Primrose Street

Zombie Zombie

I love Zombie Zombie. Photo for now, review later this week. That is, maybe on Sunday.

Sunday is here and I have a little more time to elaborate on what an amazing live act Zombie Zombie are. I do not know where to start. Let me, perhaps, ignore the two supporting acts - Lime Headed Dog and Provokief, the latter name very intriguing for a bookworm as myself. Bringing to mind one of the most fascinating characters in Russian literature or not. Anyway, it was Zombie Zombie I was looking forward to on 6th May 2009 in Monarch. Gently sipping redbull with vodka and chatting to my dearest friend and fellow music lover who I was genuinely hoping would not be disappointed. For the sea of vodka or whatever it may take. They came on stage and brought back the magic. They are a team in rhythm, improvisation and immersion in sound, the two gentlemen. Not a huge venue, not many people, but Zombie Zombie as good as ever. Although I was a bit sentimental, as last time I saw them in the middle of summer, in Rough Trade East and the drummer clad in ripped jeans shorts was jumping on a stool. But that day audience was absolutely crazy and genuinely sharing their passion for sound. Those were the days! Anyway, dearest readers, my friend was smitten with Zombie Zombie and I was the happiest person to see them again and share my joy. I know it may sound controversial, but they are the closest anyone got to godlike genius of Kraftwerk and that is a compliment of a lifetime. So, my dearest readers, I recommend Zombie Zombie more than anything else. Especially in small venues, in the middle of the week. Redbull and vodka optional. As long as you do not get drunk easily.

Of course, I need to comment on the photo which you have the doubtful pleasure of seeing above. Miserable as usual, but this time I would like to add that it was coupled with me feeling miserable while taking it. Recently, music journalists have started to criticise the members of audience who, instead of enjoying the gig, concentrate on taking poor quality pictures with their camera phones. I feel this criticism is aimed at me, and god knows, I always feel guilty when I outstretch my arm to take a photo, stopping my breathing to prevent shaking, praying that nobody kicks me or passes me, to sum up, touches me, for that matter, as the camera phone is very moody. Especially in low light. Yes, now, on top of that, I sense, more than usual, hostility being fully aware that this blog is not enough to justify my silly ways.

Dulwich Upper Wood

Tiny but well worth a visit.

Record Store Day

Tribute to Pure Groove and Rough Trade.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

On 26th April, not at my most cheerful, having listened to Arthur Russel much too much, I was subjected to Yeah Yeah Yeahs experience in Shepherd's Bush Empire, yes the venue of my famous fainting. Safeguarding myself. Deceiving myself and you, dearest readers, that I could actually enjoy Yeah Yeah Yeahs had it not been for my painful memories, meditative mood, venue and what not. Courtesy of Arthur Russel. And looking into people's faces on the tube, staring at them relentlessly, seeing them puzzled and ashamed. But back to the creators of this guilty pleasure of mine, Maps. Ignoring the shamelessly kitschy stage design, with an eye/moon dominating the scenery, frantic audience jumping, spilling beer and being as enthusiastic as you can imagine, all I could see was void. Yes, you have heard it, void. Karen O with her Joker smile and well-reahearsed moves and lines seems to be devoid of any emotion. She can deliver, perfect voice, great on stage but it was all so insincere and artificial it hurt. Mass production of gigs, random fans, easy listening, yes, for me what they do is pretty much easy listening, which I define as 'oh, a good tune, I think I have heard it before'. So let us ignore all that. I wanted to see Karen O, raw, cutting to the bone and all I got was a tired performer, with a potential, as they say. Unconvinced, I left. Blame it on Arthur.

PJ Harvey

Finally. For now.

After years of waiting, I got to see the lady of mysteries, PJ Harvey. She was the only artist I named without hesitation as my top one to see, so dear readers can now imagine my anticipation and excitement. However, however, the gig being PJ Harvey and John Parish and not PJ alone hinted at my possible future disappointment but how wrong I was. For PJ Harvey is a queen is PJ Harvey is a queen. Immaculate. Her voice is perfect, her moves accentuate the rhythm or melody. Needless to say, she is utterly sexy. And as much as I would like to avoid describing female acts in sexual terms, I cannot help it. The highlight was Pig Will Not - one of the most amusing songs on the album, on 20th April in Shepherd's Bush Empire, live, not only amusing but also neurotic.

What else can I add? PJ Harvey's performance was very moving, she sounded genuinely grateful that the audience was listening to songs. Acting out every song, she took me on a spiritual journey, however hackneyed it may sound. Forgive me this personal remark, dear readers, but I forgot myself completely, that during the last song, seeing yellow stars in front of my eyes, I was battling my body to prevent fainting and failing miserably, seeing the darkness and repeating 'I cannot see anything'. So my last memory is PJ Harvey surrounded by the stars. One more remark, this time about the photos, it seems not only my mind but also my mobile was overcome by the artist. Most of my pictures feature a white ghost of an ageless girl, with hard to distinguish features. Someone could blame the lighting or poor health for the above mentioned abnormalities but I would say it is PJ Harvey's black magic.

The Whitest Boy Alive

Had I walked to Rough Trade East, I would have managed to collect a wristband but, sadly, on 17th April it was raining without end so the tube seemed to be a safe bet. To my disappointment, it was not. The wristbands were gone, it was raining and I was queuing again. This time quite close and desperate, because in the rain. Why desperate? Because I really like The Whitest Boy Alive, and have great memories from their gig in Electric Ballroom and I sadly failed to secure tickets for at least one of their London dates this year, so Rough Trade East was an answer to my prayers and it was god patting me on the head, there you go girl, for your pleasure. But no, I failed, queuing there I was thinking about the past, precisely, what my mum used to tell me when I was a child - you are not made of sugar, it is just rain. However, if you pray and wait and pray, sometimes it pays, so I was let in. The Whitest Boy Alive were playing songs from their latest album, catchy and lighthearted it would seem. However, a record store is a place where musicians, I would guess, are haunted. So it seemed Erlend Øye was haunted by the ghosts of music industry and digital downloads coupled with memories of the past, records, artwork and playing instruments as opposed to software generated output and so on and so forth. And they have their own label Bubbles. And they never play same gigs as audiences are different, and in two hours in Cargo they will play a completely different gig because people will be different. And probably ghosts as well, sir. So I set out to describe the gig and I ended up summarising what the lead singer was saying throughout the gig but I thought it to be significant. I am sometimes wondering how musicians are making their living. Touring must be so exhausting. God bless all record buying freaks, then.