Eat. Drink. Boogie. Repeat

Why Sleep When You Can Dance?

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'.

Je serai poète et toi poésie,
SCRIBBLER

The Blueswater : A Belated Review

THE BLUESWATER
A Belated Fringe Review

This review was originally written for Fringe Guru as a response to 'Blues', the sell-out, award-winning show put on by The Blueswater at the Edinburgh Fringe 2012. As it happens, the review was never published (nobody can say why) and yet it's been sitting here, unedited on my computer ever since. I kind of feel that I even want to write a new one in lieu of their performance on Friday 21st September at the Jazz Bar, but you'll probably have to wait a bit longer for that. The tweaking process has now been finished and only a month too late you have it, you heard it here last: The History of Blues!

* 

There are a few things that a different about a city like Edinburgh and one like New Orleans. Born between piracy and prostitution, the Crescent City seems hardly comparable to the Athens of the North. It’s a city where the languorous Louisiana drawl lilts along its story like flotsam drifting on the Bay whereas Edinburgh’s brogue rambles with purpose. New Orleans is loud and effulgent, burning with the promise of hundreds of deadly cocktails in takeaway cups and glittering plastic beads whilst Edinburgh’s shadow looms over us, buzzing with voices and vitality and all the secret places that are waiting to be discovered. But both cities contain a little bit of magic, histories steeped in myth and folklore, music that beats the same rhythm as your battering heart. It’s true, maybe you haven’t discovered it yet, but if you think that you need to cross the Atlantic to hear some of that ole fashion'd Nawlins sound, you might want to think again.

You don't need to buy that $800 ticket with American Airlines. You don't have to spend fourteen hours sitting around an airport, cramped into economy class seats or battling through more drunken tourists than you've ever wanted to know existed on the ever-buzzing Bourbon Street. Instead, if you can survive the crush of the Royal Mile, fit through the doors of the Space on Niddry Street and leave all liquids over 100ml outside the theatre, you can taste the Creole spice as the Blueswater practice their own brand of voodoo-hoodoo. For a measly £7 you can stop sniffing round the door after the faint scent of a sazarac and experience a 12-piece band performing a synopsis of blues music across the decades, spanning from B.B. King to Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Jimi Hendrix to Muddy Waters.

It’s an iconic opening – the simplicity of this first performance, completed by the luxurious trips of the harmonica (Gordon Jones) and guitar, keeps the crowd rolling into their seats, murmuring, wondering whether they should be silent or if this relaxed atmosphere is what they can expect. With eyes that follow his audience, Felipe Schrieberg’s rendition of R.Johnson’s Me & the Devil transforms the black, expressionless stage into a space full of anticipatory welcome. When the tune comes to a close a satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, the tension rises as he launches into the origins of the song and the style and the singer. Here is a man that can captivate an audience and keep them, spellbound even before he brings out his inner witch-doctor for a wild-eyed version of I Put A Spell On You.

Schrieberg and Jones are quickly joined by a roguish brass section, their wry-smiling guitar duo, a cheeky looking drummer, nodding bassist and three enchanting ladies on keys and backing vocals. Among this motley selection of characters you have the charismatic Luc Klein on trumpet, whose ability to just-keep-on-playing-that-one-note has you breathless (when he’s perfectly fine); you have Rebecca Sneddon whose saxophone makes sounds I didn’t know could be made on a saxophone; you have the stick-twirling drummer (Paul Archibald) whose arms go so fast you wonder if they might fall off and you have Charlie Wild whose ‘guitar-hero’ status moves the show out of the realm of the delta blues and into rock’n’roll. All of the group bring something intrinsically theirs to the mix, nurturing the music as if they’re playing it for the first time but with so much skill and togetherness that it belies their dedication. Even when they lose that tightness, they remain organic, rolling with shifts in tempo and catching up when additional verses appear. They are skilled and obviously passionate about what they do.

It’s impossible to stop that enthusiasm from catching. Feet tap out the beat, secretly jiving along to the rhythm whilst the lady in front lets her shoulders roll and sway. One couple actually jumped up, moved to the side and broke out the swing dance. Despite the show being partly educational, the energy never drops. The ‘history’ itself, this fifty-five minute synopsis of the blues is humorous and quick and for the layman their coverage is ideal. Including names and songs and references that appeal to those with only a rudimentary background in the genre, they explain chords and reveal facts then open up the next tune and invite you to get your mojo working.

You don’t need to know much about the blues. You don’t need to be craving gator-on-a-stick or have a penchant for a mint julep. You don’t even need to be oblivious to the rest of Edinburgh’s musical scene. This is a show that you will be able to claim as your Fringe highlight at the end of the night. You’ll probably also leave singing and bemoaning the lack of a proper dance floor, ready to spill out into the revelry and head down the Cowgate. You won’t find anything quite like the Bluewsater though, so luckily for you, you can acquire their cd and sign up for their mailing list and rest assured that they’re playing in Edinburgh again soon.  

You’re a fool if you don’t see this show.

*

Listen to them here: http://soundcloud.com/blueswater-collective

Buy their CD on iTunes!

Je serai poète et toi poésie, 
SCRIBBLER

Life of a Lunatic - Edinburgh Fringe 2012

Life of a Lunatic - Edinburgh Fringe 2012

Music, Words and P.A.R.T.Y.

Its taken almost three whole weeks to piece together everything that makes up the Edinburgh Fringe and turn it into coherent words. It's not quite like any other experience I've ever had and I have the feeling that it would never be quite like this year ever again either. As a Fringe Virgin, descending into the colourful, crazy furore of the city was a little bit like living in the mind of a video game designer strung out on amphetamines whilst watching One Day and listening to the Trainspotting soundtrack. There are so many adjectives that could be applied to this hotchpotch month but I have the feeling that relating all the performances and shows and street acts and flyerers and all the rest would likely be rendered meaningless. Instead, there are certain moments that stand out, nights and days whirled round and remembered in retrospective nostalgic delight. 

Just a warning. This is kind of long. 

This was the Awesome Space on Niddry Street 

The story actually begins weeks before August, with job applications and interviews, but you can read about that in my Summer Summary. I could then tell you about introductions and inductions and training days but those aren't all that interesting. The only thing that genuinely is important at this point is this: this is where I worked, The Space on the Mile  / @ Niddry Street. 

Everyone loved Niddry. It was a chilly, single venue that sat an audience of 102 and took up the back of the Raddison Hotel. It had no space to queue arriving ticket-holders, except outside (as you see in the rain) and we had one man who saw one of our longest lines, decided it must be a night club and ambled in to see a musical called The Last Five Years. Admittedly, our beloved space did sit opposite 'alternative' nightclub Hive, but still we had a giggle or two at his bewildered expense. The most important part of all this though, was the team. 

This summer, between the bus across America and working in London and now the Fringe, has been a summer of new friends. The difference is that when turning up to hop on the bus, you're meeting the people you're going to be spending the next 28 days with, there's a part of you that automatically wants to make nice with everyone. Similarly, on a predominantly male bus, it's best to muck in, there's an element of convenience and underneath that convenience is where you find the genuine people. Sure, you end up closer to one set of people than another - I don't think that Jon or Liam could ever be replaced and if there's anyone as cool as Janice (shiny or otherwise), I'd love to meet them. But in Edinburgh, you don't have to play with the kids that break your toys or only want to beat you at monopoly. There are so many eccentric, wonderful and bizarre and brilliant people that if you don't like someone, you don't have to pretend that you do. For me, the people you meet during the Fringe are the people you always dreamt of meeting but always assumed belonged in books and films. 

This is probably epitomised by TEAM NID-RAD-2012. 

We worked together. We had your mum lines. We ate late-cake and we told in-jokes that mostly rode on Chris's 'banter bus'. We had late nights. We had early mornings. We lay on the floor after the last show went in and listened to Power Ballads. We went to parties and danced like idiots and sang until our voices were lost.We ate together and drank together and very nearly died together. 

I don't think there's anyone that I don't think of fondly. 

Rhiannon

There was Rhiannon, our lovely manager and one of the sweetest, funniest people I've met. She has a squinting eye for the idiots who come into our box office and a quip or two up her sleeve for when her team acts like morons. And there was supervisory special agent Stella who might be one of the weirdest people on the planet. She's quirkier than the word quirky and has phenomenally bad taste. With a wicked sense of humour and a severe haircut, I'm wondering if I can persuade her to move in next month. She also pulls off a wonderful one-eyed panda. 

Jenny, Rosalind, Leyla, Stella & HC
(left to right)

Then there's Jenny. One of the two sparkling characters that came to live with me throughout the Fringe (the other is the effervescent  Leyla who is named after the song and is a definite Berrocca addict). Jenny's probably the girl you want to go to for recommendations on what to see at the Fringe, nothing she chose to see seemed to be anything less than fantastic and her obsessive radio loveage meant some awesome conversations. Hunter Claire, resident American and artiste makes the yin to Stella's yang with her deadpan jokes and enviable telephone manner. Clare, a bouncy Durham student and Zoe, the token Scot, make up the rest before you have the TECHIES. 

The Niddry Team was three: Chris, Jim and Pavel. If there are three other men with a dirtier, more deviant jokes in their repertoire, I don't want to meet them. These three do quite nicely. 

But do you know what made the team even more awesome and amazing? In fact, more awesome than the Awesome Show (possibly the worst show I've ever seen. Ever.) It was the ease of everything. We worked on caffeine and we lived on laughter. So that's very nice. And then we had shows that really were awesome at our venue too and there are even more people that I think I need to mention.

Let's start with one of the groups that we housed during the Fringe. The Fourth Monkey were one of my highlights during the festival. With six shows, some original, some interpretations, some straight performances, they had a dark, magical repertoire behind them. 

4.48 Psychosis

They had Sarah Kane's 4.48 Psychosis (that I reviewed here) and Elephant Man (a play that was nominated for the Freedom of Speech Prize by Amnesty International). The company is run by a fellow called Steven Green, one of the most interesting men I met. His team is brilliant and his troupe are supremely talented actors and actresses. If you ever have the chance to see them I would highly recommend that you do. 

The other group (I don't think any account of the Fringe would be complete without them) is the Blueswater Collective. With the charismatic Felipe centre stage and the twelve-piece band completing the sound, they're well worth a listen, if not £8 for their fish-eyed, professionally produced and mastered CD. Of course, by this point, I'm an avid fan and so if you follow that link you'll end up in soundcloud and you can listen to a selection of their live performances and judge them for yourself. 

Blueswater Collective - Review Coming Soon

Two of them, Luc (trumpet) and Charlie (lead guitar) came to stay at the Magical Flat 82 in the last weeks of the festival, having been turfed out of the place they'd been squatting in. Complete with bag (yes, singular) and trumpet, the two made a nest out of our living room which was rather fun.  They're both uniquely talented in the sense that they carry themselves with that particular level of ingenuity that lends itself to their performance. I don't know if that makes sense. Charlie's late-night pop songs were epic - I still miss my rustlers every time I walk/trot/scamper past scotmid - and Luc's pretty good at giving us a twirl in the kitchen to make us feel special. The two of them are incredibly similar and totally different at the same time and quite unlike anyone I've known from home or school or the US or anywhere really and as with Team Raddry, I'm so unbelievably glad that I know them. Actually, both of the boys are trying to move to Edinburgh (which would be amazing musically and generally) so fingers-crossed on that one and if any of you readers see any staff wanted signs....?

But I think this is the end of this post.

An Empty Niddry two days after the Fringe Ended

We've gone through people, we've touched on the shows... there's just too much to cram into this kind of medium and I don't know what to say next or what not to say next. There were parties. There were tears. There were unstoppable giggles and stupid mistakes. There were miscounted coins and misread signals. There were late night conversations that made my heart skip because it's been so long since I've wanted to talk or listen that long. There were yellow submarines. There were bags of food hung from trees, tantalisingly out of reach. There were glowing, incandescent, marvellous people - too many to illustrate here.

And that was the Fringe for me - all the people, all the life and vitality and possibility and inspiration and everything, everything just seeming so exciting that you could burst. The desperate tiredness at the end is forgotten behind effulgent days that stretch out, burning and wondrous. 

Je serai poète et toi poésie, 
SCRIBBLER