Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Worth a two-tram ride
The Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band?
Stopped by Fraktal last night to see my friends play. Housed in the basement of a Prague 7 apartment building, Fraktal is one of the few expat bars in the Letna area to last, and even to expand. The atmosphere is young, actors and English teachers, plus a sprinkling of neighbourhood Czechs and whatever expat locals live in the area.I've never been a big fan of the bar. While I enjoy it, the smoke factor is impressive, even for this town. Between that and the two-tram journey for me to get there, I usually take a pass on my friends' invitation to stop by there. Prague center denizens can be really spoiled in that way. In any case I managed to make my way to the other side of Petrin Hill to see the recently named Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band – Bassist Jo Cooper of Fatty Lumpkin, singer Angela Alsop, a regular Fatty guest singer (generally, when singer saxophonist Nelson Craig couldn't be found) and guitarist Jez, who had nothing musically to do with Fatty, although he was a regular on their guest list.Angela christened the band thusly after they finished a rendition of Fatty's "Master;" however, other than that song, they don't sound anything like the kind-of-erstwhile jazzy-funk Prague jam band.
Instead, this was much more a modern tribute to the blues, something penniless musicians like Joe and Jez know a lot about. Angela's smoke-tinged voice was pure velvet last night, as she belted balled after ballad which, despite the pretty pathetic sound system, kept bringing the curious to peek in the back room where they were playing.
So I doubt the eponymous name will last, and Joe will soon be returning across the Channel so who's to say when of if they will play again. That's why it's important to make the two-tram ride from time to time.
Not to mention the food.
Prague's biggest secret: While Fraktal looks like the place you sipped latte after latte in during your college days, the kitchen is much more upscale. Ordered the goat's cheese and roasted pepper quesidilla's with pesto, and a curried carrot and corriander soup that's worth mentioning. It was fantastic, served with homemade bread and butter, and togethe I don't think it was much more than 120 Kc.Made the mistake of sitting next to a young Austrian journalist trying to make his way at a new business magazine here. Just what we need, another English-language rag, owned by people who know nothing about the industry, with no access to resources, poor pay, poorer management and staff who still think the Two Budweiser Story is novel. I don't mean to slam new publications, but sheesh, haven't we learned our lesson yet? It's just not possible to put out quality news with no resources, poor management, little experience and poor salaries. It's clear what you wind up with though: Low-cost PR.
The name game
I left the bar just as the night trams were starting. Couldn't bear the thought of a two tram ride at 12:40 in the morning, so I gave in and SMSed City Taxi.
As I'm waiting, I'm accosted by some African guy who saw me coming out of the bar."Hello, hello. How are you? You are looking nice tonight. Where are you from? Are you American?"
I hate this approach. And it's typically African. I remember as a student in France, how they would chase women down the street with direct challenges: "Hello, pretty lady, do you want to come to my place for a coffee?" They never took no for an answer, so I would respond by not responding. This guy wouldn't relent.
"Where are you from? What is your name? Are you American?"
Perhaps it’s due to too much BBC, but the question, posed there, outside a bar at 12:40 in the morning, by some strange African who wouldn't go away, seemed menacing. But why should such a question be so?
Clearly irritated, I responded with my own question: "Where are you from? What is your name?"
He immediately tells me his name (since forgotten—remember I was coming out of a bar) and says proudly, "I am from Senegal. It is in Africa."
"Yes," I say. "I know Senegal."
He seems shocked. "You? How do you know Senegal? Have you been to Africa?"
"No, but I've been around. In France I had friends from Senegal."
Immediately, he switches gears: "Donc, vous parlez-francais?"I look at him directly now: "Mais bien sur. J'y ai fait mes etudes."
Now he thinks we're good buddies, but I see my taxi. We bid each other a pleasant good night. He never menaced me. And I never did tell him my name or nationality.
Stopped by Fraktal last night to see my friends play. Housed in the basement of a Prague 7 apartment building, Fraktal is one of the few expat bars in the Letna area to last, and even to expand. The atmosphere is young, actors and English teachers, plus a sprinkling of neighbourhood Czechs and whatever expat locals live in the area.I've never been a big fan of the bar. While I enjoy it, the smoke factor is impressive, even for this town. Between that and the two-tram journey for me to get there, I usually take a pass on my friends' invitation to stop by there. Prague center denizens can be really spoiled in that way. In any case I managed to make my way to the other side of Petrin Hill to see the recently named Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band – Bassist Jo Cooper of Fatty Lumpkin, singer Angela Alsop, a regular Fatty guest singer (generally, when singer saxophonist Nelson Craig couldn't be found) and guitarist Jez, who had nothing musically to do with Fatty, although he was a regular on their guest list.Angela christened the band thusly after they finished a rendition of Fatty's "Master;" however, other than that song, they don't sound anything like the kind-of-erstwhile jazzy-funk Prague jam band.
Instead, this was much more a modern tribute to the blues, something penniless musicians like Joe and Jez know a lot about. Angela's smoke-tinged voice was pure velvet last night, as she belted balled after ballad which, despite the pretty pathetic sound system, kept bringing the curious to peek in the back room where they were playing.
So I doubt the eponymous name will last, and Joe will soon be returning across the Channel so who's to say when of if they will play again. That's why it's important to make the two-tram ride from time to time.
Not to mention the food.
Prague's biggest secret: While Fraktal looks like the place you sipped latte after latte in during your college days, the kitchen is much more upscale. Ordered the goat's cheese and roasted pepper quesidilla's with pesto, and a curried carrot and corriander soup that's worth mentioning. It was fantastic, served with homemade bread and butter, and togethe I don't think it was much more than 120 Kc.Made the mistake of sitting next to a young Austrian journalist trying to make his way at a new business magazine here. Just what we need, another English-language rag, owned by people who know nothing about the industry, with no access to resources, poor pay, poorer management and staff who still think the Two Budweiser Story is novel. I don't mean to slam new publications, but sheesh, haven't we learned our lesson yet? It's just not possible to put out quality news with no resources, poor management, little experience and poor salaries. It's clear what you wind up with though: Low-cost PR.
The name game
I left the bar just as the night trams were starting. Couldn't bear the thought of a two tram ride at 12:40 in the morning, so I gave in and SMSed City Taxi.
As I'm waiting, I'm accosted by some African guy who saw me coming out of the bar."Hello, hello. How are you? You are looking nice tonight. Where are you from? Are you American?"
I hate this approach. And it's typically African. I remember as a student in France, how they would chase women down the street with direct challenges: "Hello, pretty lady, do you want to come to my place for a coffee?" They never took no for an answer, so I would respond by not responding. This guy wouldn't relent.
"Where are you from? What is your name? Are you American?"
Perhaps it’s due to too much BBC, but the question, posed there, outside a bar at 12:40 in the morning, by some strange African who wouldn't go away, seemed menacing. But why should such a question be so?
Clearly irritated, I responded with my own question: "Where are you from? What is your name?"
He immediately tells me his name (since forgotten—remember I was coming out of a bar) and says proudly, "I am from Senegal. It is in Africa."
"Yes," I say. "I know Senegal."
He seems shocked. "You? How do you know Senegal? Have you been to Africa?"
"No, but I've been around. In France I had friends from Senegal."
Immediately, he switches gears: "Donc, vous parlez-francais?"I look at him directly now: "Mais bien sur. J'y ai fait mes etudes."
Now he thinks we're good buddies, but I see my taxi. We bid each other a pleasant good night. He never menaced me. And I never did tell him my name or nationality.
# posted by VMH @ 1:06 PM 
