Entry tags:

drinkness, gig, life, minicomics, review

some stuff from the weekend
God, I've got so many half-written pieces of crap that I should probably get around to posting at some point, if I ever get around to finishing them first. I've been trying to make sure that this isn't just another half-arsed, half-written piece, but, you know, my brain just isn't engaging in it. Here it is, anyway, 'cos I'm tired of having all this bits and pieces clogging up my mind and my laptop.

Friday: Gogol Bordello at the Astoria

I first heard of Gogol Bordello about a year ago, when I read an interview with frontman Eugene Hutz in an American magazine, which described his outrageous performance on stage as he got butt-naked and drank hot wax. At the time, I wondered if that was just the promotional rumour-machine going into hyperbolic overdrive, or if it was actually true, but ever since then, I wanted to see them for myself to discover which was the truth.

I suppose Hutz may have been forced to tone down his antics for insurance reasons that might have been less of an issue when they used to play smaller venues, but I was disappointed when they played on Friday, as Hutz neither got butt-naked, nor did he do anything involving hot wax. In fact, although he demonstrated good deal of frantic energy, the band's overall performance was pretty workmanlike and no more remarkable than any other energetic punk crossover band I've seen before.

Watching them was interesting though, but because of the memories and associations they brought to mind. I saw many bands who played similar music when I was a child, and we spent our summers living at free festivals. I remembered how most people outside of that network were ignorantly prejudiced against anything that could possibly be remotely connected to anything resembling a gypsy. Even though we weren't gypsies, we did not stay fixed in one place, and nomadic peoples were different and could not be trusted. Though, really, there was no difference between me and my mum hitching lifts with friends who took us around the country or a family with a caravan moving from site to site all summer.

I have such distinct memories of those summers, travelling from festival site to festival site in whichever truck or bus we could find, often being moved on by farmers and policemen and local councillors, even from public parking sites where we legally had permission to stay. I can remember the times when we children had to go to the supermarket under duress when we would rather have been playing, because the only way the adults were allowed in was when accompanied by us, as though they had to prove that by taking children with them, they were feeding families, instead of whatever perversions people thought they would get up to in the supermarket. Honestly, I'm not making that up. I never really understood it then, and I don't understand it now.

I also found memories surfacing of my mum's old folk records; not British and American folk, which is so trendy now and was always acceptable and heard by many of her generation, but the ones from Macedonia, the Greek Islands, Mexico, Russia and elsewhere. I didn't know anyone else whose parents had such eclectic (read: weird) taste in music, so I would pretend that I hated it, because it embarrassed me, but actually I always loved all those old records. Remembering them did make me think about the whole acceptability of language, though. Would Gogol Bordello have become as successful if their songs weren't in English? Would anyone be interested in a selection of Balkan songs if anyone other than a successful western band like Basement Jaxx were bringing one out?

All this stuff came back when I was watching the band, because, despite the wide mix of the people that made up the audience, and the number of people who were bellowing along with all the words, I still got the feeling that many of the people there had no knowledge of and no interest in the roots of the culture they were seeing; they just wanted to be part of a fashionable scene.

I don't know why that bothers me. I only went to see the band because I was suckered in by their rumour-fuelled promotional machine, myself, after all --though I think I would still have gone to see them even if they didn't ever perform in English (it's not like you could really hear any of the lyrics, anyway). I guess what bothers me is that there's only this interest because it's fashionable right now, and people as a whole only have a surface interest.

Why is gypsy-influenced culture so fashionable at the moment? Is it that we've run out of other cultures to commercialise, so now it's just their turn? Is it because people are more open-minded to other cultures these days? Because I'm not so sure they are. Even I'm not that open-minded about all of them, despite the experiences I mentioned above. I'm not exactly delving deep into the cultural histories of samba, or bluegrass, or ska or Krautrock or disco or any other musical genre I'm into, so it's bit hypocritical to dismiss others for not rushing to read up on East European gypsies, but sometimes I wish I did know more of the political and socialogical significance of some of the music I listen to. Sometimes you get more out of a band when you know where they're coming from, what they've been up against; it can make them a much more interesting experience. That certainly seemed to be true in this case.

Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy watching Gogol Bordello (when I could see the stage, and when I wasn't trapped, unable to breathe, in a scrum of people elbowing me in the head and chest), but despite having fun dancing to them, I cannot actually remember a single notable moment in their music. Because, honestly? Gogol Bordello are fun and entertaining, but musically they didn't seem especially interesting, because it wasn't new to me. What makes them interesting is their cultural history -- although, actually I only know anything about Eugene Hutz; I couldn't tell you a single thing about anyone else in the band. However, his story is interesting enough to do for the whole band, and is certainly more interesting than their music.

The only difference between Gogol Bordello and any of the other energetic European punk rock party bands I've seen in my life is that they've been so successful. And more power to them for that, really. If their success can encourage more people to be interested in listening to music from other cultures, that can only be a good thing, although I'm sure it's just a matter of time before people get bored and look for the next culture that can be commercialised. And by the time that happens, I'm just not sure that enough people will have delved beneath the punk rock party aspects of the music to learn what else is going on. People still despise and mistrust nomadic peoples and refugees, and that isn't going to change overnight just because of one skinny Ukranian with a big mouth and an old-fashioned moustache. Especially one who doesn't get butt-naked and drink hot wax anymore.


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Web & Mini Comix Thing in Mile End

On Saturday, it was the return of the annual Web & Mini Comix Thing in Mile End. This time last year, it was warm and sunny, and everyone was hanging around outside in the shirtsleeves. This year I'm still wearing my winter coat and extra layers.

The "Thing" seems to be getting too big for the hall it's usually based in, which is impressive, since this is only the third or fourth year it's been held. There were loads of new faces, and a lot of stuff I wanted to get, but I didn't buy very much because this month is full of things I have to spend it on. My main reason for going to cons is to catch up with friends, anyway, though there were a few of the usual faces missing. I did chat to a few of the new faces, and also to some of the old faces I always see at these things but never really talk to.

I have only vague snatches of many of these conversations, because a lot of them took place during the post-con piss-up, and I can never remember all the things we talk about at those things. Some snatches of the day, then:

• saying hello to Fraely Boyce, and then forgetting to go and pick up some comics from his table
• talking with damiancugley and Gav Burrows about the gentrification of Oxford and Brighton, and the dearth of decent public housing in London
• having an odd sense of deja vu as I found myself having to explain why Pete was a no-show, even though we haven't lived together for three years and there's no obvious reason why I should have known any more than the people asking the question
• plotting party games with cleanskies and girlycomic for cleanskies' vernal equinox party (kitten-rolling and bobbing for day-old-chicks were mentioned)
• Stark Mark taking the piss out of me for trying to imitate the squeaky riff from Britney Spears' Toxic because "nobody can get that right"
• also, someone had told him about my "Girls...ROCK OUT" picture, so he knew about it even though he never goes online, which is kind of funny ha-ha and funny-weird
• talking with Gav and mzdt about having lots of friends of the opposite sex; about how it seems that, for me, as a woman who hangs out with a lot of men, I become "less feminised" than other women I know who spend more time with other women. And they feel similar but from a different angle because they spend more time with women instead of other men, so they have become "more feminised." Somewhere, at the point where we come together, me as a "more masculine" woman, and them as "more feminine" men, we become a more fluid gender with less obvious distinctions, and sometimes outside of that, people have trouble instantly relating to us. If that makes sense. It made sense when we were talking about it.
• a conversation about about Jessica Abel stuck in my mind, because it was the second conversation I'd had about her recently, neither of which I'd started, and both of which were almost exactly the same, but I can't remember who it was with this time.
• Douglas explaining his reasons for refusing to buy people single shots at the bar. It had something to do with Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell -- we then started talking about the Coach & Horses and Norman's refusal to leave, even though he officially retired two years ago.
• trying desperately to explain to John that the old pulp novels I collect for their covers are of the sleazy, lurid variety, and not of the washed-out pastel romance novel variety, but for some reason he had settled in his mind that it was the latter and only the latter which I collected
• Dark Kaz and I talking to someone who tried to explain why he makes his money from painting S&M lesbian pr0n for furries (the reason being that it pays extremely well), even though he found it as distasteful as Kaz and I did. I told him about the Day of the Furries when The V happened to be having a drink-up in the same pub as some furries a couple of years ago, and he was amused-and-disturbed by the notion that these people meet in public wearing tails and ears and whiskers etc. because, even though he paints for them, he had no idea they really did that. I was also informed of a furry term that denotes the fetish for being eaten by animals, but thankfully I don't remember what that is, so don't ask.
• Douglas persuading everyone to stroke his legs because his trousers were soft. He did this all night. I think it was just an excuse to make him look popular by getting people to touch him. They were soft, mind you.

Inevitably, there are pictures. Go and look at them, 'cos there are more links and stories for you to read there.

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On the way home, in the wee small hours of the morning, I was waiting for a bus from Charing Cross Road and at the bus-stop I bumped into L, someone I knew at college in the early 90s. The last time I saw her was just before Christmas (twelve years after the previous time we'd seen each other), and I'd got her number but never used it. I kept starting to write text messages to her and not sending them because I was unsure if I wanted to go back to that time at all. We were quite close friends back in those days, but we lost touch (she moved to New York for about six years). Anyway, we said hello at the bus stop, although we were both a bit worse the wear for a proper conversation, and the woman she was with was a bit mistrusting of my motives so it took a minute or so before I could get L to take my number -- by which time my bus had arrived and I didn't have time to give it to her. I sent her a text message once I got on the bus, but wouldn't you know, it was a wrong number all this time, anyway. So now she probably thinks I'm a flake and I'm avoiding her, but I think it actually would be nice to catch up with her again. I guess I'll just have to hope that we bump into each other somewhere random some time in the next three months...

Spent the first half of Sunday feeling hung over and like I hadn't slept enough. Spent the second half of Sunday with period pains and unable to sleep.

I felt like utter shit on Monday. Today I've just been slow. Things have got to kick back into a higher gear soon, though.

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