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Haven't been saying much lately. I should really get round to some sort of update. It's reached the point of being poked . . . I'm very sorry and will say something substantive soon.

In the meantime, those of you fortunate enough to be in Edinburgh may be interested in this event tonight at the Bongo.

The Processional, Beastie, No Point and Te Pooka drummers, and the Edinburgh Samba School. Five percussion groups for only five of your Earth pounds.
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Very good last night, he was. A very nice man, with very talented friends.

They played:

Dance me to the end of love
The future
Ain't no cure for love
Bird on the wire
Everybody knows
In my secret life
Who by fire?
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

Tower of song
Boogie street
I'm your man
A thousand kisses deep (although this was read as a poem, with little in common with the words that were used for the song. Similar versions can be read online, if you're interested)
Take this waltz

So long, Marianne
First we take Manhattan
Sisters of mercy
If it be your will (sung by Charley and Hattie Webb, two of the backing singers, with acoustic guitar and harp, and I believe a contribution by the keyboard player too)
Closing time

I should probably drone on about this at some length, but I'll restrict myself to noting that more dates have been announced for the autumn, including several more UK ones between the 5th and 22nd of November. Tickets are on sale tomorrow (Friday) at 9 am.

Afterwards, at the Halfway House, we (Nicky, AJ, and I) were wondering which was his most depressing song. Tricky, because that's not the defining characteristic it's said to be, and mostly a definite optimism (or at least defiance) in there, but . . . anyway. What do you think?


Mar. 22nd, 2008 01:06 am
zotz: (avatar)
I thought that strike thing was a bit daft, but by about midmorning a few people (you know who you are) were being sufficiently ridiculous about breaking it on principle that I decided to join it anyway.

It was a lovely bright day today, if a touch windy. There was a Basque cultural event on the Meadows, with dancers (some of them blokes with really big cowbells tied awkwardly to their backs) but while I was passing there were only a couple of guys playing big xylophones, in a rather interesting style. A couple of monks wandered past as well, in white robes and black cloaks, and a woman in a burqa. All very cosmopolitan.

Phil has for several days been the proud owner of a life-size radio-controlled tarantula. Sadly, the cat isn't too bothered about it, deigning only to be slightly annoyed when people make it run into him.

The Long Blondes were quite fun on Wednesday, although the sound could have been better - down the front, the singer was hardly audible. She had a radio earpiece to monitor from, and I couldn't help wondering if I'd have heard her better from the foldback if there had been more. They seemed otherwise on form, though.
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And the dates upon which Mr Cohen will be drinking said profits will apparently be announced on Tuesday.
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Well, Firewater tour dates have been announced, and guess what?

Yes, I'll have to go abroad to see them. As predicted.

Just to make it more annoying, most of them are while I'll be in Oregon.

No further word on Cohen.
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I should have mentioned that on our way to see NMA we parked (well, I parked - there wasn't really any element of democracy in my driverly decisions) a couple of blocks the other side of the Umbrella and walked back. This took us past a Wetherspoon's pub called the Sir John Moore. Being who we are, we of course started looking for pubs called the Sir Luke Haines and the Dame Sarah Nixey. If I win the lottery, these may well happen. Of course, I'd have to buy a ticket first. Or cheat.

This brings us to the thorny issue of Christmas singles. These are widely deprecated, of course, but there are some remarkably good ones, as I'm sure I've previously mentioned. This year, I am told that there will be one by the aforementioned Black Box Recorder in association with the excellent Art Brut (the singer of the latter allegedly having phoned in his contribution from the top floor of a bus). Good though that sounds, I'm looking forward even more to a rumoured release from that cheery bugger Malcolm Middleton, lately of Arab Strap (don't ask). He plans to release a cheery little number called We're All Going To Die At Christmas.

You have to follow that last link, by the way, whether or not you would normally. As an example:

A few years ago I had quite bad depression and my mother - God bless her - saw fit to buy me a set of kitchen knives for Christmas.

Well, it made me laugh. Maybe it works better in context.
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The Day After / Ghosts Of Cable Street / Wishing Well / Bounty Hunter / Shirt Of Blue / Barratt's Privateers (Swill) / Parted From You (Swill) / A Boy Named Sue (Cush) / Donald Where's Yer Troosers? (Cush) / Billy Morgan / Singing Elvis / Rosettes / Smugglers / Nightbird / The Colours / Ironmasters // Green Fields Of France // Greenback Dollar / Bank Robber / Walkin’ Talkin’

Read more... )
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[livejournal.com profile] al_iguana points out on some horrible goth community that, at any places on the web including here is the apparent news that Danielle "Danielle" Dax is playing in Paris come May. There's nothing on her website . . and I mean that. There's nothing on her website. But have any of you heard anything?

When I was on Potterrow committee we always used to ask for her in Freshers' Week, every year, and every year the FW director would go away, inquire about her fee, and send us back a note saying "nice try". [NB: This story may have been slightly exaggerated, but not by me]


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