July 25th, 2005


indie boys are alright

A fine birthday weekend this year; the gentleman musician managed to rustle up a ticket for sold-out local festival Truck (bought the night before on the streetcorner outside my house!) and though his motivation was far from altruistic -- it was his birthday, too, and with none of his bands playing this year, he needed the distraction, not to mention someone to buy him drinks -- it was quite the perfect birthday present.

Those who didn't/couldn't go can take comfort from the fact that much of the line-up was the usual suspects, although there's a lot of pleasure to be had in schmoozing, boozing and cooing over how this or that has grown up and changed since the last time I saw them, not to mention finally putting names to some of the faces I've been seeing around at gigs. Probably saw some 25 acts -- Truck's a good festival for gig-hopping, but I'm well aware that's excessive. What can I say, concourse is a walky-drunk and likes to schedule.

Festival favourite track: a tie between Chris McMath's inspired mangle of The Prisoner theme tune and Zea's We buried indie rock years ago. Festival favourite moment: giggling from the back at the Towers of London bonnie-tyler-a-like singer clambering to the top of the speaker stack in the Barn, looking down at its alluring concrete-and-cowshit floor, and carefully climbing back down again. Rock and roll!

Shockingly, it rained; most of the locals blamed the influx of Londoners; but safe inside my fluffy coat and warmed by affection and tinyjo's wine, I didn't feel the cold. oxfordhacker seemed quiet, but I admired coalescent's band review method (number of pages read in his book), and it was fun feeding mango and chilli flavoured kettle chips to Tom the Chemist. As usual, by night I skipped back to Oxford and a comfy futon, but this time on the Oxfordbands express. I'm dead scene, me.

There are photos, there are sketches, there are links to obscure bands from Leeds. I'll post them later, if they're any good.

A slow morning this morning -- gradually rebuilding my awareness of the world from the clues the city gives you -- headlines, newspapers, overheard conversations. By the time I met damiancugley for lunch, I'd absorbed Lance Armstrong's victory in the Tour de France, the bombing in Egypt, Australia pasting England in the cricket and the horrible sequel to the police shooting on the tube. I couldn't really care about the sport and as to the rest -- pff. Dark days indeed.

Back home this afternoon to handmade plush dinosaurs, a bonsai kit and an orange sarong covered with batik-ed lizards from my sisters and a very special email from the gentleman housemate; it seems he discovered the perfect gift for the woman who's in the habit of impulse-purchasing everything --- www.jeremydennis.co.uk.
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    indie boys are all right - the open mouths