Monday, October 27, 2008
"...do you still love me?"
8.29 On Time
Liverpool - no matter which direction you come at it from (and we seem to find a new approach on every trip) it's dismal as fuck.
Rows of once grand terraced houses neglected, shuttered and seemingly beyond repair, empty industrial units, abandoned pubs, the kind of shop that took its most recent delivery in 1975 but is still selling stuff off, guaranteed sightings of at least three decaying floral tributes fixed ominously to fences and lampposts. If David Simon were English ‘The Wire’ would’ve been set in Liverpool.
Anyhow, not being one to allow unremitting grimness to spoil the fun, the scene was set for a cracking night out. An early meal at Delifonseca (plenty of choice, amenable staff, decent sized portions - but not so much that you were in danger of not being able to manage a pudding) followed by the long awaited Evening with Dean Friedman.
‘The Cavern Club’ was a dreadful venue. Each time the door opened we were treated to a blast of whatever was playing in the front room; and the set gained some unexpected percussion from the bar staff chucking empties into a skip tucked away in the corner. However, true professional that he is, Dean rose above it gave us what we wanted – plenty of the old stuff!
If Charlie & Perfect thought I was kidding when I told them ‘Well Well Said The Rocking Chair’ was a big album back in the day, the sound of a crowd of thick-set 40-something blokes word perfect on 'Lydia' surely sowed the seeds of doubt – improbable as it seemed maybe I was telling the truth after all….?
It’s a shame he didn’t respond to shouts for ‘The Deli Song’ (“Hey Louie, there’s a weirdo at table four in back – he’s singing…”) as I’m convinced we could’ve pulled it off. But of course it is Lucky Stars that ratchets up audience participation to a whole new level.
On the way back I betrayed a considerable lack of sophistication by being astounded at the sight of a young woman standing outside a club wearing just a bra and pants beneath her umbrella. Apparently this is quite normal for Liverpool.
Quiet Coach (and no book today)
Liverpool - no matter which direction you come at it from (and we seem to find a new approach on every trip) it's dismal as fuck.
Rows of once grand terraced houses neglected, shuttered and seemingly beyond repair, empty industrial units, abandoned pubs, the kind of shop that took its most recent delivery in 1975 but is still selling stuff off, guaranteed sightings of at least three decaying floral tributes fixed ominously to fences and lampposts. If David Simon were English ‘The Wire’ would’ve been set in Liverpool.
Anyhow, not being one to allow unremitting grimness to spoil the fun, the scene was set for a cracking night out. An early meal at Delifonseca (plenty of choice, amenable staff, decent sized portions - but not so much that you were in danger of not being able to manage a pudding) followed by the long awaited Evening with Dean Friedman.
‘The Cavern Club’ was a dreadful venue. Each time the door opened we were treated to a blast of whatever was playing in the front room; and the set gained some unexpected percussion from the bar staff chucking empties into a skip tucked away in the corner. However, true professional that he is, Dean rose above it gave us what we wanted – plenty of the old stuff!
If Charlie & Perfect thought I was kidding when I told them ‘Well Well Said The Rocking Chair’ was a big album back in the day, the sound of a crowd of thick-set 40-something blokes word perfect on 'Lydia' surely sowed the seeds of doubt – improbable as it seemed maybe I was telling the truth after all….?
It’s a shame he didn’t respond to shouts for ‘The Deli Song’ (“Hey Louie, there’s a weirdo at table four in back – he’s singing…”) as I’m convinced we could’ve pulled it off. But of course it is Lucky Stars that ratchets up audience participation to a whole new level.
On the way back I betrayed a considerable lack of sophistication by being astounded at the sight of a young woman standing outside a club wearing just a bra and pants beneath her umbrella. Apparently this is quite normal for Liverpool.
Quiet Coach (and no book today)
Labels: music
