Time to crawl around Camden
Posted 7 months ago 3 responses
This Radar writer feels old. As sales of skinny jeans, chequered neckwear, trilbies and dayglo socks skyrocket, it must surely be time once again for the annual yoof festival known as the Camden Crawl, sorry, the Red Stripe Camden Crawl 2008 – yeah, sponsorship, that’ll stick it to the man. This weekend the northern suburb hosts a mile long festival of ‘hedonism’ in the form of people with ‘hair’ ‘attitude’ and ‘drugs’ going wild – and that’s just the bands.
The streets will be covered in vomit and cans; there will be crying teenage girlies in every doorway, while tramps and drug dealers rush to Camden like chavs to a Burberry sale.
So achingly trendy is this year’s event, it even has a PR company-led Facebook page, replete with text speak, bad grammar and desperate cries for spare tickets from little Tarquin and Mercedes who’s mummy wouldn’t give them more pocket money.
And I quote: “I cannot wait, the only thing that will spoil it is ques, red stripe running out and the frattelis. Hopefully see some of you down for some of the shiz, am myspacing all bands right now.”
Argh. Before I get too Daily Mail, I’m sure standing in a queue at 11am on Friday morning with a load of completely over excited teenagers on Red Bull is fun for some people, but for those of you who have to work on Friday morning, joining the back of the queue outside the Electric Ballroom in the rain at 7pm on Friday night will be even more fun, I’m sure.
There will be some good bits, however. Turning up with no expectations to see a band you’ve never heard of, who then cause the hairs on your neck to stand on end and make you want to hug someone with joy is a feeling even I can remember.
And the quirky, lovely Hungamunga people will be there, hopefully using the piles of rubbish in the streets to make something beautiful; while the ‘Bloody Awful Poetry Competition’ could turn out to be as satisfyingly harrowing as watching KCL’s own Pottytime try to remember the oh-so-amusing alternative lyrics to George Michael’s ‘Careless Whisper’ in a karaoke nightmare at the last meet-up.
The live comedy bits might be nice too. Oh, and the music? Shameless plugs for Joana and the Wolf and The Brute Chorus.
And the worst, most annoying thing about the whole weekend? I haven’t got bloody tickets.
