Weather's shite out, the place is packed, its noisy, somewhere at the back some bleached blonde women shreak and cackle to themselves, but at the front, on stage, a lone chap plays semi-acoustic.
Maybe these women have come here for some valid cultural reason, maybe they're sheltering from the rain. So then is it really necessary for them to take photies of each other gurning for the camera? Having the time of their lives perhaps? Apparently so.
The chap on stage, Bela, from Iceland, is rather good, doing that thing with his guitar, playing both low notes and high notes, at the same time. High dynamic range stuff always impresses me, regardless of the media.
In this environment though, I doubt the lyrics matter much. I'm crouched on the corner of the bar, face in a West End Festival brochure, surrounded by faintly familiar looking people, who I'm sure are in bands.
Ah, bands, next up are Mia Beane and the Asthmatic Scene. I recognise the girl, rather wholesome looking, dark eyes, pale skin, dark hair, flowery dress with a large pink bow.
The music sounds a little like the start of Housemartins songs, I'm thinking Happy Hour. Funny that what the Housemartins managed as a four-piece, these guys do with seven folk.
And people in the crowd, dancing, its a good effort, but their pleading with friends to join them distracts from the music.
Alas, also I'm strangely distracted by this really cute girl, looking to burst into a smile, her eyes vanish into wee horizontal lines when her friend says something funny, and she has these little comma shaped dimples. Maybe I could ask her if she likes flying kites or something. Oop, she glances this way. Maybe its best if I just scribble in my notebook instead.
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