I'd definitely vote for Silver Sun weekend. One of my earliest fanzine experiences was somehow getting hold of a promo CD which had an address label of the promo company on, which lead to my sister and I speculatively taking the train to London, tracking the company down to an address in Camden, knocking on the door and mumbling "Hello, we're writing a fanzine" in the hope of a sympathy 5-minute interview with the drummer from Bogshed or something, and instead being greeted by a wonderful lady called Erica who showed us around the offices and piled us high with promo CDs, guest-list passes and a VHS tape containing Silver Sun's first four pop videos (see? This story *was* going somewhere).
Oh, and we met the guitarist (who looked a bit like Jake Shillingford) and had a lovely chat with him when they played the 100 Club a few weeks later. That was after traipsing up and down Oxford Street for about an hour trying to find the bloody place, only to give up and ask a nice man in a souvenir shop where the 100 Club was, who replied with an admirable lack of sarcasm "Er, yeah, it's number 100..."
Silver Sun weekend next, please!
ReplyDeleteI'd definitely vote for Silver Sun weekend. One of my earliest fanzine experiences was somehow getting hold of a promo CD which had an address label of the promo company on, which lead to my sister and I speculatively taking the train to London, tracking the company down to an address in Camden, knocking on the door and mumbling "Hello, we're writing a fanzine" in the hope of a sympathy 5-minute interview with the drummer from Bogshed or something, and instead being greeted by a wonderful lady called Erica who showed us around the offices and piled us high with promo CDs, guest-list passes and a VHS tape containing Silver Sun's first four pop videos (see? This story *was* going somewhere).
ReplyDeleteOh, and we met the guitarist (who looked a bit like Jake Shillingford) and had a lovely chat with him when they played the 100 Club a few weeks later. That was after traipsing up and down Oxford Street for about an hour trying to find the bloody place, only to give up and ask a nice man in a souvenir shop where the 100 Club was, who replied with an admirable lack of sarcasm "Er, yeah, it's number 100..."
I'm not really one for anecdotes, it turns out.