Rock n’ roll Birkenstocks

This weekend I mosied on home for my dad’s big day and all the proverbial knot tying a girl could hope for. Little did I know it would be a ‘jam’ packed musical mystery tour of the south east as well a much deserved opportunity to see the older members of my family strut their stuff on the dance floor.

I’ve been to a few gigs this year, through no fault of my own. I love a good gig, and a good pre-gig curry, as my boss pointed out, but given that you need to buy tickets years in advance I tend to rely on the organisational skills of my friends. Still, I digress. Why have I called you here today? Well, for the musical mystery tour of course. On Friday night we ended up in a venue I have not set foot in for the best part of 8 years, The Forum, in Tunbridge Wells. Formerly some kind of Victorian public restroom and now the preserve of death metal enthusiasts of Kent. I was there because my brother’s friends had made it to the final of a local battle of the bands. I was assured that we would miss the metal portion of the evening and that the band would be worth seeing. You know what? He wasn’t wrong.

Ladies and gents, girls and boys, teens and toddlers, I give you Clockworks. Lead singer Josh looked a little skeletal in comparison to the ball of death and sweat that rolled off stage before him, but didn’t seem too bothered by it all. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a front man with such genuine swagger and natural stage presence. His voice slightly reminiscent of Brian Molko, of Placebo fame, is unaffected and sincere. In fact unaffected and sincere may be exactly what they’re going for… when was the last time you saw a bassist on stage in white sport socks? The songs were catchy without being annoying or tedious, on further listening the lyrics are (in my mostly humble opinion) pretty damn brilliant and the band appear to be enjoying themselves. Slightly novel, given that one of the rock last gigs I went to, I wished the lead singer would just help himself to a handful prozac.

Maybe I’m just high on the joy of seeing originality and talent untouched by executives, hairdressers and personal trainers. Maybe it’s the achingly high notes on now favourite track ‘Always’. Maybe it’s the infectious joy of the groupies apparent. Three gorgeous 20-something Abercrombie boys that stalk the band from gig to gig, know all the words and make drummer Simon’s attempted seriousness impossible as he beams from behind his high hat. I joined the groupie boys (really friends of the band) and spent Sunday in the grounds of Arundel castle as Clockworks filled a last minute spot at the Arundel festival. Bassist Luke is still in his socks, Josh is sporting Birkenstocks and Simon is fighting a whole new battle with a snare drum and despite the less competitive atmosphere (and shock heatwave), they’re still outstanding.

I don’t want to say it...but I’m going to…god it’s too cheesy, but its true. They may have lost the battle, but the war is theirs. Theirs I tell you! They’re just a kilt and pot of blue facepaint away from going straight to the top.

Oh and for a bit more Clockworks magic and musical mayhem, check out http://www.myspace.com/clockworksonline

the good ship spotify

It's a voyage of discovery. Today's voyage started at Deep Purple, did a pit stop at Peter Gabriel and finished somewhere near Fats Domino. If I'm correct in my estimations the journey is probably going a little backwards. The problem with this sort of travel is that it is really quite unpredictable, you never know who will crop up along with way and who they might introduce you to. Of course, all this not knowing is rather hazardous, it insisted that I discover the wonders of Melody Gardot. She wasn't a discovery I particularly wanted to make, although she reminded me in her own sugar sweet bluesy way, that it is probably okay to outgrow your music collection. 

I'm sure you'll know exactly how I'm undertaking this bizarre trip. On the good ship Spotify of course! An invention that in the music world received so much hype I was certain it wouldn't deliver. But by bollocks! does it deliver. Right now it's delivering unadulterated David Bowie, and I'm face to face with the man who sold the world. Cue raucous applause! I'll never ever get to grips with the fact that for at least a few months of its existence I lived without this incredible feat of human invention. Supplying me with an endless archive of music that were never within my reaches or budget or living years for that matter. 

Never again will I be tortured thinking that just maybe, I was born in the wrong decade. A decade where the elders of the tribe constantly remind you that 'they just don't make them like they used to'. The green button glows it's little hello from the dock on my mac drawing the mouse ever nearer. Seconds later I'm flicking through Bonnie Raitt's back catalogue, a whole world of Bonnie Raitt at my fingertips, I'm still not sure its a good thing. The recommendations bar at the top right informs me I might also like to try Darden Smith on for size...why not, he looks about my size. 

All this music, and the only price I'm paying is having to listen to random advertisements every 3 or so songs. Self control is not even an option, every time a name pops into the void that exists where the mathematical part of my brain used to be, I'll search and fill the empty space with Joe Bonamassa or Amadou&Mariam or a John Mayer album that I never quite got round to buying. Then I'll flick on back a few years to Led Zeppelin and Miles Davis. I've had to start keeping a pen and paper next to my laptop, to scribble down names of artists who keep presenting themselves to my brain. My ears can't listen fast enough, perhaps Spotify will force them to evolve multiple listening cavities of some sort? I can only live in hope. 

Apparently 10,000 songs are uploaded onto Spotify every day. Self control has been totally abandoned and I am rejoicing in the fact that most of my friends are otherwise occupied on a Saturday night. I don't resent paying for music, in fact I love shopping for new music. It is just made virtually impossible in today's download culture to walk into a music store and listen to anything that takes your fancy. Having to read about new and obscure artists that iTunes and amazon only give me split second recordings of, doesn't allow for intelligent decision making. This is evidently one of the thousands upon millions of reasons why those lovely people somewhere in the Swedish hills came up with Spotify. 

Further reason to block out the aforementioned droning paternal guitar sound of my previous entry.

Who needs a drink?