Spooktacular, Spooktacular, Not Unless Your Name is Dracula
When Ghosts and Ghouls are out to Play... things go Bump in the Night
You know how they say that the dark isn't scary? That's not true. Things lurk in the dark, twisted, strange and scary things that blink out at you with invisible eyes. And they all come out to play in the days round All Hallows Eve. There are monsters, red-eyed, white-eyed, fanged and incorporeal monsters prowling, stalking, waiting for the right moment...
In the topmost flat on Thirl-blood-stained Road, five such monsters live - R.I.P-ecca Tombstone, - a corpsebride looking for her next husband, Scare Reaperts - a white-eyed hag, Ghostephine Gone-athan - last living relative of the White Witch, Jekyll Ox-slayer - whose name says enough and their pet Death Hound, Ghoul-ivia Rabid-y. They sent out an in-fright, calling all the other ghosties and ghoulies and beasties and horrible things to their Den of Horrors. Note the dripping candles and the smell of lillies over embalming fluid, note the blood that's stained even the mugs on their table - more often than not, stained by the tiny hands of children.
The wizards were there, smirking in the knowledge that there wasn't a chance of safe hex when it came to the end of their wands. The vampires slunk out from the shadows, licking their teeth in anticipation. A broken doll stared with china blue eyes from the corner of the room, an ogre thudded up the stairs and smacked her chops whilst thinking of all the young things that would foolishly be walking home through the Meadows later that night. Dr Jekyll tipped his hat to his immortal companions, welcoming the new bloodless to his city and Mr Snowman smirked dementedly from beneath his tophat.
Carving out memories to the beating bass, they chanted and cursed, drank and ate, cackled and frolicked all the way through the witching hour and into the wee hours of the morning. The pet Hound rubbed up against everyone, mentally noting that everyone was already dead and that it couldn't kill anyone who carried the smell of carrion upon their cold flesh. The bloodless shimmied with the skeletons, remembering their deathdays and in-frighting each other to their next big Hunt.
Even the most ancient witches from downstairs were incapable of a sufficient silencing charm to block out the ruckus as the undead partied on and on....
Until the cock crowed. Then silence, stillness descended. Every last one of them... gone into the ether. And all this on the eve before the eve before the eve before the eve before All Hallows Eve. Just imagine what comes next.
Rob Heron and the Tea Pad Orchestra Arrive, The Blueswater Return and Twist-And-Shout
Bring It Back
Thursday. Your average week has Thursday pegged a tantalising twenty-four hours before Friday. It's a sunrise away from the weekend. Only a clock tick-tocking through the seconds before you can raise your hand and buy yourself that well-deserved thank-god-it's Friday drink. If you're very bookish you might think of Thursday Next but usually it's the day that makes you shiver with anticipation for the weekend.
But not this week. Not Thursday 25th October 2012. Oh no. Could any Thursday be a more exciting one? Unlikely.
If you like swing dance, good music, borrowed cigarettes, narrow escapes from the law and stories of Edinburgh's ecclectic nightlife, you may feel green and your eyes may suffer from over widening and you could have the peculiar sensation of turning into a dragon, monster or other peculiar and possessive creature. On the other hand, you also might read this with a level of curiousity that becomes you and you might realise that there are lots of places other than Lulus and Opal and Why Not that can tickle your fancy.
Since they ended up playing first, let's start by discussing the Blueswater. If you're one of the people who've come back time and time again, you might have already heard a fair amount about this incredible twelve piece blues band from Edinburgh (and St Andrews). They've actually had a fair few gigs in the past couple weeks - playing in Cambridge for Clare College, "drunken blues" featuring at the Greenmantle on Nicholson Street as well as their performance last night in the Voodoo Rooms. Not to mention their performance (probably happening as I type) in Aikmans, St Andrews, or the one planned for tomorrow which sees their second appearance in the Greenmantle this month. This latter one I urge you to go to if you're having a mellow Saturday, want a pint and live in Edinburgh.
But last night... let's take you there.
Entering the Voodoo Rooms was an experience - you turn up another nondescript cobbled street, spy the warm orange light that filters down from above a bland red door that led into their basement space, you step into a warm, French Quarter style decadence. With a rouged red smile and a flash of flapper fringe dress, you discard your coat and step as close as you can to that world of opulence and jazz. The show has already started, the guitar licks across the sound speaker, Felipe's voice growls out a song you swear you'll learn the lyrics to sometime soon, Sneddon's saxophone soars between heady bass beats. The floor thrums. Step towards the bar, spy the girls in their twirling dresses swinging as if it never went out of fashion. Gin and tonic, glass of wine, whatever takes your fancy. The evening has begun.
The Blueswater performed a number of their usual classics, ending with their enthusiastic 'Got My Mojo Working' as they so often do. Rounding it off, there's more than one call for 'one more song', just as they did when their stripped down 'drunken blues' last played Greenmantle. Wry smiling Felipe shakes his head, giving the stage up to the new kids in town: Rob Heron and the Tea Pad Orchestra.
Now these guys are slightly different. Infused with that infectious speakeasy, country soul they play a mix of hokum blues, gypsy jazz, that nawlins drawlin' sound peeling out from their casual 1930s swing. Heron himself has a wonderful quality to his voice, a bygone nasality with a sly tone. Alongside a chatty mandolin, a sneaky accordion and a slap-happy double bass, if they'd shown up in Carolina I wouldn't have thought twice... nor if they'd appeared in Nashville or even down on the Bayou. Quite simply one of the most enjoyable take-backs to America I've had since I returned to the beautiful grey streets of Edinburgh. Would you guess they were from England, Newcastle to be exact? Probably not if you only listened to this explosive mix of southern music but that's part of the charm.
After all of the hilarity, the third glass of wine and a self-conscious jig at the back of the room, the Voodoo Rooms turfed the bunch of us out and off we went to Twist-and-Shout, a new 'rock-n-roll and northern soul' night hosted by FreshAir. It's a monthly thing and probably up there when it comes to ranking on the nightlife in Edinburgh spectrum. Admittedly the new venue was a little strange, eerie green lights glowing portentously over the crowd as if honoring All Hallows and the slippery floor hardly benefiting from the numerous discoloured drinks spilt across it. Compared to Third Door, the place was massive and because of the large smoking area upstairs, the suitably grand seating area and the spacious dancefloor... this time it was slightly too big for the music. Luckily, Anna and Vicky were fast into a space by the speakers and we were able to rock the joint alongside the various band members that came along.
Funny story though - since Vicky and Anna had travelled from St Andrews for the Voodoo gig, they had a car which of course us girls in our heels shotgunned before the boys had a say. Jumping in we make our way down the Cowgate (found out recently it was actually closed to non-taxis when we were driving through it), to the Grassmarket and then... up the Grassmarket. Flashing lights and reflective paint make us pause half way up -
"It's a doctor's car!" Insists Anna.
"Is there any reason why you ladies are driving up a one way street," asks the policeman two minutes later.
"Ohhhh we didn't know." Vicky smiles apologetically as she speaks, "We're so sorry, we're not from here."
Luckily we make a three point turn and go back the way we came without too much fuss but the giggling relief that bubbled up between us as we drove away is certainly worth mentioning.
Now, I think you can imagine the grin curling my lips as I finish this post - not just because the last two weeks have been brilliant, not just because the Blueswater were playing and not just because all the beasties are coming out to play tomorrow night as upstairs turn their flat into a Little Den of Horrors.... but because really, who doesn't feel like dancing when a place you thought you knew suddenly gives you something else to be excited about.
Oh yes, this is also my fiftieth entry as The Scribble Bug and for some unbeknownst reason, over 3000 of you have wasted your time reading the previous forty-nine posts - so thanks for that - I hope some of you found what you were looking for although better luck next time to the chap who landed here after google searching 'slutty sorority girl'.
