Around & About Barça w/ The Suicide Of Western Culture.

Barcelona may stand tall upon the muscular main legs of two of the globe's finest festivals in Sónar and Primavera Sound, although it has always struck me as a city used and thoroughly abused each and every summer by the discerning, dissonance-seeking Brit. Of course the Cataluñan capital brings the headiest of hedonism upon itself, as it splays its arms wide open to anything illicit and everything ill-advised. Its climate, too, is ideal for cleansing intensely in Estrella, and the Med, and all formats musical. However if you spent much of your last sojourn stupefied – as many of us tend so to do – then Irregular Label anarchists The Suicide Of Western Culture are on hand to guide you through a day in their beloved ciudad natal. Delving into Barça's notorious underground counterculture and providing a more profound take on tourism – one that's perhaps a little more authentic than a troll about both the Camp Nou and the Museu Picasso – here's how they'd advise you wile away an overtly debauched dia en la vida barcelonina...

The first stop on our city tour will be Forn Mistral (Ronda Sant Antoni, 96) – a classic bakery where we pick up 200 gr. of chocolate mini croissants. Surely the best croissants of the city and maybe of the world. After our quick breakfast we travel only a little as we head towards Annexia T-Shirts (Carrer Ramelleres, 9) where you can buy T-shirts from bands like Cabaret Voltaire, Joy Division, Throbbing Gristle, etc. They stock over 100 exclusive designs! The owner (Isma) is a friend of ours too, so if you say you go on behalf of TSOWC you’ll surely get some sort of discount...

Then we’ll go to one of the best record shops in Barcelona – Discos Paradiso (Carrer Ferlandina, 39) – where it’s quite possible we will enjoy a DJ or live set while we do some record digging. Finally, we will end the first part of our tour just hanging around El Raval (a city centre neighbourhood, similar to London’s Soho). Because you are tourists, it's best you keep your wallet, monies and passport inside your pants. Otherwise, if you get robbed, it’s a fucking mess going to the police station, British consulate, etc. At la Rambla del Raval you can go get some beers without being cheated too...

It’s compulsory to have some tapas and then have a lunch... For that reason, we will move to the other side of the city to eat patatas bravas (spicy Spanish chips) at Bar Tomás (Carrer Major de Sarrià, 49). It’s a little far away, but it‘s really worth it. In case you don’t want to move from the city centre though, there is another option situated in one of the city's hippest neighbourhoods: El Born. There you will find Euskal Etxea (Placeta Montcada, 1-3), the only place in Barcelona where you can get proper pintxos (sort of small and individual tapas of Northern Spanish tradition) and where you can have a really good meal. Afterwards you can hang around El Born, which is quite pretty and you can find beautiful boys and girls sipping cocktails or drinking coffee...

It’s getting late and we have to start drinking, so we move towards La Cerveteca (Carrer Gignàs, 25) – the best bar of the city – where you can get the finest imported ales from all over the world at a really good price while listening to some Latino jazz. We will spend all our afternoon and evening here until they close down. Then we will have a nasty kebab at Barri Gòtic (another city centre neighborhood) and go clubbing at Manchester Bar (Carrer Milans, 5), a small pub where you can listen to indie music and have a chat with your friends, as well as meeting members of most local indie bands.

If you prefer indulging in guitar-based indie rock as well as rock classics then we will move to a must in Barcelona: Sidecar Factory Club (Plaça Reial, 7). Finally, if you really want to dance classy to underground techno stuff (old skool electro, minimal techno, IDM, etc.) then our place is Moog Club (Carrer de l’Arc del Teatre, 3), where we’ll see out the night 'til dawn.

¡Bona nit!

Just as Barcelona's not all about the grotesque insanities of La Rambla and its contraband stuffs, it ain't all Talabot either and, like Grandaddy's Under The Western Freeway savaged by Bristol's bestest glitch-stitched export Fuck Buttons, The Suicide Of Western Culture's eponymous 2010 début is well worth a snoop about. As imposing as anything architected by the weathered hands of the city's constructional doyen Antoni Gaudí, it's a monumental effort from perhaps the city's best kept secret.