I applied this philosophy to my daily exchanges while living abroad in London, and it led to my amassing a totally scattered and diversified social circle. I was there for a mere four and a half months, but by the time I left, I had an entirely new life started. I was playing soccer and basketball for Imperial University. I had two internships: one for a top global music promotions company, and the other for a prominent rock n’ roll booking agency. Both led to great friendships, invaluable work experience, and loads of perks. I frequented all the cities museums, and played pickup soccer in each of the major parks several times a week. I made friends with vendors at popular street markets, partiers at all night clubs, bus riders on the way home from work. I

I was freelance writing for a website, whose editor I’d been fortunate enough to befriend. He hired me the same night we met at pub called the Oxford Arms in Camden. Marco Gandolfi was his name. An Italian born, London raised man in his late 30’s. We had similar taste in music and soccer. We were to get drunk together on many occasions. By writing for the website, I saved thousands in all the free gigs I was attending.

I forged another beneficial connection at the Oxford Arms, watching endless games of passionately followed English and International Football. A mid 30’s Nigerian man named Charles struck up a conversation with me. He did so on the grounds that I was a blatant American wearing a Tottenham jersey (Tottenham being the most commonly despised club in all of England.) Fortunately, he was wearing the same jersey, and therefore took no offense. He invited me to watch several games with his rowdy friends over the span of just two weeks. I eventually offered me job bartending at the venue where he worked in Camden, The Roundhouse. This turned out to be the ultimate resource for me. It allowed me to get to know dozens of other students and music lovers around my same age. It also allowed my to finance a month long trip through Europe I had planned for after the semester was out.

While my American flat mates were off traveling at least every other weekend, I opted to stay in the city, and immerse myself in the culture and lifestyle. I left the city only three times, once to Norwich for a rave, once to Bath and Stonehenge, and once to Brighton with some friends. I used this extra time to arrange places to stay during my trip, to save and earn money, and to find discount details and seek reliable advice on where to go. The scope of my journey was to head from Madrid to Oslo by train, spending significant time in 6 countries along the way. The first half of my trip I was to be accompanied by my brother. We were to travel from Madrid to Amsterdam, at which point he would fly back to London, and then back to Minneapolis.

Before we hit Europe though, I spent two nights showing him London. My brother flew in to London on April 19th. I picked him up at Paddington station, and we walked back to my flat in Kilburn. My six flat mates and I were drinking to commemorate our last night in town together. We finished off all our nearly empty bottles that had accumulated over the semester, and reminisced about our great times. My flatmate Jim, who hailed from New York City, went out with us at 1.00 am when all the rest had went off to bed. We found ourselves in a near skirmish, and then an old persons pub. We made the best of it, singing a long with the aging minstrel in the corner playing popular british rock songs from the 90’s. The next day we were forced to move out of our flats, so I arranged for my brother and I to stay the night with my friend Jack Case. I bartended with him at the Roundhouse. He let us borrow a couple of bikes, and led us on a bike tour that afternoon. We covered a lot of ground, making a full circle around the center of London, starting and ending in Highbury and Islington. Jack bid us farewell the next day, and I was finally off on my European adventure.

Our first destination was Madrid. We landed there on the evening of the 21st, and we stayed until the 28th. We were staying there with a family friend of ours. My Mom had attended university with a woman named Becky Prieto in Duluth. Becky moved to Germany after college and met her Spanish husband, who she know lives with outside Madrid. One of her three sons was close to my age. His name is Max, and he turned out to be a real fun guy to hang out with. He took us around his area and introduced us to his friends. He was sadly leaving on the 24th, so we didn’t get to hang out with for too long. However, he is heading to the US this summer to work in Sequoia National Park in California, and I fully intend to visit him.

One of his friends went by the name Dax Santos. He was one of the more interesting characters I’ve ever met. His parents were of the Opus Die sect of Catholicism, and raised him accordingly. There were no overt repercussions of this upbringing though when we talked. He was an alternative music fan, and we spent most of our time talking about bands like Vampire Weekend and Phoenix. After Max left on the 24th, his friends would come and pick me up and take me out to parties and raves. I spent a great deal of time with the youngest sibling, Eric, who was 13 years old. He shared an enthusiasm for soccer that I possess, and we watched many games in the evenings. My brother and I also spent a great deal of time in the Parque Rietiro, the biggest and most beautiful park in the city. On our last day, Eric took us to go see two of three biggest teams in Madrid, Atletico Madrid and Getafe. It was an epic battle that ended in a 1-1 tie.

From there, we hopped on the train headed towards Barcelona. We got there around 3.00 pm and I headed straight for the beach. Our hostel was just a few blocks away. While at the hostel, my brother and I met two girls from Quebec. They were staying at the same hostel as we were, and we met down in the bar area. They’re names were extremely unique. The eldest was named Iris Gagnon-Paradis, and the youngest Cassiopeia Paradis-Gagnon. They attributed the strangeness of these first names and the difference in their surnames to the fact that their mother was into astrology. They were 27 and 25, both working full time jobs in their home city of Montreal. They weren’t originally from the big city though. They had small town roots, just like we did. We went out to the courtyard and chatted that first night. We elected to all meet up the next morning and head for the beach.

The next morning we met for some breakfast and went down to the beach. It was a toasty 24 degrees Celsius that day, a perfect day for such leisurely activity. While we laid there chatting, I mixed the last of the hash I had purchased from in Madrid into some tobacco from a cut open cigarette. I attempted to roll this all into a joint for us to smoke. The resulting product was laughed at mercilessly by the veteran rollers from Montreal. Iris re-opened it, and with-in the minute had a tightly rolled J. She ended up purchasing 20 Euros of hash herself from one of the men strolling the beach in backpacks. After several hours in the sun, we headed out for some site seeing. We took in the ambitiously modeled, half constructed, world famous church, the Sagrada Familia. It’s been under construction since the turn of the 20th century. After that, Iris took us to a market and we bought some supplies for a picnic. We ate back at a café on the roof of our Hostel. That night we went out for some drinks on the west side of town. The next morning, we woke up early and hopped a train headed towards France.

Our first night in France was extraordinarily uneventful. We stopped in a small coastal town on the way to Montpellier, called Cerbere. We checked into a cheap hotel, left our bags, and went out on a mission to find a place that would be playing the champions league semi-final set to air that night. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single place in town that was playing this game. We headed back to our hotel to see if it was on there. It was, but right as the game started, the television went out. The people we encountered in the small town were very skeptical and distant when we talked to them. It was my first time in France, and it gave me an off impression of the people. In the restaurant we ate in, we received endless looks and were the subject of obvious French chatter. Needless to say, we were eager to take off towards Montpellier the next morning.

There were two reasons we were headed towards Montpellier. The first was that my roommate had studied abroad there last year, and knew some people we could hit the town with. The second reason was that I had a friend there named Pierre who’d been a student at the U of M twin cities in 06-07. He was as big a music nut as I was, and we met originally because kept seeing each other at the same shows in Minneapolis. It had been nearly a year since I had last seen him, but he was excited to see us, and took us on a tour of the city as soon as we got in. Montpellier is a beautiful city. Pierre is originally from Marseille, and claims it to be a slum in comparison. The same thing with Cannes and Niece he assured, “It’s a good thing you didn’t go there. There’s nothing to see or do. They are places for rich old people.” Pierre had a job working for an artist promotions company. He had gone to school in Montpellier, and seemed to be recognized everywhere we went. The first night, he took us out to a popular music venue called The Rock Store where he frequently DJ’s. He was putting on a show there the following evening. A band named Why? from California was coming in, and he was promoting the show.

On the second night we were there, we met up with some friends of my roommate who’d been studying there. I contacted them and my brother and I were invited over for some homemade Pizza. There was a dreadlocked man named Will Guyver, a student from Missoula, who was living with two girls. One was a gal named Agnus, a 20 year old from Sweden who’d started working straight out of high school. The other girl was a science student in University named Trini, who was originally from Berlin, Germany. The pizza was delicious, and we drank wine and talked for several hours. Will turned out to be a fascinating guy. We told him about our trip, and he told us about some of the traveling he had done. He introduced me to a website called, couchsurfing.com. The concept is, you create a profile, and you then have access to contacting other couch surfers from all over the world. You can either host a surfer, or become one yourself. After each exchange, you rate your counterpart and leave comments on his profile. I plan to utilize this site in the coming years as I travel the United States, and hopefully other parts of the world.

The next day, my brother and I went sight seeing. I partook largely as a formality of traveling with my older brother. As a graduate with one of his degrees in History, he desired a far more landmark and museum based agenda for our daily activities. I on the other hand, consider myself to be anthropological traveler, whose main interest is to meet and befriend as many people as possible. After the stomaching the sites for my brother, we headed off towards the beach. Later that night, I stopped by the restaurant where Agnus worked and dropped of a CD for her. It was of Minneapolis based band I work for named Radio On. She had expressed great interest after our discussions the night before. She was a tall and blonde, and possessed a confidence I had rarely witnessed in a girl her age. She had lived in several different cities around the world already, and still had no plans to attend college. Should found that “having” to attend University to further your education was an incredibly flawed notion, and she wanted no part in it. We went from there back to the Rock Store where Pierre was helping to set up for that night’s gig.

The band was good, and after their set, we went up to the artist area for the after party. My brother and I embarked upon numerous strange discussions while grazing on free snacks and free Jack Daniels. My most bizarre encounter was with a man from England. He was in the process of writing a four part radio series for the BBC. The story was about a time traveler who’d ended up in the time of fabled England. There were to be numerous run-ins with bridge guarding trolls and tree stomping giants. His personal life was equally as unbelievable. He claimed to have just returned from Barcelona, where he left his long time fiancée. He’d been staying there for a two week vacation with his fiancée, mother, and son. Things got sticky after his mother was beaten and robbed entering her hotel, and lost both she and her grandsons plane tickets and passports. To make matters worse, he was on the outs with his fiancée. “She’s back in London, but I came down here to get away. I’ve really got to start doing some major writing on this piece, and it was all too much of a distraction back there.” I talked later on with the bespectacled front man of the group. I passed along a Radio On CD to him as well. He said the last time they were in town, they’d played First Avenue, and the next time they were back touring, Radio On could open. We partied late into the evening, and took off the next morning on a 5 hour train headed towards Paris.

After the bar closed, we went down to a Shisha Bar (or Hookah bar in the states) and ordered up some Strawberry flavored product. Along with that, we ordered 4 cherry and banana juices. Delicious enough on their own, they became even tastier upon Radek suggesting I empty the rest of our large carton of screwdriver into the each glass, forming an orange/cherry/banana juice and vodka hybrid. I call it The Berlin Experience, and I highly recommend trying it.

The bar was filled with mostly Turks according to Lukosh and Radek. They spoke in hushed voices, “In case any of them speak English,” he explained. They were wholly distrustful of all the other customers there.

We parted ways around 3.30am, and exchanged emails, “Incase I ever make it out to Poland,” and I told them to consider visiting the United States. They found this notion comical.

The Japanese doctor and I woke up early the next morning for breakfast. We sat down at a table with an old Australian man . His name was Aurthur. He was an avid traveler. He’d been just about everywhere, “Everywhere but China and Antarctica” he explained. He hailed from Sydney, and had been to the United States thirteen times, his first in 1971. After breakfast, we parted ways. I bumped into him again later, and asked if he’d be interested in hitting up a free tour of Berlin with me. He was, and so we reconvened later on at the Brandenburg Gate. The tour was beyond fascinating. Our lively tour guide, an American no less, relayed the complex and controversial histories of WWII and the Berlin Wall. We hit numerous landmarks along the way. My favorite stop was Humboldt College, where Lenin had attended University, and Einstein had taught. They had a book sale going on outside, and I purchased a few centuries’ old books for cheap.

After the tour, Aurthur and I headed back towards the hostel. He was great to have on the tour, because he talked to literally everyone else in the group, so we made several friends. We walked back with the tour guide, a 28 year old American from Maine. He’d been a successful advertising exec in NYC for 5 years, but he left it behind to pursue painting and photography in Berlin, giving daily tours to keep financially afloat.

Aurthur and I then hit up a pastry and coffee joint spot near Potsdamer Platz. I meant to stay for only an hour, as I had a train to catch, but we ended up chatting for over 3 hours, well hyped on caffeine by the end of it. He taught me a great deal about Australia I hadn’t known. He informed me of how voting is compulsory in Australia. I found this most impressive. He also told me about how Australia switched all their road signs to the metric system, across the entire country, on just one day. The U.S. could learn a lot from these guys. I also learned how their former Prime Minister had held office for 12 years before their current one. His approval rating was always low just before elections, but he twice found a means to scare voters into reelecting him. The first time, he’d used to fear of Muslim immigrants following the rape and murder of an Australian girl in a park by a few Muslim men. It all sounded very similar to GW using 9/11 and the threat of “organized” terrorism to get us into Iraq, pass the Patriot Act, and get himself reelected. We discussed these maters al length. He was an Obama supporter, as am I. He told me about his time in US during the race riots, and about his brother’s work with MLK. Aurthur was a cancer survivor; he’d had a tumor removed from the front of his brain just 4 years ago. I learned a great deal from him, and he told me to visit whenever.

When I got in last night, I didnt have a place to stay but this Columbian girl who´d just missed her train to Poland was crying on a bench I was sitting at. When she stopped, we chatted about my time in Venezuela, after exchanging pleasantries. We had a really intersting chat about Columbian/Venezuelan relations, as I am pro Chavez, and she´s out spoken about her disdain for his stance on Columbia´s violations in Ecuador. Venezuela has no military deployments in Columbia, rather it has only defended, verbally, the sovereignty
of Ecuador. On the other hand the US has all its fingers inside Columbia, with military bases, illegal soldiers, and billions in string-attached funding. I´ll just say we really got into it, but we both came out with a good understanding of each others views. It left quite the impression on me.

After that long chat, it had gone from 9 pm to midnight. She was able to get us both in to a hostel by charming the owners of this New Zealand run hostel she´d stayed in the night previous. We hung out in the common area, and I started playing Table Tennis with two Polish guys named Radek and Loukosh (Sp?). They were very serious about their playing, and both had the professional style of serving where you throw it really high. I felt badly, as I beat them both severly. We chatted for a long time about Polish/American relations, and how we beat them in the 2002 World Cup, and about how there are no famous Polish people. Funny guys. They mentioned that Polish people are well known for their drinking capacity. They had a little bit of the Borat accent going on. Fun guys to hang out with essentially. I checked out of that hostel the next day as there were no vacancies. I asked around the next day until I found another one.

When I checked in, there was this Japanese fellow hanging out in my room. “Bathroom is slippery. Im sorry. Be careful.” We chatted for a good while, and then went down to Pankow, a cool alternative neighborhood in the North Berlin I´d been reccommended. We wandered around, and found some cool shops, hit some fruit stands. After hearing later on in a conversation with someone at the hostel that my last name was Carpenter, he remarked, “Ahh yes, like the group.” He sang portions of several of their songs. I then called up Loukosh and Radek and we´re headed to a Karoke bar this evening. Should be an interesting night. more details to come.

Here are some of the best gigs I hit:
The first show I saw in London was The Lionheart Brothers at The Social in Soho, I saw then later on in the spring at the Hoxton Square Bar in the Shoreditch area. Everyone needs to give this tune a listen. Norwegian Psych pop at its finest, “50 Souls and a Disco Bowl”

The second show I saw in London was Texan quartet, Explosions in the Sky. The show was at the Astoria, which has just been controversially shut down to make way for public transportation, read news story here.

The other band I saw at the Astoria while in London was Brooklyn´s Les Savy Fav. They´re known by many for opening part of the North American LCD Soundsystem/ Arcade Fire tour in the Fall of ´07, and also for the wild antics of their chubby frontman.

Sam Sparro is a sort of dance, lounge music singer. His song, “Black and Gold” got the crowd going pretty wild at the Electric Ballroom in Camden:

Alex Turner and Miles Kane, frontmen of the british bands Arctic Monkey and The Rascals respectively, played a surprise gig on the second night of the Camden Crawl, at the tiny Dublin Castle. This is the lead single of that album, The Age of the Understatement.

I saw an artist named Kenna, who was opening for an Australian band, called the Panics. It was at the Kings Cross area venue, Water Rats. Kenna is from Virginia and his new album has tracks produced by the Neptunes.

London band Metronomy, originally from Brighton, has been closely associated with last summer´s scene stealers, Klaxons. They play a similar style of freaked out, bass heavy synth rock, often categorized as “New Rave.” During live shows, each of the three members stands before a keyboard. They each also play either bass, guitar, or sax. They wear white, circular push lights on their chests that can be purchased for a mere pound at any Sainsburys, but add a unique element to their live shows.

I saw Bjork at the Hammersmith Apollo on April 14th. She had just recently made headlines for making pro-Tibetan rights comments at a concert in China.
Here she is performing “Earth Intruders” off her most recent release, 2007´s Volta

I saw Swedish popstar Robyn at the ultra popular Club, Koko. You might recognizer her for this tune, “Show Me Love”

I saw Chicago based rapper Lupe Fiasco at the same venue.

Brixton based reggae artist Natty put on one of the better shows I attended while in London. This is his song “Cold Town.”
I saw him at a venue in Shepards Bush called the Ginglik, which is a converted public convenience under ground that was turned into a bar.

Two shows I caught in Brixton were a Futureheads and Black Kids gig, and also a Hives concert.

I attended a rave in Norwich, where I caught DJ sets from members of Kraftwerk. Over my time here in London hitting club nights at hot spots like Turnmills and Fabric, I caught DJ sets from members of Hot Chip, DJ Yoda, and Cut Chemist.

I saw a couple of classic shows at the Jazz Café in Camden. One was Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. Another was Tony Allen, the original drummer in Fela Kuti´s band, who most recently was featured on the Good, the Bad, and the Queen album.

Another absolutely classic artist I was able to see, Dionne Warwick in the swank London Palladium.

I saw Portland´s Menoma play in a university

theater

Method Man and Redman played the Sheperds Bush Theater just before I left. Great crowd. Brits love any member of the WU.

Initially, I was quite disappointed with the proclaimed hot new bands of the moment in London. Bands like: New Young Pony Club, Does This Offend You Yeah?, Scouting For Girls, The Hoosiers, Guillemots, Pigeon Detectives, The Enemy, Ipso Facto. They’re all either boring electro groups trying to ride that long past new wave revival, sad Libertines rip offs, weak piano soft rock, or just plain shit.

The next level is bands that are a good listen and pleasant enough, but are incredibly over blown given the quality of their tunes. Within this I would include The Wombats, The Young Knives, These New Puritans, Foals, and The Envelopes.

This is all natural, as there is of course a need for new bands to be discovered and enjoyed. It’s just that in our haste to find them, a lot of these bands get bigger than would seem appropriate, but that’s no new or passing trend.

One band who’s capitalized on the hipster dance music movement is Canada’s Crystal Castles. I saw them towards the end of April at the Camden Crawl festival. They’re one of the bands who’ve found that by merely name dropping the perfectly obscure, yet super trendy old dance group, you can vault yourself into indie stardom. The band has welcomed and reiterated any comparisons to fellow Toronto duo, Death from Above 1979. This same strategy worked wonders for Brazilian faux-band CSS, with their indie hit “Lets make love and listen to Death from Above.” I’ve seen this in many other recent success cases, like the Wombats and their song, “Let´s dance to Joy Division,” with Joy Division being a hot band to associate with at the moment.

At the forefront of the over hyped movement is an American group, from Florida, called Black Kids. They’ve been playing all the big venues, getting loads of Internet hype, and hitting all the major t.v. and radio shows over here. Their big single, “I’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you,” has failed to sweep me off my feet into the flowing river of press love they’ve been floating on recently. Here’s my review of it.

Another group who I´d classify as over blown is Vampire Weekend. I saw them perform earlier this winter at Rough Trade Records in East London. They’re currently the biggest name in indie music. Appearances on SNL and the cover of Rolling Stone have solidified this notion. I enjoy the African influences hear in their tunes, but their lyrics are under developed and unimpressive. Two other groups I saw at Rough Trade Records, just off Brick Lane, were Pete and the Pirates and Sebastian Tellier, both of whom are garnering loads of support as of late.

There’s a group out called White Lies who are garnering loads of interest. They’re perfect for any Interpol/ Editors fans out there.

Adam Green, good friend of the Strokes, has recently put out a new album, Sixes and Sevens. Green formed the group the Moldy Peaches in 1998 with Kimya Dawson. Green is very popular in Germany, and I´ve seen a great deal of promotion for him in Madrid.
The Moldy Peaches have benefited from their inclusion in the Minnesota based movie, Juno, which was written by Diablo Cody, a former stripper and writer for City Pages in Minneapolis.
Here´s a hilarious song Green wrote about Jessica Simpson, entitled “Jessica”

Another NYC singer song writer/ vagabond is Jeffery Lewis. He travels Europe with his brother and band mates, and crashes on couches of his fans every night. He also is a comic book writer.

The Swedish Invasion has continued on. Last year it was big releases from Jens Lekman, The Knife, The Hives, and José González.
The next in this line will likely be I Was A King, Pirate Love, Maribel and Blackstrap, but most surely will be, Pacific Who come across like a goofy electronic European version of the Beach Boys

Another big group is the collaboration between Super Fury Animal’s front man Gruff Rhys, and producer Boom Bip. Their debut album, Stainless Style, is a synth heavy pop record, sure to crack college radio charts across the globe. The group is called Neon Neon

One of the best bands and acts I’ve heard here in London is Mystery Jets. They´re as famous for their music as they are for the fact that they all live on an Island on the Thames river, and have thrown some wild parties there, with sets played by many area bands such as the Noisettes, Lady Larkin, and Acoustic Ladyland among many others.

The big news over here has been of course, Amy Winehouse. She was featured on a cover of the Zutons, “Valerie” on Mark Ronson´s album, Versions, which has been played at all the clubs here in London throughout the spring.
Winehouse is covered as frequently as David Beckham and Pete Doherty here in the papers. She was a graduate of the Brit School in London. The Brit School also unfortunately produced Lily Allen, Kate Nash, and Adele, all of whom are terribly annoying.

A British female singer songwriter who I do like is Holly Golightly
, who performed on the White Stripes album closing number, “It´s True That We Love One Another” off of 2003´s Elephant.

And while we’re on the country pairings topic, M.Ward has a new album out with Zooey Deschanel (the older sister from Almost Famous). It´s called She and Him . Enjoyable stuff. It´s also been rumored that M.Ward is in the studio with Conor Oberst and Jim James of My Morning Jacket.

The Kanye produced, and featured, tune, “American Boy” by Estelle was the biggest club hit of the Spring in London

One teaches my International Marketing course. He spends most of the time in class telling stories of his foreign excursions, which serve to illustrate his points. He’s been all across the world and knows a great deal about the nature of foreign relations. One Particular story of note involved his attempt to broker a deal with some businessmen in Nigeria. He explained that the only way to accomplish such a thing was to arrive with a brief case full of Rolex watches, and 3,000 dollars in American cash. He did just that, and upon paying his way through airport security, he crashed in his hotel room. The man whom he was to meet, a man employed by the government, called him and said he was stopping by to pick up the watches and money, to distribute to all the top officials. The man came and took the suitcase, and said he would be in touch soon. An hour later, another man called, claiming to be the same man who had just visited, saying he was coming over to collect the watches and money. Our professor explained what had happened. The man told him he had been tricked, and that all negotiations would now be off given he didn’t have the money or watches. He was forced to wire home for more money, just so he could get out of the country, which entailed bribing his way through the airport. He later learned that both of the men had more than likely worked for the government, and had been in on the deal together.

Myself and a few of the other soccer playing students in class also enjoy talking with him about football, as he is a die hard West Ham United supporter. For those of you who have seen the movie, Green Street Hooligans, that’s the team the firm (aka gang) in that film follows. He explained that things aren’t quite as dangerous as was depicted, or at least they hadn’t been since the early 90’s. We often go out for a beer with him after class to watch a match and further discuss football and world relations.

My other cool professor teaches my British Broadcasting class. His particular claim to cool fame is that he once jammed with Pinky Floyd. This story arose from my mentioning that I worked at the Roundhouse, to which he responded, “Far out!” He once spent a good 45 minutes doing impressions of all the accents throughout the different areas of England and the U.K. He comments very openly about his thoughts on American politics and society, and offers great insight into what Brits and Europeans think of the U.S. Much of it is simply unbridled amusement about the religious fanatics, and the role they’ve taken on in our elections.

He played us this documentary called, The Power of Nightmares. It’s an eye opening look into our past. I think everyone should have to watch this and become aware of these truths. It’s about the rise of the neo-conservatives in our government.

The song is called “From the Ritz to Rubble.” It was on the Arctic Monkey’s debut album. The song starts out with the lyrics,
” Last night these two bouncers
And one of em’s alright
The other one’s the scary one
His way or no way, totalitarian
He’s got no time for you
Looking or breathing
How he dosen’t want you to
So step out the queue
He makes examples of you”

The words rang quite true, as bouncers in these more rural areas do take great pleasure in the small amount of authority they’ve been afforded. It’s a sad and comical situation altogether, and one that’s best to be passively observed. They are quick to insult, and frequent to take satisfaction in physical altercations. One of the girls I was with was provoked by a bouncer this very night.

He was restructuring the line, curling it around the side of the building. He strolled, shoulders puffed, pushing all patrons to the newly designated area. When the girl I was with was moving at what he deemed to be too slow a speed, he commented, “Fucking it ain’t rocket science, darling, move your ass over here.” Had I been anything but an American surrounded by rural living Brits, surely to detest such a man, I would have spoke to her defense. However, she chose to address the matter with a roll of the eyes, and I followed suit.

There was a similar situation at a downtown club a while back. One of my American flat mates had sworn loudly while in line. The bouncer took this opportunity to send all of the guys in our party to the back of the line, (or queue as it’s referred to here.) I tactfully snuck in with a different crew, and was able to sneak in unnoticed. This was fortunate as I ended up meeting a Lawyer and an Actress who took pity on a poor student and paid for several of my drinks. My flat mates never ended up making it into the club. They later informed me of how, after waiting from the back of the line patiently for a good 25 minutes, they were again denied. The bouncer gave them a hearty smile, and told them there was no swearing allowed in his line, especially (and probably only) when it comes from Americans.

Moral of the story being, beware of British bouncers.

Listen to the song here.

I’m walked with extra care and caution toward my bus stop across from Chalk Farm station to catch an N28 back to Kilburn. To protect me from the soft drizzle, four carry out boxes rest stacked atop my head. They’re filled with Chicken and Squid Paella, a Spanish dish of sticky, rice mixed with green and red peppers. It’s been wonderful, as I haven’t had to buy groceries for the last 2 and a half weeks thanks to the take home policy of the kitchen staff. Each night some new and delicious foreign dish tides me over until the next evening.

When the bus finally arrives, I board it awkwardly, struggling to balance the brim loaded boxes and swipe my card. In the midst of this struggle, the bus propels into motion and I’m carried backwards into the bus. It’s a packed house, and there’s no room in sight. A large white man wearing top to bottom sweats moves his legs slightly, and gestures for me to take a seat right in the front. He didn’t move them all the way however, and I’m forced to keep my legs partially blocking the center. “Sorry, I’ve just had an operation on my knees, and they’re not fully recovered, I have to keep them stretched.” He offered apologetically. “No problem at all” I insisted. I was just happy to sit down. We started talking, and it turned out he was an Algerian who had been living in London for over 14 years now. He was the son of an Algerian ambassador, and lived in multiple countries as a child. “We’d be in different places every two years. We lived in Switzerland, Belgium… even Zimbabwe!” We talked straight through the entire 20 minute ride it takes to get from work to my flat, but I was engrossed in the discussion, and missed my drop by over 5 stops. It’s extraordinary how quickly our conversation had progressed to philosophical life analysis, but it felt it no way out of the ordinary at the time. He was such a genuine guy.

I asked him if he thought he’d ever move back to Algeria. He said he was moving back in a year. “When you are young,” he bestowed, “it is good to travel, and try different things. See, you, you are young still. It is good to go around and see what you like, and learn… always learn. But I will move back to Algeria in a year. That is where I have many friends, and a proper house, and a future. People think too much of money here and it is good to earn money here, but I cannot live here always.” We talked about how there’s nothing that can equate to that feeling when you return home after a long trip or extended stay away from you’re home. He wished me the best, and we shook hands before I slipped skillfully between the closing doors, boxes back atop my head (as I’ve still yet to cave in for an umbrella, opting for maps and newspapers instead).

I thought long and hard on my way home about this man and his life; about the true nature of happiness, and how and when to know if you’ve got it. I learn a lot from these exchanges, and it perfectly summarizes the value of the last two and a half weeks of my life.

We were on spring break, and while the rest of the kids in my school were off in Italy and Greece, and the Canary Islands, I was working each night at the Roundhouse. My friend Charles whom I met at the Oxford Arms in Camden got me the job. It involved stocking and taking down the bars each night, and tending the bars themselves.

One of the reasons I decided to work here during Spring Break (aside from the obvious reason of saving money until my month of travel after the semester) was the historical allure of the venue. It was turned into a music venue in 1965 after first being used as a both a train station and a wine cellar. Pink Floyd played their first show involving their revolutionary lighting effects here, supported by the Soft Machine. The Doors played 4 shows in 2 nights here with Jefferson Airplane on their ’68 European tour. They still hold the record for longest encore ever played in London. Read the full history of the Roundhouse here.

I was bartending in the venues main area for all of the shows, and was able to enjoy each of the acts. It was a really quite a challenge, as I’d never bartended before, and was unaware of how to make many of the drinks that were requested of me. Drinks like Shandys, Snakebites, and beers with tops were initially challenging. Also, many bar items had different names, for instance, Sprite is referred to as Lemonade. On top of this, most of the people I served were from places all across the world, so their accents were often extremely thick, with many customers speaking hardly any English at all.

This proved less of a challenge at my first gig, Plain White T’s, as most of the crowd consisted of pre-teen girls. The shows after were a complete 180. Back to back nights from the late 80’s electro group Underworld. Their song was the theme to the film Trainspotting. Their song “Born Slippy. NUXX” is heard in the final scene, and was released as a single afterwards. The crowd at this show was mostly over 35 Europeans. The majority had either drunk or drugged themselves heavily before arriving. This coupled with their thick accents, the pumping techno, and their hectic dancing and singing made it quite difficult to understand them, let alone serve them drinks.

So far, besides those two acts, I’ve seen Jane Berkin, New Young Pony Club, Reverend and the Makers, Paul Weller, Jimmy Eat World, Billy Bragg, Newton Falkner, Roisin Murphy, Stereophonics, Panic! At the Disco, Jesus and Mary Chain, DJ Shadow, and Supergrass. Click here to read my reviews of the DJ Shadow and Jimmy Eat World shows.

The best part about the job by far though, was getting to know my co-workers. It was a really interesting mix of characters. I’ve gotten to know several of them quite well. Every night after work we’d head out in Camden and taken in the sights and sounds of a top London scene.

There’s Joel, the early 30’s chap who was a film and philosophy major. We often forgo working for extended discussion on favorite authors and American politics. He exposed me to the free flowing thoughts of Carlos Castenada, and lent me several of his books. He frequently play football at Regents Park with a fellow named Ross who works there too.

Ross is what as commonly referred to as a Chav. A chav is the type of person that Ali G was loosely based off of. Head to toe Adidas and Nike gear, slits in the eye brows, and boisterous behavior. Great guy.

There’s Felipe, my mid 20’s amigo from Sau Paulo Brazil. He tours with a band called, Bodes De Elephante in Brazil. He’s opened for groups like Battles and Kasabian in his home country, and came abroad for some industry experience. He knows all the members of CSS, and told me about how they started out opening for them as a joke. They’ve since caught on to the extent of world tours and all the major festivals. His friend Marcio works there as well, and works in music promotions.

There’s my good pal Jack Case, and first year in University working in his spare time after classes, and enjoying the shows. With a shared love for Wes Anderson films, we became quick friends at work. He’s fixing to become and Architecture major. We frequently attend cheap films and art exhibitions, and he’s shown me the courtesy of an introduction to London’s house party scene (more on that in blogs to come). We plan on road tripping across America in one of the coming summers.

There’s Matt, the British university grad who’s debating whether or not to go to law school. He’s currently teaching English to Chinese and South American students, and working in the Roundhouse at night. He’s the first homosexual Brit I’ve gotten to know.

There’s Emmet, the gay Irishmen, who’s a contestant on a popular reality T.V. here on Channel four called Vanity Lair. He’s one of the nicest person’s I’ve ever met, and quite hilarious.

There’s Daniel, who manages an artist named, Alexander G Muertos. He’s just signed a record contract, and I’ve convinced the booking agency I’m working with, Helter Skelter, to go check him out at his next show in Camden. Alexander has had trouble getting signed by certain agencies because he’s the former boyfriend of Amy Winehouse, who has demanded they not be associated with any of the same agencies.

There’s the Roberta, the Lithuanian who loves to talk about basketball. There’s Ela, my Ecuadorian supervisor. I work also with several Frenchmen, British girls, eastern Europeans who speak hardly a word of English, and the list goes on. It’s been a wonderful experience and I wouldn’t trade it for any trip to anywhere.

Given Camden’s proximity in North eastern London, and it was primarily Tottenham fans filling the pub with their crisp, white jerseys, scarves and t-shirts. I had on my own Tottenham jersey, number 25 Aaron Lennon, which won me the favor of some particularly boisterous Spurs fans in the back.

The spurs came out flying, applying thick pressure and 6 shots on net in the first 20 minutes. They failed to capitalize on this momentum, and they were down a goal at the half, courtesy of a Drogba free kick. He was the last person anyone wanted to see score, as he had been flopping to great success for half an hour preceding the strike from distance. The Spurs leveled the score on a Berbatov penalty kick in the second half. It remained scoreless from there despite several close bids from both sides. A few Spurs fans were on the edge of their seats with their hands over their eyes. Others were jumping in nervous excitement; they could taste it, a victory within their grasp. Loud cheers filled the crowded pub. Passionate songs of a hundred years descent united the fans as their team took the pitch for another 30 minutes of play.

Blows were exchanged, 15 minutes with no result. The teams swapped sides and they were back at it. “Just give me a goal! From either side! But this can not go into PK’s!!!” pleaded a stumbling fan holding my arm for support, overwhelmed by the severity of the game coupled with the upwards of 8 pints he’d downed over the course of the crucial match. And then it happened… Defender Jonathan Woodgate, a defender for the Spurs found himself on the fortuitous end of a mishandled ball by Chelsea Keeper Peter Czech, who helplessly watch the ball trickle into the net. The top flew of the now golden walls, and hugs and kisses were on the house, no one was exempt.

The joy spilled out on to the drizzling streets. I went out back to soak it up with my newfound friends. They enjoyed the fact that an American had come out and supported the Spurs, and they were in a particularly generous mood. “You’re coming up to Tottenham, and we’re gonna get you DRUNK!”

5 minutes later I was in cab headed north through the winding streets, little did I know it was a 50 minutes journey. Crammed in the back with four others, it didn’t take long for me to learn the songs that rang my ears and floated out the window, frequently soliciting strangers to approach and shake hands and exchange shouts of unbridled glee. By the time we arrived, I was ready to hold my own at the pub. We walked down the main drag that led up to Tottenham’s home stadium, White Hart Lane. It took a good 20 minutes to make it a few short blocks, as the streets were filled and traffic at a near stop. Fans hung out the windows of every car and building, singing and shouting. Grown men danced and embraced, unable to control their emotions; it was like Christmas times 100 plus 5 pints apiece. We made it to our destination, a pub called the Brick Layers Arms. It was an exclusive joint, located immediately outside the stadium. Admission required that you produce a ticket stub verifying your status as a season ticket holder. My companions explained that I was a special guest, an American Hot Spur with a jersey to prove it. With a slap on the back from the beefy doors woman, I was weaving my way through a sea of screaming fans. But these weren’t just fans, these were people who lived and died Tottenham football. I could go on for ages about the madness that ensued over the next 2 hours, but I will cut to the climax. Let’s just say the beers and ciders were free of charge and the chants of “YID-AR-MAY” and “OH WHEN THE SPURS, GO MARCHING IN” were among a dozen others that we sang arms over shoulders as we watched the highlights over and over, the smiles so genuine and dancing so hilarious, it was a night I’d never forget… and then it got dangerous.

Please email me at carpe197@umn.edu for the rest of this story

I took out my headphones and enjoyed the sites and sounds as the colors of the crowds burst into life. The smells of delicious ethnic foods overwhelm your senses, and leave you no choice but to indulge. I’ve developed a trick for getting discount dishes from these vendors. You just walk by and look casually interested. The eager salesman will start a dialogue, all you have to do is look like his rhetoric is making even the smallest of effects, and he’ll soon have a plate filled for you. “Three Pound Fifty,” he’ll yell over the roar of excited discussion and barter. Here’s where you get tricky. Reach in your pocket, and make sure you only have a pound fifty or so in there. Pull it out spread it across you palm in concern. Look up and say, “ahh shoot,” with the longest face you can muster, “I’ve only got (enter amount here).” 4 time out of 5, they’ll just say “alright just give me what’s there.” And you’ll be off with a lunch for over half the inflated price.

This trick has also proven quite successful on Bricklane, located in London’s East End, which has 30-40 Bangladeshi restaurants within just a few short blocks of one another. They offer you all kinds of deals, and it’s a great way to get into London’s amazing Indian food without breaking the bank. It’s a must, as Indian food has nearly surpassed fish and chips as London’s trademark meal.

The beauty of the Camden Market is that each stall has its own unique personality. The operators are generally devoted followers of some movement or anther. The man selling vintage mod suits is clearly a mod himself, living it to the fullest. You’ll hear him playing Bowie, or the Who, or any number of matching sounds in the brief moment you walk past this shop. Every 15 feet a new song swarms around you, whether it be a pipe shop playing reggae, an urban clothing store playing American hip hop, a world antique store playing African music, you can lose yourself in each individual stall. There’s a vintage addidas stores selling track jackets and old school ‘trainers,’ playing LL Cool. There’s a store run by a dapperly dressed man who appears to have jumped from a Manhattan swing club in the late 20’s, his music and product (and zoot suit and pocket watch) match accordingly. There’s the scruffy looking twenty something selling second hand clothes and playing the new Babyshambles and Dirty Pretty Things albums, a Libertines fan until his end. Here’s a picture of one stall which opted to play some scary gothic metal.

I ended up at a thrift store in the Stables Market. I found a really old t-shirt from Estes Park Colorado, where my Aunt owns a cabin. I bought the t-shirt, and struck up a conversation with the owner of the store. He was a bigger man in his forties, dressed very causally. He was playing some wild surf music, and I asked him for the name of the band. This ultimately led to an hour long conversation spanning topics like; The Lancasters, formed by Richie Blackmore, who would go on to form Deep Purple, The Impressions, a group from 50’s that included Curtis Mayfield and were a major influence on the Wailors. He also lent me a compilation called, Country and West Coast, which explains the birth of Country Rock music, and offers tunes by its founds, including the Flying Burrito Brothers, The Byrds, and International Submarine Band among other greats. He even showed me an actual “Nudie Suit,” which Gram Parsons and the rest of the Burritos wore frequently. He also lent me a copy of the Small Faces third album, Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake.

He’s made me a few mix cd’s, and I know stop by there every night before I bartend and talk music with him for an hour. He owns a whole chain of Clothing stores throughout Camden, and also DJ’s frequently at clubs all across London, aside from his primary job as a photographer. He considers himself a student of american history, and we talked for sometime about the upcoming election among a host of other issues.

After talking with Ricky, I headed over to the Oxford Arms to watch some rugby. I chatted with an American fellow from Orange County who was in town on business. He was a friend of my pal Charles. His name was Ian, and we talked at great length about Tool, and their front man Maynard Keenan whom he knew a great deal about. He told me about Alex Grey, the man behind all their album art. We also discussed a local artist, Banksy, a notorious London artist known for his political commentary work using stencils. The conversation moved from there to Bill Hicks, the late and controversial Comedian who was beloved by Keenan, and opened for Tool in the early 90’s before his death in ’94.

After that, I went over and checked out some local bands at the World’s End Pub in Camden. The night was cut short upon news that there was a fire near Chalk Farm Station, just a few short blocks away. The flames spared the main market, but caused Millions of pounds in damage in the markets storage area, and also took down landmark local pub, The Hawley Arms. 20 Fire trucks shut down the roads and fought the flames late into the evening. I hoped from pub to pub, taking in the events and discussing the implications with all the locals.

Firstly, Dr. Dre’s third full lenth LP, Detox, is scheduled to flood the airwaves this June. He’ll be releasing each of the 12 or 13 tracks as singles. There won’t be a city block safe in the country safe from the earth shaking beats.

One of my all time favorite groups, NERD, will release their long anticipated third album, N3RD, sometime in late Spring. Given Pharrell and Chad’s consistency for boundary pushing, line blurring beats, I’m confident this will album will be responsible for at least a handful of floor fillers. Here’s a link to the first single, and a remix of Chad Hugo’s remix of the Kings of Leon’s, “My Party”

My third pick may be slightly surprising, but I stand by it unwavering anticipation. Madonna’s upcoming album, Hard Candy, will be in stores as of April 29th in the continental United, which will give me a full day in the UK, where it’ll be out on the 28th. Her last album, Confessions on a Dance Floor, was released in 2005. It was true to its title, a retrospective and sultry homage to her early days a queen of the dance track. Her new album features production work from Pharrell, Timbaland, Danja, Swizz Beatz, Kanye West, and JT… this could be insanity.

Here’s the video for her disco stringed first single from Confessions, Hung Up, which is really quite funny.

Snoop Dogg’s lead single off the upcoming release Ego Trippin, was really quite shitty. It sounds a lot like Akon/ Young Jeezy/ who ever’s responsible for that rubbish being passed off Hip Hop in the clubs right now. (see what you think for yourself, it’s called, “Sexual Eruption”) I still think the album might be good, and of course, still love the man himself. Here he is (deservedly) talking shit about Bill O’Reilly on a talk show.

Also set to unleash dance mayhem across the universe are the Avalanches out of Melbourne, Australia. There first album was compiled from over 3,500 vinyl samples. Keep your ears open for the release of there second album set for summer 2008. Here’s a their video for the title track from their last album, Since I Left You.

April 8th will mark another momentous occasion, as it’s not only my 21st birthday, but the release date of both Gnarls Barkley’s new album, and of hometown heroes, Tapes N’ Tapes. If the new Gnarls album, titled “Odd Couple,” has anything remotely close to tracks like “Crazy” and “Smiley Faces” from their debut in ’06, they’ll be back on top in ’08. Likewise for Tapes N’ Tapes. If they can match the thumping intensity of their big track, “Insistor” of their ’06 debut album, The Loon, we’ll be a happy in bunch in Minneapolis; though it’s been rumored they’ll be searching for a slightly harder edged sound.

Another big Minneapolis April release will be Atmosphere’s “When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold.” The duo’s sheer output of quality hip hop since their formation in 1994 has been astonishing. Ant continues to create classic beat after classic beat for multiple artist, on Rhymesayers and otherwise. Slug’s lyrical consistency has been equally impressive, especially given all the EPs, compilations, and collab work he has done. It’s been great to talking with people here in London, as a surprisingly large amount know Atmosphere, and naturally all that do are big supporters.

Also released on this date is Decemberist front man Colin Meloy’s solo album, “Colin Meloy Sings Live!” which should be hilarious, because the man has the vocal capabilities of NBC new anchor Brian Williams. My hatred for Colin Meloy stems not only from his inability to sing, but from a performance I saw of his at Bonaroo music festival, during which he asked the audience to sit down, and I was called out for refusing, yelling for him to leave the stage so I could see The White Stripes. Here’s the video of him asking the crowd do to a bunch of stupid shit during another song of unprecedented irritation, Perfect Crime, at Bonnaroo in 100 degree heat.

Other big releases set for spring and summer 2008 are Murs, Franz Ferdinand, Tokyo Police Club, Coldplay, Dr. Dog, The Kills, Adam Greene, Spoon, Portishead, Supergrass, Islands, Elbow, The Roots, My Morning Jacket, and Ambulence LTD.

We’ve lost four of the five games we’ve played since I’ve joined, but this is not to be taken as a poor showing. It’s a step up from last year’s zero win season. Coach Yanni (the one kneeling in the center dressed in all purple) , enjoys flashy/ stylish play, which I demonstrated to the point that I now play for the entire length of every game. Here’s what he said recently in an email to the team…

“Dear all

I do understand many players are disappointed with the poor performances. Some
people think a coach can turn a team’s fortunes in a few weeks but these people
are dreaming. We cannot defend - man-to-man or Zone - we do not block out, we do
not take pride in our defence, we play for ourselves. We do not help each other
at defence. When the opponents take the defencive rebound and run the fast break
we do not sprint back to do the defence. I understand that some of you are quite
stressed when stepping on the court which is a combination of lack of games and
limited basketball skills. The skills can improve. We do not screen to make way
for our better players like Carl to get some easier baskets. We do not have the
stamina to last long. Some players feel - rightly or not - they have been fouled
during the game and stop playing, they look at the referee or decide not to run
back. That’s how the opponents build up the difference, 10 points up at every
quarter, 5 baskets more per quarter and we are unable to stop them. You started
the last game with Zone defence and their 2 guards are unmarked as you believe
you mark a small space which is actually much wider!!! The guards mark the
opponent guards man-to-man at the Zone defence.
We have a chance to win when the players on the court try to pass to the player
who is freed from his opponent. We have a chance to win when we screen to make
it easier for our prolific players to score. We have a chance of winning when
you forget who is the first and/or second scorer and work as a team. Lucky
baskets are scored only once in a game! When I gather you around to speak to u,
someone bounces the ball, someone is trying to make a basket, someone is still
on the other side of the court looking around. I’m not a person who has a
problem with the last comment, it just shows how chaotic the whole situation is.
I do not want your money, I do it for free, to gain knowledge and experience. If
I had a team with Patricks, Carls, Xiros and Tonys, I sit at the bench and enjoy
the game. The scorers playing the one on one succesfully and the robots doing
the dirty work without complain. Some coaches like that situation but I want to
work with players with poor basketball abilities and make them better. Next
week, I will work on the half court with some players on some simple moves.

Anyway, I shall anounce the team tomorrow. Xiro, you are not available for the
game, are you?”

I came over to London with the intention of playing Soccer, but the college team was already full. I do play a few times each week in Regents Park and Hyde Park, and have also joined a weekly 5 on 5 league, but it has been fun to play basketball, as British people lack basketball skills to the extent that people in the U.S. generally lack soccer skills.

Finally, I tired out the Basement Bar. I went in and saw that there was only one small T.V. in the packed restaurant area, and it was right in front of the biggest table in the center of the room. Conceding defeat, I went down the stairs in the back to use the bathroom. My ears pricked up half way down. Through a set of heavy doors came the unmistakable sound of a Funk band in action. I entered, and saw that it was just the band warming up, not set to play for another couple hours. I hung out for a while and chatted, but then remembered my objective, and set out to find the game. Back in the restaurant, things were still packed, except that large table had cleared. I went over and turned the game on, and sat down. A large group rolled in. They went to the bar, except the oldest member of the group, a 60 – 70 year old man named Stanley. He asked I was saving the table for a group. I told him I was just here to watch the game, and that I disposable if they needed the table. He it humorous that an American would be concerned with a football match, and told me I could stay. The rest of his group joined us. We discussed Football, the MLS, American Politics, and Gordon Brown, the prime minister. We also discussed the sorry state of American beer. Stanly demanded that I try a classic British beer, or a “Bitter Beer” as he called it. It’s on a hand pump system, not a tap. “It keeps things movin’ inside” described Stanly, “You can taste the movement.” It was quite good. Egypt ended up winning the game, and I ended up stumbling out of the Basement Bar with 4 “Bitter Beers” securely in stomach.

I then went up Charring Cross Road, taking a left and then a right into a tiny alley way. This came at the instruction of my friend Chris whom I met at the Explosions in the Sky concert. I was meeting him and his friends at Bradley’s Spanish Bar. It was extraordinarily small, but there were comfortable booths and juke box filled with 7 inch singles. They had some modern tunes from Bloc Party and Spoon, along with some classics. A man in his 50’s barged in, tripping over the door frame; he got up and demanded to know why the music had stopped. He was intoxicated, as we demonstrated by his slurred speech and inability to stand properly. He challenged everyone in the bar to a fight, and then claimed to have been David Bowie’s guitarist. He entered a pound, selecting, “Life On Mars,” and a few Lou Reed songs.

After a few beers we went down to the Astoria to see Les Savy Fav. Click here for the review.

As far as playing soccer goes, on weekends I head down to Regents Park quite frequently. There are many pick up games to be found, and I met a Japanese fellow named Yoshi whom I now correspond with to organize games. I also joined a 5 v. 5 league with some other American students from my school. They play D3 soccer in Pennsylvania, and we’ve stacked up quite competitively with some of the other teams in the league so far. Occasionally, I’ll go and practice with the Imperial College team, but I arrived to late in the year to actually join.
A few nights after that Fulham victory, I was over in East London at the Life club in Old Street. They were having a dance night called Funk Tarantino. The concept was from house DJ, DJ Inspector Imposter. The night was based around his love of Tarantino soundtracks. He played several songs from the movies, and just a lot of Afro, Northern Soul, hip hop, electro, soul, reggae, garage rock, surf, and rock’n'roll in general. Great fun. Old Street/ Liverpool Street/ Brick Lane area is rapidly becoming one of my favorites. I’ve seen several shows in a record store just of Brick Lane named Rough Trade Records. A French artist named Sebastian Tellier, and tomorrow I’m going down to see Vampire Weekend do an in-store performance. A London group named Pete and Pirates played there recently too. All of them are worth checking out. Here’s the link to the website. It’s a great resource for keeping informed on what’s catching fire here in London. And if you happen to be intown, all you have to do is shoot them an email to get on the guest list for the instore shows.

To read the review of the Sebastian Tellier show, click 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.

We arrived early and went to a local bar. There was a Spanish league game on, and struck up a convo with a fellow fan named Johan. He was a Kurd from Iraq who’d lived in London for over 5 years now. His perspective on the war was unlike anything I had heard. He explained that the kurds want independence. They’re spread throughout Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. They form about a 1/5th of the Iraqi population, living near the northern border. He asked for my thoughts on the war. I began to go on the typical, “I’m embarrassed that we’re there in the first place and we need to get out asap…” spiel but I was abruptly cut off. “No,” he said, turning and looking me straight in the eyes, “Never question that choice to come there, because you don’t know what it was like there before the U.S. came.” He still has a lot of family there. He explained that if the U.S. were to leave now, the Kurds would be fighting both the Turks and Arabs because of it. He said there is a deep underlying hatred between Arabs and Curds, and that they could never exist peacefully in the same nation. He then bought me a screwdriver, and we further discussed foreign relations at large. I still believe it was a poor choice to invade Iraq, because if we going to take action on the basis of such injustice, there’d be too many countries to even no where to start. Still, it was a revelation to speak with someone of this mind set and history. I’m sure I would be just as glad to see action taken if I had seen exposed to the same things he had growing up, though I don’t think we’re offering any real long term solutions in the region.

At 23.30, we made our way over to Turnmills. The club had four levels with winding hallways and several bars and rooms on each. One DJ was passing out Indian feather head bands to all the dancers in his room. There were bizarre decorations with the theme varied by floor. Large pieces of art were hung from the ceiling, oddly shaped and spinning with the music. There light lining all the stairs, and vines wrapped around poles. It didn’t take long before I was separated from my friends.
I was dancing with some German girls for a while. I asked them for the name of some of their favorite German bands. They talked excitedly about Freunde Stiller and Wir Sind Helden. I told them I was never going to remember the names, so I came home with pen scribbles on my arms. Names like Die Aerzte, Beatsteaks and 2raumwohnung. German music is possibly the strangest nationality of music; a combination of the various techno genres. Everything from Goth to Jock Jams finds its way in to the fold.

The friends I came with left early due to a sick member of the group, but the party was on until 7, so decided to stay. I caught ended up reviewing one of the sets. You can read it here.

I later met a girl who bestowed upon me a free cowboy hat. This was stolen and returned to me at various points throughout the evening. I met two sisters from London who also found it amusing to steal my hat. We ended up talking, and they claimed to vacation every summer in Montana. I told them I’ve got relatives there, and friends who go to University there, and we’ve got tentative plans to meet up this summer. I left the club at around 4.30 and hoped on a bus headed West. I got off at Paddington Station in hopes of catching a bus headed North. I attempted to ask directions, but the endless line of belligerent partiers were of little help, and I decided to make a walk for it. Stumbling dejectedly in the bitter cold, I made it as far as what I thought was Bayswater; bad news as that would be in the wrong direction. I conceded that I was utterly lost, and would have to sleep outside under a bush. Fortunately, a slick silver sports car pulled in front of a nice house, I asked them for directions. It was a middle aged Spanish couple. They took out a map and showed me how to get to Edgware Road, and then on to Maida Vale and then Kilburn high road. I was in an entirely different area than I had thought. They insisted I take the wife’s jean jacket for the walk. I made it back to the main road, and ended up catching a bus for the last 10 blocks. It wasn’t until I got on the bus that I realized I was wearing a denim jacket with jeans and a cowboy hat. I was teased mercilessly by most of those on board.

A few days later I headed down to the Astoria in Tottenham area to see the Austin based group Explosions In The Sky. Here’s the link.

Sometime last week I went and practiced with the Imperial College Medical Basketball team. Imperial’s actual team had already held tryouts, but the medical team was willing to give me a shot. The team was comprised primarily of Asians, Indians, a Swede named Ole, polish kid named Demitri, a British kid named Alvin, and a Portuguese coach. They all had British accents, except for the coach, and they all played the most unorthodox style of ball I’ve ever seen in my life. No fundamentals, but they could all score in some way or another.

The gym was old and cluttered with badminton nets and mini soccer goals, a major safety issue given the mere foot of out of bounds separating the court and the brick wall surroundings. The Portuguese coach wore his long hair back in a pony tail, and spoke very little English. He took full charge of the practice though and ran the drills with obnoxious authority. Yelling nonsensical instructions, he encouraged the flashiest of pass attempts and dribble drives with resounding whoops and yells. His out-fit dated him to somewhere in the time span of Soviet Russia. He wore the strangest pants I’d ever seen. Purple Adidas pants with the three stripes up the sides. They appeared to be made of velvet. His Nike air sweatshirt was cut off at the sleeves and at the navel, and he wore a spandex tank top underneath, neon green, navy blue, and yellow.

We ran a three man weave drill, with players coming both ways. Several noses were sacrificed in the process via errant passes and unforeseen collisions. Things would only get worse/hilarious from there. The practice culminated in a genius game of 5 on 5Ö on 5. That’s right, three teams of 5 on the court at once. Though few understood the concept, the intensity level remained on high. This of course led to two more injuries, three arguments, and innumerable run-ins with the brick walls. We’ve got our next game this Saturday! A rematch versus our bitter rival, and perennial powerhouse, the Pharmacy team. Here’s a picture of the team: http://minnesota.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=43951447&op=1&view=user&subj=13957946&id=13957946

Later that week, I went to a clothes swap at Favela Chic, a bar near the Old Street tube station. The inside was a restaurant turned dance club, decorated in a tropical fashion. There were clothes lines hung low above the dance floor. Strange articles of clothing were spaced evenly across. The diverse crowd drank and chatted casually, carousing and eyeing up strangers for their clothes. By around 11, the festivities were in full swing. We partied the night away to turn of the century classics from the Strokes, Kylie Minogue, and Gorillaz, along with old classics like The Chips’ “Rubber Biscuit” and Martha Reeves and the Vandellas “No Where to Run.” A siren would go off every five minutes signifying that it was time to request clothes off a stranger. I left the bar that night with a weathered blue and yellow Addidas t-shirt, a blue and white pin-striped dress shirt (which I now wear to work), and a fashionable straw hat.

On my way home from downtown late one weekend night, I stepped off the bus near my flat to the sound of frighteningly serious chanting around the corner. I opted to investigate, and was astounded at the return. The organized chaos was coming from the Islamic Cultural Center of London, which was evidently a few blocks from my place. The large courtyard in-front of the building was filled with ceremoniously garbed Muslims, arms around shoulders, shouting in unison. I entered the yard and enquired about the cause of such excitement. It was none other than the annual holiday of Ashura. The meaning of this was explained to me but, unfortunately, I can’t recite it to you now, as it was over a week ago by now and I was well drunk at the time. I do recall enjoying the display, and the passion this holiday evoked.

Another brief anecdote of note involves my first trip to Camden; a Northern Borough of London known for it’s eccentricities via foreign foods, unique shops, and alternative lifestyles. I was set to meet a friend there outside the Camden Town tube stop. While waiting, I stood next to a severely bearded man of about 50. He was holding a sign that read, “Jesus is alive,” and stood on the most crowded of corners. There was a third in our party; a fellow sign holder, promoting an all you can eat buffet just down the road. We talked for over an hour. His name was Malcolm, and he was as intelligent a person as I’ve ever met. Fluent in Mandarin, he’d graduated with a degree in engineering. He’d been raised in China, and we spoke at length about the social reservations of Chinese people compared to other nationalities. He had great insight on the booming superpower, and pressure that’s placed on school children there. Our conversation was interrupted every 2 or 3 minutes by passer-bys unable to stomach Malcolm’s sign in silence. Some of the exchanges were humorous, others were deeply frightening. Tempers faired, but Malcolm always kept his cool. He wasn’t necessarily answering the questions, but he always had an answer; a true believer. I asked him if he knew of a pub where I could catch the Real Madrid vs. Athletico Madrid game that was soon to start. I shook his hand, wishing him the best of luck. It was apparent my acquaintance was lost.

I wandered for a while, and ended up in a second hand clothes store. They were half way through the new Kings of Leon album, “Because of the Times,” so I decided to shop for its remainder. Further down the road, I found a pub playing the match. The Oxford Arms, which has since become my pub of choice, was stuffed to the gills. Long story short, I ended up meeting a Nigerian fellow named Charles who was there with his friend Fernando. They’d both lived in London for sometime. Fernando was in opposition of both Madrid clubs, hailing from Northern Spain. He considered himself a Basque, and not from Spain at all. It’s an incredible division, and has led to deeply rooted hatred amongst certain Spanish League clubs. I was introduced to a few other extreme characters that evening. An Australian who lives above the pub, named Alex, was among them. In his early 20’s, he told me of a trip to the U.S. last summer. He was fascinated by the distinctions between states, and how they all had their own governments. We talked a great deal about Hip Hop and differences between its regions. Alex has a shaved head and told me about how he’d been constantly mistaken for a Mexican in California, and a Puerto Rican in NYC.

I returned to the Oxford Arms later that week for the ever important Tottenham vs Arsenal Carling Cup Semifinal. I wore my Tottenham, Aaron Lenon jersey, and my arrival was a mix of back slaps and smiles, with a smattering of muffled cursing and awkward eyes. There’s a deep seeded distain between these two North London clubs, especially since Tottenham hadn’t beaten Arsenal in 9 years. The Spurs were up 2 goals at half and spirits were high. I’d been bought a couple shots and a pint for my choice of attire, and because I was standing next to Charles, the loudest Spurs fan in the pub. Standing outside at half, we talked in a circle with a few other fans. One stuck out in particular. It was a man with leather Leopard print pants tucked into his knee-high, lace-up leather boots. He wore a Black leather jacket, with sewn on patches, and a cut off denim jacket over the top. He looked about 50 years old, a blue, pink, and yellow Mohawk a top his piercing covered head. He joined our circle, joking and talking casually about the match and his club, Newcastle. It was great to see how comfortable everyone was with his look, not a single double take from anyone. Also in our circle was Marco, who’d wandered over from a Men at Work concert down the block. He’d left mid-way through their set, after “Land Down Under,” of course. He is the Editor at an online site, music-news.com, which I’ve since started freelancing for. (Check out my reviews of The Metros live set at Turnmills night club, and The Blessing’s cd, “All Is Yes.” With more to come.) Anyways, Tottenham ended up winning 5-1. Bedlam ensued, and as I stumbled back to the tube stop, I began to wish I’d brought a jacket along. Visions of Greenstreet Hooliganesque scenes raced through my mind. I kept my eyes peeled for on rushers, and sped walked to the station. I escaped with mere verbal assaults thrown my way. Another successful night in London.

The club was worth the hassle. It was like a time warp back into the 60’s. No longer was the dance floor covered in tightly packed groups of girls with a swarm of guys wrapped tightly around. It was spread open, with careless moves and gleeful expressions. People danced on platforms spaced throughout the horse shaped club. The music was a dream. The two 40 something DJs spun the finest assemblage of obscure Soul, R and B, 60’s pop, and modern rock. The first, named Ian, was a short African dude with a British accent. The other was a John Cusack type, but with blonde hair. I pestered both to write a set list for me to post, but neither would indulge. Here’s a few that I could remember by scribbling on my arm with a pen provided by my Finish and Estonian dance partners whom I’d met there.

“Alright” - Supergrass

“Reach Out” - Four Tops

“Flourescent Adolescent” - Arctic Monkeys

“Someday” - The Strokes

“Uptight” - Stevie Wonder

“Land of 1000 Dances” - Wilson Picket

“I Can’t Explain” - The Who

“Golden Skans” - Klaxons

“Take Me Out” - Franz Ferdinand

“A Little Less Conversation” - Elvis

“Rock N’ Roll” - Velvet Underground

“My Eyes Have Seen You” - The Doors

“Dance To the Music” - Sly and the Family Stone

“19th Nervous Breakdown” - The Rolling Stones

“Jumpin’ Jack Flash” - The Rolling Stones

“Alone Again Or” - Love

“Taxman” - The Beatles

“Day Tripper” - The Beatles (cover)

“Chelsea Dagger” - The Fratellis

It was an evening to remember, and I’ll surely be back. The Metros got live music most nights of the week, and a reputation for breaking new bands. Their Wednesday nights might also be of interest. Titled “I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor,” they guarantee at least 10 Artic Monkeys songs, and drinks are discounted for students.

I made it there by 9:30pm, and though the paper had listed a 7pm start, I arrived right in time for the opener. The Social was an oddly shaped venue. It formed a long corridor that split into two paths after only 30 feet or so, with only one of the paths still offering a sightline to the band. The other split off into a bar and couched seating area. As soon as the opener was off, the house DJ took to his booth and blasted ear shattering samples of beeping and feedback. Thankfully, the intermission was brief, and the Lionheart Brothers made it worth the five pound investment.

They delivered an hour long set of Scandinavian delight not tasted since your last bite of buttered and brown sugared Lefse. Each song starts with rolling toms and hectic fills from their chubby drummer, who was positioned facing the band, and closest to the crowd. The two, long blonde haired guitarists offered drifting, collision course interplay amidst thumping synth riffs. The vocals are mostly unintelligible, but the pitch was perfect and the harmonies serene. They blew me away; a great start to my music adventure in London. Definitely a band to watch in ‘08.

Key tracks: “Hero Anthem” and “50 Souls and a Discobowl”

Their album, Dizzy Kiss, is out as of January 14th.

When I finally arrived, I took the Heathrow Express over to Paddington Station, and caught a cab to my flat in Kilburn Park. The driver and I chatted cordially throughout the 10 minute drive. I told him I was there for a study abroad an internship, and my main focus was London’s touted music scene. “Well I’m 45 now, but when I was your age, I used to love The Clash.” He claimed. His musical tastes were completely across the board. “I was a major Soul-kid growing up too. I used to be in the clubs a couple times each week, dancin’ to all the soul and R and B hits.” His favorite group of all-time was The Jam, a mod-revivalist group from the late 70’s to early 80’s They rocked the U.K. charts, but never achieved that same commercial success in the states. Their front man, Paul Weller, would go on to form another group named Style Counsel, which the cab driver also advocated strongly. Afterwards Weller would go on to record a few solo discs.

Later that night, still my first in town, I went down to Cock Tavern with a group of 10 students who live in my flat. It’s just a few blocks from my residence. They’ve got live Jazz every Thursday, but as we were all jet lagged, we left before it started at 22:00. I downed a pint of Guinness and a pint of Carling while enjoying the bar tenders choice of techno and listening to the locals chatter.

The next day, after several orientation sessions, I enjoyed my diner of left over trail mix from my carry-on and watched some of our 4 stations of T.V. That night I went to the Imperial College for a dance. It was an eventful night to say the least. On the way in, I ran into some fellow Americans with whom I talked over a pint of cider. The musical selections were strangely American. In one of the Pubs they were playing No Doubt’s monster 90’s classic, Tragic Kingdom. On the dance floor they were playing an odd mix of European techno and hot American Hip Hop from Timbaland and JT. At 2 in the morning, I made my way to the nearest bus stop and attempted to find my way home. Given I’d never taken a bus before, and I was several ciders deep, it probably wasn’t the best idea. To make a long story short: I got off at several wrong stops, was chassed by an opportunistic mugger, escaped on a bus going to wrong way, walked aimlessly for a while, hopped on an empty bus, got directions from an Algerian bus driver, and walked the 30 minute walk home.

The next day, Saturday, entailed several more orientations, and a stop at a Chelsea pub to watch the Chelsea V. Tottenham game. Fortunately, I’d opted not to wear my Hotspurs jersey that day, as I doubt it’d of gone over well with all the drunk Chelsea die-hards. We took a 3 hour bus tour of the city later than afternoon hitting all the big stops: Big Ben, St. Paul’s Church, London Bridge, and the like. That evening I went down to Piccadilly Circus and took my first crack at the Club Scene. When I first entered O’Neil’s, it was the stereotypical cool British one might expect. The first song was a remix of Amy Winehouse covering the Zuton’s, “Valerie.” This approach went to the wayside quickly though. A cover band took the stage at midnight, their first selection Eagle Eyed Cherry’s, “Save Tonight.” The had the club rocking to several other American hits with covers of several Killers tracks, and a few U2 and Oasis anthems for sing-alongs. I made a few friends from some town in Northern Germany and Vancouver and called it a night around 2. Today I’ll be attending the annual Russian Winter Festival in Trafalgar Square, featuring performances from International superstars Dima Bilan, Alisa, and DJ Lupin