Wednesday 26 August 2009
I get up and go to work. I am an idiot.
Today begins badly when a Facebook comment from Nikki (my American Friend’s friend) puts a bubble bursting comment on my status about the Tortoise show last night. I know I shouldn’t react and shouldn’t allow myself to be upset by something so miniscule but with it being the first thing I read this morning it turns out to be the Facebook equivalent of getting out of bed on the wrong side. The problem with any remotely iffy comment from/attached to her is that part of my mentality is that it is also coming from my American Friend and as a result it can be taken as akin to her rubbing more shit in my face.
Millwall are on GMTV news this morning with coverage matching the strange thoroughness that was explaining the term “loan shark” a few weeks ago. Of course its all negative and exaggerated, hyperbole appears to be the only language that their demographic appears to understand. They need it is this way in order to titillate, to appeal to their senses and brains that are not in their heads but in their nether regions.
So yeah after the sensible advice from Racton last night that today I should take a sick day, like a fool I pull myself together and leave on time (actually, even a minute or two early) and trudge to the station.
After parking up and walking to the station as I near the station some chav at the bus-stop asks me for help (money). Initially I don’t hear him because I’m listening to my iPhone so when I don’t acknowledge him he shouts at me to see if I will help him. Oh yeah, that is really going to work, stupid cunt. I just shake my head, a dual purpose shake saying “no” and “you’re disgusting.” Jesus Christ do I look like such a mark to these people?
So after the waitress and her loan yesterday, Nikki and now this guy in short succession I just come to the conclusion that being nice to people really doesn’t appear to work in this day and age. Why don’t people take ownership of/for their own responsibilities and leave me alone. I will bail no one out; this will be today’s mantra.
Once on the train I flip open today’s The Metro to the sight of a pro-Palestine protestor on page 5. This guy looks like a model – is this what lost cause protestors look like now or was this an official press photo sent out by their press department. More likely though this is just the result of the combination of Getty (or whoever) taking a picture of the most photogenic person around who is the result of some kind of trust fund mentality that puts as much effort into hair as he does the cause he is protesting. For me this represents my belief that a large majority of the left these days is still made up of those being bankrolled by their parents as they flake their way through the party of education before being shit out into the real world on the other side having their parents pick up the bill. I feel like rolling up this newspaper and hitting the nearest person.
The train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.04AM this morning, late with depressing regularity.
As I head towards my tube I see the Chinese OCD Man at The Metro standing tidying and restacking today’s issue. He is as red-faced and determined as ever.
It is a nondescript journey into work that is plagued by a headache. The Girl phones me to tell me that Finsbury Park is shutdown. She and the trains – why is everything in my life always late?
All in all though after the choppy start I end up having a fairly productive day, unhindered by outside interference I manage to get the accounts done.
Otherwise there is little to report from the day and soon humpday is gone in a blur and I am heading back home to Essex again.
Upon arrival back into Colchester I head straight for the Hole where Staff is waiting for drinks before we head to the Arts Centre tonight for the NADJA show.
When I finally get to the pub I bump into somebody I do not necessarily want to have anything to do with but immediately we clock each other and there is a sudden obligation to talk to one another. I can’t help but feel all is disingenuous. I can’t exactly recall ever overtly slagging the guy but the thought has certainly eternally occurred to me. Unsurprisingly he is still out of work and pretty much living off his tits.
Eventually I get some escape and finally meet up with Staff outside in the beer garden. It’s a good catch-up session, things sound good, busy and productive. This feels like a rare treat.
From here we head into the venue with optimism in the hope that tonight will offer up something good resembling fresh treats. With this a few old faces have been dragged out but on the whole most of the people frequenting the gig are metal heads with their metal friends.
The show takes off with some slow death or grind metal trying really hard to bring about the end of the world on some kind of tight budget. I barely catch their name and soon I forget it completely as the reality of this band resembling 99% of the other bands of their genre kicks in. Indeed I work with a guy called the Heavy Metal Manager (Simon) who is drummer in such a band. To think this music once terrified the masses as a universal scourge. These days I just find depression in their existence.
Second up is some kind of classic rock band, part Ozzy Sabbath part Southern rock. At least there is something of a more humane element to their shtick but Christ does it feel dated and unappealing at/on this day and age. At what point does a group of individuals decide to set the clock so far back in time? I blame alcohol and boredom. Again I soon forget their name as I glaze over into the ether and beyond this evening praying for an out of body experience to occur soon soon soon.
NADJA thankfully offer up something pretty different, something that doesn’t necessarily have a whole lot in common with what has just come before them. On stage the two of them cut brooding silhouettes as a glorious video backdrop plays out behind them adding texture to their onslaught.
Tonight delivering NADJA up as a bonafide metal act to a black wearing audience feels very much like the time we at Gringo Records tried to rope in a metal audience for Bardo Pond off the back of them sounding a bit like Black Sabbath. Regardless their set towers above what has already come before it this evening.
For me NADJA recall Labradford and to a small extent My Bloody Valentine, albeit in a package that would appear to condone The Crow. As the two guitarists face each other and distort their moves via their laptops you can’t help but feel the onslaught would be greatly assisted by the presence of some beats. In other words: they need drums.
Regardless it is a rejuvenating set that serves blow away many cobwebs at this time and incense my eardrums. At the close of proceedings I feel cleansed and as we all agree it was a good set the redeeming conclusion appears to be that it lacked the dynamics of beats.
From here I bid farewell and goodbye to various faces from the evening and head home having completed gig three of four for the week. Just one more to go now.
I get up and go to work. I am an idiot.
Today begins badly when a Facebook comment from Nikki (my American Friend’s friend) puts a bubble bursting comment on my status about the Tortoise show last night. I know I shouldn’t react and shouldn’t allow myself to be upset by something so miniscule but with it being the first thing I read this morning it turns out to be the Facebook equivalent of getting out of bed on the wrong side. The problem with any remotely iffy comment from/attached to her is that part of my mentality is that it is also coming from my American Friend and as a result it can be taken as akin to her rubbing more shit in my face.
Millwall are on GMTV news this morning with coverage matching the strange thoroughness that was explaining the term “loan shark” a few weeks ago. Of course its all negative and exaggerated, hyperbole appears to be the only language that their demographic appears to understand. They need it is this way in order to titillate, to appeal to their senses and brains that are not in their heads but in their nether regions.
So yeah after the sensible advice from Racton last night that today I should take a sick day, like a fool I pull myself together and leave on time (actually, even a minute or two early) and trudge to the station.
After parking up and walking to the station as I near the station some chav at the bus-stop asks me for help (money). Initially I don’t hear him because I’m listening to my iPhone so when I don’t acknowledge him he shouts at me to see if I will help him. Oh yeah, that is really going to work, stupid cunt. I just shake my head, a dual purpose shake saying “no” and “you’re disgusting.” Jesus Christ do I look like such a mark to these people?
So after the waitress and her loan yesterday, Nikki and now this guy in short succession I just come to the conclusion that being nice to people really doesn’t appear to work in this day and age. Why don’t people take ownership of/for their own responsibilities and leave me alone. I will bail no one out; this will be today’s mantra.
Once on the train I flip open today’s The Metro to the sight of a pro-Palestine protestor on page 5. This guy looks like a model – is this what lost cause protestors look like now or was this an official press photo sent out by their press department. More likely though this is just the result of the combination of Getty (or whoever) taking a picture of the most photogenic person around who is the result of some kind of trust fund mentality that puts as much effort into hair as he does the cause he is protesting. For me this represents my belief that a large majority of the left these days is still made up of those being bankrolled by their parents as they flake their way through the party of education before being shit out into the real world on the other side having their parents pick up the bill. I feel like rolling up this newspaper and hitting the nearest person.
The train pulls into Liverpool Street at 8.04AM this morning, late with depressing regularity.
As I head towards my tube I see the Chinese OCD Man at The Metro standing tidying and restacking today’s issue. He is as red-faced and determined as ever.
It is a nondescript journey into work that is plagued by a headache. The Girl phones me to tell me that Finsbury Park is shutdown. She and the trains – why is everything in my life always late?
All in all though after the choppy start I end up having a fairly productive day, unhindered by outside interference I manage to get the accounts done.
Otherwise there is little to report from the day and soon humpday is gone in a blur and I am heading back home to Essex again.
Upon arrival back into Colchester I head straight for the Hole where Staff is waiting for drinks before we head to the Arts Centre tonight for the NADJA show.
When I finally get to the pub I bump into somebody I do not necessarily want to have anything to do with but immediately we clock each other and there is a sudden obligation to talk to one another. I can’t help but feel all is disingenuous. I can’t exactly recall ever overtly slagging the guy but the thought has certainly eternally occurred to me. Unsurprisingly he is still out of work and pretty much living off his tits.
Eventually I get some escape and finally meet up with Staff outside in the beer garden. It’s a good catch-up session, things sound good, busy and productive. This feels like a rare treat.
From here we head into the venue with optimism in the hope that tonight will offer up something good resembling fresh treats. With this a few old faces have been dragged out but on the whole most of the people frequenting the gig are metal heads with their metal friends.
The show takes off with some slow death or grind metal trying really hard to bring about the end of the world on some kind of tight budget. I barely catch their name and soon I forget it completely as the reality of this band resembling 99% of the other bands of their genre kicks in. Indeed I work with a guy called the Heavy Metal Manager (Simon) who is drummer in such a band. To think this music once terrified the masses as a universal scourge. These days I just find depression in their existence.
Second up is some kind of classic rock band, part Ozzy Sabbath part Southern rock. At least there is something of a more humane element to their shtick but Christ does it feel dated and unappealing at/on this day and age. At what point does a group of individuals decide to set the clock so far back in time? I blame alcohol and boredom. Again I soon forget their name as I glaze over into the ether and beyond this evening praying for an out of body experience to occur soon soon soon.
NADJA thankfully offer up something pretty different, something that doesn’t necessarily have a whole lot in common with what has just come before them. On stage the two of them cut brooding silhouettes as a glorious video backdrop plays out behind them adding texture to their onslaught.
Tonight delivering NADJA up as a bonafide metal act to a black wearing audience feels very much like the time we at Gringo Records tried to rope in a metal audience for Bardo Pond off the back of them sounding a bit like Black Sabbath. Regardless their set towers above what has already come before it this evening.
For me NADJA recall Labradford and to a small extent My Bloody Valentine, albeit in a package that would appear to condone The Crow. As the two guitarists face each other and distort their moves via their laptops you can’t help but feel the onslaught would be greatly assisted by the presence of some beats. In other words: they need drums.
Regardless it is a rejuvenating set that serves blow away many cobwebs at this time and incense my eardrums. At the close of proceedings I feel cleansed and as we all agree it was a good set the redeeming conclusion appears to be that it lacked the dynamics of beats.
From here I bid farewell and goodbye to various faces from the evening and head home having completed gig three of four for the week. Just one more to go now.
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