Last year’s returning Camden
Crawl was a revelation for us, living up to a lasting infamy set in cider
splashes on the pavement outside the Dublin Castle back in the mid-90s. We duly
zipped around London’s most indielicious postcode like a freshly fired charge
in a pinball machine, hitting hi-scores headlong, ricocheting unplanned around
corners and making discoveries that set off strobing fanfares of appreciation
behind our twinkling eyes. It were top. Perhaps inevitable then that the twinkling
thingies wouldn’t strike twice – just think about the variables (10 venues, 50+
bands, 1 square mile, the scheduling, the will to walk distances, the queues,
oh the queues…). Maybe we went in with too high expectations. Maybe. More likely
is that the initial anticlimax can be attributed to leaving the starting blocks
to the limp, post-Razorlight, sub-Clash chirpy geezer dirge that is Dogs,
first on in Koko. The only thing on so early is a depressingly lacklustre
amble in the park rather than anything remotely generation or culture or city
defining, which it idly aspires to. Am-dram London punk, nothing more. Preceding
this, the “WORLD PREMIERE!!” screening of PJ Harvey’s new DVD ‘Please Leave
Quietly’ is an embarrassing cock-up as they forget to turn the sound on. Duh.
When they do it’s with a far too literal interpretation of its title – only in
a break from conversation do we notice the hushed tones of ‘A Perfect Day Elise’
seeping anonymously from the PA. The conversation, incidentally, regarded the
alleged fact that happy hour wristband promotions announced from the back of every
itinerary were news to the hostelries in question, none of whom heard a peep from
organisers and had to fight off rabid booze-thirsty students with rolled up copies
of The Guardian. Or something. Is the precariously-balanced, lager-soaked house
of cards falling in on itself so early? Or is that the appeal? Whatever,
we leave those concerns behind with a small hop up the High Street. The Sunshine
Underground at the Barfly and Fields at Lock 17 are both tempting, but too much
like a Himalayan trek away at this point. Instead we settle on the droning cotton-wool
jangles of Howling Bells at the Oh! Bar. Juanita Stein leads bewitchingly
with the look and demeanour of a radiant faerie princess, and their Mazzy Star
making out with The Duke Spirit tones are tender and beautifully serviceable,
if not completely stunning. We are pepped up sufficiently and dart to the Electric
Ballroom to catch the end of The Young Knives, who knock us right back
down Disappointment Alley (not marked on the event map as it happens). It’s not
their fault; an unflatteringly undernourished mix drains juice from their usually
punchy sound, no matter how taut and choppy they seem beneath the surface. But
it makes the whole exercise seem pointless, and they, more than any, are a band
with many points, sharp numerous points. We feel the need to be close up
somewhere now, have our teeth rattled at the very least. And a brisk stroll to
The Barfly finds us kindly obliged by New York art rockers The Rogers
Sisters. In quite contrary style this is really odd-one-out non-sister-Sister
Miyuki Furtado’s show – they would be more aptly known as And The Rogers Sisters.
The man plays his bass like he’s wrestling a colossal electric eel, he is a true
powerhouse of rhythm tamed only by a lethargic, effortless cool. The actual sisters
though do bring a shrill, adorably scrappy, twisted girl group quality to proceedings.
We’re forced to mention the B-52s at this juncture, and if you think that’s a
bad thing we’re not sure how we can help you. It is the closest Crud gets to grooving
all evening too. That is if you don’t count an awkward little dash to the bus
to speed us back to the Crawl’s most southerly tip. And my, if you’re looking
for how to make a bell-ringing main event out of a plain middle-of-the-bill placing,
look no further than the ridiculously refreshing Guillemots back in Koko.
We expected, at best, a flighty Keane. What we get is a flapping, crooning, flaming
nutcase hybrid of Elton John, Wayne Coyne and David Bowie seemingly sat in his
own favourite wooden chair, surrounded by a suitcase of random trinkets (dish
drainer? toy drum? metal tray?), a stack of keyboards, one of which makes scary
sounds and is saved for special moments, a guitarist with Bill & Ben legs, a double
bass and a massive waterfall of intriguing piano-grounded prog rock adventure.
Keane, yes, if they had hippie parents and were intravenously fed acid in the
womb. Discovery of the night, like finding a new constellation. Whilst
inevitable that there would be clashes, to find the five acts we wanted to catch
most (Akira The Don, Absentee, The Pipettes, Forward Russia, The Spinto Band)
playing simultaneously takes the lavishly overpriced pint somewhat. We settle
in NW1, the evening’s most unsuited makeshift venue, for Absentee,
partially because of their hopelessly charming forthcoming full-length debut,
and partially because we need verification. We would never have believed it unless
we’d seen it with our very own eyes. Dan Michelson has the most startling, unbelievable
baritone. It’s like he has 2 voiceboxes jammed into the space for 1. He’s one
part Neil Hannon, one part Barry White, one part Louis Armstrong, in the body
of a fey British guy who gets drunk regularly and has no luck with girls. “This
is another one about killing your wife”. They’re Belle & Sebastian through very
dark glasses. They’ve even brought their own lamp. With 8 of them on stage and
some rugged tension to work off, when they’re going full-throttle they’re the
most affecting, and (confusingly) loud, band of the night. And with that
we drift off into the night. The music goes on with the biggest draws (Futureheads,
Dirty Pretty Things and Supergrass) playing on past midnight in venues that push
like a tight corset against their popularity. But with most of the other venues
kicking out before they’ve even started it doesn’t take Einstein to plot the obvious
equation. There must be 300 queuing to get into see The Futureheads at the very
least. It seems like either misguided scheduling or a cynical move on the part
of the organisers to quantify the draw of their star turns. Meaning we end as
we started, with a disappointingly sour taste in our mouths. Shame. Relevant
sites:
http://www.thecamdencrawl.com
James Berry for Crud Magazine 2006©
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| 01/06 Morning After Girls Interview
01/06 The Roger Sisters Interview
01/06 The Spinto Band Interview
01/06 The Longcut Interview
01/06 Union of Knives Interview
01/06 7/7 July Bombings London
01/06 Adem / Tunng - Live - West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds
01/06 Beach Boys - Pet Sounds - 40th Anniversary Deluxe CD / DVD
01/06 Broken Social Scene - London Astoria
01/06 Camden Crawl 2006
01/06 Editors - LIve - Brixton Academy
01/06 Elliott Kennedy - Song Meanings
01/06 Four Day Hombre Interview
01/06 Gram Parsons - Fallen Angel DVD
01/06 Hot Chip Live - LIve - Caberte Volatire - Edinburgh
01/06 Jackson Analogue, Digital, Newcastle
01/06 Latitude Festival, Henham Park, Beccles, Suffolk
01/06 Liam Frost - Live - Cockpit, Leeds
01/06 Little Man Tate, Cockpit, Leeds
01/06 Monty Python Remastered Collection
|  | 01/06 New Pornographers / Spoon - Live - London Koko
01/06 NME Shows 2006
01/06 Orange Lights - Carling Academy, Newcastle
01/06 Protokoll - Live - Cabaret Voltaire, Edinburgh
01/06 Shout Out Louds - Live - Leeds, Cockpit
01/06 Airlines, Flights, Terror Plot July 2006
01/06 The National - Brixton Academy, London
01/06 Wireless Festival 2006
January 2001
July - August 2001
September - October 2001
November - December 2001
January - March 2002
April - July 2002
August - December 2002
January - March 2003
May - August 2003
November 2003
January - March 2004
April - September 2004
October - December 2004
January - March 2005
April - December 2005
January - August 2006
September - December 2006
January - September 2007
October - December 2007
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