snortin' and cavortin': Skins Party 29/01

Yes, the great teenage trainwreck Skins is back on our screens for a fourth series, still 'shocking' us with lewd images of immaculately-voiced shop mannequins taking drugs and being all cool and shit. Don't get me wrong, especially considering the location-bumming nature of the last post, it's great to see programmes set in Bristol, but I've just never got Skins.

Perhaps all these ridiculously beautiful youngsters a-snortin' and cavortin' makes me feel distinctly un-rock'n'roll and a bit old into the bargain, but the dialogue is clunky and the acting is awful. The whole pretentious thing isn't a gritty exploration of a dark, misunderstood young underworld, it's Channel 4's big suits trying to prove how edgy and ker-azy they still are by broadcasting a bit of coked-up nubile tit. (Can you tell I've been reading a lot of Charlie Brooker lately?)

So, it was with two minds that I approached the transparent-PR-athon of the Skins House project at the Old Fire Station. On the one hand, it's great to see emerging talent that's a little under the radar come to Bristol - Ou est le Swimming Pool, Two Door Cinema Club, Man Like Me, Chew Lips and various DJs - have, over the last two weeks, all been under the same roof and for great value, with tickets only at a measly quid.

On the other hand, the great unquashable cynic inside me was predicting crowds of gurning little shits, Nathan Barley-esque fashion horrors and an actual altar at which to worship Effy, Cook and 'the crew' before sacrificing yourself to the god of trashy television.

Friday saw Monkey!Knife!Fight! take residence, with the likes of Turbowolf, Man Like Me, Crystal Fighters and Pulled Apart By Horses gracing the subtly branded main stage, above and below, whilst DJ sets from Shitmat and Scotch Egg kept things ticking over nicely in the upstairs room.

A line-up like this can't really be sniffed at, and, musically, there was something for everyone. The dancefloors were full with a crowd that was noisy without being rowdy. (I didn't really get the chance to take that many photos, as it was quite busy and I was quite pissed, so here's the lovely sign again, from a slightly different angle.)

Big Jeff was there somewhere, and if it's alright for Big Jeff, then it's alright for me. The venue itself is wicked (the great red building sat just before Broadmead) with a spacious but not cavernous interior, and there are different rooms on different levels to stop you getting bored. Get rid of the wanky tv tag and it'd be perfect.

Thankfully the focus was on the music - there were no meet'n'greet autograph booths or 'special appearances' - which was enough to pull in all types of post-teenagers not necessarily willing to gobble down any old E4 bullshit poured down their awaiting throats, but make up their own minds about new and interesting music and a venue with atmosphere. (There were some sartorial 'attention seekers', it must be said, particularly an outfit Rupert the Bear's dad would have really dug and a girl with a cassette tape strapped to her head. Not making it up...)

Anyway, I just hope this isn't the future of live music - that we'll need to rely on multi-million pound corporations with their own agenda to provide these events - because then there'll be too much competition for normal people to get any sort of new and innovative ball rolling.

Maybe I'm taking it too seriously. Checking out new places and dancing to music and dressing up is good, and if there's a chance you can get on some cool tv show, then even better. Or whatever.

Ooo-ooooh-arrrr...

It's been one thing and another, which has meant I haven't been updating ye olde popdock as regularly as I should... but, here I am again and ready to post, post, post!

We've seen shed-loads of snow (where hasn't?) and are back to the now nicely comforting January drizzle. Never thought I'd be relieved to see it again, but oh, to be able to walk the Avon tarmac normally once more. Well, without extreme ice-trepidation. Normally for me.

Anyway, there's nothing better on the dark nights than to curl up with a good hot chocolate and get some supernatural telly thrills. And I'm not talking Hollywood-glam-vamp-camp-chic (or 'Pattinswoon', as one teen mag tagged him) but a vampire/werewolf/ghost story filmed on our very own doorsteps- in some cases quite literally.


Yes, the wicked Being Human is back on BBC Three for it's second series, and aside from all the flatmate jokes, Russel Tovey and the way the plot is building up a treat - which I'd love no matter where it was set, it's been extra fun spotting all the Bristol locations. It's a wierd feeling, but all of a sudden you realise that park or florists is on one of your regular routes, and it makes it strangely real. I know, it's full of each and every supernatural freak, but seeing it happening in your very familiar home city balances it out, and it's somehow quite believable.

I've been shouting things like "I walk along that bridge in the background everyday!" (sad) and I'm sure London folk get that feeling every day when they watch anything set in Britain, but it' s great to see acknowledgement of other beautiful British cities, and to have some quality programming coming out of the West country. Something not about cider or tractors.

It didn't have to be set in Brizzle. But it is. So, cheers Beebster, and let's have some more!

Right, excuse the dodgy screen shots... brownie points if you get them all!

...Well, they couldn't leave the suspension bridge out, could they?

x

(copyright all images BBC)

York Cafe

I'm not going to lie to you. Bristol is a city, and therefore does have its fair share of the homogenised predictable bull, the corporate money-spinners and the tired and tested. There are the international fast food holes and cheap chain stores. They're always going to be there, they're in every city, so you just ignore them.

But when you come across a hidden gem that's actually owned and run by local people who can give you good quality produce, you remember it doesn't have to be like that, and a city like Briz is big and clever enough to keep itself interesting.

Such is breakfast's best-kept secret: York cafe. Quiet and unassuming from the outside, this award-winning haven of builders and students is a British soap opera writer's dream - red Formica tables, a huge neon clock and the best fry-ups for miles around - and a personal favourite of mine. The lovely staff have got me through many a hungover lunch break with quick service and delicious grub.

It's never going to win Heston Blumenthal's prize for innovation, and describe themselves as 'trapped in a time warp around 1960-something', but they do all the classics from morning porridge to Shepherd's pie, mostly under a fiver.

Nestled just behind Broadmead on Bond Street - just around a bit further from the McDonald's on the corner - York 's moved from a place in Clifton two years ago, establishing loyalty with the Cabot builders, and now the Cabot staff! Not to mention the halls nearby, various department stores and so on.

I was in today enjoying a veggie bap and looking out at the snow, and nearly hit myself on the forehead for not thinking to mention them on here sooner. Hooray for the greasy spoon!!

It's been snowing!!!!

Bristol looked so lush in the snow last night! Sadly I didn't have any photo-taking capabilities a we wandered down Gloucester Road enjoying that weirdly blanket-like silence and peace that comes with the great white stuff, but much christmas-y merriment was had singing the pogues and the snowman theme tune.


In fact, at one point just by the Arches we turned and looked at a beautiful little side street undisturbed by human feet except for a couple kissing underneath a Victorian-style lamp post. SO LUSH!

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White Lies

@ Academy 02/12/09
Support: Asobi Seksu

I had to work later on Wednesday, so I could only get to a packed-out Academy half-way through the support set from the sublime and interesting Asobi Seksu.

A New York four piece fronted by Yuki Chikudate, who often sings in a combination of Japanese and English, giving their lushly textured rock an even dreamier quality.

Her naturally high range and tiny frame couldn't betray the rough'n'ready raw chords of guitarist James Hanna, and with Larry Gorman and Billy Pavone on drums, synths and bass, Asobi Seksu crafted a delicately cool slice of art-punk into the one of the biggest, crashing-est crescendos the Academy has ever seen.


After a quick, over-priced and watered-down pint from the soulless bar, we fought tooth and nail to get anywhere back near the stage for the main attraction. (Here would be a good point to apologize for the awful quality of the photos, but I was being jostled by that many tall elbows that just holding on to the camera was an achievement.)

As soon as the boys from Ealing took to the stage, all minor Academy irritations were forgotten. Launching hell for leather into Farewell To The Fairground, they proved immediate comparisons with Joy Division/Editors (dark yet strangely uplifting), though vocalist/guitarist Harry McVeigh, bassist Charles Cave and drummer Jack Lawrence-Brown had a stage presence that put them comfortably in their own league.

Harry's voice sent shivers down my spine, being technically note-perfect, sounding exactly as haunting and remote as on every track of debut album To Lose My Life.


You've probably guessed it already, but I find the Academy quite impersonal - a bit underwhelming as a venue - but White Lies suited that cold environment, took the cavernous black space and made it their own.

After a slightly pretentious double-encore, including a good cover of a Talking Heads track, the crowd were satisfied. I ended up enjoying White Lies so much I only took two photos during the whole set.
One of which didn't come out.

x

How To Do A Christmas Shop Window

If any shop in Bristol (and Cabot no less) is going to embrace Christmas in all its camp, magical glory, it's gotta be Harvey Nics.

Normally popdock wouldn't profile a shop like HN, but these sparkling windows are so jaw-droppingly gorgeous in the flesh - especially walking through Quaker's Friars in the evening, that it was worth a mention.

As they're the first serious investment windows wee Briz has ever really had, these photos hardly do them justice, especially since they were taken in the dark (anyone remember that thing that used to live in the sky? Me neither...) on a standard digital camera, but you'll get the idea - think Disney-like golden swirls, floating life-size pixies and fairies wearing only strategically placed baubles, and other lovely delights...

x

Chew Lips

@ Louisiana - 25.11.09

Support: Nova Robotics

These guys are going to be massive. You know when you can just tell? I hate to say wanky things like "yah, huge for twenty-ten, I was there at the beginning of course..." but when Chew Lips painted the town all sparkly-purple on Wednesday, bringing their catchy electro to a busy Louisiana, the excitement in the air was of the palpable sort that only comes when seeing a band on the cusp of greatness.

Starting things off was one man and his trusty laptop, Bristol's own Nova Robotics, who pushed out some choppy electro bass and big beats, and topped them with live lonely guitar chords, perfecting the shy-bedroom-mixer-type, whilst acknowledging other genre-benders like Bloc Party/Explosions In The Sky/Errors.

Keeping his hoodie firmly around his ears, Mr Robotics kept the crowd captivated with his instrumental, expressive combinations of heavy dancey synths and instinctive, yet delicate melodies over the top.

It's music to ponder something to, alone on a train going through a city early in the early morning, or walking back from work in heavy rain. (You know, that sort of built-up pace but with a melancholy edge.)

Unfortunately, his laptop died on him (we've all been there) in the middle of the set, but things quickly got back on track after a technological shuffle and a few apologies.

We spoke to him later when buying an EP (a bargainous £3) and he was such a lovely guy. I'll definitely be keeping an eye out for future performances.

Kitsune's Chew Lips then took to the mircokorg-laden stage in a strange whirl of tweed and sequins, the whole room seemed to fill with energy. Comparisons with Yeah Yeah Yeahs and La Roux immediately sprang to mind, but there was something very likeable and unique about frontwoman Tigs.

All of a sudden there are some very cool girls on the music scene, doing their own thing and trying to out-crazy-outfit each other, and don't get me wrong -that's better for music than the uniform bikini dance routines of a couple of years ago... but it's all happened so quickly that it can sometimes be a little like 'Which one are you again?'

Tigs and Chew Lips, however, will have no such problem - she's gorgeous and stylish - but perhaps because fame is still relatively new, she's much easier to relate to than the usual popstar.

With a glittery arrow drawn on her face and buckets of charisma, she roared through a wicked set with bandmates James and Will at the electro-pop helm, telling us we were a wicked crowd when fans sang back to her during singles Solo and Salt Air.

The band later changed their facebook status to "Bristol was the best night of the tour, nice one peeps." Which was quite nice.

popdockx