It was cold & damp & clung to our skins on the streets of the
West End last night. Like a re-run, re-run of 90’s bar culture
the art house drinking dens of London were burst to overflow
with darlings. The chrome & the dark lights are still dripping
off every wall & armies of sharp suited security still eye us
with disdain. It’s like the nightlife ran out of ideas & they’re
just recycling the crap we recycled back when I was trawling bars.
The only difference it seems is that guest lists are on iPads.
But it was good to see my friends Efterklang perform again
in their new identity as Liima. Live on stage in the basement of
the Edition Hotel where a straight cola cost a fiver, but frozen
fruity slush drinks were free. The crowd dressed skinny & conscious
of every tiny detail, the magazines cruised the crowd looking
for another story & the usual instagramers ignored everything except
themselves, addicted to promoting their location on the planet,
stoner eye’s, faces illuminated by the glow from their palms.
The band was great. Casper sings better than ever & he always was
a great singer, one I envy. They’ve re-invented themselves as a
version of the people they will always be, Creative, Inventive,
driven by curiosity to find out ‘what-happens-if’. Never afraid
to challenge the people they become, nor cast off comfort.
These were the guys who John Peel turned us onto. The last album
he asked to be played on the air was Efterklang’s first. He knew
there was something special about them too.
And as as we leave the basement & chrome & sharp suits & clinking
glasses, my friend Colin Vearncombe lies in a coma
in an Irish hospital.