The night was hosted in the Blues Kitchen, a short walk from Old Street station. As I walked to the venue, I remembered the Yammer Meetup; Old Street is where stuff happens: it’s a hub for partying as well as a hub for technology.
If I were ever asked the question: ‘which do you prefer: country music or soul?’ I would be inclined to say soul. It’s the energy, the performance, the rhythms and the instruments. There’s more to it; I find it more challenging and interesting to listen to. This was an event that I was happy to go to; it offered newness and excitement.
The streets of Shoreditch were buzzing by the time I arrived; a huge queue of smokers spilled onto the pavement, door men keeping a close eye on everything. I peered into the window of the bar and it was heaving. I immediately realised that it would be impossible to find a small group of strangers in a packed busy shouty bar. I leant on a wall and looked at my phone. I sent a message that said that I had arrived. I then saw a message from Sarah, who said she was outside.
‘Are you Chris?’ asked a woman, who was sitting on a window ledge, outside the bar. Sarah and I had found each other: the Meetup was on. I gave Trudy, our organiser, a call and she appeared at the main entrance. I was introduced to two more people before we were ushered to a table.
I looked around: it was a very cool place. The ceiling was covered in flock wallpaper that had been deliberately distressed. Tungsten bulbs poked out of huge lampshades that appeared to have been welded together to form what then became a bizarre metal ornament that hovered in space. Some parts of the room weren’t painted or tiled, but were instead covered in corrugated iron sheets. I had never been to a place quite like it. It was undeniably, almost unbearably, cool.
The noise was overwhelming. Loud soul music played over the PA system, and drinkers had to shout to each other to make themselves heard. Intoxicated revellers were intermittently dancing in small groups. Young lads, filled with beer and testosterone were grabbing each other by their shoulders and shouting: it had been a long time since I had been to a place like this. Ordering a drink proved to be a difficult trial of industrial patience, improvised sign language and repetition.
More people arrived; everyone seemed to know each other; I was the only ‘newbie’, someone who was obviously distant from the established cliques. I chatted (or, should I say, ‘shouted’) at Andy and Lawrence.
Andy turned out to be a long standing member of the group, but he mostly went to events in South West London where he lived; groups in Kingston, Richmond and in Surbiton. His day job was to build servers for an IT company. Lawrence, on the other hand, was from Paris and was in London for some interviews. He was currently working for a big consulting firm and was searching for something new: he wanted a new challenge.
Two other members of the group worked in education. I chatted to Nisha, who was a secondary school teacher, and Mia who used to have a job in adult education at the University of East London. Mia told me that she had taken a year out to go travelling to India and Burma.
Towards the back of the room was a reasonably sized stage. The warm-up act came and went, and nobody really paid much attention. Half an hour later, it was time for the main act. A man who wore a sharp suit who resembled James Brown started to shout. Drums resonated, guitars strummed and a saxophone screeched: the band had started.
After the first number, I decided to head to the front, to see the band at work. After taking a few steps, I saw that both Trudy and Sarah had the same idea. We nudged our way past all the revellers and got to the very front of the stage.
They were impressive: the band was a six piece; two guitars, a keyboard player, drummer, trumpeter and saxophonist. There were two singers: the James Brown look-a-like, and a woman who had a rich soulful voice. We clapped. We stomped our feet. We cheered. I could see beads of sweat forming on the forehead of Mr Brown, I saw a smile from the lead guitarist, who was obviously having a good time, but was also in ‘the zone’. What struck me was how tight they were; they had to be; the music demanded it. The saxophonist did a short solo, and the trumpet joined in with a close harmony. Mr Brown screeched into the microphone, and it was soon time for a guitar solo.
I remained in the throng for a good fifteen minutes, and then decided to head back to find the group. Lawrence was on his third cocktail and was clearly having a great time, and I couldn’t hear anything that Andy was saying. I smiled at Nisha and Mia, and felt a bit sad that I hadn’t been able to have a quick chat with Sharon the eldest member of the group, who was, like me, clearly on her own and somewhat overwhelmed by it all.
The band started to play their final number. When the last track was done, the bar erupted in a huge cheer. I looked at my watch; it was past midnight. A few members of the group had already left, and I needed to get going to make my transport connections. I gave Trudy a hug and said goodbye to everyone who was still there, and stumbled into the street, my ears ringing.
I walked down a street, following my phone, to find my bus stop. I walked past a paramedic who had arrived on a motorbike to attend to an incident; people were spilling into the streets and queuing to get into other events, minicabs were collecting and dropping people off. I heard shouting and boisterous chatter despite my dulled hearing. I saw couples holding hands, kissing, staggering and heading off home. I climbed over bags of rubbish and fast food containers and navigated parked cars and impatient traffic. The streets of Shoreditch were thoroughly alive.
Acknowledgements: interior photograph cheekily liberated from restaurant review site. I don't know who took this pic, but it's great!
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