Its time to face facts. I have an addiction.
Last month, after the session in the Blues Bar, I was in denial. But its no good. After last night at the Jazz Cafe in Camden I have to admit it.
I'm hooked on live music.
What a fabulous show. The support act played with the kind of amplifier-shaking gusto that only comes from the certain knowledge that you've only 3 or 4 songs to get through before the main event. This they did with enthusiasm and demonstrated that every song does not need a 15 minute guitar solo in the middle of it. Band-I-Saw-In-The-Blues-Bar; please take note.
I whooped, I cheered, I shook the hand of the singer, I bought the CD. I fought shy of the t-shirt. It seemed excessive.
Initial worries that the support act were going to upstage the headliners were soon dispersed into mass of bodies at the front of the stage. After a keyboard intro that distressingly put one in mind of a tune from the Outrun video game of the 80s, the main event made themselves known. Although I'm still unsure why the lead singer felt the need to wear flying goggles on his forehead and a lampshade over his hair.
Artists, eh?
The rest is all a blur of light and noise, save for a break from which the singer returned, er, a changed man. My friends and I speculated on the quantity of white powder he'd put up his nose behind the scenes while his band demonstrated their cleverness.
I loved the whole thing. Being able to do this and see this makes up for a lot.
I need my next fix, and so am scanning the papers for another interesting venue and gig.
Somehow, dressing up as a nun and singing along to Julie Andrews tonight is going to seem a bit of an anti-climax...
