The Lady in the Suit

We talked in class about club culture in London. I almost cried. Not only did I feel totally ignorant about the matter: dawned on me that the word garage I had heard and addressed as an abstract concept actually had a meaning and a sound; I also felt old. Not ‘with the program.’

Imagine the humiliating picture of me in class trying to remember when the last time I went clubbing was. What finally sprung to my mind was a very simple, commercial/techno girly night in a club on a Sunday night, months ago in central London. I don’t mean to have a rant about not having time to go out and explore different cultures around me. I was always a girl who loved going to gigs all the time and having fun at camping festivals. But I was a student living with my mother in my home-town, or an au-pair on the Isle of Wight. I probably felt emotional because yes, once upon a time music had been a way to share memories and moments with people, but in that instant it felt as if since I had come to London it never was again. But that feeling was wrong.

When I visited London for the first time, I was living on the Isle of Wight and I believed the city was all about the Clash and the punk rock culture. It fascinated me how sex drugs and rock and roll was a great part of the identity of the city. Walking through the streets of East London you could hear The Smiths playing in the coffee shops; in the little clubs in the area they would play always some Rolling Stones or some of the new indie-rock bands such as Keiser Chiefs or Arctic Monkeys. Visiting the vintage stores in East London or in Camden Town was like giving a picture and a smell to this music, which then had only existed in the imagination of a teenager dancing in her bedroom.

When I moved to London, the only drum and bass I knew was the one coming from my next-door neighbour fashion student in my halls of residence. It sounded very noisy. Drugs consumption was par for the course for the people attending these Saturday appointments. One day a girl called Jasmine told me “If you want to go to Fabric remember not to dress up. I once wore my Versace dress, I fell on puke, I sat on spilt cocktails, I somehow ripped it off on the side. I had to throw it in the bin after that night.” I felt it was very disgusting. Considering the price of a night in Fabric, which is around £20 normally (or more if you are wearing a Versace dress), I felt I would rather spend the night in a less risky club. However, Jasmine and her boyfriend were more than happy to do drugs all the time and spend every Saturday in there, wasting their loan and their first year of university. Thus, while for many people London meant the opportunity to live the intense emotions of a drug-induced Time Warp at the club a few tube stops from you; on the other hand for me the London experience was hard work and responsibility from the beginning.

The reason for my different attitude was predominantly my age: at 24, and thus older than most of my peers, my first year of university becomes more about staying on track, rather than letting go at the first distraction. Furthermore, I was here essentially to reach the dream of a career. My decision to leave Sardinia, and slam the door in the face of my small province was rebellious enough for me. It was just important to make sure I showed my parents that I was here to work hard.

Nevertheless, I obviously enjoyed and still do enjoy, the clubs of the city and there have been many sound tracks of my experience in the city. I benefit especially from the opportunity to see many BIG bands and artists live. On my little Italian island we have concerts by the sea and in roman amphitheatres. But we normally host only national bands. International artists see fit only to grace the big Italian cities, such as Milan or Rome, with their presence.  When I went to see Alicia Keys, or Buena Vista Social Club, or the musicals and amazing shows such as Le cirque du Soleil, I felt I was privileged. Moreover, the internationality of London makes possible for me to go and see some gigs of Italian artists too. I never gave up following the Italian music scene, although I’m not a fan of the sentimental light classic Italian, I am a devotee of those who tried to put some of our history and culture into music,  creating new genres and ways of making music. Hence, I imagine, in a not too distant future, that when I’m one of those ladies in the suit, commuting at 8AM in the tube to work, I’ll still be listening to the Sicilian guitar goddess Carmen Consoli in my headphones.