You know when you’re in an intimate space when you meet the lead singer of a band coming out of the toilets. In this case it was Barry Gorey, frontman of Black Soul Strangers, a band on the rise thanks to their heartfelt, taut melodies that have seen them compared to bands like The National and Elbow.

They were delayed by a few technical hitches but once these were sorted out it was into their opener of Wichita, a pounding and rousing anthem, which got the smallish crowd at Death Disco in the Notting Hill Arts Club feeling the urge to become ever more animated as the song went on.

Although a new band, Black Soul Strangers certainly displayed a burgeoning craft about how to develop a song. Both Leave and Lies crescendoed and gathered a rolling momentum that was well controlled rather than a hectic blur of strummed chords and unwieldy bombast. Your Hero saw Philip Wyer, the guitarist and synth player, provide a different inflection to the dominance of the guitar with an electronic fade.

It is clear that Black Soul Strangers are a new band as, although they are popular with the audience, hardly anyone in the crowd was singing along, such was their unfamiliarity with the band’s lyrics. That all changed with the announcement that they were soon to play The Haunting. Given that it is the song that has been all over the radio, it drew the loudest cheer of the night. It certainly seemed that it was the song that the band are most proud of as they gave their most accomplished performance of the night.

Gorey’s voice was clearer than ever, insistent as the chorus grew and grew. It became apparent that the crowd were enraptured with the band and Gorey in particular as he wound and stomped through the heights and troughs of the song. After an exultant finish they moved onto Panic Sets Direction, which lacked a little potency after the rousing fervour of the previous tune. The band finished with You Don’t Need It before thanking the crowd and leaving the stage.

Black Soul Strangers seem to have everything in place for success. They’re musically competent with radio-friendly songs, and from what I saw earlier in the night, their lead singer keeps a high standard of hygiene. He’s a washer, not a walker.

Black Soul Strangers played on July 28 at:

Notting Hill Arts Club
19-21 Notting Hill Gate
Notting Hill
W11 3JQ

Tel: 020 7460 4459

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Black Soul Strangers at Death Disco

Not many things make me venture south of the river, least of all to Clapham. I’m a Clapham-hater, if you will. But, there is one thing that Clapham does well – other than to churn out Jack Wills-clad, Ray-Banned PRs, that is – and that’s massage.

Lavender Hill Health and Beauty Studios in Clapham Junction makes me want to breathe the same air as the rest of SW4. At £30 for an hour-long massage, it’s the most credit-crunching massage in London I’ve ever found.

The parlour itself is inconspicuous, occupying a small space on Lavender Hill between various chippies and newsagents. It offers both Swedish and Thai massage. I went for an hour-long, full-body Thai (not because I know the difference, I still don’t, but apparently they ‘maul you about a bit more’ according to a friend).

Boy, was I mauled. It started innocuously enough, with the Thai masseuse instructing me to remove my clothes (ALL of them, although I drew the line at my pants) and lie face down on the bed, in a small dark room filled with what looked like smoke mirrors. The rooms themselves aren’t exactly easy on the eye, but for 30 quid, who’s complaining? The masseuse then leaped on top of me, writhing her small body on my larger one, digging her nails into my shoulders.

Every bone in my body was cracked and pulled. After half an hour kneading, slapping and laying flat on my back, she asked me to flip over. Being naked from the waist up only registered about two minutes later, when she asked if I would like my boobs massaged – a question to which I answered a swift ‘no’.

Before visiting Lavender Hill I was a full-body massage virgin, only having had the ol’ back pummelled a few times. Having my legs massaged was a completely new experience, as was having each finger pulled and stroked individually. Odd, but weirdly relaxing, if you forget that you are not wearing anything on top.

The hour ended with a gentle head massage, before the lights were switched on, bringing the experience to a sharp stop. Another redeeming feature of this parlour is the sauna and steam room, where after your massage, you can sit back and relax – it’s a more holistic experience.

Whilst not more relaxing than previous massages (you know, where they slap a bit of sandalwood on your shoulders and press around a bit), I felt lighter afterwards than I had in ages. Weeks of sitting slumped over a desk and computer screen do take their toll, and on the bus home I could feel the aches slipping away. So much so, that thankfully I forgot I was even in Clapham. 

Lavender Hill Health and Beauty Studios
93 Lavender Hill
Clapham
SW11 5GL

Tel: 020 7738 1412

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Credit Crunch Clapham Massage

29-year-old Inkfetish, aka Tom Blackford, has been decorating London for many years, making his work some of the most recognisable on London streets; in fact chances are that if you haven’t been aware of who he is until now, you’ll still recognise his work.

I’ve admired Inkfetish’s work since moving to London almost five years ago. With an individual style and the bold use of slap-you-in-the-face colours, his work is intriguing, distinctive, and done with such panache and flair that it’s almost intoxicating. A self-confessed perfectionist, this shines through in each piece, as does his passion, and this talent has not gone unnoticed. He’s worked with many multi-national companies including Nike, MTV and EA Games, and his work has become highly covetable.

Alice (above), his most recent piece, was created as part of a live paint for Whitecross Street Party: Rise of the Non-Conformists, which took place in East London at the weekend, and is quite possibly one of my favourite pieces to date. We had a brief chat with him before he took out the spray cans.

How long have you been painting for?

‘Seriously for about seven years.’

Describe your style…

‘A subversive mixture of Japanese and American pop/sub culture.’

Who or what influences you?

‘Art in general, comics, anime, graffiti, horror movies, dreams, the list goes on…’

Where’s your favourite London hotspot?

‘Forbidden Planet store for shopping, I can spend hours in there.’

Where’s the best area to paint?

‘Anywhere hassle free. I’m easily distracted so being in a quiet space works for me.’

What are the best and worst aspects of living in London?

‘I like the vibrancy and diversity of London and the fact that everything’s so accessible. On the flip-side, I think it’s a difficult place to support yourself as an artist without any other means of income due to the high cost of living; but then again that could be seen as a motivating factor.’

Describe your perfect London day…

‘Painting a wall with my talented crew (40 Hit Kombo) on a hot summer day with a few beers, followed by a movie in the evening with a special lady. It’s the little things…’

Where can we see your work?

‘On the street if you’re lucky enough. I’ve currently got some new paintings available from Guest Basset on Whitecross Street. Failing any of these real life experiences you can view a bunch of stuff online via my site: www.inkfetish.co.uk.’

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Urban Artist Inkfetish

When you first move to London from a far away place, like up north for example, you half expect your friends to be slightly worried. I mean if the things you read in the newpapers are true, awful things happen in London. Rapes, murders, burglaries and god knows what else.

However, rather than be concerned, most friends find the move very convenient for them. For when they visit they get a room, free of charge, in the capital.

There might not be any tiny soaps in the bathroom. Or tiny chocolates on the pillow. Or free bathrobes to be stolen…but there is a room which will always be free to use whenever it is needed, and it is always nice to call upon an old friend from up norf.

At first, your friends pretend they want to see you.

‘Oooh I haven’t seen you for AGES,’ they’ll say. And you think,`Well, I have a lot of work to do and many a social event to attend.’ But still, at the sincerity of their tone you’ll say, ‘You’re right, it’s been faaaar too long, it would be lovely to see you. Come down!’

You then think you can fit your life around their visit, nothing has to change, you don’t need to act as entertainer for the weekend. How very wrong that thought is.

‘I can’t watch television at home, we’re in London! There are so many things to do and see! And lots of it’s free…I was reading on the internet that the Tate has this really good exhibition on…’

So you slap on your best tourist face…the very one you scowl at on the tube every Monday morning in rush hour. How calm these tourists are among the wave of angry commuters desperately trying to make everyone else’s morning that little bit worse.

And this is how my time in London has been spent. A friend who had disappeared, someone you would have probably have given up on in any other given circumstance, decided they would just love to see you and you oblige. Against your otherwise negative thoughts you have no choice but to put them up for the weekend. And sometimes, just sometimes, you might secretly enjoy being a tourist for a few days. You may begin to see London differently and, heaven forbid, it might actually be quite fun.

Come to think of it, I have a very good friend in Bournemouth who is well overdue a visit…

Image courtesy of Colin Gregory Palmer

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Being a London Tourist

I’ll admit that my music collection tends to be dominated by the dark and twisty or beats so dirty you need to shower afterwards so very rarely would you catch me listening to girl groups. Apparently, the reason for this is because, as I have been told on several occasions, I do not allow enough joy in my life. Unfortunately, I feel it is partially this reason that would explain my disaffected reaction to The Pipettes at their recent gig at The Lexington.

My knowledge of The Pipettes didn’t extend far from university memories of indie clubs so grimy your feet stick to the ground invoked by Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me, their 2006 hit single after which, despite a successful debut album, the band soon fell into relative obscurity. Or rather broke up. But with a new line-up and a new album created under the watchful eye of Martin Rushent, the former producer of The Human League, Stranglers and Buzzcocks, I was intrigued to hear if such changes might have taken their music in another direction.

Launching their new single, Call Me from their upcoming new album Earth vs The Pipettes, The Pipettes enthusiastically entertained the crowd with their Welsh-tinged stage chat which, while at times slightly awkward, particularly when addressing their numerous line-up changes, showed them as confident young ladies amidst a crowd who were all eager to hear their new set.

Donned in The Pips characteristic matching outfits, sisters Gwenno and Ani Saunders embarked upon their choreographed set which, while certainly in keeping with their girl group sympathies, for me took away from the necessary spontaneity of live music. While it is an easy analogy to use, their sound is as bubblegum as you can get with backing vocals, harmonies, synthesisers and dance routines that could only have been choreographed by an air hostess.

Pull Shapes, with its inescapably catchy chorus, instead of making me want to dance – ‘pull shapes’ if you will – made me loathe myself at the realisation that my foot was indeed rhythmically tapping. Our Love Was Saved By A Spaceman saw a more electronic influence but still demonstrated how a song title can also act as a one-phrase summary of any narrative within a song. Therefore I will spare the too-easy review of Stop The Music.

The Pipettes have long been marketed as a throwback to the Sixties and I am shameless fan of all Sixties paraphernalia particularly in my penchant for vintage mini dresses and Northern Soul girl groups and so one would think I would enjoy a renaissance of these things in The Pipettes. Sadly, despite their enthusiasm and coordination – both in choreography and outfits – my Sixties sympathies did not translate to what I saw on stage. Instead, I spent a large portion of the gig trying to discern which part Martin Rushent contributed to with the only resulting conclusion being that it must be the matching Steve Diggle polka dot shirts the all-male backing band, known as The Cassettes, were sporting.

While my aforementioned distaste of joy undoubtedly will have coloured my Pipettes experience, vocally the girls do offer delightful harmonies and they must be commended on their enthusiasm but until I can welcome the wholesome goodness of the girl band into my life I’m afraid The Pipettes will be pipped to the post by someone whose moodiest moments aren’t songs about dead hamsters…

The Pipettes performed on Monday 19 July at:

The Lexington
96-98 Pentonville Road
King’s Cross
N1 9JB

Tel: 020 7837 5371

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The Pipettes at The Lexington

Summer likes to play tricks on us English folk. On most days in the season, you will wake up to cloudless blue skies. As soon as you turn back to dress yourself for good weather, in sneak the clouds. You might notice one or two as you leave the house but convince yourself that there is no need to worry. But by lunchtime, the clouds will have aggregated to leave only miniscule vistas through which the sun can poke out and as you head home, the sky has taken on a deathly pallor, ruining all those plans you had for a meal outside.

There should be some sub-section of Murphy’s Law, the decree that if something can go wrong it will. Entitled English Weather Law, it simply states that if the weather can mess up an event that has been long in the planning, it will.

Such are the conditions that thwart attempts at al fresco dining, that those who endeavour to put on meals in the open are to be heartily congratulated. One of these venues is Courtyard at 51, an open-space area attached to Michelin-starred restaurant the Quilon. Boasting a veranda that looks out onto a fountain and one of the largest Shakespearean friezes in the world, this is a place that manages to combine grandness with a sense of intimacy.

The venue also offers a mixture of food, alternating between Arabian, Moroccan, Lebanese and other barbecue classics. Due to the weather being predictably dank, a group of us headed inside to sample some of the food. Although there were some grumbles amongst us, there are infinitely worse places to retreat to than a Michelin-starred restaurant.

What was put before us was a hybrid menu featuring elements from the a la carte menu, dishes that have a distinct south Indian feel to them. These are ideal for the grills and barbecues that the venue offers, simply for the way in which they are cooked and the effect that this has on the food. By cooking in a way that drains the excess oils, the food is filling but not in a way that leaves you feeling bloated. While it is not possible to describe everything that is on the menu as the lack of space would leave only a cursory glance at each, there are some items that are worthy of comment.

The curry leaf and lentil crusted fish was superbly done, having a fantastic texture as well as being exceedingly flavoursome. Other notable items were the prawns byadgi with the sweetness of the prawns combining excellently with the byadgi chillies and the mapla chicken. The Courtyard will also be hosting opera recitals in the later months of the summer. Hopefully by that time, the weather will have sorted itself out.

Courtyard at 51
51 Buckingham Gate
Westminister
SW1E 6AF

Tel: 020 7769 7766

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Courtyard at 51

Shoreditch is a funny old place. Ten years ago it was what its further east counterparts, like Hackney Wick, are now:  awash of old warehouses being used as creative spaces with its inhabitants’ style choices reflecting this.

Being closer to central London, the idea of it being ‘up-and-coming’ has cottoned on as the bankers of the city and the media-savvy of Soho branch out to what they deem fashionable. It is still where cool kids and creative types live, work, and play, making it the perfect destination to kick back with a few good friends and get wasted quickly and cheaply.

Shoreditch still has a lot going for it, if perhaps it isn’t as exciting as it was a few years back; and it’s funky and creative dwellers are not afraid to embrace their own trends, even if it sometimes means falling a bit short.

There is a definite uniform when it comes to the Shoreditch inhabitant that identifies them, even when they venture out of their local stomping ground. The Shoreditch lady loves faux fur jackets, body con skirts, and prairie boots. She lives in grandad cardigans, unflattering high-waisted jeans, and vintage finds. As far as beauty goes, she usually has an affinity towards bright red lipstick which she proudly wears in the daytime; and she always sports unruly hair with winged eyeliner.

The men can often be spotted in excruciatingly tight jeans that are slung so low you can see their pants, and their choice of footwear is usually really dirty and canvas. On a Friday night the bars and streets are flooded with the most distinguishing article of clothing for the Shoreditch male: the plaid shirt in multiple colour combinations. He’s also anti-grooming and will surely be rocking a scruffy beard and long hair.

Shoreditch is insanely cool for so many reasons and so are its inhabitants. But this east London hipster crowd, always on the never-ending quest for uniqueness, share an unofficial uniform that is easily distinguishable from London Fields to Old Street.

Images by Bixentro courtesy of Flickr

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Shoreditch Style

The picturesque setting of Somerset House, with its fantastic classical Victorian architecture and excellent location on the river Thames, has been delighting Londoners with a series of open air concerts for ten years now.

Everything about these concerts, part of the Summer Series sponsored by American Express,  has been designed to attract a better class of music lover. As well as the posh surroundings, pristine toilets and refreshments stalls selling miniature bottles of wine, Kettle Chips and pints of Pimms certainly create an atmosphere of a more comfortable concert-going experience. A sweaty gig at Brixton academy this aint. As the ninth act in the 2010 series, Corinne Bailey Rae seemed to slot very neatly into this scene.

Since her self titled debut album, singer songwriter Corinne Bailey Rae’s brand of easy listening feel-good hits have been a staple of background music for coffee shops and cafés everywhere. However, more recently Miss Rae has begun to single herself out as something just a little bit special.

Her latest album, The Sea, written after the tragic death of her husband, is unsurprisingly more soulful and melancholy than her earlier work and all the better for it. Having received critical acclaim and a Mercury music prize nomination in the process, this latest concert only builds on her growing reputation as a genuinely talented and exciting artist.

After taking to the stage, Corinne announced to the audience that she would play her new album in its entirety, which she duly does, giving a performance filled with visible emotion which only helped to highlight her fantastic voice. Her crystal clear, yet very distinctive vocal style was a refreshing change when compared with so much of pop music today, with its reliance on electronic effects. Expertly assisted by a group of very talented backing musicians, Corinne and Co produced a huge sound that completely filled the intimate surroundings of Somerset House, and then some.

Having finished the emotional rollercoaster of her latest material, Corinne lightened the mood with some old favourites, including her biggest hit Girl Put Your Records On, to the delight of the crowd. This was a pleasant change from the power and emotion of performance so far and created a more relaxing and intimate atmosphere, that benefited from the surroundings.

The evening was brought to an end with a soul version of Que Sera Sera as an encore, which wouldn’t have seemed out of place being performed by the likes of Diana Ross, showing true depth of musical understanding by this continually surprising artist. If this concert teaches us one thing, then it’s not to judge prematurely. Somerset House is a great venue for a music concert and Corinne Bailey Rae is not just another singer-songwriter – both have something a bit special.

The Summer Series finished on July 18.

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Summer Series at Somerset House

A wise woman once said to me: ‘Sex and dancing are exercise. Everything else is a form of torture’. There is, in my view, a great deal of logic in this. I’ve tried the gym (boring, depressing, full of people who bend over naked in changing rooms), swimming (time-consuming, full of children and questionable things floating in the water) and yoga (too many smug, farting people). I’ve had enough. Maybe I should resign myself to life as a couch potato, watching Jeremy Kyle and eating spaghetti hoops out of the can. Or maybe I should find myself a dance class.

When it comes to dancing, there’s always the ‘go out ‘til 4am, drink ten tequila slammers and wave your arms around’ approach, but this is the Living Well section. We don’t do that kind of thing. So when my fabulously glamorous friend invited me jive dancing, I thought I’d go along and see what all the fuss was about.

For those of you who haven’t noticed, retro is quietly making its mark on the London scene. And this isn’t your standard ’60s, ’70s, ’80s brigade, this is going way back – back to the days of ’50s aprons, ’40s pin curls, ’30s pillar-box hats and ’20s flapper dresses. Suddenly it’s all about tea parties, vintage and yup – jive dancing.

When I arrived at the pub in Tulse Hill (yes, it’s near Dulwich. Don’t ask) for my first jive experience, it looked like a pretty average night. People sitting around drinking, the odd cigarette, a lot of pizza. Then the music started up, and out of nowhere they all arrived. Gaggles of girls with bright, perfectly curled hair and the kind of vintage dresses I always wish I could find. In a whirl of fake eyelashes and red lipstick the dancing began – from my perch at the side, it looked energetic, great fun, and…kind of easy. They were kicking their legs out and bouncing a lot. I can do that.

Ten minutes later, I was lying across a chair outside, gulping water and apologising to the 27 people whose toes I had trodden on. Jive dancing, it turns out, is not as easy as it looks.

Over the next couple of hours we kicked, spun and bounced our way through a myriad of retro classics. The night starts around nine, and then the dancing carries on until the small hours. And don’t be shy – people will ask you to dance, and a simple ‘erm, I’m really bad’ doesn’t usually stop them.

Don’t let the lipstick fool you, this is a serious workout. I literally thought I might fall over after one and a half songs, and woke up the next morning with the kind of stiff legs you’d normally get from a 5k run. But unlike a 5k run, it’s fantastic, addictive fun. The atmosphere is friendly and inclusive, the instruction is great and above all, it doesn’t feel like torture. Get your dancing shoes on and join the revolution.

For a friendly crowd and jiving ’til late head to Diamond Jive, monthly at the Queen’s Head in Brixton and at the Railway Tavern in Tulse Hill. If that’s a little far out of town for you, try Hula Boogie for a great selection of classes.

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Diamond Jive in Tulse Hill

Isn’t it terribly ironic that in choosing to set up camp in a mission to bring world peace, London’s Democracy Village in fact started its very own war – albeit a relatively mini one, without any guns. 

It seems the actions of these tent-happy protesters, who set up home and garden in Parliament Square on May 1 but have since been evicted, got several other London camps all worked up.

The Greater London Authority was embroiled in a legal battle to have the campers forcibly removed. Mayor Boris Johnson said the protesters were abusing bylaws, damaging the land and transforming a heritage site into an unsanitary eyesore, at the cost of the London consumer.

And it would appear that most of us agreed with him. A poll released recently by YouGov found that the majority of Londoners wanted the protesters moved on.

In a statement, Democracy Village says the peaceful protest was an experiment, and that it had been given a bad rep by the media. My first thought is that if Democracy Village had a dedicated press officer, surely it could have organised adequate sanitation provisions. 

I truly believe in our nation’s democratic rights of freedom to protest and freedom of speech. Here is where I cease to comprehend Democracy Village’s actions: when a protest sparks such opposition that there is widespread protest against such a protest, why couldn’t the village dwellers recognise that what they were doing was wholly unconstructive? Residents say they achieved a lot, but as far as I can tell said achievements stretched to the creation of a makeshift homeless shelter and a provisional herb garden. 

The majority of residents who were living in Democracy Village were most likely anti-establishment, and I’m convinced that they will continue to fight for their right to go back to Parliament Square. Indeed, when protesters were given their original marching orders at the beginning of this month (before the High Court gave them a temporary reprieve to stay), they issued a call to action for more fellow anti-war activists, communists and anarchists to come join the party. 

But all this seemed to be achieving was animosity between protesters, lawmakers, and Londoners. 

All in the name of world peace.

Image by EmPemm courtesy of Flickr

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Goodbye Democracy Village