www.betika.co.uk
Chris, Imogen, Carolyn, Lee Dutch and Nic Beard drove up to see Deerhoof at The Scala on Monday. I find it always helps on resonably long journeys such as these to have a few car-based games to help pass the time - an old favourite is "car!dog!car!", the rules of which are fairly simple; If you see a dog, shout "Dog!", and thereafter, when you see a car, shout "Car!", each and every time you see a car, until such time as you see another dog, at which point you shout "Dog!", and remain silent until you see another dog, at which point you shout "Dog!", and begin shouting "Car!" again. And so on. This game works best if one of the occupants of the car is easily annoyed by repeptitive shouting that if driving along a busy road quickly begins to resemble the sound of a colony of seabirds. It can get quite exciting if you're approaching a motorway where there's going to be an awful lot of cars but almost certainly no dogs - will there be a dog, or won't there? Oh God, please let there be a dog!.
On Monday we concocted a slightly more advanced game, based on car makes. Chris, Imogen and Lee were in a white Peugeot, and Nic, Caz and I were in a pretty much identical car somewhere on the same motorway, but we didn't know whether they were ahead of us or behind. Just in case we passed them, or vice versa, to make it clear who was in the better car, we decided that every time we saw a Peugeot, we'd act as if we were having the best fun in the world EVER, rolling our heads back with laughter and sipping imaginary cocktails. This evolved to encompass other manufacturers, for example if we saw a Ford we'd pretend to be having an argument ("Look, there's a Ford!", "NO IT ISN'T!!!"), if we saw a Mitsubishi one of us would pretend that the others had kidnapped them, and if we saw a BMW we'd attempt to affect a Thousand-yard Stare. We were pretty bored.
The 'hoof were absolutely stunning, and I got to proplerly enjoy their set this time, unlike the show at The Fiddler in Bristol last year where I spent half the gig in the loo with digestive issues, and felt pretty cheated as a result, so I got some unfinished business-type closure-joy too, if you know what I mean. Though that was of little signifigance next to the monumental happiness brought about in me by the four people up on the stage. The way they play together is somehow jaw-droppingly tight AND sloppy, a lot like the Magic Band I guess, but where Beefheart can be unsettling and sometimes a bit disturbing, everything Deerhoof do is filled with humour and warmth, but not humour in a cheesy way, or a clever-clever Frank Zappa way. Maybe in a Japanese way? Anyhow, I don't think there's another band I've ever seen or heard that has simultaneously done that. Or done it so well at least. I said hello to Greg the drummer briefly afterwards, he looks a lot like Tim from The Office, but I didn't say so, or ask him if it was deliberate. Very nice bloke. I got him to sign an autograph, then I gave it to him to keep, so he'd never forget who he was. Oh, and we bumped into the guitarist from Stout, who was there at the creation of the Pink Hulk cocktail at the Joiners, we thanked him, and learned that his name is John.
The journey home, punctuated by the traditional Fleet Services toilet-break, was spent trying to remember what Terrence Trent D'Arby's hits were (after Caz or Nic started whistling "Wishing Well" for some reason), and trying to remember who recorded "We don't have to take our clothes off" around the same time, because I always thought it was TTD'A, but recently learned that it wasn't. (Google has just revealed that it was Jermaine Stewart, not Jackson on Greer, as was suggested somewhere round Virginia Water).
I've finished a new song this week, it's called "The best thing ever", and it's the closest thing I've ever written to a lovesong. By this I mean it includes no direct biological references, merely allusions of a similar nature.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
