It was Songbird last night- I was talking to Jamie at the door and some proper Russians turned up because they'd heard it was a Russian club. They spent ages trying to negotiate a reduced entrance charge and (as I told them) were missing the performances as they did so. In the end it seemed as though that was part of the fun for them. 'The door' is a mini-show in itself- a whole batch of rude people from a gallery next door came in. They are allowed a reduction but they made a massive loud posh fuss about the fact that they couldn't get in for nothing. People from that gallery have been like that before- talking to the door person (in that case, it was me) as though they were a piece of dog poo on the bottom of their shoe. No doubt they are much-admired as avant-garde artists, but I bet they all voted for Margaret Thatcher!
A woman came to the door, heard acoustic guitars (band called Blanket that were very 'John Peel', I thought) and shouted 'I don't like Ralph McTell!' and left (takes one to know one). Lots of nice and funny people came it too though, and some very sartorially attractive ones. Who else played? Anna Pigalle (very rude!) and Frank Bangay (very extraordinary). It's always a unique night. Funnily enough, for the second time (see past postings) I saw an enthusiastic nosepicker- different one this time- and he consumed the stuff afterwards. I know I should have been watching the acts and not the audience, and I promise to do that next time. I just hope none of next month's acts has developed nostril excavation into a performance piece!
2 comments:
Dear Helen, I must try and attend one of these gigs. My only connection with Ralph McTell is seeing a punk band play a rendition of Streets of London in 1981?
Dear Helen, The Time of your Blogger says: 7.17 am. And if thats correct, and by way of the 24 hour clock, thats two minutes past a quarter past seven in the morning?
Why are'nt you in bed like any normal musician?
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