a musical apology

I admit I’ve been slack over the past few weeks.  Thing is, I’ve had many fun friends visiting home from Europe. I didn’t think you’d want to hear of my debaucherous frock wearing high times, nor Christmas with my family, which was fun, low key and relaxing, thanks.

Over the last fortnight I’ve inadvertently become some kind of van driving, promoters assistant via a weird series of events.

I never really enjoyed concerts.  Perhaps I started out going to the wrong ones, but the lingering memory was of a rush to get there, bitch to get a to park, a coating of other peoples sweat, topped by pushing, shoving and rythym bereft dancing punters.

Admittedly I once thought I was having a heart attack at a Cure concert.  It turned out I’d inadvertently stood too close to the largest speakers I’ve ever seen, but it had me going for a bit and tarnished the experience no end.

Deerhoof played at Whammy Bar last Saturday. Baxter West and I wanted to see some top shelf drumming in action, so Mr Crawley kindly put us on the door.  If you haven’t previously heard of them you’re not alone.  I googled the crap out of them and listened all afternoon.

Despite the suffocating crush at the aptly named Whammy bar, I danced my way within stones-throw of a front row view of the drummer.  Obscured by a giant structural pole I saw flashes of staccato hand movements, before getting smooshed a bit too much for my liking and getting the hell out of there to enjoy with a little breathing space.

I've tales of the tUnE-YarDs and Beirut, but they shall have to wait as I'm meeting them for dinner in an hour.  Wishing you all the best for the year ahead.

Karlya