Cassandra J at Komedia

Komedia Brighton this evening for Cassandra Jenkins and I had assumed based on the music that it would be jazz bar set up, not a mosh pit. This is a singer songwriter I found in Paris through FIP, the excellent French radio station. It’s ethereal plinky plonky synth, some basic guitar, solo female alto voice, cosmic lyrics. If you’re stoned it’s probably lovely. It also really works when you’ve been in a hard hot job for weeks and you are driving a Luton Van through the dawn in an unfamiliar country. That’s the day I booked these tickets – when the dawn broke as she blimbled on about the Aurora and I did a little cry as I drove about “wow, the size of the universe, gee how lucky I am” and all that familiar track.

Standing in a mosh pit largely surrounded by men and occasional tutting women in glasses, it was impossible to recreate the vibe. We could see her on a screen, and occasionally her guitar if I stood on tiptoe. Nobody is going to be dancing to this. We can tune in, listen to the lyrics. But they’re at the end of a long tour. Arguably it is the Brighton crew who illegally range extended FIP so it could be picked up here – it is that act that sold most of the tickets tonight. “I’m curious to hear her introduction,” I said to Lou. You can learn a lot by how people start.

“Hey *insert town name* this is *week* of the tour now so *generic reaction*. I’m happy to be here because I can go to *local record STORE!* *pause for applause* I didn’t see *local landmark* (In this case “the ocean.” We are by the sea.) I didn’t see *local landmark* yet but I hope to. Hey , how was *previous band*? *pause for applause* *applapause?* Here’s a song.”

The songs were slightly louder than the tutting of the woman next to us. I realised very quickly that I either needed to be sitting down and slightly narcotised, or I needed to be wired, driving a Luton van round the route peripherique, hoping for something cosmic to distract me from multiple languages, screws, drills and cable ties.

She’s a good musician. Sure let’s go Joni or Patti first, but there needs to be new light. The first four tracks might have been one long slightly varied single. Lou and I are tired. No shame leaving a tired gig early when you can’t see a fucking thing anyway and the woman to your right disapproves of your very existence. Her boyfriend went and stood right in front of me. Pair of douchebags and I’m tired.

A surprise she didn’t mention FIP, maybe she didn’t know. She’s a good artist, working hard, on the road, tired. If I’d been on the lash I might have just got slammed and had my emotions triggered into weeping “oh god the atmosphere is just a membrane and there’s nothingness just beyond us forever”. That’s the problem with getting older. Done all that a few times, it costs money, you feel worse that next day. “If we aren’t feeling it we can jump anytime,” I had said before we went in. “I’ve got no skin in the game.

We are back having camomile tea and she’s still singing. I still recommend her. Driving late it useful to have these tracks where you listen to the words sometimes, mixed up with the banging WAKE UP type things. It’s what FIP did so well. Here’s the lyrics to Aurora IL and that was my dawn song and one that I’ll be putting on my Paris playlist when I finally get round to building it.

The band’s gone
And I’m laid up
At a hotel counting days
in Aurora

A thousand miles from home
Looking for signs of life
Circling the parking lot
Just to see blue sky
I watch planes fly
Over the city
Caught in space-time
Nowhere to be

A billionaire in Texas
Built a rocket ship
To send the oldest man in space up
Up on a pleasure trip

And when he came down crying
On the local news
He couldn’t stop talking
About the color blue

It’s a thin line
Over the planet
Just a thin line
Between us and nothingness

The bus left this morning
They took my name off the marquee
How long can I stare at the ceiling
Before it kills me?
Yeah, it kills me so

I watch planes fly
Over and over
Ripping space-time
Out in Aurora

Over and over out in Aurora
Over and over out in Aurora
Over and over out in Aurora

Too many tall men in the front rows. Literally might as well listen on Spotify.