Everyone on the train is trying to buy Oasis tickets apart from me
Is this our generation’s death of Princess Diana?
Hello! Overwhelmed by the donations received for my Berlin cycle thus far. Thank you. I leave on Sunday, and shall be providing regular updates on my progress (or otherwise).
Step off the train all alone at dawn
When Oasis released their mythos-destroying “Be Here Now” album in 1997, each copy bought on day of release from HMV came with a little certificate. “I was there then”, it proudly stated. Yours to keep forever, to remember that special feeling of believing, and being had.
We need a similar keepsake for the great Oasis ticketing disaster of 2024 - our generation’s moon landings, 9/11, and death of Princess Diana all rolled into one. A truly unifying moment, underpinned by an unconscious mourning for what we could have become.
Where were you? I was on a train from York to Bristol, seemingly the only person in the carriage *not* trying to buy tickets.
The CrossCountry is the Oasis of rail franchises: it connects absolutely everyone, it’s seen better days, and should probably be renationalised.
The train goes from Aberdeen all the way to Penzance at its craziest. Mine, on a late August Saturday morning that already felt like autumn, contained everyone: hen parties off to Leeds, bridesmaids shedding fake nails all the way to Birmingham, geezers seeking football, and Sunderland mums bound for glory in the form of a Hacienda-themed music festival in Nottingham.
Absolutely all were drinking, as is their inalienable right. It’s in the Magna Carta: “verily weekend trains are like ye airports, booze ye from the cock’s first crowe and be merrie beyond the wille of the King.”
The Sunderland pair were my favourite. On the Prosecco from 8am, they sensibly outsourced the purchasing of Oasis tickets to their own children. These, they kept on speakerphone, with regular updates for the whole carriage to enjoy.
“We’re tryna reclaim our youth”
“I’m a thousandth in the queue”
“I’m 146,000 in the queue”
“I’m in the queue for the queue”
“That’s alright darlin’. Hang tight.”
“I cannae be bothered.”
“Just hold on, love”.
Jeffrey Lewis & The Voltage + David Cronenberg’s Wife, The Crescent, York1
In a working men’s club turned community venue in Old York, indie kids young and old are out in force to see Jeffrey Lewis: New York’s finest, and possibly only, comic book artist, perma-touring troubadour, DIY garage-rock musician, and anti-folk songwriter.
What is anti-folk? Tom, singer in support band David Cronenberg’s Wife, is on-hand to explain:
”It’s acoustic punk, of course, and it’s about things that are true to life.
‘Like this next song, which is about when I met a mermaid.”
David Cronenberg’s Wife are amazing. Think The Fall meets Styloroc era Pulp, with songs that are short stories of despair, self-disgust, and stupidity. The best of these, Sweden, has a jarring and unsettling energy that transcends this space and gently appals the young lads at the front waiting to see the headliner.
As the roaring trade at the merch stall attests, this is a pretty popular gig for a Monday night in sleepy tourist York. Lewis has been around for many years and written many brilliant songs, but his style is so niche and his subject matter so starkly honest and anxiety-ridden your correspondent was pleasantly surprised by the sheer love on display. Perhaps the algorithms, so often drivers of a cynical narrowing of possibility, have found Jeffrey the people who need him.
The kids are here to dance to uptempo bangers about depression and despair (“Depression! Despair!”), or great artists no-one ever finds out about (“Exactly What Nobody Wanted”). And the older fans are here to cry along to bouncing tales of long-distance bus journeys (“Roll Bus Roll”) or laugh about that time Lewis absolutely failed to get laid at the Chelsea Hotel, but wrote a song about it anyway.
The Voltage, Lewis’ touring band, are noticeably tighter than on previous visits, Mallory Fueur adding inscrutable cool and occasional fiddle, and bassist Kait Pelkey keeping everything together.
The gig is interspersed with a Capella takes on some older classics, with comic book projector accompaniment. At one stage, the screen escapes its masking tape, and our hero has to go and stick it back up mid-song. Such is the glamour of DIY art.
It’s all magnificent, though, as Lewis is as compelling an artist as he is songwriter: seeing both operate in unison is an absolute, ramshackle treat.
Whether about your girlfriend falling asleep mid-movie or a giant brain murdering millions, these songs are all true, even when they’re obviously not.
So maybe that’s the secret of anti-folk. And, to quote one of Lewis’ older songs: it’s hard to get too bored when you pick the right two chords.
*****
Jeffrey Lewis & The Voltage tour the UK until mid-September
Sketch Bits and Bobs
Had an enjoyable time in Bristol doing sketch comedy - you can read about me writing about it here.
I’ve been cast in the October performances of The Treason Show, Brighton’s long-running satirical sketch show. Here’s what the audition felt like.
The next Next Level Sketch is Wednesday 25th September and we’d love to see you there.
That’s it for this week. I’ll write again on Sunday or Monday with the start of my trip to Germany.
Take care,
J x
This review is in today’s Morning Star.