STANDARDLONDONEVENINGKilling night-time in the capital.

March.

25Mens Adventures /Superfood /

Blackeye / Sisters,Birthdays

26Foals,Albert

27

4 5 6

11 12HouseBirds

13

18 19 20

321

28Royalt Hall

10987

1716Palais deDanse,PeckhamPalais

1514ewives,s Nest

2423London Transport -Through the Ages,William Booth College

2221

3029 31

Evening.Mybody has no idea what time it is. On top of the slight confusion experienced by everyoneon Sunday when the clocks went forward an hour, in the past month I've been flipping mysleeping pattern back, forward, upside down and back to front every couple of days.

Most of the time, this means I am always ready for bed, nine good hours of sleep or none.

There have been work nights when, having been awake since around 4pm, I have beennodding off at my desk, eyes searing and mind boggling into that slurring, nonsensical statethat signals the final moments before sleep, by 3am.

There have been nights off when, having woken up at 2pm, I have fallen fast asleep by 11pm,not to be woken until 8 the next morning.

There was the time I began my eight-hour night shift having already been awake for 14hours. By the end of 23 waking hours, I felt violated and ill, my insides doing their best tojump ship.

Thinking of these nights leads to the conclusion that the human body is determined to spendnight-time asleep, whether it needs it or not.

But then there were the three days, Saturday to Monday, in which I had a total of no morethan six hours' sleep. Throughout this time I was alert, perky, sharp even. Sleep was the lastthing I felt I needed, though my heart raced with adrenalin, seemingly working overtime tokeep me on my feet.

The cause of my insomnia: house-hunting. The property market moves at lightning speed inLondon, and the excitement, fear and anxiety that fuels one's fight for a home in suchcompetitive circumstances was enough to stamp out one of the most fundamental necessitiesfor life.

It cannot be healthy, all this forced waking, but at times it is crucial. Here are a few thingsI've learnt about staying awake, most of which are fairly obvious:

Do

Eat sour sweets, ice and chewy things

Exercise

Be really excited/anxious/worried/angry

Talk/laugh

Tap your foot

Drink unhealthy mixes of sugar and caffeine

Look at computer screens

Don't

Read from printed pages

Attempt to decipher complex material, such asfinancial news

'Rest' your eyes/sit with your face in yourhands for a few minutes

Sit too comfortably

Dim the lights

Get bored

/Sophie Armour

More strange things found on dawn pavements

Pair of shorts.

Fan (on a freezing Marchmorning)

First few pages ofChapter Five of somebook

Lots of men standing around looking at paintings, bicycles, clothesand plastic bags full of stuff outside a locksmith's

14

Housewives, Birds Nest

The Bird's Nest in Deptford is a little off the beaten track of the usuallive music scene: the sort of place bands come to warm up, hone theirlive set without drawing too much attention.

Tonight the place is full, but seemingly with the friends of the bands.The atmosphere is positive, supportive.

Housewives set up in the back corner of the room and a genuinelyexcited gathering huddles round. They proceed to play a set thatcould not sound further from any gentile associations with theirname.

A strobe is lit, and a noisy mash of rhythms sparks off. Their sound ispretty much encapsulated by the strobe: the volume is high, and theerratic and rhythmic guitar is smattered with sharp, quick drum hits.Backed by stomach-churning bass lines, the performance grabs you,every inch.

The effect is similar to the adrenalin rush of a roller coaster. Youmight be blinded, deaf and slightly sick, but part of you is desperateto do that again.

/Sophie Armour

16

Apparently, there is a bit of a 90s rave revival scene inSouth London. The Peckham Palais is host tonight to agroup of DJs and youngsters in baggy T-shirts who arethe personification of the track Live Those Days Tonightby Friendly Fires, in which lead singer Ed MacFarlaneattempts to convince himself that going to a club now isjust as good as going to a rave 20 years ago.

Things don't get off to the most convincing start. Untilabout 1am, this mirror-adorned basement feels a bit likea secondary school disco: the rather minimalist barmight as well be selling sweets and orange drink andfewer than 20 people have actually shown up.

There are, however, two boys who appear still to beyouthful enough to attend a real secondary school discoentertaining the awkward huddles of friends with somequite impressive dance routines. Their stamina isinspiring: they've no drinks (perhaps because they can'tget served), and they run, jump and move in sync forold school deep house track after old school deep housetrack. If nothing else, this rave revival could signal thestart of a new type of exercise class.

Eventually, as people start to arrive in slightly moreencouraging numbers, the energy of those first fewdancers becomes infectious, and the dancefloor beginsto earn its name.

There's a purity to this evening. People are genuinelyhere because they love the music: they're not gettingsmashed, they're not on the pull – they're dancing. Ofcourse illicit substances are most likely at the heart of anight like this, but the vibe is surprisingly innocent.People are relaxed: the women are in loose shirts andflat shoes because dancing in heals is no fun, and themen, rather than competing for women, are going headto head in dance-offs.

It's a rare thing to find a clubnight in 2013 withoutunspoken rules or pretensions. Perhaps Ed Macfarlanewas on to something: the ravers might have had it rightall along.

/Sophie Armour

Palais de Danse, Peckham Palais

23

London Transport - Through the Ages,William Booth College

Camberwell is having a free film festival, and the best part about it? Finally an excuse tomarch through the doors of this most domineering of South London fortresses.

Emblazoned with a glowing cross, home of trainee Salvation Army soldiers, this hilltop castleof God has until now been wrapped in secrecy.

Inside the decor is almost disappointingly contemporary. But the 400-capacity AssemblyHall is satisfying strange and grand. Flags adorn the back walls, two planks of wood form analmost lifesize rustic cross and, this evening, three projector screens hang above the altar-likestage.

But God has nothing to do with what is happening here today, for we are gathered to hear thestory of TfL.

The programme is a quaint mix of public information films from around the 1920s up to theearly 80s. Informative, endearing, and with a surprising, almost sarcastic, sense of Britishhumour, the audience is enraptured with nostalgia for a time when trams, trolley buses andhorse-drawn cabs scuttled down London's streets.

That is until one particular film from the 1920s. What begins as an intriguing look at thecontrasts between different parts of the capital quickly descends into an excruciatingly racistreveal of our predecessors' view of an already cosmopolitan city.

In this temple of holy education tonight, a small section of London has been struck by how itssense of self has altered just as much as its system of transport. /Sophie Armour

You can't get through a night at Birthdays without it being somebody's birthday, and tonightit's the turn of the singer/guitarist of Sisters. And he hasn't picked a bad way to spend hisbirthday.

Sisters' sound constitutes a bit of a distortion attack. They are noisy, bass-heavy and rhythm-strong, but with high-pitched boy/girl duet vocals that blend together to bring a bit of orderto the messiness of the rough and ready guitars.

As openers they hold some of the nerves of a young upstart band, but already their sound isholding attention.

Next on, Blackeye bring a little extra character to the stage. Their performance is lit up bylead singer Chloe Little's wide, expressive eyes. The mood of certain lyrics and certain tracksis struck with a sideways glance or a cold glare into the audience.

Blackeye are a punk band strapped firmly to the great things about pop: catchy melodies, asense of fun, and just a little bit of cheesiness. It's a wonderful asset – an optimistic edge to acourse guitar riff.

Superfood are more laid back, and a little less fuzzy than what's been heard so far. There'ssomething slightly Britpop about them, with the twanging guitar licks of their newly-releasedself-titled track.

Overlapping melodies jauntily intertwine with casual drum beats in a way that makessomething quite skillful look easy. This is a set that explains how such a buzz has developedpurely from Superfood's live shows.

Headlining a veritable 'who's who' of ones to watch, Mens Adventures arrive, and there's aplenty of them. Five slick-looking gents humbly stroll on stage, cowboys in disguise, with acouple of impressive quiffs hinting at their old-fashioned American inspirations.

For Mens Adventures write soundtracks to old spaghetti westerns, with extra lyrics. Theirguitars are tuned to that iconic, echoing sound of Ennio Morricone's theme for the Good, theBad and the Ugly. Their drums are stuck on a horseriding, train-driving rhythm, whichcarries the audience along with it and results in some particularly interesting dance moves.

Somehow the aura of the desert seems to bring a bit of the warmth of the Deep South to thisunseasonably icy night in Dalston. The crowd (and it really is a decent-sized crowd) is sweptup in the fantasy of galloping through dusty landscapes and shooting baddies at dawn – sothey jump up and down with glee.

On first impressions, the idea of hipsters copying movie soundtracks might sound like atacky gimmick. But Mens Adventures play with a genuine appreciation of those film scoresthat pays homage to, rather than mocks, an often overlooked corner of composition.

/Sophie Armour

Mens Adventures / Superfood / Blackeye / Sisters,Birthdays

25

28

Foals, Royal Albert Hall

It must be a daunting prospect, performing in a venue as grand,open and cavernous as the Royal Albert Hall. With the over5,000-strong audience crammed against the walls in politeseating, it leaves a dark, blank vacuum between performer andpeople.

The potential for flat atmosphere is only heightened by the factthat this is a matinee. It's 3pm on a Thursday: there are parentswith children here, people are eating sandwiches and purchasingsoft drinks and ice cream. The afternoon has nothing of thereckless abandon of the evening, and not nearly enough drinkingis being done.

Foals' solution is to fill this gap with a storm: thundering instruments and lightning strobup the volume and burn the void with colour.

And the spectacle works. After just one song (an instrumental interlude, no less), the stalfeet, closely followed by a few brave souls in the rafters.

New album, Holy Fire, is heavier than what came before, and the noise knows no boundsTracks like Inhaler and Providence rip through the place as frontman Yannis Philippakislungs raw while simultaneously dashing along the seated aisles and diving into the carnastanding crowd.

But even older tracks like Two Steps, Twice are given new chainsaw guitars that pulverisethat once laid within their carefully-plucked rhythms, giving them a new lease of life andaudience to shout louder and get the hell out of their seats.

A frantic ball of energy who has so far violently kicked his mic stand over at least five timthe annoyance of the techie who must continually crawl onstage to stand it back up againElectric Bloom as he takes what appears to be his whole body weight to a floor tom, pounan entire bag-full of drumsticks.

He throws himself into the crowd again, and is this time swallowed up for quite some timhimself.

One-time favourites from first album Antidotes are now skipped, but their absence is harthe set like My Number and Milk & Black Spiders, which receive as much adoration as an

Foals' sound is evolving and expanding. If anything has been proven by this glorious assaonly just getting started. This band has it in them to push until they self-destruct.

bes. They crank

lls leap to their

s tonight.s screams hisage of the

e any delicacyd pushing the

mes (much ton), Yannis gives extra fervour to debut album tracknding it with such mad rage that he manages to crack

me. He appears possessed by his need to express

rdly noticed with the calibre of recent additions tony rendition of Cassius once did.

ault of distortion, lasers and strobes, it's that they are

/Sophie Armour

321

1098Fruit

Machine, TheThree Kings

17Halls, TheWaitingRoom

1615

242322

3029 31

April.

25 26 2827

4 5 7DIY Cultures2013, RichMix

6

11 12 1413

18 19James / Echoand the

Bunnymen, O2Academy Brixton

2120Dexy's Midnight

Runners, O2 AcademyBrixton

Record Store Day