Go Sweating

 Melt Yourself Down, Melt Yourself Down. Let’s see. It’s got a triangle in it, a woman falling from somewhere, a pink emboss effect on some powder, a palm tree! Sorry about the exclamation mark. Well, that’s it for the cover. I remember going to see Acoustic Ladyland at the Spitz in Spitalfields market almost ten years ago. They were pretty good in my memory, avoiding the Madness youpla-feel and the long jackets with gold dust on the lapels.

 Now I am listening to Iggy on Spotify and I am slightly sickened by the messy night of funk this saxophone is promising me. Om Konz is nearly finished, rewind to the beginning and you can hear James Chance (lazy from my part, there are about a hundred jazz punk bands and I should have picked another one I guess, but maybe not). The old Chance who, by the way, has really screwed up with his latest Incorrigible! from 2013. Don’t be fooled into nostalgia, or any sense of gratitude, by the first two songs. Nor by the fact he has a French backing band, Les Contortions, mais oui!

Actually I’m fouling myself right now. I am listening to the album and it’s perfectly acceptable – I am talking about Incorrigible!, not Melt Yourself Down, nor Last Chance Disco. Not sure why I thought it was shit the first time. Anyway, if you’re wondering what I’m blabbering about, James Chance recently collaborated with Acoustic Ladyland. And Melt Yourself Down, who are part of Acoustic Ladyland, is the title of a Chance limited Japanese release from 1986. So there.

Ok, what do I think about the Melt Yourself Down album? I don’t think you care. But I have found a great place in Stepney. Yes it’s exciting. It’s a reconverted sweet factory turned into Art studios. There’s also a mosque, a 24h mini cab, and a fetish club. But more importantly there is a great venue. It’s small, it’s not a speakeasy, it hasn’t got a terrace with a tipi and a floor covered in sawdust, it doesn’t rip you off, it doesn’t ask you to book and not to tell your friends where to find it. It had Jamie Cullum recording a video for his latest single on Monday night but we’ll forget about that because it sells Dubonnet for £3.50 a pop and… actually, no, that’s it. DUBONNET!

 Last Friday, a glamorous (and I don’t mean fat or tarty) lady, Florence Joelle, was playing there with her band. Great rendition of Fever, half in French. Ah yeah, while I’m at it, it’s not Cabaret or Burlesque or sniff-my-panties either. Last time a group of Romani were celebrating their friends' birthday and we all did a bit of line dancing on some great Congolese rumba. Burkina Faso Mboka Liya was on the guitar, playing with Grupo Lokita.

 Now you may think I’m a filthy liar but I’m not. I don’t know what this place is, and it might just disappear, or I’ll wake up and realise it cannot be that perfect, or Shoreditch (which I still love in a way, just being caustic as one should) will find it and pimp it and crush its fresh and kindly heart.
Maaannn, just seen three seagulls chasing a blackbird down the road. Couldn’t see if the bugger managed to escape.

Right, ok, get on with the programme. The place is called Jamboree, it’s on Cable St. Whatever, I don’t care if you’ve already been. I like it. And yes, it’s in Shadwell but I prefer to say Stepney. Just go and see for yourself. And bring your sweat.




PS: p french is pissed off with me because I haven’t written a review of the Allah-Las’ gig in London last month. And now alainfinkielkrautrock are all over them. Well the gig was good, just got in a mood because I spent ages trying to get served. But I got one of their t-shirts for my birthday. Wahey!!

pix: Grupo Lokito, Burkina Faso Mboka Liya in red shades