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Camden Town is Burning Down

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain...

February brings the rain—well, usually—and for this column I was thinking about writing something about songs with rain in the title. It’s a reoccurring motif in so many pop songs; my favourite being The Beatles’ “Rain,” a fantastic song that’s buried on the b-side of “Paperback Writer.” Not that long ago I came across someone who had never heard that track. What a treat to reveal to someone a Beatles track they’ve never heard. It’s like saying, “I got the Holy Grail in a cupboard back home. Fancy a look?”

So there I was contemplating this collection of musical precipitation when I stepped outside my door into a Camden Saturday night and knew instantly something was wrong. There was a strange smell in the air. Nothing unusual there—Camden usually has some exotic scents wafting through the air. But as I walked on, I noticed the sky was red and people were coming out of their houses to look. I felt like I was appearing in War of the Worlds”! But this was no movie. People were drawn like magnets toward the glow. No, the Martians hadn’t arrived, but a whole chunk of Camden Market and the surrounding area was on fire. Here was Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty’s favourite drinking hole with twenty foot flames leaping from its roof. Amy was later heard at the Grammy Awards proclaiming, “Camden Town is burning down!”

I’ve lived in Camden for over 10 years now. The place has had such a huge impact on my music and creative outlook. The great thing about Camden is that it doesn’t just offer one type of music. It offers everything: rock, indie, jazz, electro, reggae—in fact, there’s no point in listing all the genres, they are all here. Walking around, you’ll hear music playing from shops, stalls and buskers. Fusions are born as music collides in the air. It’s not only music. Fashion plays an important role here, too. Top designers can often be spotted hunting for inspiration around the market.

Now we were being told by the police to move away, as over 20 fire engines tackled what had become a major incident. It’s very unnerving to sit at home knowing that a quarter of a mile away, a great swathe of land is being laid to waste by a raging fire. I switched on the TV and was not comforted by the reporter who said, “The fire is now moving down the High Street.” Yikes! Perhaps I should gather the Les Paul and Strat and high tail it out of town? But no, the Bulldog spirit descends. Tea is made and my very British stiff upper lip comes into play. Trouble is, it’s very difficult to drink tea with a stiff upper lip!

Next morning, a pall of acrid smoke hung over Camden. The High Street was cordoned off and part of the market was closed. Neither Amy nor anyone else will be drinking in the Hawley Arms for a long time. The Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, declared there will be help for the businesses and appealed for people to come to Camden as usual. They say ‘It’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow someone some good’ and in the days that followed more people then ever descended on Camden Town. And with global warming having its effect, there’s not a rain cloud in the sky to dampen the spirits. So much for February rain!

Now, I’ve completely gone off the idea about writing about references to rain in pop songs. Perhaps an in-depth analyses of the Move’s “Fire Brigade” would be more apt?

February was also the month for awards: the Golden Globes, Baftas, Grammies, Oscars and the Brits, and it’s the latter I’ll comment on here. Want the complete opposite of Camden? It’s got to be the camp that sets up in Earls Court to put on the Brits. Now, I don’t begrudge anyone their moment of glory, winning an award, thanking God and all that, but the Brits seems to me to be more and more about self-congratulation and mutual backslapping than music. It’s corporate (no, I don’t want your credit card) and scripted within an inch of its life.

The last time I got excited watching the Brits was when the wonderful Jarvis Cocker got up and upstaged the sanctimonious babble of Michael Jackson, who was pretending to be Jesus and single-handedly save the world. This time around we had the Osbournes as hosts—all of them—eliciting huge cheers from the crowd for, well, just standing there being the Osbournes. Sharon is particularly annoying in her new role as everyone’s favourite mad rock ’n’ roll auntie!  Only the Arctic Monkeys, dressed as English gentlemen about to go on a grouse shoot, displayed the spontaneity and bit of cheek that I think is a standard requirement for any discerning British Pop Artist.

Where have all the pop stars with a sense of humour gone? Anyone remember John Lennon? I loved John for his humour as much as his songs. And now it was down to John’s old partner in crime, Paul McCartney, to finish the show. I must confess I cringe down to my boots when the man who wrote “Eleanor Rigby,” “For No One,” and “She’s Leaving Home” gets up and sings “Everybody’s gonna dance tonight, everybody’s gonna feel all right, everybody’s gonna dance around,  everybody’s gonna hit the ground.” And as for that “Nod Your Head” song... Paul, stop! Have a listen to yourself. That is just embarrassing. I hate to say this but you’re a bit lost in your own legend. Come up to Camden sometime, put on some shades and a hat and just have a wander around. Our wings may have been singed but the real spark of this place is the irrepressible spirit of rock ’n’ roll that hangs in the air. Come on Paul, breathe it in and get back to where you once belonged!

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