Right where do ya begin with this month of May shit? Normally at this time of year I go to ATP in Camber Sands with a load of mates. And normally at the end of it I hibernate for four or five days while the entire experience leaks out of my system as I suffer hideous, crawling hyper-real William Blake style flashbacks. These normally consist of me looking at myself objectively from the corner of the room (like those people who nearly die in hospital) jumping up and down for four hours on a printed camber sands mattress to Float On by modest mouse played on repeat, or tribally banging wheelie bins at 6 in the morning with gap-year students from england and chanting sonic youth songs to the breaking dawn. And on Sunday we all end up battling the fact that we have an encroaching and sick realisation that monday morning will replace hedonistic ATP madness with a nauseating flight home where you try to read as much of the in-flight paper as humanly possible in order to crowd the insistent chalet related horror stories out of your sweat drenched head. Not to mention the bugs and spiders. On Tuesday, you'll think you had the most fucked up time of your life, but by Friday you'll be telling everyone that ATP is fucking mega and you can't wait to do it all again. Its a conflictual conundrum. This year
Thrillpier did it for us all (minus much of the the mad shit, cos his head is screwed on right and he loves music more than making a spa of himself). You can read his in depth analysis of the whole affair on his blog. Just click back on the link.
Aside from all that, I really wanted to talk about a gig. Animal Collective in Whelans last night. I am a 27 year old man. I've seen a LOT of gigs. They put on one of the best gigs I ever saw. I bet most other people who were there think the same. This was a gig to write home about. It was adventurous, mindblowing, colourful, and thrilling. I felt brand new synapses unravel in my brain as it progressed. The blinding multi-coloured striplights behind them caused a friend of mine (David) to comment that the whole affair reminded him of the sci-fi movie close encounters of the third kind, like some kinda extra terrestial force was communicating with us. I loved it. I could go on here but I won't. Animal collective live are savagery. They are pure unadulterated savagery. :)
Hipsters at the animal collective gig
MP3: Animal Collective
Who could win a rabbit
12 comments:
I thought they were 'anuldrated' savagery as well
minus much of the the mad shit, cos his head is screwed on right and he loves music more than making a spa of himself
We'll talk. You want to hear about Conrad from Trail Of Dead's guitar tech not letting him come back to our chalet to party because he had to play the next day or the completely binned and freaked lost scouser that we invited in for a drink and talked him down when when he got completely lost from his mates and we saw him gurning like a madman at us through the window?
Or the girl that attempted to sell us "mescaline"? I don't know much about native american cactus based psychodelics but I do know they come from a fucking cactus and not from what looks like a penny sweet.
typo corrected storkboy ya pedantic sap
Spaceship landing! I wasit was such a good gig scared !
L
It's still spelt wrong ha ha.
U N A D U L T E R A T E D.
mescaline does look like penny sweets, prob a peyote button. Not that I eat them on my lunch break or owt
thanks storkboy you get a glitter star in your copybook and a good kick in the 'nads from the school bully on your way home.
eh that was me who said it was like close encounters to you and david in the queue before the gig ya sap!
mescaline does look like penny sweets, prob a peyote button. Not that I eat them on my lunch break or owt
Nah she was just some chancer out to scam some unsuspecting saps. "I made them myself, I put the mescaline in them. I'm on them now, they're sooooooo great."
David said it to us at the gig. You could sue him for ripping ya off!!
Did someone say "sue"?
Man, do i wish i saw THAT gig.
I'm completely and utterly regretting going to the Animal Crackers gig now. It was the best gig I've ever been to see (bar Steps, obviously), the most awe-inducing, tribal ritualistic sexfest I'd imagined they could produce. But because of it nothing else quite hits the mark. Sunset Rubdown left me cold. Bruce Springsteen (all 80 Euro of him) was like listening to an iPod in a park with 35000 inebriated middle-aged folks. Food all tastes like rice crackers. Even the fizziest of drinks taste like tap water. My libido resembles that of a castrated Maggie Thatcher.
Life without Bearhug and Fireworks medleys on demand is life without fizz. Thanks a LOT Foggy Notions.
Built To Spill will make it all better though!
yes indie bar dan, yes. I wrote somewhere else that it sounded like the beach boys were booted into the future and ended singing through a thundering rip in the space time continuum. But animal collective. Why waste adjectives trying to describe the fuckers? I traded in adjectives and they defeated me. They kill adjectives the way some sort of rare disease is killing all the world's bananas. Look it up.
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