Dear Readers,
Good afternoon and welcome back to Capital Letter. On the docket this week is a roving conversation with London’s most unreliable narrator and faithful ruler of a north London institution, several ventures to the ICA, a gin and tonic beneath Wigmore Hall and a jaunt to Exmouth Market, plus much else besides.
London continues to look dashing and sparkling in her high summer glory, and even more so now that the season has been punctuated with the publication of our summer issue. It would be rude not to mention it, although we do try to keep the flogging to a bare minimum and will now move right onto the show without further ado. But first, we begin with a man who has a penchant for embroidering the truth.
Waiting for Cotton Eye Joe
Tien Albert meets an unreliable narrator.
‘I got banned from the ICA because I was on stage and someone put a drumstick up my ass.’ Slight exaggerations, which sometimes spill into statements that beggar belief, are trademark for Jeffrey Louis Reed, the sound man at the Elephant’s Head on Camden Road. He soon clarifies that it was simply a recording of the incident that was shown on the ICA’s background screen during a performance.
Jeffrey holds down the fort at The Elephant’s Head most nights, and is infamous for an attitude that exemplifies the slogan on the hat he wears most nights: ‘I don’t like music. I don’t work here.’ He denies this reputation, though he does admit to kicking a gig-goer out recently for asking him to turn up a singer’s vocals. But there is more here than a frosty exterior. Jeffrey’s story is one of success, tragedy and Cotton Eye Joe.
Jeffrey’s claims come thick and fast. He tells me that in sheer number of releases he is the world’s third most prolific composer, which seems dubious. It’s true that in the past month, Jeffrey has released two albums, an EP and a single, but when I press him, his only evidence is screenshots of a conversation with Gemini Flash AI, whose table of most recorded artists doesn’t actually include him (although his claimed 15,000 records would slot him in third place). But to his credit, it does seem like Jeffrey was in fact at the ICA in 2002 with the aptly named Joan of Ass when the band was blacklisted. ‘[They make] Peaches sound like Mother Teresa’, Rough Trade wrote at the time.
Yet Jeffrey didn’t stay for long. ‘It just became too big, and when you make things that are much bigger than the things you love, you have to give them away.’ I nod. ‘It’s like when I started the Air Guitar World Championships in 95’, Jeffrey muses. Then, he moves on.
When we first sit down to speak, an hour before the nightly soundcheck at his beloved Elephant’s Head, Jeffrey has arrived straight off the plane from Berlin, and hasn’t slept in 40 hours. Our second meeting is cancelled because, ‘I have some things I am doing for a TV show in Germany on Sunday.’ As with most of his excursions overseas, the reason for the cancellation is to do with his involvement managing and DJing in Rednex, the band behind that Eurodance version of Cotton Eye Joe. He spends his time jumping between Camden and the continent to play in the band’s super show across Central Europe. His most recent trip ended with the band – bar Jeffrey – leaping into the outdoor pool of public broadcaster ZDF. ‘I always have to babysit them’, he complains.
Certainly, Jeffrey has had reason to celebrate of late. Recently, the ‘chicken nugget remix’ of Cotton Eye Joe has amassed 12.7 billion streams. The song’s lyrics are replaced with gibberish, and a fried piece of poultry doubles for the singer in the music video.
Still, I get a sense that Jeffrey can never be satisfied by success, and the rate at which he bounces between projects feels almost like he is running away from it. He sleeps mostly between the hours of 1:30 to 4:30am (‘I get nervous if I wake up after five’), and works through the day, apparently free from the influence of alcohol, coffee or other stimulants.
Of the alleged highlights this relentless work ethic has produced, I can find almost no information online. For example, there is his Soho restaurant Forum, which he says he shut following pressures with the Albanian mafia. In the music industry, his career includes production credits for Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth, and the purchase of an eight-foot tall bear suit for noughties rock outfit British Sea Power (now rebranded as ‘Sea Power’), which he says he wore on stage when the band supported The Strokes at Ally Pally in 2003. The strangest of Jeffrey’s endeavours is surely a post-Brexit ePassport start-up which only appears on his personal LinkedIn. ‘Oh yeah, that was with Estonia’, is all he adds when I ask him about the scheme.
So, what comes next? Well, after unrelenting work, death. Jeffrey doesn’t track his birthdays but instead counts down each year towards his eventual demise. ‘Half of my friends died of AIDS, so I don’t feel like I have time to sit back.’ I find out early in our first conversation that Jeffrey was orphaned at birth in 1968, and has lived through three sets of parents before being reunited with his biological mother nine years ago. But it’s only much later on in our second interview that Jeffrey tells me he was abused as a child, first by a neighbour, and later by a babysitter. Gregory Reed, Jeffrey’s brother, dealt with his trauma by helping to form one of the most commercially successful American death metal bands, Cannibal Corpse. For Jeffrey, ‘it informs my work in a way, because I live every day like it’s my last.’
I thank Jeffrey for his time (we have just enjoyed a mixed salad at his favourite lunch spot, The Corner Shop by Temple station). He is heading to the Oasis sports Centre in Covent Garden for his daily swim. Walking out the door, he says, ‘I’m never going to read this article, you know.’
Keep It Frosty
Vesper is the new outpost of the burgeoning Jackson Boxer mini-empire. It can be found on the eastern end of Exmouth Market, off the main pedestrianised drag, in one of the comeliest locations for a bistro in the capital.
Boxer’s charm and wardrobe and prodigious talent for opening restaurants (six now) and having children (four still) inspire a certain degree of jealousy among his peers, and at the age of 41, Boxer still looks terrifyingly young for a man with his staggering workload.
Still, in conjunction with Jermaine Gallacher, he has put together one of the most exciting rooms in London, whitewashed walls and a studded zinc bar all with the trademark JG flourishes.
The off-menu burger is the big draw for punters here but we were particularly impressed with the wine list, which has a welcome mixture of Barrister Claret and Funky Natty on offer, with lots of cocktails too if you want to get inappropriately drunk, which sometimes is the best course of action. As for the crowd, there are lots of middle-aged creative directors who regard themselves as being intimidatingly cool, but on our visit, some of them had even brought along their children. As the summer throttles by, do make time for a visit at one of those tables outside.
You Absolute Rotter
While Vesper does have a certain sprezzatura there are a number of new establishments straining to be placed on a ‘hot spot’ listicle. Such is the case with Brutes, a new bar in Mayfair in between the legendary Bellamy’s and the mediocre Guinea Grill.
Just as London has become in thrall to the fanciful notion of ‘good’ Guinness, so has there become a craze for ‘good’ martinis, which is just as silly, and a craze we hope will end soon.
With Monster Munch on the menu (yes, really), uniformed staff and about 12 seats, Brutes is trying just a bit too hard – still, it’s good to make an effort.
Everybody’s Watching Nobody
It’s The Odyssey release week, and you can’t help but feel a little bit like a beleaguered Trojan army gasping beneath the bombast of five-star reviews and ‘best filmmaker ever’ Letterboxd accolades. But different kinds of odysseys are available. The ICA is showing Alexander Koberidze’s brilliant three-hour Dry Leaf, an experimental road movie about a father searching for his daughter, a sports photographer who vanished while documenting football pitches across Georgia. The film was shot on an ancient Sony Ericsson phone rather than 70mm IMAX and its title refers to a pass coined by legendary Brazilian baller Didi. ‘There was a football field here, but they tore it down to build a hotel or something.’ is a line from the film that goes a long way to describing its preoccupations and tone. Koberidze rejects conventional storytelling to digress, beautifully, across a fascinating world of grainy, super-low-resolution images. It’s brilliant and could spark just as many debates in you and yours as The Odyssey does. Alongside this, we can look forward to the upcoming The End of Oak Street by erstwhile American enfant terrible David Robert Mitchell, who is safely out of director jail for his (somewhat brilliant) commercial-flop-paranoid-Pynchon-esque Under the Silver Lake, and back at it with a huge budget, dinosaurs and a suburban American street that seems to have mysteriously moved overnight. If even this is not to your taste, well, then there’s always Anthony Bourdain in the form of the coming-of-ager Tony, where we will get to see the culinary legend have sex, hang out, drop out, and drop back in as a 19-year-old vagabond, soon to be under the spell and tutelage of sexy chef Antonio Banderas. Take your pick.
Bring the Troops
There is a lot of strenuous yet very dull discussion of how London sacrifices its parks to the altars of music festivals, which is fine and to be expected, but perhaps let’s instead look ahead at some of the more unusual and interesting dates coming up in the diary.
CTM and ICA just announced the line-up and dates for their yearly collaboration. This time around it’s going to be Tyondai Braxton, the American composer who mainly works with symphonic orchestras on electronic and adventurous dance music, along with Rian Treanor. CTM is always enlivening and a good use of an evening. Last year the final night of the residency was the best. Aya was fantastic in a kind of anxiety-producing shouted set performed over the top of pulsing bass.
RALLY is also always worth the venture. It’s the last weekend in August, and for the first time ever it is sold out a month in advance. But Ormside, MOT, Avalon and Spanners will probably all do something exciting afterwards, so you (sober) can join your friends when they are suitably lopsided. Alternatively, there will be a big old resale, too, so there really is no excuse not to at least try. And, no excuse, especially given that Voice Actor is back. Voice Actor will do what they do best – a delicate yet substantial blend of ambient and whispered lyrics that combine into something that is just so incredibly enjoyable. Chanel Beads is also returning following a year off. We are especially excited to hear them perform their album released in June, which is their most fun and cleverest yet. Plus, Blood Orange!
It is also around the time that the London Contemporary Music Festival reemerges, but we have received no word yet, so we remain poised to buy tickets as and when they become available. Their year-off offering at Wigmore Hall in November 2025 – LCMF is biannual – was very good. Perhaps most memorably, audience members were offered silver trays on which to throw dice, the resulting numbers of which were then used by a string quartet to arrange and perform C.P.E. Bach and Mozart. The paneled bar at Wigmore Hall is itself enough reason to go. It is underground, which does have a cruise ship effect, but in a glamorous, mid-century way, rather than Wetherspoon’s Montagu Pyke one.
Finally, for the centenary of David Tudor’s birth, Cafe Oto is doing a two-day programme in September with a whole bunch of different artists and musicians that looks very exciting indeed. Book ahead to avoid disappointment.
And with that, we clatter down the shutters on yet another stellar edition of the Capital Letter. We wish you all the best in this brief reprieve of cloudy weather – no complaints, please – and look forward to a sunny return in 14 days. In the meantime, do write to us at editorial@the-fence.com with anything you like, within reason. Ideally, a tip or tip-off, but try as we might, beggars cannot be choosers.
All the best,
TF