The Archive

The Bongo Veto

I was out for a quiet drink (read – staggering drunkenly down the high street) with Flatmate Dean on Saturday night when we decided to go to The Fine Line.

Normally it’s a nice, airy bar with plenty of room to stand without being constantly brushed and battered and a warm atmosphere (read –plenty of women, some drunk enough to consider coming home with us).

This time though, no sooner had Dean walked into the place then he spun on his heel and headed out. "We’re going," he said, tersely.

At first I was confused. Then I head the distinctive binky bonky drum coming from the bar. Dean had applied The Bongo Veto.

I’m not sure whether this comes from America or is a strictly British phenomenon. Either way, lots of bars that want to be seen as trendy are now employing bongo drummers (Bongoists? Bongoliers? Who knows) to stand in the corner pattering away on a couple of drums all night.

This is annoying on a number of levels.

Firstly, there’s the drummer himself. Invariably he has a misguided sense of his own cool and seems to think bongo drumming makes him some sort of musician. It doesn’t.

I mean really, how much study and practice does it take to learn the bongos?

Student: "Master. I have travelled far to study under you, the greatest bongo instructor in this great nation. I bow before you and would do anything to become your student."

Master: "You are a worthy student indeed. Now take your hand and strike the top of this drum. Do it briskly, as you would slap the hand of an unruly child on a cold Autumn morning."

Student (taps drum once): "Like this?"

Master: "Yes. Congratulations. You have mastered the bongo. Go in peace."

Also, there’s the flaw in the very notion of constant bongo accompaniment. Effectively, what the bar is saying is that no piece of music has been written or recorded that can’t be improved by the addition of bongos.

I’m sorry, I’m just not buying it. If the Neptunes didn’t think it needed bongos then I’ll believe them. I just don’t see how the management of The Fine Line, Clapham are likely to know better.

And finally, there’s the fact that a lot of these Bongoers are, frankly, shit. They drivel along to some tune in their head with scant regard for the actual music the rest of us seem to be listening to.

The result the same effect you get by standing equidistant between two bars blaring out two different tunes at the same volume – you fuck off somewhere else.

So, to recap. Bongos – No.

posted by Peter The Great @ 8:55 AM