It's Saturday again...
And I'm deciding whether to drag my ass to the Marlborough Head or just stay at home and read.
Immediate news: it looks like the Parotid Gland (I looked up the spelling on Google) is starting to get better as the Antibiotics kick in. I even had a boy-scout sandwich before without the tomato sauce triggering extreme pain. The Doc at Whipps cross recommended that from time to time I should suck a lemon. Fortunately, before I could reply in a manner I felt appropriate to such an instruction, he explained that it would help flush the gland.
Should be fine by Monday.
Last night was interesting. The Hardcore show itself was pretty dull. I got there about 8ish, walked down to the Stage area and encountered a semi-melodic emo-core kind of outfit. With Beards. Try as I could, I couldn't stomach more than thirty seconds at a time of this particular outfit, so I retreated to the bar, wondering if I had made a mistake coming out.
Back in the bar I ran into a couple of the Hardcore kids I met a few months back. Turns out that two or three of them are actually in a band which played later. I tried really hard to like them, but they were just making boring, by the book heavy hardcore and their momentum and energy was undermined by timing mistakes.
Speaking of timing mistakes, the Headliners, The Seventh Cross (swedish style metalcore from Birmingham) didn't impress me much either, even though they were the band I had pretty much come out to see. Although their CD also suffers from timing mistakes (the kind which Uruk Hai were always guilty of), what really undermined them were was the singers voice, which was the wrong kind of painful scream. No light, no shade, no variation, just a harsh screech sitting way too high in the mix and destroying any merits the rest of the band had going for them.
And the guy was wearing big shorts. Dude, it is not 1998 anymore. Get with the programme. Besides, there are very few situations that a grown man should be wearing shorts. This was not one of them.
After the show I ran into a girl that I had met after the Alec Empire Show a month or two back. This girl, despite being really not my type, had plenty of stories about Alec Empire, Atari Teenage Riot and other things, so I spent the next few hours kicking around Camden, then Leicester Square then Trafalgar Square with her. It was something different, and I felt like the company.
Besides which, she claims to be involved with the local music industry and media, so she would be a contact worth keeping. When I ran into her I she was talking to a promotional flyer chap who was talking about putting together some kind of festival thing. Life has taught me to treat everything with a grain of salt, but it has also taught me that not everything that sounds like a lie is.
I'll reserve judgement.
At about five or six in the morning I took the 55 home instead of the #8. It was a different route that took me all through Hackney and Old Street and the like, before depositing me at a bus station in Leyton. It should have gone all the way to Leytonstone, I'm not sure what the story was there... but at least I could catch the W14 (?) to Leytonstone soon after.
The bus took me to the wrong side of the Leytonstone Station, not a long walk from my flat. I didn't feel that in my condition (infected Perotid... yeah, I know) it would be wise to pull an All-Dayer, so I took another anti-biotic tablet, read some Transmetropolitan and went to bed.
Monday I'll be fully recovered. Fun and games then.
Over and Out.
J
Immediate news: it looks like the Parotid Gland (I looked up the spelling on Google) is starting to get better as the Antibiotics kick in. I even had a boy-scout sandwich before without the tomato sauce triggering extreme pain. The Doc at Whipps cross recommended that from time to time I should suck a lemon. Fortunately, before I could reply in a manner I felt appropriate to such an instruction, he explained that it would help flush the gland.
Should be fine by Monday.
Last night was interesting. The Hardcore show itself was pretty dull. I got there about 8ish, walked down to the Stage area and encountered a semi-melodic emo-core kind of outfit. With Beards. Try as I could, I couldn't stomach more than thirty seconds at a time of this particular outfit, so I retreated to the bar, wondering if I had made a mistake coming out.
Back in the bar I ran into a couple of the Hardcore kids I met a few months back. Turns out that two or three of them are actually in a band which played later. I tried really hard to like them, but they were just making boring, by the book heavy hardcore and their momentum and energy was undermined by timing mistakes.
Speaking of timing mistakes, the Headliners, The Seventh Cross (swedish style metalcore from Birmingham) didn't impress me much either, even though they were the band I had pretty much come out to see. Although their CD also suffers from timing mistakes (the kind which Uruk Hai were always guilty of), what really undermined them were was the singers voice, which was the wrong kind of painful scream. No light, no shade, no variation, just a harsh screech sitting way too high in the mix and destroying any merits the rest of the band had going for them.
And the guy was wearing big shorts. Dude, it is not 1998 anymore. Get with the programme. Besides, there are very few situations that a grown man should be wearing shorts. This was not one of them.
After the show I ran into a girl that I had met after the Alec Empire Show a month or two back. This girl, despite being really not my type, had plenty of stories about Alec Empire, Atari Teenage Riot and other things, so I spent the next few hours kicking around Camden, then Leicester Square then Trafalgar Square with her. It was something different, and I felt like the company.
Besides which, she claims to be involved with the local music industry and media, so she would be a contact worth keeping. When I ran into her I she was talking to a promotional flyer chap who was talking about putting together some kind of festival thing. Life has taught me to treat everything with a grain of salt, but it has also taught me that not everything that sounds like a lie is.
I'll reserve judgement.
At about five or six in the morning I took the 55 home instead of the #8. It was a different route that took me all through Hackney and Old Street and the like, before depositing me at a bus station in Leyton. It should have gone all the way to Leytonstone, I'm not sure what the story was there... but at least I could catch the W14 (?) to Leytonstone soon after.
The bus took me to the wrong side of the Leytonstone Station, not a long walk from my flat. I didn't feel that in my condition (infected Perotid... yeah, I know) it would be wise to pull an All-Dayer, so I took another anti-biotic tablet, read some Transmetropolitan and went to bed.
Monday I'll be fully recovered. Fun and games then.
Over and Out.
J
posted by the.exile at 6:21 pm
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