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But at night it's a different world
Jul. 14th, 2013 03:52 pmOn Friday, I took part in Calls from Blethenal Green, a sound installation and part of the Praxis New Voices festival. it involved a small amount of the Hackney Secular Singers making pigeon, blackbird, robin, ambulance, police and fire engine noises in a call and response way in a church in Bethnal Green. It was fun.
Afterwards, I central lined it over to Hyde Park to watch an old man gasp out his greatest hits (and some from the '70s) in front of a rapturous crowd. My dad, as part of the ents team at Nottingham Poly, put the Kinks on at the student union in 1966 and i feel that it goes against the natural order of things for me to be watching Ray Davies now. I mean, I like The Kinks, but I find this never-ending nostalgia endlessly tedious. Will we, the children of the baby boomers, still be watching the boomer bands in 2023, 2033? It's depressing. It's not that he's bad; Mr Davies seems rather sweet and very happy to be there (headlining after Elton John pulled out) and certainly the crowd love this living legend, and at least he doesn’t go into some hideous '60s medley of Herman's Hermits and The Swinging Blue Jeans and Manfred Mann songs. I do admit to feeling a little thrill during an acoustic version of Waterloo Sunset and it's nice to hear Days on a hot summer night, but...But but. These people were young and rebellious and of that time and they should stay in that time. I find this 1960s cultural icons thing kinda creepy, moribund, very Tony Blair, part of the Cool Britainnia branding, good ol' British rock 'n' roll, export to America, heritage industry. People are filming the giant screens to prove that they were here in this moment. "Yeah I was there, Rolling Stones at Glastonbury, Ray Davies in Hyde Park." There are hundreds of bands playing all over London tonight, why are we here watching an OAP play songs from ten years before we were born? My boss took her 15 year old son to Glastonbury; he wasn't interested in The Stones or even Nick Cave, he wanted to see The Parma Violets. Now, the Parma Violets are shit, but I find it right and proper that this is what he should prefer.
Ray plays a lesser known song and announces that it is from a time when England had forgottten the Kinks. I would challenge that, I think they sold more songs to ads than Moby. I can't listen to Dedicated Follower of Fashion without thinking of Dedicated Follower of Bass Nights, as that's how I first heard the song (beer was advertised to kids in the '80s).
(I think Moz should maybe take his own advice).
I'm a hypocrite though. Afterwards, we go back north to Great Big Kiss, Ian Watson's attempt to recreate a '60s basement club, and boogie on down to soul and Motown and psych and garage and ska. Earlier on, as well as the bird and siren sounds, the HSS sang a Buzzcocks song, an Undertones song and a Depeche Mode song, none of which are from my time (I was 8 when Just Can't Get Enough was a hit). In fact, there's a Kinks song in our repertoire, Village Green Preservation Society, which lightly mocks those who want to preserve olde things.
On Saturday, we foolishly battle through the heat to Covent Garden to try out the Shake Shack ice-cream. We queued twice for the Shake Shack in Union Square, NYC, both times giving up after 20 minutes. Here the queue is a lot shorter, but really, the ice-cream isn't all that. It's not even as good as Ben and Jerry's and it was already half-melted by the time I finally got it. The sea-salted caramel ice I had on Avenue Louise in Brussels on Tuesday was superior and, at €1.60, a third of the price.
In the evening, we went over to the Boat Club for their summer party. It was bug-themed. I didn't dress up, but a moth fell in my drink, so I feel that I fulfilled the spec.
St Pancras sunset's fine:
In other news, I feel very conflicted about Ashton Agar.
Afterwards, I central lined it over to Hyde Park to watch an old man gasp out his greatest hits (and some from the '70s) in front of a rapturous crowd. My dad, as part of the ents team at Nottingham Poly, put the Kinks on at the student union in 1966 and i feel that it goes against the natural order of things for me to be watching Ray Davies now. I mean, I like The Kinks, but I find this never-ending nostalgia endlessly tedious. Will we, the children of the baby boomers, still be watching the boomer bands in 2023, 2033? It's depressing. It's not that he's bad; Mr Davies seems rather sweet and very happy to be there (headlining after Elton John pulled out) and certainly the crowd love this living legend, and at least he doesn’t go into some hideous '60s medley of Herman's Hermits and The Swinging Blue Jeans and Manfred Mann songs. I do admit to feeling a little thrill during an acoustic version of Waterloo Sunset and it's nice to hear Days on a hot summer night, but...But but. These people were young and rebellious and of that time and they should stay in that time. I find this 1960s cultural icons thing kinda creepy, moribund, very Tony Blair, part of the Cool Britainnia branding, good ol' British rock 'n' roll, export to America, heritage industry. People are filming the giant screens to prove that they were here in this moment. "Yeah I was there, Rolling Stones at Glastonbury, Ray Davies in Hyde Park." There are hundreds of bands playing all over London tonight, why are we here watching an OAP play songs from ten years before we were born? My boss took her 15 year old son to Glastonbury; he wasn't interested in The Stones or even Nick Cave, he wanted to see The Parma Violets. Now, the Parma Violets are shit, but I find it right and proper that this is what he should prefer.
Ray plays a lesser known song and announces that it is from a time when England had forgottten the Kinks. I would challenge that, I think they sold more songs to ads than Moby. I can't listen to Dedicated Follower of Fashion without thinking of Dedicated Follower of Bass Nights, as that's how I first heard the song (beer was advertised to kids in the '80s).
(I think Moz should maybe take his own advice).
I'm a hypocrite though. Afterwards, we go back north to Great Big Kiss, Ian Watson's attempt to recreate a '60s basement club, and boogie on down to soul and Motown and psych and garage and ska. Earlier on, as well as the bird and siren sounds, the HSS sang a Buzzcocks song, an Undertones song and a Depeche Mode song, none of which are from my time (I was 8 when Just Can't Get Enough was a hit). In fact, there's a Kinks song in our repertoire, Village Green Preservation Society, which lightly mocks those who want to preserve olde things.
On Saturday, we foolishly battle through the heat to Covent Garden to try out the Shake Shack ice-cream. We queued twice for the Shake Shack in Union Square, NYC, both times giving up after 20 minutes. Here the queue is a lot shorter, but really, the ice-cream isn't all that. It's not even as good as Ben and Jerry's and it was already half-melted by the time I finally got it. The sea-salted caramel ice I had on Avenue Louise in Brussels on Tuesday was superior and, at €1.60, a third of the price.
In the evening, we went over to the Boat Club for their summer party. It was bug-themed. I didn't dress up, but a moth fell in my drink, so I feel that I fulfilled the spec.
St Pancras sunset's fine:
In other news, I feel very conflicted about Ashton Agar.
