Plugged In Switched On! at The Hobgoblin – London(18.11.2010)

Iain is amongst the hardest working and busiest open mic organisers I’ve come across.  He runs two nights a week in London, one at The Vibe Bar on Brick Lane, and another at The Hobgoblin, not far from Angel tube station.  For both these nights he sorts out the pa and the sound, books the performers, introduces the performers, rcords the performers, takes pictures (sometimes quite random ones), maintains a web site and sends out a weekly newsletter.  On top of this he always has a warm welcome for the musicians that come from far and wide for the opportunity to play in the heart of London.
 
I arrive at The Hobgoblin at about 8.00pm and the place is busy and cheerful.  There’s a group of blokes straight from the office getting well and truly wasted at one table.  A group of students on the next are doing their best to catch up.  And there’s an assortment of musicians and their friends gathered near the stage.  Iain is busily sorting the mixing desk but has time to have a chat about what he’s been up to, moving a canal barge from Liverpool to London in the space of 24 hours, and still managing to pull off these busy nights. 

It was a last minute thing me being in London tonight and even though Iain was fully booked he said he’d try and make space for some kaoss poetry.  A lot of open mics in London are pre booked, I’m not sure why that is, maybe because so many people want to play, and because London is brimming with musicians and performers looking for an audience. 

I was thinking, since it was so last minute, I’d be on at the end of the night, but with an early no show I found myself on stage pretty much straight away, sending beat poetry out to a surprised looking audience.  This night, the evil twin was on my shoulder telling me I'm shit at everything, but I played on regardless, if I listened to him I'd never do anything.  I ran through Testosterone and dedicated it to the guys from the office, and Smells of London, which I’ve only ever played once before in London, though I’ve played it in many other towns and cities.  It was all over too quick but it didn't matter none, tonight was mostly about listening to what London has to offer, taking a peak into its musical underbelly and seeing what turns up, the many different shapes and sizes of music.

I was followed onto the stage by an accomplished singer songwriter called Daina Ashmore.  She is a confident musician and it’s always good to see female artists at an open mic, because these events are often male dominated affairs.  She sang a sweet song about being brave and I thought yeah, you got to have some guts to get up and play at a busy venue like this.

I missed the next two musicians because I got talking to a guy from Essex who sounded Australian.  He’s a session drummer and also works in TV production.  He told me he’d been playing in a band and they got a record deal and success was looming.  Suddenly they were plunged into photo shoots and videos and having to promote themselves and they got to questioning whether that was what they wanted?  He told me it made them realise they formed a band to just enjoy playing music, not to become meat puppets for the industry.  The pleasure of playing was gone and it was all about planning meetings and contractual arrangements.  They decided it wasn’t for them and bailed out of a situation a lot of young bands would sell their right arms for.

Stories like that reinstate my faith in music and musicians.  Because so many performers have this deep seated desire for fame, they have forgotten why music is here in the first place.  For the enjoyment and excitement and the passion of the now.  That’s not to say ambition is a bad thing, but that you got to get the balance right.  And the next performer I listen to after talking to the Essex Australian (who was a proper Gent) is a guy called Luke Armitage, and I reckon has got the balance just right.

Luke plays some clear and honest pop songs some of which have a Latin American twist to them.  He is helped out tonight by a couple of other musicians as well, a bass player and an acoustic guitarist.  These guys market themselves by just playing some lively and enjoyable music, and the audience love it, judging by the reaction.

The performers just get better and better from here on in and the next singer is an amiable lad by the name of Rob Warman who is also a very skilled guitarist.  He sings a song about Portsmouth, his hometown, and dedicates it to anyone who’s ever had their car scratched, wing mirror punched off or been jumped walking home from parties.  That pretty much sounds like everyone’s home town, so everyone takes notice of what happened to Rob when he was growing up down South, and even join in with the chorus.

Rob’s next song is called ‘Me and My Guitar’ which he freely admits is a terrible title, inviting the audience to suggest a better name and offering a free pint in return.  After his set I suggest some equally bad song titles which I realise he won’t use, but he still buys me a drink for the effort, which was cool because I was running low on cash, not being used to these London prices. 

Next up is Black Vendetta, who is the one remaining member of the band of the same name.  His real name is Nathan and he plays some power chords and heavy riffs over strong backing tracks.  I’d met Nathan earlier and he’d described what he does as a wall of sound, and also mentioned a forthcoming guitar solo on one of the low coffee tables.  At the time he was knocking back a double vodka and coke, and was already looking like he’d had a few, so I reckoned if he tried that guitar solo it would be well worth a watch.  Nathan let rip some quality Rock’n’Roll, Death of an Angel being a high point for me.  You could tell he wanted musical fame and fortune and I for one hope he finds it.  In fact, I hope all the performers I’ve ever seen who are seeking those dizzy heights of success find what they are looking for, and are happy with it when they do.

The men in black play after Black Vendetta, a passionate song writer (and published poet) by the name of Gabriel Moreno, accompanied by his friend on acoustic guitar.  They wear black ties and shirts, black trousers and black shoes, and they sing black songs about Whisky and Women, Lies and Wishing for Impossible Things.  These guys are quality and a lot of thought has gone into the lyrics, which is always an assett for me as I love good lyrics.

At about 11.30 I have to make tracks and say farewell to some of the friendly folks I’d come across.  And I'd met some very friendly people on this night.  So from my own experience, I have to say, there is no such thing as the North South ‘friendliness’ divide.  There are friendly and unfriendly people in about the same measure up and down this great land of ours, and you can’t generalise about human beings and places that way. 

Stumbling out of The Hobgoblin I realise I’d spent every last penny of my thirty five quid and was going to have to walk back to where I was staying near Russell Square.  It had all been worth it, listening to some wonderful music, observing yet another night of transient moments in this musical landscape of ours, downing some beers, and hearing words of wisdom and naivety from a cross section of what is London at this time.  And London changes every day, transforms and modifies itself like a vast living breathing entity where dreams are seldom achieved and the wise man sees them for what they are and not what matters in the end.  Next week will be different.  London is what London is.

http://www.pluggedinswithchedon.com/