18 July - Coco & Vince
Well, some of my friends wonder how I know about this and that, but I will notice some name in the press or other source and decide to check it out. Sometimes going to see a band takes hours and I wish I would check out a new novel instead in the same time span but for some reason crossing London to go to the Boogaloo in Archway seems like a good idea if you want to see Sting’s daughter, hot new best thing, before she becomes tabloid fodder. So disco granny D. comes with and we have to stand through two not so interesting acts until the flashbulbs pop for the lucky 17 year old. All long legs and daddy's bone structure.
She’s much better than appeared on her Myspace selection and doesn’t appear to have written any more songs than those 5. But they have charm, especially the one where she goes on about ‘My name is a Stain, my name is a St a-a-a-I-i-n’ and further says with some pique ‘Never mind my dad, hear my band’. Well, am sure she wishes she was born to a Shameless type family instead of the Stonehenge to Tuscany to the Caribbean lifestyle. Oh and the record deal, come just like that, cause she's nobody.
Teenagers heh? Of which there are many there, including half her school, bopping away.
But disco granny and I have just finished harping on about how badly these kids are dressed these days, no individuality, why do the kids just wear t shirts and jeans everyday and just look like they’re permanently about to get on a national express coach to a festival? Am not advocating a return to Steve Strange and Spandau Ballet idiocy but something a little more creative? When Noel Fielding aka Vince Noir runs on stage for his dj set and stands there, looks around and with mock dismay says ‘There aren’t enough outfits here!’
To which we say ‘yeah, right on’ a little too loud perhaps and draw attention to our own not very well thought out outfits for the night. Disco granny will appear the following day in the tabs photos from the gig but tastefully not in fine grain and hardly recognisable. Me, I’m behind some lanky 18 year old.
Vince, you’re my hero, more and more! Love ya.
Ps Carl Barat is a short arse.
She’s much better than appeared on her Myspace selection and doesn’t appear to have written any more songs than those 5. But they have charm, especially the one where she goes on about ‘My name is a Stain, my name is a St a-a-a-I-i-n’ and further says with some pique ‘Never mind my dad, hear my band’. Well, am sure she wishes she was born to a Shameless type family instead of the Stonehenge to Tuscany to the Caribbean lifestyle. Oh and the record deal, come just like that, cause she's nobody.
Teenagers heh? Of which there are many there, including half her school, bopping away.
But disco granny and I have just finished harping on about how badly these kids are dressed these days, no individuality, why do the kids just wear t shirts and jeans everyday and just look like they’re permanently about to get on a national express coach to a festival? Am not advocating a return to Steve Strange and Spandau Ballet idiocy but something a little more creative? When Noel Fielding aka Vince Noir runs on stage for his dj set and stands there, looks around and with mock dismay says ‘There aren’t enough outfits here!’
To which we say ‘yeah, right on’ a little too loud perhaps and draw attention to our own not very well thought out outfits for the night. Disco granny will appear the following day in the tabs photos from the gig but tastefully not in fine grain and hardly recognisable. Me, I’m behind some lanky 18 year old.
Vince, you’re my hero, more and more! Love ya.
Ps Carl Barat is a short arse.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 3:39 AM
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