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Published: March 4th 2013
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The Fence Collective were in town for the big Roundhouse shindig, but the music business is not all glitz and glamour. A free night is an opportunity to spread your sound to a wider audience and so all roads for Johnny Lynch aka the Pictish Trail lead to Dalston. The Dalston Victoria or to be more precise - the up and coming music venue that is the backroom of the Vic. You can't keep Secret Soundz to yourself. This is proper touring, complete with a transit van.
We arrived on the bus from the more up market surroundings of Highbury & Islington. Arsenal fans meandered past us down Upper Street with sullen faces. It was difficult to tell whether they had won, lost or were just the 30,000 disinterested that follow them. Another FA Cup defeat. Another year without a domestic trophy. We missed our stop and ended up heading for deepest Hackney. The other half got nervous. The Vic was all quiet, save for the bands setting up. We headed up the road for a pint to the more lively Three Compasses, which was clearly the preferred choice for the young professionals who have made that area of Hackney
their base.
The last time we encountered Pictish he was a guest of Francois and the Atlas Mountains. He was playing solo with his acoustic guitar. The music was a collection of - in his own words - lo-fi caravan pop. Crafted from a caravan on the island of Eigg and launched on the world from the East Neuk of Fife. Mr Lynch had other ideas this tour with Eagleowl being employed as both support and backing band. Lo-fi caravan pop with loud guitars! There were aspirations of dancing. You dancin? enquired Pictish as he took to the stage. You asking? replied the crowd in unison. Shades of the Liver Birds, not east London. After a couple of low key ballads, the backing arrived. Let’s have a disco in our front room? It was loud. This was going to be more than a disco in a front room. Or a back room. The atmosphere built. So did the heat in the venue. A near collapse from heat exhaustion and dehydration wasn't the planned end to the evening. Pictish had probably envisaged the crowd being overcome with the music as his popularity grew, but would never imagine it would be
Pictish Trail
aka Johnny Lynch live on stage at the Dalston Vic restricted to over the hill guys who should know to drink more water. Such is the life of a pop star. A thank you to the guy next to us who prevented the near collision with redundant drum kit. I left with my copy of Winter Home Disco (Hot Chip Mix) on clear vinyl feeling that I was more in tune with lo-fi caravan pop, but you can’t halt progress. We made our way back to the "Green", changing buses in the hectic epicentre of humanity that is Shoreditch late on a Saturday night.
Pictish might win accolades for his music in due course, but is never likely to make much of a splash in the other major event going on in London – Fashion Week. He did wear a snood at the Village Underground, but I guess that doesn’t count. The original plan was to head to the Courtalds Gallery at Somerset House to see some Picassos. It was only 10.15 am and a queue had already formed. £3 to see some Picassos. I like a bargain. It was a obviously a popular diversion from the normal tourist trail. The courtyard at Somerset House had been transformed with
a marquee for London Fashion Week. The aspiring bright young things, journalists, bloggers, models, photographers and general rich people were arriving to see what they should be wearing in the seasons ahead. The fleet of sponsored Mercedes kept depositing their glamorous cargo. Lenses snapped, but nobody was quite sure who was who. The Japanese TV anchor and her camera crew laughed as I photographed them. David Bailey Junior with his Rolleflex joined the throng. It was all very entertaining if a little cold, but the time window to see the Picasso paintings had arrived. The pick or the talking point was Yo Picasso – a self-portrait from 1901. Very striking, but would you want it hanging on the wall looking at you? The previous experience of famous paintings was Lowry. We concluded on balance that a Lowry would hang on our wall in preference any day. I returned to look at models. Kraftwerk had just finished in town – some of these would have looked good on stage.
In contrast to the glitz and glamour, there was a family history trail to pursue. The first port of call was Bethnal Green. The Luftwaffe had intervened, so it was a
game of envisage rather than see. The house stood there, where the tower block is now. The tower of the Church was still there and part of the old school attached. We retreated to Victoria Park, before making a detour to our lunch appointment in north London via Columbia Road Flower Market. It is only on a Sunday morning - cheapest orchids and just about anything else in town.
The second phase was in the more affluent surroundings of St Johns Wood – very handy for Lords and down Lisson Grove to Church Street Market – also re-arranged after high explosives and so we understand a flying bomb. The irony was that we’d been to Alfie’s Antique Market on a previous visit to London, which transpired to be about 75 yards away from where the property was that we were looking for. We proceeded on to Marylebone High Street - furniture inspiration in Conran and a certain Scandavian store. The other half aspired to afternoon tea at Claridges. It is fully booked for about a year in advance, despite the hefty price. We afforded a walk through the lobby instead. It looked just the same as on the TV
series.
The purpose of the London trip had been War Horse tickets. The New London Theatre is not your typical revamped Victorian or Edwardian theatre, which has a significant advantage when leg room and general viewing are the criteria for an enjoyable evening out. The restricted view £25 tickets in the wing stalls weren’t really restricted after all and certainly represent a steal compared to the £85 premiums tall tickets. War Horse was good – well worth seeing. We’d been to see an exhibition on the Horse at War at the National Army Museum in Chelsea earlier in the afternoon, so it was a War Horse day all round.
The cultural theme came off the rails at the Saatchi Gallery. An exhibition on Russian art seemed to be about taking nude photos of some very ugly people in not very attractive surroundings. A bit more than parental guidance would be the watch word, if visiting with the younger members of the family.
The last port of call was breakfast at Pellicci's. Bethnal Green's finest breakfast. A listed cafe with good banter, a good breakfast and friendly service. As much part of the old East End as eel
pie and mash.
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