Friday 6 March 2009

"Hells Angels" by Hunter S. Thompson.

The Times, August last year.
“Returning from the Bulldog Bash Bikers fest’, Gerry Tobin, Canadian Biker in his 30's , is shot dead on the M20.” At a glimpse on the patch sewed on his jacket, a black-denim which the sleeves have been ripped off, we recognise his affiliation to a well-known motorcycle group called “Hell’s Angels”.

“I’m born in a desert, raised in a Lion’s den...”
- Grateful dead, New Minglewood Blues -

Starting like a “scritch” throughout Eisenhower’s presidency, “Hell’s angels” tells the story of one of the most notorious gang of outlaws overflowing the USA. Going through newspapers quotes and sciological reports, this close study of the hoodlums, confronts the media’s favourite game and real experience. Using his most successful Gonzo skill, H. Thompson gives us the whole report of what was going to be the biggest publicized gang in America.

The statement begin in San Bernardino, California, where the first charter was created in 1950. Counting a few dedicated bikers, it is needless to say that they had build their reputation by collecting police records. Felonies and burglaries were the most common acts, but some of them could go for sexual harassment and gang rape.
As they would deny these last accusations, the police and the media aimed accurately to distort the related facts, trying to eradicate the new raising movement. But it didn’t last long and soon enough, the “making of a menace” had been given up. Swinging fist through the media persecution that had been created, the rush for idolization had inevitably been triggered and followed meticulously by the most famous magazines at that time.

From false accusations to worship, Hunter S. Thompson had succeded to bring us the first feature of his carreer. Chasing the Angel’s all along the sixties, he had completed his induction into the group which “respected” him like one of them. Keeping in mind his duty as a Gonzo journalist, the eloquent scoop will keep you into it as if you were sharing their own booze. Described as the book which made “Thompson’s name”, this story of sex, drugs and rock n’roll could make you reconsider most your valuable belongings.

From line to line.

Support your local outlaw.

Feasts and Brewering.

The Scolt Head
The Ep bar

The EP bar.

Right on the joining corner of Curtain Road and Old street, the place is a casual South American cocktail bar. Prics are cheap and the quality of the drinks is often surprising.

From time to time.

Anti Social Behaviour Order
A flight over a crow's nest
G20 coverage

The Scolt head.

The setting is authentic, and the vivid ambience sounds like a painting of a provencal garden as a paved alley leads to an old front door. The place is halved by the counter where a shiny blonde is drying wine glasses. Wrinkled leathered sofas are disseminated over the place until a large entrance which seems to be restaurant room. I move furtively to the closest divan, the one with the biggest pile of newspaper. The menu is appealing mainly composed of various fish dishes. Prices are common for this place full of character.

From places to places.

Feasts and Brewering.

Wednesday 4 March 2009

A flight over a crow's nest.

- February 29th -

Ah, here we are again. After a long time without a decent thing to write...I do not mean that these past days have not been creative, as they were. Some say that the time to digest is always the most important as to be able to transmit content.


I have done a few things, through the maze of "Zeebigcity", and some quite interesting ones. As I am fond of various sorts of events, gauging my purse to make sure it will follow, I sunk my teeth to another restless week-end. Food as a starter, music as main, all senses were involved.


Glamorous time when the sun is out, the terrace of the Scolt Head fronts east, surrounded by trees. Nice ales and nice food. Oh...Well. Nice place.




After a long struggle to leave my cosy sofa, I head back to the Tube to digest my lunch. Almost asleep when my stop is announced (though it's often like that!), a quick check to the time reminds me tea time. Although fond of Earl Grey but without milk, Cocktail's time rings. Once out of Old Street station, I decide to go to the Ep Bar where I have rarely seen south american's cocktails so cheap...


No time to rest and I fly to the Cross Kings which is holding the launch of the Post Apocalypse night. In crave for a nice bit of experimental sound, the party was four quids and worth it.
Trendies were playing on child drum's kit singing the bliss of squirrels, when celtic harps were covering a few of well-known English's opus such as the Smiths.


But as good time always ends, I had to go back home missing the favorite band interview... The next performance will be on the 5th of April. Same place...