Newness

In case anyone's still checking in, I'll be relaunching this blog in some new and exciting way yet to be determined in January. I might put some photos up in the meantime though, if you're good.

Bubble and Squeak

On dubstep.

There's more...

By popular demand, a few more pictures from Saturday's birthday throwdown.

Happy birthday, Amanda! (And, uh, me.)

Thanks to all, especially Rafael, who made the joint birthday party that Amanda and I threw on Saturday night such an absolute blast. If you weren't there, well, you should've been. Look, we had amazing DJs, and a skifflecore band, and birthday cupcakes, and rooftop craziness, and, and, and...

Frieze-ing

I went to the Frieze Art Fair in London the other day.

Here come the Dubsteppers

A treat to finally catch some genuine dubstep in New York last night. The long, scantily-clad queue outside Crash Mansion, venue for Dub War's lastest outing featuring Youngsta and Hatcha (among homegrown others), turned out - much to my party's relief - to be for some mainstrem megaclub taking place in the same building, so we were in and bouncing up and down within minutes. The sound system was a bit underwhelming, but a good-natured atmosphere went a long way towards making up for the technical shortcoming. Hatcha in particular was a treat to watch, bopping and twitching and tweaking behind the decks with a deadpan expression that occasionallly, very occasionally, twisted into a smile. And we had a good laugh at the random and extensive onstage entourage. Some game was afoot that involved DJs rewinding or changing places whenever someone held up a bit of paper with the number 5 printed on it, which was funny for a while though it seriously interrupted the flow. But hey, at least these guys aren't precious. And when it was allowed to roll, the music was excellent. I've been writing about this stuff at much greater length for a piece you'll see in a different forum next month, so I'll refrain from further comment for now, except to recommend your attendance at any and all future visits by any or all of this crew.

Rollercoaster Rides

Still backtracking—it’s been a busy few weeks what with one thing and another—so I’m just now getting around to reporting on The Boys, a play in which my Aussie mate Jeremy played a very substantial part. Many thanks are due to Amanda and Kelly for alerting me to this and accompanying me to see it at the Kraine Theater, the other evening. Performances were gutsy all ’round: The sheer physical energy the players put into their roles saw the set quaking and the front row ducking as bodies and beer cans went hurtling through space. I can forgive theatre a lot, probably too much, simply for generating that kind of visceral involvement.



My thanks too to Priya for forcing me to face my fears and ride the Cyclone rollercoaster and the Wonder Wheel ferris wheel on the last day of the Coney Island summer season. The former was the more intense, particularly during those sudden descents when I could feel myself starting to float out of my seat. Being ancient and made of wood, the Cyclone is also rickety as all hell, which of course adds to the terror. The Wheel is a more sedate experience, and the fact that a cucumber-cool small boy, riding on his own, accompanied us steadied my nerves substantially. Incidentally, Priya reports that the candyfloss (cotton candy to Americans) that she took home to freeze survived the process, though wasn’t exactly improved by it.

Herman Melville Would've Loved 'Em

Backtracking a bit now as I've not been in a blogging mood of late, but the other evening I went to see the mighty Mastodon at Webster Hall (alone – I assumed that no one I knew, in New York at least, would have been willing to thus endanger their delicately-honed sensibilities). It was nice to see a crowd exhibit a bit of movement, even if the efforts of two or three flailing idiots made the mosh pit unapproachable (perhaps I’m too old for that sort of shenanigans by now anyway). The support band was an unremarkable metal-hardcore hybrid, but the headliners packed, as anticipated, an eminently satisfying crunch. It’s true that much of the intricacy of their recorded work got lost in the charging-rhino rush, but the decision to close the set with “Blood and Thunder” and encore with the truly epic “Hearts Alive” was an inspired one. It’s undeniable that the first thing that hits you when bands of this ilk take the stage is, even before a wall of sound, a wall of clichés, but negotiate/disregard those and you’ve got a grand night out.