Friday 6 November 2009

beerpires and wolves in romania







Back from a whirlwind weekend of bus-journeys and Dracula fettishing. To explain: we had the idea a while back to visit Translyvania, this idea merged with needing something to do on Halloween- and of course the two go together more perfectly than pumpkins in your window and we had organised a full-blown trip by Thursday. Full-blown as in, actually will blow people’s faces off by the effort it took to get there: 12 hours each way, and believe me, no matter how comfy the seats are it is impossible to sleep properly. As Katherine put it today- we need a holiday after the holiday.

So we went on the bus overnight and got into Translyvania sleep-deprived but slapped in the face by the cold wind from the surrounding mountains. Got to the lovely Rolling Stone hostel (with not one hint of a Keith Richards picture), got a place in the attic dorm and headed out to look around Brasov (one of the biggest towns in Trannyland). This consisted of wondering into a few graveyards, sussing out the most Halloween-inflicted bars for the evening, and climbing the hill to the watch-tower to get a stunning view over the town. I had to admit, crossing a wolf roaming through the town earlier in the day- (and I am sure it was a wolf as no wild dog would have a growl quite as scary), I was a little anxious that we would cross into some wolves and bears in the hills, but we were lucky enough to avoid them.

That night we started drinking at six in the first bar with pumpkin lanterns and American indie music, the next one which blurred into the first, the jazz bar with Jon Bon Jovi blaring out, and ending in a Jamaican Bar dedicated to the master Bob M. At this stage of course we were all completely out of it, it being about 5 hours after the first pint and little sleep, but after Katherine and I had made the eye at some Romanian boy dressed in archaic Priest wear he invited us all to a house party, and we would be losers to turn the offer down. So we followed the Priest to a dingy basement with one euro entrance fee. It was an exceptionally cool party with video projections and talented Dub DJs and I was so awed by the fact we had managed to enter such a place, in Romania, on Haloween, that we didn’t leave until about half-four. Of course by this point we were as half-dead as the vampires we were pretending to be, and beds were the only way forward.

The next day we were shoved out the hostel and went to Bran; the town containing the infamous castle of Vlad the Impaler- more commonly known as Dracula. The ride there was just as entertaining as the town itself. Driving through barren mountains, overtaking horses trundling gypsies in carts and being persuaded to enter the “Vampire Camping” site and “Wolf Supermarket” advertised on either side, it could not have fitted my conception of what Translyvania would look like more. Walking up to the castle was a sight- its looming gothic spikes and grey walls suited this particular weekend only, and the pathway up was littered with tack-shops selling ridiculous Dracula mugs, which I of course purchased. Inside wasn’t at all scary, and the poor translations of English were more laughable than moving- for example, Stoker died of the stroke. Being opulently Western we got taxis back to the hostel, and being not rich, we had to prepare ourselves for twelve disastrous hours on the coach.

sex shops and slot bars in belgrade.






So Friday afternoon I had the travel itch. There was a long weekend ahead, so many places called out to be visited and were only a 20 euro train ride away (never mind the time length). After reading about Belgrade’s esteemable night life I rested on that one and it was sorted for Saturday.

An uneventful and remarkly flat train ride later and Belgrade was at our door step. When we walked off the train, ten minutes out of the centre, we were confronted with hoards of rubbish made up in corpses, covered over with white sheets. It took a scrutinising eye to discern whether or not they actually were corpses. Oh I forget- on the train ride when we passed the Serbian border there was a strong stench of burning that lasted quite a way in- and almost as if a circular story- before we got on the train to return just now there was a an absent fire among the same piles of rubbish I described, completely unattended, again providing that burning stench. How strange!

So, as we had gotten into a smaller station there was no cash point in sight so no chance of a taxi. We were a little stuck and a little more panicked, surrounded by unfamiliar communist-looming buildings, a landscape of rubbish and an incomprehensible language and alphabet covering street signs. Coming to our rescue, thank god, were two similar aged Serbian lads. One could speak no Enlgish, the other only disjointed sentences usually containing “strange” “bad English” and “Alan Shearer!” (after finding out we were from N.castle). These friendly folk made sure we got a tram in the right direction and assured us there would be “no security” so no pay.



I was taken aback by the difference in architecture and feeling in this city to any other I had visited in Europe, marked by the safe symbol of the EU and funding. Buildings were in the process of demolishment, but could have been that way forever, traffic lights broken, zebra crossings unused, few Western shops or even English writing. The bridge into “old town” was unimpressive, as was old town itself- the romantic name not laying claim to any majestic-ness or beauty. There seemed a general lack of any of the Western tourist rinsing we were so used to. In fact it felt more like people were honoured you had come to visit them. Like when you make the effort to visit a friend who is lonely lives far away, Belgrade welcomed us as such. The “square” we got off at was more a roundabout with a dilapidated statue in the middle, surrounded by buildings covered from head to toe in obscenely sexy advertising.

Our hostel was a modest, exceptionally clean flat. Again, there was no sense of them working on a competitive basis: they provided good service but it was no atmosphere conducive to fun. After relaxing from a bread-baby-belly dilemma (too much one journey) we headed onto the Belgrade streets, opting for a fun Irish bar as the recommended places seemed too pretentious. Three cocktails later and we were trollied, and decided to go in search of a club. With no idea where to go we were tempted by a racket of cheesy music protruding from a flat a few strories up on thr main street. We no invitation we walked straight in and danced like we were bezzies with the birthday boy. Craving more liquour, (but definitely not needing it) we inspected what was displayed on the table. In my stupor I subconsciously pretended to wear mittens and knocked wine bottles and glasses over as soon as I tried holding them. It resulted unsuccessfully and we became entirely dispirited with the party so next stop bakery then bed.

The extra hour due to winter time changeover was a welcome relief next morning when my pounding head gravitated me to the comfort. A downing of cold water and a hot shower later, we were back on the streets, this time in daylight and with an eye for sightseeing. Well Belgrade does not fall short of interesting sights, well away from the tourist gaze. Beautiful is a word saved for Budapest, but it was marvellous all the same. I was actually constantly awed with the vulgarity of the buildings and general lack of any attempt to hide or change this. Grey was the only colour palate they took from- as if the lack of money produced in Serbia provides a black and white vision to with it. We saw the fortress (bland) the main street (Grey Street Newcastle) the market (Soviet kitsch) and oh, the Bohemian Quarter- which was kind of wholly redeemable for all of Belgrade.

Tuesday 20 October 2009

UMOG!







I think everyone has one of those friends who come into your life on rare occasions, but leave such an affect it is as if five years of friendship is crushed like tasty garlic into one fine risotto. So that is what Umi Baden-Powell is to me. I may see her only a few times a year, but she is such a whirlwind of humour, fun and enthusiasm that she will linger for weeks. And she does happen to like garlic a great deal.

So she arrived late Wednesday night, heaving a huge back-pack and a wad of Euros (no use of course). As soon as we were on the bus we exchanged months of conversation; her travels in Dominique, my experience of Hungary, her desire for a motorcycle and passion for 16inch film reel, how to say thank you in Magyar. Getting off near my flat and walking up the steps of Ferenciek ter, she was completely awe-struck by the beauty of the architecture, and I was again taken back to how it felt when I first set eyes on the amazing streets, so much more impressive than anything I was used to in the UK. The next morning we got up early to take the tourist trip – I was yet to do it this time around. Umi insisted we walk the streets, which resulted in painfully numb fingers but a few new sights which were yet to come into my impression. We climbed Gellert Hill to reach the Citadella and walked even further for a stroll by the Palace and the Old Town. We ended the day nestled in the Ruszworm café much a much needed choc-overdose. That night I had planned an epic bar-crawl, but a few wines later and we managed Csendes and then Szimpla.

The next day we got up early and I finally managed to see Ecseri Flohmarket. It was quite impressive in the consistency of strange antiques, and well worth the trek when we found a second-hand store selling clothes at ridiculously bargainous prices. Umi managed to spend thirteen pounds on a bag of great vintage clobber, I spent about two pounds on some much needed knit-wear. We went to the food market on the way back and stocked up on cheap vegetables for the weekend.



Saturday was a two and a half hour train ride to cross the border. Bratislava, Slovakia, beckoned with sunshine and new experience. This was somewhat dwindled when we got a coffee in McDs, did about a two-hour trek, saw everything, and got the train back at four. That night the infamous Coyote Residence was hosting another stella party, and Umi was yet again impressed by the effort Budapest makes to ensure you constantly awed out of your socks.

Sunday was a cure for any hangover imaginable. Széchenyi Baths. It is difficult to describe the beauty of the place, apart from maybe to relate it to my subsequent desire to blow my life-savings on going every single week. We spent all afternoon there until sunset, exfoliating with real mud from Dominique and taking pictures till hearts’ content. A coffee at Hero’s Square café and we headed to the Italians for traditional aubergine tomato and mozzarella bake. Overall, an incredible weekend.

Sunday 4 October 2009

spilt red wine



Went to a French evening last night, had a traditional meal complete with brie and Southern French wine. For entertainment, like there needed to be any extra to an amazing meal, we watched some really good French short films which they had projected onto one of the walls, watched a performance from a magician and then was serenaded with traditional French music by these insanely good musicians on double bass, guitar and violin. A pretty amazing night! In return, Katherine and I are planning a curry (traditional English dish), obviously without preparation or entertainment; we’ll just buy a load of drink and obtain a hi-fi.

Just found out about a flea-market (Esceri) out of town which is the biggest in Hungary and is bric-a-brac madness! Finally I can get my hands on some vintage cobble and delight in socialist relics woo! (By Bus: 54 from Boráros tér.)

Friday 2 October 2009

Operaohgod


Went to the opera last night, it was German with Hungarian sub-titles and completely diar. I don’t enjoy opera singing so knew I would have this reaction. But for 400forint (£1.50) it seemed rude to turn down.

hXcore

From Thursday night last week I had a pretty hardcore jammed weekend. I’ll write as briefly as possible. It started with Godor on Thursday, after making Katherine and I a chilli hot enough to blow my head off, then met Arnold for the weekly folk dancing extravaganza, which consisted of the Budapestrian youth dancing to Hungarian classic folk all night. It was quite surreal- Godor is one of the most popular clubs in the city and suddenly it was overtaken by embarrassing cultural-couple dancing.




Friday day is vanished from memory but we met the others at Mumus for a couple of awkwardly sober drinks with too many nationalities and then headed for the hills- quite literally Buda hills- in an abandoned Soviet kid summer camp (I don’t know whether it is Soviet, I just say it for effect). So kids were aplenty, but more to the older end of the scale in 17-20odd year olds. It was the ultimate outdoor rave, with DJ booths consisting of the stairwell landings of classrooms and table-tops. There were light and video displays and camp fire dancing galore, but the cold started to bite and we left at 4 back down the hill.



Saturday really was a non-day, the most eventful thing being dinner on Margitsziget at, which was actually super. Met the Italians later in the ‘eve at Instant, one of the best bars I have been to yet- it has a room made out like the Twits’ House with tables on the ceiling, fishes are suspended through the air and Balkan music played all night. Soon went to cringey-Morrisons and got felt-up by various disasters so went home promptish, the tiredness from raving creeping up again. As I have a camera I can actually document this post in more detail with corresponding pics woohoo! The next day we went to Gellert Baths, which were expensive and lush but think we missed an entire section of steam rooms. I intend to have a dip in all of the baths before I’m through with this place though. Evening bathes sound the most tempting.

Saturday 26 September 2009

Like a Virgin



So my Italian friend told me last night that I dress 'Like A Virgin'. 'Er, what?' 'Madonna! Like a Virgin! The early years!'- apparently this is a genuine way to explain how someone dresses in Italy. I looked it up today and boy, Madonna the early years is so much cooler than me and a complete aspiration. She is amazing! I've always wanted a fashion idol....

Friday 25 September 2009

Gay Pride & Roof-tops



So last week was gay pride. It was the day after we had moved into our flat and all very exciting, except for one thing; we basically missed the whole march. We just saw the commotion to do with the police. The road was completely barricaded off and had police standing against it at every point. If you wanted to be on that road during the Saturday afternoon you had no hope without a press pass. I talked to Arnold about it the day before, interested because I’ve never lived in a city big enough to have a real march, and he expressed a view which from later research seemed to be the norm- ‘I don’t mind it, but don’t put it in my face’. Apparently, there is an anti-gay march parallel to the gay march, which gestures that this country is more conservative than I first envisioned, and there are still no marriage or adoption rights for same-sex relationships. That evening there was an after-party at Corvinteto and we headed along without much consideration. We were therefore pretty shocked when a row of policemen with shields and batons greeted us at the entrance. There was no way to get past them without a brief interrogation – “do you know what party this is?” And we were asked yet again before we were properly inside. It was very strange and made my heart beat enough for the next half hour to need a calming whisky. Once inside it was pretty normal- (from a liberal standpoint anyway) - in that there were many openly gay people about and everyone was ok with it. But the barricading at the door hints at some bubbling tensions within the social life of Hungarians that I still haven’t got to the bottom of.

Wednesday 16 September 2009

Glimpse..


The corridor in my block....

Tuesday 15 September 2009

Trama

It has been difficult adjusting to the amount of homeless people in the city. I have an apartment pretty much central- Astoria- which is one the main underground stations and tram stops, and there are literally hoards of men (I’ve seen only a couple of women) slumped against the walls and digging through the bins. I'm beginning to accumulate horrible experiences of tramps scraping along near me, begging for food; excrement lining their clothes and loose trousers falling off their wastes. I have been exposed all too often to scrawny malnourished bodies and other parts I won't horror you by describing in detail. The stations are to be avoided at all costs past 9pm. I am not exaggerating by saying it actually feels like you are entering the misty steps of underground dystopia.

So last night I almost had to become part of this group. I need to tell the story because it is an experience I cannot ever imagine going through again. The situation: I live with one other girl and only one key to the courtyard between us. You have to go through the courtyard in order to get to our flat’s door. So Katherine left the bar first and took the key with her, vowing to open up for me when I get back. An hour later, I was outside the flat, using the remainder of my phone credit to try and wake her up. Failing to rouse her, I started to panic, and my credit was consequently devoured. It was now half four in the morning, extremely dark and I could hear a beggar pissing in the street next to mine. I aimlessly tried ringing the bell, knowing it wasn’t working. So I moved onto ringing the other bells, not getting any reply apart from one man who probably assumed I was a street urchin harassing people in the night - as you would- and quickly hung up. I tried to ask a polite looking couple to borrow their phone, tears swelling in my eyes, but they declined abruptly when hearing it would be a foreign number. Sleep was pushing down painfully on my head and temples, so I tried the near-by hostel. Another abrupt “afraid not” in a tone that gave no room for compromise. I was beginning to become frantic and had no idea what to do. In order to ring Katherine I would now need an international phone card, and there would be nowhere to get hold of one at this time. A young student was briskly walking down my road, and I had to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention as she had an i-pod in, which probably scared the hell out of her. She let me borrow her phone, but there was still no answer. She offered to wait until I was in, but feeling bad I said I would be ok. Half an hour later and progress consisted of getting a little nearer to the hard, cold floor outside the door.

With a stroke of luck, the student from earlier came back down the street as she had lost something along the route. Seeing me sitting down, in tears of sleep-deprivation and worry, she took me along with her to her flat. Never have I been so, so grateful for something being lost. Her flat was beautiful and airy, with just her living there. She let me sleep in her amazingly comfy bed, and I woke the next morning dazzled by sun through the huge bay window in front. So I spent the night in a complete strangers bed who I no idea what she was called or who she was, apart from an amazing artist.

This would not be such a bizarre story if not for the fact that it was a brutally ironic situation. Earlier on in the same night we had patiently sat outside our flat for nearly an hour while our door was broken into and new locks attached, because the only key for the front door was lost that day (along with one of the courtyard keys). We were determined to get into our flat that night, even though it was late on Saturday, because we didn’t want to have to stay at a hostel or somewhere unknown. We kept repeating the fact that it would not have mattered if the courtyard key was lost- one of us would be in, or we could ring doorbells! Yet that night, if I had had a courtyard key I would definitely not have been in the sorry state I was in because I could have just banged on the door until Katherine woke up. To quote Mum (the band) - yesterday was dramatic, today is ok!

Yes and before I forget the memory (as pictures have been proof for nothing in Budapest so far), I went to an amazing house party the week before which had professional VJs, DJs, light installations, a dwarf bar-man offering free drinks all night (champagne yes please) and more people I could ever imagine fitting in a flat. It was pretty unreal.

Oh, and Erasmus student buddies’ are the nicest ever, mine, who is called Arnold, is taking me Kayaking, round parliament and on folk nights!

Monday 7 September 2009

A beautiful woman with her teeth knocked out

It is common enough for British people to exclude Budapest from their lifetime must-sees. With the heat of Western Europe enticing our miserable drenched souls and the accessibility to it offered on high-speed trains, why would we travel to a country with a complete dearth of beaches and a history of being engulfed in backward regimes? And anyway, Prague holds enough beauty and communist museums to compensate for all the cities formerly belonging to the Soviets, surely?

Unfortunately, we aren’t exposed to the common tourist gaze of the famous sites which would normally cause us to swarm such a stunning city of Budapest- the achingly attractive bridges on the Danube and the towering Gellert Hill with its very own liberty statue in a stance of omnipotent grandeur, looming over the whole city. So naturally, these sites seen on the postcards and focussed in on your plane-landing are what explain the 'beautiful woman' part of my title quotation. So what of the next part?

In order to give an impression of the reality of the city from someone who has grown with little awareness of it on a map (I am not alone!) I have to explain the title statement. It was quoted by Robert Capa- the photojournalist born in Budapest who became one of, if not the best war photographer of all time. I went to see an exhibition of his work at the Ludwig Gallery on my first day in Budapest this year, and could not stop thinking how much the simple statement made sense even up to today, when he was actually referring to his experience coming back to Budapest after the war with the streets in upheaval and buildings gnawed to shreds.

The way I can think to explain the city aesthetically now is like the recent film Syn-ech-dok-hee New York: a sprawling master-piece stage production stuck in the never-ending process of being created and adjusted but never unveiled. The streets constantly look like the builders have gone for a fag break and never returned. On the street right behind me cars naturally roll up onto the pavement in order to get round the perennial road works, and pedestrians are regarded as little more than a trash can to swerve but not slow down for- zebra crossings mere graffiti on the road.

So far, everything I have experienced can be reduced to being a pedestrian in a country which uses the right lane. I’m dizzy with looking both ways. I’m a foreigner-English-left-hand-sider. Everything is topsy-tuvry.

A city with creaks and crevasses entices me; it’s well known that caves can hold the most amazing beauty if you are handed a light and have the guts to go there in the first place. Wondering down main streets it is easy enough to glance curiously into an apartment courtyard and discover all sorts of batty shops, small exhibits, cafes serving cottage cheese and strawberry pancakes (not bad!). On a time I have wondered aimlessly, I came upon a courtyard I doubt I will ever be able to find again. A crippled old man greeted me at the entrance. Noticing that I was lost and vulnerable he swooped a guiding hand to his bookstore, piling my weak arms with any English language book he could find. I was not intending to trek these around with me for the sake of being polite so sidled towards the exit, not quick enough for him to realise and intervene, taking me instead to a large stand with black and white photographs of rural Transylvania. These were surprisingly incredible and I was enlightened to his talent. I vow to get lost again and end up in his domain with a photograph purchase.

On a different note, the nightlife provided in Budapest can also be summarised by the beautiful woman metaphor. Ridiculously cool bars exist, but only so far as money is in short supply- as in the early days of East Berlin. No way can they deck out a bar in beautiful matching sofas and sparkling tabletops with jewelled lights and diamond encrusted vodka bottles; they make do with crappy chairs from skips and pad it all out with a lot of great artwork and imaginative wall designs to cover the decay beneath- the beauty being that it will always show through. A local wifi haunt round my corner- Csendes- is a perfect example of this type of place. Crawling up the 'vintage' standing lights (or rather, just plain old and tacky) are fake fruits and headphones, dangling from the ceiling are bikes, kid merry-go-rounds and fake chandeliers. To mark male and female toilets they have stuck on Barbies’ on one and Kens on the other. I’ve been on top of supermarkets, on old school stages, underneath a glass roof rained on by a giant waterfall and in the famous Szimpla with outdoor cinemas and computer keyboard doors. It’s a finger up to Shoreditch: this is real; we aren’t pretending to be skint! Oh and usually, pound a pint is reet standard.

MY LOCAL....


That's not to say it's all been fine and dandy moving to another city which is dramatically different to what I'm used to. A physical impairment I endured during my first week came my way via atmospheric incense from a reggae tea-shop gathering, messing my eye up so badly it looked like blood was seeping from my pupil"one bloodshot eye is totally in this season"!

I was battered materially when my camera was anonymously stolen- explaining the lack of pictures to correspond to this post (although I'm going to legally nick a few to make up). Realising my camera was snatched quite literally felt like an internal organ had been wrenched from inside unknowingly. The next few weeks I duly undertook the routine of reporting it to the police, which is more difficult than it sounds with them speaking no English. Arranging a meeting to report the crime and consequently turning up twenty minutes late was bad timing, I quickly found out, when I got nothing less than a brutal hounding by the red-headed interpreter, who was painfully polite after that was out of her system, even managing to crack a joke with me (the usual- "you're studying ENGLISH? In Hungary? How bizarre of you!" me- "Yes haha I am going to get a first clever clever plan yadayada".) Katherine and I have decided from now on we’re going to make up new identities; the same questions over and over are getting as painful as Freshers’ week. I’m not Eliza studying English literature. I’m Julia Gummery studying Pottery. But overall, these experiences are to be expected when moving abroad and trying your hardest to be inconspicuous in a country you are about to reside in for nearly half a year.

Wednesday 12 August 2009

exponentially EXCITED


oh god, budapest is looming like the most amazing present on its way in the post. i just found this blog- THE HUB, which is so far the most fluently English, detailed and far-reaching I have found on Budapest. It's coverage on all the bars/clubs is so immaculate I could sit all day and read them just to fuel my excitement.

25th august come quick!

Wednesday 29 July 2009

good things, etc


i know there is no logic to this blog. i just really, really like this. i should probably move onto tmblr, seems way more logical.

this is from tokyobling.wordress.com - a great site documenting Japanese consumerism.

Tuesday 21 July 2009

profiling

so all i can currently see in front me is a 6 week void. this isn't necessarily a bad thing, as a long as i can swim through in a vaguely productive manner. i've worked out some things to do, i just need to have them written somewhere as indelible as a blog.

-go through with my project, which cannot yet be set in stone but which boils down things that are constantly being brought to my attention. one of which is this amazing website...
-understand some hungarian langauge and culture, and research budapest!
-make some radio programmes
-learn to make music with odd samples and interesting speech
-be a dick head and get the whole of my left ear pierced in every place possible
-find something to do that involves living in bristol for a couple of weeks

Sunday 19 July 2009

cloud floating

in the middle of a weekly blog rummage and condensing session, my dream from the night before stared me in the face in a prophesy of what i could write. so i'll start by backtracking a few years...

when music blogs were first popularised by the use of hype machine and other such aggregate functions, i was introduced to i guess i'm floating- an american music blog headed by connor and nathaniel. this time in my musical journeys i was very much in love with elliott smith, sufjan stevens and general american indie saddle creek types. IGIF pretty much accurately matched up with my tastes, and so I followed it religiously to be on top of what direction i could be going in next. i became so used and reliant on the two lads in charge that they pretty much shaped all my tastes for the next couple of years and any other blog i tried to peruse over just never seemed good enough, especially, for this matter, british blogs, which just seemed too bent upon exposing the kooks and any other band that referenced the kooks. the layout of IGIF is neat and easy, which sharp, witty and succinct music journalism and a constant flow of 'save target as' downloads to explain their points. they are ahead of the game and are great at predicting trends without falling out of love with all their favourites just because others have become cooler.

i weened my way off the blog in later years, although i still check it every few weeks. but last night i dreamt that i met a girl in london who was in charge of the blog, and the two lads were people she hired from america to write about the american scene. it was such a ridiculous dream and i was being a massive suck up to her like "wow, you are so amazing for managing such an amazing blog" and "i always knew there would be a woman behind it somewhere" and other rubbish. but it wasn't real of course, and connor and nathaniel are real people who manage their own writings, but the dream definitely brought back home how important the blog has been to me in the last few years, more than any other music publication to be honest.

it was also through these guys that i heard a first demo of artic monkey's new release - crying lightning from an upcoming album humbug. although i somehow glided right through the artic hype without so much as a backward glance (see- american indie phase) this new release hit me instantly as a great track with much to come. i think all this somehow relates to my dream, i guess i'm floating, prophesies, and things to come. so there we go!

web: i guess i'm floating!

Wednesday 15 April 2009

school of many wonders




School of Seven Bells, consisting of the sublime Deheza twins and their lynchpin guitarist Benjamin Curtis, are set to hit Britain by a magical tempest storm with their debut album Alpinisms. Their lucid-dream evoking sounds, created by the hauntingly beautiful voices of the twins, have had them touring with bands such as Prefuse 73 and currently Bat for Lashes, who’s almost sold-out tour is initiating them into the perfect British fan base.

Catching up with them before their 4th gig of the tour in Leeds, they seem pleased with how it’s gone so far. All they knew of Bat for Lashes (who they say is still “pretty underground in the US”) is “that song with the bicycles” – ‘What’s a Girl to do’ - which Alej insisted “blew her mind it was so good”. This little knowledge considered, it was a great fit for School of VII Bells to go before Bat for Lashes, and I was extremely deflated when after only half an hour they blew us away with their final song and modestly departed the stage.

When introducing School of VII Bells to an audience in the UK, you would expect there to be a good understanding of their shoe-gaze ambient pop, what with the Cocteau Twins and My Bloody Valentine’s perennial popularity. They agreed that these comparisons are often made about them, and with it usually comes a “… and I’m a hugee Cocteau Twins fan”, so the reference point is nearly always an encouraging hit. Ben talks of different sensibility in the U.S in more “base level” approaches to music, in contrast to the “appreciation of complexity” here; reactions which are different but equally good in both musical climates.

Both the twins and Benjamin were in previously successful groups before forming for this one, most notably the great cult band The Secret Machines of which guitarist Ben was a part of with his brother. The sound they have brought to SOVIIB is, however, remarkably different and has thus developed a fan base very much apart from their earlier projects. Ben admits that some SM fans “don’t understand the direction”, and most of their current bands don’t even know what their old stuff sounded like. When being determined to stay in the music industry, as they are, they realised that they had to challenge themselves. “Hearing the same music too long- you can fall into habits… when you want to be doing something for a really long time you have to develop your brain a bit more”.

They state that the dream-like atmosphere they invoke on record and in their live set is not a conscious effort; it is just a sum result of the three of them working together with a background in listening to psychedelic music. Hearing them on record, it is difficult to imagine just the three of them creating such an impressive sound. They say that playing live is “totally its own experience” but approached “with the same intention” hence it is just as good- or in my opinion- better.

Both Bat for Lashes and SOVIIB are headed by talented female artists; a fact which is unavoidably incongruous in an industry ever dominated by men. The twins smirk when we bring this up and explain it is something they are often reminded of. Alej passionately elaborates her views of the topic;

“I’m really surprised at how backwards things still are… Like when you’re at a venue and the engineer automatically bypasses the girl and asks the dude what’s going on. It starts there, but it can be anything from reading music press and girls’ voices are always “angelic”, or you’re “ethereal” or you’re a “banshee”. It feels like even if you’re singing with authority and in a very direct tone you’re still placed in the safe category”

As part of the music press, I can empathise with those who cannot help but describe their voices as ethereal, but there is also no doubt they are rifled with authority and blessed with a creativity that surpasses the uninventive mainstream sounds which are screamed down our airwaves. And with 69 more shows ahead of them, it seems that more people are actually tending to agree with this.



link me up: their myspace

Tuesday 7 April 2009

internet thief

so i realise that my blog is likely to induce hyperventilating or similar illness shock reaction if some professional bloggers were to stumble across it, but i just need to put some good things up that have no relation to anything whatsoever.

e.g...

this is nice:
clouds appreciation

and this has more music than spotify:
grooooveshark (beware buffering)

and this article pretty much takes apart our economic system:
monbiot

and i have since found many new uses for tights as this beauty demonstrates:
fashion toast

and i don't care if this is cheesy/old news/staged/an advert IT IS INCREDIBLE


and that'll do for now before i start sounding like a guardian guide internet page without any theme. shit

Monday 30 March 2009

chasing frightened rabbits



so most of wednesday was spent thinking of ways to break into a sold out gig in a castle which would undoubtedly be immense. why? because it was headlined by the glaswegian rockers frightened rabbit. this is a band who aren't afraid to sing with passion and experiment with the simplest of melodies for the most wonderful of results. after frustratingly listening to their myspace whilst fantasising about secret underground passageways, i stopped myself mid-track. i had to go to this gig. 30 seconds later i was metro-bound for the castle keep and practising my persuasive voice. it didn't take long to blag myself entry and breathe a sigh of relief.

the getinvolved team, normally based at the end bar in newcastle, had done a great job. to host a gig in a castle with a limitation on numbers and at high expense was an ambitious move, but they have proved that transgression often ends with success. in the depths of the dungeons, poised on a candlelit stairwell, the event commenced with richard dawson- a local genius of solo acoustic pop with a killer voice that could rip your insides out in one sharp note.

a few songs later we headed back upstairs, grabbed a getinvolved local bitter made for occasion, and waited for FR in tantalising anticipation- due the intoxicating affect the beer and location had on us. they opened their set in a fashion that complimented their surrounding magnificently, with the favourite 'keep yourself warm' blowing us away and making me miraculously forget i was very ill-dressed for an obviously freezing venue. the atmosphere they evoked throughout their short set was one that only be described by fact- this is, without a doubt, the best place on earth for a band like FR to play. facing an intensely dedicated audience, they directed at us their eloquent scottish-tinged harmonies and passionate rhythms, producing a sound which was nothing short of epic.

post-gig, we were all dizzy with the experience of witnessing something very special and getinvolved, with their music business heads firmly in place, had set up an after-party to cater for the inevitable winding down a gig like this demands. the horrible fight with cold weather was soothed by a great party at the end bar, hosted by ross clark and the scarfs go missing and we were promised jet packs. not the easiest names to remember but both will stick in my memory as good entertainment, and both making me aware that scottish voices are just a lot nicer in singing.

as a treat, FR played yet again at the end, making for another dizzy with delight ride home!



link me ups:
frightened rabbit myspace
we were promised jet packs myspace
ross clark and the scarfs go missing myspace
GET INVOLVED newcastle promoters

Sunday 15 March 2009

the music revolution

and no, this time i don't mean spotify. i carried out this interview before the release of mongrel's debut album with groundbreaking results!

John McClure of Reverend and The Makers is renowned for being anything but tame, and catching up with him to talk about his new ambitious collaboration, Mongrel, is an exhausting experience in itself. The passion and intensity he holds for the new projects he has been a part of is testament to the inevitability of the success of Saturday 7th March in which their debut album, Better Than Heavy, will be distributed free with The Independent newspaper. The day is a product of the culminating revolution which started shaking long a go and which now, the strong-minded McClure believes, is about to explode in an epiphany of musical gritty reality.


“Music as you know it is dying”, he announces. “There is no way you can justify charging thirteen quid for summit that’s 50p”. Ever the voice of reason, his Yorkshire roots have proved to be swelled with antagonisms for the current apathy in the music scene, which in turn has made him ever the more enthusiastic to shake people up and beat the crowds. He talks a lot about the “former voices of rebellion”: - such as NME, punk bands and old Rock and Roll; all of which have merged into the docile establishment which, despite the masses of cultures, have insisted on ignoring most of them.


“Where is everyone?!” he asks with disbelief lacing every syllable. He waves a Palestine flag and gets ridiculed, he takes a risk and speaks his mind and gets chastised for being loud. In a sentence reminiscent of Marx, he states that “the moment you put making capital above the well-being of human beings and the integrity of journalistic investigation, is the moment you have to be removed”. Well if they say actions speak louder than words then McClure is screaming his way to changing the world.


“What’s rock music?” he probes me, in his idiosyncratic way which I soon see is embalmed in the depths of his soul. He wants to show the world that new music - passionate music - deserves a chance in the everyday world, instead of being confined to certain late hours on the radio. This is why at first glance, the collaborations with some of the best hip hop artists around perhaps seen incongruous for someone hailing from the Sheffield indie scene, but the results are too amazing to ignore. As the Independent on Saturday is thrust in our faces with the Debut of Mongrel, the diverse talent of Britain is thrown along with it and the impact is intense, exciting new music.


The new album is not only about producing fresh music, it is also embedded in the greater atmosphere of rebellion. The Independent newspaper is thus the perfect form of distribution, as McClure makes clear that Mongrel are “not afraid of telling the truth”- just as The Independent voices rebellious opinions and won’t stand short of contention. Is this new teaming of media the beginning of the end of music as we know it? With the credit crunch now in full steam ahead, collaborations such as this don’t seem too daft an idea at all.


See wearemongrel for tour dates and download info.

See instigatedebate.com and find your voice of contention.

Wednesday 25 February 2009

re: shantel

yeah so the video at the bottom of the last post has been lauded music vid of the year by the popular eastern european blog ostblog- which is a pretty clear comment on the diar quality of eastern europe's music promotion industry, if that quite horrendous video came out on top. (i kind of want to let him off though- i just found out shantel was THE pioneering dj to introduce balkan into an electronic set... pretty influential guy really!)

Monday 16 February 2009

insomnia, and the likes

i'm not normally a drafter, but i admit for this blog there are odd remnants of posts which lack the ability to grow into anything substantial. so this very late post is a blossoming to accumulate the dregs of my blogging, and also pay homage to my FIRST FOLLOWER, wow, it feels good (who cares if i know her, and well at that?!)

music wise, i'll highlight some things which have been drifting my way recently.



resonance 104.4 FM - the London based, community run art radio station is yet to really filter up north, but i got involved just before christmas and wish to spread the news. when i realised its massive scope for interesting shows, the huge array of music it offers, and the positive ethics behind the running of it, i knew i was on it something- not to mention the shows by great independent mags such as the wire, artrocker and art monthly. so i picked a few podcasts at random and found many very impressive; they worked as a reminder of my deep-seated love for radio with a purpose- and that excludes commercial purpose.

particular good shows/podcasts are
'rhythm incursions' - they vaguely define themselves as covering hiphop, dubstep and electronica likes, but i would say it's far more encompassing, as one of my favourites so far under them has been carlo's mix; a canadian dj with influences roaming from boards of canada to flea-markets to graphic violence; oddly enough which come through in the music he puts together (by 'feel' rather than beat or rhythm). slightly annoying is the fact that he purposefully doesn't provide track-listing, as some are just amazing and impossible to find.
another is-
'turntable: radio' - a show dedicated to scratching and turntablism (if those squeaky notes aren't for you, don't click the link), normally it has some great mash-ups, especially the famous xmas mix which i had on for my xmas party at one point; it was insanely apt!

i'm still only part way through my journey into resonance, but it's impossible not to find great things from a radio station with the ambitions it holds and the support it gets.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
travel part 1.

on the slightly different note of music venues, i've spent time in a couple of UK cities recently which i haven't been to before. edinburgh- i visited once but not properly- i went to a while ago to support my friends who were opening a set at cabaret voltaire, which was such a good venue almost mimicking edinburgh caves but in a club atmosphere. and brighton- of which i attended the amazing balkanesca night at komedia. i'll talk more about UK cities after this weekend where i'm returning to the southern realms of bristol, but to briefly mention- the balkan night managed to live up to the berlin set expectations, somehow. i was more than impressed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

so a while a go i was battling with insomnia, giving me about 5 hours total kip when i should have had at least 25, but as ever, this leads me on to endless exploration into the wonderweb, and an effort to try and narrow my focus on a life plan. probably not the best state to be writing cover letters, but it seems to be conducive to good internety finds.

when when my meandering began and i found a world of creative genius' contained in record labels. my favourite so far has had to be fatcat records, the masters representing amongst others...

hauschka (or the less hip - volker bertelmann): a german experimental, ambient composer who uses delicate piano sounds to create yann tierson style masterpieces.

mum: icelandic group taking electronic tinkling to a whole new level

animal collective: 'nuff said

no age: kings of cool the smell LA club rockers

and basically, many more great artists. please hire me in easter yes?

the real reason fatcat records hit me however, is the way their website is overwhelmed by an independent ethic buzz which is alive only in these types of record labels where faceless corporate music is about as far away in ideals as iran is to the USA (owch, poor metaphor). its just so different and wonderful. the browsing resulted in many political blogs and indie zines recommended whole-heartedly by the team, and i really felt in that website, caught up in a community phenomenon of creative backlashers (talking of which, i went to starbucks at the weekend oh gosh, but ate a pack-up in their faces, ker-chung!)

another musicy thing: SPOTIFY, the new medium for playing music, a itunes-esque streamer with no buffering, completely legal, and so much available! get invited here: CLICK! you won't be disappointed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ill leave with a video (check the 'arty' use of fish-eye cam lense!):



that's all folks. E

Sunday 18 January 2009

balkan really is better.

From sparse to brimming- that has what my life has been, in cultural terms, defined as from today. i began by the baltic (via the currywurst stand- oh berlin!), and was exposed to even more fluxus, containing yoko ono the great pacifist. the fluxus lark confused me a lot, but after talking it through more with my brother i got a better idea of what it's about. there were a lot of objects in glass cages, looking pretty anti-commercialistic- and that's apparently fluxus' initative as from 1966 when it started up in dick higgins' manifesto. it's associated with the composer john cage (hence alt music gallery) who i have been listening to today- the great genius of chance. it basically felt like another world had been created, parallel yet inspired by ours, with these objects that looked so ordinary yet were not like anything we would ever use. great. next was yoko- i loved her exhibition mainly because it suited the baltic profusely. collaborative, aesthetic, fun; everything an exhibition in the n.east should be.

after this jaunt came the slumdog millionaire, a well-worthy hyped film by the trainspotter himself danny boyle. this was just fantastic, the screenplay was so well-rounded and not cliched. it was enlightening to a place which should definetely be brought to attention in a mainstream type way, and of course, it was highly enjoyable. oh yeah and the music collaboration with m.i.a and rahman is incredible!

ok so since christmas i have been going slightly crazy, metaphorically, for the balkans. so since having a lot of time since finishing exams, i have been researching loads for my new radio show; balkan's better! .. and have since come up with 2 amazing blogs:

the balkan hour- a comprehensive blog of all things balkan- from mixes, dances and film previews. i especially enjoyed the following video, curtesy of this blog:


the new worck- am i the last person to find this genius blog or what? since i am mixes mad, this blog is like, everything i could ever look for in a music blog, and it has loads of mixes from my favourites typsy gypsy (including an electro mix, i didn't even know they were that capable) and balkan hotsteppers. here's a link to an especially good 'un:

MIXXXXX

wowowowow is enough for the brilliance of this. girl talk, people like us, step back for the balkans!