GIRL RAY

 

Girl Ray just want to have fun. Sorry. Lame gag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: GIRL RAY/THE GOON SAX AT ELECTRIC BALLROOM, CAMDEN – 26/2/20

The last time I came to ELECTRIC BALLROOM was to see Royal Trux. Everyone was quite surprised when the gig ended after twenty-five minutes. Some people were annoyed and felt short-changed, but I thought it was great.

Royal Trux’s heyday was in the nineties, and there’s something very nineties about THE GOON SAX. Before I saw them tonight I thought I just quite liked them, but now I realise I actually really like them. There’s just something about them. I don’t even know what it is really. It’s quite basic. They’re a three-piece: bass, drums and guitar, with all three of them sharing vocals. They introduce themselves as Jim, Louis and Riley. No surnames. No formalities. No fuss. They’re quite straightforward. I think that’s what I like: their straightforwardness.

  The main singer who also plays guitar for most of the show – who I think is Jim, but might be Louis – reminds me of a young Stephen Malkmus, or a young Peter Kember, or a young Stephen Pastel, which are all good things as far as I’m concerned. He’s certainly young and, consequently, makes me feel old. He looks like someone I might have bought a little baggy of weed, or a 'teenth of hash, off in the nineties. Curtains and all. I enjoy his droll lyrics and his deadpan delivery. “You don’t have to hold my sweaty hand,” he sings at one point, “I completely understand.” 

  The other guy who mainly plays bass – who I think is Louis, but might be Jim – can’t really sing and he keeps knocking his face against the microphone, like he has really bad spatial awareness or something. But they still let him sing a couple of songs. He’s like their Spiral Stairs. 

  The drummer – definitely Riley – wears a sullen expression for most of the gig, keeps a steady beat, and indulges in no nonsense whatsoever. 

  The crowd seems split between total indifference – one guy at the front is just looking at his phone the whole way through the gig, and there is a horrible din of chatter in the background throughout – and pure enjoyment. One guy is watching with a broad smile stuck to his face, as if he can’t quite believe what he has had the good fortune to stumble across. I’m with him.

GIRL RAY have palm trees. Two of them. I think they’re real, but it’s hard to tell. They look real to me, but I’m probably not the best judge. They also have bongos, and you don’t see many bongos around nowadays. You used to see them around quite a lot in the nineties, but you don’t so much any more. They also have a bubble machine. They’re a fun band. They want to have fun. You definitely don’t bring a bubble machine with you unless you want to have fun. You just don’t.

  They are wearing matching outfits, which consist of white trousers, and white tops with the words ‘Girl Ray’ written in red cursive with a black outline. The core trio of Poppy, Sophie and Iris – no need for surnames tonight – are joined by a sort of nondescript man who looks vaguely familiar in the funny old way that all nondescript men tend to look vaguely familiar, and a lively short woman who seems to be having the most fun a human being can possible have, which, as it turns out, is an awful lot of fun. Also having fun is Poppy, the guitarist/singer, who leads the crowd through an impromptu Justin Timberlake sing-along. “I didn’t plan that,” she says after. She was just having so much fun that she lost herself in the moment.

  It’s a homecoming gig. “We’re mostly from Finchley,” explains Poppy, and you can imagine that their proud parents are somewhere in the audience having a great time watching their offspring having so much fun. It doesn’t even matter when one song, after two false starts, is abandoned. “Can we skip that one, please?” says the drummer – who could be Iris, but might be Sophie. 

  “Sure,” says Poppy. “It’s an album track, anyway. You won’t miss it. It sounds better on the record.” 

  When the lights come up I’m still not sure if the palm trees are real or not, so will have to remain none the wiser. I suspect it doesn’t really matter either way.

  There are a lot of people buying t-shirts after the show, far more than are buying records, in fact I don’t see anyone buying a record – and it makes me wonder if they are a t-shirt band. You used to get them in the nineties: t-shirt bands. Bands who, for some reason, sold more t-shirts than records. 

  I am waiting around to buy The Goon Sax’s latest LP, but there is no one around to sell it. Eventually Riley and Louis or Jim amble over. The record costs fifteen pounds but I only have a twenty and they don’t have any change. “Have you got ten?” says Riley. 

  “Yeah, I have actually,” I say. 

  “That’s fine,” says Riley, handing me the LP. 

  “Oh, thank you,” I say. 

  Ten pounds for an LP! Nineties prices.