Oye mi cumbia

Last night at the Hackney Empire, Barbican's Blaze Festival kicked off with more venom than Mark Van Bommel the other day. I'd heard of the first act, Céu, but not much of her music. Turns out that while she's fucking beautiful, her music is exactly the kind of inoffensive, Starbucks-endorsed mix of jazz and samba that caters to a demographic that I'd rather die of dysentery than become a part of. Her vocals were gorgeous -  "throaty" yet smooth, expressive but without any of the melismatic warbling you sometimes get with overeager singers - but while people seemed to dig her (did  I mention she was insanely beautiful?), the songs just weren't up to much. That said, there was a killer accordion (!) solo at some point and the DJ managed to fill the gaps left by the sparse set-up (vocals, bass, drums, keys) with some nice loops and vocal samples. 

But I was mainly there to see fellow Bogotános Bomba Estéreo, and man, if  I had needed any more incentive to leave England and go to Colombia, I got it. They were incredible. There were some almost shoegaze-y feedback orgies early on which had me a bit worried, but after three songs they got into their groove and down to business. Liliana Saumet, dressed a bit like an ethnic Skins extra, wasn't half the dancer Céu was, but a lot more fun to watch once she'd shaken off initial nerves. I didn't know any of their music before last night, and having listened to their last album, "Blow Up" a few times, I have to say it doesn't come close to conveying just how fucking punchy and fiery they are live. The drummer was an absolute beast, building crescendos up for what seemed like ages, then dropped a beat bigger than the steaks on the Uruguayan national team's BBQ. On record, the fusion of cumbia and champeta, laptop beats, clean, angular guitar lines and Liliana's rhymes about consumerism and racial politics sounds somewhat more sterile, but last night every bass line hit the spot. The crowd were a pretty even mix of expat Colombians and Brazilians, hipsters asserting their cosmopolitan credentials (it was  East London after all) and middle-aged white dudes in horrific flower shirts from Surrey, but by the end of the set they were all dancing down the front, animating their friends to join them, fellating each other (ok, maybe not the last bit, but there was some pretty heavy petting going on). 

Now to get that teaching job in Bogotá and emigrate... I wish.

Good band alert - Young Legionnaire

So I've been listening to the great and greatly missed I Was A Cub Scout a bit recently, and wondered what had become of them. Then I remembered that the drummer had, apart from playing drums for La Roux, played a gig with Friendship at the Old Blue Last a couple of months back, with his new band. I also remembered that new band being very good that night (definitely better than Friendship), despite it being their first or second show or something, and that they didn't even have a Myspace at a time. So today, I had a browse and a click and, sha-zam, not only do they have a Myspace, they've also got a 7" coming out next month. Back of the net.

The A-side, "Colossus", is a lovely, grungey bit of alternative rock that's emo in a manly, Rival Schools kinda way. The guitars are meaty and you can sort of guess it's the 100% sick William Bowerman (who's also in the awesome instrumental math-rock-with-testicles band Brontide) on drums - not because it's showy, double-bass-y drumming, but because it's interesting, misleading and off-message in all the right places.

But for me it's the B-side, "Iron Dream", that makes this release. It starts with a great tricky riff, and is more straightforward and driving than "Colossus". The vocals kind of remind me of The Thermals, and the whole thing has the tone and feel of the recent batch of more-than-solid bands who listen to stuff like Mclusky and Superchunk rather than Black Tambourine. I never really got Yourcodenameis:Milo, but considering it was this lot's singer and bassist's old project, I might have to check them out again. But only after I've played these two songs to death.

World Cup dread

So, the FIFA World Cup kicks off tomorrow. Yay. Don't want to rub it in too much for those who have actual, real jobs that require them to leave the house in the morning, but I have no intention of spending the next month doing much else other than drink beer, eat (preferably grilled meat) and watch the beautiful game.

Ah, but there is a catch. Apart from the fact that I really should be getting on with finding a job, there is the much bigger concern of whom to support over the next couple of excitement- and alcohol-fuelled weeks. This isn't as straightforward a choice as I'd like it to be. Roughly 65% of the whole fun about watching football is rooting for one of the two competing teams and investing some emotional capital in their achievements. 30% consists of "analysing" what happens on the pitch - y'know, the positions people take up, the amount and directions of the runs they make, the body language of the managers, etc (this, by the way, is done at almost unbearable - but still admirable - length and detail at nerd-spots like Zonal Marking). The remaining 5% is taken up by cheering whenever Chelsea/Bayern Munich/United/France/Juventus lose.

As I have said before, I find it very difficult to muster up any support for the German team. I mean, I do still get the odd goosebumps when I hear the national anthem, but that's mainly because it's one of the most bitching national anthems around and less because of any kind of national pride. They have a young team, some awesome players (Mueller, Oezil, Lahm) and will inevitably end up in the semi-finals. And yet, and yet. England has become my home, and I really believe that you can get attached to a national team that isn't the country of your birth if you feel a strong connection to it and its people. That is, excluding the bulk of their football supporters. Fans of national football teams, put together into close proximity to each other, to me resemble an ugly, unpredictable human version of the rat king, spewing shit beer and casual racism.

When I mention to other Germans that I've liked the look of every Dutch team at the last couple of tournaments, they look at me like I've got a wart the size of a beer mat on my forehead, and England fans to whom I confide that I want their team to do well probably assume I'm trying to suck up to them, but I'm not.

All of this means that I'll watch a lot of games either alone or in an awkward kind of emotional limbo, not wanting to appear like a traitor or gloryhunter, but at the same time trying not to give in to the (in my opinion) blind optimism/rage of "patriotic" supporters.

Tim Dowling got to the point I'm trying to make a lot quicker and more succinctly in yesterday's G2: "As someone who was not born in Britain, who remains suspicious of collective experience of any kind and who finds the soft line between patriotism and hooliganism as fuzy as the distinction between a legitimate tackle and aggrevated assault, I'm going to offer a piece of advice: give in."

I'll go and buy a Holland shirt with van Bronckhorst on the back now. This will be a long month