Ninety two – Live music and creative talks

I needed to go to the Park Plaza Hotel, which was on the south side of Westminster Bridge. The Meetup had a simple description: ‘Live music and happy hour! Buy one, get one free! Seven different acts’. Over twenty people had registered. I looked at my watch. I had just enough time to put on a smart shirt and jacket. I looked at my shoes. They were scuffed and needed a polish, but I didn’t have time. I needed to go.

Half an hour later, I arrived at the hotel. In the distance, I could see Big Ben bearing up from the north side of the river. I looked inside the entrance of the hotel and was confronted with anonymous glamour. After a ride on an immaculate escalator and a short walk across a vast expanse of marble, I found the Primo bar.

The bar was like any bar you would find in a four star hotel: spotlessly clean, comfortable and expensive. The only difference was the presence of a stage and the fact that my ears were being assaulted by an unforgivable noise that could be generously called ‘singing’. I steadied myself by sitting on a leather bar stool, ordered an eye wateringly expensive pint of Japanese beer which wasn’t really Japanese, and started to survey the landscape. My question was: ‘who belonged to the Meetup?’

At the end of the first act, I made my move. I leant over to a group of people who were sitting towards the front of the bar. ‘Belong to what?’ came the reply. ‘Oh, talk to Cath, she runs the night’. Cath turned out to be a Scouser in her early twenties.

‘Which group have you come with?’ She asked. Apparently there were two Meetups running at the same time and ‘not many people had turned up’; one group was for creative music lovers who were looking to go to free events, gallery tours and festivals. The other group was called ‘Learn with others: design, music and art’ which was about music events, design conferences and talks. I learnt that our Meetup host was a singer-songwriter and a former fashion design student.

‘There’s live music in this bar every day – can you believe that?’

Cath introduced me to Jen, a tall blonde woman who wore an expensive looking black dress. Her glamourous appearance made me feel relieved that I had gone to a tiny amount of effort.

Jen was a singer-songwriter, and a busker. She busked in London and Norwich, earning up to two hundred pounds a day.

‘I sometimes get ten or twenty pound notes – that’s not money to throw away is it? Circus performers who work in London, you know, can get up to a thousand pounds a day. Can you believe that? I don’t know what will happen when my benefits stop, though’.

We were joined by Donna, a singer-songwriter from Malta. Donna did the ‘tech’, which meant that she set the microphone levels.

A cool looking compere, who was wearing skinny jeans and sunglasses walked in front of the stage and said, ‘you’re such a great crowd, you guys are awesome!’ without a hint of irony.
It was then time for the third act: a singer-songwriter who had a good powerful voice.

‘Chris!’ I turned around. It was Cath. ‘These two people are from the Meetup!’ I was introduced to Dev and Malati. Apparently, it was Malati’s birthday and this was their second Meetup of the day. The first had been a French speakers’ group.

The next act was a cool looking elderly gentleman who had a deep gravelly voice that required a more experienced ear to appreciate. He performed a song, popularised by Roberta Flack that had an appropriate title: ‘killing me softly with his song’.

By the time I had started on my second pint of Japanese beer, the character of the performers had changed and the music had become somewhat more accessible. After a short interval, two young guys had started: one played the guitar, another the keyboard. Percussive rhythms were punched out from the body of a guitar; they sang familiar funky pop numbers in close harmony. A group of girls who were sitting close by had started to dance. By the end of their set, their efforts were rewarded with a minor cheer and a smattering of applause.

Cath introduced me to the performers. They turned out to be Italian and had been living in London the last few years.

‘We play around twice a week’ explained Alfredo, the keyboard player. ‘Last week we played at a bar in Heathrow airport’.

Before I could learn more about their story, it was time for another act: a singer-songwriter, who also played a guitar, but there was a twist: he crafted layered rhythms, bass tracks and rough harmonies using a digital loop machine: it was impressive stuff. I was taken in by his skill, how he began slowly, switched out loops, and came to an elegant finale for each song. It was simple, effective, listenable and catchy.

The final act was a jazz trio: a guitarist, a double bass player, and an American singer. They were accomplished and professional, but didn’t exude any sense of joy. There were short jazz solos by each of the musicians, and a final ‘thank you for listening’. It was past eleven at night and the bar was almost empty. The Italians had gone.

It was time to go. I finished my beer, stood up, and saw Cath walking towards the stage area, which was close to where I was sitting. ‘It’s great to have you here! Do come back!’ said Cath, giving me a quick goodbye hug.

It seemed that I had stumbled across fragments of a ‘scene’; one those many places where musicians go to get some ‘stage time’. Despite my grumpiness about some of the acts, and the fact that hardly anyone from Cath’s group turned up, it had been a good night.

When I rounded a corner to begin to retrace my walk across acres of marble, I bumped into Donna.

‘Let me give you my card’ said Donna, as we were saying goodbye. ‘It’s got a webpage that has got some information about my gigs on it’. I put Donna’s card in my wallet, found my way to reception and gently staggered into the cool London air. I had a train to catch.