"last night's setlist had no new songs in it, no Libertines reunions and no alternate tuning. It had lot's of improvised doodling, cable-twisting electric shocks etc, half-hearted efforts at passion and many aborted songs. The only thing of note was the incredible 6 or 7 full-throated sing a longs from much of the crowd. Off the top of my head I think the tunes included were: Last of the English Roses, Salome, What a waster, Lost art of murder, Albion, Deathonthestairs, GoldenBrown, Goodolddays, Vertigo, Broken love song, For Lovers (sung by Wolfie] France, Dontlookbackintothesun, back fromthedead, BreckRdlover, Bucketshop, You'remyWaterloo, DillyBoys, Lastpostonthebugle, Gangofgin (kind of eventually, forgot how weird the lyrics are to sing these days] Cyclops, My Darling Clementine, Throughthelookingglass, Merrygoround, RadioAmerica, BaddiesBoogie, Unbilotitled, Can'tstandmenow...can't remember what else Oft times I irritate myself with the banal cycle of terrors and tremors and general spine-arching spasms of blank fury that ritually haunt intimate live performances such as last minute 126 gatherings. I have just got home from the gig which as always turned into a winner-stays-on round the pool table disco. A handful of stalwarts in the Limehouse morning sun, wondering where the night went, where their friends went and what becomes of the broken-hearted. By then I've usually caught up with a few old mates and had a few shandies and now yawning in the glorious Savernake forest sunshine Wiltshire and the world seem far from bleak.. but during last night's set I felt a distinct panic in the soul that disturbed me greatly. There were dark mutterings from a section of the maybe 25-strong crowd. My interpretations of the exact words were too horrific to be anything other than paranoid ideas on my part.. until I distinctly heard the tall kid in eye-liner and pretty face say 'I'll shit on his head'.. with that I stuck a pool cue in his throat and he flew backwards off his stool. Not one person commented on it and he himself didn't seem surprised. All night his persistent sarcasm, arrogant diva-like posturing in his thread-perfect coolerthanthou get-up and cruel asides were demoralizing me and although I played a fair few songs for nearly two hours I felt useless, unoriginal and wondered what I was doing there at all when in reality the idea is to whack out loads of tunes for people who want to hear them live. Why would anyone bother to turn up and then clearly not have any enjoyment from the situation, and more to the point, create a knowingly twisted atmosphere. I must sound like such a moaning freak but really i feel like I need to share this with someone who might know what I'm on about.
Mostly I lead quite a solitary life, peppered with random bursts of intense social carnage. Reently I have fallen in love and for the first time in ages am enjoying one persons company and affection. She's lovely. But that's one world, away from the rigours and decadant manouvres of bumming about east-London with a geetar and a pipe. I wouldn't even discuss it with her because she hates drugs, drink, punch-ups, camera phones, and hardly speaks English anyway....basically I feel like a bully for knocking that arrogant prick off his perch and actually he's the bully for his heartless jibbering. I'm not saying don't criticize or complain if i'm shit or late, but don't be rude or you deserve a bunch of fives up the hooter. I feel much better now. Had a mental night. Since the curfew slackened London has been reminding me why i love her so, am lost in her so... delerium and embankment gardens. Hackney hideouts and forgotton pathways into unto arcady and again Arcadia. Wandering the wards. Potting five in a row. Kissing on the kerb. Trashy stalls and flashy geezers. rudegirls and posh-tramps".
On with the Cocorriano tonight! It will be a blast!