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camrogersI write to you from here.
The punks in Camden remind me a little of that gorilla from Ishmael (the movie adaptation at least): domesticated, and unaware of it. I walked out of the tube station the first day I was here and there's a full-kit punk standing, holding a sign reading 'Ask this man about Dr Marten's boots'. The next day there's a couple more, and charging tourists for photographs.
You haven't really had the hostel experience until you book a bunk, enter the dorm, and find the three frat boys youre sharing with have managed to sleep in all 8 bunks and used yours to store beer.
Both Adrian and David couldn't make it yesterday, so Karen and I met at the Dev before heading to Slimelight. And then someone I knew from Melbourne walked in the door. Fucking weird. Talked for two straight hours, traded contact details, and I came away with the rising conviction that I might be able to live in Berlin for a year.
I love the Dev. There's just no place like it in Melbourne, or Australia really. It's the Gothpunk embassy. We own it. It's great. Inside, outside, spilling onto the street drinking, laughing, hugging, the way it used to be in Brisbane in the mid-Nineties before the entire scene vanished up its own half-smart boutique sensibility. Effing brilliant, seriously. And some seriously striking-looking people.
Went to Slimelight. They opened early as it was the final UK gig ever for Voices of Masada. They were supported by Mumbles (2-piece, v.good impersonation of early-era Eldritch, right down to the Porsche sunglasses), and Luxury Stranger (the best of the three). Watching them set up I figured we were in for something heavily Cure inspired, if his hair and paunch were any indicator. Turns out I was only partly-right: Luxury Stranger sounds like what The Cure would sound like if they let go. Singer came on with thick whiteface and a red-painted hunter's mask across his eyes. Wasn't sure about it until they started. The paleface gave him a kind of Pinhead-esque cast to his face and mouth, and once he started sweating the mask bled thick and red down his face. Combined with their energy and the exultant sound of the music... pretty damned good. Worth a listen. I bought their CD. If you ever have the chance to see them live I'd definitely recommend them. I took a few photos.
Flights out of Belfast have been canceled due to volcanic ash clouds. They say London will be shut down on Tuesday, but probably clear come Wednesday. I fly out for Helsinki on Wednesday. 12 hours later we fly to Berlin. If Gatwick closes I may have to just flat-out buy a new flight straight to Berlin or Leipzig depending on when it clears.
I really don't want to miss Berlin. I've always known this trip was legwork and research and recon. I really want to know Berlin.
The Irish bartender here looks like Erik the Red, loves goth, usually wears dark blue eye makeup and tells me the one place an acupuncturist won't touch is the tongue. Apparently a misplaced tongue piercing can paralyse the face for life, poison the blood, or give you a somethingorother endocarditis - meaning your heart valves rot but all you get are flu symptoms. He had his done, his mother flipped, and at that point he went into a tongue-piercing-related seizure. Had to go to the doctor and get it removed with pliers because it'd scabbed over. Had to bargain with the doctor not to tell his father as they were best friends.
OK, laptop charging. Two hours work, then off to meet Matt at Liverpool station.
The punks in Camden remind me a little of that gorilla from Ishmael (the movie adaptation at least): domesticated, and unaware of it. I walked out of the tube station the first day I was here and there's a full-kit punk standing, holding a sign reading 'Ask this man about Dr Marten's boots'. The next day there's a couple more, and charging tourists for photographs.
You haven't really had the hostel experience until you book a bunk, enter the dorm, and find the three frat boys youre sharing with have managed to sleep in all 8 bunks and used yours to store beer.
Both Adrian and David couldn't make it yesterday, so Karen and I met at the Dev before heading to Slimelight. And then someone I knew from Melbourne walked in the door. Fucking weird. Talked for two straight hours, traded contact details, and I came away with the rising conviction that I might be able to live in Berlin for a year.
I love the Dev. There's just no place like it in Melbourne, or Australia really. It's the Gothpunk embassy. We own it. It's great. Inside, outside, spilling onto the street drinking, laughing, hugging, the way it used to be in Brisbane in the mid-Nineties before the entire scene vanished up its own half-smart boutique sensibility. Effing brilliant, seriously. And some seriously striking-looking people.
Went to Slimelight. They opened early as it was the final UK gig ever for Voices of Masada. They were supported by Mumbles (2-piece, v.good impersonation of early-era Eldritch, right down to the Porsche sunglasses), and Luxury Stranger (the best of the three). Watching them set up I figured we were in for something heavily Cure inspired, if his hair and paunch were any indicator. Turns out I was only partly-right: Luxury Stranger sounds like what The Cure would sound like if they let go. Singer came on with thick whiteface and a red-painted hunter's mask across his eyes. Wasn't sure about it until they started. The paleface gave him a kind of Pinhead-esque cast to his face and mouth, and once he started sweating the mask bled thick and red down his face. Combined with their energy and the exultant sound of the music... pretty damned good. Worth a listen. I bought their CD. If you ever have the chance to see them live I'd definitely recommend them. I took a few photos.
Flights out of Belfast have been canceled due to volcanic ash clouds. They say London will be shut down on Tuesday, but probably clear come Wednesday. I fly out for Helsinki on Wednesday. 12 hours later we fly to Berlin. If Gatwick closes I may have to just flat-out buy a new flight straight to Berlin or Leipzig depending on when it clears.
I really don't want to miss Berlin. I've always known this trip was legwork and research and recon. I really want to know Berlin.
The Irish bartender here looks like Erik the Red, loves goth, usually wears dark blue eye makeup and tells me the one place an acupuncturist won't touch is the tongue. Apparently a misplaced tongue piercing can paralyse the face for life, poison the blood, or give you a somethingorother endocarditis - meaning your heart valves rot but all you get are flu symptoms. He had his done, his mother flipped, and at that point he went into a tongue-piercing-related seizure. Had to go to the doctor and get it removed with pliers because it'd scabbed over. Had to bargain with the doctor not to tell his father as they were best friends.
OK, laptop charging. Two hours work, then off to meet Matt at Liverpool station.
