London Festivals and Street Art
I know I’ve traditionally posted throwback posts on Thursdays in honor of the whole “Throwback Thursday” idea. However, I’ve decided to do away with that tradition and give some love to the other days of the week.
Since I am currently still in London, due to COIVD restrictions and I haven’t done much other than work. I’ve decided to do a series of posts about previous visits to London, the first of which I now present to you. Cheers!
June 2015
The story of how we got the tickets goes something like this:
While teaching a high school art class I received a text from my best friend Shannon. It said she just discovered the British Summer Time music festival was featuring her favorite band and she found tickets. I read the message but didn’t have a chance to respond.
Within five minutes my phone dinged again, “I bought the tickets!”
She reassured me that we didn’t have to go and she could always sell the tickets if needed, but I was quite excited. I had never really been to a music festival or concert before, and attending one in London…I mean who would say no to that?
British Summer Time Music Festival
The date of the festival was about halfway through our Europe trip and featured The Strokes, Future Islands, Beck, and several other artists, many of whom I had never heard of.
A massive region of Hyde Park had been blocked off and filled with stages, endless food vendors, and alcohol stand, of course. We got there early, allowing ourselves time to explore before the first bands started. As we floated between different stages, sipping our cold beer, we embraced the slow cadence of the afternoon. There was no shortage of people watching, and although a few festival-goers were already making spectacles of themselves, for the most everyone was chill and happy.
When The Strokes took the stage, Shannon and I elected to stay in the outskirts of the crowd, or what we thought were the outskirts. Before long we were packed in like sardines, trying not to be separated by, drunk people pushing their way back and forth, like dogs circling their bed before choosing a place to settle. A mosh erupted off to our left, pulling people in like a black hole. At one point we felt the subtle tug of its gravity, but fortunately, we were able to relocate to a safer location.
It was absolute insanity and I loved every moment of it. Well, pretty much every moment. Someone almost fell off their friend’s shoulders on top of us, and some jerk dropped his lit cigarette on Shannon’s foot, but other than that it was great.
Eventually, we extricated ourselves from the thick of the crowd and rejoiced in the fresh burst of air. After a long day in the sun, none of us smelled all that pleasant. After watching a couple of other bands, we decided to head out. There was no way we wanted to fight the crowds on the tube when the concert ended.
The East End
Despite our late night, there was no sleeping in the following morning. We had booked a tour of the East End of London, an area well known for two things: Jack the Ripper and Street Art.
Our guide, Bliss, was absolutely awesome. As a native East Ender, she knew more than the average guide and often had a personal connection with the art and stories she shared.
Jack the Ripper
We passed by Jack the Ripper’s old haunts, where the subtle chill of his murders still lingered. I found it funny that a lot of Jack’s old haunts—the pub where all of his victims worked, the street they lived on, and several of the little shops in the area—have since been renamed for the elusive killer.
My favorite play on words was a barbershop called Jack the Clipper.
No theory concerning the real identity of Jack is completely accepted. Some say it was a man who had escaped the psychiatric hospital. Others insisted it was a hooker trying to eliminate her competition.
Pollution had been far worse back then. The murky fog was often so thick you couldn’t see more than three feet in front of you. It blanketed the world, muting vision and muffling sounds, stealing the screams of those poor unsuspecting souls as they met their demise.
While police were responding to the murder of one victim, Jack was a mere twenty feet away killing someone else, but they never heard a sound.
London Street Art
Leaving the past behind us, we wandered through the artsy region of the East End where massive murals stretched across building facades and reached up to impossible heights.
Bliss pointed out a piece created by one of her friends, I wondered at how many layers of paint existed beneath. There is a code among the artists. It dictates how long a work is left untouched, who can paint over it, and how artists gain credibility.
If a less reputable artist were to say paint over a Banksy, it would be viewed as disrespectful and could potentially harm their future in the street art world.
As we meandered through the streets of East London, I found myself repeatedly amazed at the amount of effort that goes into something temporary. Yet in a way, it is a testament to our very existence. Tomorrow is an uncertain truth. It will always come, but no one can say what it will look like.
