Telly addict

A quick glance at the telly pages and it seems there’s nothing on. But it was lazy looking. Not seeing something familiar, the lax mind falters. No easy-to-swallow mush. A closer look and there is much to chew on, something different, something to challenge, something new to get your head round. How true is this in day to day living? Do we simply seek out the same old, same old for an easy life? Trudging on, choosing the escalator again and again. How very depressing. Time we switched off and did something less boring instead.

Why I’m smiling today

White bright snow
Warm wet kisses

End of an era

So tonight is the closing party of legendary London club The End. I first went eight years ago, eyes gleaming, a naive young thing, head and heart full of dreams of being a music journalist. Well, I was doing work experience at my favourite magazine in the world ever. I wasn’t new to clubs, I was all about them in fact. My defining thought before setting off to university four years previous had been I want to go dancing. That was all that mattered. Being on a dancefloor, swallowed up by the music, in a blur of light, heat and sound. I knew who I was when I was dancing. It was the only time my body did what I wanted it to. I had complete command. It was all so exciting, so new, so right. Wherever I was, and my friends and I travelled far and wide to dance to the DJs we loved, on that floor it was about me and the music. 

And then we came to London. (A brief aside: before you live in London, it lives in you. It’s always there, on the fringe of your existence, somewhere in the corner of your eye. It’s more than a city, it’s an idea, an ideal, an aim. And no wonder, it’s built with 8 million hopes and dreams, both dashed and realised.) Life in London was different.  It was both scary and seductive. Unlike my warm and cosy northern city, it had harder edges. London is Industry. London is Media. London is Money. And it made the people harder. Eyes wouldn’t meet, lips would purse, faces saying they’d seen it all before. Apparently it was cool to look bored.

But not at The End. The End was different. The End was music you’d never heard before. The End was people who smiled. The End was dancing and dancing and dancing. And as London became home, it’s cold facade breaking down to reveal ordinary people all chipping away at their dreams, The End became home too. I have had so amazing nights on her dancefloors, jumping up and down, full of music and love, catching eyes and smiles that are full of the same. It’s more than escapism, it’s more than a good time, it’s more than a Saturday night on the town. Being together, dancing together, enjoying music together is a celebration of who we are as individuals, as a community and as human beings. So tonight I will be celebrating one last time at The End, with people and music I love, and I can promise you it will be one special send-off.

Body talk

This wonderful interview got me thinking that there’s something incredibly liberating about giving voice to the bodily taboos and hang ups we all share. I mean, for goodness sake, we all have bodies and yet we waft through life – noses in the air – denying the very flesh that envelopes us. We devote time, energy and resources to taming our wild bodies – covering, shaving, colouring and even slicing away at our nakedness. It’s a constant battle we’re never going to win. So why do we do it? Our bodies are a grimy everyday reminder of our mortality. By trimming, tweaking and trussing we twist the truth for a little while, creating a moment of self-perceived polished perfection. But soon the stubble breaks the porcelain surface and we’re back down to reality, staring our future in the bloodshot eye. 

Flip the coin though, and we could start having fun. We’re not artefacts that must be preserved. No, we don’t live forever so we should celebrate that which gives us the freedom to feel and taste and smell and touch and hear: our body.

Soundtracking

Songs currently lifting me out of monotony are David E Sugar’s beautifully paired down Although You May Laugh and La Roux’s 80s epic Quicksand. Both of which came to my attention through the rather brilliant Kitsuné Maison 6 compilation, which I bought for the inclusion of We Have Band (yes, I am still love love loving them). Perfect for elevating your mood on grotty public transport and pretending you’re in a music video.

Maddening

 Urgh. Now we all know that greedy magpie ad agencies do so enjoy snaffling up the work of underground artists in an attempt to massage their clients’ brands with a little credibility. But this has to take the biscuit. Not sure which grubby hands are responsible, but the latest ad for slimy, celeb-filled, hate-spewing rag, the Daily Mail, includes a clip of Joshua Allen Harris’ quite beautiful Air Bear. Quite how very dare they.

Same old, same old

Life is never predictable? Bollocks. Sometimes it’s so predictable it hurts. Different person, same old lines. Bitterness pricks at me, a stone in my shoe that I’m unable to shake. I don’t want to be like this but sometimes it just gets…tired.

Bus ride

Buses are emotional places. Unlike the Tube, where the close proximity of human flesh leaves no room for flighty feelings, only base disgust at the bodily: sweat, snot and spittle. 
Buses have a sense of purpose, a gentle tumble of transition, a knowing sense of time and place. Travel in real time, no same-same-same delay of tunnels and signal failure. 
Last month on the bus, I sat next to someone and it felt like you next to me. Your thigh against mine, a pressure, a comfort, a knowing-you-were-there, a safeness in the shared space. And then they got up and I ached. Ached for you.

More dancing more

Want music with substance that also makes you want to jump around like an idiot? You want We Have Band. Just. Bloody. Brilliant. I’ve been liking their sound for a while now and finally saw them live last night. They completely blew me away. Now, I love dancing but I’ve not leapt about like that for quite some time. It put the biggest, silliest grin on my face. They’re currently unsigned (wha’?) but booked up to play a string of London dates. Go see them, let hair down, jump around.

Love

The hardest thing in the world is watching someone you love struggle. Not being able to make it all better leaves you short of breath, the pressure on your heart creating bubbles of panic. Frustration cuts and helplessness burns. All you can do is leave hands and ears open. But is it enough?