Phoenix

Roundhouse, 29th March 2010, Phoenix, quite an autobiographical gig, my Dearest Readers will soon realise. I listen to the radio in the mornings, and one morning some time ago, the presenter was raving about Phoenix, a band of my early 20s tune of the year and quite an album with great instrumental songs recently. I also remember quite clearly a young video director showing me photos of their instruments with a logo of the band, so proud. So the band turned out to be fantastic, with this unnecessary moment of curtains going down just before an encore. The crowd was absolutely mad, the singer would go into the crowd, singing all the catchiest tunes as you can imagine. My favourite moment was when the two guitarist were playing, you can tell there is a great experimental potential in the band, sadly or not overshadowed by great, almost anthem-like, songs. And one of the guitarist has the most face dominating lower-lip imagined, fascinating.

Supporting were Two Door Cinema Club, a band most likely making a great impression on the youthful crowd. I remained passive.

So my Dearest Readers must be wondering where is the autobiographical part. Well, early in the show, while I was taking photos with my most reliable camera-phone, I got a text from my best friend about a terrible flu in Poland that left her pregnant. This gig was a Requiem for my Youth.

Twilight Sad, Take a Worm for a Walk Week

Dearest Readers already know that was not the first time I had seen Twilight Sad, in fact, a gig in Relentless Garage on 24th March 2010 established me as a proper groupie of this Scottish art group (I could not help the art). So here I was, in the first row, waiting. Take a Worm for a Walk came first (last picture above), with cool tattoos and beards, a lot of shouting and not so great guitar skills but, me being quite sentimental about my youth, wandered off to all the garage bands in my teens, all the dodgy gigs I went to when I was young and, I like to think, musically underdeveloped. Anyway, this band was really refreshing, with the singer grabbing his balls and eating his fist, singing the famous male choir bit from Annie Lennox' 'No more I love you's' . Real fun, I would like to reiterate, I loved the tattoos.

Then came a terrible band, Wild Palms, please do not let me go into details of how awfully full of himself the singer was. And the only bright spot was the strangely attractive drummer. Do not even ask. I do not know.

I always imagine that before the gig, the band throws three buckets of water on the singer to sober him up. That is why they always take some time before coming on stage. So when they finally did, I felt how detached from the band you are in Relentless Garage, Scala and Lexington were perfect, you could almost touch them, I could see what Andy was doing etc. But then I realise, it is good they are so far as they have a real groupie now, and I am not a groupie at all, there was a girl throwing herself, singing, taking pictures, going absolutely mad in the second row. She obviously missed the boat with the first row, but it did not stop her. She was full on, and I felt I was coming second, not much passion in me. Especially that I could clearly see that there is something sad and worrying going on in the band. Tension between the drummer and the singer who was willing to improvise. I was hoping that the drummer was angry because he had to sell merchandise all evening but I do not think this was the case. Anyway, a good gig. Twilight Sad are a great band with lots of ideas. Even when they borrow a bass player from Take a Worm for a Walk Week, and even when the drummer makes mistakes (never before), it is worth seeing them live. I think I already mentioned I love them.

Memory Tapes

On 13th March 2010, Dearest disappointed with me Readers, in Cargo, a band Memory Tapes graced the Shoreditch crowd with their skilfully crafted pop songs (yes, I felt the urge to include shoreditch crowd and skilfully crafted in one sentence). Sadly, their output was not what I expected, and, as usual, I am not impressed with laptop's performance. Especially, when it sits at the core of the production. Yes, the guitar, yes, the drums, yes, the vocals, but, trust you me, the pre-prepared electronic beat, press play, play-back killed the joy for me. Perhaps I was standing too close, perhaps I did not drink enough Japanese beer before the gig, I would not know.

So, I will retire to my stereo and play Memory Tapes at home, where it works.

Beach House

Essentially, Dearest Readers, my aim was to deliver this splendid review of a gig that brought tears to my eyes, mainly, Beach House in Bush Hall on 17th February 2010. I shall not go into details of how difficult it was to get to the venue considering that Liverpool station was closed and there seemed to be no other way that the strange way to get to the west part of London. Oh joy. Arriving just in time for folky Lawrence Arabia, which was a strange way to start the evening musically but slowly progressing to the front row only to forget myself staring at Victoria or rather Victoria Legrand's hands and, how fetishist of me, boots. I completely forgot that there was Alex on guitar and a man unknown on drums. I was mesmerised.

Dearest Readers, I quite liked the album, but I feel I understand it better after the gig, and consequently, love it as it should be loved. There is unbelievable dreaminess and warmth about Beach House, and there is something I like to call musical talent. Bear with me for a second, while I explain. Talent can be a burden, you do not need talent to please Undula's ear, sometimes an idea is enough but with Beach House - there is plenty of talent and one idea that spans across the albums and live music. There are recurring musical themes and they do it so well.

I can tell my Dearest Readers are losing patience and, in all probability, have no idea what I intended to express apart from the standard what a great band. But it certainly was an event of the brought tears to my eyes kind. I did not want them to go.

One more word about Victoria Legrand who is an immensely charismatic person, entertaining the audience during the slider quest, controlling the musical output, playing the keyboard with closed eyes (I know I know, I am easily impressed) and being ultimately, but ultimately, sexy.

Dearest Readers, please go and see for yourselves.

Vampire Weekend

After a terrible support whose name I shall not name on 16th February 2010 in Brixton Academy, my Dearest, there came the four youngsters to deliver perfectly performed pop act, full of joy and honesty. To be fair, I am not Vampire Weekend fan, but to see a band succeed without being boring is a treat. Needless to say, the cover photo girl's eyes were black/blue/red making this photo even more disconcerting to me. Dearest Readers can probably tell this is the third review in which I have failed to put my heart and soul. Or perhaps I shall name the support - Fan Death. An awfully untalented dancer/singer/individual without any idea about what to do on stage, painful to see.

Depeche Mode

How come, how come, dearest Readers, I got to see Depeche Mode so late in my life. 16th December 2009, O2 Arena. Arriving quite early, we managed to get to the front braving the completely drunk part of the audience who kept falling over, this part of the audience was so wasted that the remaining part of the audience ejected the drunk part within half an hour. Joy to see.

So they came on stage and they ruled my world. I do not think I have mentioned before that I am not that young and early 90s music tends to take me places. They are great showmen, great musicians, I have to see them again.

Graham Coxon

Barbican, 28th November 2009, yes, quite this review has been outstanding for quite a while It was quite a spontaneous outing which resulted in us going to Barbican, in a gig mood, unlike the hundreds who were in a theatre mood, for some reason, there was no joy anywhere in the audience. As far as music is concerned, a fantastic idea. Dearest Readers have by now realised there is not much I remember, the month being February. I shall not utter a word.