Last Saturday the evening started off earlier than usual. Around 7 I met up with an ex colleague of mine that quit her job about a week ago; over a beer in a little green area close to the south entrance of London Fields, she was telling me how happy she was for her decision to leave and have a fresh start. She made me think (but that's for a different post). The day had been amazing, a proper summer afternoon, and you could see some people making a move from the park to the pub, where Mo Farah was getting a new medal.
The evening continued with some Brazilian friends joining us at The Cat & Mutton pub. I quite like that place, could be a bit too hipster sometimes, but the music upstairs is OK and it has a cool vibe. I bought the first round and started telling everyone about this great reggae gig I was going to, trying to convince them to join me. I knew there were some lost cases, but I thought I had a chance with others; to my surprise, this Brazilian bunch was not very attracted by reggae. Apparently you need to be lying on the beach, with the warm late afternoon sun on your face and an ice cold beer in your right hand to be in the reggae mood... difficult to find here in London. Their loss anyway.
So I jumped onto the 26 bus and got off somewhere in Shoreditch, walked 3 minutes and I was at The Bedroom Bar, where East Park Reggae Collective was about to start the show. I paid and went past a big scary doorman, almost without looking at his face, that scary he was. Already inside I had to do a bit of an expedition to find my friends; the venue was actually quite big, and had these kind of ethnic beds upstairs, with a reddish light, I could definitely see a wild techno party going on there after the show, the environment was perfect. When I finally got hold of my friends we went downstairs where the band was about to start.
The show started with probably one of the best things of the night: the presenter. This guy, dressed in an eighties Ska style (the jacket, the shoes and of course, the hat slightly moved to one side) went on stage and started presenting the band... he started off almost as if he wasn't very convinced about what he was doing, but after a couple of words we turned into a William Wallace of gigs, and we were as excited about watching a Yorkshire reggae band as the Scottish before Stirling battle. What an intro... I remembered a few years ago in Buenos Aires, when a local ska band called Dancing Mood would have also this kind of vintage presenter to warm up the audience. Note to self: get a good presenter next time I play live.
Then EPRC kicked off. The first thing that struck me was the base of the band, I mean the drums and bass combo. I had a strange reaction, because I was expecting that perfect marriage between these 2, that iconic reggae mark leaving all those empty spaces to be filled by little details and beautiful melodies. That never came, but instead we got something different: powerful drums playing more electronic-like grooves, and a bass guitar with life of its own. The marriage was broken, but I didn't care. The peak of these 2 was at some point when they joined forces with the keys (actually a robotic synth at that point) to play a proper dubstep groove. I realised this wasn't traditional reggae when I saw the crowd (myself included) shaking heads and torsos up and down in an energetic and almost spastic movement.
The show went on, with EPRC taking us in a journey of catchy melodies led the 3-piece winds section, minimalistic guitar sounds and some cool explorations by Johnny Tomlinson on keys, apparently responsible for most or all of the song writing. Everything beautifully conducted by the voice of Anna Stott... but she deserves an extra paragraph.
I have to confess, I had a bit of a crush for her for a couple of minutes. I don't know if it was the great singing or just the way she moved on stage; she looked and danced like a 1950s mermaid, leaning back and lifting her half bended arms up, playing with her wrists, almost like doing an ancient tribal dance to light up a bonfire. I couldn’t get my eyes off her for a while. She was the queen of the stage, and we all knew it.
I should probably say the crowd was OK but not like the one I've seen in other gigs in Dalston or Brixton. My guess is that Shoreditch is the coolest boy in school; he has loads of friends, gets along with almost everyone, but never fully understood that skinny boy with dreadlocks that wears baggy pants, scruffy t-shirts and sits on the back watching the birds outside the window...
The gig then finished just before one. I had lost my tube back home, but that was part of the plan. And I didn’t care too much about it because it was a perfect time to stop at Brick Lane and get my favourite after midnight treat: a hot salt beef bagel.
How can I sum it up? A great night. Got my chance to see some live English reggae and these guys nailed it, daring to go further and try some other cool stuff as well. Yorkshire... keep ‘em coming!
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