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| Smashing |
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| Not the hunted |
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| More armour |
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| Pensive Swedish Master |
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| I shot the devil |
I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of The Wounded Kings, Sigiriya and Coltsblood, on Saturday 24 May 2014, at the Black Heart, Camden, London. Coltsblood played art-distort with big hair, slowly. I quite liked their last piece which introduced a theme and then improvised upon it, as though a ponderous, loud and and blurry jazz. I thought the main tune could have been repeated intermittently, though, as it was difficult to bear it in mind and there was a danger of it degenerating into an assemblage of random chords, after Moss. No red-blooded rocker could possibly object to Sigiriya, playing very solid traditional heavy metal, and they well deserve their coming status as house band, despite the Welshdom.
Those Wounded Kings were fronted by a crone warbling half a dozen notes in splendid dissonance faster and with firmer structures than the Coltsblood (or Jex Thoth) producing a seamless pummellation of awe-inspiring doom such as I had not heard since, well, to be precise, the Electric Wizard gig at the Forum a few years ago. I immediately picked up all their material from the merch stand.* Unfortunately only a few dozen were there to hear them, mainly orthodox Jews.
I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did attend the IQ album launch gig at the Islington Assembly Halls on 3 May, 2014. The supporting act was a solo guitarist accompanying bars he himself had played moments earlier. I am not entirely sure how this is done, and I hope it does not catch on. Why not just a little Villa-Lobos? IQ themselves played to a deservedly packed house for about 2 hours, mainly the material they had performed at their show in December, and some from the new "Road of Bones", seeming generally a little heavier and with more of a mellotron lead, the title track sounding the best. Peter Nicholls himself was in perfect tune and voice from the first note to the last. I, Melachi, will remark no more on this.
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I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at "Lord the Provider Joyland Lodge" on Mfangano Island, on Lake Victoria, Kenya, in February 2014. It is located a few steps from the port of Sena, or, rather, the place where the little boats to Mbita stop. Behind the dining room/lounge, a dozen cells lie around a small courtyard on which goats may graze, at KES 500 (£3) a night including breakfast (egg and chapatis); each with its own facilities, albeit a la turk. There is a net, though I heard only a few mosquitoes. When the main water tank is empty they will give you a large basin of water for ablutions, and the flushing. Water for drinking can be bought. A meal is KES 150 (£1) and not bad for those who like ugale, though portions are on the small side. I can reveal the fish is the best, as one might expect. Service is friendly though the family are rather shy. They have an always-on TV with satellite connection, and one might have joined them in watching, I think, a sequel to "Jurassic Park" (in English). The hotel does not serve beer, but there is a bar across the "road", of a hut of corrugated iron (as are all the buildings in the "town"), where a man serves beer and mobile phone or lottery tickets from a curious cage; a television is there also, itself behind bars, and a rather loud stereo system that will also entertain you in your bed of an evening. I confess I found this bar a little odd and did not imbibe.
Mfangano itself is an agricultural island of myriads of children endlessly walking to and from school, pointing and crying "Mzungu!" (which means, I understand, "O wielder of the white magicks!"), interspersed with occasional sturdy motorcycles. I was interacted with by Emmanuel, seeking support for his orphanage, who showed me the local fishing village. I did not see a single car or truck. But there is, finally, not much to do there, so I sought to leave, which took more than a morning due to the uncertain schedules of the little boats, though I could watch for them from the hotel, sipping colas and listening to the dinosaurs.
I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did stay at "the Beach Africa", Mtwapa, Kenya, in February 2014. In my not very humble opinion this place is very beautiful in design and location. It is on a mangrove beach and finely decorated in distressed international backpacker chic. The food is not pricey, and well made and presented, though not very fast to arrive as it actually has to be cooked. The staff and bartender were very helpful and chatty. There are many hangout areas and rather thin cats. The cabins are by the front and without frills or electricity, with the sound of waves when the tide is in, and showers are in a separate shared block with cubicles, though are salty and do not work if there is a power cut. The site is not remote - it is surrounded by normal African residences 25 mins walk East of Mtwapa (so protecting you from the predatory types hanging around the bars), but is rather difficult to find. The cost of a bed in a cabin for two (but in fact otherwise empty) was KES 840. On the other hand, beer is certainly too expensive for a backpacker joint at KES 220. Security is not great, particularly as there was hardly anyone else there. But by far the best of the cheap (and indeed not so cheap) places I stayed at in Kenya, and the only I would like to visit again; and I wish I had found it earlier.
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| She'll sell you a rocking-horse |
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| She'll sell you something too, probably more expensive |
I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and hungry body, arriving at the Garage on 27 December must observe first of all that if this venue is going to run such a long show they should allow readmission or at least provide a few pizza slices as the masses cannot be expected to go without food from five to eleven. So returning later I saw the good three admirals Sir Cloudesley Shovell who seemed less dire than previously, the first few songs coming in with a Nice Crunch: perhaps they had some new material; though still degenerating eventually to a duller hard rock (in the manner of the King's X). Let us hope they hung around till the end to pick up some tips. I was puzzled by Horizont - and not only in the question of how to pronounce it. Sounding like a power metal band without the bombast, I wouldn't have thought them to fit well within this stable and I won't be looking for more from them. The band introducing themselves as the "Sharon Tate whatever" appeared hairy and hunching up and down on their mighty axeworks less diffidently than I had seen them before (as Uncle Acid) at this venue. They then delivered an extraordinary sequence of crushing yet bouncy riff anthems as though choosing from a twenty year hit catalogue, while the great unwashed flailed their heads in awesome rapture like the Jews at the wailing wall. And though there was no transfiguration on this occasion, Melachi feels the possibility cannot be excluded in future. |
I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read Colin Thubron's book Among the Russians, which details his camping trip by car across the western Soviet Union around 1982. Quite a curious thing to do at any time, though. He gives pleasing accounts of the sights and journey, which are most interesting in the Caucasus. The locals he meets are strangely similar: morose, inquisitive, drunk and oddly blank. It would not be fascinating to find out what has happened to them since. I wonder if these traits appertain less to Soviet Man than to those who approach foreigners on campsites. The author draws no conclusions, and remains an enigma, as do even his car and camping equipment,not unlike the sphinx he observes. |
| Acid Experience |
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| Girl with a view |
