If you’re ever tempted to go to the Blues Kitchen in Camden, take my advice: don’t. I love the blues and I love live music but after spending all of about, oh, ten minutes in this pitiful tarted-up gastropub, I’d quite happily claim to hate both.
As a music venue, it’s an utter joke. Want to experience a night at the Blues Kitchen without actually going there? Easy peasy. Get on a packed tube train at rush hour while listening to BB King on your iPod at half-volume and throw ten pound notes out of the train doors every few minutes.
Though actually, that’s not quite true. At least on the tube you’re less likely to be shoved around by a crowd of preening, braying tosspots with no regard for personal space or etiquette.
Overpriced, overheated and full to bursting with inconsiderate scumbags, this venue is one of the worst I’ve ever been to. From the Google Image printouts of Mississippi John Hurt on its walls to its £4.50 shot prices (nearly a fiver for a shot, ferchirssakes), it tries half-heartedly to be an ersatz juke joint for U2 fans and fails even at that.
The final straw is that if you want to see any of the acts billed, you have to wait ‘til gone 10:30pm, just so the bloody place can crowbar yet more drinks money out of any poor misguided music fans who’ve been hoodwinked through the door.
I don’t want to waste any more of my time recounting what an utter hell-hole this place is: frankly it doesn’t deserve notice beyond “just don’t go”. No matter how good the acts are you see on the posters outside, you’d have more fun listening to a CD at home.
If you’ll pardon me getting a little scatological, fuck the Blues Kitchen, fuck it to hell. Even Camden Rock’s preferable to this. Never go there! Ever! Bah.