Monday, November 22, 2004
And so to The Village, saturday night, to see Horace Andy and the Mad Professor. All of Dublin's reggaerati were there, split evenly between 19 year-old kids with their first dreadlock and those of us who were there cos we liked the music. going with a french friend of mine, we entered and met up with a french friend of his, whom i shall call Julien because i have no reason to doubt his sincerity upon our introduction. we spoke, in english, for all of 2 minutes and then my friend and i wandered off and didnt see him again until halfway through the gig. not even a chat this time - we just shared a little head-bob (gotta be careful with my punctuation there, bob)
Just to dispense with the music part - the gig itself was ROCKING. I was much impressed by the sound in The Village (on Wexford Street, next to Whelan's - used to be the Mean Fiddler). Better than in any other Dublin venue i've attended so far. The great thing about reggae is that whilst you have a few kids thinking they can dance like Bob Marley, the majority of people simply stood there and bobbed up and down and side to side. Quite a lovely sight from the back. And that night, perhaps more than any other single event on the social calendar since March, Ireland's smoking ban came to be sorely tested. Imagine 600 people in a room listening to dub reggae - hang on, what's that funny smell? Of course, you just can't hold a thing like this without a lot of weed being smoked, no? Well, apparently you can. Although, towards the end, when the Mad Professor was really doing his thing live-mixing Horace Andy, the bass was throbbing through the floor nicely and a sea of bobbing heads had become a little bit choppy, someone near us just couldnt hold out any longer and sparked up - and EVERYBODY turned round where we were standing. 30 seconds later the smell had gone...
blahdy blah blah. now the reason i tell this story....
as we walked out after the gig, my friend had to wait to collect his coat so i arranged to meet him otuside. i step out and there's already about a hundred people outside madly puffing away in the pissing cold and the freezing rain. I see this guy Julien so i go up to him and, because i'm drunk, i speak to him in french. i shall spare the accurate transcript but here is a flavour in english...
-Hi
"Hi"
-that was fucking wicked!
"yeah?"
-didn't you enjoy it?
"no. i missed it"
-you missed it? but ...but...i saw you inside during the gig"
"no, you can't have. i've only just got here"
-wait a second. you're Julien, right?
"no"
-what?! you're not the french bloke i was introduced to inside, but you look like him and you are french?
"im not french"
-oh. where are you from?
"ireland. you?"
-england.
pause as i take this in.
-shall we speak in english then?
"if you like"
so it turns out that i had simply approached a random stranger in a backstreet of Dublin and started speaking to him in drunken french, thinking i knew him. Yet without missing a beat, he responded in perfect french (i know it when i hear it, honest) and didnt get at all flustered that i thought i knew him. simply played along. two minutes later my friend comes out, i explain the situation, and then
his friend, the real Julien comes out. This Irish guy looks at him for a couple of seconds, turns to me, arches his brows, and just says 'yeah, fair enough'
|
Just to dispense with the music part - the gig itself was ROCKING. I was much impressed by the sound in The Village (on Wexford Street, next to Whelan's - used to be the Mean Fiddler). Better than in any other Dublin venue i've attended so far. The great thing about reggae is that whilst you have a few kids thinking they can dance like Bob Marley, the majority of people simply stood there and bobbed up and down and side to side. Quite a lovely sight from the back. And that night, perhaps more than any other single event on the social calendar since March, Ireland's smoking ban came to be sorely tested. Imagine 600 people in a room listening to dub reggae - hang on, what's that funny smell? Of course, you just can't hold a thing like this without a lot of weed being smoked, no? Well, apparently you can. Although, towards the end, when the Mad Professor was really doing his thing live-mixing Horace Andy, the bass was throbbing through the floor nicely and a sea of bobbing heads had become a little bit choppy, someone near us just couldnt hold out any longer and sparked up - and EVERYBODY turned round where we were standing. 30 seconds later the smell had gone...
blahdy blah blah. now the reason i tell this story....
as we walked out after the gig, my friend had to wait to collect his coat so i arranged to meet him otuside. i step out and there's already about a hundred people outside madly puffing away in the pissing cold and the freezing rain. I see this guy Julien so i go up to him and, because i'm drunk, i speak to him in french. i shall spare the accurate transcript but here is a flavour in english...
-Hi
"Hi"
-that was fucking wicked!
"yeah?"
-didn't you enjoy it?
"no. i missed it"
-you missed it? but ...but...i saw you inside during the gig"
"no, you can't have. i've only just got here"
-wait a second. you're Julien, right?
"no"
-what?! you're not the french bloke i was introduced to inside, but you look like him and you are french?
"im not french"
-oh. where are you from?
"ireland. you?"
-england.
pause as i take this in.
-shall we speak in english then?
"if you like"
so it turns out that i had simply approached a random stranger in a backstreet of Dublin and started speaking to him in drunken french, thinking i knew him. Yet without missing a beat, he responded in perfect french (i know it when i hear it, honest) and didnt get at all flustered that i thought i knew him. simply played along. two minutes later my friend comes out, i explain the situation, and then
his friend, the real Julien comes out. This Irish guy looks at him for a couple of seconds, turns to me, arches his brows, and just says 'yeah, fair enough'
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
