The Scene is set.
Tonight, in this modernised bar, the glammed up indie guys and dolls come out to play.
Guy's aged between 16 and 21 flock around the bar clad in almost identically styled clothing. Leather jackets and torn jean's, both on further inspection, a size too small for the wearer raises the question between myself and friend's as to whether these guy's can walk comfortably in these so obvious restrictive clothing.We decide,probably not.
They're buying pints by the gallon and smoking more marlboro red's than The Strokes do in a month. These are the eptimome of our local indie scene. The gorgeous pretty boys who we indie girl's stare at in absolute fascination, and whilst filing our red chipped nail's on the bus to college, dream about having their arm to cling onto.
They treat us like princesses, buying us drinks and tempting us with expensive cigarette's, they tell us we are doll's among women, that we make them want to write beautiful song's and call us "darlin'", yet..yet, when the music begins to play, they are long gone.
Music to these guy's is life, the very soul of them. It's not just about chord's, and note's it's the very life force of them. The air they breathe.
So me and the girl's sigh as they slip away toward's the stage area. I then realize i have a job to do.
I'm here on my first journalism job, well, ok not really as official as it sound's, i'm just going to try my hand at reporting on a gig and see how it turn's out.
The band are playing now, three of the finest indie boy's are taking the stage and setting up with a air of confidence hung about them like mist. They look like they belong in New York City, with the pretty boy look's and fashion sense to rival that of band's like The Strokes and Jet.
They're obviously confident at being in the spotlight, in fact, it look's to me as if they couldn't give a damn at whether they are playing a crowd of ten, one hundred or even a hundred thousand, they seem to have this unshakeable faith in eachother, and their abilities, so they know they can't go wrong. ever.
You may call them ignorant, maybe even egotistical, and i may even agree with you there, but in all fairness they talk the talk and can walk the walk.
Any idea's of them being all attitude and no real talent is shattered when they begin to play.
They are every inch the rock n roll band, with their messy yet tidy hair hanging in their faces, cigarette's in their mouths and nonchalant poses, and as they play the crowd are in a frenzy. They know that this band is something special, out of the ordinary.
These guy's might very well be the future of british rock n roll.
The frontman's voice fill's the room, he's singing with a deep gravelly voice, much like the famous drawl of Julian Casablancas, and he's playing his guitar like a white Jimi Hendrix. No exaggeration there.
The drummer has his shirt undone, revealing his perfectly toned and tanned chest, he's playing with such enthusiasm,keeping his eyes on the kit, or ocasionally from under his curly fringe, his eye's flit up to the bassist to his left.
The bassist is standing with aloofly, like many do, his hair around his face and across his downcast eyes, hide's him from the many lustful stare's being put on the band,his finger's effortlessly glide across his instrument and he bites his lip in concentration.
They play mostly cover's including a storming rendition of "Rock n Roll" by Led Zeppelin before launching into their trademark version of Jimi Hendrix's "Voodoo Child" during which they build up the tension by a prolonged break before the chorus, it last's almost a minute, all of their eye's are darting from one another, as they make sure they all release the build up at the same exact moment. and then it's there, they whip into the chorus and everyone cheer's. it's a wonderful moment.
Suddenly i see the look the front man/guitarist is giving his drummer, it's a quizzical look, and i see him mouth something to him, before the drummer nod's and smile's widely, his perfect teeth gleaming across the room.
The Drummer stand's up, and all that's left is the bassline and the guitar..and then he's standing next to the frontman/guitarist and he is being handed his guitar. The bassline continue's ever steady as the two prepare to join in. The Drummer-now-turned-guitarist rip's into the solo of "Voodoo Child" with outstanding vigour, his face contorted in pure concentration as he forces the note's out of the guitar, it's as if him and the guitar have melded into one being, everyone i see are staring in absolute awe at this young talented man, and god,it's not hard to see why.
The Bassist has held his line throughout the whole song, and look's as if he's not even broke a sweat, the frontman is banging a simple yet fitting beat to add to the song, and it's an amazing climax to the set.
It's as if the three of them were in engaged in some ancient energy raising ritual. The room was buzzing with the energy they'd built up, the room was alive with magic. It felt strange to be in such a wonderful atmosphere
And then it was over, the guy's are being cheered off and i blink as if coming out of some sort of trance
And if music has that sort of effect on me, then it must be some good shit.
I managed to talk to the guy's later, and told them that i must be a groupie, to which the frontman laughed and said "Darlin you're head's not right" every inch Casablancas there. "But yeah, sure, hell we haven't ever had that said to us before" he added making me smile widely.
Needless to say much more drinking and smoking followed and i chatted to them amongst other indie people. It was a memorable night.
I danced til the early hour's of the morning to many classic indie rock song's and one lyric particularly stand's out to me
"Did you see the stylish kid's in the riot?"
I did, it was us.
Current Mood: creative
Current Music: Voodoo Child-Jimi Hendrix