The Grit in Edinburgh

Photo: www.myspace.com/thegrit

Green and pink Mohawks dance above the heads of the crowd as a sweaty, dirty guy jumps on stand-up bass and slaps out a thundering bass line. The PA quivers and the air is damp with condensation, part sweat and part booze. The Grit are playing at the Three Tuns, a cellar bar in Edinburgh.

People sit in groups around unfeasibly small tables, drinking, talking and shouting. The band hasn’t started yet but no one has realized that there has been a delay. A girl does a circuit around the room, bellowing insults to her friends on the way to the bar. The gig is busy, but not completely full.

An hour after the scheduled start, two boys begin to hassle the girl on the door. Soon the rough chugging noise of a badly tuned guitar silences them and they bounce excitedly towards the front. A girl joins them, and they remain at the front of the crowd for the entire gig, dancing and laughing.

Running Riot are first to perform. Although young, they play a fast and hard set, barely pausing to breathe between songs. While most of the crowd hangs back, the three at the front wave their fists in the air and jump up and down, their spiked up hair bobbing up and down.

The frontman of Running Riot growls the last note of their set and they quickly pack up their things. The girl at the front leaves her spot and saunters over to the band. She speaks a few words of congratulation. The members of the band nod their heads in acceptance and she leaves to order a drink.

 The Grit start to set up and the crowd slowly begins to surge forward. The lead singer’s English accent burrs over the PA.

“All right? Good…”

The second guitarist finishes tuning up and with a nod the set begins. Dressed all in black, one with an impossibly high flat-top, another with a pink and black Mohawk, they fill the stage. After a few songs, the stand-up bass player spills out onto the dance floor. The air is moist and the girl at the front wipes sweat from under her eyes, smearing black makeup.

The crowd press forward onto the three people dancing, and the girl continues to dance with a full pint perfectly balanced in her hand. Only a few drops spill when a bondage-trouser clad boy smacks into her.

Again the crowd surges forward and those in front must press back against them to avoid crashing into the PA on the floor in front of the band. The bass player leaps onto his oversize bass and begins to strum the bass while standing on it. The girl at the front smudges the words ‘wash me’ onto the bass player’s dirty back with her finger.

The lead singer spews spittle and sweat into the air. The drummer, barely visible, crows to begin the last song. Most people join those at the front dancing, and their feet slip on the drink-sodden stone floor.

The sudden quiet is deafening, and almost sore. Friends shout to each other, not realizing their raised voices. The bartender calls last orders.

a hack’s progress

have added a comment piece reviewing my evolution as a writer and a journalist, as well as my view on the journalism industry as a whole. it’s too long to blog, so rather than bore you on this page, i’ll bore you on a new one!

Peace progress in pieces

 

Photo: Vervexca (Wiki Commons)

If asked to list the qualities a good leader should have, levelheadedness, the ability to look at reason and the ability to compromise are attributes that many would include. And even though many may act as if they do not recall the basic rules of the playground, the concept of sharing is one that can be found in most cultures. But it is these basic qualities that many of those in powerful positions in society seem to lack.

Elected or not, it seems world leaders have embraced their warrior-lion spirit, to the detriment of the people they hold sway over. The US’s bloodthirsty quest for revenge for the World Trade culminated in the brutal execution of Saddam Hussein, while on the way ravaging Afghanistan, Iraq and the unfortunate people who got in the way. These unfortunate people include Americans, and not just those who were dispatch to far-off places to fight a nebulous ‘war on terror.’

A 2003 poll showed that most Fox News watchers, a large chuck of the population, hold misconceptions about certain events due to way media coverage of such events was framed. These misconceptions include: the belief that weapons of mass destruction had been found by American troops in Iraq, that Saddam and Bin Laden were in alliance, and that Iraq was directly involved in the World Trade Centre attacks. Misinformation clouds the way the public views the world they live in, and this will have reverberations for generations to come.

The peace process in the Middle East is constantly shattered by returns to secularism, extremism and greed, whatever god the perpetrators of incessant violence claim allegiance to. Whether they are unable or unwilling, the succession of leaders in Israel and Palestine allow their bomb their country and people to ruin, both shouting claims of ‘God’s Mission’ over dead bodies and disrupted families. In the political process, both sides seem unable to perform the simple sandbox task of agreeing to share a plot of land that could comfortably fit both cultures.

On the other hand, the moment moderate leaders seem poised to reach some settlement they are gunned down, tragically shown in the case of the Isreali leader Yitzhak Rabin, shot in the back by Yigal Amir, a Jewish militant, in 1995. His famous handshake with Yasser Arafat at the White House in 1993 became another mournful moment in history demonstrating what could have been if people, leaders and citizens included, allowed scripture to take a back burner to peace.

Originally published January 2007

Top Ten Late Night Spots

 

Henry’s Cellar Bar

8 Morrison St

One of the city’s few low-hire-cost venues, Henry’s attracts ‘rough around the edges’ shit you wouldn’t see in more conventional haunts. The stage is a small square wedged into the back corner with two pillars dividing the floor. One pillar stands on the outside corner of the stage, obstructing the view of at least one person in any band with more than three members. Strangely, that’s what’s good about Henry’s. Not only does it have diverse gigs and clubs, a modest door charge and decent drink prices, it’s got that community vibe where you can talk to strangers without feeling creepy or getting your head kicked in.

Fight or be recycled

 

Photo: Box Wars

An old man brandishing a Zimmer frame, a Viking longboat, Tank Girl with her missile bra, a rooster and a pirate ship charge into battle, blood-curdling war-cries bouncing off concrete walls. Welcome to Box Wars.

“Box Wars is where people make armour and weapons out of cardboard and beat the shit out of each other to loud music” says Tamsyn Woollcombe, member of the Box Wars UK Council.

Brought over from Australia, Box Wars UK has been held on ten occasions, beginning at Forest Café, and moving to Studio 24 once it began to gain popularity. Participants construct cardboard costumes and take part in mock battles, usually during a concert.

Box Wars developed in Melbourne, and was introduced to Scotland during the travels of a friend of the members of the original Council, Demian Hobby.

“One of my best mates actually thought of the idea. He was like, ‘I have something to show you.’ We were in his backyard and he and some other mates dressed up in cardboard and beat each other up. We thought it was amazing and then they started doing it regularly,” says Hobby.

It’s all fashion, you got no passion

Ah, the post-modern world… a twirling whirlwind of built-in obsolescent ideas, products and trends, rampant consumerism and fragmentation. Rather than being judged by your father’s profession, we are now all judged by what products we are able to afford. Cries of ‘Like those trainers… Is that a new phone… You’ve got an Ipod Touch?!’ resonate throughout society.

We use our garments to communicate our personality to others, akin to a bird’s plumage, or a tropical frog’s bright colours which warn of poison. Changes in fashion occur much more quickly than other changes in culture, such as language or thought.

We never used to be slaves to the price tag. Until the 19^th century, fashion was much more local. You purchased fabric and gave it to a seamstress. Due to the length of time it would take to create clothes, fashion didn’t change as quickly as it does now, with a ‘new look’ each season.

When the Industrial Revolution lumbered into gear, the production of goods accelerated, and so did consumption. Increased availability meant increased choice, and seasonal fashion began.

It seems as though we forget that fashion is cyclical, perhaps to banish the thoughts of styles we once embraced in an endless effort to be trendy and cutting edge. And as cool as we may think we are, there is always someone who thinks you look like a twat.