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Last night, the band that I'm in - Funsize Lions - did a gig at Charlie Wright's in Hoxton. We were met by the owner of the bar, who I assumed was the eponymous Charlie Wright (there were pictures of him in various bodybuilding poses on the wall), but it turns out that it was named after a long gone East End geezer-slash-boxer. Later, I got talking to a jazz drummer who said he'd known him for thirty years. The barman made room for me on the bench: "Sorry, my darlin'; did you want to sit down?" It was yer good old-fashioned east end hospitality. There were reserved seats and Thai food and I thought it was kind of a chicken-in-a-basket supper club, but it turned out that the restaurant bit was separate and that we couldn't soundcheck whilst people were tucking into their green curry and pad Thai. The diners did stay around for the gig: nouveau Hoxtonites, girls in tiny denim cut-offs and wedge sandals, boys in long shorts, beanie hats and flip-flops. Ladbroke Grove refugees.
Anyway, we were beset by the traditional Technical Problems, which were solved by a) a man with a beard doing some beat-boxing when the backing track broke down and b) an audience member fixing the mixer by changing the channels.
The headline band, Drop Velvets, had four synths, a singer, a saxophone and a trumpet. They played trip-hoppy, laid back summery brass 'n' beats. Funsize Lions are a three keyboard, three vox line up. We don't play guitars. WE DON'T PLAY GUITARS. We. Don't. Play. Guitars.
I walked through Hoxton to Old Street, feeling like Hogarth observing the merrymaking around him: a woman cycling with a balloon, a man dressed as a smurf, a woman wearing a doll's arm as a necklace, a different woman eating a kebab, occasionally feeding her baby pieces of it. On the bus, I was accused of being 22 by an aggressive woman who wanted me to change seats. All in all, not a bad evening.
At home the caffeine was over-riding the alcohol in my system, so I watched three episodes of cricket until 3 a.m.. I'm afraid that if Joe Root ever gets into gerontophilia, then![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
davidnottingham is history.
Anyway, we were beset by the traditional Technical Problems, which were solved by a) a man with a beard doing some beat-boxing when the backing track broke down and b) an audience member fixing the mixer by changing the channels.
The headline band, Drop Velvets, had four synths, a singer, a saxophone and a trumpet. They played trip-hoppy, laid back summery brass 'n' beats. Funsize Lions are a three keyboard, three vox line up. We don't play guitars. WE DON'T PLAY GUITARS. We. Don't. Play. Guitars.
I walked through Hoxton to Old Street, feeling like Hogarth observing the merrymaking around him: a woman cycling with a balloon, a man dressed as a smurf, a woman wearing a doll's arm as a necklace, a different woman eating a kebab, occasionally feeding her baby pieces of it. On the bus, I was accused of being 22 by an aggressive woman who wanted me to change seats. All in all, not a bad evening.
At home the caffeine was over-riding the alcohol in my system, so I watched three episodes of cricket until 3 a.m.. I'm afraid that if Joe Root ever gets into gerontophilia, then
davidnottingham is history.
