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Other entries in Rīga

cutting edge popular culture

When writing blogs such as these, it's essential to have a good memory if you want it to end up sounding even remotely interesting.  As I've inherited my memory from my father, this might indeed be one of the reasons that up until now my journal entries have been about as exciting to read as a Jeffery Archer novel ghost-written by a blind and illiterate horse.

So last night, in a flash of inspiration, I decided to aid my memories by writing short text messages to myself every time I saw, heard, thought or said (well maybe not said) something interesting.  So here is what I achieved:

Text 1: 'shirts. song. russia'

Translation: I had read in a guide book about a place called 'Cetri Balti Krekli', or 'four white shirts' as a good place to go and experience some real modern Latvian music and to see some funky young Latvians shaking their thing on the dancefloor.  'Cetri Balti Krekli' is the name of a Latvian song during the soviet times which was popular because the russians thought it was about someone's limited wardrobe but it was in fact a well-disguised way of saying 'f*@k off russia and leave us the hell alone'.  I found the place after having walked through a building site and along a train track for a few hours, and as I walked in the bouncer looked my up and down as if to say 'why the hell do you think you have a chance of getting in here looking like that, you piece of dog droppings?', before bursting into a big smile and presumably inviting me in jovially in Latvian.  I walked down the stairs to find that the band providing the entertainment for a mere 5 lats that night was none other than 'The Hobos'.  I shit you not.

Text 2: 'song. bush'

Translation: All of the music in 'Cetri Balti Krekli' is 100% Latvian (which meant mostly that is was also 100% cheesy synth-based 80's style songs that sounded like they were talking about the joys of concrete, dark rooms and stomping one's feet), so of course I didn't understand a word all night.  Well in fact, I don't know whether the beer was kicking in early, but I could have sworn that the chorus of one of the songs was 'you're sitting on my bush'. A ditty about vandals invading someone's garden maybe. or maybe not.

Text 3: 'sex in the city. kendal.'

Translation: Not, you'll be glad to hear, a memory of having sex in the city of kendal.  I found a place to sit down and was starting to get a little bored when three 30-40-something year old women who looked like they'd just come out after a busy day networking, taking conference calls, drinking coffee and buying designer shoes came and sat opposite me.  They looked like they were the characters from a Latvian version of 'Sex in the City'. Maybe they were. One of them (the dark-haird one) looked constantly shocked, another (the ginger one) was constantly dancing around in her chair and the third (the blonde one, so presumably the sarah-jessica-whatsherface one) looked just like an ageing Felicity Kendal.  Pleased for the chance for someone to talk to, I politely asked one of them, while trying to keep a straight face, if she'd seen the hobos before. She looked shocked, then angry, then confused, then just waved the back of her hand dismissively at me and said 'ne'. So for the following half an hour i felt like an idiot invading their party, as they chatted, ate, drank cocktails, apparently oblivious to the poor awkward-looking English guy sat on their table trying not to look anywhere in particular.  Well how rude. tut tut.

Text 4:  'The Latvian Darkness and russian balls'

Dagne finally arrived and saved me from my predicament by giving me someone to talk to.  This didn't go down well with the sex in the city girls, presumably because they thought they'd eventually ignore me so much I'd have to leave.  haha, small victories.  Dagne ordered some Russian meat balls and I asked her about a poster on the wall seemingly advertising the new album by a squeaky clean boy band clad in white looking dreamily into a vaseline-coated lens. "oh them", quoth Dagne "they're called 'the darkness'". It was a while before I could respond to Dagne's questions about why I had subsequently almost fallen off my chair, because it took me a while to stop laughing my ass off.  I don't think my description of OUR darkness was good enough because Dagne didn't quite see the irony.

Text 5: "Flags, lorries, paper folding, meaty transport and fairground attractions"

Treanslation:  The band finally came on at about midnight, and we discovered it wasn't the hobos at all (they're playing tonight), but a band that were big 15 years ago with rousing songs about soviet occupation with lyrics like "I live my life under two flags".  It was strange, because out of the four band members, only one of them, the singer, looked like a rock star (well he looked like an older version of the raver guy from 'spaced' but with dyed black hair and too many viens).  The guitarist looked like a brickie on his day off at home, and the two synth players looked like a high school teacher and a bouncer.  None of them really looked very comfortable, but the crowed seemed to love it nevertheless.  In fact I could have watched the crowd all night.  They all looked very very eastern european (I know I know), sported mullets and back-combed hair, wore leather jackets and big shirts with the words 'cool' etc on them.  Their dancing ranged between 50's style rocka nd roll, to general bobbing around to vigourous 'hands feet and hair in all directions at the same time' type stuff to very well choreographed moves.  I couldn't keep my eyes off one couple who kept doing the same move over and over. i.e. he'd hold her waist and sweep her head down in a long arc keeping her inches from certain bruising and then swiftly lifting her back for a nifty twirl. sweet!  The band finished with a pretty catchy tune including, among others, the words 'jugganaught, origami, gravy train, bouncy castle and Scooks'.  My mind boggles.

So after all this energetic musical action, it was time for a quiet pint. We found an irish pub (as you do when you're in Riga), and as I talked and talked I noticed that Dagne was slowly falling asleep.  Taking this as a sign I decided enough is enough, and we went our separate ways.

So what did I learn? Well, not much, but if I'm feeling particularly daring tonight I might go back and actually see The Hobos.  But then again, if it's true they do Enrique Inglesias covers, I might decide it's not worth the walk to the other side of the tracks.

j

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