3 posts tagged “jack penate”
Well, Jack. Haven't we been elusive. It started when he moved his original March 4th gig to April 22nd, ruining my highlight of the month and leaving me hopping up and down in anticipation for 6 weeks. Then the diary containing two tickets for the gig was lost, the gig was sold out and I had a very large and scary panic. Luckily no one was home, and then I managed to get a friend from work to sign over her tickets to me which caused a whole other story of trouble and woe for another time, but I would like to thank the phone book, her dad and the few other people of the same last name that I bothered that evening. The next fly in the ointment/needle in the haystack/etc was, on the advice of a friend who had been to the same gig in London a few days before, to avoid some unpleasant yobs wearing stupid baseball hats who were very rude and pushy. Sounded easy enough. Or so you'd think...
The lineup for Penate (pronounced, despite the lack of an accent over the n on most promotional posters, pen-iaaaaatey) included one Adele and one Late of the Pier supporting Penate himself.
Adele was...like an unrehearsed and one woman impression of Peggy Sue and the Pirates. Lots of nice, fun, jazz inspired lyrics intertwined with scatting and 'shoo be doo wop' (there's something to write to instantly make you feel stupid) interludes, but she just didn't have the mojo or the beauty of the combined voices of Peggy Sue, neither did she have the fun songs or the inspiring lyrics that, for the 20 minute set they played, made me want to throw away my doctorish ambitions and start smoking 20 a day to become a throaty-voiced (albeit dying) jazz singer.
My impression of her was thwarted about halfway through her set when she kept missing chords on her guitar and eventually had to stop playing one song because she couldn't do it, blaming it being the last night of her tour. Well, Adele, everyone else can play their guitars on the last night of their tour, why can't you?
Next up were the wonderful and facinating Late of the Pier. Having not known their name all through the set, we asked the bassist as they were packing up and he explained it as 'not making any sense; we couldn't think of anything.' Those wacky music kids, eh. But they were brilliant! I really, really, hope they catch on. So much so I'm going to write nice things about them. First of all, check out synth keyboardist:
The next excitement on the Late of the Pier front was the mysterious row of broken bed slats propped in the centre of the stage. Observe: When we asked jumper-youth what the planks of wood were for before going up, he told us they were to keep him on stage. Given that he was small, skinny, and in a large floppy jumper, this alarmed me somewhat. What exactly was he capable of that warranted the placement of barriers (on a budget) to keep him from the audience? Only when they started playing did I realise why they were there. And it wasn't, as much as I would have loved it to be, to keep the audience from rushing the stage at the amazing metal-rave-disco-pure synth action...wonder-music (bagsie royalties for that soon-to-catch-on term) but for the fittie front man to drum on! If you would care to turn your eyes to the picture on the right, you too can spot the drum sticks in his hands as I repeatedly tried to catch him mid-drum. They were brilliant. Some said they were better than Penate but they were oh so wrong. They were also very friendly and did lots of crowd-warming-uppage (although most of this was done with the synth genius.) Genius.
Penate!!! The highlight of April, gig-wise. He was suuuuuuuuuuuuuuper. Except the beginning of the gig was ruined by a very, very rude man who kept pushing me. He was wearing a stupid baseball hat. That's right, it was the stupid mean guys that my friend had warned me about. I am proud to say I fought back when he swore at me (not that proud, but I never knew my vocabulary of expletives was so very extensive) but then he elbowed me very hard and I scuttled off to complain to security, who did nothing. Thanks. I returned to the crowd, raving to Penate hits such as Spit at Stars, Learning Lines, Got My Favourite, Second Minute or Hour, Made of Codes and ending with a hefty stage invasion on Torn on the Platform. Brilliant. Penate's happy bouncy indie-pop that is Radio 1's new favourite had eeeeveryone jumping up and down, even the guitarist and bassist from Late of the Pier who, surely, must be a tiny bit bored of the same set every night. I was dancing right in front of them at one point before, upon realising it was fittie guitarist, commenced with much hair smoothing and sophisticated bobbing up and down. This pulled me back into the energetic but rather dangerous crowd full of Elbowey and his stupid mates, who proceeded to push my face away from him. This hurt and I got upset. However, when the show was over and the lights came back on, I saw him and elbowed him very hard in the chest before skipping off to the girls' toilets where he couldn't get me back. Revenge is sweet.
I've come to some musical conclusions recently.
Ever since I had my first MP3 player, about this time 2 years ago, I've been of the opinion that life should be set to music. Perhaps this is not how god or indeed science intended us to be, but if, like me, you can now no longer leave the house without your music playing device, there's little you can do to control it.
Having an iPod means I will now do more things with my life; go to London on my own, (I would have had no one to talk to pre-iPod) walk (not cycle) down to the shop, go to the gym more often, (nothing, and I mean nothing is better than running on the treadmill to Tiesto or Pendulum) and unload the dishwasher, simply because I can now do them accompanied by the music I like.
Where you go and what you do, however, requires different types of music. Walking or running requires fast paced techno or rap. Tieso, Pendulum, and Beatnuts are perfect for this cause. Nothing makes me feel more like I'm in an action movie than running to Pendulum's Slam. Try it. Buses, trains and planes need music with lyrics that you listen to and think about; Kate Nash, Just Jack and Jack Penate. The elliptical machine at the gym requires Ludacris, Chris Brown or other cheesy and terrible but fast-paced mainstream hip-hop. Any potentially noisy situation (the Tube, crowds) need my favourite old, tragic jazz or soul - Ella Fitzgerald, Muddy Waters, Erma Franklin, Louis Armstrong and Dionne Warwick.
However, the two tracks I can't stop listening to this week are terrible. I'm ashamed. But they're so bad, they're good. The first is Nadia Oh's Egyptian Lover. It is the best walking, feeling a bit daring track ever. Promise. The second is some classic 90s trance. Yep, I like 90s trance. Given that I spent most of the 90s in pink frocks and leggings, jumping in puddles and singing to the Spice Girls, I feel I rather missed out on the trance scene, so I'm going back now, and this is my current favourite: Big Bass - What you do. Apologies to anyone with good taste.
I decided to visit the capital properly since I have only been about twice since moving to England. I didn't actually do that well but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Here is the story of my gander, written (mostly) as it happened. Only the best for you, dear readers.
9:20 - arrive at bus stop.
9:22 - board bus.
9:23 - leave bus as have forgotten to get cash out.
9.40 - arrive back at bus stop with cash, trashy magazine and cough sweets.
9.50 - board bus successfully.
10.00 - congratulate self at evident success of outing.
10.02 - realise have forgotten map.
10.04 - have strange conversation with man about the state of public transport.
10.05 - offered petition to close Radcliffe Infirmary. Decline.
10.06 - sigh with relief when man leaves. Turned out he was with the BNP.
10.10 - realise do not know where anything in London is. Panic.
10.11 - remember that that is the point of the outing.
10.12 - see lots of kids with parents getting on buses to London as is half-term. Think nostalgic thoughts about youth etc. (We 16 year olds see everything from an older, much more adult perspective yah)
10.13 - reluctantly clear bag from adjacent seat as more people board the bus. Sulk.
10.14 - make it onto the A40. Feel smug as have an empty seat next to me and the Oxford High girl in front has to sit next to a very old, fat man.
10.15 - wonder why am writing in Bridget Jones style pronounless drivel. Cannot help the drivel.
10.20 - I hate those stupid adverts on loose bits of paper that are shoved in magazines. I managed to fling mine across the bus but a nice man in a yellow scarf helped me pick them up.
10.21 - I realised that my phone beeping, magazine explosion and paper scrunching do not a quiet passenger make. I turned my phone on silent, shoved everything in my bag and organised myself to be a friendly and respectful bus rider.
10.22 - jumped a mile at my phone vibrating in my pocket
10.23 - I would like to point out to all readers that I was up at 8.30 this morning. In the holidays.
10.24 - sitting in the window seat, listening to music and gazing outside wistfully makes me feel like I'm in a music video. (When I'm doing the same on a train I feel like I'm in a film. People in films never ride the bus)
10.29 - marvel at 7 year old in opposite row doing su-doku
10.30 - chuckle at van labelled 'Superloo' going past.
10.35 - play 'spot the EU country on a van.' Spot 23.
10.40 - smile at field of sheep.They don't smile back.
10.50 - peer over at man in front's iPod. He seems to like French music.
10.51 - am very bored
10.54 - panic at su-doku child opposite. Not only can she do su-doku but she is doing it very quickly.
10.55 - panic over. She was looking at the answers in the back and copying them in. Um, cheating.
10.57 - wonder what 'spray possible ahead' motorway sign might mean
10.58 - arrive at Hillingdon Station. Sigh in relief as the end is now in sight
11.01 - get stuck in traffic.
11.40 - drive past Marble Arch. I have decided I want to go to Downing Street, the Tate Modern and Buckingham Palace.
[Will now be recording what I listened to and where, because it fascinates me. It might not fascinate you, but you're not the one writing this are you.]
11.52 - step off bus into sunny Victoria listening to Bright Eyes' First Day of My Life. How appropriate. Felt very happy
11.54 - there's something brilliant about walking around knowing nothing in the sun. Like being a tourist but without the shorts
11.57 - being at Victoria, seeing a particular Sainsburys Local brings back memories of staying in a hotel nearby years ago and instead of going out for dinner, my mum and I went to Sainsburys and ate English food. I think we had prawn cocktail crisps and peking duck wraps. But you couldn't get them abroad!
[I was in a state of iPoddy sunny bliss at this point and lost all track of time. It was about half twleveish though.]
I so rarely go anywhere without knowing where it is that it's very liberating to jut wander about without direction.
Saw a sign to Sloane Square and decided to follow it. I wandered through the smart furniture and antique shops on Pimlico Road of Westminster before ending up on Chelsea Bridge Road and walking up it. I was reminded of Suz telling me about how her mum used to take her to London in half term to get some culture. I need some of that.
I saw a bridge and two funnels from Chelsea Bridge and decided it was the Tate Modern, so I strolled along Chelsea Embankment in the sun listening to Just Jack and feeling cheerful. The wind was a-whipping, and there were some ducks bouncing about on the water. I smiled at them, but, like the sheep, they weren't interested. Ah well, nothing can spoil my mood. Getting closer to the bridge I decided it wasn't the Tate. Laugh not at my lack of knowledge of how London works, because none of you know your way round Athens or Vilnius, do you now. That's what I thought.
Houses along the Embankment are very posh, as are the people who live in them.
I pottered up to the bridge which I had mistook for the footbridge which takes you to the Tate Modern and the Globe, I noticed it had a few exciting things around it:
A bit of physics for you on the above photograph: large groups of people cannot walk in step on suspension bridges because the repeated vibration will sway the bridge and eventually cause it to snap. My mum and I did this on a footbridge over the motorway on our way to Sainsburys and it was very very scary. Don't try it at home. Or on a bridge.
Realising I had just walked a mile to nowhere, I asked a man with a hard hat for directions to the nearest tube. (I have a love/hate relationship with the tube. It's fun the first time but then you realise it's not instant teleporting from one place to another, and filthy, so I lose interest.) I was directed to South Kensington tube up a street of what I always call Reihenhaueser. Row-houses, in German. Terraced, in English I suppose, but that doesn't make any sense to me. Anyway, there they are on your left.
I made it to Kings Road in Chelsea and pottered up it, looking at furniture shops and the fun architecture. Chelsea reminds me of a smart European Old Town, similar to the Gamla Stan in Stockholm because it has lots of old and new shops, all in different buildings. Very exciting stuff. This is what I saw:
One Time Out London later and I'm waving my Oyster Card with an air of cool sophistication (I may or may not have turned to the person in the next ticket barrier to say, 'I do this all the time, yah.') around the Tube station and settling down on the train to get to Blackfriars. I drowned out the rattle and the pesky couple next to me with Billie Holliday's Blue Moon and Blinded by the Lights by The Streets. Eclectic goodness.
Emerging from Blackfriars, I decided I was 10 minutes from where I started at Chelsea Bridge. Looking at a map later, I probably wasn't, but the irritation at having wasted an hour on public transport gave me a huffy walk along the riverside to the Millenium Bridge to some Ludacris. Move, ehem, get out the way, get out the way...
Views from the waterside and bridge:
Grafitti and headline-inspired bloody 'terrorism' art of the 2006 Bomber series, created especially for the Tate Modern by Gilbert and George:
An exhibition called Idea and Abstract compiled by Carl Andre and Martin Creed which contained:
- Some disappointingly scruffy Piet Mondrian pieces, much less stark and striking than in print.
- Sol Lewitt, a graphic artist who took two dimensional linear drawings and enlarged them to fill whole walls, creating a very odd and intense architectural space that made the small room feel huge and made me very dizzy
- Dan Flanvin - I'd already seen his full exhibition of flourescent lights, and found it quite boring and a little painful on the eyes, but it was nice to feel like I knew lots about art.
- Julian Opie, who work with mimicking the appearances of man made objects like the heating vent. And what I saw was a heating vent. Some modern art is just too intense for me. What's so special about a heating vent? I've got them at home.
- A Warhol sculpture called Brillo. I like Andy Warhol, and it's nice to see some of his less famous works, but, erm, what does this mean?
An exhibition called States of Flux: cubism, futurism and vorticism. I didn't even know what vorticism is. Still, don't, in fact, but it was a smashing exhibition. I saw:
- Some ugly cubism. I've never been into cubism, because I'm not into technological and scientifically inspired art much; it's all beige and brown and all messy and angular in ways that don't appeal to me. Sorry, cubism. Georges Basque and his pre-World War One pieces left me cold.
- Futurism I liked. Martin Parr's 'exploration of the grotesque exuberance of global consumerism' was bright, you might even say grotesque, and rather inspiring. Martin Parr seems like a bit of a dude.
- Now this was my favourite part of the whole exhibition: the Guerilla Girls. An anonymous activist group who fly-posted their messages in Soho, New York, fighting gender and racial discrimination through comedy and fake fur. A few pieces I saw:
At a new contemporary exhibition I saw:
- Some red and black Rothko - nice, atmospheric but I can only enjoy them for so long before I start asking myself pointless questions. While they may have been intended as objects of contemplation, I feel they complete their purpose a little too well
- I was mildly awe-struck to find a Monet, just sitting there on the wall! Madness. Who knew they just popped up like that. Sadly it was one of his later works, post 1916, where he had started to go blind and his trademark lilies aren't as defined and far too red for my liking
That was enough art for me by that stage, so I pottered through the shop, wondering if I was enough of an angry feminist to buy a Guerrila Girls t-shirt. I decided I wasn't, but I will try and get a poster. Modern art is a lot better set to music, I've realised. I much prefer to drown out the sounds of chatter and whining children to John Legend and Kings of Convenience - nice, ambient, quiet music.
- Burnett Newman doing neat Rothkos:
Anyway, enough culture. H&M is calling me to Oxford Street, via the Globe, which looked disappointingly modern and shiny. That's not how Shakespeare would have had it, surely?
I walked along the embankment to Southwark Bridge, which I crossed bravely through the wind listening to Jose Gonzales' Heartbeats at full blast. Magical. Stopped briefly for a sit down and some juice in a Pret on Canon Street before heading over to Oxford Circus to raid H&M.Emerging from H&M rather grumpy about half an hour later, I sulked my way home. I could have gone on to Buckingham Palace or Downing Street, but an unsuccessful trip to H&M has afternoon-ruining capacities and my feet were beginning to hurt. I did, however, familiarise myself with Jack Penate, who I will be seeing on the 4th of March, and buy a black jumper. Woopie.
There are three very vital flaws with H&M that are, alas, incurable. The first is that the Oxford Street branch is full of anorexic, rude girls who sneer when you try to get past them and stand in doorways. The second is that H&M in England is a bit shit. Sorry, chaps, but it is. And third, they have wiggly mirrors in the changing rooms that you can see your bottom and the back of your head. This is seriously unnerving, as I go most of my life without seeing either and always takes me by surprise to see that I have both. Then I slap my head about, trying to get my hair to behave as I had no idea it looked so crap from the back.
The journey home was uneventful and sleepy, spent listening to Corinne Bailey Rae and Radiohead while the man next to me told his wife in intricate detail about what colour he was painting their bedroom while a child screamed relentlessly because he wanted an ice cream in a cone. When I was his age I wasn't even allowed ice cream before July! Kids these days, eh?And that was my adventure in London! I tirelessly took down two pages of observations on city life and cultshure, whatever that is. A second trip will undoubtedly have to occur to see the things I originally intended on seeing and perhaps not taking an hour long detour through Chelsea. Ah well, good times.
