A Brain Washed Adventure To Snake Town
The Overground can be a bumpy place but with a steady hand and steely determination, pouring rum into half-supped cans of ginger beer can be done with minimum spillage. It’s destination Hoxton and the boys of Brain Wash have their tageslichtprojektor in tow and a stock of weirdness to illuminate walls and minds.
A left-turn at the bingo and the unmistakable honk of hash hits quickly; it’s going to be a good night. The Premises are welcoming and the venue neat. Now to create a projector screen from wallpaper and gaffer tape. The improbabletask is just about complete when I realise I need to pick up my girlfriend and locate some eats and booze.
I find my girl in the street, serendipity taking the sting out of laborious walks. Snacky as a motherfucker, we head in to the nearest kebab corner and order up the lamb kofte. Soon, the transparent plastic table top is covered buffet style with bread, salad and sauces and my eyes are off the ball and transfixed by food. The waitress even adds that they sell booze and next there’s a bottle of Stella on the table and I’m crying out for a Michelin star for this place.
As we exit we’re asked if we’d like to have a drink in the bar downstairs and are pointed towards a staircase by the door, classily lit by orange laser-dots. I peer into the disco-lit abyss of uncertainty. An unusual, interesting speakeasy? Or a hellhole of stabbing and cannibalism? I picture getting drunk and being literally made into shish kebab. We politely decline and promise a ‘maybe later’. It seems that in these harsh economic times, even halal takeaways are diversifying.
The stage is set and the back wall lit with bright Brain Washing imagery. Inflatables litter the room, a palm tree and totem pole among the highlights. One Man Team Dance takes to the stage and present the musical equivalent of a Street Fighter battle. Ryu and Ken are in headbands, in opposition on drums on keys, a war of stickbashing and fingerfuckery. The sounds are somehow complimentary and epic digressions ensue. The crowd circle and nod aggressively whilst the duo taps all buttons at fingertip blistering pace.
A break in play brings refreshments for body and mind. The bring-your-own policy is doing wonders here; pound cans and vodka that’s actually cheaper/shitter than Glen’s (The Exciting Vodka). We lose the girls for a bit only for it to out they’ve been rolling around the office playing with the house cat. Sometimes stereotypes are true.
Theo is a one man band of impressive capabilities, like a juggler with a more useful talent. Picking out guitar riffs and looping them into layers of goodness, before thrashing around a drumkit with incredible stamina, Sam Knight really gets the crowd moving and even sets off a singalong of sorts. Many guitar wriggles later, my applause is in earnest.
Here’s to a night of cheap booze, great beats and twisted visuals. As the hisses of Snake Town haunt my ears on the night bus, I finally read the SSSup zine. I now feel like a better, more rounded individual with a good knowledge of what’s REALLY going on.
SNAKE TOWN RULES.