The Wake

One of my four jobs and internships here in London is with a Media, Touring, and Management firm called Airmtm. They handle the careers of artists like Jamie Cullum, The Bad Plus, and Manchester’s I am Kloot, among hundreds of others. They also handle all the media work for the world famous jazz club, Ronnie Scotts. It served as a place for the Jazz obsessed Londoners in the 40’s and 50’s to see the greatest artists of the day. It still serves as the premier Jazz venue, and has been a popular hot spot for local artists and celebrities to take in a show. Read the bio here.

On this particular night, I decided to go down and see the award winning vocalist, Liane Carroll, and brought a date along with. As we walked down Charing Cross Road from the Tottenham Court Station, we noticed several theaters holding major productions, a wide variety of ethnic food, and that we were in the heart of London’s gay district. The bouncers at the door confirmed the guest spot and opened the doors, graciously allowing us to escape the chaos on the street. The opening bands served as a swirling soundtrack as I wandered around the club, taking in the ambience of this dimly lit, Jazz Mecca. The pictures on the wall showcased the venues importance. Everyone from Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, and even the Stones.
Right before Carroll took the stage, there was a subtle buzzing throughout the room. I wasn’t sure what it was all about. I went outside to take a phone call, since there is no phone use allowed in Ronnie Scotts. On my way back in I bumped into a man with a baseball cap pulled securely over his brow. I apologized, and then turned, lifting his cap slightly. It was non other than Kevin Spacey. He told me it was no problem, his fault. I quickly told him I was a big fan, and mentioned something about having a quote of his on my Facebook. He gave a laugh and I shook his hand. Back inside, the show was just starting. Liane Carroll withstood the hype. She was hilarious between songs, and captivating within. She played covers of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”, the old classic, “Pennies from Heaven,” (my favorite version of which is by Luis Prima, on the Elf soundtrack) and few Tom Waits tunes, and two Steely Dan songs. I later spotted Spacey at a large table with Jeff Goldbloom, and presumably the rest of the cast of Speed-The-Plow, London’s newest hit play.

A few nights later I was at the Imperial College Student Union in West London. I wandered over the High Street Kensington with a few friends, right along the southern edge of Hyde Park. It’s an extremely nice area of London. We floated along, popping in and out of different pubs and bars, finally settling on the club, Arch Angel. A 5 pound entrance, quite cheap for the area, and we were headed down a spiraling flight of stairs. Down below, orange lights broke the darkness. A belligerently drunk middle aged lady whom we’d been singing with at a grocery store an hour before was there. It became a bit of a trend as we slowly noticed most of the people in the pub were in their late 20’s minimum, and predominance going to 30 year olds with a smattering of 40’s. The music was heavily hip hop, featuring such party classics as Tupac’s, “California Love,” and another Dr. Dre beat, “In Da Club” by 50 Cent. They also played several tracks off Nelly Furtado’s Loose album, but it was mostly 90’s party hip hop. This has always been a genre I enjoyed, and it was truly quite an experience to dance and sing along to these with a bunch of drunk Brits who lived in such a nice area, and we’re mostly a good 10 years older than me.

On the bust ride home I sat initially by a Ukrainian girl. We discussed London, and she had a far different perspective than I. She was over here to work, and didn’t like the fast paced life. She said she missed her homeland. It was quite coincidental as I had been listening to Bob Dylan’s 1967 album, John Wesley Harding. The song “I Pity The Poor Immigrant,” was running through my mind throughout our conversation, particularity the line, “I pity the poor immigrant who wishes he would’ve stayed home.” After she got off the bus, I struck up a conversation with a man holding an acoustic guitar. He was in a band called, Kick Me Ugly, and gave me a button and card with their info. Next up was a Nigerian man in the back of the bus who had been singing some songs. I asked him what they were and we ended up talking for the remaining duration of my ride. I’ve grown to love riding the bus here. It’s much easier to chat with people than on the tube because it’s far less noisy, and later on at night things can get pretty wild in the upper deck.