Saturday, January 15, 2011


I got lost on the way. I couldn't find my bearings. I was fucking late! Running through puddles, dropping Pound coins in homeless polystyrene cups and cursing my luck. I thought I'd missed everything. Now I know. It's finally official! Take your fucking time, every fucking time... Especially round Shoreditch way.

The Macbeth was pretty empty when I got there. Slowly, mismatched hairdos, ponchos and Cuban heels crawled in in skinny jeans and hi-tops. Tattoos and Boys of London jackets hung out at the back and French pop songs kept everyone busy on the dance floor...

Finally, the three hippest hairdos in the pub picked up the guitars on stage and kicked up a fuss. Black Manila... Online, they're a mystery. On stage, it's all-out garage punk and indie rock 'n roll. Guitarists on their knees. Bassists blaming their dads. And drummers staring me down through peacock feathers. Where'd these guys fly in from?

After that, I unplugged and sipped on some more whiskey. The next band on, The Magnetix, are the real heroes. Full-blown French nobleman (and woman). And for a two piece, they make quite a noise. Like a dark Tarantino sountrack up a lonely, deserted highway. Werewolves moaning. Moons glowing. Night building.

The place was hypnotised. 'Let's do the time-warp again' motherfuckers! Looch Vibrato and drummer miss Aggy Sonora jerked their bodies around like reanimated corpses. The crowd responded like a wave of zombie hordes. The evil dead! Vibrato was possessed. Dark, rockabilly, garage punk with serial killer rhythms and a mad look in its eyes.

I lean back to take a photo and a drunk French chick slams straight into me. She smiles. My face is a giant bruise. Time to go...

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