Weird day.
After escaping the cross-atlantic clutches of my new boss (who manages to motivate me to the same extent lions motivated Christians in ancient Rome), I fled to a discussion at Tate Modern. “The changing face of art and audience”. Hold on to your seats, folks. Unfortunately, as these things often do, it spiralled into mild navel-gazing over issues too far-reaching for a panel of 5 with 90mins, however it was interesting (and depressing, in a way) to see just how naieve some people are in British creative organisations, about the importance of online metrics and recordable usage statistics, etc., and to find out only about 2 in every 100 Brits watch Cultural TV programmes. And they’re mostly over 55. I guess that makes me the odd one out.
Now, half an hour along the Jubilee line from Tate Modern on a Thursday night gets you to The Luminaire, which won the NME’s ‘best UK live venue’ at about 10pm. It’s a great, intimate space (with SUPERB flyers – see below); very similar to King Tuts Wah Wah Hut in Glasgow (nominated also), but with more of a 50s lounge vibe. It’s noticably clean, and the stage features a domed ceiling and disco ball directly above the band – a nice touch, as the reflected globules of light fall across the audience and not the band but behind it. I’d not been before, yet I could tell I was going to like the place when before I’d even stepped foot in it I spied a sly thigh and kneehigh sock through the tiny window behind the ticket clerk. It belonged to one of a pair of willowy, raven-haired mods by the name of The Tall Poppies, and pleasently tall they were. And harmonious. Later a French duo appeared – the guy a spitting image of Caligari’s Cesare – the girl managing to take being French, long brown hair, a lowcut dress and base guitar and …. (incomprehensibly) not come out being anything like the sex bomb that this equation warranted. Though she did shake her legs adorably whilst playing. They were called “John & Jehn”, and as my buddy pointed out, one could well imagine them repeating those names to each other whilst locked in a really creepy kind of coitus after the show. Any doubt as to their place of birth was quashed by Jehn’s refusal to do an encore because, well, she just didn’t feel like it 
I spent the train ride home overhearing the sound of a recorded video on a passenger’s phone, of her friend trying to feed her baby ice cream.
Weird night.
. Drove through a deluge to Queens stopping on the way to pick up a big-haired columbian who talked alot, but not a word of English. Saw my flatmates play jazz til 1am. They’re really good, which is a bonus. They played on a stage suspended from the ceiling by strings (see pic). Oh, and need a torch as the lights are out in the entrance hallway/several flights of stairs.