After the gig, Camden pulled out a nice surprise in the form of White Denim randomly playing in the pub opposite Koko (see below).
A quick pint was the proposal and that's what it turned out to be. The discovery that this band happened to be playing across the road caused great enthusiasm, but unfortunately they were towards the end of their set. Shame, as the venue was pretty perfect, and I would've been keen for more; low ceiling, sweaty throngs and lager out of plastic cups all present. From the couple of tracks I did hear, they were predictably raucous, while retaining that sense of impeccable timing they are known for. The crowd and bar staff seemed to be enjoying themselves too.
Thursday 19 May 2011
Anna Calvi - Koko - A rainy night in Camden
Seductive, sensual, beguiling. Seemingly, these are adjectives voiced collectively by an overwhelmingly enthusiastic wave of support throughout the music business for Anna Calvi. Certainly, at the best moments of tonight's set in Koko, during "The Devil" and "Desire", she is utterly captivating, possessing unquestionable ability in both her technique and understanding of her Fender Telecaster, and her effortless semi-operatic vocal talent.
This is music that belongs to no age, era, or trend, and for that it is possible to appreciate the performer for her talents alone. This is not to say that Anna Calvi has no obvious influences; PJ Harvey and Patti Smith being the most idle of comparisons. Idle maybe, but she attains that same rare and inherent ability to bewitch her audience; her sense of dynamics doing much to inspire that mesmeric attention. She can effortlessly glide to the kind of giddy and full on emotions of Jeff Buckley at his best. Then on a track such as 'No more words', she croons at almost a whisper, and the result is something which draws an almost tangible sense of sexual desire and dark allurement.
These affectations towards gothic themes; the devil, desire and self-possession are perhaps a little overplayed. In three different songs she reminds us that 'the devil is in me', 'my desire is so strong', 'the devil will come' etc etc. and this has a danger of becoming tiresome if Calvi chooses to continue with these concepts, and fails to find another outlet for her expression.
This quibble aside, her ability to create evocative feelings of unspoken urges and arcane desires can only be lauded. It is a unique talent to provoke such strong imagery through music, and generally, she carries this off with great aplomb. It takes on a formula, which could become too one-dimensional, but it is a formula that she manages to pull of, and with her musical gifts complementing this imagery, it makes her performance hugely enjoyable and one that is absolutely worth seeing.
This is music that belongs to no age, era, or trend, and for that it is possible to appreciate the performer for her talents alone. This is not to say that Anna Calvi has no obvious influences; PJ Harvey and Patti Smith being the most idle of comparisons. Idle maybe, but she attains that same rare and inherent ability to bewitch her audience; her sense of dynamics doing much to inspire that mesmeric attention. She can effortlessly glide to the kind of giddy and full on emotions of Jeff Buckley at his best. Then on a track such as 'No more words', she croons at almost a whisper, and the result is something which draws an almost tangible sense of sexual desire and dark allurement.
These affectations towards gothic themes; the devil, desire and self-possession are perhaps a little overplayed. In three different songs she reminds us that 'the devil is in me', 'my desire is so strong', 'the devil will come' etc etc. and this has a danger of becoming tiresome if Calvi chooses to continue with these concepts, and fails to find another outlet for her expression.
This quibble aside, her ability to create evocative feelings of unspoken urges and arcane desires can only be lauded. It is a unique talent to provoke such strong imagery through music, and generally, she carries this off with great aplomb. It takes on a formula, which could become too one-dimensional, but it is a formula that she manages to pull of, and with her musical gifts complementing this imagery, it makes her performance hugely enjoyable and one that is absolutely worth seeing.
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Baths - Cargo - London - 03/05/2011
There is a surprising air of nonchalance in London's Cargo that greets Will Wiesenfeld, the electronic musician who composes and performs under the moniker 'Baths'. Surprising because this is Shoreditch, and you'd think this blend of spasmodic beats and choppy vocal samples would be right up the street of the district best known, and sometimes derided for its alternative scene. Though perhaps the nonchalance is all part of the act.
The performer himself picks up on the affectations of his audience, and engages in some light jesting, loosening things up with some camp gesticulations. "I know this is London and you gotta act so dope, but I know you all got a bit of gay in you," he drawls.
Throughout his set, it feels natural to warm to Wisenfeld. He is witty, genuinely seems to enjoy what he does, and obviously doesn't take himself too seriously, even down to apparently giving no further explanation to his pseudonym other than he 'enjoys taking a bath.' Where as British contemporaries; Gold Panda and Mount Kimbie seem rather detached from their audience, 'Baths' is utterly engaging and you have the feeling that you are watching more of a show, with live vocals and some well engineered improvisation, rather than the play through of an album that the above acts could perhaps be accused of.
The music is compelling. Working in new tracks to material familiar from last year's excellent 'Cerulean' album, the beats are dense, without sounding over-crowded. Baths has very much mastered working in the sort of far-away, isolated vocal samples that have become increasingly popular in electronic music in the last year. Extra admiration must be granted for the fact that he sings his own vocal lines.
By the end, Baths has won over the difficult audience, and rather than making a quick exit, he descends from the stage, and the crowd surround him wanting to shake his hand and find out when his next record is out. For now, their facade has been broken by a genuinely talented performer.
The performer himself picks up on the affectations of his audience, and engages in some light jesting, loosening things up with some camp gesticulations. "I know this is London and you gotta act so dope, but I know you all got a bit of gay in you," he drawls.
Throughout his set, it feels natural to warm to Wisenfeld. He is witty, genuinely seems to enjoy what he does, and obviously doesn't take himself too seriously, even down to apparently giving no further explanation to his pseudonym other than he 'enjoys taking a bath.' Where as British contemporaries; Gold Panda and Mount Kimbie seem rather detached from their audience, 'Baths' is utterly engaging and you have the feeling that you are watching more of a show, with live vocals and some well engineered improvisation, rather than the play through of an album that the above acts could perhaps be accused of.
The music is compelling. Working in new tracks to material familiar from last year's excellent 'Cerulean' album, the beats are dense, without sounding over-crowded. Baths has very much mastered working in the sort of far-away, isolated vocal samples that have become increasingly popular in electronic music in the last year. Extra admiration must be granted for the fact that he sings his own vocal lines.
By the end, Baths has won over the difficult audience, and rather than making a quick exit, he descends from the stage, and the crowd surround him wanting to shake his hand and find out when his next record is out. For now, their facade has been broken by a genuinely talented performer.
A journey north
They're dressing the pub I work in with British flags. I feel like I am at the setting of the annual BNP spring party. I can't help but feel embarrassed at this display of patriotism; at such enthusiasm for the impending wedding day of someone whose only notable achievement was to be born into royalty. Looking around, this cynicism does not seem to be a feeling shared by others. It's the excuse to drink beer on the street and not be frowned upon, that I suppose is the attraction. Thankfully, it so happens that our holiday to Copenhagen and Helsinki conveniently falls during the time of this fiasco.
_______________________________________________________________________
It is not often that I read up extensively about a place before visiting it. I usually like to discover things for myself, but time is rather limited. Aside from the obvious attractions of the parks, canals and terraces offered by the 'Time Out' guidebook, Copenhagen's 'Freetown' of Christiania appears to be the most intriguing place to visit.
Formed in 1971, Christiana exists as a 'free state', living outside the laws and institutions of the rest of the city. Originally a military base, the first settlers are said to be people left homeless by the lack of affordable housing in the city, though the authenticity of these claims seem to vary depending on who you talk to. However, since its creation, we discover how the area has been the subject of much controversy, and this certainly shows in the people we meet throughout our time in the city.
Many Copenhageners see the area as some of hippy commune that has no place in a modern, cosmopolitan city. A history of relaxed laws on soft drugs and taxation, of run-down squats, and of its inhabitants practising yoga and meditation by the lake contributing pointedly to this viewpoint.
________
We are discussing our plans to visit Christiana over breakfast, when a German woman tentatively approaches, and warns us that she had been left disappointed the previous day, when she had found the whole area closed to the public. Feeling a mixture of intrigue and disappointment, we hasten to the hotel's front desk to find out more.
I politely ask the lady if Christiania is open to the public, but her reaction is akin to as if I'd just asked her if she knew if the local brothel was open for business. Visibly wincing at the very name of the place, it is fairly apparent she doesn't spend her time away from working in the hotel meditating by its lake.
"I've no idea," she sighs, with an exasperated shrug, suggesting she can't imagine why anyone would want to go to such a place. After a little more probing, her view is that if it is closed, she hopes it's for good. "Why should they not pay taxes like anyone else if they are using the city's resources?" she asks. It seems to be a fairly reasonable question and one that I myself, being a tourist, don't have an answer for.
Upon arriving, we discover that it is indeed closed, in protest to government pressure for Christiania's inhabitants to conform to Danish society like everybody else, and an increasing threat to sell off parts of the land, despite its people having lived there peacefully for forty years.
We approach an old guy in his sixties, to find out a bit more. Though hardly a suit and tie wearing sort of chap, he also hardly matches the stereotype of the "old hippy." Dressed in fairly everyday attire, he is welcoming; interested in us more than telling us about the existing conflicts, but when we do get him to talk about it, his outlook seems to be one of mild bewilderment, rather than appearing to be keen to spread the word about how unjust the situation is. Having lived in Christiania since its creation, he can't understand why the government and the public can't just leave them be, particularly given the compromises that have apparently already been set in place.
We are given a leaflet which boasts of the tourism the area brings to the city, and half-contradicts the lady in the hotel, by reporting that; "We pay for our water and electricity, we run our own childcare institutions, we look after the roads and sewers, and we pay property taxes for the area..." It goes on to say "We believe the ultimatum given by the Danish government about dividing up parts of Christiania will mean the destruction of the open, self managed, experimental and socially inclusive Christiania as we know it."
Again, strong arguments. Being liberally minded, it would be convenient to side with the inhabitants of the area, but it is an interesting aspect of the city that I am left wishing I had time to find more points of view about. Ultimately, we are left slightly disappointed that we are unable to visit, but make do with climbing the 'Vor Frelsers Kirke' and looking down at Christiania and the intricate network of canals and immaculate structure of Copenhagen surrounding it. We end the day sat on a terrace, having a beer or two, watching the endless cyclists ride past.
_____________________________________________________________________
Helsinki, Finland, and my girlfriend is sat across from me on the bus from the airport to the city centre. She has a heavy combination of loathing, disbelief and rage gradually spreading across her face. My passport is safely tucked into the back of the seat in front of me, that I was sat on that morning on the Blue1 10.05 flight from Copenhagen to Helsinki.
"Well don't just sit there, bloody do something!" she spits through gritted teeth, and she's right. I am sitting there paralysed, trying to weigh up the seriousness of the situation. I am not surprised. Anyone who knows me would consider this fairly typical, and had I have been alone I probably would have considered it very annoying, and rather worrying. But this was not just travelling to another city for her. This is a sort of homecoming . She has spent a year living in Helsinki, and I unfortunately know as well as she does that she considers it the best year of her life. It is unfortunate because rather than being concerned about the potential for a long camp outside the British Embassy, once the bank holiday is over, and great expense and trouble it is going to cause me if I don't retrieve my passport, my overwhelming feeling is one of guilt. She has spent the flight telling me of great times she had, of all the sights she wants to show me. Now she has tears in her eyes, and I know she has rarely felt the sort of contempt for me as she does right now, as I fumble around, desperately ringing numbers, and usually getting a recorded message in Finnish, saying something along the lines of "You English fool, what have you done? You're going to have to do a lot for her to make up for this. You've effectively ruined the trip she's so been looking forward to." Probably.
Despite me having weighed up that the situation was indeed rather serious, the (admittedly small) silver lining at this point, is it takes me about half an hour to discover everyone in Finland is incredibly willing to help. After being given a Britney Spears style headset/phone in the tourist office, it transpires the cleaners have my passport, and will drop it off at a particular point at Terminal 2, at some point this afternoon. Apologising to my girlfriend for the hundredth time, I leave her and her bemused friend behind, and hop back on the bus, spending the next hour and a half running around the airport like a mad bastard, being greeted with ladies with rahter bewildered looks at the gibbering Englishman before them, and am sent backwards and forwards between the terminals, before eventually returning with my passport in hand and tail firmly between legs.
Despite the understandably frosty reception I receive for the rest of the day, the rest of our time in Helsinki is, in contrast, free of drama and a great occasion. The people are almost unreasonably welcoming. The surroundings are suitably humble and understated. A trip out across the bridge to Seurasaari reveals secret shacks selling hot coffee and 'korvapusti' (warm cinnamon & cardamom rolls), friendly geese and squirrels, and silent shady paths.
____
It is "Vappu," which as I have been led to believe, is where the Fins, after their long, dark winter, take to the streets and bask in a well deserved celebration of daylight. Vast quantities of alcohol are obviously involved. The Fins seem no strangers to alcohol, despite it being rather expensive to attain and the range being noticeably limited.
A cynic would suggest it was rather ironic, given we chose to leave London behind when people are out drinking on the streets, to another European capital where people are doing the same; but the reasoning of throwing a party because "it's spring", which seems to be about the only explanation as to the history of the celebration, is something I feel a lot more like being a part of than celebrating some old toff's expensive wedding day.
The celebrations continue throughout the weekend. What seems to be the whole of Helsinki descends on the park, and continue to revel, in good-natured spirits, with the backdrop of the clear blue Baltic Sea in the weak sunshine.
We are invited for an afternoon drink on a boat moored in the harbour. The owner's have a three-month old baby on board, and have taken the boat out on the water that morning for the first time in six months. It is May 1st and I make some pathetic joke about how shouting 'May Day!' may be rather futile if they had encountered trouble, to forced laughs, and the rolling of eyes from my girlfriend.
What is most notable though, is how the relative strangers sat around us, treat us more like old friends than intruders, and it is their attitude that underlines the majority of encounters we experience in our short time in Finland.
_______________________________________________________________________
It is not often that I read up extensively about a place before visiting it. I usually like to discover things for myself, but time is rather limited. Aside from the obvious attractions of the parks, canals and terraces offered by the 'Time Out' guidebook, Copenhagen's 'Freetown' of Christiania appears to be the most intriguing place to visit.
Formed in 1971, Christiana exists as a 'free state', living outside the laws and institutions of the rest of the city. Originally a military base, the first settlers are said to be people left homeless by the lack of affordable housing in the city, though the authenticity of these claims seem to vary depending on who you talk to. However, since its creation, we discover how the area has been the subject of much controversy, and this certainly shows in the people we meet throughout our time in the city.
Many Copenhageners see the area as some of hippy commune that has no place in a modern, cosmopolitan city. A history of relaxed laws on soft drugs and taxation, of run-down squats, and of its inhabitants practising yoga and meditation by the lake contributing pointedly to this viewpoint.
________
We are discussing our plans to visit Christiana over breakfast, when a German woman tentatively approaches, and warns us that she had been left disappointed the previous day, when she had found the whole area closed to the public. Feeling a mixture of intrigue and disappointment, we hasten to the hotel's front desk to find out more.
I politely ask the lady if Christiania is open to the public, but her reaction is akin to as if I'd just asked her if she knew if the local brothel was open for business. Visibly wincing at the very name of the place, it is fairly apparent she doesn't spend her time away from working in the hotel meditating by its lake.
"I've no idea," she sighs, with an exasperated shrug, suggesting she can't imagine why anyone would want to go to such a place. After a little more probing, her view is that if it is closed, she hopes it's for good. "Why should they not pay taxes like anyone else if they are using the city's resources?" she asks. It seems to be a fairly reasonable question and one that I myself, being a tourist, don't have an answer for.
Upon arriving, we discover that it is indeed closed, in protest to government pressure for Christiania's inhabitants to conform to Danish society like everybody else, and an increasing threat to sell off parts of the land, despite its people having lived there peacefully for forty years.
We approach an old guy in his sixties, to find out a bit more. Though hardly a suit and tie wearing sort of chap, he also hardly matches the stereotype of the "old hippy." Dressed in fairly everyday attire, he is welcoming; interested in us more than telling us about the existing conflicts, but when we do get him to talk about it, his outlook seems to be one of mild bewilderment, rather than appearing to be keen to spread the word about how unjust the situation is. Having lived in Christiania since its creation, he can't understand why the government and the public can't just leave them be, particularly given the compromises that have apparently already been set in place.
We are given a leaflet which boasts of the tourism the area brings to the city, and half-contradicts the lady in the hotel, by reporting that; "We pay for our water and electricity, we run our own childcare institutions, we look after the roads and sewers, and we pay property taxes for the area..." It goes on to say "We believe the ultimatum given by the Danish government about dividing up parts of Christiania will mean the destruction of the open, self managed, experimental and socially inclusive Christiania as we know it."
Again, strong arguments. Being liberally minded, it would be convenient to side with the inhabitants of the area, but it is an interesting aspect of the city that I am left wishing I had time to find more points of view about. Ultimately, we are left slightly disappointed that we are unable to visit, but make do with climbing the 'Vor Frelsers Kirke' and looking down at Christiania and the intricate network of canals and immaculate structure of Copenhagen surrounding it. We end the day sat on a terrace, having a beer or two, watching the endless cyclists ride past.
_____________________________________________________________________
Helsinki, Finland, and my girlfriend is sat across from me on the bus from the airport to the city centre. She has a heavy combination of loathing, disbelief and rage gradually spreading across her face. My passport is safely tucked into the back of the seat in front of me, that I was sat on that morning on the Blue1 10.05 flight from Copenhagen to Helsinki.
"Well don't just sit there, bloody do something!" she spits through gritted teeth, and she's right. I am sitting there paralysed, trying to weigh up the seriousness of the situation. I am not surprised. Anyone who knows me would consider this fairly typical, and had I have been alone I probably would have considered it very annoying, and rather worrying. But this was not just travelling to another city for her. This is a sort of homecoming . She has spent a year living in Helsinki, and I unfortunately know as well as she does that she considers it the best year of her life. It is unfortunate because rather than being concerned about the potential for a long camp outside the British Embassy, once the bank holiday is over, and great expense and trouble it is going to cause me if I don't retrieve my passport, my overwhelming feeling is one of guilt. She has spent the flight telling me of great times she had, of all the sights she wants to show me. Now she has tears in her eyes, and I know she has rarely felt the sort of contempt for me as she does right now, as I fumble around, desperately ringing numbers, and usually getting a recorded message in Finnish, saying something along the lines of "You English fool, what have you done? You're going to have to do a lot for her to make up for this. You've effectively ruined the trip she's so been looking forward to." Probably.
Despite me having weighed up that the situation was indeed rather serious, the (admittedly small) silver lining at this point, is it takes me about half an hour to discover everyone in Finland is incredibly willing to help. After being given a Britney Spears style headset/phone in the tourist office, it transpires the cleaners have my passport, and will drop it off at a particular point at Terminal 2, at some point this afternoon. Apologising to my girlfriend for the hundredth time, I leave her and her bemused friend behind, and hop back on the bus, spending the next hour and a half running around the airport like a mad bastard, being greeted with ladies with rahter bewildered looks at the gibbering Englishman before them, and am sent backwards and forwards between the terminals, before eventually returning with my passport in hand and tail firmly between legs.
Despite the understandably frosty reception I receive for the rest of the day, the rest of our time in Helsinki is, in contrast, free of drama and a great occasion. The people are almost unreasonably welcoming. The surroundings are suitably humble and understated. A trip out across the bridge to Seurasaari reveals secret shacks selling hot coffee and 'korvapusti' (warm cinnamon & cardamom rolls), friendly geese and squirrels, and silent shady paths.
____
It is "Vappu," which as I have been led to believe, is where the Fins, after their long, dark winter, take to the streets and bask in a well deserved celebration of daylight. Vast quantities of alcohol are obviously involved. The Fins seem no strangers to alcohol, despite it being rather expensive to attain and the range being noticeably limited.
A cynic would suggest it was rather ironic, given we chose to leave London behind when people are out drinking on the streets, to another European capital where people are doing the same; but the reasoning of throwing a party because "it's spring", which seems to be about the only explanation as to the history of the celebration, is something I feel a lot more like being a part of than celebrating some old toff's expensive wedding day.
The celebrations continue throughout the weekend. What seems to be the whole of Helsinki descends on the park, and continue to revel, in good-natured spirits, with the backdrop of the clear blue Baltic Sea in the weak sunshine.
We are invited for an afternoon drink on a boat moored in the harbour. The owner's have a three-month old baby on board, and have taken the boat out on the water that morning for the first time in six months. It is May 1st and I make some pathetic joke about how shouting 'May Day!' may be rather futile if they had encountered trouble, to forced laughs, and the rolling of eyes from my girlfriend.
What is most notable though, is how the relative strangers sat around us, treat us more like old friends than intruders, and it is their attitude that underlines the majority of encounters we experience in our short time in Finland.
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