The Rumble Strips

The Rumble Strips shouldn’t have anything to prove, really: headliners on this year’s Topman NME New Music Tour; support slots for Amy Winehouse, The Young Knives and Dirty Pretty Things; top ten highlight band (alongside Klaxons, Mika and The Twang) in the BBC’s Sound of 2007 panel-presided compilation. So why would they need to ply their bouyant blend of ska-folk-indie at a gig ostensibly arranged for ‘the industry’? The imminent release of their debut album, Girls and Weather, possibly has something to do with it.

Recently, under the giant orbiting disco ball at Canvas, the West Country four-piece stood in tasselled sailor garb and Tex-Mex trucker facial hair in a manner befitting The Blue Oyster. However, all ‘YMCA’ presumptions dissipated once the brass-kicking, à la Dexy’s Midnight Runners, began.

Thrust onstage at near last-tube o’clock, The Rumble Strips were forced to follow an heightened sense of eclectic support from the experimental wanderings of Tunng to the metal-cum-prog antics of Datarock. Sadly, though, their high tempo exultant melodies were lost on the inebriated VIP gremlins quaffing on free Moët.

Their opener, ‘Hate Me You Do’, was jolly in its immediacy but lacked the command that later materialised during the ponderous track, ‘Motorcycle’. It was then that parts of the crowd were stirred into a cockney knees-up.

The band’s performance, although ebullient and highly proficient, was surpassed by the booming vocals of frontman Charlie Waller. The former Vincent Vincent And The Villains member roared his way through the feet-pounding sax appeal of ‘Alarm Clock’ and the stirring ascendancies of ‘Oh Creole’ (an ardent pining of Zutons’ ‘Valerie’ proportion). Straining boggle-eyed and taut, it appeared as though the previous owner of Waller’s down-the-market 2nd hand clothes was attempting to use his body in a paranormal voodoo séance.

The Strips’ overall onstage presentation was as chaotic as an evening with The View and as blustery as a Maccabees-powered wind tunnel. The only problem was the lack of vitality shown by the distracted audience. Deserving of better, The Rumble Strips could draw worthy comparisons with the kings of gypsy, Larrikin Love, especially during their pre-album/pre-production period.

Ooze

62 Goodge Street W1T 4NE

Soho media urchins, Warren Street architects, Tottenham Court technology junkies – the following concerns you, so pay attention. During the week you may experience an extreme loss of think-jazz in your revved-up nonce, usually around the high noon mark. This is then followed sharply by an indecent assault from within, as your appetite has a little paddy and you seek a conduit of indulgence.

With this in mind, therefore, here is your RECIPE FOR A UNIQUE MODERN BISTRO EXPERIENCE.

What you’ll need:
1 ripe hip-daddy area. Some people like to use common or garden areas such as Clapham’s Northcote Road or maybe even Angel’s Upper Street but on this occasion, judging by the locality to your work/play, Fitzrovia is a worthwhile substitute.

1 fresh idea that’s simplistic and ingenius, such as the versatility of rice. After all, half the world’s population survives on it, so it must be good for you.

1 brightly-lit venue. Draw from the pragmatic and avoid garnishing with ostentatious kitsch. Heavy interior use of mirrors, cheap wooden furnishings and plastic surfaces will suffice. This ensures that straight-from-the-IKEA-catalogue aroma.

3-4 interesting concepts: risotto without the Parmesan and butter glop; express risotto (such as pancetta, broad bean and rosemary) for those half-hour lunch breaks; risotto in various low fat/low salt combos.

4-5 key staff members with an obvious passion for risotto

4-5 key staff members that couldn’t actually give a toss (drunk whilst at work is always a good option)

1 catchy yet slightly unusual name. Try to avoid any connotations with mud, seeping injuries and radioactive leaks however (such as Ooze) as it may scare the children.

Now that you have assembled your ingredients you’ll want to make sure that noone goes hungry, so ridulously large portions are a must. And always leave the food standing on the side for a while to expell all that unwanted heat. Luke warm risotto is all the rage (apparently).

Then, when approaching the affordable menu, be sure to throw in a few bland sprigs - such as the semolina-through-a-rinse-cycle Classic Clam - as this will give the other dishes a much deeper, richly textured appeal.

At this stage, it’s worth noting a few important dos and don’ts as well:

Don’t overdo it with the cherry tomatoes. Not every dish needs tomatoes.

Don’t dabble with the range of interesting pestos (chilli), super salads (pink grapefruit and mung bean) or grills (swordfish steak). You’re here for risotto and nothing else.

Do go for the sliced sirloin with red onion, red wine and rocket risotto. As colourful as it is consistent, it’s the heavyweight champion of risottos.

Do get the saffron, gorgonzola and walnut risotto (but only if you’re vegetarian)

Do ask the staff why only one of the chefs is versed in the art of Tirimusu, as you were quite keen to give it a try.

Do opt for the panacotta and seasonal compote when you’re told the Tirimusu is not on.

Finally, before leaving, make sure you pick up a handful of in-house products such as the bottled olive oil produced by Sting. You’ll get plenty of satisfaction from the label once you read the ‘message in a bottle’ recycling puns.

Oozing with exotic promise during lunchtime rumblings, but a recipe for disasters at dinner. Otherwise, 7 out of 10

The Printer's Devil

99 Fetter Lane EC4A 1EP

Dark clouds hang heavy over The Printer’s Devil. Looming corporate HQs heave and sigh all around and cast the pub in constant shadow. It’s name is hidden by a shroud of ‘To Let’ signs and is only visable when approaching from the front (via a car park). This does not bode well. Listen hard enough and you might even hear the maudlin toll of single church bell, the ominous caw from the blackest of crows and the opening chorus of The Omen.

Everything here is grey or black. Not least those that dare to enter, whose garb is that of pin-striped slaves. Most of them look like regulars, but regular ‘what’ is anyone’s guess?

True, this is the city and these hard working teamsters can hardly be expected to change their clothes before leaving their desks. But they are the sort of people that choose The Printer’s Devil because the alternative is an empty home, an empty relationship, an empty fridge.

Wake up you goons, you’re decent people, underneath! The Printer’s Devil is a realm where Lucifer lurks, clandestine and furtive, holding you back, denying you an existence that is so much better. It’s no coincidence it’s situated on ‘Fetter’ Lane. Shackled and bound, every last one of you.

Navigating around this dingy, lugubrious maze is unsettling: natural light fails to penetrate its sad, abandoned-looking rooms; the décor is as dead as the atmosphere; the acoustics favour the cackling workmates on the next table, not the stereo. Plus, the narrow, grimey ‘garden’ area is the same size and shape as a grotty back alley where even mangy pigeons wont shoot up.

However, despite all this there is a glimmer of hope from within. For starters, the service is amicable and there’s free cake at lunchtimes if it’s your birthday. Also, if it’s possible to read by the light of yesterday’s sun, there’s a chance to dwell upon the wine list, for it is a splendidly wicked thing. New world, old world, out of this world – all are covered and at not too costly a price either.

And then there’s the nosh, which is surprisingly top.

The menu is intrinsic for post-work steam-venting when banter, light bites and 10pm shot-guzzling are the norm. Basically, it’s platters. All manner of them, too: homous mezes, serrano ham charcuterie, samosa Asian, artichoke vegetarian – and oddly, all containing the devilishly sumptuous lamb kebabs, a handsome recommendation.

If you’re happy to fill your temple with fluids rather than solids, then so be it (‘it’ being the monster hangover you’ll endure the next day). Whereas those that seek a healthier wall of substance should look to the delicious, affordable, yet traditionally unadventurous lunch menu, which the staff are willing to revive upon request.

Ignore the tasty veneer of batter surrounding the juicy haddock as the accompanying chips can be a tad wilted. Bypass the delightful gathering of pesto potatoes because the sea bass lying adjacent does go a bit dry. Instead, upsize the Tricolore starter and after one bite of its bacon-avocado-anchovy medley you’ll begin to ignore the din. After a second bite the dimness will cease to exist as well. And after a third, you might even start to enjoy yourself.

If this is the best Chancery Lane has to offer then attempt to abscond unnoticed, after taking advantage of the 25% take away discount. Then follow a tramp to the nearest park bench and feel satisfied with your venue of choice. Either that, or go for a nearby pie on the sly (at The Melton Mowbray).

Dark kills light. Menu beats venue. Otherwise 5 out of 10

Portal

88 St John Street EC1M 4EH

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Lord knows, He could try. All manner of damnable sins are in Portal and save you from them He shall not. Lust, gluttony, greed and sloth – they all have their place at Portal. It’s name alone implies a gateway to a world less pious than ours.

Indeed, much like Dante describing his many-levelled Inferno, Portal is peopled by the sleaziest of humans – lawyers, stockbrokers, TV execs, football managers – each of them accompanied by a woman too tactile to be their daughter, too young to be their colleague and too blonde to be their wife.

It’s hard to write about Portal without mentioning ‘Mourinho and the bug’. This was the story in 2006 involving the restaurant and a bugging device used to eavesdrop on the Chelsea manager’s idle dinner chatter. Some theories have it that Mourinho’s opponents were attempting to find out if he’s a 4-3-3 man or whether he prefers something a little more direct. However, there’s no doubt that what the culprits would’ve heard was nothing more than a symphony of moaning, masticating and carnal wailings. These are the sounds issued when superior Portuguese authenticity is regarded for all its worth.

Portal is The Special One. This is the sort of wickedness no human can deny. This is indulgent luxury at its very worst and very best. It cant be good for you, so you’ll do it anyway.

The bar has a voluptuous array of eye-catching species:
- unique wanton liqueurs such as acorn, honey, cherry and almond (and even a brand that translates into “when you get the stiff”)
- sweet, treacly, dry white apéritif muscatels that prevent global warming by negating the need to ever fly to Portugal
- Wines such as the Quinta do Portal Reserva Douro 2003, from where the venue’s name originates
- Port that has been carefully selected by owner Antonio Correia whose knowledge of the drink has earned him a recent invitation to join The Royal Port Society

If the bar is limbo then the restaurant is the second chamber of Sin. What is ostensibly a cow-shed with a duel personality (a greenhouse), the large, open, bright space is deliberately alfresco in its implication. The enormity of the windows, the stripped bare brickwork, the mystery held within the dark stained wood – all combine to intensify the promiscuousness of the visage. Even the bathrooms are stocked with Molton Brown products - a sure sign of perversion.

The food itself is summoned from an open plan kitchen and has a traditional, rustic Iberian persuasion. A magnitude of alluring varietals are on offer but eschew them all, except one. There is but one licentious combination that is more captivating than all the others put together.

The entrée is simple. Foie gras complimented by a1977 Reserva muscatel. You may be inclined not finish it all, as is the etiquette of restaurants such as this, but it is futile to resist the temptation to lick the ‘harmony of two sauces’ from your plate.

Next comes the half-pig half-boar braised bisaro which was not only marinated in wine for 10 days, but also slow cooked for up to twelve hours. That’s tender. As your knife touches the flesh, see how it falls from the bone in submission.

The orgy climaxes in the final part of this orgasmic trilogy - a drunken pear in ‘aletria’. You now become sloth.

Note the reasonably extravagant prices. In order to get the full treatment here you’ll be expected to pay the price. Therefore, save it for a client luncheon (company credit card) or a special anniversary with that young blonde you’ve been seeing. Your secret is safe, the bugs have been killed.

As for the remaining three sins – envy, anger and pride – just watch your friends’ faces when you tell them about your adventure at Portal…it’s discovery or damnation!

Doing for gastronomy what Cristiano Ronaldo does for football. Otherwise 9 out of 10

Urban Inc.

The O2
Peninsula Square SE10 0DX

Do you tire of night outs in chic, classy and imaginatively creative cocktail bars? Do you find the convivial nature of their clientele all too approachable and perhaps a little pompous? Do you crave the good old days of a drink-addled stupour and sharing your dancefloor with a gaggle of sweaty hen-nighters? Then boy does The O2 have a treat for you.

Conveniently located in the middle of absolutely nowhere, about six tube changes and three cans of Stella from your local station (which is probably Dagenham or Epping), Urban Inc is proud to be part of the welcoming O2 complex.

Once you’ve sauntered along the brash Hollywood-style ‘Entertainment Avenue’, mouth agape marvelling at its vulgarity, you’ll arrive at your destination for the evening. And there’s no need to be shy at Urban Inc. As a provincial townie, you are not alone. You’ll feel right at home amongst the drab shirts and Top Shop frocks. These people have the social finesse of a enraged bull. These are your kind of people.

Be amazed by the tawdriness of the disco lights stapled to the ceiling. Stare in wonder at the 80s corrigated mirror facade encircling the entire bar. Stumble about with fits of laughter after glimpsing of the comedy urinals. Does it get any better than this?

Urban Inc isn’t really a cocktail bar, it’s the Red Dwarf docking station. It’s cheapily made, it has wobbly exposed piping and everyone looks a bit alien. Plus, the gaudy space age furniture looks like it’s recently arrived from Planet Ikea, via the Croydon Nebula.

This space station venue is filled with the sort of people who like nights out at Tiger Tiger, shopping on Oxford Street, and think that a decent family getaway involves the words ‘Alton’ and ‘Towers’.

Its two large rooms are not seperated like most other (sensible) bars. No, these rooms share a DJ, so you’re never more than a few feet away from a heady mix of singalong RnB classics and paint-by-numbers House (or should that be ‘Bungalow’?). And if you like it “Hot in Here” just remember Urban Inc is inside the World’s biggest tent so you’re keep nice and clammy for the duration of your evening. Who needs The End when you can have Urban Inc?

The sort of place you’d see Girls Aloud. Before they were Girls Aloud, of course. Otherwise 4 out of 10

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Soho & The West End
Metal Militia (27 Oxford Street),
Bar Soho (23-25 Old Compton Street),
Café Boheme (13 Old Compton Street),
Retro Clothing (75 Berwick Street),
Mister CD (80 Berwick Street),
Endurance (90 Berwick Street),
Music Video Excange (95 Berwick Street),
New Piccadilly (8 Denman Street),
Piccadilly Backpackers (12 Sherwood Street),
Vans (47 Carnaby Street),
Sacred (13 Ganten Street),
Sherry's (24 Ganten Street),
Onitsuka (15 Newbergh Street),
55 DSL (10a Newbergh Street),
Tin Pan Alley (7 Denmark Street),
Andy's (1-6 Denmark Street),
Show Good (33 Short Garden),
Loewy (Ealham Street),
The Maple Leaf (41 Maiden Lane),
The Corner Store (33 Wellington Street),
The Actors Centre (1A Tower Street),
Footes (10 Golden Square),
The Glass Blower (42 Glasshouse Street),
The Warwick (123 Warwick Street),
Flat White Café (17 Berwick Street),
Vinyl Junkies (94 Berwick Street),
Frontier (9 Brewer Street),
St. James Tavern (45 Great Windmill Street),
Merc (10 Carnaby Street),
Lee (13/14 Carnaby Street),
The Face (1 Marlborough Street),
A-Style (8 Newbergh Street),
Shakespeare's Head (2-6 Inverness Terrace),
Wunjo Guitar (20 Denmark Street),
Bass Cellar (22 Denmark Street),
TPA Dums (23 Denmark Street),
Bar Chocolate (26 D'Arblay Street),
Twenty8 (28, D'Arblay Street),
The Player (8 Broadwick Street),
The John Snow (39 Broadwick Street),
Amber (6 Poland Street),
Cinch (5 Newburgh Street ),
The Sun and 13 Cantons (21 Great Pultney Street),
Two Floors (3 Kingly Street ),
Bar Rumba (36 Shaftesbury Avenue),
The Village (81 Wardour Street ),
Cult (Unit 1.2 - 1.4 Kingly Court Carnaby Street ),
Alphabet Bar (61-63 Beak Street),
Garlic and Shots (14 Frith Street),
London Piercing Studios (37 Berwick Street Basement),
Piccadilly Hotel (12 Sherwood Street),
Northumberland Arms (119 Tottenham Court Road),
ULU (Malet Street),
Potion Bar (28 Maple Street),
Marylebone Tup (93 Marylebone High Street),
Shaftesbury Student Housing (Dinwiddy House, 189-205 Pentonville Road),
Black Market Records (25 D'Arblay Street),
Uptown Records (Trocadero Centre, Coventry Street ),
Vinyl Junkies (94 Berwick Street),
Wyld Pytch Rekords (51 Lexington Street)


Bayswater & Paddington
The Backpackers Hostel (78-82 Kensington Gardens Square),
The Lodge (44 Norfolk Square),
The Quest Hotel (45 Queensborough Terrace),
Royal Bayswater Hotel (121 Bayswater Road),
Leinster Inn (7-12 Leinster Square),
Lancaster Court Hotel (204 Sussex Gardens),
Palace Hotel (48-49 Princess Square),
Carnivale (47 Hereford Road),
Hyde Park Hostel (2-6 Inverness Terrace),
West Two Hotel (22-23 Kensington Gardens Square),
Millenium Lodge (26 Princess Square),
Palace Court Hotel (64-65 Princess Street),
Torquay House (1 Torquay Street),
Sandeman Allen House (40 Inverness Terrace),
Hyde Park Inn (48-50 Inverness Terrace),
Elitelodge Ltd (56 Kensington Gardens Square),
London Hostels Association Ltd (New Mansion, 38 Lancaster Gate),
Four Seasons (84 Queensway),
The Bengal Restaurant (62 Porchester Road),
Hair At 17 (17 Connaught Street),
The Porchester (Cnr. Bishops Gate and Porchester),
The Daniel Gooch (40 Porchester Road),
Queens Hotel (86-92 Inverness Road),
Park Lodge Hotel (73 Queensborough Terrace),
Kings Hotel (60-62 Queensborough Terrace),
Manor Lodge (14-15 Queensborough Terrace),
Liesure Inn (40-41 Leinster Gardens),
Pride Of Paddington (1 Craven Road),
Royal Norfolk Hotel (25 London Street),
Fountains Abbey (109 Praed Street),
The Athena (100-112 Sussex Gardens),
The Gresham Hotel (116 Sussex Gardens),
Bayswater Arms (Cnr. Queensway and Moscow),
Adare Hotel (153 Sussex Gardens)


Covent Garden
Bunker Bearhall (41 Earlham Street ),
Boxfresh (13 Shorts Garden),
Mooks (18 Shorts Garden),
Ticket Agency (10 The Arches, Villiers Street),
Walkabout Inn (22 Maiden Lane),
Michael Page (39-41 Parker Street),
Roadhouse (35 The Piazza),
Leisure Exchange (7 Great Queen Street),
Pop Boutique (6 Monmouth Street),
England Rocks Ltd (Unit 28, The Market, The Lower Piazza),
Rockstop Music Ltd (128 Charing Cross Road),
Plastic Fantastic Records (35 Drury Lane),
Pleasuredome (Unit 27, New Jubilee Market, Southampton St),
Pepe (33 Neal Street ),
The Loft (35 Monmouth Street ),
Neals Corner Sandwich Shop (1 Monmouth Street),
City Lit (1-10, Keeley Street),
Mambo (39 Shelton Street),
Crown & Anchor (22 Neal Street),
Rokit (42 Shelton Street),


Kensington
Rushmore Hotel (11 Trebovir Road),
Snappy Tomato Pizza (174 Earls Court Road),
The Court Hotel (194-196 Earls Court Road),
Prince Of Teck (161 Earls Court Road),
Courtfield (187 Earls Court Road),
Windsor House (12 Pennywern Road),
Lord Jim Hotel (23-25 Pennywern Road),
Troubadour (265 Old Brompton Road),
Zetland Arms (Old Bute Street),
Fitness First (29-37 Harrington Road),
Hanley House Hotel (30 Barkston Gardens),
Burns Hotel (18-26 Barkston Gardens),
The Kings Head (17 Hogarth Place),
Café Bravo (68 Kenway Road),
The Duke Of Clarence (148 Old Brompton Road),


Camden
The Black Rose (Unit 27 Stanley Sidings, Chalk Farm Rd),
Inhabittion (Chalk Fam Road),
The Misty Moon (4 Chalk Farm Road),
The Sea Shell of Lisson Grove (49-51 Lisson Grove),
Superfi (2-4 Camden High Street),
North Westminster Music School (Penfold Street),
Dots – The Camden Music Shop (132 St Pancras Way),
Smart Camden Inn (55-57 Bayham St),
All Ages Record Shop (27a Pratt Street),
Know How Records (3 Buck Street),
Lloyds Bar (28A/28B Jamestown Road),
Belushi's (48-50 Camden High Street),
The Liberties Bar (100 Camden High Street),
Music & Video Exchange (281 Camden High Street),
The Oxford Arms (265 Camden High Street),
Tommy Flynn's (55 Camden High Street),
The Cobden Arms (28-30 Camden High Street),
The Camden Arms (1 Randolph Street),
Peachykeen (112 Kentish Town Road),
Quinn's (65 Kentish Town Road),
The Spread Eagle (141 Albert Street),
The Edinboro Castle (57 Mornington Terrace),
The Earl Of Camden (55 Parkway),
The Golden Lion (88 Royal College Street),
Lush (31 Jamestown Road),
The Good Mixer (30 Inverness Street),
The Hawley Arms (2 Castlehaven Road),
Lock Tavern (35 Chalk Farm Road),
Cyberdog (Unit 14 The Stables Market Chalk Farm Road),
Purple Turtle (61-65 Crowndale Road),
The Lockside Lounge (75-89 Upper Walkway),
Lock 17 (18 East Yard),
Chain Reaction (208, Chalk Farm Road),
Dandy (6 Chalk Farm Road),
Episode (26 Chalk Farm Road),
Subways (59 Chalk Farm Road),
Casablanca (34 Chalk Farm Road),
The Roundhouse (100A Chalk Farm Road),
Bar Fly (Chalk Fam Road),
The Enterprise (2 Haverstock Hill),
Scorpion (16 Chalk Farm Road),
Disca Tagration (Unit 516, Stabley Market),
New Rock (218 Camden High Street),
Bar Vinyl (6 Inverness Street),
Channel Films (20 Kentish Town Road, Unit 2),
The Devonshire Arms (33 Kentish Town Road),
Tupelo Honey (27 Parkway),
Bugbear Discs (96 Parkway),
Hope & Anchor (74 Crowndale Road),
The Crescent (1 Camden High Street),
NW1 Bar (32 Parkway),
La Porchetta (74-77 Chalk Farm Road),
Ken Urban (5 Chalk Farm Road),
Phunky Fish (1 Chalk Farm Road),
Dublin Castle (94 Parkway),
Marathon (85 - 86 Chalk Farm Road),
Camden Internet Café (50 Chalk Farm Road),


Islington
Disque Records (11 Chapel Market),
Mambo (8 Parkfield Street (off Upper Street),
ZEE & Co (36 Upper Street),
Tinderbox (21 Upper Street),
Steam Passege (44/45 Upper Street),
Stone (48 Upper Street),
Walkabout (56 Islington High Street (Upper Street),
O'Neills (59 Upper Street),
Ladybird (70 Upper Street),
Sracan Kebabs (89 Upper Street),
The Bull (100 Upper Street),
Vultures Video (133 Upper Street),
Kinky Mambo (144 Upper Street),
Jorene Celeste (153 Upper Street),
Todds Café (170 Upper Street),
The Garden (179 Upper Street),
The Medicine Bar (181 Upper Street),
Hope & Anchor (207 Upper Street),
The Cedar Room (235 Upper Street),
Internet Café (237 Upper Street),
The Junction (2A Corsica Street),
Hen & Chicken (1 Corsica Street),
Charles Café/Bar (290 St Pauls Road),
Firezza (276 St Pauls Road),
Pepperpot (344A Essex Road),
Ocean Wines (198 Essex Road),
Haggle (114/116 Essex Road),
Instandler Pub (84/86 Essex Road),
The Old Queens Head (44 Essex Road),
The Winchester (2 Essex Road)


Notting Hill
Teaze (47 Pemb Road),
Soul + Dance Exchange (42 Notting Hill Gate),
Computer Games Exchange (40 Notting Hill Gate),
The Champion (1 Wellington Terrace),
Sun In Splendour (7 Portobello Road),
Mitchell & Butler (Unit 15 Port Green),
Rolys (Unit 15 Port Green),
Pitta The Great (272 Port Road),
Makan Coffee (270 Port Road),
Portobello Gold (95/97 Port Road),
Oatmeal Records (3 Hillgate Street),
The Hillgate (24 Hillgate Street),
Uxbridge Arms (13 Uxbridge Road),
AAA Cleaning (151 Notting Hill Gate ),
Euro Phil (155 Notting Hill Gate),
Rotisserie Jules (133a Notting Hill Gate),
Rough Trade Shop (130 Talbot Road),
Intoxica (231 Portobello Road),
Kensington Liesure Centre (Walmer Road),
Portobello Music (13 All Saints Road),
Le Cochonet Bar & Restaurant (1 Lauderdale Parade),
Westbourne Studios (242 Acklam Road),
Honest John (278 Portobello Road)

Perry Farrell

Let’s face it, pretense and pomposity, they’re both synonymous with rock and roll legends. It’s no secret Elvis took his personal plane from Tennessee to Colorado just because of a peanut butter sandwich. In more recent times, the unmitigated catalogue of assaults from Johnny Borrell on his comtemporaries proved yet again that he’s a bit of a four-letter word and that his ego inflates far quicker than Razorlight’s popularity. Clearly, for some, it can all go to their heads a little.

So, Perry Farrell: he’s peered through the fractious veil that surrounded the monumental Jane’s Addiction; he’s guest-fronted The Doors many times at the group’s personal request; he’s assumed the position of omnipotent commander over America’s attempt at Glastonbury, Lollapalooza. Surely by now he must be an unhinged and totally unapproachable megalomaniac?

Then again…

“I like curry. I had curry for dinner the day before yesterday and I had chips last night…” admitted Farrell in a buoyant conversation with base.ad recently, whilst touring the UK. Revealing a very personable and highly-sensitive disposition, Farrell not only spoke casually about British food, television and the desire not to covered in urine at the Download festival, but also touched on pressing matters such as global warming, abject slavery and the core ‘Solutionist’ message behind his new band, Satellite Party.

“I have a fondness for British people. What I especially like about the British people is their sense of humour and their sophistication when it comes to music” he confessed, before launching into a tale about watching jazz on the BBC. “It’s amazing that they have these shows that literally try to explain to the audience how music is made and how wonderful it is. The best thing we have in America is MTV and that’s not saying very much, is it?”

Well said, old chap.

Farrell’s ascendency from genuine rock legend to thoroughly nice bloke is demonstrated by his allegiance to a variety of noble causes. In 2001, he stormed into Northen Sudan with “some revolutionaries and abolitionists” and an exceedingly large bag of cash. The Sudanese government had forced many of its own people into slavery there and Farrell “literally traded for human life”. Thanks to his nads-of-steel gumption and humble generosity, 2300 lives were changed for the better. “We got the people back and freed them to go back to their villages.”

More recently, Farrell has concentrated his worldly efforts with a UK-based organisation called Global Cool. “Their ambition is to try to end global warming in a very fashionable way. They’re trying to do it using music as a catalyst for change,” Farrell was quick to mention in his earnest, yet savvy demeanour.

His environmental concerns have also seen Lollapalooza, the “completely carbon neutral festival”, donate funds to Costa Rican rainforest conservation aswell as to the city of Chicago “to beautify the parks and add oxygen back into the air.” He even had the opportunity to share tea and biscuits with Tony Blair during a chat about global warming earlier this year.

Nice one, mate.

“I like to think about making this beautiful change, this revolution solution. One where it feels good and when people contribute it makes their life better and makes them sexier.”

And this is where Satellite Party, with its electro-funk-orchestral-rock, becomes a venerable conduit for Farrell’s ‘Solutionist’ ideal. “I have in my mind what I want to do with the Solutionist movement. One thing is that we’re creating our own multimedia hub using live parties, events, webcasts and blogs.”

Ultrapayloaded is the conceptual end product. And althought it was cobbled together over three years using sticky tape and loo rolls it still blushes with an embarressment of name-droppable friends.

“Flea [yes, that Flea] and I were the first two people to start working on the songs. We’d surf in the morning and in the afternoons I’d make us sandwiches. We’d go into the garage and I’d program beats, sounds and loops. Then Flea would start laying grooves down.”

After that, heavyweights such as John Frusciante, Peter Hook and Jim ‘isn’t he dead?’ Morrison began popping up all over the album. One would assume this was because they too thought Farrell was just a very affable fella.

With the deference of a saint and the bonhomie of a close friend, Farrell further explained his movement, “I’m trying to create a modern myth that new renaissance artists are taking the world over through the strength of their creativity.….One night [in the myth] they’re asleep and coming through their radios is this vast visitation of energy. It’s a callout from the heavens that they’re having a party. The supreme being that’s hosting this party, this Satellite Party, is Jim Morrison.”

True, he may seem anachronistic and he may have felt more comfortable in a Magical Mystery Tour era, but wow, what a great geezer, hey?

Carbon

Old Quebec Street
London W1C 1LZ

Aside from sheep and Take That there isn’t much that is cloned as frequently as a London bar. Yet, despite its name, Carbon is definitely not a copy. Sure, like most venues in the capital, it’s got four walls, a bar and an Antipodean general manager, but that’s where the similarities end. It doesn’t do pints, it hasn’t got a happy hour and it most certainly wont turn you away just for wearing trainers.

Carbon has rejected the retro post-modern Avant-garde mainstay. It’s starting its own industrial revolution. Where once candlelights and faux chandeliers were acceptable, now they’re usurped by concrete walls, steel girders and chainmail curtains. It’s stripped back and simple. It’s mechanical and commodious. Basically, it’s the grown-up equivalent of a warehouse rave. Especially as the DJ spins out house music from his altar suspended above the bar.

Carbon is not interested in what you do for a living or who you Dad plays golf with. All it wants to know is your name and what you’d like to drink. Then it sets its comely waitresses the task of ensuring you have a good time. They are aided and abetted by a team of dark, rakish gents behind the bar who are more than willing to proffer the exceedingly strong house speciality, the Cullinan – a champagne cocktail so brilliant it puts its £220million Crown Jewel namesake to shame.

The ground floor is where the hoi polloi eyeball one another from behind martini glasses. The dimly-lit, clandestine mezzanine, however, is perfect for patrons of the famous, courting or just-plain-shy variety.

Carbon is a lot like Clapham’s White House in many respects. Only it has marginally fewer beautiful people and consequently marginally fewer over-inflated egos. Plus, it is blessed with Molton Brown lotion in loos.

Tony Blair would do well to choose this as his local once he moves into Connaught Square. Otherwise 8 out 10