Siobhan O’Donnell’s diary on rehearsal room politics and the state of the nation
Woke up on the floor of the rehearsal room again, which is becoming less of an accident and more of a lifestyle choice, if I am honest with myself, which I try not to be before eleven in the morning.
The amp died mid set on Saturday, right in the middle of the one song we actually rehearse properly, and Deano spent the next forty minutes trying to fix it with what I am fairly sure was just aggression and a biro. It worked, eventually, which tells you everything you need to know about how this band operates. Nothing is fine, everything is held together by spite and a biro, and somehow we still get a crowd moving.
The Room Itself
This rehearsal space has been under threat of closure for about as long as I have been using it, which is going on six years now, longer than most of my actual relationships. The landlord wants to convert the building into something with exposed brick and a name like The Foundry, which is an insult to actual foundries, and every few months there is a new rumour that this is finally the month we all get turned out onto the street with our amps.
We are still here. I do not know how. I suspect it is genuinely just bureaucratic slowness rather than anyone actually fighting on our behalf, but I will take it, because where else does a band with three chords and no discernible talent for anything except volume actually go.
What I Have Been Reading
I had a proper laugh reading The Daily Mash on the bus in this morning, the kind of laugh that gets you a look from the person next to you, and honestly, good. Let them look. I also caught up on NewsThump over lunch, which I read the way some people read the actual news, which is to say with considerably more trust than I extend to actual politicians.
There was a piece doing the rounds from NewsBiscuit that made me properly cackle on the tube, loud enough that a man in a suit visibly recoiled, which felt like a genuine achievement for a Tuesday morning commute.
The State of London Gigs Right Now
Small venues keep closing. This is not news to anyone who has been paying attention, and I have been paying attention with the specific, bitter clarity of someone who has watched at least four genuinely good rooms shut their doors over the past few years, each time replaced eventually by something with a cocktail menu and absolutely no stage.
What actually keeps me going, beyond pure stubbornness, is watching the handful of rooms that are still fighting to stay open, still booking genuinely unsigned, genuinely scrappy acts on a Tuesday night for an audience of maybe thirty people who actually care. That is the whole scene now, thirty people who care, in a room that smells faintly of spilled lager and better days, and honestly, I would not trade it.
Deano’s Existential Crisis
Deano has decided, apparently permanently as of this week, that he wants the band to go acoustic, a proposal he delivered with the complete confidence of a man who has never once played an acoustic instrument in his life. I told him this. He was undeterred. We now have a rehearsal scheduled for Thursday specifically to test whether our sound, built entirely around volume and aggression, survives contact with an actual acoustic guitar.
I suspect it will not. I suspect Thursday will end with Deano plugging back into the amp within twenty minutes, muttering something about artistic experimentation, and we will never speak of this again. I am, nonetheless, mildly curious to witness the attempt.
What I Actually Did This Week
Beyond the rehearsal chaos, I spent an actual afternoon at a proper record shop, the kind that still exists purely on stubbornness and a loyal, slightly obsessive customer base, flipping through a crate of seven inches that nobody else in the shop seemed remotely interested in. Found something genuinely good, a scratchy, half forgotten single from a band that clearly no longer exists, and I have been playing it on loop since, which my flatmate has communicated her displeasure about in increasingly creative ways.
The London Prat Corner
Caught a genuinely sharp piece over at The London Prat this week too, the kind of writing that makes you laugh and then immediately feel slightly guilty about laughing, which is honestly the entire appeal.
Where This Leaves Me
Broke, mostly. Slightly deaf in one ear, which the doctor keeps telling me is a genuine long term concern and which I keep filing under future me’s problem. But genuinely, properly happy in the way that only comes from a bad amp, a room full of people who showed up on a Tuesday for no reason except that they wanted to, and the specific, stubborn joy of three chords played very, very loudly by people who mean it.
Thursday’s acoustic experiment awaits. I am bringing earplugs regardless of the outcome.
Sign Off
More of my ongoing chaos, gig reports, and general commentary can be found at my author page at The London Prat, and further coverage of the wider satirical world is at Bohiney Magazine.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com
