Up All Night?

Not bloody likely!

After going home for sleepies (following the Kaiser Chiefs in Brixton), Fringey rock up to Shepherds Bush, to see the final gig in the Carling Live 24 hour extravaganza. Razorlight.

While I'm glad of the snooze, I’m also kinda envious of those hardcore few who did the entire 24 hrs, Larrikin, the Holloways, Dirty Pretty Things; lots of good line-up in there. - Oh who am I kidding, it woulda killed me. (What AM I gonna do at Beni?)

Anyhow, the Empire is choca with people who really have been – ahem – up all night (and die hard Razorlight fans – chr*st)! This is a really small venue for the Razors to be playing even though, as with the KC’s, they’re still flogging their first album. Borrell and the blondes know how to whip up an audience and they are supremely confident. While they could never be as brilliant as when they were still clawing their way up the greasy indie pole - the band are tighter than Johnny’s spray on white jeans and the audience are going mental, singing along to every word of every song. Even newie (that sounds like an oldie), ‘In the Morning’ goes down like a spoonful of gin. At one point Johnny manages to slip in a bit of Kings of Leon ‘Milk’, oh he wishes … ...

They end on ‘Somewhere Else’. Never mind that all Razorlight songs pretty much sound the same; “haven’t they already played that one?” Never mind that they now seem to be holding something back from us, (Johnny Bovril looks out at the fanatical crowd with suspicion - I think he might be dead inside). But damn his paranoid fishy eyes, these songs are monumentally catchy and cannot be ignored. We sing/shout/dance and are squished a bit. Oh and we're out the door by 7.30pm, the weekend has only just begun!

Hurrah!

LuceFringey thought this!

Oh my God I can't believe it ...

The Kaiser Chiefs are rather good aren't they!?

So Fringey is partaking of the Carling 24 music marathon! - Well not really, we’ve decided to cheat a bit and just be around for the kick off and the finish, but have a bit of a sleepy in-between. 24 hours of music is fine in theory, but really do we have to?

We arrive in Brixton and dodge Alex Zane to get into the academy, just in time to catch the fabulous Pipettes all retro vocal styling and dance moves from a time before scruffy indie boys with guitars took over! They look like they'd be brilliant on a night out dancing down the local indie disco. Tis a pity that the acoustics in a half empty Brixton are so pants.

Also we're drinking Carling this evening – God help us – Luce is hungover and I’m just feeling ill, so its lager tops all the way!

Captain are next and they're all lovely jangly pop songs and chiming guitars. Almost wish we hadn’t chatted through most of the performance. Their closing song shut us up though, with an unexpected “look at our MOR!” display of sweet poptastic sound.

Then it’s the Kaiser Chiefs. I last saw them at the Astoria almost exactly a year ago, and they’re still flogging the same 10 songs from the album. (well they do include a few newies, one of which sounded a bit like something the Ordinary Boys might come up with, but I’m not going to dwell on that!). I’d forgotten how entertaining the Chiefs are, how brilliant it is to shout along to a song like ‘I Predict a Riot’, and just jump up and down for a bit. They’ve got this 'big gig' thing sussed, with Ricky disappearing and reappearing at the back of a room; dancing with a girl out of the audience for that U2 moment and a Brixton sized Mexican wave. Its like Butlins. But bigger.

Luce had this to say!

Brandy Snaps in Soho

Well, not really.

This is the third time that Russell Brand has made us laugh like a drains! And the second time we've seen the 'Work in Progress' that will become the show he takes to Edinburgh.

A unifying theme of 'shame' is the glue that hold Brands various humiliating anecdotes together, and we all get the chance to cringe with Russell and share in his ignominy. From being at called a c**t by Bob Geldoff (at the NME awards) to using Cadburys mini eggs as a sex aid, the Brand confesses all, leaving nothing to our imagination. He reckons he just can't help himself, and cannot really be held responsible, can he?

So how many people do you know have accidentally pooed in a Jacuzzi - sober??

Now that he's apparently off the booze and drugs, an addiction to sex leads to many of his more dissolute moments. Indeed, any prospective one night stand is left with a handy, if slightly prescriptive list, of dos and don’ts in the bedroom. (Do talk dirty, but don't be too vulgar etc) - Charming.

You end up wondering if perhaps Mr Geldoff had a point? While Brand admits that he's a selfish insecure bastard; acknowledging your faults doesn't make them any less true. Whatever he’s like in the real, when Brandy is putting on a performance he is a very, very funny man. But as he says himself, you don't want to be around when the laughter stops.

(luce stops laughing here:)

Adam Green @ the Kings X Scala

My God, I'm hungover. The Boosh aftershow went on a bit past my bedtime, and then I had workie this morning, so I'm hoping Adam Green will serenade me with some fantastic, filthy lullabys to soothe and distract my aching soul.

And to the triumphant strains of the Chariots of Fire theme, Mr Green and his gang make their entrance ... ..

Is there a wrong way to f**k a girl with no legs? Apparently not, as long as you remember to “tell her you love her as she's crawlin' away”. And the perverted New York pixie gets away with it. He’s saved by his big brown melty eyes and an easy Vegas manner. The performance seems effortless, and the many mistakes are just opportunities for more pisstaking humour.

Tonight he's abandoned the low fi anti-folk sound of the Moldy Peaches for lush string arrangements, a Bobby Darin/Andy Williams vocal style and an urban country sound that is as ‘pop’ as CD:UK. Still, he’s a vulgar wee sh*te. Why waste time on innuendo, and allusion when he can cut straight to the perverse and profane. (With lyrics that mostly detail how much he likes doing the drugs and doing the sex.)

There was also lots of friendly heckling and climbing up on stage for a hug or kiss or a bunny dance. No request was refused. Unless it was for a Moldy Peaches song. (Apparently he’s not allowed to do those anymore.)

With numerous encores – really, I lost count – Green was on stage for just under 2 hrs and for that time we forgot we were in the Scala, in skanky Kings Cross, in London town. Instead we'd all taken a small trip to Greenland.

(HA! always end on a crap pun!)

Robots in Disguise @ Plan B

So Fringey finally make it to a Boosh Aftershow - still on a bit of a Boosh high after the Brixton gig (the Boosh FLEW did you not SEE!) - and we want booze and we want tunes!

The Dollyrocker djs read our minds and they seem to play every indie pop song we've ever loved! And there is indeed a bar in the tiny Plan B.

All that’s left is to dance dance dance to Metro Riots doing some filthy garage rock and then the superb ROBOTS IN DISGUISE! They have a drummer now. They dance, they shout, they play their dancy electro rock music at us. Oh we love it.

And then the Boosh are in the house! Noel, the pointy featured ponce and ickle Michael Fielding (who only comes up to my elbow), Dave Brown, sans Bollo costume and the beautiful Barratt, who didn’t stay very long – blah! There’s a stage invasion, half the boosh are on stage with the Robots! Fabulous.

But eventually we have to leave, we have workie the next day, so we go just as Noel has finally shaken off the last of the fans seeking autographs and hits the dancefloor. At 3am!! Jammy git.

The Boosh @ the Apollo and Brixton!!

Once would never be enough, so Fringey went to see the Mighty Boosh again at the Apollo, on the 31st March and again at the Brixton Academy on the 19th April.

There is no point in me doing any kind of actual review of the show, so I'm just going to list the 'best bits'. And there are many!

*The “Pies” sketch, so completely random, it got better each time. Julian only needs to say “pies”. (he lost it slightly at Brixton, which was quite brilliant).

*sweeping up the mimed shards of glass.

*Rich spitting (it was more of a gob) at Noel, but being “protected by the script”.

*"How dare you eat another mans applause?!"

*Julian wearing nothing but his pink boosh pants and the radio mics!

*Oh oh oh, and the Hitcher, the evil cockney geezer who kills the Boosh! It’s the stumpfucking rant that was so fabulously foul. That’s S_T_U_M_P kids!

*Bollo and his “sucking on my titties” Peaches segueway from the Naboolio song.

*The “LOUIS” heckles at the Apollo!

*The sweary moon!

*the songs! Especially newie 'Jean Claude Jacquetie'.

*The rabbit rapist (who destroyed Noel with a bunny bumming at Brixton).

*the Nabootique.

*But possibly the best thing we ever did see was the Boosh flying! - Noel and Julian on wires. It was a special kind of Boosh magic.

*And then, right at the end, when you think it’s all over, OLD GREG and his banksy downstairs mixup finally gets his man!

Oh, I could go on and on all night. If this is a bit rambly its because we also went to the Robots In Disguise aftershow at Plan B. Oh yes indeedy.

Needing sleepies now.

No Sleepies at SeOne

Fringey is Squish at the Insomniacs Ball!

What better way to kick of the Easter weekend than with an all night disco party at Se One? So we rock up to London Bridge just before midnight, ready for even more dancy fun after the fabulous WAS earlier.

Se One is just as we’d expected - dark, cavernous, cold and more than a little rapey. Oh and White Rose Movement were playing as we entered. There really is no getting away from them. So we head to the bar for drinkies, which is where we all nearly get SQUISHED TO DEATH as everyone previously watching WRM decides to leave at the same time - out the same exit. You try holding three drinks, stay on your feet and breathe for an entire 10 minutes in a sea of indie kids - and it seemed lots longer. Bad, bad organisation!

But what of the music, the bands and the indie kids on the dance floor?

The Holloways are a proper band now, with real jaunty gypsy tunes and everything! If only we could have seen them behind the six, YES SIX, bouncers stood ON THE ACTUAL STAGE! - (There to protect them from the hordes of indie kids wearing dodgy pork pie hats?) - When the band get to the sublime pop hoedown that is ‘Generator’, there is a scuffle and a young urchin (small fan) is unceremoniously turfed off the stage. (The odds were against him, but he had a go anyway, well done that lad!) The band stop playing, point out that there’s no need for that kind of thing and then take it from the top. They really are starting to generate the music that makes me feel better!

We squish back into Room 2 for Art Brut. Never thought I’d say this, but they are starting to get a bit old, or maybe we’re just getting tired of watching them do the same show repeatedly? I can see why Argos would do the same schtick every night when touring the US for months at a time, but that won’t really cut it back in blighty. They need to be working in a few more new songs, before they become a parody of themselves.

Dogs are entirely different. Every time with the mucky pups feels like its the first! Johnny was loving it and the crowd were loving him back. It was another squeeze, but worth it and I’m guessing more than a few ‘cooler than thou’ indie kids were surprised to find themselves moshing along to 'Selfish Ways'.

Other previously unseen bands that we liked a lot were Black Wire and Vincent Vincent and the Villains. Didn’t get watching either of them for very long, but saw enough to plan to go see them again as soon as poss.

Fringey danced the rest of the night away to tunes chosen by the Rakes chaps and the excellent Eddie Temple Morris.

Dancy dancy dancy till the first tube home.

We love Scientists @ the SBE

BE MY BABY!!

Oh my, Fringey have been looking forward to this one.

When we first saw We Are Scientists they were the perfect foil to the slightly over earnest Editors at the Astoria, and they’ve kept with the contrasts by having the Cinematics support them tonight. (Nice and swooney if a little dull.)

The Shepherds Bush Empire show is a vindication that we do know what we’re talking about. We knew all along that the Scientists produced the most fabulous indie pop! - Their emo tinged geek art rock shouldn’t work this well. It is so what we hate and despise about manufactured indie.

But those songs - with their great big guitar hooks, that curl around our lobes and reel us into the Sci-cave - where the Scientists can 'seize our very minds' !! ... ... WAS are not just about the music, oh no - they’re about having a bloody good time and lets not get too serious about this being on a stage in front of thousands of people business! Lets call James Blunt a c*nt and do a slightly cheesy cover version of the Ronnettes 'Be My Baby' instead.

They’ve been constantly on tour since we last saw them at 93 Feet East and have managed to pick up some mono browed arctic monkey fans, and some screaming underage groupies along the way. Not quite sure how that happened, but I guess 'tis the price they pay for going on the NME tour. They have the angles, they have the rocks, they have the sense of humour and, most of all, they have a bloody good merch stall. (unfortunately there’s no Editors guitarist flogging t-shirts this time.)

We still love the geeks, even tho now everyone else does as well. They’re playing Brixton this Autumn. Get them! (I wonder how much they miss packing up their own gear at the end of a show?)

Luce had this to say:

Primal Screaming @ the Astoria

Get your rocks off .........

How good are Primal Scream! (This is a rhetorical, the Scream are feckin' great!)

I have thought that there must be something about rock star egos that requires all the really great front men to be utter wankers. If this be the case then Bobby Gillespie is probably the biggest twat on earth. Still, when he can fill a 1 & ½ hour set with lots of completely new tunes, and still have the audience going mental, who’s complaining??

Kicking off with ‘Country Girl’ (a brand new single) they've ditched the dance in favour of bluesy rock'n'roll – rah! There were a couple of shit hot backing singers, giving it some gospel welly, especially on ‘Moving on Up’; and I never thought that ‘Swastika Eyes’ could be such pure strobetastic genius. It was a highlight. Mani was like a slightly chunky, bass wielding giant, chucking out rock poses all over the shop, while Bobby G spun around, leapt about and fell to his knees at every - crap dancing - opportunity.

The second encore included another outing for both ‘Country Girl’ and a riotous, joyous ‘Rocks'. We had to go for a post gig drink in Bradleys, just to catch our breath!

Get your rocks off indeed!