Alice In Edinburgh

Our venture on 22nd August 2010 took us to Edinburgh for the day and night. It was Natasha's birthday so we bought tickets for Jon Fratelli's first solo show a few weeks before. I opened my eyes at 8:30am early Sunday morning, bathed, and then dolled up in a white vest, black pants, a leather military jacket, gold chain necklace, hooped earrings and ribbon-laced pumps. I trotted past a bus stop, bobbing happily when a sudden speck of people made me want to cower away. "No." I told myself, and I raised my head up high and I swayed my arms when I walked, and gave them all an inaudible "fuck you." At 1:22pm the bus arrived for me to catch where a lonely-looking bus driver awkwardly tried to bring out my smile.

"Sorry, the bus is full."

I quickly glanced at the emptiness and smirked. I said I only had a tenner to pay him.

"Can I keep the change, no?"

I said no and I sat down. I had an increasingly irritating urge to smile. To smile widely, broadly, and laugh and cheer and tap my feet. I bit my lip in remorse worrying that the driver might think I had the chuckles at what he had said to me. A rapid half an hour later and I was at Falkirk Grahamstone train station buying my one way ticket to Polmont. It began raining but I withstood the rain for fear of going inside the busy waiting room. The train pulled in and, sighing at the lack of noticeable room, I walked inside and pulled down a seat between two carriages.

A mere five minutes later we had arrived in Polmont and sure enough Natasha pulled in to my carriage and we reserved two seats hidden at the back of one carriage beside the luggage area, unnoticed. She was wearing a "Happy 40th" badge that seemed to gain a momentus amount of attention throughout the night, assumingly from people realising she looked quite good for her age. Our next and final destination was to be Edinburgh Waverly. I gave her a card and we laughed the whole way. On arrival, we left the train station and hit the street. Jon Fratelli was our purpose and Jon Fratelli Natasha claimed to have seen heading through the door of the Electric Circus, Edinburgh, in a black t-shirt and neatly trimmed, short, curly hair. I grimaced in jealousy for my inability to notice such things.

Now Edinburgh is a world within a world. Stunning cathedrals and historical buildings lined the horizon, spoiled only by students dressing more fashionably than they can obviously afford. There was a Fringe Festival stampede heading in every general direction. But the beauty, was another thing. And in it's whirlpool of prettiness we stalked the streets, the fashion shops we care about, and even manouevered up a tight alleyway laden with tall steps and appearing to be the dumping ground for a bag of chips and a pair of trainers, nestling a curiously-placed Chinese restaurant. We drank in Wetherspoons, where we recieved our first curious customer who felt compelled to talk about Natasha's "40th" badge. Upon request, we browsed the novelty postcards and clever flickbooks of an art shop just outside the venue. I pissed. The Golden Mile was swarming but looked moderately uninteresting. A stage was set up for two musical comedians who hadn't even been blessed with microphones. Further up, another stage had been erected and held a fat girl and her army dancing to some unrecognisable tune. I didn't see anybody dressed up, but I did notice my inability to manage to move in a straight line.

We headed backward and straight down our alley again. It was barely 7:00pm before our impatience drove us to casually wait outside the venue. I looked at my ticket, put it back, looked at it again, found my passport, and waited again. We heard soundcheck taking place whilst we browsed the posters on the shutters until finally another couple asked if we were here to see Jon Fratelli. and indeed we were. Giving in to the pain, we cleared a spot to sit on the floor and made no secret about laughing at the group of boys who could barely pass for 10 who had queued behind us. Luckily our laughter was not prescribed only to ourselves and, as we were accompanying a couple of 15 year olds into the building, they joined us in our mutual distrust towards them. The venue doors opened. Not before an irritatingly quiet-spoken security guard had degraded us by asking for our ID to a 14+ show. We were stamped with "Sailor Jerrys" stamps on our left hands and entered into the building, passing on the one quid deposit if leaving our bags in the cloak room.

The room itself was a shock of purple and pink, and disappointingly much smaller than the pictures on the internet. A rectangle-based room with a bar bigger than the stage itself. I was stunned by the lack of any barrier cordoning off the stage from the audience. Merely 2 security guards, one placed at each tiny set of stairs leading to the stage. Behind all this nonsense was a railing with 2 proportionally placed sofas crowded 'round a small table. At the other side, a small gathering of tables and chairs that could have easily been confused for a 60s diner. Still, we managed to secure our places at the left side of the stage and up the front, although gravitated more and more towards the wall as the crowd crept in. And a crowd much larger than we had imagined.

It was a desperate wait before any kind of music was played and eventually, at half past 8, Hip Parade, a Glaswegian four-piece stumbled onstage, brushing past me at the stairs I had been thrown beside. Standing diagonally opposite the speaker was a deafening experience the moment the first guitar chord had been struck, and remained so until my ears had adjusted after song one. Most people stood and stared, a few shimmied, and I simply stood, smiled and observed. Music is so pleasant to watch. Their definition of music, well... Nothing short of bollock-raping Indie-schmindie cockless music. I enjoy any sound live. I enjoyed their sound. Their lyrics could have been written by a hormonally-raged 13 year old boy. I must say the sound in the venue was shocking. Now that they were out of the way, Natasha topped up her drink and I waited for her to return whilst trying to subtly hint to the lady beside that I had a space I was keeping, and for her not to make sign language at me.

About a half an hour later the music died down and a stage door, one I had the luxury of seeing right through, swung open, entering first Jon's guitarist, drummer and keyboardist, and then he himself. Appearing quite different from telly, his hair was as prominent as a newly vanished wig. It was short, dark and curly, and his face looked remarkably different for the first five minutes or so. Playing full pelt, he struck the guitar without saying a word. This continued for the first 4 or 5 songs before the goodies were plucked from the bag. Baby Fratelli was a noticeable favourite. When the bass died down, the people jumped up. Jon lost himself in favourably long transitions between songs, screwing his face up and exchanging glances with his drummer before jamming the last note. He looked like he was in a musical haven. A feeling I feel likely to witness when I am in a band. I took the chance to whip out my camera and record an unknown song. Unknown for I would waste no time recording when I could be singing.

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=453366272517&ref=mf

The group of young boys seemed more phased by Jon's appearance than any of the women, screaming that he was a "Fucking sexy bastard" and recieving a wink in exchange. Another male member of the audience stuck out his hand for Jon to reach.


After a sweat-induced hour and a half Jon made a pass at how he's not as fit as he used to be, and left the stage back-right. The set list had been placed mere centimetres in front of me, and I knew that he hadn't played every song yet. Upon the chanting of "Jon" repeatedly, he tediously walked up the stairs and raised his hand high to wave himself back on. One more song and of all the choices, Chelsea Dagger made it through. I make no mistake in saying I stunk. Only a fool thinks it wasn't worth it. The song passed quicker than I had liked it to, but it was the most driven of the entire night. You couldn't let him leave without playing it. It was a cardinal sin. Between every song Natasha and I poked at our ears in unison at the sudden surprise of not being able to hear a fucking thing. And to this day, 24 hours later, my hearing remains just as fucked. Curiously fucked.

The gig had to end sooner or later. I picked up my bag that I had skillfully thrown under a part of the stage, and I threw on my leather jacket. We wandered into the newly night sky but hadn't ventured far before realising we didn't want to leave the venue at all. I attempted to buy a drink. It was closed. We sat in a corner at a table with our heads in our hands and a curious aroma of sweat. It wasn't long before we left at the awkward sighting of a man hurrying people out of the venue and soon expecting it to be our turn.

We didn't go home. It was about 10pm and we slumped against the venue walls at my refusal to leave the street at all. We slumped for ages. Forever. Venue workers repeatedly entered and left the building in front of us. We didn't have a purpose except the right to tilt our heads back and observe Edinburgh in its dark, desolate view. What seemed like a while later, we were approached by a neat-looking man who had just left the venue doors. He walked towards us and stood with his back against the wall right next to me. He had the most curious stare, and he then said that we were looking at him as if expecting him to say something. I let loose a nervous laugh, but remained silently observing his neatly trimmed hair, fine features and sharp face. He turned to us and he asked us questions. Did we enjoy the gig? Were we massive Jon fans? Was he a tit man? He asked if we were waiting on Jon and I said we just didn't want to go home, if truth be told.

His impulsive stare was beginning to unnerve me. He rolled some weed in front of us and then asked us if we would like to get wasted. I made no remark. He remarked on Natasha's 40th birthday badge and he shook her hand and kissed her cheek. I am sure he offered me some of what he was smoking and so I politely said "No, thank you." Apparently I was wrong. I asked if he knew Jon, and he stated that they were mutual friends. Again, he grinned curiously at nothing and remained propped against the wall with one foot up. He left shortly after and went back inside the venue.

At the feet of our pain, we sat down and slumped against the wall in the very same way, closer to a dark blue mini bus that had parked directly in front of us. The venue staff were still at it, emptying bottles, sweeping the streets, smoking concoctions of stuff. Me and Natasha stood out like a sore thumb while all the men went about their business. Our next visitor appeared in the form of Jon's drummer. The blue minibus was being packed with amps and all the shit that the roadies could find. A man easily mistaken for Jesus and sporting a purple t-shirt and baggy cargo pants was loading the instruments. He opened the door of the minibus, got inside and closed it. Upon the door's next opening, I was hit with a huge whiff of dope. We had nothing to do and so we phoned people that we shouldn't, said stupid things and remininsced.

Jon's drummer had come out and was puffing on a cigarette, chatting to a lady. Natasha felt that he looked curiously like Ray Davies, and I had been thinking the same thing earlier on that night. As he was about to stumble into the bus we were acknowledged with a few words.

"Enjoy the gig ladies?"

"Very good." I remarked, half straight-faced, half one-sided smile.

"Brilliant."

In truth I felt like a prostitute slumped on a street having been rejected or mugged. It felt fantastic. At the very height of the night, just as the minibus looked set to leave, out came Jon casually strolling from the door of the building to the door of the bus. In all of a few seconds, he refused to acknowledge our presence slumped on the wall at his feet and sat by a window seat in the vehicle. I wasn't scared to look and so I tilted my head, trying to get a better view of the bus. He looked up then down, then laughed then turned to talk to somebody in the bus. And in the fleeting moment just as the bus door was about to be shut, he turned to me and caught my eye for just a second before the vehicle was locked. The minibus sped away in sing song and roudiness and it was then we understood that it was time to leave Edinburgh.