Pub 61, Day 24 – The Lescar

By Andy

I have a confession to make:

We went to The Lescar twice.

Our first visit was wholly uneventful – it would have been a struggle to transform it into the exciting yet hilarious blog post you've no doubt become accustomed to.

So we went back, hoping to find something to write about.

Boy did we get it. 

It turns out The Lescar hosts a Jazz Night every Wednesday – a weekly event that only a pub in S11 can get away with.

In an epic misjudgement of our sophistication, we decided to attend.

The Lescar is quite a dark and dingy pub anyway, but upon arrival we were immediately directed to an even darker and dingier back room, where we parted with £7 to watch the “critically acclaimed” Lauren Kinsella Quintet.

I thought I was coming on culturally: I don't read the tabloids anymore, and I've become very partial to a night at the theatre. But I was not ready for this.

We were treated to an assortment of mishmash music with less structure than a primary-school play, each member of the quintet competing to be the most offensive to our ears.

The pianist plonked randomly, nodding along like it was in any way rhythmic. The saxophonist overpowered everything, rasping away in a manner that would have Homer Simpson banging on walls.

The drummer, as drummers are prone to do, made his presence felt at every possible opportunity, smashing his way through even the most laid-back of melodies.

I'm fairly sure the double bass player was miming. Either that or it is an utterly, utterly pointless instrument.

The vocalist was not singing in any identifiable language. I like my songs in English; perhaps French if I'm feeling particularly pretentious. But she resorted to making noises, which as the night wore on began to sound suspiciously like Bill & Ben.

Even more frustratingly, in other sequences she would stay entirely silent, closing her eyes and swaying to minimal piano chords. SAY SOME FUCKING WORDS, YOU'RE A VOCALIST AND I'VE PAID SEVEN FUCKING POUNDS TO LISTEN TO YOU!

The show soon reached so-bad-it's-good territory. It took all my might to avoid cracking out laughing in the middle of the set – during particularly horrendous songs I was creased over, my shoulders shaking. When the drummer got into his groove I could afford to let out a few sly snorts, but when the pianist took centre stage, the entire room would have noticed a pin drop, let alone an audience member collapsing in hysterics. I wanted to be anywhere else.

Rob later told me that he “couldn't look at me”, lest he be struck by the same bug. The refined folk sat next to us must have noticed how terribly uncouth we were.

Thankfully, we managed to sneak out at the interval, no doubt forbidden from attending Jazz Night ever again.

The next day, The Lescar hosted their famous Comedy Club. Rumours that the Lauren Kinsella Quintet returned to perform the same set are as yet unconfirmed...

Pub: The Lescar (303 Sharrow Vale Road, S11 8ZF)

Rating: 7/10

Pint: The Mad Squirrel's Milk Stout

Brewery: Red Squirrel Brewing Company (Potten End, Hertfordshire)

NEXT UP: Celebrity encounters, at The Sheaf Island...