onionbagblog
Away From the SW8 Numbers
You see I was going to blog about how a Saturday night out in South East London took the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger and I on a four hour round trip, travelling a door to door distance of 7.5 miles. Our regular journey to Penrith takes less time (and involves less pain.)
I was going to bang on about how despite 20,000 people expected to attend a soulless enorn-o-dome on the outskirts of South East London, Jubilee Line engineering works meant that our outward journey on the dreaded 188 bus included three unannounced changes, as each driver seemingly lost interest and shut up shop.
Perhaps I should post about the return back to base, y'know, the bit where TfL decided that a solitary 188 bus every half hour would be sufficient for the mod masses returning back to civilisation from the South East London s***hole.
To put together some well thought our prose telling you how my Oyster card was then charged on seven different interchanges, taking the (incorrect) cost to over £10, may seem like not the best use of modern interweb space.
But instead I think I'll put aside my transport woes and simply tell you that Weller was (once again) wonderful. From the opening chords of Peacock Suit, to the grandstand finish of Town Called Malice, yer man more than made up for the crappy commute.
First of all, a word from our corporate cabbie sponsors: @cabbiescapital has proven that there is true value in Twitter, and that very value happens to be able to secure a couple of Weller tickets for mrs obb and I. Follow that, um, cabbie now.
Fresh of haircut (finally!) and with some new tunes to showcase, Weller's O2 show was a transition from the epic 22 Dreams of last summer on to something new. Enorm-o-dome gigs aren't to everyone's liking; I suspect Weller himself wasn't entirely happy with the corporate venue. But a BIG show was needed to wave a fond farewell to an album that dominated the past year for many.
New additions aside, the set was very similar to the Brixton shows back in December. No surprises that I cast a wry smile at my 188 woes when the stabbing chords of Shout to the Top sprung into action. I think Weller just about got away with a twelve piece all female string section, all sporting short black skirts and stockings, looking like extras from the Addicted to Love video.
Butterfly Collector and the firing of the Eton Rifles pleased the fishtail parka massive (spotted: one ace face wearing a pair of red, white and blue suede bowling shoes - TRUE!)
Much of Stanley Road was revisited, and even the mid-show acoustic noodling and dub heavy version of Wild Wood somehow made sense.
And so sometime around 1am, mrs obb and I were back at base, tired, but not broken by TfL. Watching a fifty year-old bloke strutting his stuff inside a soulless enorm-o-dome in South East London made up for the transport misery.
I hear Weller's planning some Japanese gigs later in the year. At least the travel plans should be simple to sort out.
technorati: weller
reply via twitter
| Sunday 22 March, 2009 |
You see I was going to blog about how a Saturday night out in South East London took the fragrant mrs onionbagblogger and I on a four hour round trip, travelling a door to door distance of 7.5 miles. Our regular journey to Penrith takes less time (and involves less pain.)
I was going to bang on about how despite 20,000 people expected to attend a soulless enorn-o-dome on the outskirts of South East London, Jubilee Line engineering works meant that our outward journey on the dreaded 188 bus included three unannounced changes, as each driver seemingly lost interest and shut up shop.
Perhaps I should post about the return back to base, y'know, the bit where TfL decided that a solitary 188 bus every half hour would be sufficient for the mod masses returning back to civilisation from the South East London s***hole.
To put together some well thought our prose telling you how my Oyster card was then charged on seven different interchanges, taking the (incorrect) cost to over £10, may seem like not the best use of modern interweb space.
But instead I think I'll put aside my transport woes and simply tell you that Weller was (once again) wonderful. From the opening chords of Peacock Suit, to the grandstand finish of Town Called Malice, yer man more than made up for the crappy commute.
First of all, a word from our corporate cabbie sponsors: @cabbiescapital has proven that there is true value in Twitter, and that very value happens to be able to secure a couple of Weller tickets for mrs obb and I. Follow that, um, cabbie now.
Fresh of haircut (finally!) and with some new tunes to showcase, Weller's O2 show was a transition from the epic 22 Dreams of last summer on to something new. Enorm-o-dome gigs aren't to everyone's liking; I suspect Weller himself wasn't entirely happy with the corporate venue. But a BIG show was needed to wave a fond farewell to an album that dominated the past year for many.
New additions aside, the set was very similar to the Brixton shows back in December. No surprises that I cast a wry smile at my 188 woes when the stabbing chords of Shout to the Top sprung into action. I think Weller just about got away with a twelve piece all female string section, all sporting short black skirts and stockings, looking like extras from the Addicted to Love video.
Butterfly Collector and the firing of the Eton Rifles pleased the fishtail parka massive (spotted: one ace face wearing a pair of red, white and blue suede bowling shoes - TRUE!)
Much of Stanley Road was revisited, and even the mid-show acoustic noodling and dub heavy version of Wild Wood somehow made sense.
And so sometime around 1am, mrs obb and I were back at base, tired, but not broken by TfL. Watching a fifty year-old bloke strutting his stuff inside a soulless enorm-o-dome in South East London made up for the transport misery.
I hear Weller's planning some Japanese gigs later in the year. At least the travel plans should be simple to sort out.
technorati: weller
reply via twitter
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