Not that I've sinned. I don't think I have. But life's been busy dear diary and Latvian bots, and I haven't felt like writing much lately. But some fun has been had, some gigs have been gone to, and I have discovered that some people are less than I perceive them to be, and I am disappointed. It takes a lot for people to disappoint me - as a first class A1 fuck up, generally I am the first to excuse the poor behaviour of others, when people are a bit shit I know through my own fallibility how easy it is to be shit and unintentionally hurt/offend/let people down. But when people need help, you give it. At the very least you make sure that they are okay, or that someone else is helping them. And I find myself massively disappointed in those who don't. No doubt I won't harbour any ill feeling towards them for long, I've tried to hold grudges in my youth and I just can't do it, but it has removed a layer of trust I previously held in some people. There are some people who will never fail to live up to expectation, who value people as people, and others, others who ultimately only value you while you have something to offer them. Hey ho. I guess it's like when you loan someone money and they don't pay you pay you back. You don't write them off, but you must write off the debt, and recognise that you can only ever afford to give to them what you expect never to see again.
But anyway, the last few weeks. Gigswise, I went to the Mad Nanna gig at Dulcimer on the 14th and Robert Curvengen on the 19th, and I somehow found myself in 42nd Street on Tuesday night. I'll go into the gigs in a moment, but I have to admit, despite probably being the oldest person there for at least half the night, I had fun. It's not what I would prefer to do week after week after week these days, but I danced to bad music, and old indie music with people who are excited and enthusiastic about life, and yes, it was a lot of fun. I'd promised one of my friends a lift home, and about 1am she cashed it in. As we were leaving I found one of my friends, sitting on the pavement outside, bummed a cigarette, and agreed to come back and rescue him from the horror of the young people after I'd fulfilled my lift giving promises, which I duly did, and the remainder of the night was spent having a bit of a catch up and moaning about the young people, as old folks are wont to do. Gave him a lift home, got home about 3:30, woke with the child just after 6am, wrecked all the following day. Awesome evening all in.
Back tracking a little to Mad Nanna on the 14th, that was awesome fun. Kate had been so excited about this for weeks, and excitement like that never fails to infect. Mad Nanna are from Australia, producing a wonderfully discordant sound that jars and enchants in equal measure. Kate's excitement was not misplaced, and I enjoyed them immensely. Also on the bill was Nick Mitchell as Chalaque, joined by Pascal Nichols for an awesome set, and Sweat Tongue, a trio from Rotterdam performing an incredible set of screaming, ladders, thrusting and fairy lights stuffed down oversized underpants worn as overpants. Final act was Sky Needle, and I don't remember a huge amount (it was over a week ago), but I do recall lots of fantastic homemade instruments, I think that one of the chaps from Mad Nanna was in the line up, along with the most ridiculously beautiful boy on drums (not the kind of boy you'd be interested in, rather the sort that makes you weep that you cannot draw or paint, and so cannot paint or draw him) and fronted by the fabulous Sarah Byrne who spent most of the set with her back to the crowd. She had no need to court her audience, we were already captivated.
Robert Curvengen was at the Bay Horse, supported by Andreae/Birchall/Cheetham and River Slaughter both of which were excellent. I hadn't seen Sam Andreae play since the Bark! gig a few months ago. Always awesome to see. River Slaughter is David McLean and Callum Stephen Higgins performing a dark encompassing set, set off by awesome visuals drawn largely from Tombs of the Blind Dead. Curvengen's set was mesmeric and immensely powerful. And that is where the evening went peculiar. I remember speaking to a couple of guys, I remember walking up the stairs in the Bay Horse, and then I remember sitting in my car, staring through golden street light infused raindrops on my windscreen. The intervening time is gone, though I can trace it back through messages on my phone to know that nothing bad happened. Where the time went is a mystery, and worries me a little. This is not an experience I can explain, nor one I care to repeat anytime soon.
The last few weeks have been consumed with the finalization of Cattenberg's house move last weekend, and getting ready for returning to university, this week having been the first week back. With the delay on the simplification of our separate living arrangements, I don't feel quite as ready for the start of term as I'd planned, nonetheless, there is a lot to do this year and the Woodcat shall be hitting the ground running. And swimming. Lots of swimming. Swimming pleases me greatly. Although I've got to say that I was a little weirded out by the guy eating salt and vinegar Hula Hoops in the showers yesterday... Yeah, life. All of that.
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