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How about a pop-party?

Friday, October 22nd, 2010

There is a gentleman who patrols Abbey Road; clad as a skeleton, balloons in hand, his purpose is apparently the promotion of a party shop. The first time I saw him he gave every appearance of throwing himself into his chosen occupation with abandon: frame buoyed up by a bulbous crowd of helium balloons, neon-ridged hand waving at passers-by.  Yet such enthusiasm could only last so long. By my second sighting, the effort of bringing some autumnal cheer to London’s workers had taken its toll, and our Mr Skeleton, bony shoulders drooping, now slunk miserably along, one sad balloon trailing in his wake. Here was one skeleton in need of a party.

Jolly fortuitous, my groovy blog-brethren, as with Halloween festivities coming up, it is indeed time for us (and skeletons such as he) to party. So let me suggest, through a serviceable anecdote about a recent party I attended, how you could stage your next celebratory social gathering…

The party in question was very much the climax of ‘Operation 30th Birthday’, the on-going festivities to congratulate my cousin (she of the plate – see previous blog) on ticking off a third decade of life on our little rock called Earth. The venue (laid on courtesy of my cousin’s sound-technician boyfriend) was a recording studio in north London, Resident Studios; the object of the party (all good parties should have a defined purpose), was for my cousin and her friend (the only other singer in her set) to lay down some bangin’ tunes for posterity.

The two ladies (to protect their privacy I shall henceforth refer to them as Marjorie and Brünhilde – not their real names) shouldered their heavy duty with professionalism. They arrived with song-choices, lyrics, and alcohol ready at hand – the latter of which proved a highly adequate tonic for the nerves as they waited for the microphones and various other fiddly bits to be set up, and my minimalist tinkling on the piano no doubt a further soother.

Once all was in readiness, the non-singers retreated behind the glass as Marj and Brüni, slightly squiffy but perfectly lucid, took to the floor. And so followed two hours of belting, warbling, duet-ing, and even improvised rapping – their (honestly rather good) singing increasingly accompanied (as studio-minutes and alcohol reserves diminished) by rocker-style posturing and air-guitar. I would love to tell you what they sang, but sadly the rather contemporary nature of their song choices did not coincide with my more selective tastes. I can therefore only state that I think a Madonna number came up, but that Brünhilde most definitely rounded off the evening with a spirited rendition of ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’.

This old-school flourish was the conclusion of the evening, and the happy pop-partyers were ejected from the life they had oh-so-briefly sampled. ‘That was the best present I’ve ever had!’ my cousin enthused. Poor thing, delusional in a post-party euphoric high. On sober reflection, she would of course have said ‘It was very nice, but nothing can beat a plate.’

Georgina Phipps, Editorial Administrator

Gladys (Friend of Bob) Says:


Whoo Hoo!! Reading the aforementioned rendition of the singing brought tears of nostalgia to my old and weary eyes. I can recall long past days when unaware of my sadly lacking vocal talents I also joined the throngs of people, much like Marjorie and Brunhilde, longing to share my musical hysteria with the unsuspecting and unaware public. Those days have long passed and I am now only too aware of the truly hideous sounds I must have emitted and thankfully am unaware of the long term damage I have no doubt caused to innocent people. Now in my dotage years, Karaoke, long buried in the mists of time I prefer the more sober and rewarding pastimes of plate painting!!

Posted on November 4th, 2010 at 10:29 pm

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