Alternative Evensong

Lambchop, St George's Church, Kemp Town, 29th October 2008

Around this time last year I wrote about an Iron & Wine gig at which the polite heckle "that was brilliant, thanks!" amusingly summed up the typical contingent at Brighton's loveliest music venue, St George's Church in Kemp Town. Last night we were back at our local house of worship to venerate before Nashville legends Lambchop, at a buzzy but surprisingly not sold out show. Eccentric crooner Kurt Wagner and his mightily accomplished band took a bold risk by reeling off their latest album in its entirety - a rite (as they themselves admitted) usually reserved for classic works by iconic rockers. But it was the perfect setting in which to pull off such a move - the courteous middle class crowd sitting in quite reverence, gracefully accepting the new material, then exploding into appreciative applause on cue. Wagner seemed genuinely touched and surprised at how well it went down, and rewarded us with an extended encore of old favourites plus an unexpected and utterly genius cover of Talking Heads' 'Once in a Lifetime'.

Video by Dan Peters on Flickr.

I can't speak for the rest of the audience, but personally I hadn't had a chance to give the new album a listen before the gig - it had only been out a week or so before I disappeared to Hungary. I've always enjoyed the laid-back introspective offerings of Lambchop's previous (and prolific) material, but was pleasantly surprised at the more upbeat selection played last night - loungy and soulful, and peppered with the usual country and post-rock influences, it certainly tickled my own particular musical taste buds. It's not often you get to hear a new album for the first time in this context, and it felt like a rare privilege indeed.

Back in Blighty

This time yesterday I was eating marzipan flavoured ice cream from a little backstreet gelateria in Venice (jealous?). It was the last day of an all-too-brief holiday following on from my Hungarian dental excursion - more about both to follow. We didn't have internet access during the holiday bit, which meant I couldn't blog as I went, but it was actually very relaxing to step away from the laptop and live in the 'real world' for a few days. A tiresome sleazyjet flight got us home late last night, and it was straight back to the office this morning, with the usual mountain of emails awaiting. I've yet to shed that post-holiday chilled feeling though - all I have to do is close my eyes and picture the glistening Adriatic sea and I am right back on that idyllic Croatian coast (sigh). It will probably wear off by the end of the week, but I may as well enjoy the buzz while it lasts. Oh, and in case you were wondering, my new teeth are settling in nicely. I would post photographic evidence, but I despite several attempts, we have been unable to capture a toothy-smiled picture of me in which I don't look like a complete loon. I guess I'm more of a natural pouter.

One More Day

Going to bed last night I felt like a small child on Christmas eve - knowing that the next day I would get my shiny new teeth installed at last. This morning we took the now familiar walk down to Dr Ten, only to discover that the dentist was not 100% happy with the bite of my implants and other crowns, and would need to make a few minor adjustments before the final fitting - so I have to go back again tomorrow.

After all the build-up, I was a little disappointed, but then having waited over a year to get to this point, another 24 hours doesn't seem like much, and I'm glad that they are making a thorough job of it. We stopped for a compensatory cup of tea and a cake on the way back to the apartment, where Ant made a much more moderate choice than yesterday's gargantuan confection (pictured). I think he's finally realising that biggest is not necessarily best when it comes to cakes.

Road to Recovery: The Final Stretch

Last time I was here in Hungary I never wrote about my experiences, because it was all too traumatic, and anyway, I was far too worn out to put pen to paper (or rather fingers to keyboard). I came in April of this year for the first stage of dental implants, and various other repairs to my teeth, following a nasty bicycle accident the previous August. Like many other Brits, I was forced to take the 'dental tourism' route because the NHS would only provide dentures, and I would have had to re-mortgage my flat in order to pay for implants privately in the UK. So here I am, back in the little provincial town of Hódmezõvásárhely (pronounced Hod-mez-oh-varsha-hey), a couple of hours south of Budapest, on Hungary's Great Plain. It's not somewhere you would choose to come for a holiday, lacking as it does any real attractions or activities, but is a pleasant enough spot in which to convalesce. We're staying in a comfy little apartment right near the main town square, close to all the amenities, and only a short walk from the dentists' surgery.

As I write this, Ant is off swimming (or more likely laying around in a jacuzzi) at the thermal baths around the corner. I would have joined him, but am not allowed to submerge my head under water at this stage of treatment, which makes swimming far less enjoyable for me. Thankfully, the most invasive part of the implant process is now over, and tomorrow I will have the prosthetic teeth attached, followed by a few days of check-ups and tweaks, before (hopefully) the whole ordeal is behind me. Unlike the last visit, which involved several days of sleeping off sedation and coping with uncomfortable stitches in my mouth, I have been able to get out and about a bit more this time. The weather has been extremely mild, and even though the trees are in full autumnal swing, it feels more like summer by British standards. Next week we are due to travel by train to the north Croatian coast for a little celebratory holiday, during which I plan to eat my bodyweight in pizza, and do very little else. I think I deserve it.

Nine Years of Togetherness

Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of my first date with Ant, and an excuse (as if we needed one) to drink Champagne (well, Prosecco actually) and reminisce about our courtship. It all began back at Waterstone's in Brighton, where we were both working in the summer of '99 - me on the ground floor in Biography and he right up the top in Computing. It's no secret that I thought he was gay when we first met - the bleached hair, loud shirts and obsession with shoes seemed to suggest as much. But after he returned from walking down to Cornwall for the eclipse, newly shorn, tanned and buff, I was eager to find one way or the other, and initiated some flirty chats over cups of tea in the staff room.

It took him a few weeks to ask me out, and even then it was a casual 'I've got a couple of passes to this magazine launch with free gin, fancy coming along?' I was living in Eastbourne at the time, so arranged to stay with some old friends in Hove, and agreed to meet him at the Ha Ha Bar, opposite the Pavilion. It was the one and only time he arrived before me for a date, and I can still picture him sitting casually on the back of a bench, wearing a green Komodo shirt and his pea jacket, grinning as I walked up to greet him. Bombay Sapphire was flowing (literally) freely inside - I don't even like gin, but on a bookseller salary you couldn't afford to turn down free booze, and I think we were both in need of some Dutch courage. There were no seats available, so we found ourselves a cosy windowsill to sit on, and stayed there chatting until closing time.

Mobile phones were still a novelty back then, and we used that as an excuse to exchange numbers. I seem to remember he had a shiny silver one and mine was a burgundy housebrick with big rubber buttons - I still have it in a drawer somewhere. The only conversation I remember distinctly was a debate over what sort of dog the Littlest Hobo was (it's a German Shepherd, in case you're wondering) - which resulted in a bet being waged by which the loser had to treat the other to dinner at Al Fresco. Clearly this was some sort of cunning plan on his part to ensure that we went on another date - though I don't think we ever did resolve the dispute, so one of us must still owe the other a meal.

Not wanting the night to end, we took advantage of guest list places on offer at the Honey Club, and wandered down to the seafront via the Lanes. Our first kiss was whilst dancing on a podium together; my stomach still flutters to remember it (too much gin perhaps). After the club we sat on the beach until we really couldn't put off going home any longer (we both had work the next day), and I floated off back to Hove, while he headed for his place on Whippingham Road.

A few more dates ensued before it became 'official' - around the same time that he left Waterstone's to start a job working in New Media in London. We moved to London together the following February and spent a year living in Streatham before the lure of the sea brought us back to Brighton, where we have remained ever since. Like any long-term couple, we've had our ups and downs, but when I look back over our relationship it's mostly laughter and adventure I recall. So many fun holidays - India, New Zealand, Sweden, France and Belgium (to name but a few), all those illustrious parties, getting married and buying a flat, adopting our lovely mogs; the list of happy memories is a long and ever-growing one. I'll drink to that!

More Than a Little Bit: Lykke Li live at Concorde2

Born out of a distinctly camp musical heritage that boasts Abba, Roxette and Ace of Base as its biggest names, blossoming starlet Lykke Li boldly reinvents preconceptions about Swedish pop, without entirely turning her back on those kitsch musical roots. I was originally turned onto LL by one of my new friends (thanks Chantille!) in the woods at Latitude, but failed to catch her set there because I was dragged to Julian Cope instead (and what a let down that was). I bought the album on the back of the recommendation though, and absolutely loved it. Then last Thursday I finally got to see her live, at the Concorde 2 in Brighton. It was a really buzzy occasion, heaving with Brighton hispters, and filled with that sense of privileged anticipation you get when you know you are in on the start of something big.

Strikingly statuesque and classically Nordic in looks, Lykke Li exudes a maturity and sincerity beyond her 22 years as she strides confidently around the stage in hotpants and baggy top, ironic bling jangling. Though her repertoire is currently limited to one album's worth of songs, she delivers these, plus a couple of obscure cover versions (including Wendy Renee's 'After Laughter') with accomplished conviction, and the promise of more delights to come. Deftly executed catchy pop hooks and minimalist electro arrangements make this irresistibly infectious listening, and soon the whole room is bopping along. There are quieter moments too, with tenderly voiced bittersweet love songs like 'Little Bit' tugging the heartstrings of those of us who recall the naive uncertainty of post-adolescent romances. Clearly the two blokes in front of us never experienced this, as they continue to shout at the top of their voices throughout, until Brian puts his teacher hat on and gives them a right ticking off. Go Brian! But apart from such minor annoyances, it was an excellent gig. Even the support band, Micachu, were pretty good, mixing up Bluesy sentiments with laptop jiggery-pokery and live Samba rhythms to intriguing effect.

Of course, Lykke Li isn't the only one to be making Swedish music cool again (check out the wigdet below for further recommendations), but she is doing it particularly well. I'm not saying it's challenging or even very sophisticated listening; just highly listenable pop - if quirky female electro-pop in the Goldfrapp/Feist/Camille vein is your thing, then you will love Lykke Li.

A Candlelit Dinner for Two

Yesterday was the 15th anniversary of my 18th birthday, and as a special treat I'd asked Ant to take me out to dinner, just the two of us, at a surprise venue. I genuinely didn't have a clue as to where we were going until he lead the way off the pavement of Marine Parade into the Drakes hotel driveway. A very subtle little sign revealed that we were headed for The Gingerman restaurant, which resides in the basement of the hotel. Gingerman is a local chain of four that started with one restaurant on Norfolk Square and now includes two gastro pubs - The Ginger Pig in Hove and The Ginger Fox in Albourne, as well as this branch in one of Brighton's swishest boutique hotels. I hadn't been expecting anything so posh, so was glad I'd worn a frock rather that jeans (I'd been told 'smart casual', so it could have gone either way).

When we arrived it was fairly quiet in the elegant-yet-cosy basement - the staff were friendly and attentive, and remained so even when the restaurant filled up later on. From an extensive wine list I picked a white Rioja - described as being 'toasty on the nose with citrus undertones' - which went down very well. We were brought a bowl of juicy green olives to keep us going, as well as appetisers in the form of a little fried cheeseball and shot glass of chive-flavoured froth (just don't think about cats and grass when you're eating it) delivered on a slate coaster. I chose wild mushroom ravioli with mushroom broth to start, followed by spinach and crotin pithivier with white onion puree, spinach and a cep veloute. I didn't know what a pithivier was, and was expecting something fancy, but it turned out to be basically a little pie filled with goats cheese. The combination of pungent Crotin cheese and crumbly puff pastry was lovely, but I craved something clean-tasting to cut through the tanginess of the cheese - green beans or fresh salad leaves might have worked better than wilted spinach. But aside from these minor gripes, it was a delightful meal.

Ant seemed more than happy with his choices (venison, followed by fish), and the modest portions meant that we both had plenty of room for dessert. Soufflé is something I have so far failed to conquer in my own kitchen (they either collapse or go inedibly solid), so I decided to try someone else's to get an idea of how it should turn out. I'm not sure if I've ever actually eaten one before, and imagined it to be something light and fluffy - somewhere between a mousse and a sponge perhaps. What arrived was more like a soggy yorkshire pudding, with a faint taste of blackberry. I wasn't keen, so after a few mouthfuls, salvaged the remaining ice cream from the middle (where it had been placed by the very enthusiastic waitress), and let Ant finish it for me. It's not that it was a bad soufflé (apparently), I have just decided that I don't actually like soufflé after all - the perfect excuse to abandon any further attempts to conjour one myself. Phew.

As you can see from the above picture, my dessert plate was inscribed with 'Happy BIRTHDAY' (aw, shucks) in chocolate. Since my special day was drawing to a close, I thought it only appropriate to devour the 'BIRTHDAY' bit, leaving only 'Happy' on the empty plate. Which is exactly how I felt after a lovely indulgent meal out with my husband. After dinner we wandered across the road to the pier, where Ant had promised to serenade me with the karaoke song of my choice at the notorious Horatio's bar. Sadly (for me anyway), the pier was shut already, so I had to make do with a round or two of Singstar back at the flat instead. My work colleagues had bought me the 'Anthems' edition for my birthday, so I finished off my celebrations belting out 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' (neighbours be damned!) - the perfect end to a delightful evening.

Frocks, Freaks and Fabulous Friends

The last time I got dolled up to go dancing was probably for Born Bad vs Gypsy Hotel at Komedia back in July, which actually turned out to be a bit of a let down, so I was really looking forward to celebrating my birthday at The Magic Theatre at the weekend. I'd chosen this event specifically because it was in London, and I fancied a change from the usual Brighton party circuit. I discovered that it is quite difficult to persuade other people out of their seaside comfort zone though, so it turned out to be a small (but perfectly formed) gathering of a few game Brightonians and some London-based friends - all of whom looked fabulous in an eclectic assortment of costumes. I went for a Bugsy Malone-inspired vintage ensemble, including a dress purchased from eBay especially for the occasion, accessorised with bits and pieces from the dressing up trunk.

We knew as soon as we walked up to the Bloomsbury Ballroom that we were in for an interesting night - a motley assemblage of smokers loitering at the door gave a hint as to the type of punters we'd find inside: weird and wonderful, bold and theatrical, wantonly disturbing and sexually ambiguous - suddenly the outfits in which we had felt so self-conscious on the bus from Hackney appeared positively pedestrian in comparison. Inside we discovered an elegant Art Deco ballroom, perhaps a little too polished and corporate-feeling for this type of debauched event, but pleasantly light and airy, with plenty of places to perch. Oh, and the toilets were immaculate, which is always a bonus.

Photos from The Magic Theatre by Jaded Lady

People were friendly and talkative, and each of us found ourselves making new friends and coming back together with stories to tell. The music ranged from show-tunes to rock 'n roll to jazz standards, and when I wasn't dancing I was merrily singing along to everything from 'Bad Guys' to 'Mein Herr'. Entertainment was laid on in the form of a couple of (frankly baffling) cabaret acts and a live band - The Voodoo Trombone Quartet - who got everyone dancing with their infectious funky brass rhythms. The night went by in a flash of sequins and salacious gossip, and suddenly I was wafting about to Edith Piaf, saying appropriately theatrical goodbyes to friends old and new. I wish more of my Brighton cronies had been there to enjoy what turned out to be a super special night, and well worth the trek up to Town - but big love to those who did make the effort, and thank you all for giving me a birthday bash to remember.

More photos at the Magic Theatre Flickr page.