More after the jump…

And the obligatory 4:30 am video; sunrise was not a particularly welcome thing inside the club, though most of us did slacken the pace of dancing a little to have a look.

Get involved with the ETA scene, anyway; particularly strong tunes…the remix of Sister Nancy – Bam Bamat the start of the night blew my mind,

And Blackalicious’s Alphabet Aerobics getting dropped at approximately 6am could have been made for me…

You’ll also ge tthe chance to see international rugby stars consuming small mountains of controlled substances and, potentially, at least one of the Irregulars dancing like Suggs for 5 hours solid. Win!

This will eventually be a permanent link somewhere on the site.

Best Bars & Clubs in North & East London

East London, not wanting to be outdone by it’s well-heeled neighbours, has come up with an alternative.

Thanks to the excellent Made In England blog for putting us on to the Oxford & Cambridge Goat Race and for the image above. The event which is in aid of the worthy cause of Spitalfields City Farm, needs no dressing up, it is a race between two goats, one named Oxford and one named Cambridge. My money is on Cambridge as my friend’s sister’s hairdresser is casually dating Oxford (he doesn’t believe in commitment) and apparently he’s partying like it’s 1945 this Saturday at The Blitz Party in the railway arches near Shoreditch High Street.

Aside from mass paranoia, I doubt ravers have a stringent review process of their raving. It’s hardly like they sit down with their boss and rate their glow stick waving, evaluate their gurning and pour over their shit-talking abilities. Maybe that’s all going to change with “How’s My Raving?” this Friday at Cargo. Cargo continue to deliver the freebie Friday frolics, which has seen it soar up the infamous Irregulars ‘respect’ chart (which may or may not exist and may or may not have something to do with me dressing up as a cat and pretending to be George Galloway). This Friday expect madhead dubstep, old school rave, a side portion of that Shoreditch staple Electro and more confused looking preppies than you can shake a big stick at.

Having checked out Girl Talk at La Scala last week, I’m intrigued by the “WeAreLive” night this Friday which sees a load of live acts (including Trash Fashion – remember them of nu rave demi-fame?) with Cagedbaby and Meat Katie doing some live sets. If they manage to attract the herds, this could be a real goer, especially with it finishing up at 6am…fingers crossed as there is a real dirth of decent late, late nights at the moment.

The crazy kids over at Cliche are throwing another sublime party at the Horse & Groom this weekend. We went to their first about a year ago (maybe longer!) with a Nerds theme and it was off the hook. A really great party vibe with the DJ hitting the revellers relentlessly with golden dancefloor bullets like some kind of warped disco sniper. As regular readers will know, the Horse & Groom used to be the Irregular Local, so props to the Landlord Charles who, according to urban legend, is what one might call a sound geezer. There is a theme for Friday night’s session, I’ll update you as soon as I’m updated…UPDATE…it’s a Wild West theme, so bust out those chaps and pistols…ooh er!

Another thing going on over this packed weekend is a party this Saturday via the guys at Greco Roman, which we stumbled across on the consistantly sublime, Pinglewood. Another chance to see Drums of Death, who’ll you remember we reviewed a little while ago. We were going to be interviewing him but turns out his PR people are tards.

The London Astoria is no longer. London’s best gig venue closed its doors late last week after years of “will they? won’t they? Oh just fucking shit or get of the fucking pot”.  It will be felled and replaced by a new over-priced and 20 years too late transport link, and in a typically retarded TFL style, the place didn’t even get to party into oblivion on it’s final night standing due to a mix-up in dates on when the ‘dozers were booked to roll in.

After a truly appalling line up was cobbled together for Wednesday’s Demolition Ball (the last ever event in the main gig venue) hopes were higher for Thursday, which represented last orders in the awesome subterranean Astoria 2 . The highly-rated indie bopper night PUSH took up opportunity to have one last dance before moving to a new regular venue. Anticipation of a nostalgia night filled with revellers wanting to see the old girl off in style and bemoan the failed efforts to save the venue in equal measure was dispelled with the evening quickly descending into an indie pop culture farce. The DJ policy was lacking any hint of respect – blending Dr Dre’s worst pop drivel (California Love) with classics from the Clash, Pulp and suitable new and old luminaries.  “Not Happy” was the call from the back of the room. Even the live elements were disappointing. Cajun Dance Party made their tuneful and usually hope-filled repertoire sound lacklustre with the front man fully immersed in his self indulgent X-Factor style Robert Smith impersonation which was obviously making the rest of the band feel like a gaggle of stage cunts. Good Shoes should have saved the night, but an over-crowded, highly-charged stage bar meant the band had to battle thorough their own failing new material against the backdrop of a non-informed student crowd trying to physically over power them resulting in a poor set with only the occasional highlight of the band’s immense debut material.

[See post to listen to audio]

Maybe it was all for the best that the last show was a fall from grace for a problematic old friend whose fate is already decided. It wasn’t a night that will live long in the memory, and now the appreciation of truly great gigs at the fabled venue is stronger and will be stuff of legend. R.I.P

There’s a strong chance I am alone on this, but personally I like my rock venues to be shit scary. Dark basements you would only consider entering when recklessly drunk, on the tail end of a speed binge. I remember in my teenage years at the Brixton Fridge, watching a guy bleed all over a sink as he reset his broken nose and ran back out to mosh in front of Poison Ivy. I like my venues to double as gay bars on Tuesdays, so if you get the wrong day you’ll wind up having a very different experience. These things reassure me that rock is alive and pulsating with the hate and violence of our jilted generation.

Sin, located in the down market end of the West End is not such a place. I must be candid about the fact I do not know what they were playing downstairs. Perhaps you could ask the guy with more piercings than a smack addict, whose name was Harry and he worked in a Sussex architect’s office. It was certainly some shouty combination of drums and guitars, gravely vocals forced out of a middle class throat. I do remember the opening DJ was an extremely hot girl and then when I went back at 2am to ask for Rage Against the Machine the DJ had morphed into a man in drag. It did take me longer than it should for me to realise, but he was facing away from me and wearing a black wig. Really.

But I deviate. My point is about Harry, the man with a shitty face and a charming demeanour. Everyone wore black at this place. In much the same way as The Electric Showrooms, it is easy to feel like you are attending an international ‘I love the Crow’ convention. (I was only at the Camden Electric Ballrooms because I had got the venue confused with the Angel one. The website is confusing, I think deliberately in an attempt to dilute all the Crow fanatics).

No one at Sin scared me, I was by far and away the most unhinged person there. The dance floor was self conscious and no one could quite settle on quite how to rock out in the appropriate manner. People were having a good time, there were plenty of bull horn fists and long ‘Bodyform’ / Timotei hair. From what I could tell they were predominantly revelling in the thrill of being out of the chatroom and in the club, sharing their music without the hindrance of typing. No one intimidated me, which I found disappointing. Trodden toes responded with polite apologies. Newcastle Brown Ale was sold by the bottle, often associate with commercial suicide. A nice big bottle of fight juice you can smash in half when you get to the bottom.

My Dad tells me stories of Nottingham bars where Newcy Broon was served in draught. Outside on the street, the men fought on the right of the door and women fought on the left. The streets were busy on a Friday night. All I have to come back at him with is Harry and that makes me feel like a pussy. My father mocks me with his tales of ‘The Stones’. Of breaking in to Hendrix gigs, standing at the back of the upper balcony and still not being able to heae a person shouting directly into your ear. Let’s get back to basics. Go on Sin, go ahead, ‘Pick up the gun’.

We did lol pretty hard though when we saw this site for new West End late bar called “Carbon”. I for one will be cutting my Carbon footprint by never setting foot in there.Listen to this from the about section: “embodying an inspirational mix of industrial glamour and sultry, low-key Shoreditch style”.I’ve got a really avant-garde idea here, why not just go out in Shoreditch and you won’t be surrounded by Hedge Fund Junior Analysts buying champagne and selling morals via furtive gropes and vacuous come-ons.

Rated

It’s true, we have a penchant for Jazz, and scatting badly within the confines of our home.

So imagine our horror when we heard that our local Jazz fix-provider Charlie Wright’s International Bar is closing for refurbishment (frankly, it could do with a lick of paint!) So to go out in style, they’ve got some good shit going down tonight, free to get in, get involved and watch out for crazy apocalyptic lefties in there (no not us!) jazz time at Charlie Wright’s .

I don’t really like Camden – when I go out there, there’s always someone getting stabbed or beaten up on the high street – STANDARD! However, the Lock Tavern does deliver the goods. Tomorrow night they have Erol Alkan turning up to preside over elements of a complete mash up night, called ASBO – covering electro, new/old techno, indie rave and space funk. If you weren’t sold by the first three genres, I bet space funk was the nail in the coffin yeah?

Dust off your Bashlyk (guys) or Kokoshnik (girls) for a day of soviet-themed shenanigans at the Russian Winter Festival at Trafalgar Square this Sunday. This should be awesome…Just to top off your russian themed Sunday, why not rent out Police Academy: Mission to Moscow? Incidentally, the lowest grossing Policy Academy movie, apparently, but if Hightower (below) told you to watch it, would you argue? Didn’t think so…

Image courtesy of DVD Drama

Finally on the win side of things – Kafka’s Metamorphosis is being shown at the Lyric in Hammersmith. One of my favourite little nuggets of existentialist literature, well worth having to beat down the pikeys to get from Hammersmith tube to the theatre.

No, no – I lie…there’s more. Bangface at Electrowerkz, Islington. Proper rave vibe and general messed-up hedonistic voyage…if you like that kind of thing.

Retarded

Staying in, watching reality tv whilst doing your ironing. Doing other ‘chores’ such as washing the dog/cat, going to home depot to pick up some polyfiller, cranking (again).

Rated:

You’ve got two and a half days leave from your little office throne, the World is your oyster card. Let’s be fair, we all drone around like cyborgs, queuing for this, queuing for that; “no eye contact please”. If we’re going to be cyborgs let’s at least all robo-rave on Saturday night to some of the finest electronic beats since the NES. But remember, robots don’t fuck with drugs, they cause a mix up between their floppy and hard drives.

MSTERKRFT @ Turnmills on Saturday

Chilling? Robots need downtime too, hey robo-pimping ain’t easy.

Check out the Bicycle Thieves at Whitechapel Art Gallery on Friday – 3 squealers on the door (I think). They and other artists will be exploring the concept of ‘the city’, thought provoking eh?

King Mug interjects here: The place to be on friday night is the Volupte Lounge, for Miss Polly Rae and her Hurly Burly Girls. Two words. Pasties & G-Strings. Yes indeedy. Also great martini’s. Well worth it, plus you can get your swing on later if you’re so inclined.

Retarded:

Out of Office: Frid’zed at Tabernacle. Ibiza vibe? I’d rather be back in the Office thanks.

Bastard Flamengo @ Cargo – can’t help but think that either interpretations of the word Bastard won’t lead to the most accommodating of atmospheres here. Unless it’s a typo and it’s Bastard Flamingos, now that’d be some interesting shit. Although I don’t think Flamingos have the same consciousness of genealogy as humans and hence will avoid the identity issues. So I guess they’ll just do that whole one-legged thing, which is pretty ambient.

Meanwhile cute little brunettes will be knocking back cocktails on Clerkenwell Road exchanging stories about the Webcast they’ve just done for Russ Abbott and how they were snorting coke off Jeremy Beadle’s withered hand over the weekend.

We heart Farringdon/Clerkenwell for dinner. They do it all and do it well, we will name a couple of our favourites.

Turnmills/Fabric – two institutions of North London that attract some of the biggest and best names in music. Punters come from all over the country to dance all night with a crowd containing blue-haired Europeans, pilled-up plumbers and all that is in-between. On the right night, this place has the full spectrum of modern Londoners all with one shared goal – to lose the fucking plot on the dance floor. Be prepared to get lost in sound, lost in space and lost (literally).

Dollar Grills and Martinis – this place just does everything right, whether you are sitting upstairs in the faux-diner environment or having cocktails in the suave surroundings downstairs, you will be happy with the offering.

Potemkin – for those of you on which the name of this restaurant is not lost, you’ll appreciate how central Potemkin is to Russia and why it is a great name for a Russian Restaurant and Vodka Bar. As a Russophile, this place is right up my street, although even if its not up yours, there is enough vodka here to keep the population of Cornwall dribblingly drunk for 10 years.

Gutshot – whilst we could list all the samey, samey gastropubs that fill up this area (and to be fair they are nice enough) that isn’t really the aim here. Gutshot is pretty unique to this area (well it was when it was illegal), in that it’s a poker club. You need to go and sign up to be able to play, but once you’ve done that you’re free to swim amongst the card sharks. Having had the benefit of playing some hands there with a guy who looked older and wiser than Mr Miyagi and a kid who looked like he had been up for two weeks straight playing online poker, I can really recommend the experience. Just don’t end up trading in your girlfriend/boyfriend or something (unless they are worth less than the minimum £10 buy in of course!).