Hey All

Hey Everyone,

Being in a mega hurry last night meant no blogging.

But here's the ten penny tour of my last 48 Hours:

While killing time waiting for the Sopranos to come on, I fired up the Typing Tutor to try to get my digits moving faster. After an hour that got old, so I started messing with Cubase, and by complete accident I created a snippet that sounded great when looped. Sort of like it had been fed through some kind of Ring Modulator or something.

So I took this tiny slice, mapped it onto a keyboard in Halion and then made up a four bar rhythmic loop, four on the floor with accent note on the two and the four, plus a triplet short note inserted here and there, just to give it a swing. The four bars ended in some kind of swinging bass turnaround.

So far so good.

By the second Sopranos episode of the night (channel four has been repeating them two at a time), I had taken the four bar loop and turned it into an eight bar loop, with a hemi-demi-semi-triplet-quaver roll in the eighth bar.

Strictly speaking, using rolls at the fourth or eight bar is what you do when you've been using breakbeats, since you can't break down breakbeats with a breakbeat (most famous breakbeat is the Funky Drummer Break, created by Clyde Stubblefield when he drummed with James Brown). I hadn't been using a breakbeat, I'd been using a straight beat with a Back Beat (and I am actually one of the people who knows the difference between a Backbeat and a Breakbeat... it is amazing the number of people who should know but don't).

But I digress. The point is that I should have used a Break Beat to break the Straight Beat, but I didn't. Why? Because it's my beat, that's why. You break 'em your way, I'll break 'em mine.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch I copied it to 16 Bars, customised the roll. Ditto 32. Ditto 64.

I think by this time Steve Buscemi had just whacked somebody in Florida.

While King of the Hill played I added interesting rolls to the bars that were multiples of 8 (rolls at different pitches, rolls go down etc) and I discovered that glissandoing the rolls downwards in pitch made a sound not unlike an 8-bit video game doing a filter sweep, or something. It sounded totally Ninetendo-core, so I liked it. Hmm. Maybe it sound slice, dice and sample that sound on its own.

Anways, while King of the Hill played, I messed around with levels and whatever.

After that a weird movie starring Judy Davis and the bloke from the first Robocop Movie. Something about two yuppies opening a shop that goes broke, plus some New-Agey peripheral stuff. Lots of plot-related nudity. I concentrated on tweaking the track.

Realising that the rhythms were cool but the sounds lacked punch, I opened up the mixer and messed with the EQs. Naturally, since there were at least two voices (in a compositional sense) at work, spiking the levels to punch up the bassline messed with the accents and vice versa. But the real problem with how to give the bassline dirt without muddying up the accents, and how to make the accents spit like fat in a fire without thinning the bassline.

Only one thing to do: split up the channels.

Those four words took me the rest of the movie (more nudity, some character developement, pretentious New-Age babble, depressed yuppies, pretentious dialogue and the like... I'm sure someone is saying 'You could have done it quicker if you weren't watching TV at the same time', to which I reply that watching TV was the reason I was working on the music in the first place. Turning it off would have seemed impolite).

Anyways, what I had to do was create a new channel, select the notes I wanted to copy, cut them out, paste them into the new channel and then line them up with the other part. Lining up the rhythms properly was harder than you would think. Especially since I had managed to really mess up the notes somehow.

Once that was sorted -(I never did get it all straight, but I thought the fuck-ups somehow added character to the loop... I may decide that it actually shite and put it back proper next time I listen to it)- I had to figure out why I couldn't hear the two Midi Channels coming through their own Audio Channels.

First I realised that Halion still thought that I was playing to the same instrument, even though I was playing through different Midi Channels. Fine. Make new Halion instrument.

Still not right.

Next I realised that Halion was outputting both instruments through the same Audio Channel.

Solving this took a bit of time. Changing some setting in Halion or changing a setting on the Channel and then hitting the Space Bar and seeing what ran up the flagpole.

Eventually I sorted it. Two voices on Two Channels playing through Two Instruments outputting to Two Audio Channels, each with their own EQ and Effects.

Neato.

Dirt to the Bassline with some Distortion, twiddle the EQ. The accent beats got nastified with the Bitcrusher, and hit with a little bit of reverb. In actuality, it came out sounding glassy and brittle, which is what I wanted.

I messed around with it some more, but by this point I was satisfied that I had done all I could at this point, and it was time for me to go to bed.

I'll play with it some more, see what else I can make of it. If I like it enough I might make a Myspace and put it up for your enjoyment in Cyberland.

Anyways, that was Thursday Night.

Last Night:

I was on a strict schedule, since Electro Rose of Texas had put me on the guestlist for Xtro at Tufnell Park, and I didn't want to repay the favour by being late for her DJ set. She would be on the Wheels of Steel at 10PM, and it would take roughly an hour to get to the Venue. That meant I had to be at the Tube by 9PM. I had to take a shower and shave, which meant that I should probably start that by 8PM. But first I had to iron a bunch of T-Shirst I had washed the night before (while I was doing all that beat programming).

Surprisingly, despite overshooting on the ironing I left the flat with 20 minutes to spare, and checked my messages at Haff's Caff. No messages of note.

Hurried to the Station, stopping at the ATM and again to renew my Travelcard.

On the Tube. Nothing to do but read and listen to the Ipod.

To my surprise, I actually made it to Tufnell Park in plenty of time. Enough time that I accidently walked into the wrong door of the venue and found myself in a Sixties Theme Night they were running in a different part of the venue. D'oh!

I found the right door and found that Electro Rose of Texas had actually put my name on the Guestlist. Which was nice of her, since I did mention, when she offered, that I would only be able to stay for two hours as I was committed to taking the last tube to Angel for Overkill III.

The venue was a big empty hall, with a stage of sorts at one end, the DJ booth at the other and tables lining the sides. The smoke machines left a blanket of smoke hanging over the dancefloor far above my head, but the way the light caught the smoke made me feel as if I was on another planet. At least until someone realised that nightclubs are supposed to be dark, and turned off the house lights. The venue stayed pretty empty for most of the time I was there.

E.R. turned up with the boy I guess is still her boyfriend about ten and hit the decks, playing a set of 80s industrial and electro, including Skinny Puppy, Nitzer Ebb, Einsteurzende Neubauten and some other lost classics. Which was cool. Later I got talking to a couple of Canadians, including a Canadian Psychobilly who complained that no-one ever plays PWEI.

I told him to go to Strength Through Joy the next night. But he told me he couldn't, since he was getting tattooed on Sunday, ergo he needed his sleep. Side note: I discovered on Thursday afternoon that they now have a tattoo and piercing parlour in Harrods on Oxford Street.

I gave him a note with the details of the next STJ.

I told the Canadian my joke about my Brothers and Sisters being born in Calgary:

'Calgary, Alberta?'
'Nah, Calgary Hospital, Cairns.'

More people were dancing, the music was more old-school goth than industrial. But it was after midnight, and I was about to turn into a pumpkin. Or at least miss the last train to Angel.

So I thanked Electro Rose for putting my name on the guestlist (she promised to do it next month as well), and made my exit, stage left.

I narrowly caught the last tube south, and arrived at Electrowerks to be greeted by Alex B and a whole lot of crazy people going nuts to some live laptop breakcore. Getting a closer look at Sickboy, the DJ, somebody grabbed me and I recognised it as Scotty, the Breakcore/Noise producer/dj from Brisbane that I had seen in Brighton with my friend Laura.

He told me that everyone actually loved the review that I had written of the night, even agreeing with the criticisms I had made. He went as far as using the words 'Visibly Swooning'. I can't picture Laura, Lara or the others swooning, but I'll take his word for it.

Sickboy's set was an amazing cascade of beats and breaks and loops that carried me into the middle of the crowded dancefloor and set me springing like a dashboard toy. Xtro had been fun, but this was ecstasy (without the Ecstasy). Upstairs was crazy noise performance stuff, including some bloke with a saxophone (!?).

Back downstairs I rejoined the dancefloor, recognising the faces of friends, including people from Norwich and Brighton.

Sickboy finished and Bong-Ra took over, with big, epic sounding synths giving way to more mad breaks, and even cheesy video-game melodies. More Dashboard Dancing from me.

A note at this point: Those of you who have read the reviews that I write for Fasterlouder will remember that I mentioned Alex B by name in a review. I was a little worried because at that event I didn't actually mention that I was reviewing for Fasterlouder, nor did I ask if I could mention him by name and quote him on anything he said.

It didn't seem to be worth worrying about, since I doubted that anyone in London would read those reviews. It suddenly occurred to me last week that I was probably going to link those reviews to any correspondence I entered into with the editor of Alternative London, a publication Alex has written for in the past. D'oh!

Keen to nip any possible SNAFU in the bud, in a spare moment I told Alex that I had reviewed the show, mentioned him by name, quoted him (but not quoted him saying anyting contraversial) and asked if he minded at all. Alex, being the easy-going chap that he is, shrugged it off with a not-bothered smile, and asked me for the URL of Fasterlouder, since he wanted to read the review.

Okay, this is going to sound totally mercenary and career-climbing etc, but I couldn't believe it. A regular Terrorizer contributor was going to read a review that I had written just because I screwed up and did something unprofessional and had a panic attack over it.

I hope he likes the review, to say the least.

Anways, upstairs an act called Wolf Eyes had taken the stage.

I have no idea where to begin with Wolf Eyes. Essentially a three piece made of a bassist, a vocalist and a guit manipulating a synthesizer. And some noisy beats on a laptop or something. The sound was so thick and intense and loud, with so many horrific frequencies at work that I could only take it in short bursts. This is coming from someone who took a full hour set of The Locust in his stride and went back for more three days later.

I remember thinking 'if you recorded the sound of a nuclear attack, pressed it to vinyl and played it a 33RPM, this is what it would sound like'. Then I remember thinking 'Some bands are like watching a car crash. Watching this band is like BEING in a car crash.' The sheer assault of the sound scrambled my mind so much that I found it hard to think straight for the rest of the night.

Which was annoying, because I had been successfully chatting up a pretty blonde, and after the Wolf Eyes set I entirely lost the ability to be charming, or even coherent. Then again, the girl's attention was now on a bearded chap that looked for all the world like The Tsar of Russia, and was complaining that Wolf Eyes had sold out and were just a rock band now. So maybe I wasn't being incoherent enough.

The Jessica, the half-chinese girl I met at Scottish Jim's STJ Afterparty was there, but she cared less for Wolf Eyes than I did, and her two-tone platform shoes made her feet hurt if she tried to dance for too long. In any case she didn't seem to be in a talkative mood. She told me she wasn't planning on heading to STJ the next night. Which is a shame, since she seemed to be interesting people. I also ran into Richie, with whom I swapped notes about how disturbing the Wolf Eyes set was.

The rest of the night was more hobnobbing and dancing.

Eventually Richie, Scotty and I left the electrowerks at about six AM. Richie and Scotty exchanged contact details (I had introduced them based on their shared appreciation of noisy electronica), and a very tired Scotty peeled of to head to his digs at Putney (he is crashing at friends places around England, and looking for a permanent place to live... if Nenad the Swede does proper disappear, I might give him a call : )

Richie and I were proper hungry. All that dancing does take it out of you, and nightclubs in converted urban warehouses don't, as a rule serve food. Luckily, we found that the local Sainsbury's was open, so we both bought some various breadie kind of items, then negotiated the self-serve machines in our sleep-deprived post-club daze, much to the amusement/horror of the staff.

With food to sustain us, we then wandered through the southern end of Islington/edge of Camden, Richie giving me a guided tour of his old student stomping ground, and me being amazed by the buildings and streets I hadn't seen before. It seems to be that there actually are parts of London where the streets are clean and it doesn't look like something apocalyptic. I think those parts are the ones where the local businesses are numerous enough and big enough that the taxes that they pay contribute to the upkeep of their area.

As opposed to most of East London, where pretty much everyone is poor, and the councils run on a shoestring as a result. That's one theory, in any case.

Anyways, Richie and I swap notes, swap stories and eventually find a cafe in Holborn where we chill for a bit, before we peel off and I catch the Tube back to Leytonstone.

Naturally, at this time I should be getting some sleep.

But I thought I'd share my story first.

My head cold is getting better, and things are looking better all the time.

Time to sign off.

Over and out.

J

Hot off the press:

Hey All,

I just got a message from the editor of Fasterlouder that I have a +1 on the door for the AFI show on the 21st May (mental note, tell Elea it looks like I'll be unavailable to Merch that day at All Tomorrow's Parties).

Groovy. I've always wanted a Plus One to some event. It seems like the best chance I have of impressing chicks in London, since I don't have a car or any cash.

I just checked UK Ebay, and bids for a pair of tickets is up to £100. Lousy bloodsucking digital-touts.

(and before anyone gets tempted, I have no idea how to sell a name on a list on e-Bay)

Anyways, had a good day today: my landlady took me to lunch in Chinatown, I had a nice Sweet n Sour Pork, and then we checked out some shops on Oxford St.

After that, I wandered through Soho, chilled in a park and then took the Tube to Stratford when there was a book waiting for me at the Library.

Tonight I eat steak.

Anyways, it occurs to me that since I haven't done a proper interview since 1994, I should probably politely pick the brains of my Metal Press pals sometime soon.

I'll probably either find them at the Crobar or the Devonshire Arms. Actually, I'm seeing Alex B tomorrow night.

Enought of that, gotta run.

Over and out.

J

Hey All,

Hey Everyone,

I'm still sick. Still sneezey and coughey and snotty and gross.

And to add insult to illness, I have that telltale ache in the right of my jaw that usually comes with a case of perititis (sp?).

Still, I will see how it develops. Right now it seems okay. If I wake up tomorrow and half my face swells up at the thought of a sandwich, I know that I'll have to make an appointment with my local NHS and get dosed up on antibiotics forthwith.

Still resting up, reading, watching the Sopranos on Channel 4 (they are replaying the entire 4th season two episodes at a time).

Planning moves, etc.

Time to go.

Over and out.

J

Grumble

Hey Blogioticians,

I'm still kinda sick, and being sick sucks.

But I am getting better.

I made a conscious decision not to do any barbells or stuff like that til I feel better. My throat still feels raw and my head still hurts right now.

The episode of Prison Break last night indicates that the producers intend to make the show more complicated than a Wedding on Home and Away.

Also: every so often I'll be walking along the Leytonstone High Road and I'll see a girl with a blonde betty-page haircut (it was brunette until august or september but she changed it overnight), who always wears a tweed coat. I'm sure I've seen her on the High Road as longas I've been in Leytonstone. I've thought of striking up a conversation with her, but since she seems to make such a concerted effort to avoid eye contact, I figure it's probably a good idea to pretend not to see her, just like she always seems to pretend no to see me.

I don't make any effort to find this girl, I just see her on the High Road every now and again whenever she is walking the other way. Sometimes its two days in a row, sometimes I don't see her for a month. She interests me as a local artefact because she is an island of modish style in this sea of Chavness that is Leytonstone.

In any case, today I saw the Girl With the Tweed Coat. Only she was wearing a midnight blue crush velvet coat, tied with a matching belt. For a moment I was tempted to say 'Ha! New Coat!', but I thought better of it.

I am reluctant to talk to her, because when people react badly to me, they react really badly. Considering that I am basically a walking violation of myriad folkways at the best of times, I try to tread carefully when the potential is there for something to go really sideways.

So I just picked a point in the middle distance, somewhere up and to the left, and fixed my view there til she was well past me. I wasn't game to break folkways today.

That and my hair was a mess.

Anyways, tomorrow I should be back to full health. Unfortunately the job interview was postponed, but I will get a call before Saturday to let me know when it will be postponed to.

Over and out.

J

Hey Everyone

Hey there Blogophemics,

I wrote a neato blog yesterday detailing how I got back into my flat (I went and looked at kittens in a pet shop until my flatmate came home), how I had a kick ass time at Antilight (Chris D played a stomping set leading with Tanz Mit Laibach), how I'm feeling much better now and how I got a call from that Game Shop asking if I wanted to do an interview for the part time position.

But then Blogger.com decided that it wasn't uploading any blogs by me that day.

Anyways, that's the skinny.

Other stuff: I ran into a photog friend who snaps for Alternative London, and he told me to email him, and he would put me in touch with the editor. Which would be neato, since it would mean that I had a chance at getting published here in London. Probably not paid, but one step at a time.

Anyways, last night I went to the Cold Meat Industries experimental noise/industrial/neo-folk thing at Koko, and had a pretty good time talking to people and meeting friends.

It's weird that someone as antisocial and misanthropic as I am is so affected by the people I see at events.

Anyways, I learnt some interesting stuff: for example, the magazine Zero Tolerance (an extreme metal mag here in the UK) was apparently started by a bunch of ex-Terrorizer journalists after a disagreement over editorial direction (they were extreme-metal loyalists, Terrorizer is now a much broader church in terms of the genres it covers ie not just metal, all kinds of crazy stuff).

The bloke that told me that was a New Zealander friend of my pal Rob, whose name I didn't catch, but with whom I had a great conversation.

Unfortunately I seem to have a sore-throat/cold thing right now, but I should recover pretty quickly. I'm taking vitamins by the fistful. And getting plenty of rest.

Also: as appreciation for being her lieutenant on the ground in keeping the flat running smoothly, my landlady is buying me lunch on Thursday (don't get excited, you at the back, she has a boyfriend).

And: a the Texan Electro/Retro Girl I told you about had invited me to some see her DJ at a club on Friday. Which should be cool.

Other than that, this week will be dedicated to job applications and planning my moves writing wise.

For now, I have to run home to watch Prison Break.

Over and out.

J

Word Up!

Hey there Blogophysicians,

After yesterday's mammoth post, I'm just going to throw in a short one then I'll be on my way.

I'm sure that everyone will be happy to know that I did actually get back into my flat by 4PM, which was great because Jesus knows I needed the sleep.

In fact, I slept through the alarm I had set so that I could watch Dr Who. D'oh! I'll check if there is a repeat sometime this week, otherwise I might be able to download the episode or something.

After a shower and a quick meal, I headed to Camden to go to Antilight at Koko, which was actually pretty good, even if the organiser was a little let down since only 500 people (Brisbane clubbers may want to read that line twice) came, and therefore had to shut at four.

Two mediocre bands played, but the DJs were the real stars. The house policy of kidnapping all the best DJs from all the other clubs worked pretty well. I personally had a great stomp to Chris D's set, and I got to chat to cool people the rest of the time.

One of the cool people was a Photog named Regis who snaps for Alternative London, a Goth/Metal/Fetish etc mag that comes out. He gave me his card, and told me that Alternative London was going to relaunch nationally in June, and that I should probably email him so that he can put me in touch with the Editor, with a view to me writing for them.

Neato. Just sent him an email now. Will research how to get directly to the editor of Alt London.

Met some other cool people, talked to some other friends.

Made it home by 8 AM. (it would have been earlier, but I got of the N8 at Liverpool Street thinking the Tube was open... it wasn't)

At about twelve I got a call from Gamestore at Stratford asking if I was still interested in the part time sales assistant position. I'm interviewing for it on Wednesday.

Thing is, I haven't done much playing lately. Too much else to do. I'll buy an Edge Magazine, cram up and fake it.

Anyways, I've got to head out.

Over and out.

J

Here's a story of adverity and triumph...

I wrote this longhand this morning between 0900 and 1030. I wanted to get my thoughts down as they were fresh.

My regular readers might remember that about two days ago I bought myself an A4 Box File thingo from WH Smith. I think that at the time I wrote that I wanted to be more organised with important personal documents, but I didn’t elaborate.

Two reasons for that: firstly, I was pressed for time. Secondly, I was feeling rather ashamed.

I have found it now, but for three days, give or take, I could not find the letter with my National Insurance Number on it. It arrived a few weeks ago, and after leaving it on the left side of my bed with all my other stuff (some novels, a few magazines etc) I decided that it was hight time that I put it in a safe place.

And I did. So safe that when I went looking for it on Tuesday Evening, I couldn’t find it again.

I was sure that I had put it into the peach coloured Slim Pick Wallet that used to house some of my important documents. IE my rental agreement, some old CVs and some Banking Stuff. It wasn’t there. This worried me.

I turned out all of the contents on my pillow to make sure that it wasn’t there. And turned up a fat Goose Egg.

Next I tossed through all the stuff on the left side of my bed, just to make sure that I hadn’t actually imagined putting it somewhere safe and that it wasn’t still sitting on the left side of my bed. Nope, not there either.

I’m sure that my self-esteem issues are worse than tedious to those that care about me, but when your life often becomes a daily battle to convince yourself that you are more than a terminal fuckup, too stupid to survive, losing an important piece of information does not help. Especially when you could have very easily copied said piece of information into a book which would be easier to recognise and harder to lose.

Ergo I was determined to find it. I had dim recollection of my NI Number being on a purple paper card, cased in a white envelope. So I scoured my room looking for one. I gathered all visible envelopes into a pile on my bed. I threw as much superfluous crap into my bin. I bought the file box to put all the official documents into. Payslips, BT letters, my Rental Agreement, Rent Paid-In Slips, P45 and P60, Bank Statements, Printouts of the Reviews that I’ve written, NHS Documents and so on.

I knew that it was locking the gate after the horse had bolted (as my Mother is often given to saying), but I figured that filing my stuff was what I should have done in the first place. Besides which, getting it out of the way in this fashion saved me from repeatedly trawling through the same pile of paper.

I reconciled myself to the possibility that it had fallen out of the A4 slim pick wallet when I had paid my rent at the bank on Tuesday, so I made time to go up to Stratford to ask if they had seen it. And I used the phone number on one of the documents I had found to call a service centre and ask if they could post the form out again.

They told me that I needed to go to my nearest Job Centre with two pieces of ID (including something with my address on it) and ask them to run a search. I did that, and the folk at Leytonstone Job Centre told me that I would have to return the next day, fill in a form and they would still only run the search if I was either working or if I had an offeer of work. This frustrated me. If I already had employment coming, I wouldn’t have time to make appointments, fill in forms or sit around while dedicated staff ran searches.

I did learn that my NI No. would also be on a plastic card, which usually arrived between four and eight weeks after the letter I had mislaid. But I couldn’t wait that long. I really needed that number because I wanted to take it to my agencies as soon as possible, but more than that I wanted to silence the voice inside me calling me a fuckup, as mentioned above.

In a ‘What Would Robin Hobb Do?’ moment, I reminded myself of the advice that Burrich the Stablemaster gave to Fitz, the protagonist somewhere in the Farseer Trilogy: ‘The fight ain’t over till you’ve won.’

And I was going to beat this Personal Demon.

I kept cleaning my room. I found more envelopes and payslips and bankslips and the like. I looked under clothes, magazines and anything else that would camoflage the envelope I was looking for. I even applied my Personal Finding Strategy for Finding Stuff That Refuses to be Found: look where you know that it won’t be. Chances are, that’s where it will be.

Some time late Friday afternoon I grabbed one of my white wifebeater vests from my cupboard, when I realised that underneath them was a couple of bits and pieces I hadn’t properly examined. In the pile was some comic books issues, some more banking crap, a map of Brighton and Hove (hmm, would have come in useful last Tuesday). And my NI Number. On a white sheet of A4, in a BROWN envelope (funny how the mind plays tricks on you).

I couldn’t believe it. Not letting go of the piece of paper, I copied the number into my A4 Diary, then I filed the letter in the Box File.

“In your face, personal demon!’ I cheered in my head. ‘This hopeless loser has found what he lost! I’d like to that Robin Hobb for the sweeping motto delivered by a stubborn fictional character that gave me the tunnel vision I needed to find this, I’d like to thank the staff of the Leytonstone Job Centre for being bureaucratic and obtuse when I could have really used a quick solution, but most of all I’d like to thank my own tenacity and dogged determination to find this pesky piece of paper, hammering some long-overdue kinks out of my life in the process.”

Of course, later I would arrive at the Underworld, having totally missed the set by Hilary’s band (Jason Arrives Late Demon) and later still I would realise that while I was sitting at home watching House on Thursday Night, I should have been at Cthulu Rising, an event involving readings, art and a lecture by my friend Dr Patricia MacCormack all centred around HP Lovecraft (Jason didn’t read his diary and thus totally forgot to go to an event he had been planning to attend for weeks Demon).

So I still have work to do and Demons to slay. Mental note: make demon list. Keep it light. Maybe draw demons. Then slay them.

Anyways, I am proud that the ‘Jason’s Important Documents are in a Shocking State of Disarray and He Really Should Know Better Demon’ is down for the count. And not a minute before time. Of course, I’ll have to be vigilant to make sure that he doesn’t rise again, but a ritual banishing of loose documents into the Box of Eternal Organisation should keep Total Disaster Manifestations of this type at bay.

A strange postscript to this personal journey occurred this morning.

I’d arrived home with quietly mixed feelings. Roughly okay, just above melancholic. Blondie on my iPod washing away most of a black cloud brewing inside me. I might explain more at some other point.

In any case, I was packing away some groceries I had bought on the way home when I heard the mail slot creak. Two envelopes had come through. One for my Landlady, and a brown envelope addressed to me.

Inside was a letter from HM Revenue and Customs. Attached was a blue plastic card with my NI# punched through, like on an old bank card. I put the card straight into my slimmed down wallet (I had cleaned all the superfluous crap out of it last night) and filed the letter in the Box with the rest of the government stuff.

It might just be sleep deprivation, but times like this I confess I do feel the hand of a higher power, the one that sends you messages and lessons when it thinks you are ready to receive them (this is in no way intended to diminish the very real people in my life who frequently help me out in very tangible ways).

For now I am musing on the lesson/message that said higher power has sent me this time.

***

Other news: it isn’t confirmed yet, but the acting editor of Fasterlouder.com.au has just offered me a Face to Face interview with AFI next month. Of course, it does have to do with me being the only FL scribe on the ground in London, but I’m sure the five reviews I put in over the last four weeks hasn’t hurt either.

I’m pretty stoked.

***

Post Post Scriptum:

After sitting down and writing this somewhat overly expositional Hey-Look-I'm-getting-my-shit-together piece, I stepped outside with the my USB Key in my pocket, but without my phone or my door keys.

I haven't done that in a year.

Since I've been doing bar-bells my forearms are too stocky to fit through the mail-slot enough for me to flip the latch.

I think this is going on the list...

***

Making an Long Post even Longer:

The weird mood I mentioned was due to a combination of things. Sometimes I just feel lonely, like no-one understands me etc. Emo bullshit, but sometimes it gets to me.

Getting to The Underworld and completely missing the Adastreia set was a sure mood suck. Hilary is never impressed when I'm late. I shouldn't care, but it just seems such bad form.

The members of To-mera gave me free beer (some of which was from the Adastreia rider), and lightweight that I am, I got surprisingly tipsy scandalously fast and might have said some stuff I shouldn't have to various people. Nothing really bad springs to mind, just the post tipsy suspicion that I was way more obnoxious than I thought I was.

Still, I had a great conversation with Tom from To Mera. And Julia took one look at me and asked if I had any more clever suggestions for the name of their first album. It's flattering to be remembered, even if she did later call me weird (Julia is Hungarian, and I suspect she was looking for a different word... maybe).

I didn't actually watch most of Epica's set, because the Underworld was so densely packed that I couldn't actually see anything without craning my neck. As such, I felt really disconnected. And Epic Goth Metal is the kind of music that really sucks unless you in a position to be swept up.

I did manage to get confirmation that my tall friend Alex is in fact Alexander Milas from Kerrang.

And trying to explain Gabba to the keyboard player in ToMera while still half cut was amusing.

Not to mention running into Hai Fung, the metal loving vietnamese law-student (I haven't seen him since Paradise Lost, I think).

After the show I met up with Hilary, Nick and Nick's flatmate Liam. Nick and Liam are currently obsessed with the first two Godfather movies. Hilary disapproves and doesn't understand their constant quoting. I tried to explain to her that it is a male thing, and that girls will just never understand why the Godfather is great. She disagreed.

Ordinarily I don't agree with the whole Boy-Thing/Girl-Thing dichotomy. I know girls that love Grand Theft Auto (not mentioning any names, Elea), and I personally hate football and love black and white love-story movies.

But The Godfather is different. It operates at a chromosomal level, because the themes twisted into the two movies are about Paternal-Filial relationships, the bond between father and son.

I could have argued the point, but I wasn't in the mood to argue, so I just joined in on the Godfather Quoting. (Towards the end of the night I did miss out on a great chance for a 'Why you always got to hurt me? You know I've been loyal?' but I didn't think of it til later.)

Anways, a bus ride took us from Camden to King's Cross, to Synthetic Culture.

Synthetic Culture: Lots of dancing. Chatted to a Red-haired, blue-eyed German girl, then lost her in the crowd. Found her again as she was leaving. Chatted to some nascent metal girls about the best live bands we've seen. They had a high opinion of Avenged Sevenfold, but we all agreed that Dillinger Escape Plan are amazing (frankly, that's just a given, and anyone who disagrees doesn't know what a good live band is.)

Danced more.

Hilary, Nick and Liam bugged out early. Lightweights.

I stayed til the end, mostly because that meant I could ride the tube home.

Felt a little lonely, did too much thinking at the club. Thinking too much can be dangerous for me in certain company and situations. If I start thinking wrong I start to mope. Must not mope. Must never mope.

Came home meaning to write one thing and wound up writing the story that heads this post.

And what a long post it is.

I've been here a while. Hopefully somebody can let me into the flat now.

So I'm going to post this and be damned.

Over and out again.

J

Hey

Hey all,

I bought an A4 File Box Thingo today, because I am sick of having to shuffle everything to find one document.

I took some more pictures of Spring Springing.

Let's see if this works:

Hmm. That seemed to work, but it was really slow.

I'll add some more...

And it didn't work.

Try again...

I think it worked this time.

Anyways, that's time for me to go.

Over and out.

J

Hey

Hey everyone,

Strangely, I'm getting some really positive feedback about my Scare Review .

First another fasterlouder scribe gave me a verbal thumbs up, and then I got an email from someone name Hayley saying it was one of the best reviews they had ever read.

Granted, it appears that hayley works for Mercenary Publicity, who just happen to have The Scare on their Roster, but it is still nice to get kudos.

Mental note: organise an interview with The Scare as soon as their schedule permits.

My myspace friends list is multiplying.

The story I was going to tell yesterday was me freaking out because I saw fighter planes or something on maneuvers at about half seven at night. They were flying straight up to about 40,000 feet, when they levelled off and flew North-East. They left big, fat vapour trails.

This bugged me, since I was pretty sure that even the RAF doesn't do exercises over London.

I wondered if they were Trident Cruise Missiles being launched.

I checked my watch, wondering if within half an hour hydrogen bombs would be falling over London.

I was pretty sure that being relatively close to London, if that did happen I would either be vaporised at moment of impact, or I'd be incinerated as soon as the fireball spread. Either way, I'd probably be dead before I even knew what had happened.

I checked the TV. Nothing. I rolled the tuner on the radio. I found a great Dubstep DnB Pirate channel, but no imminent apocalypse.

I imagined a fireball swallowing greater London.

I wondered if the flimsy walls of my decommissioned council flat would offer any shelter from the shockwave.

I switched off my laptop, so that the EMP wouldn't fry the circuits.

And I waited until the clock reached Half Eight, watching TV, thinking about sending SMS's to friends (I decided against any SMS's).
.
.
.
.
.
I still have no idea what the fighters/missiles were doing, but I'm still here. Unless this is all some kind of Edgar Allen Poe / Stanislaw Lem alternate universe.

It felt weird to feel the old nuclear paranoia come back. Like someone you used to know but haven't talked to in a long time.

I used to feel like that every day. From age 11 to 23, I felt like I was on my own little nuclear knife-edge.

I think I'll go listen to Two Minutes to Midnight by Iron Maiden Now.

Over and out.

J

Hey All,

Hey everyone,

The three reviews I wrote are up on www.fasterlouder.com.au

Just scroll down to the Live Reviews and pick out the most recent three that aren't from Australia.

Actually, it seems that lately I've been dominating the live reviews section. All the others must have either moved on to real journalism jobs, lost interest or they're busy with University stuff.

Now that I have ten good reviews up (okay, seven good reviews and three shows-potential ones) I'm definiately going to have to start jockeying for interviews.

Scary. Out of the comfort zone again.

Anyways, today I have to go pay my rent (either that or I'll get there just as the Bank Closes and have to do it tomorrow).

And tonight I have Cannibal Corpse.

I have a story to tell about last night, but it will have to wait. I might *edit* it in later.

Over and out, for now.

J

Easter Sunday:

Hey Blogophites,

It's Easter Sunday. In all the religions that matter to me, this is a time of rebirth, and celebration.

For me, last night I felt like celebrating for a different reason.

As you all know, I've had some serious adventures this week. Went down to Brightonon Tuesday/Wednesday, had Camden shenanigans with The Scare on Thursday and got Gabba'd in Camberwell at The Red Star on Friday.

Fortunately, since all these adventures involved Australian performers, it meant that I could write about them for Fasterlouder.com.au.

So I wrote the reviews as soon as I could, printed them out last night before the first episode of the new season of Dr Who (which, by the by, ROCKED, but more on that later), marked them up after Dr Who and then uploaded them just after 2100 here at the Net Cafe.

That's three more reviews uploaded. Naturally they'll have to be approved, but three reviews written in one week is nothing to sneeze at, in my opinion.

I've got no idea when this many Australian acts will be coming through the UK again, so I don't know if this momentum is anywhere near sustainable.

[checks stargreen] Not much coming up.

Hmm, the Psycroptic show is on the 10th of May. I wonder if I'll be able to get doorlisted for that. Maybe Hilary can swing it.

Dammit, so many good shows coming up.

Anyways, I was feeling so jubilant last night that I felt that I deserved to go out and celebrate, and with the resources at hand I had two choices for a club to go to: Slimelight or this other one in High Holborn that a girl had told me to come to.

So I picked the one in High Holborn. I so should have gone to Slimelight. The PA was too terrible, the DJs were clueless, the venue was ridiculous, the acoustics were terrible and the crowd was everything that caused me to flee from the Goth community into the arms of Hardcore. Creepy old guys, fat girls in hideously inappropriate clothes, men who don't realise that you never wear brown shoes with black jeans.

And the girl that had invited me completely ignored me. I'll sound arrogant and snobbish saying this, but Fuck it, I'm better than those people and I'm better than that kind of treatment.

Having said that, I did stay til the end. What a self esteem sapping experience that was.

I've learned my lesson. From here on in, if I want to go to Slimes, or a gabba night, or anything else like that, I'm going. I will not debase myself by going to support someone's friend's club for people who still think that Anne Rice is really cool.

God, it's pathetic that I didn't turn on my heel and run as soon as I saw the place.

As soon as it closed, I decided to take the next bus home. As so I arrive home before daylight on a Sunday for a change.

I can't believe that two and a half hours in a crap club managed to suck all the Joie de Vivre out of me. We're talking about all the uplift of THREE REVIEWS UPLOADED and a NEW EPISODE of DR WHO combined.

Never mind. At least I pocketed a complimentary chocolate egg, which I'm going to eat tonight. And I have sworn that never, ever, ever again will I a) go to an event organised by any member of the London Vampyr Society or b) follow my dick when I should be trusting my brain or my heart. In that order.

Fuck.

For some reason I feel a hankering to talk to some of my old Brisbane cronies.

Richard Landsberg et al.

Everyone keeps telling me that Brisbane sucks now, and not to go back.

Anyways, after my bilious outburst, I have nothing left to add, except that I have some fun stuff coming this week, like Cannibal Corpse on Tuesday, Antilight on Saturday and more job hunting.

Enough Blogging.

Over and out.

J

Back in London

Hey,

I'm back from Brighton, and it was a really cool trip.

So cool I'm almost in one of my periodical 'Why Don't I Move to Brighton?' reflective moods.

I'll probably write about it more later (I'm under the clock right now) but the whistle-stop version is this:

Took the train down.

Train got diverted because of 'an incident' uptrack, which later turned into a fatality. Meant that a one hour train ride spun out to over two and a half hours.

But it gave me lots of time to talk to the two student girls who were sitting opposite me. They study down in Brighton and were up in London to meet some friends.

Finally got to Brighton and managed to find the venue. Since I was early, it was all deserted.

When it opened, met up with Laura, lynchpin of Kunt and old Brisbane friend of mine. She left Australia to move to Japan either just before or just after I left, but she was really happy to see me.

One of the girls in Toxic Lipstick (one of the other acts) was amazed to find out that I am Elea Logan's brother. Interesting.

The whole night itself was pretty crazy, but I'll write about it more when I post my review for Fasterlouder.

Afterwards I managed to get to hang back with the rest of the Aussies at the organiser's house. Bizarreness ensued. I slept on the couch.

I woke up at 11 AM the next morning, chatted to various DJ/Programmer/Producer/Promoter folk that were gathered in the house.

By about two PM we were all hungry, to we took the bus down into Brighton and found an amazing Italian Cafe (staffed by Slovakians, natch) where you could get a massive plate of Spaghetti Bolognese for £3.50. You can't get a sandwich in london for that price.

After that wandered around, looked in shops in the Lanes, looked in an Antiques/Oddity shop, then went down to the Pier and looked at rides and flashing lights.

Finally we went to a pub called The Free Butt (curious title) and I peeled off and hit the Train Station, just in time for the 2140 back to London.

I'll write more about the amazing things I saw, the cool people I talked to, what they told me and my general impressions later, but I really have to run.

Got to go see The Scare in Camden.

Over and out.

J

Going to Brighton

Going to Brighton.

Going to try to get a bigger memory chip for my camera (it's the 32 meg that it came with, which means 7 shots and that's all she wrote, till I delete some).

Last time I was in Brighton I nearly froze to Death, so I'm rugged up against that.

The show goes till three, so it might just be three hours on the street instead of seven this time. I will try to find shelter and not get caught in a freezing storm this time.

Over and out.

J

Conundrum Resolved...

Hey all,

Just before 1900 I arrived at the Stargreen office with a view to buying a Bolt Thrower ticket for tomorrow night. And found out that they are all sold out (they weren't sold out the other day when I checked... in fact, there seemed to be a lot of them left).

Anyways, that my conundrum regarding which show to go to, ie Kunt in Brighton or Bolt Thrower in Camden, was solved. So I stopped in at HMV, bought a CD and took the next tube from Oxford Circus to Victoria, where I bought a return ticket to Brighton.

As is so often the case, the decision that you can't make makes itself.

Also happened over the last 24 hours:

Went to Gotham 7 at the Islington Academy. My friend Canadian Colin AKA Dane (I might have called him Simon on this blog, but you all know what I'm like with names) was there, he introduced me to his friend Rachel, a Mohawked cyber-retro girl from Dallas Texas who DJs round the place (she was DJing between the bands). Rachel has just hooked up with a similarly mohawked chap named Glenn.

Anyways, none of the bands were anything to write home about (unless you were writing to warn them not to come). Except Theatre of Tragedy, who were fucking great. Expect lots of Lyrical Waxing about ToT soon.

Went to the after party, talked to people, got home late in the rain. Lousy April weather.

Today: It snowed in Kent overnight. IN KENT! Fuck!

My landlady came around with a plumber at 1400 to look at the boiler. I woke up at 11, and then spent two hours lifting weights (my barbells are starting to show some results, and as anyone will tell you, it gets addictive; even if it's only that you suddenly discover that you have biceps again, it gets addictive).

Anyways, I jumped in the shower, just in time for my landlady to arrive early. I had to run out of the shower with shampoo in my hair to answer her call, run back in, rinse, run out again with conditioner in to buzz her into the building, rinse again, lean out of the bathroom window ill advisedly (luckily my modesty was shielded by a wall) and then get dressed really quickly.

Anyways, she swears that she didn't see anything that offended her, and the plumber arrived soon afterwards and promised to send her a quote (it's a DO NOT RESUSCITATE, of course).

After that I looked in the charity shop at more books and a black suit for £15, went to Stratford to return a library book and went to Oxford Circus.

I also bought Pro Patria Finlandia, by Impaled Nazarene just because I felt like buying something really obnoxious and offensive.

Gotta go,

Over and out.

J

Hey All,

Hey Everyone,

I forgot to mention this: on Thursday, as I was finishing a Robin Hobb novel that shall go unnamed (message me if you want to hear me rant about how good it was), just for fun I switched on the TV.

A little bit of sound-off channel surfing later, I found this animal doco about the cats that live in the roman ruins in the centre of Rome. It had their power struggles between the alpha males, them going hunting for food (both the kind that flies in, and the kind you find in rubbish bags outside cafes), it had them having kittens and raising litters etc. It gave all the recurring cat characters names.

Sound Familiar?

It was exactly like Big Cat Diary, only it was Stray Cat Diary.

Trippy.

In the time since the last post, I haven't really come any further in my conundrum, but that's okay.

Last night: I meant to go to Dead and Buried for a little while then reconvene at Electrowerks for Overkill II, but I wound up sticking around at D&B till the end. D&B, by the way, total Old School Goth. Any more Old School Goth and Siouxsie Sioux would have been in the corner sharing needles with Nick Cave.

Though it was located in the student club of a University Campus in Islington, giving a weird resonance to my impressions that Gothic Clubs are like High School Socials where everyone dresses in Black.

Some friends of mine were there, and it was fun to see people doing the Two-Step again, even if they didn't make lines.

Afterwards me and some friends got some chips at a kebab place and then caught two buses to get home.

I got up at onePM (pretty early considering I got in at six) and ripped the three cds I bought at the Virgin Sale (£5 each) to MP3 (the Smiths, Primal Scream and Blood Has Been Shed). The Primal Scream was a bit weak, but the other two are good.

I also ironed all the shirts I washed yesterday, read some of the Elric Book I bought last Sunday (pleasantly self deprecating in tone... and a good example of writing from multiple viewpoints, something Robin Hobb also does, a lot).

After that I fired up Cubase on the laptop and played around with the gabba thing I started a week ago, slowing it down and turning it into a Rhythmic Noise nightmare. I also discovered that my speakers can be used a microphones even though they are plugged into the headphone jack. Weird.

Anyways, time for me to roll out (and the spacebar on this terminal is really pissing me off).

More news tomorrow.

Over and Out.

J

Conundrum

I have a conundrum:

Next week, on the 11th there are two shows I could go to:

The first is Bolt Thrower (british death/grind pioneers) at the Underworld here in London.

The Second would be the amusingly named Kunt, an Australian Electro-Cabaret act from Brisbane featuring my old friend Lulu. That show would be in Brighton.

Kunt also play Colchester on the 13th, but that night I am going to see The Scare, mostly because it would make a great review for Fasterlouder, given that it is their first show in London (but not in the UK), and being the arrogant sods that they are, it will be interesting to see how they go down.

I really want to go see Kunt and lend my support to Lulu, who I haven't seen since I left Australia. But I do really feel like getting my face blasted with some war-grind, and Bolt Thrower, being a tad advanced in years as far as Death Metal Bands go, don't tour that often.

Kunt are, of course, playing some other shows around the way. After their shows in the south of England, they are going to be playing one show in Newcastle, and one in Paris.

This afternoon in the Mac shop, I was checking the availability and cost of travel to either Paris or Newcastle. A train ride to Newcastle will take me over three hours, at least. I can get a train ticket to Newcastle for £10 (I'd have to buy another one to get back) but that train leaves from Victoria at 0549. The tubes don't start going from Leytonstone until 0533. Which would mean that I would have to dice it out with nightbuses or something to get to the station on time.

Getting to Paris... I could fly there, but it would be a bit more expensive. Like £31 each way.

Getting down to Brighton might not be cheap either, but I can do it at my leisure (and now that I know how to book cheaper train tickets...).

I think my biggest fear, if I do book a ticket to somewhere, is that I will sleep through my alarm and miss getting on. Let's face it, I have slept through more important things in my life.

Conundrum Conundrum Conundrum.

Either pondering for tonight.

I'm going home.

Over and out.

J

I have an announcement to make:

I am totally in love with this one song by a Norweigian band called Tyr.

It came on the Terrorizer sampler CD (Fear Candy 27) and it is fucking sweet. I played it for my Swedish Flatmate, who told me that it's an old Viking Folk Song. And it is sung in a weird kind of Old Norweigian.

I spent some of yesterday afternoon hunting around for the full album (called Erik the Red) but I couldn't find it in Virgin or HMV. So I bought a Cannibal Corpse album instead (which is actually pretty damn good).

The rest of last night I stayed out way later than I meant to beacause I was held prisoner by a mad Transylvanian woman in an after-hours bar in Soho.

The mad transylvanian is a friend of the Half-Japanese girl, with whom I quielty snuggled in the back of the #25 bus (on the other side of me was a bearded man reading a massive Bible and smelling of Kitty Litter).

Anyways, I had to change at Stratford, take the N8 to Leytonstone, where it was so cold that there was frost on the cars.

Spring can't seem to make up it's mind as to whether it's here to dance or still fixing it's makeup in the bathroom. Fortunately more and more trees are saying 'Fuck it! We'll start without you!'

Other news: did more barbells today. I still weigh exactly 75 Kilos, but it seems to be higher muscle to fat ratio than before. The Boiler in the flat is leaking like a Halal Steer, and the heating doesn't work. Thank god for the milder weather.

And now I have to run to get to the Van Lustbader show in Camden.

Over and out.

J

Hey

Hey all.

I got up at half seven today, ate breakfast and read more of my Robin Hobb book. She seems to be the best embodiment of the idea that a great book should be written in such a way that you fly through the pages.

Which is pretty impressive, since she does deal with some pretty heavy issues and deep intrigue. Then again, I guess on a lot of levels I am still a n008 when it comes to reading stuff seriously. Why do they even bother to send people to university before a certain age?

Anyways, even with a late shower I was still able to make my 1330 Jobcentre Appt with five minutes to spare. Signed the piece of paper etc. Afterwards I looked on the computers, and found out that the Airforce is recruiting Intelligence Officers. Hmm. I might apply from that, though the fact that I am an Australian with possible strange political sympathies might mean that I am deemed unsuitable.

Chris D from STJ told me that one of his prize possessions is a photo of one of his friends, likely one day to be a prominent left-wing politician, standing next to a girl in an SS Uniform.

Anyways, I stopped at the Gym and bought some more weights (1.25 KG ones, since going from 5 Ki barbells to 10 Ki Barbells turned out to be a harder leap than I thought it would be), then I wandered up to the Charity Shop on Leytonstone High Road and scanned the bookshelves looking for interesting stuff. I wound up buying 8 books at 50p each. Not bad, oughta keep me entertained on the tube for a while.

They also had a pretty interesting record section, which almost makes me wish I had a turntable.

I'm going to head into London after this, just to take a look around and maybe buy some concert tickets. I have a neat momentum going with the reviews right now, and I really would like to keep that up.

(though to be fair, my lack of momentum previously did as much to do with not so many Australian acts coming through London as my own disorganisation etc)

Mental note: must ask the acting FL editor if there is anything he'd like me to write for with InTheMix.com

anyways, that's me up to the minute.

Hustle and flow.

Over and out.

J

Hey All,

Hey Everyone.

Another emotional rollercoaster weekend.

I probably should run through the week first:

Tuesday: Recovered from The Bezerker. Starting writing the Review.

Wednesday: Went Jogging for the first time in a year and a half or something. Literally jogged halfway to Romford. Read Robin Hobb and worked on Review more.

Evening: Saw Adastreia play. Not bad. They impressed the crowd at the Underworld enough to sell nearly 30 CDs of their 4 song EP. I met Julie Kiss (stunning Hungarian singer from ToMera). The headliners Season's End were absolutely ace, tho. Stadium rock in a good way. Hilary got cranky in the rain afterwards as her new boyfriend ran for a kebab while she waited for the bus.

Thursday: Recovered from the night before. Realised that my legs still hurt from Jogging. Refined the Bezerker review.

Friday: Made some gabba on the laptop. Sent off Bezerker review. Tried to get either one of my stories for the SFX short story comp into sendable shape. Paul messages me with possibly free ticket to Nashville Pussy at The Garage on Saturday Night. Went out to Destroyer 666. Went for a few drinks afterwards with Richie and a few other folk at some Irish Bar. Night bus home listening to Powerslave by Iron Maiden on the Ipod, slipping in and out of consciousness. And resisting the urge to sing along to Aces High at the top of my lungs.

Saturday Morning: Discover that my National Insurance Number has arrived. Hooray. Wrote Destroyer 666 review in burst of journalistic creativity. Utterly exhausted. Too exhausted to finish polishing either story. Fall asleep and sleep through the deadline to email the story (5 PM April 1). Temporarily consumed with bilious self-hate at my latest fuckup. Self-hate abates when I realise that instead of one review in 2 months by the end of the weekend I'll have sent two reviews in two days. With more bands to review incoming. I'm still depressed enough to fall asleep.

Woke up at 8 PM by Paul asking if I still want to come to the show. I throw myself in the shower, get to the station just in time for Paul to call and tell me that the show is sold out. We arrange to meet at Oxford Circus and have a pint from there.

Tube => Oxford Circus. We walk to the Marlborough Head, Paul being amazed to discover the free metal night in the cellar on Saturdays. Hilary, new Boyf Nick and Dave (guitarist from Adastreia) are there. Paul and I shoot the breeze before he tells me that his friend Amy is having a party at the warehouse she and her friends occupy in Stoke Newington.

Paul and I exit stage left, jump on the 73 and ride up to Stoke Newington. Amy's party is in this big empty warhouse space and is occupied by an international cast of arty retrosexuals. I meet a pale girl with blue eyes and blue dreads who is quite cute, but she lives in Middle Wales. One of Amy's friends is a Suicide Girl, and she gives a burlesque performance to Bat Out of Hell while another girl twirls fireballs on chains and Amy mimes in a blonde wig.

Considering that my original plan for the night was to go to Slimelight, I consider that I am coming out ahead. Ie met cool new people, seen a new area and saw some tassels.

"Aren't you glad that you didn't go to Slimepit?" teases Paul. He goes home next week. I'm going to miss him, but my loss is Brisbane's gain. Paul Kicks Ass.

Later a couple of French bluesniks try to make a bass out of a broomstick, a trashcan and some phone cable. The Blue haired girl had gone home early, having drunk too much Mandarin Vodka (any is too much, judging by the taste).

Paul and I stick around until 7 and then walk to the nearest Tube Station. We're both pretty faded by this point. I change at Holborn, him at Leicester Square.

In a Change of Plan, rather than go straight home I walked out of Holborn Station and get a Bacon Roll from McD's. Another mistake to learn from. At this point, I'd usually turn right and walk down to Covent Garden, look through the window of Forbidden Planet etc.

Fuck it, I decide. I'll turn left and see what I can find.

So begins a wander through the northern part of the West End. Or the Southern Edge of North London. Or something.

Anyways, I find the weird victorian fortress where all the Barristers in London have their chambers. I find a church hidden in an alleyway off a swanky Holborn Street. I look through the windows of shops selling Pinstripe Suits and Legal Textbooks. Jules would have a field day, I think.

I also found the home of Kaim Todner, which amused me, since the Kaim of the Title was a regular at the Highbury Courthouse, and even offered to represent me if I wanted to bring an unfair dismissal suit against them.

I found boarded up pubs in Smithfield, and a dirty hulk of a building that I think houses the Smithfield Markets on weekdays.

Then I went searching for the Barbican Gallery, since I missed the Arraki Photo Exhibition early this year.

I found it, and had my mind blown. The Barbican centre is like something out of Neo Tokyo. A museum, a library, apartments, a theatre, a cinema, a fountain, a village square, restaurants etc. It has everything except except a supermarket. I'm definitely going to have to check it out when it is actually open (like everything else in London, it seems to close for Sundays).

Moving along, I also found The London Museum, St Pauls, the ruins of something or other, the bombed remains of a church, the band I got my first London Employment at and more.

Eventually I found my way down to the Thames, and crossed the bridge to the Tate Modern. I remembered that the last time I had crossed that Bridge, it was with my parents, and we were going the other way.

Turning left again, I walked along the Thames, looking at buildings on the other side, looking at the Globe Theatre, wandering through the back-alleys that lead to The Clink (ie the London Prison Museum), looking at a Dry-Docked sailing ship and wondering if it is bigger or smaller than the ships described in the Liveship Trilogy by Robin Hobb and still wandering down the Thames with a view to reaching Tower Bridge, as I can see it in the distance.

Crossing the river again I got talking to a trio of Goths - a neo druid looking chap, and a guy and girl. I joined their conversation when one of them started quoting a Bill Hicks monologue, and I finished it. Bill Hicks fans tend to get along pretty well.

Plus I had the advantage that they weren't Londoners. The Boy was from Southhampton, the girl from North Wales and the Druid from Dorset. Or something. They were internet pals that had come to London to meet up and go to Slimelight.

The girl had said to me: "You look like someone famous..."

I braced myself for the usual names, only to be hit with Bam Margera (!?) The Druid suggested Jack Nicholson. My hair must really be getting thin.

Anyways, they were friendly kids so we kicked around for a bit, as far as the Tower of London. Then I hung with them on the tube as the went to the Stations they had to go to in order to catch their trains to their home towns.

The girl told me that I looked more Welsh than Irish, since dark hair and blue eyes is more a Welsh thing. Hmm. Maybe it comes down on my Maternal. Grandmother's side. Then again, my Dad always had dark hair...

Tube to Camden to look at leather jackets at the markets. I decided to look for single breasted leather jackets that are more fitted than the voluminous Brando-jacket that I wear now. I couldn't find any that I liked for the right price.

I did, however, try on some New Rock boots (turns out I'm size 43). The funny thing is, I found the best price at the third place I checked (I'm checking Ebay UK right now, just for fun). I'll have to squirrel away some cash to get a pair.

While still in Camden I bought a Moorcock book at a second hand bookshop, along with another one called Confessions of a Dominatrix or something. Though it's the right size (fits in my jacket pocket), somehow I don't think that will replace Alice in Wonderland as my Tube Book.

I checked Cyberdog for Glowsticks, but they were fresh out. Guess it's the camping supplies store for me : ) I'll have to ask Nick to tell me where he got them for 90p each again.

On the way to Euston Station (Camden Station becomes exit only on Sunday Afternoons) I stopped in at a Waterstones and bought the Concise Oxford Dictionary and Concise Oxford Thersaurus bundle. The dictionary because I really want to be sure that I am using my vocabulary correctly (and Robin Hobb uses a lot of words that even I don't know), and the Thesaurus so that I don't find myself reusing the same words (eg Brutal, Discordant etc) in reviews.

Back here I uploaded the Destroyer 666 review. More gigs to review coming.

Anyways, that's enough for now. (I'm sure it's a ridiculous amount in any case).

Oh yeah: I met Ginger from the Wildhearts on Friday Night outside the World's End. He was actually pretty friendly, considering I had been led to believe he was a psychopath.

And here's photographic proof that Spring is trying to get Sprung in London.

I intend to ingest more Psychological Fibre starting this week so that I can be a Regular Blogger again.

Over and Out.

J