I don’t usually write on here with band reviews and the like (although heaven knows why, because since I started blogging on Vox I’ve seen some corking performances, including Jane Birkin, Ladytron, the Prodigy, Brett Anderson and a double dose of the Manics). But lately I’ve been feeling even more love than usual for my fabulous local boozer, the Fox in Lewisham, and their regular live music events organised by the rather wondrous TwoBob.
But before I tell you about the band I saw last night, first let me set the scene. There are parts of South East London, like Greenwich and Blackheath, in which it’s socially acceptable to be seen. Those areas have their own small but vibrant scenes, with cocktail bars, cinemas, restaurants, music venues and all that type of thing. These places are listed in Time Out, or the Metro, and they are considered by many to be a pleasant destination for an evening of well-behaved frivolity. But areas like these are the exception rather than the rule, the few and far between hubs of light and warmth in an otherwise bleak and hostile landscape. And all around them, there are still large expanses of South East London that are nothing but howling wasteland, populated only by mangy rabies-infected foxes, savage, grunting half-humans and the occasional ball of tumbleweed being blown down the dilapidated streets.
Or at least that’s the way it feels sometimes when reading the listings guides.
And that’s why I’m shameless about singing the Fox’s praises. Put bluntly, round my way we’re far from spoilt for choice. But having such a friendly and cheap pub within walking (or stumbling, on the return journey) distance makes a world of difference. Maybe it’s because I’m getting lazier and more cantankerous in my old age, but lately I haven’t got the energy or patience for the epic, Lord of the Rings-style quest across London to be ripped-off, jostled, and given attitude by pilled-up Shoreditch trollops and their limp-dicked, tight-trousered boyfriends in hideous vintage garb that would have been overpriced at 50p from the charity shop it originally came from, but that they probably paid £50 for from a soulless Brick Lane boutique.
And the band I saw at the Fox last night completely reaffirmed my conviction that I’m not missing out with my xenophobic, witch-like reluctance to cross the river into North London. David Goo and his seven-piece band were a frenetic whirlwind of howled vocals, violin, cello and guitars. Sort of like Gogol Bordello, except louder, faster and much more hypnotic. The last thing you want from an audience is that statue-still, folded arms pose, usually accompanied by a cynical stare and a sneer. But with David Goo onstage, the entire audience was laughing, singing, dancing and cheering, and even bowed down to the bassist during their grand finale. But whilst they’re hugely entertaining, they’re definitely not a novelty act. With eight people on stage, it could have easily been a shambles, but they were so tightly rehearsed that their set was a slick, storming celebration. Even Z, ever the stalwart cynic, loved every second of it. So bravo to TwoBob for putting on another brilliant night. It’s a dirty (and I’m sure at times massively frustrating and stressful) job, but someone’s got to do it. And I’m glad it’s them. I depend on them for my cheap liquor and weekend entertainment, and they’ve never yet disappointed.
