Twinkle in Plastic   Leave a comment

Sheepishly, I return.
Cor! Last night’s LEAPS gig (Plastic#3) at the Portland. Rather a subdued evening where the performers outnumbered the paying customers quite heavily, and most of the acts involved ambient sound-twiddlery rather than rock ‘n’ roll theatrics of any kind. Plus I personally was hung over and very tired from the excesses associated with Loop Soup the previous evening. Shame about the empty room because the line -up seemed really strong to me. Adrian Thing’s Reaktor stuff was a welcome discovery, and The Man From Uranus (in the guise of MOONBUGGY) just gets better and better with his Stockhausen-inspired space-trip. Unfortunately he “couldn’t get into it” and left the stage about what one presumes was halfway through his set. This may have been because of the loud conversation at the back between a woman who we later discovered was called “Twinkle”, and Dr. Tim, who was probably asking her to pipe down, and telling her that she couldn’t come in for nothing etc. I’m speculating. She must have asked if she could do a turn, however, because the next thing I know Dr. Tim is announcing that she is the final act. I should say that she is a vaguely crustie-ish appearance with a crew cut and tattoos, and probably in her late twenties. She then gets up and proceeds to lie down behind the monitors and sundry bits of gear lining the front of the stage, which means that she is almost completely out of view. After a little while it is possible to discern from the occasional glimpse of a slowly twisting hand or foot that she is quietly writhing about in the limited space left on the small stage. Obviously it could have been funny, but I was too fucked to feel anything other than mildly annoyed because I felt obliged to watch her impromptu cosmick nonsense. Eventually Dr. Tim, perhaps fearing that there was no clearly defined end to her act (and seeing, perhaps, no reason why an evening characterised by a sense of lacklustre-ness should suddenly end in pathetic absurdity) stepped across the room and enquired:
“Have you nearly finished yet, Twinkle?”
Unfortunately the question coincided with the moment I had just taken a huge draught of Strong Suffolk into my mouth, and I’m afraid the comedy of the situation just got the better of me. I let out a helpless snort of laugher, together with a couple of jets of Strong Suffolk, which just made me laugh again. In turn, these two helpless snorts led to a third and so on, until I was finally only silenced by the voice of Twinkle’s small but evidently psychotic boyfriend who was standing behind me at the back of the room. I think he said something like:
“Don’t you fucking laugh you fucking cunt or I’ll punch you in the face!”
I stopped, immediately, but didn’t turn round. Instinctively I knew that confrontation is traditionally conducted face-to-face, and this legal loophole might help me avoid the aforementioned physical encounter.
He then said something else equally bloodcurdling, but I resolutely stuck to my policy of facing the other way and quivering gently, and it seemed to work. Anyway Twinkle graciously left the stage, seemingly happy with her performance, and managed to calm him down somehow, so I was spared.

Posted December 7, 2001 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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