A Day Like This

So I went to see a gig by everyone's favourite Hackney-Canadian-Yanksters, the The Kissing Time and it turned out that their support band had failed to show, and just for a laugh, I suggested that I could play an acoustic solo set ha ha ha, but the KT's actually took me up on it!

So there I was, up onstage, playing Aphrodesia, the first song I ever wrote, with extremely GOFF lyrics by Mika Eve, and The Shoegazer Song With No Key, and Canadian College Radio Chart Hi, Channel Heaven (for which Catty joined me on harmonies) and an utterly ramshackle version of In Yer Room with Ruth and Cat, for which I completely forgot the guitar riff (besides, my uncalloused fingers were killing me by that point) so we sang the whole thing a capella. And it was glorious!

So shambolic acoustic solo gigs are actually muchos muchos fun. Must play more.

The Kissing Time are growing more and more into their new, stripped down arrangement, ditching the sequences and drum machines for live percussion. Ruth stands at the front of the stage, and bangs a stand-up tom, like a cross between Moe Tucker and her out of Low, lazily flicking tambourines off her hip with one hand as she plays trumpet or sings with the other. It suits them. And the harmonies... oh, the harmonies, gentle and unexpected, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but sing along.

Leaving the KT was a hard decision to make, nearly a year ago. But as I watch them grow, I realise that I enjoy watching them even more than I ever enjoyed being in them. Especially in such a lovely, laid-back place like the Windmill, that totally matches their voibe.

And Cat gave me a copy of their new demo/single. I cried the first time I heard it, it was so lovely, and perfect and crisp and beautiful. I listened to it over and over, on endless repeat, the next day, utterly entranced. Honestly, when friends give me demos, I try to listen to them once or twice, and to offer positive criticism, but I could not stop listening to it.

A Day Like This is sad and majestic, but ultimately uplifting, something beautiful to come out of the horror of 7/7, even though I wept and wept like a baby, and stupidly, drunkenly sent a text message to Liz's phone, even though I know it was probably blown up, hoping that the sentiment, that I missed her, would reach her, somewhere in the ethersphere, or heaven, or wherever she is.