Songs from The 100 Club
Crane your necks for this iconic and enduring venue.
The 100 Club is a live music venue in central London, literally on Oxford Street. It's nestled amongst this late capitalism wasteland, alongside that big new thing outside Tottenham Court Road that looks like a massive screensaver, and those weird American candy stores that are allegedly run by the Taliban. It's almost like no one has realised it's there. I’m probably wrong about this, but The 100 Club is a relatively rarity in this part of town; which, logically, it shouldn’t be, right? A live music venue in the centre of a major city shouldn’t be particularly unusual, but it very much is, as far as I can tell.
I’ve got in my mind the image of a tourist, mind blown wide open by a full day of bouncing around premier London tourist attractions. The morning at Shrek World, the afternoon at M&M World, and now wants to spend the evening immersed in the city’s musical prowess. If they were feeling spontaneous and wanted to see where the wind takes them (and hadn’t done any research), I imagine they would head into the Oxford Street / Soho vortex and see what sucks them in. I feel like this is what I’ve done on holiday, seeking out that elusive holiday spontaneity. Popping up in a venue that “just happens” to be playing some live musics more or less a dream come true, and I’ve definitely pounded the streets of various capitals and long weekend cities, spontaneously stressing out, wondering where all the bloody culture is.
Either way, the 100 Club still exists, somehow. Its little sign pops out shyly next to the bright lights of shops soon to be closed down, and you are led downstairs into a dark basement with red walls (if I was a hypothetical tourist in London, I would be shitting my pants with excitement at this point). Somehow, this establishment has persisted amidst all the wider cultural decline and property speculation, and has avoided its inevitable fate of becoming an All Bar One or a speakeasy or some other tedious novelty bar (or just the storage facility where the Taliban keep all their Butterfingers and luminous cereal. At the very least, you would expect that The 100 Club would have been forced into an economic model in which all the live shows finish by 9pm so they can put on some horrible, money-harvesting club night necessary for keeping themselves alive.
I went there recently and I was reminded how much I like it. It's one of those places where I’ve probably only gone to five or six times, normally in the run up to Christmas when the White Guys with Guitars seems to dominate the event listings. I haven’t a clue what happens the rest of the year there - in my mind it's just Frank Sinatra-style rat pack cover bands - but whatever it is, I’m just glad they’re still here. Because, let's face it: If places like the 100 Club didn’t exist, life would simply not be worth living.
Play the jingle!
Party Politics - The Rhythm Method
I’ve been desperately trying to think of a way to get The Rhythm Method into one of these things, so here is a wonderful opportunity. As is often the case with live gigs, its hard to work out exactly when I saw them precisely and who I was with. A quick whizz through The 100 Club archives suggests it was around February 2018, and I think I was there on my own. This activity and time period feel slightly incongruous, as my main memory of this time was being in an antisocial stupor as I spunked my money away on the long-distance relationship I was going through at the time, and on a daily commute from south London to Woking, to do a job which had almost no purpose. It was as emotionally unsustainable as it was financially unsustainable.
But here I am, I’ve ventured out and a band I quite like - Cabbage (see below) - are headlining. Being a cool and interesting guy, I pop down early to see the support act as well. These two cool young guys roll onto stage - one wearing a blazer over a vintage Chelsea shirt and the other a big baggy t-shirt - and that’s it. The Chelsea guy bangs out some lovely keyboard over a backing drum track, whilst the other guy delivers some dryly delivered lyrics that are too intentionally unpretentious to be described as spoken word or rap.
The result is some fun, no frills pop bangers. They sing on subjects including house parties (Party Politics), brits abroad and Gareth Southgate, adopting a weird nether zone where you’re not quite sure if they’re being ironic, but also in a way that draws into the whole question about whether it even matters. People like house parties, and The Rhythm Method talk about house parties in a way that is fun, interesting and unique.
Every time I listen to the Rhythm Method, they just make me feel good. It makes life feel simple, like you can just fuck off all the bad stuff; just lean back and listen to some guy make puns about Cherie Blair.
If you do listen to them, take note of the lyrics. I’m not going to be a wanker and quote them here, but they are certainly a big part of that summer's day, lager in the park mindset that The Rhythm Method curates so nicely.
Terrorist Synthesiser - Cabbage
It's still February 2018 and we’re still at The 100 Club. The Rhythm Method have finished their set, and I am feeling sufficiently inspired me to populate the notes app on my phone with bad ideas for some unidentified creative writing project I’m too depressed to pursue (“Write a poem about Ruddles” reads one of them; Ruddles being the incredibly cheap ale they serve at Wetherspoons, and at this point in time literally cost £1.49 a pint).
Anyway, my solo brainstorming session is broken as four scruffy lads from Mossley, Greater Manchester enter the stage, which is exactly what I’m here for. I’m very “into” Cabbage at this point in my life - both the band and the vegetable (which, for what it's worth, is unfairly maligned imo). Cabbage (the band) offer a sense of excitement, energy and rebelliousness that I am very much not feeling in my personal life. Normally I find rebelliousness trite and annoying, but around this time there are a stream of bands coming through who are doing rebelliousness in a quite good way; tongue-in-cheek, fun amidst the fury. The bands Shame and Fat White Family come to mind.
To put it in context, it's a time when Grenfell is on fire, Theresa May is fucking around with snap elections and everyone is suddenly very concerned about plastics in the ocean and are posting on Facebook about paper straws. “This song is about Jeremy Corbyn” announces guitarist and singer Joe Martin, before banging out Terrorist Synthesiser; a joke about how people think JC was mates with Hezbollah or whatever.
It nicely sums up what Cabbage are all about. They speak of the incredibly bleak world they find themselves in, going beyond the vague, empty statements that most musicians blurt out, but in a fun, accessible and tongue-in-cheek way. It very much embodies the nihilism of the era, as the Tories continue to burn down everything good about the UK (and, remarkably, were only half way through at this point). They also have songs called Uber Capitalist Death Trade (about war, obviously), Network Betrayal (about how shit the trains in the UK are) and Necroflat in the Palace (about Jimmy Saville’s friendship with the royal family). I used to sit killing time on the loo at my pointless Woking job, full of angst about the world and my own life listening to Cabbage, letting the furious irony course through me.
Cabbage are no longer together (a theme I might touch on another time). I often wonder what they’re up to now, and I hope they’re well. Regardless, I’ll always appreciate their contribution to shaking me out of the funk of the era and articulating some feelings of the time.
Do Nothing - New Life
Fast forward to February 2022, I’m back at The 100 Club and things are looking up! I’ve got some friends with me this time. It's another double header, with two bands that I sincerely like playing on the same night: The Orielles (see below) headlining, and Do Nothing supporting them. We are blessed.
Much like the other bands on here, this is just a much welcome opportunity to talk about Do Nothing. There was a time in my life not long before this blessed February night where I was “well into” Do Nothing. A quick consultation of my 2020 Spotify Wrapped confirms my suspicions: four Do Nothing songs in the top ten. Thanks Spotify. You’re welcome, Do Nothing.
What are Do Nothing? Well, they are a band from Nottingham, and I like their vibe. It's the usual setup: White Guys; guitar, bass, drums; sense of male entitlement to musical success. Your eyes are immediately drawn to their lead vocalist, who wears an identical outfit at every gig: a pain black suit with no tie, with vaguely slicked back hair kinda like Alex Turner or something. He’s said in interviews that, when on stage, he seeks to embody the vibe of a failing salesman. His lyrics - doing a very classic “post punk” thing of neither being sung nor spoken - very much align with this; meandering barks of someone calmly rattling through a full blown breakdown. Much like Cabbage, they’re quite funny. New Life was right up there in the 2020 stakes and has some of my favourite lines (again, I’m not going to quote them).
One very memorable bit about this gig was that we were sat down almost the entire time. The aforementioned jazz club aura that the 100 Club gives off is informed partially by a vaguely jazz club-style seated section to the left of the stage. They tightly pack in some orange plastic chairs that have almost no legroom, like if a pub landlord got put in charge of a crooning, dimly lit table-for-two variety night in Vegas, and there you have it. It sounds very unspectacular, but I think we all came away from it feeling positive our seated experience. It's good to try new things after all, see things from a new perspective. We must remain vigilant however: sitting down at gigs is a slippery slope the deeper into your 30s you go.
The Orielles - Let Your Dog Tooth Grow
It's still February 2022 and we’re still sat down. The increasing irritation at the lack of legroom is benign offset by the increasing number of delicious pale ales being consumed. One of us needs the loo and needs to clamber over some strangers like they’re on a long haul flight.
Nevertheless, we are smug. An entertaining facet of the 100 Club is that its layout is quite unusual. The stage is incredibly wide and shallow, meaning band members are effectively lined-up like they’re awaiting execution. In front of the stage, there are several quite thick pillars, which are presumably vital for the structural integrity of this basement venue. One in particular really does inhibit viewing, so - unless you are at the side like we are - it's quite hard to find a standing position where you can see the full breadth of the stage. This is a quirk that I find incredibly endearing. Music is after all about your ears, not your eyes.
No such problems here in the Tory seats, as The Orielles emerge onto the stage. They are another extremely cool band. In fact, they are probably a bit better than cool; “outrageously talented” is probably a more accurate description. I don’t really know how to describe them, but I do think they sound quite unique. There is a spacey, psychedelic thing going on with them, but that manifests itself in some extremely groovy bangers.
From our point of view, we get an excellent view of the guitarist, Henry Carlyle Wade; who, its safe to say, is incredible. He is absolutely miraculous to watch, demonstrating effortless control driving those big guitar riffs which power forward their songs. My friend Dan compares him to Jimi Hendrix, which is high praise from Dan, who doesn’t dish out such accolades lightly. Perhaps more entertainingly, Henry goes through a wonderful range of facial expressions as he wriggles around the stage, His cheeks and lips contort, his eyes roll back into his head; all like he’s drifting into another dimension.
If you want to listen to more of The Orielles, I recommend starting with their first (and, in my opinion, best) album - Silver Dollar Moment - where Let Your Dog Tooth Grow is from. The following albums are slightly more dominated by their spacey, experimental vibe, which is nice, is a bit less “toe tappy”. Sugar Tastes Like Salt is also very mint. It doesn’t appear on any albums, but is a fun eight-minute affair that sounds like a showreel of everything they can do; which I really like but you may disagree.
Nabihah Iqbal - Zone 1 to 6000
We all like making new friends, don’t we?
A quick thought on friendmaking at different ages. As a kid, you are presented with (theoretically) hundreds of friend options of whatever school you find yourself at. Your malleable brain means you can basically be whoever you want to be if you believe hard enough (again, theoretically), and you basically have loads of free time to explore these relationships. The main issue is that your lack of clear identity probably makes you either an anxious weirdo or someone so confident they probably have some sort of personality disorder, so this process is obviously extremely complicated. Adult friendmaking, on the other hand, is quite different. You probably have a slightly more solid sense of who you are by now and the sorts of people you’re willing to spend time with. However, by this time, adults have limited time and opportunities to meet new friends. The people you spend the most time with - your work colleagues - aren’t necessarily always ideal friend targets, as that can be fraught with complications. As such, adult friendmaking is something that's achieved increasingly rarely. My understanding is that men find it particularly hard to make friends, but I also doubt it's that simple.
Either way, when it happens, it becomes even more satisfying as a result. For me personally, I don’t particularly crave having more friends. I am largely content with the setup I’ve got, with different groups I see with varying frequency, each group enriching my life (and hopefully theirs) in a unique and beautiful way. I feel like I’ve largely eschewed any relationships which I would consider “surface level”, because who’s got time for that. I feel like I could have had better relationships with friends were I more capable of keeping in touch with people, but c’est la vie.
But at the same time, if you do manage to make a new friend as an adult, it's the best! I met a new friend, Fred, through my friend Oscar. We both went on Oscar’s stag do and, along with some of Fred and Oscar’s connected pals, had a lovely time. At Oscar’s wedding, we all drunkenly agreed to be friends forever.
Fred and I have managed to action this commitment through the medium of music. Fred likes going to gigs. I like going to gigs. Fred has a much cooler music taste than I do, as I deduced when he told me about going to the Barbican to see something or other.. As such, also drunk at the wedding, I committed to going to The 100 Club with Fred, to see Nabihah Iqbal.
I took the approach of very much trusting Fred on this one, as I don’t know who Nabibhah Iqbal is. Sometimes there is a great joy in going to a gig where you don’t really know anything about the artist. Quite often, it's the best way to first experience someone. It's fun to just not bother listening to anything beforehand, and allow the live experience to inform all your first impressions.
It started off well: there was some support band who were very cool but we didn’t quite catch the name of (for what it's worth, it is quite annoying when this happens. Going to start a campaign to give elocution lessons to support acts so they can clearly communicate who they are). I think they were quite jazzy but I can’t really remember. What I do remember is that all the band members kept swapping instruments. Fred and I both agreed that we quite liked it when this happens).
Then Nabihah then came on and was also great. Fred and I craned our necks around the pillar to see her at the other end of the stage (we were standing, not in the jazz seats). Her music is very difficult to dislike; lots of lovely, kind of spacey layers, cool beats, nice thoughtful vocals. One thing that stuck out for me was how she spoke between songs, charismatically articulating the background of her various tunes. Given I generally see bands made up of men who awkwardly grunt a few select words between songs, this was a nice change of pace. It transpired that she hosts a radio show on one of those trendy internet radio stations, which made a lot of sense; she had big Sunday afternoon 6Music energy.
Zone 1 to 6000 is a song apparently about getting wankered in London on hot, dank summer nights, which I’m sure many of you can relate to as a formative experience. Thanks, Nabihah. As for Fred, over the course of writing this I’ve remembered that I’ve forgotten to reply to one of his messages, so I’m going to go do that now (hopefully).