall say that Popstar Feets has gone all A List. For those of you waiting for a PF update, I’m sorry – a technical hitch with a memory card reader is delaying proceedings somewhat.
The cumulative effect of all this gig going means my skin is grey, my painted toe nails are chipped, my hair is fraying from over straightening and the bags under my eyes are sinking as low as my bank balance. I’ve started writing for Artrocker now too, so the gigs must continue. A few coffees and a shepherds pie and I’ll be fine for Battle tonight. Lather, rinse and repeat tomorrow to see Art Goblins at Koko. I’m beginning to think that doing my dissertation, writing for two music mags and my uni paper, doing Popstar Feets, being in a marching band, doing work experience and keeping down a job all at once was a little too ambitious. Oh well, so long as I find a spare minute to repaint my toes I’ll be happy.