steven.vu

China City | Concept at Battery Studios | Schlepp Records

I got an email a few weeks ago from Kevin. He’s been reading my site and quite randomly invited me to dinner with his friends. Not having much to do, I politely accepted his invitation. I was a little apprehensive about meeting someone through the interweb, so just to be sure I dragged Graham along. By heaven’s grace I wasn’t murdered.

China City was good. Nice food and a chilled out atmosphere. The tsingtao beer was a little too easy to drink. I refreshed myself to the game of chai mui and merrily drank the night away. I don’t think I learnt it right the first time.

We had a private room, I think they’re free with a minimum spend of £250 and you get a karaoke machine and table sitting ten. There was a white girl singing in Chinese. Apparently she studied Chinese for 4 years. How odd.

We left China City and headed over to Yates on Leicester sq. I had another couple of drinks before Chris called me. Chris and Rachel were heading to Schlepp record’s studios. It’s not actually their studios, but they rent a room at Battery Studios on 1 Maybury Gardens in WIllesden. It’s a rather professional affair. I was expecting a basement in someones house.

Chris rapping.

Ayi impersonating Chris.

The track is pretty damn good. It’s a dance track with Barry the Liverpudlian singing in Cantonese, Ayi backing in Mandarin and Chris rapping. The rapping track took 1 take. Ayi took another take and the editing was done in a pretty slap dash way using Logic. It turned out really good.

Here’s a little video of Christopher Leslie Evernden performing a few months ago.

Chris asked me why this website comes up when you search Christopher Leslie Evernden. I told him it was because I was cooler than him.

Corporate branding | Rush Hour 2 | Vietnamese food at Kingsland Rd.

Rush Hour 2

Chris Leslie Evernden aka Concept and Ayi were set to play at Rush Hour 2. A Chinese party organised by JnG promotions. He called me the day before.

I’m not a particularly busy person so said I’d come. After trying to convince a few people to come and watch and failing, I decided to go by myself.

The venue was in Bank, 24 Cornhill Rd and in a club called Abacus. Rather upmarket.

I got there and said I was on Concepts guestlist. She looked at me in awe. Was Chris this famous? She turned around and spoke to her boss; he said sorry, it’s still £10. Obviously he wasn’t that famous.

I mulled around by myself for 20 odd minutes and had a couple by myself. I bumped into Chris’s friend and got even more drunk.

Chris and Ayi got on stage at 1am. They were awful. Not because they were awful, but because the sound was awful. All you could hear was a beat, feedback every few seconds and a mess. If the sound was better, then I’m sure it wouldn’t have been that bad.

Branding.

We’re trying to create a brand. The brochure had a very corporate image so we decided to add in a mascot. I stumbled past istock.com and bought some vector monsters. We used our swatch to colour them and made some nice ID cards. Each employee now has a monster.

We’re also getting the monsters made into stamps; if you like a kid then you can stamp their work. I’ll post some pictures when they’re done.

Vietnamese food at Kingsland Rd.

There’s a road near old street that’s full of Vietnamese Restuarants. I went with mother and her friend. My mother’s friend is buying a restuarant down the road so thought she’d check out the competition.

We went to a place called Viet Grill. Owned by the people who set up Cay Tre. My mother and her friend could probably name the owners of most Vietnamese restuarants in London. It’s the way things are.

Watch this Space | Voices against Poverty | The Soho Dolls – Underbelly – Hoxton Square

Today’s quite a depressing day, it’s such a stark contrast to how proud the city was yesterday. I don’t want to rehash the events of the day as you’ve probably got much better news sources than me.

It has put quite a dampener to what turned out to be quite a fun day last night, a quick tour of watch this space, a 2hr talk on voices to make poverty history; including speakers such as Kofi Annan and Gorden Brown at St. Pauls. This was all followed by a thoughtful drink at the underbelly in Hoxton while listening to the SohoDolls, or more honestly, staring at the keyboardist. Whether she knew how to play the keyboard was debatable.

Continue reading…

Roz’s and Rosie’s 18th

To Dearest Ollie,

Any chance of emailing me some pictures. I know Raj can’t take pictures for his life, but I’m sure he got some good cleavage shots.

Thanks,
Steven (stevenvu at gmail.com)

The VCRs bleeping 00:00 – I get home, my throat feels like its been serrated with a rusty cheese grater. I’m plastered out of my mind and take a sip of water to calm me down. The laptop’s silent keys are the only thing stopping me from waking up the house – The laptop falls with a thud – He decides to finish writing this in the morning.

Rewind back to a couple of hours ago and we’re cruising with Mike and Dave. The radio is blaring out non sensical shite and we’re determined to have a crazy ass night.We arrive and make pleasantries to all the girls we know, Mike re acquaints himself with Rosanna while Dave and I practise our leaning technique. For those that don’t know, single guys exhibit their “standard” stance. Namely stand roughly 3 metres from the dance floor and lean by the bar. Their left leg (if right handed) should be crossed over so no pressure is exerted on it and the obligatory head nod in time of music should be enacted. If all goes to plan, the guy looks the coolest thing to the opposite sex. Dave and I practise this manoeuvre for a good hour with little response.

An inspired lean
I ask Harri for some tips, she’s a girl, she’d know. I’m advised to use the “Do i know you from somewhere” routine. “it’ll work like a charm” she says. “Why not!” I shout at myself and roll over to a table with two rather young looking girls on. Mike shuffles next to me. Just as i’m about to spiel off that carefully orchestrated line in my head, Mike looks at me, leans in and heeds warning “Nah mate, they’re 14″.

Harri – Give me some tips
My game is ruined, i’m off kilter; Leaning in I ask, “How old are you?”, so as to not be in jeopardy of breaking any laws tonight. She replies “17″, and we look at her in that condescending way which suggests “we’re not as stupid as you think” – and – should she really be there at all. They’re not impressed. Dave wonders by from the toilets and has a look on his face which, enthusiastically points out that we’re “having a laugh”, In his best Al Murrey impersonation. I leave ego battered and continue to stare incessantly through the night.

No dear, use your teeth

Go molester Dave
A wonder around the establishment is in order, somewhere along the way someone is stripping to the birthday girl. I’m pretty sure he just wanted to get his kit off. He’s quite renowned for it. Monika’s sister is there which is nice and her pretty friend. I’m sure Dave liked her sisters friend, but was just a lil shy. I got her to try and molester him but he just ran away. Sometimes. Tut. Harriet berates me about taking pictures of her! I apologise profusely and so a picture of her won’t be going up even though she looks stunning.

Bug Bar – The Crypt – St Matthews Church

Most people who know me would, I’€™m assuming here, say that I’€™m pretty restless. I’€™m sure this will be my downfall. I was adamant that this weekend would be different from the norm, as I find the norm oh so tedious. Dave dragged out some plans from londonfreelist and we headed for Clapham common, passed SW4 and remarked about how what a shite time we had there last. We spent 30min wondering aimlessly. Cold, bewildered and disappointed we trundled to the station and went to Balham.

The Bedford was a jungle, it was there that we formulated the theory of social interaction between alpha males within a hierarchical context. Taking a David Attenborough stance, each males psyche was analysed. The conclusion was, no matter how content and joyous they looked talking to one another, they had failed on their sole purpose of the night, to pull.

On the train home, it was apparent that the night was going pretty poorly. Either go home now and sleep, saving the last shreds of our pride, or ‘€œmissioning’€? it to Brixton where we, by popular belief, be shredded of all personal wealth, dignity and anal virginity. Out came the coin. The coin chose Brixton, ‘€œFuck the coin, toss it again’€?, yet again it chose Brixton. One last toss, willing the coin to choose home, but alas, Brixton it was.

We exited safely enough and promptly chose a course of action which hadn’€™t failed us in the past. Stalk a pretty girl in her glad rags. Failing at that, we settled on two girls he we presumed, from their attire were our age. As we crossed the road 20m behind them, they took up pace, then stopped and waited for us to pass. Fun. We crossed again towards ‘€œthe Fridge’€? while keeping an eye on them entering a church. Overpriced entry forced us to backtrack to the church, maybe I’€™d my sins could be forgiven and I’€™d leave content.

The church was converted into a church of Drum ‘€˜n Bass and renamed Mass. Next to it was the bug bar, review, after some deliberating, we entered. Good things. A bar located underneath a church in a crypt with good beats and pretty people was inspiring confidence. After 30min to loosen up we were jiving on the dance floor. Dave looked firmly at the floor with his neck vein pulsating through concentration, I looked equally as cool. It soon became apparent that the girls we had followed earlier were there, and 30. I do believe they recognised us. Break dancing battles were going on, the guy was so good, if he didn’€™t pull that night, I wouldn’€™t have minded giving him one.

The night ended at 2, with us navigating the labyrinth Bus service, settling on an N35 and then N77 to take me home. Truth be told I’€™d rather snuggle up to a pretty girl than go out all night. Let’€™s (let us?) face it, much of the reason why we go out is in pursuit of said goal. I could rant on about how much I hate Stef Caun but everybody knows how much I adore her. My insults just go in vain.

Dave seems to think I write this journal to make me look cool. I’€™m not to sure what I have to say to that other than cool people don’€™t write journals, let alone on the internet. Nor do they install Linux and Xammp (very cool) for said journal. Also it’€™s pretty apparent that not many people are interested in my life enough to read this. It’€™s an outlet of the mundane.

Graham Coxen – Hammersmith Palais

Hadn’t been to a gig in ages. Our first attempt at fooling the rather intelligent door man with old tickets from a couple of nights back failed, so we ended up paying a tenner off a tout. Not bad for an RRP of 16. The gig was pretty timid. For once i could stand at the front and not be headbutted by an ageing punker or hit in the face by a girl mosher with sharp jewellery. I actually listened to the music, which was much better than what i’m used to at gigs.

When we left; my ears wern’t ringing, i wasn’t exhausted, dripping with sweat. Somehow i felt shortchanged.

Pictures taken by the great Andrew Kendall.