Saturday evening: two wined-up parties in a row, necessitating a Sunday of hangover and recovery, though it’s not one I regret.

First up is Dedalus Books’s 25th anniversary do, held at the Camberwell home of the publisher’s chairman, Juri. It takes me a fair while to get down there (a long single tube ride from Highgate to Oval, then a bus), but it means I get to watch people coming and going on the train, in the process of going to their various Saturday night parties. At one point a couple of large ladies in army camouflage gear get on, clearly off to a dress-up party. One of them accidentally jabs me in the ribs with her plastic baton.

At the next stop another lady gets on dressed as Wonder Woman, or rather Wonder Woman’s more worn-out-looking cousin, en route to a different dressing-up soiree. I myself am in a cravat and tie-pin and make-up added to the usual suit, my eventual destination also a dress-up event, White Mischief. But given I’m in the presence of far more outre attires during this early evening Tube journey, for once I feel relatively inconspicuous.

Within minutes of arriving at the Camberwell do, I’m put to use in my capacity as an allegedly able-bodied young-ish man. Host Juri, an older gentleman, has put his back out, so I carry a couple of cases of wine up the cellar stairs for him. It’s the closest I’ve come to manual labour in a long time.

I chat to Wynd (from the Last Tuesday Society), and to Rowan Pelling, who’s there with her newborn – and impressively quiet – baby son. Fortuitously, after the Dedalus do she’s getting a lift to King’s Cross in order to catch her train home to Cambridge. King’s Cross is where I have to be for White Mischief, so I jammily find myself sharing a very pleasant and fast – and free – car ride between both parties, rather than having to negotiate the Tube at chucking-out time. In fact, after I finish my DJ set at 3AM, I take a perfectly calm and quiet Night Bus home, and save myself a taxi fare too. What I have to remind myself is that it’s only the hours between 10PM and 3AM that public transport can be an ordeal of noise and intimidation for the lone traveller. After 3 in the morning, either the archetypal lager-saturated youths are far too tired to raise hell, or they’ve already gone home.

Thus, happiness is either an early night, or a very late one.

When I get to White Mischief in time for my DJ stint (midnight to 3, with a band in the middle), the Scala is packed with dressed-up beauties in exotic takes on Victoriana, the theme being ‘Around The World In Eighty Days’. I’m immensely grateful to the stage manager for keeping me topped up with bottles of water while I DJ, as the temperature is absolutely stifling. My real sympathies go to the wearers of corsets.

One chap asks me about what he assumes is a cover of Tom Lehrer’s ‘Masochism Tango’, one of my DJ selections. It’s actually Lehrer himself, albeit in the studio with a full backing band and orchestra. The more familiar Lehrer recordings are from his live concerts, where’s it’s just him and a piano, plus the audience laughing at every droll couplet. Both versions are included in the excellent box set, The Remains Of Tom Lehrer.

***

Pleased to see the blog Indie-MP3.co.uk reviewing the Fosca album:

Fosca have always been a band that I have liked the idea of. Led by Dickon Edwards, the self styled ‘dandy and fop’. I was always wary that the band were more style than substance. I’d seen the band a few times down the years and they were always ‘ok’ – occasionally hitting giddy heights – but I had a nagging doubt that they weren’t quite the real deal.

Which makes me wonder, what exactly is ‘the real deal’? What are the hours like? Is there heavy lifting?

“I’ve Agreed to Something I Shouldn’t Have” … it’s everything that Fosca should be, a little pomp and a fair bit of swagger – like an indiepop Morrissey. Elsewhere on “The Painted Side of The Rocket” it’s fair to say that Fosca have finally made a record that matches their previous promise. They’ve finally delivered a record that has the songs and sounds to match their ambitious reach. ‘Head Boy’ is a great swirl of pop music. The influence of Luke Haines seems evident throughout and Dickon Edwards’s songs echo the wordplay and Englishness that Black Box Recorder revelled in.

Actually, I’m not as familiar with Luke Haines’s work as some people might think. In fact, the director of the movie Christie Malry’s Own Double Entry was at the Dedalus party this weekend, and I was reminded that Mr Haines provided the soundtrack album. But I only know that from reading music mags: I’ve yet to hear the soundtrack, or see the film. But should I now do so, given I sound so Haines-esque already? Would that be a redundancy, or incest, or a consolidation?

I bump into John Moore (of Black Box Recorder) from time to time, so it’s true I get invited to the same parties as Luke Haines’s collaborators, if not the man himself. Maybe that’s the influence: by osmosis from party invites.

More from the review:

Fosca’s third LP has made me take notice of a band that I had consigned to the nearly but not quite pile. Take a listen for yourself – on the band’s MySpace page. “The Painted Side of The Rocket” was a pleasant surprise and one more people should hear.

Which is nice. Then there’s a comment added to the review by a reader:

I don’t hate it, but I can’t love it… I’m not sure what it is. I think the lyrics just make my toes curl in that very uneasy way. It’s hard to put a finger on what’s wrong with it. The music is quite fine, it seems.

The reviewer replies:

I’d definitely advise trying before buying their back catalogue. I think this is their best record – but I haven’t played the earlier ones a whole lot – as I couldn’t connect with it. This one made a better impression.

That’s good to know. Interesting about making music in order to forge a connection with others, a reaching out. That was certainly the intention with Orlando, and some older Fosca songs. I’d say the new album is more about making something that didn’t otherwise exist, but which I wished existed, exist. The album connects with me, at least.

It’s the same reason that I started an online diary before the dawn of blogging: I feel more real when something I write is put out there in the world. In this case it’s songs on a real CD in real shops. That’s the Dickon Real Deal.