From carnage to cabaret

On Friday night Kelly and I went to see Pendulum at Wembley Arena. I was expecting the moon and the stars after the rave reviews (pun intended) I have heard about their live shows but as we arrived I realised that quite possibly, everyone there was already seeing the moon and the stars before their eyes before the music even started. There was no question that the entire show was rigged to impress those having one or several out of body experiences, from the pitch dark dance floor to the breathtaking roiling images on the big screen and the intense bursts of pyro.  Unfortunately Kelly and I were not off our tits and while, the pumping drum and bass was pretty cool to dance to, the vocals don’t translate well live and after being attacked by several ecstasied mingers and a brief and desperate sojourn as pretend lesbians, we snuck out during the interval. I think I might stick to dancing to Pendulum in my bedroom in future.

After a wet Saturday, where Paul impressively convinced me not to give up the elephant hunting despite the vile weather, we headed off for some music of a different kind. Frank invited us to The Spice Of Life in Soho to see some “cabaret indie rock”. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting but it was fabulous. First up we had Richard Kapp & The Gowns who were playing outside Vienna for the first time ever. It was somewhere between Ben Folds and an oompah band with Richard and his mismatched band (special props to the middle aged, wild-haired bassist and his energy channelling headband) singing about everything from having too much to do to his memories of his childhood lunchbox. I particularly liked the “hip hop” track about being the master of tiramisu.

Next up were Bird Eats Baby who came out full of snarling rage and dark imagery and blasted us off the stage with their twisted violin-fueled rock. The closest thing I can match it to is the Afrikaans theatre style of Kabaret, which sadly has no direct equivalent in English, with shades of the Dresden Dolls. Being a particular fan of the macabre, which you’ll know about me if you’ve read any of my poetry, I was absolutely caught up and more than a little bit inspired. Brilliant and unique.

The rest of my weekend was split between further elephant hunting around St Paul’s and Greenwich… I’m almost halfway now… and spending time with Paul’s lovely family, drinking too much wine and experiencing the quaintness of a village fete. Hey, I’m pro anything where you can win a bottle of Southern Comfort after only spending a pound… even if the woman running the tombola is almost rabid with the power of such an illustrious responsibility…

abbiosbiston is listening...

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