Finally, the sun is shining, which means it must be festival season. All across the land, students are updating their FB status to tell you just how AMAAAAAAAZING Download is gonna be because NIN are on, only to change it to inform you how awesome Def Leppard were when they get back. Bestival go-ers are packing their pickernick baskets, and the interminable hordes of morons who spent £100 on a Glasto ticket BEFORE THEY ANNOUNCED WHO WAS PLAYING are polishing their finest paisley patterned wellies.
1: Despite being a professional pilot in his spare time, Iron Maiden’s diminutive frontman Bruce Dickinson actually suffers from a crippling fear of heights. “I just don’t like looking down, that’s why I never grew taller” said the pint-sized air raid siren.
2: Maiden’s legendary manager Rod Smallwood is actually the proud owner of a small wood. After buying several hundred acres of the New Forest in 2001, Rod had every single pony driven out or shot. “I’ve never trusted their long faces” Said the grumpy impresario.
3: The South American leg of Maiden’s mammoth 1980’s ‘Somewhere In Time’ took a turn for the worse when the band stopped at a roadside stall to buy some Strawberries. Unfortunately they ended up blowing the next month’s tour budget when an accounting error left the band not realising that Ecuador’s exchange rate is the wrong way round, meaning each punnet cost nearly £30,000!
A pre-LadyHawke show for Tommy Sparks, and it seems that the forthcoming fame has gone to their collective heads, with a late arrival on stage and a short set. Fortunately for those braving the chilly evening and that unique toilet smell that pervades the venue, it’s a short shot of bouncing, savant-guarde pop that goes down a storm with the jaded Barfly crowd.
A roasting hot day in the city, and The Last’s dingy interior offers some respite from the packs of dogs and wobbling drunks outside Old Street Tube Station.
It’s a Thursday, and despite things being quiet, Vice Magazine are launching a Brazilian issue, and the lure of free rum filled Caprianhas has lured a few desperate Hoxton style pirates from their holes. The entire Canadian Hipster population of London sounds like a band in it’s own right, but it’s actually the vocal crowd who’ve turned up to support Kate Stellmanis and her able percussionist Maya.
Sunday night, and something decidedly indie and mainstream for the staff of DownTuned, as we brave both the East End and a style of music that doesn’t include a pig sacrifice, strange days indeed! But while the dodgy boozer next door doesn’t fill me with confidence for the evening, things pick up on entering the Troxy’s glorious 1930s art deco environs, complete with balcony booths and even a bloody carpeted dancefloor-god alone knows how they get the stains out…
It seems like the country air and pies are doing young Pete a world of good, as he ambles amiably onto stage in fine fettle, actually filling that suit for once, and launches into a lone acoustic version of “When the lights go out”, and sets the tone for this evening, one of shambling, good natured fun with the newly christened Peter and a few celebrity great mates.
