Three good things that happened today

1. I decided to go on holiday next week.
2. Not a baldy was blessed with its first comment by someone who is not personally known to me.
3. Going for a freebie dinner with the 618 massive tonight.

Three musical freebies I´ve declined

1. Fatboy Slim, February. We were going to go, but were sidetracked gorging ourselves at Ruth´s Chris Steakhouse. Dreadful name; sumptious steak. Even better that it was also free.

2. Prime Circle, May. Self-explanatory non-attendance, even if they are Saffas. Actually I was offered tickets by three different, desperate people. I can´t remember what I did instead, but I´m sure it was more fun.

3. Keane, July, tonight. Again, self-explanatory. Also, coincidentally enough, I´m off to eat more steak (although this time I´ll be paying for it myself).

But what´s with this preference for the gastronomical over the musical? It depends on the quality of the offering, I say.

Three things that happened today

1. I went for my x-ray and blood test. Quick and painless, except the nurse did ask if I was pregnant. Um, no, I just have a little extra weight around the stomach area at the moment. (Handsome Bob: “Don´t take it personally. They have to ask all the unmarried women.” T: “Actually, I was the only one they asked.”) At least the encounter spurred me into going swimming this evening!

2. When I arrived at work, I discovered we have a new intern, aka personal slave. I know how it´s hard when you start somewhere and no one gives you any direction, so I´ve taken her under my wing. And she does whatever I tell her. Nice.

3. My editor casually offered me a press junket to Malta in March. (“You may have to write something about it though.”) Sadly, the offer was retracted when he realised it would be during a deadline week. However, he did mention that we´re getting thrown loads of freebies at the moment, and he´ll come up with something for me… Woohoo!

Alabama 3

As I walked into the Astoria, I was hit by some truly sweet muthafuckin country acid house music. No matter that I didn´t know the actual song, I was hooked…

On paper it didn´t look like this was gonna be my best concert ever. I was there on my lonesome; familiar with just the first of the band´s six albums; and my only buzz was from lack of sleep. But bear in mind my previous concert excursions have generally involved two or more of the following:
a) American rappers;
b) the Belleville Velodrome;
c) the company of drunken adolescents;
d) a parking problem;
with only the lure of freebies to sweeten the experience (thanks Moral Squeeze!).

On this occasion I had spent my own money to see a band of my choice, and at a decent venue, nogal. If Irvine Welsh could dance to the boys from Brixton without chemical assistance then so could I. I promptly befriended some middle-aged men wearing cowboy hats; they hoisted me up onto a conveniently placed ledge; and I partied the night away from the best view in the house, at least until the belligerent security guy flashed his torch in my eyes and told me to get down.

I knew a few of the old favourites (“Woke up this Morning“; “Ain´t going to Goa”); and discovered some “new” ones (“Too sick to pray“; “Hello… I´m Johnny Cash”). The evening ended with a triple encore: the sublime “Holy Blood”, “The Speed of the Sound of Loneliness”, and “Sweet Joy”, which gives “If you were the only girl in the world” a 21st-century makeover.

And then the show was over, bar the after party. As I drifted out the theatre to the strains of “Sweet Home Alabama“, I contemplated whether to continue my night in Brixton. I wanted to, I really did. But I was by myself, had no idea as to the exact location of the venue, and was about to collapse due to lack of sleep, so I wimped out and caught the next train to Bedfordshire.

I haven´t really told you about the music yet, have I? I tend to agree with whoever it was that said “writing about music is like dancing about architecture”, if only because I am a) lazy, b) intimidated by my lack of musical knowledge, and c) all too aware that my measly words won´t measure up.

But what I love about Alabama 3 – apart from their gravelly vocals, their irony-laden personsonae, their intertextual lyrics, and the fact that they have all the right politics – is the way their songs seamlessly provide a musical education. Their mishmash of country, blues, and gospel over techno beats has got me hunting down influences, references and sequencers all over the Interweb. Oh, and my CD collection is sounding rather different than it did a year ago. Long live Presleytarianism!