Update:
Hey All,
Here's an update on my adventures:
Last night, for reasons I can't even remember, I was running late to get to the show that I wasshilling covering for that website. When I got there I discovered that my name wasn't actually on the guest list. Good thing I didn't follow through on my idea of calling up my cousin Katie and seeing if she felt like seeing the show : /
Since I had gone that far, and it was too late to go back to Camden and see Cult of Luna, I found a nearby internet cafe, pulled up the message from the major label flack in Australia and copied down his home and mobile phone numbers. Important lesson: never go to cover a show without a number that you can call of stuff fucks up.
In any case, I added the Australian area code to the mobile number and gave it a bell. This was about 10Pm English time, so in all likelihood I might have woke up the poor chap. He was surprised as I was that my name wasn't where it should have been, so he told me that he would call me back once he had managed to get onto his opposite numbers in England.
When he called me back, he told me that he hadn't managed to reach them, but he did give me some names to drop, which I scribbled into the back of my copy of Catcher in the Rye.
The names drew a blank on the girl at the front desk, but for whatever reason she decided to send me through.
The show itself was pretty silly. Glowsticks and bright colours and off-key singing and the like (the glowsticks are a major clue as to which band it was). Hipsters on the dancefloor and journalists in the back scribbling notes. I wandered about, checking out the vibe and chatting to people about what they liked about the show.
I wound up chattinng to one of the journalists, who turned out to be a twenty year veteran who used to freelance for the NME in the 80s but quit over their editorial policy (ie arbitrary lists of what bands were good or bad completely divorced from the actual quality of the music).
After the show I made my way home.
***
Today I had a minor freakout because I had to be interviewing a member of Bleeding Through at 1730, and I wasn't sure that I had enough clever questions to fill the time in the interview.
I made it to the Mean Fiddler dead on time for the interview, called my contant (who I think was the tour Publicist or something) and was led into the empty Mean Fiddler to wait to do my interview. I was supposed to be interviewing the Bassist, but I wound up interviewing one of the guitarists instead.
The interview itself went surprisingly well, considering the it was the first interview that I had done since AFI last year, when I managed to accidently set my tape recorder on voice activation instead of continuous record. While I was doing the interview there were at least two other interviews going on, as well as a soundcheck in the background. So hopefully all the good quotes didn't get drowned out.
After the interview I hung about for a bit, watching people come and go, before I decided to head to Borders (to buy a copy of Perdido St Station by China Mieville) and then the Crobar to meet up with a friend that was going to pick up my +1. At about quarter past seven I got a message that my friend wouldn't be able to make it because of something that had come up. No matter.
When I returned to the Mean Fiddler the bouncer at the door didn't believe that I was actually on the guestlist, so wouldn't let me through ahead of the queue. I tried playing a piece of the interview for him, but he countered by saying that if my pass was to interview the band, that's all I was there for and I shouldn't have walked out. Miffed but undeterred, I walked all the way to the end of the queue (three corners around the block), secretly glad that I had actually bought a ticket to the show a fortnight ago, before I found out that I would be interviewing the band.
When I got to the entrance, the ticket got me in, but just for fun I checked the guestlist: Yours Truly + 1. Cocksucking bouncer.
While the supports played I mingled with the various other journalists, musicians and others. All good fun.
Finally Bleeding Through came on, and to my surprise they played everything even faster than I remembered it being on the CDs. The energy was incredible, the atmosphere was great and all in all it was an amazing set. Best I've seen them, and I see them pretty much every time they come to London.
I made the mistake of waiting until the end of the encore to join the queue to collect my stuff from the cloak room (I think it tied me up for something like half an hour), and after walking to Leicester Square to check the playing times for The Number 23 (the new Jim Carrey film) I decided that I would rather come home.
All in all pretty good.
Now to get some sleep.
-J
Here's an update on my adventures:
Last night, for reasons I can't even remember, I was running late to get to the show that I was
Since I had gone that far, and it was too late to go back to Camden and see Cult of Luna, I found a nearby internet cafe, pulled up the message from the major label flack in Australia and copied down his home and mobile phone numbers. Important lesson: never go to cover a show without a number that you can call of stuff fucks up.
In any case, I added the Australian area code to the mobile number and gave it a bell. This was about 10Pm English time, so in all likelihood I might have woke up the poor chap. He was surprised as I was that my name wasn't where it should have been, so he told me that he would call me back once he had managed to get onto his opposite numbers in England.
When he called me back, he told me that he hadn't managed to reach them, but he did give me some names to drop, which I scribbled into the back of my copy of Catcher in the Rye.
The names drew a blank on the girl at the front desk, but for whatever reason she decided to send me through.
The show itself was pretty silly. Glowsticks and bright colours and off-key singing and the like (the glowsticks are a major clue as to which band it was). Hipsters on the dancefloor and journalists in the back scribbling notes. I wandered about, checking out the vibe and chatting to people about what they liked about the show.
I wound up chattinng to one of the journalists, who turned out to be a twenty year veteran who used to freelance for the NME in the 80s but quit over their editorial policy (ie arbitrary lists of what bands were good or bad completely divorced from the actual quality of the music).
After the show I made my way home.
***
Today I had a minor freakout because I had to be interviewing a member of Bleeding Through at 1730, and I wasn't sure that I had enough clever questions to fill the time in the interview.
I made it to the Mean Fiddler dead on time for the interview, called my contant (who I think was the tour Publicist or something) and was led into the empty Mean Fiddler to wait to do my interview. I was supposed to be interviewing the Bassist, but I wound up interviewing one of the guitarists instead.
The interview itself went surprisingly well, considering the it was the first interview that I had done since AFI last year, when I managed to accidently set my tape recorder on voice activation instead of continuous record. While I was doing the interview there were at least two other interviews going on, as well as a soundcheck in the background. So hopefully all the good quotes didn't get drowned out.
After the interview I hung about for a bit, watching people come and go, before I decided to head to Borders (to buy a copy of Perdido St Station by China Mieville) and then the Crobar to meet up with a friend that was going to pick up my +1. At about quarter past seven I got a message that my friend wouldn't be able to make it because of something that had come up. No matter.
When I returned to the Mean Fiddler the bouncer at the door didn't believe that I was actually on the guestlist, so wouldn't let me through ahead of the queue. I tried playing a piece of the interview for him, but he countered by saying that if my pass was to interview the band, that's all I was there for and I shouldn't have walked out. Miffed but undeterred, I walked all the way to the end of the queue (three corners around the block), secretly glad that I had actually bought a ticket to the show a fortnight ago, before I found out that I would be interviewing the band.
When I got to the entrance, the ticket got me in, but just for fun I checked the guestlist: Yours Truly + 1. Cocksucking bouncer.
While the supports played I mingled with the various other journalists, musicians and others. All good fun.
Finally Bleeding Through came on, and to my surprise they played everything even faster than I remembered it being on the CDs. The energy was incredible, the atmosphere was great and all in all it was an amazing set. Best I've seen them, and I see them pretty much every time they come to London.
I made the mistake of waiting until the end of the encore to join the queue to collect my stuff from the cloak room (I think it tied me up for something like half an hour), and after walking to Leicester Square to check the playing times for The Number 23 (the new Jim Carrey film) I decided that I would rather come home.
All in all pretty good.
Now to get some sleep.
-J
posted by the.exile at 4:24 am
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