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You only sing when you're voit.
Feb. 5th, 2013 11:22 amIf I ever form a band I'll call it "The Support Act". I'll never make it big, but I'll never be out of work, either.
If, a fortnight ago, you had said to me "David, in a fortnight's time you'll be hanging about in someone's basement listening to an Estonian folk band. And, moreover, you'll be enjoying the experience", I'd have scoffed at you. Scoffed, I say. "Jeeves", I'd've replied, "show my friend here the door. He's plainly been on the old whacky baccy".
You might have protested and told me about the fancy-dandy new time machine you'd just acquired but I wouldn't have been moved. Ignoring your cries about the lottery numbers for the next fortnight I'd've turfed you onto the street.
But I'd've been wrong. Sure, I would have had good reason to be wrong because two weeks ago I didn't know that that An Estonian folk-rock scene even existed. Heck, I didn't at five o'clock last night for that matter. But by nine I was crammed into a sweaty Camden club called The underworld, which if you haven't been to it is a bit like a cross between the Old Banshee and Jilly's in Manchester* bouncing around merrily as a bunch of Estonians played something which sounded not unlike Megadeath's Symphony of Destruction" but with extra bagpipes and flutes - and if you've never seen anyone play heavy-metal bagpipes you've missed out, I can tell you.
They weren't necessarily the best band I've ever seen - in fact they weren't as good as the band which was on after them - but they more than made up for it with facial hair, enthusiasm and a joie de vivre (does that translate into Estonian?) which really made the place bounce, and some of their music was very atmospheric, such as the opening to this almost Aboriginal number.
Of course, the band I'd gone to see were a bunch of Finns called Korpiklaani, who I wrote about last week. They were excellent fun and sang jolly songs about drinking, and I got to see an enormously fat man stage drive (well, stage slump) and the audience was much more diverse than I expected including a girl in a hijab which I found both mildly surprising and but also extremely cheering.
In his book 45, former KLF frontman Bill Drummond talks about the time he spent making up an entire Finnish folk-rock scene to irritate record company executives. Turns out that he needn't have bothered, as one already exists.
So there you go. Estonian Folk Metal. It's the next big thing.
You heard it here first.
*And if you never went to them, well, you've just not lived.
If, a fortnight ago, you had said to me "David, in a fortnight's time you'll be hanging about in someone's basement listening to an Estonian folk band. And, moreover, you'll be enjoying the experience", I'd have scoffed at you. Scoffed, I say. "Jeeves", I'd've replied, "show my friend here the door. He's plainly been on the old whacky baccy".
You might have protested and told me about the fancy-dandy new time machine you'd just acquired but I wouldn't have been moved. Ignoring your cries about the lottery numbers for the next fortnight I'd've turfed you onto the street.
But I'd've been wrong. Sure, I would have had good reason to be wrong because two weeks ago I didn't know that that An Estonian folk-rock scene even existed. Heck, I didn't at five o'clock last night for that matter. But by nine I was crammed into a sweaty Camden club called The underworld, which if you haven't been to it is a bit like a cross between the Old Banshee and Jilly's in Manchester* bouncing around merrily as a bunch of Estonians played something which sounded not unlike Megadeath's Symphony of Destruction" but with extra bagpipes and flutes - and if you've never seen anyone play heavy-metal bagpipes you've missed out, I can tell you.
They weren't necessarily the best band I've ever seen - in fact they weren't as good as the band which was on after them - but they more than made up for it with facial hair, enthusiasm and a joie de vivre (does that translate into Estonian?) which really made the place bounce, and some of their music was very atmospheric, such as the opening to this almost Aboriginal number.
Of course, the band I'd gone to see were a bunch of Finns called Korpiklaani, who I wrote about last week. They were excellent fun and sang jolly songs about drinking, and I got to see an enormously fat man stage drive (well, stage slump) and the audience was much more diverse than I expected including a girl in a hijab which I found both mildly surprising and but also extremely cheering.
In his book 45, former KLF frontman Bill Drummond talks about the time he spent making up an entire Finnish folk-rock scene to irritate record company executives. Turns out that he needn't have bothered, as one already exists.
So there you go. Estonian Folk Metal. It's the next big thing.
You heard it here first.
*And if you never went to them, well, you've just not lived.
