This vocal version tops even the original. Listen to the Mark Murphy's take on it (on the LP Satisfaction Guaranteed)...wonderful
In her own sweet world Populated by dolls, and clowns, and a prince, and a big purple bear Lives my favourite girl... Unaware of the worried frowns that we weary grown-ups all wear In the sun she dances to silent music Songs that are spun of gold somewhere in her own little head. One day - all too soon, She'll grow up and she'll leave her dolls, and her prince, and her silly old bear... When she goes they will cry as they whisper good-bye They will miss her I fear but then so will I
In the deepest mists of early memories sit the bright lights of the songs which lulled me to sleep. Until the day I die these tunes will hold fierce nostalgic imagery for me:
Fanny Power Drink to me only with thine eyes Pokarekare ana
My earliest memories involve my dad tramping up and down in the small hours of the night with me slung over his shoulder. He always maintains that he can't sing (and isn't musical in the traditional sense) but would hum the Carolan tune Fanny Power for all it was worth; Carolan's Concerto is another old favourite of mine which holds special memories. Meanwhile Drink to me only with thine eyes always struck me as an odd favourite of his, but there you go. My mother meanwhile would never sling me over her shoulder; rather, she would softly sing the Maori Pokarekare ana by my bedside if I had trouble sleeping. As an Australian perhaps that, too, was a slightly unusual choice.
A few years ago I was given a ticket by a friend of mine to go and see Jose Carreras at the Albert Hall. Carreras belted out Christmas carols (why he was miked up, I have no idea) and then showed up special guest Hayley Westenra for the appalling singer that she is. But when she performed Pokarekare ana I nearly dissolved on the spot. It's an incredibly beautiful song. One that I hope I can pass on one day.
This won't be another pro-Android evangelical outpouring. However, since having picked up my Desire HD I've capitulated and purchased an all-singing, all-dancing Spotify subscription and I'm determined to get value out of it. With that in mind, I've been putting plenty of aural goodness in ma lugs.
Currently big in my headphones:
Beach House - "Walk In The Park". We've been canning the album at work for the last few months and it's a big winner chez Eoghan. The blissed-out, afterclub, post-rave "Walk In The Park" is the best if the lot.
Bach - The Well Tempered Clavier. Spotify isn't ideal for classical music, as it's not filed consistently; so you get plenty if rubbish recordings mixed in with the good ones. I've done searches for "guaranteed winners", and Daniel Barenboim naturally falls into that category. I've listened to Bach's epic several times over in recent days.
Serge Gainsbourg & Brigitte Bardot - "Bonnie & Clyde". Obvious, maybe, but what a winner (am I falling for Sheenmania?) Getting played LOUD.
Freddie Hubbard - "Suite Sioux". The whole Red Clay LP is ace but this understated masterpiece trumps the true track as the standout highlight for me. It's all very low key, but Herbie Hancock's Rhodes and Lenny White's subtly brilliant drums form a platform for Hubbard. It's a perennial Eoghan favourite and I'm enjoying revisiting it.
Jane Bunnett - "Descarga a la Hindemith". I love Jane Bunnett, descargas and Hindemith, so its just as well this tune lives up to its name. Talking of jazz tunes influenced by 20th century eastern European composers...
Larry Young - "Zoltan". Based on a theme of Kodaly, this opens up into a driving modal killer. Solid.
Hindemith - 5 Pieces for Strings, op 44. Like so much of the best music, these were written for students. Firmly neoclassical in feel but smothered in harmonies that can only be Hindemith.
Stefon Harris - "Summertime". This brilliant jazzer can do no wrong, strictly for the heads, and I'm caning all his albums at the moment thanks to Spotify. "Blackout" (from the album of the same name) is an urgent, arresting killer but from the same album check out one of the best versions of the Gershwin chestnut you'll hear anywhere.
Ed Lincoln - "Catedral". The self-titled LP reissued by Whatmusic a few years ago is one of my all time favourites and it's getting rinsed repeatedly at the moment. Every tune is essential but "Catedral" is getting a real revival with me at the moment.
Grant Green - "Future Feature". Feel the funk! This is another instant winner, a little light to begin with but it opens out into full blown catchy big band jazz funk. Ace! Also getting heavy rotation (if that's the correct term with Spotify...) is "Let The Music Take Your Mind" from the Alive! LP, which is an instrumental funk blast.
Dorian Concept - "Tropical Hands". Electro heaven. On the flipside of the Trilingual Sex Experience" 12", this one's even better. The sorts of noises kids make between their teeth imitating a kazoo, with delicious midtempo beats lathered over the top. Big.
Mozart - Piano Concerto no 25. The late Mozart piano Concertos are getting a lot of airplay with mne at the moment simply because they represent perfect musical form. Not a note is wasted throughout, and while they spring few surprises, they show music "as it should sound". Don't get me wrong, I still love playing a load of Messiaen or Stravinsky, but if you want the classical format demonstrated in its purest, most perfect way, then this is where it's at. The jazz equivalent would probably be...
John Coltrane - "My Favorite Things". Why is this such a stone-cold classic? Is it the languid pace? The tuning fork purity of Coltrane's soprano solo? The understated brilliance of McCoy Tyner's extended outpouring of modal progressions based on the theme - one of the most enjoyable solos ever? The perfect balance and simplicity of the ensemble work? The answer, of course, is all of the above.
Shit Robot - Simple Things (Work It Out) (Todd Terje remix). Like the Beach House album, Shit Robot's From The Cradle To The Rave has been played a lot at work and the album sounds really fresh. Best of all, though, is Terje's thumping house remix of "Simple Things" which just builds, and builds, and builds...
George Benson - "My Latin Brother". Surely Benson's finest moment. Wicked drums, rhythm guitar and cello form a backdrop for Benson to cut loose for a solo of the highest calibre. It was surely this solo which Masters At Work hoped to replicate when they hired Benson to play on "You Can Do It (Baby)". I only knew the tune from a scratchy edited 7" version. The LP version is miles better.
Honor Blackman - "Men Will Deceive You". No, really. Utterly fantastic song from Honor. Also check out the version of this performed by Brady over the reggae sounds of Serge Gainsbourg's classic "Javanaise Remake", which is great in its own right. But Honor's original lick takes some beating.
Di Maggio - "Madame X". I heard this on French Radio London (does what it says on the tin...the music is nearly as good as Radio Nova) and it's brilliant. The album is worth checking out; in "Madame X" Mahlerian strings give way to an achingly lovely, deep track, with spoken vocals. Love it.
It would be unfair to expect Camille to live up to the first encounter on seeing her a second time. Her new show, Chameleon, carries on where the previous show left off, and indeed much of the material is the same. Much of the magic is lost on seeing her again. The ad libbed banter, the asides - all are carefully scripted and dropped in with consummate professionalism. But, as with stand-up comics, that's not a reason to criticise. She merely has her act highly polished, and sticks to it.
Nevertheless, in a show of less than an hour and a half, it was a shame to see so much duplicated material, even if it was some of the best songs from the previous time. Tom Waits's All the world is green, Brel's Amsterdam (equally extraordinary performance second time round), Nick Cave's The ship song and Dylan's Don't think twice, it's alright took up a substantial proportion of the show. It would be nice to see the band showcased a little more, as well, and Camille's range of songwriters is limited (all the more irritating given that she asked for repertoire suggestions on her Facebook page a few months back, then slipped into her usual Waits-Cave-Brel-Bowie hitlist).
But to show some irritation at seeing a show without many changes is churlish, as the fact of the matter is that Camille is simply a massive star. She has it all: performing ability, charisma, presence...and a stupendous voice. It was a special moment for me to hear her take on the music of Leonard Cohen, as the two singers are two of the greatest live performances I've ever seen; Tom Waits's God's away on businesswas another highlight. It's a shame that she has outgrown more suitable venues, but sitting in the sixth row, the sparks were exploding in all directions.
Verdict: Not the same seeing her second time round, but damn! this girl can perform.
An early start to queue for day seats meant that the hangover battle was marginally tougher than usual, but a local Sloane Square caff's bacon roll did the job and a tenner to hear John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists is a bargain not to pass up.
To my knowledge, I've never seen a Gardiner concert performance before - and it was worth waiting for: the Brandenburg Concertos are, for my money, about as close to musical perfection as you can get. I've known them back-to-front since I was about two feet high thanks to sitting on my dad's knee listening to Menuhin and Pinnock recordings (with the odd Wigmore trip thrown in). You'd never have anything at the Wigmore resembling the chaos of getting the audience into the auditorium in the first place at the Cadogan Hall though: they hadn't manage to get the audience completely in by the time the concert started. I promoted a concert there about four years ago and it was similarly shambolic; they no longer have the excuse of being a new venue.
We kicked thing off with the Concerto No 1, never one of my favourites, and it was a thrilling ride. Gardiner launched into the opening movement at a breakneck pace and the exhilaration never let up. It was a quite extraordinary performance. Swooping changes in colour and dynamics, a perfectly balanced second movement, and crisp main themes were excellent. Dominating everything were the horns. They hurled themselves into the fray, thrashing out cross rhythms like their lives depended on it. The music around may have been refined; the horns bullied and harried, "hooligans breaking up the party" as Gardiner observed during his excellent, and lengthy, discussions with Catherine Bott during the shifting of chairs between pieces. But these weren't modern French horns, but old-school hunting horns - nigh-on impossible to play. Both players demonstrated incredible technical skill - particularly Anneke Scott, whose trills and virtuosity were out of this world.
The slow movement was perfectly balanced, but it was in the beautiful polonaise, buried deep within the menuets (and shortly before the ludicrous horn & oboe trio), which provided one of the moments of the entire concert: following the lulling of the strings with their appoggiatura-like duplets, halfway through, where it breaks into a dance (you know the bit): suddenly, the strings crackled into electric staccato. My jaw nearly hit the floor - it was another thrilling moment. As Wagner once said of Beethoven's seventh symphony, it was the apotheosis of the dance. As a whole, the first concerto was a spectacular success.
The sixth was up next. Never a blockbuster, I've always had a soft spot for it thanks to its unique colours - dark yellows, mauves and browns provided by the instrumentation. With no natural high voices, the violas, gambas and cellos provide a rather oblique feel. The key (B flat) heightens the effect. The first movement, which has no real tune but is just a wash of dark tonal colour in languid, almost turgid rhythms, is almost impressionistic and I can think of no other piece like it. The group, now conductorless, played the colours up marvellously. The final movement, once again, as with so many of the Brandenburgs (as Gardiner emphasised) provided the EBS to show off their dance music making skills.
All the Brandenburgs are special to me but the fourth is especially close to my heart and was a disappointment. Kati Debretzeni was very accomplished in the virtuoso violin role, but I found Rachel Beckett and Catherine Latham - especially Beckett - extremely dull. The first movement plodded along, with one-dimensional staccato-by-numbers recorder playing, with little variation in tone or style. After the joys of what we had heard so far, I felt let down. The slow movement was similarly uninspiring, with only some excellent orchestral balance making up for dull solo playing. Only in the presto finale did the piece really spring to life - sparkling virtuosity from Debretzeni in the background supporting bubbly recorder solo lines. A wonderful ritornello came out of nowhere shortly before the end, reminding us that however brilliant the soloists might be, Gardiner remains the star of the show.
Technically, the day was split into two separate concerts, so after finding a paella stall just off Sloane Square (the only place that served something more promising than rocket ciabattas) it was time to go back for the second part. Among a set of some of the best music ever written, the third shades it as my favourite of all with its perfectly balanced nine solo strings and incredible fugal lines. This, too, was a riveting performance. We heard a lengthy violin improvisation as the non-existent slow movement (perhaps a bit of a partita); various conductors have done "all kinds of wanky things" according to Gardiner (Catherine Bott did well to keep her composure at this point, with producers doubtless falling off their chairs).
As wonderful as the melodies are throughout the Brandenburgs, the best thing of all is the harmonies and most of all the driving pedal basslines. None more so than in the third, where the tension is ratcheted up to fracture point at times with the bass. Although a soloist in the third, special mention must be made of the principal cellist (I will have to wait until I get back to London to check my programme for his name) whose continuo playing I thought was superb.
Gardiner and Bott indulged in some cringeworthy flogging of dead horses in repeatedly describing the music as "funky". They're really "boogying down", we were told. Set toes to curl and ears to shut. That said, I could see an obvious comparison: in the late 70s and early 80s, heavy metal guitar solos became ever more lengthy, virtuosic and gratuitous - and self-indulgently brilliant; I can't think of a better way to describe the harpsichord solo in the fifth. Ever since I was a kid I've loved the way the rest of the band gets out of the way to admire the harpsichord and this was no exception. The slow movement of the fifth always strikes me as the only movement in the entire catalogue that is genuinely dull - although the dainty last movement makes up for it.
We finished on a high note with some facemelting natural trumpet playing from Neil Brough in the second concerto, with oboe, violin and recorder providing able support. Brough didn't put a note wrong throughout and the final movement's lightning pace was a fitting way to finish.
World Orchestra For Peace/Gergiev - Mahler: Symphonies 4 & 5 (Proms, RAH) ****
An hour's queueing was enough to secure a gallery place to watch the world's greatest all-star orchestra on Thursday night. It felt like seeing the Harlem Globetrotters - the fact that it was Gergiev and Mahler made the gig that little bit extra tantalising. The result: a wonderful performance...but memorable Mahler it was not.
The Fourth Symphony isn't one of the blockbusters, indeed it's not one I'm particularly familiar with. The opening was arresting, with an exaggerated tempo change to the string line. Decidedly microtonal intonation marred the second movement - there seemed to be some problem with one of the horns. The third movement passed without incident; the end of the movement is bizarre, with a clashing gears tempo change and unexpected modulation late on. Camilla Tilling's soprano was beautiful throughout the finale, although solo vocals don't carry well up to the rarefied atmosphere in the gallery.
Throughout, the tones produced by the musicians were out of this world. The combined orchestral colours sounded like the Albert Hall organ at times, such was the richness of the sonorities. Strings were superb throughout. Aristocratic horns and clotted cream heavy brass (I particularly liked the tuba), but things were too measured, especially in the Fifth. The oboes didn't yowl, the clarinets weren't petulant enough. The first movement of the Fifth was taken at a majestically sombre pace, the triplets given paramount importance. I liked the interpretation. The second movement had some wonderful moments, notably the exposed cello line which was spinetingling (even hearing it puts an amateur cellist into jitters, it's a horribly stressful passage to play!). The gigantic Ländler, a wild, rough jamboree,had too many ballet shoes and not enough clogs. As the movement progresses, it flirts with bitonality, and can feel like a party that's gone out of control as the harmonies and crossrhythms descent into anarchy. There was none of that here. The Adagietto was perfectly balanced, and The Greatest Note In All Music welcoming in the final movement was as pure as can be. Only then, in the final movement, did the orchestra sound truly Mahlerian. There was a swagger in the woodwind and aggression in the brass that had been lacking somewhat.
Had we been hearing Tchaikovsky, this would have been a stupendous performance. As it was, the evening was a masterclass in tight, marshalled orchestral playing. But a little more Mahlerian entropy would not have gone amiss.
John Cale with the Heritage Orchestra - Paris 1919, Royal Festival Hall *** Mumford & Sons, Shepherd's Bush Empire *****
"Are you English or Welsh?" a voice leered in my ear.
"I'm sorry?" I stuttered uncomfortably.
"Are you from England or Wales?" said the woman again, with a heavy Cardiff accent. Her teenage son disappeared into his jacket with embarrassment.
The lady clearly felt sorry for me at having to go to a gig on my own without anyone (my mother, for example) for company. She then regaled me with stories of how she had turned down the chance to go for coffee with the mighty Velvet Underground lead man, John Cale, a few years back.
I was taken aback at her opening gambit but Cale himself is Welsh and commands a strong Welsh following. My Welsh work colleague bored me with tales of how a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend had driven Cale around to a gig in the valleys several years ago. I managed to give that monologue the slip, fearing more anecdotes were on their way. But I digress.
Unlike 99% of the audience I actually heard about the gig through being a huge fan of the Heritage Orchestra (a few weeks ago I mentioned them in my list of the best musical things of the 2000s). I had only seen them perform live once before - playing Gabriel Prokofiev's Concerto for Turntables and Orchestra and some Plaid tunes - but they have a wonderful LP of their own music and did a gig a few years back with Brazilian legend Eumir Deodato, which was, by all accounts, excellent. When I heard that they were doing a performance with John Cale of his seminal album Paris 1919, my ears pricked up. I'd never heard the LP before, but as soon as I gave it a listen, my mind was made up that this would be an immediate front runner for gig of the year. The album is a nostalgic Beach Boys-esque slab of beautiful pop, and the thought of adding a full orchestra to it brought my anticipation levels somewhere near sky-high.
Perhaps I expected too much. My only criticism of the Heritage Orchestra will always be that they could be more ambitious and never quite fulfill their potential to do something really extraordinary, and sadly this was the case at the Festival Hall. The term "Orchestra" was pushing it a bit, too: the strings consisted of three first violins, three second violins, four violas, three cellos and three basses (Cale is a viola player!); a couple of horns, a trumpet and a trombone. With Cale's four-piece rock band, who were more pronounced than the orchestra, c'etait tout. The Heritages have always lacked ambition in their orchestration and the arrangements of Paris 1919 were, for the most part, dull. Only some imaginative string work and a prominent trombone on "Graham Greene" really got going, although a gorgeously rich version of "Half Past France" got the spine tingles going in the way I'd been hoping when I splashed out £28 for my (upper circle) ticket.
The strength of material like "Child's Christmas in Wales", "Hanky Panky Nohow" and the title track meant that this was still a decent gig, but Cale himself seemed disinterested as they ploughed through the album in track-for-track order and he barely acknowledged the Heritage Orchestra throughout.
In the second half Cale reappeared with just his band and this time they rocked hard. Unfortunately, I was the only person in the audience not to know any of his material, so much of it was lost on me, even "Femme Fatale". The crowd loved every minute, including my gregarious Welsh new-found friend whose son manfully endured her banshee whooping after every tune.
Perhaps my expectations were too high, but I still maintain that this could have been one of the all time gigs to remember being at. Instead, it felt like a missed opportunity.
We discovered Mumford & Sons at work in the week I started, about five months ago now, and they have become the spiritual office favourites ever since, with the album on rotation about four times a day in the autumn. It was only fitting, then, that three of us (with various girlfriends in tow) should sally forth to see them live at the Empire on Sunday night.
A brief mention of Camille O'Sullivan, who was performing at the St Patrick's Day celebrations in Trafalgar Square beforehand in the sunshine. My recent review waxed lyrical enough so I won't say more except that once again she was superb (not sure about doing U2's "One" though!), doing some of the material she'd done at the Apollo gig (Kirsty MacColl's "In These Shoes" and Nick Cave's "Ship Song") as well as some different songs. She battled bravely to entertain the crowd who mostly consisted of extremely smashed Irish 14-year-olds. When she's next in town, do as I say and get yourself a ticket or I'll give you a smack.
Then it was off to the Empire (a nice venue and surprisingly small). after hearing Thom Stone (shy, dull) and Alberta Cross (loud, rocky, will probably remain virgins their entire life) we got the main course. Mumford & Sons are so energetic that it's easy to forget they have no drummer; instead the rhythm comes from "Country" Winston's banjo and Marcus Mumford's bass drum which he plays in addition to guitar. Bass (mostly acoustic) and keyboard make up the band, with occasional guest spots from a horn section.
The gig was epic. The sound quality, volume levels and balance were wonderful while the band threw themselves into their unique mixture of barbershop chorales, lyrical poetry and tubthumping folk-rock hoe-downs with electric energy. Sigh No More doesn't have a weak track on it and while flagwavers "The Cave" and of course "Little Lion Man" drew the biggest cheers, ballad "Awake My Soul" showcased the band's choral balance perfectly while headbanger "Roll Away Your Stone" must have worn away a lot of shoe leather from all the foot-stamping both on stage and in the crowd. I've not had so much fun at a gig for ages and they're undoubtedly one of the best bands in the country at the moment, and three new tracks bode well for an upcoming new album. The ovation at the end was uproarious and deservedly so.
I'm listening to a recording from St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh. I did actually have a recording of the piece before, but only a cassette that I ripped from a CD recording by Christopher Bowers-Broadbent, one of the country's top organists whose wife Deirdre used to teach me recorder when I was very small (20+ years ago). I wonder how Deirdre is these days?
Camille O'Sullivan - The Dark Angel (Apollo Theatre, London) *****
Camille O'Sullivan needs to behave very, very carefully. She has such power and influence over her audiences that she could corrupt even the strongest will. For now, let's be thankful that she puts her energies into creating what is, quite simply, one of the greatest shows I've ever seen, and one I felt privileged to watch the other night, which happened to be the final night of her West End run at the Apollo Theatre. I believe it was one of the last shows that Time Out awarded their legendary six stars to before abandoning that accolade; to be honest, once Camille was given the stars it would seem insulting to award an equal rating to any other show, so they might as well have retired it in her honour.
I was years behind. How could I call myself a true Edinburgh Festivalite without having seen La Clique in its glory days at the Spiegeltent (I only caught it last year at the Hippodrome) or Camille O'Sullivan at the same venue? Those days are gone - the former is onto greater things and Camille has moved up to the larger Assembly Hall in Edinburgh, via the Roundhouse in London, to the Apollo Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue. Tickets somehow managed not to sell out, and we found ourselves with decent seats to the side of the circle.
There are countless cabaret singers out there trotting out Kurt Weill and donning corsets in a sexed up nostalgia-fest. Don't believe the hype: this isn't a sexy show. Camille isn't a glamourous performer. Sure, she's got a great figure; sure, she wears great dresses and sparkly shoes. But burlesque this is not and Camille is not a seductress. She lurches uncomfortably around the stage, with a clunky, clumsy presence and an air of self-consciousness that suggests that she's not entirely comfortable with the situation (O'Sullivan claims to suffer from stage fright every night). Neither is this a throwback to a different era; instead, the songs are timeless, taking in emotions that humans must have felt since the stone age. O'Sullivan herself cites her heroes - the likes of Jacques Brel, Tom Waits and Nick Cave - as modern day Weills.
I read some reviews again afer the gig and it transpires that much of Camille's ad libbing and throwaway charm is in fact a carefully staged act. That's by the by; it merely reinforces what an accomplished performer and entertainer she is - much like a standup comic. The audience participation, a chorus of meows, may have been done every night, but O'Sullivan's "I'll always remember this moment" was, most importantly, believable, as we were sucked into her world and drawn into her web. By the end, she was a best friend, a confidante, a lover, a shoulder to cry on, a philosopher and a story-teller. Clap? Of course I did, whooped and cheered a bit as well, but what I really wanted to do was go and give her a hug.
Camille was backed by a strong band, whose support ranged from an almost free-jazz/avant-garde classical sound to full on rock'n'roll by way of stripped-down piano simplicity. She kicked things off with a very free "My Death" which set the scene nicely, being a Jacques Brel original made popular by David Bowie. Both composers featured heavily throughout the performance. We took in plenty of Tom Waits (a wonderful "All The World Is Green", more Bowie ("Five Years"), Kirsty MacColl ("In These Shoes") and even Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor ("Hurt"). What all the songs have in common is a portrayal in the most poetic way of the simplest, basest, strongest human emotions. Love, hate, fear, loss, life death. Some reviews accused her of histrionics but at no point did I ever feel she was over the top.
To pick out highlights would be impossible as that would imply that there were moments of mediocrity, but spellbinding is a word that does not do justice to her performance of Dillie Keane's extraordinary "Look Mummy, No Hands" - leaving the audience a visible wreck. My own particular moment of weakness came at the start of the second half with Nick Cave's "God Is In The House" - a song of such unexpected purity (a sexy cabaret singer covers a rock star's song about...being at one with God?) that I felt the years lifted away and like a small boy again. The fishnet-stockinged legs and cheeky wine swigging belied the fact that the set was surely best summed up as a return to innocence.
O'Sullivan's most comfortable territory is with the music of Jacques Brel, who for those unfamiliar is a sort of Belgian musichall Kerouac. As well as "My Death" she took on the ballad (in the true, story-telling sense of the word: slushy it ain't) "Amsterdam", a salute to the sailors and whores of the port. And in an intimate, solo version of "Marieke" she fearlessly threw herself into French, Flemish and English with equal aplomb. But the finest moment was left until last: leaving the unlit, silent room whispering the dying "We make a little history baby, every time you come around" of Nick Cave's "Ship Song", Camille at that point revealed her power as a truly terrifying Queen of the night. At that moment, every person in the room would have embarked on genocide if she'd asked. Although I've heard that murder is arguably pardonable if the perpetrator was killing to get a ticket. "The behaviour was reasonable" say the judges.
I suppose if I had to make a comparison it would be to Bjork. There's the same extraordinary range of tones, the same clumsy stage presence, the same magic, the same intimacy. But while Bjork has always embraced new sounds and production, Camille is content to stay in a more traditional medium and exploit it to its full potential. But how inadequate are comparisons? A rather more accurate one would be to clown Slava Polunin, who similarly pulls you into his personal world and shares it with you for the duration of his show. There's another reason I compare Camille with Slava: Polunin's SnowShow happens to be the best show, of any genre, that I have seen in my entire life. (As an aside: it'll be returning to the UK in late 2011 for a tour. Just go.)
Spilling out onto Shaftesbury Avenue, into a melee of rickshaws, Trocadero flyers, queues for cashpoints and "no trainers" R&B bars, I felt pity: pity for the poor souls who think their lives are complete. For nobody's life is complete until they have experienced this girl.
Best of all? This may have been the last night of the run, but it won't be the end of Camille O'Sullivan. Luckily for us, she seems to divide her time between Britain, Ireland and Australia, so it won't be long before she's back in this country again. I'll be seeing her in Edinburgh - and maybe I'll muster the courage to give her that hug. I think she'd understand.
It's December, so everyone's suffering from listitis. Top tens, top hundreds, top thousands, top trumps, Top Gun. Lazy writing but so enjoyable to browse through. This decade has seen my musical tastes change and diversify - there's no point in even trying to remember everything for a "top 10" so here, in no particular order, are a few of my favourite things of the decade as far as music is concerned. By the nature of the piece, I will no doubt use a few too many superlatives and lashings of praise: from a literary standpoint I apologise, from a musical one I don't - these moments are worth it. I write this as the last day of the decade whizzes by on a five hour tran journey...
Lambchop
Kurt Wagner's Nashville outfit have been around for years, but some of their work this decade has surpassed even their previous output. Lambchop are everything that a great band should be - timeless, consistent, challenging. Wagner's idiosyncratic singing (and unique lyrics) sum up the band - nowhere better than in their 2006 LP Damaged which Wagner wrote following a cancer scare. The Guardian's review compared it with Marvin Gaye and Joy Division in the first sentence; it's an extraordinary listen. If that can be surpassed, however, it's the wonderfully uplifting "Up With People" from 2000. Jockey Slut described the Zero 7 remix as "making something perfect even better". I'd say stick with the original; perfect's good enough for me.
(Isn't it a great video!)
The first Sunday Afternoon at Dingwalls reunion, 2006
I was far too young to go to Gilles Peterson and Patrick Forge's original Sunday Afternoon at Dingwalls club sessions in the late 1980sso when I heard that there was to be a one-off revival in the original venue, it was inked into the diary. The room was packed with sweaty, now mostly 40-something dancers going ballistic to Miles Davis, Johnny Lytle, Airto Moreira, Sahib Shihab and much more. The jazzdance bangers played early on were in nosebleed territory; as the "night" went on, we got more and more anthems. Several hundred people singing along to "Skindo Le Le"? I never thought I'd experience that.
Kurt Elling - Man In The Air, 2003
The man can do no wrong. Elling is the undisputed king of male jazz vocalists at the moment, with all due respect to Jose James. His peerless album from 1997, The Messenger, is an all time classic already and after a couple of middling efforts, one could be forgiven for wondering if he would reach those heights again. With Man In The Air, Elling notched up a far more ambitious, and ultimately equally satisfying album as The Messenger. There are few original tunes; instead, Elling's vocalese takes centre stage, on a range of tunes from over the years, accompanied by a trio plus top vibes man Stefon Harris, who's a safe bet for top tunage. He takes on Weather Report, Herbie Hancock and Grover Washington originals with thought-provoking, often ambiguous lyrics; while the title track, an original tune, is strong modal fare. There are two highlights of the album, however, which elevate it to premium status. Firstly a stunning anthem in opener Minuando - a Pat Metheny original which after a shimmering 3-minute start lets rip with a glorious hook..."Already been as high as Kathmandu - ready to go as far as Timbuktu." The tempo increases, the solos fly by and Elling's countertenor returns for a jubilant final chorus. Then his boldest move of all: to cover "Resolution" from John Coltrane's legendary A Love Supreme. It's a bold jazzer who takes on any of the tracks from this LP but Elling, a man at the top of his game, proves he is more than worthy of the task. A wonderful album - now WHY have I still not seen the man sing live?
Zero 7 - Simple Things, 2001
When all's said and done, this edges it as my album of the decade. Maybe it's the memories I associate with it (first year student hangover music) but when my friend Duncan burned me a CD copy of this I was hooked straight away. It's a perfect blueprint for an album: there's consistency and direction throughout, with the tracks hanging together beautifully as a collection, but with outstanding individual tunes: "I Have Seen", "Destiny" and "In The Waiting Line" are as good as anything we've seen this decade. The choice of vocalists is important: Sophie Barker and Mozez blend in perfectly with the lazy-days production. But perhaps the finest moments on the album are from Sia Furler, who contributes vocals to "Destiny" and the heart-wrenching "Distractions". Bugz In The Attic did their best to ruin the latter track with a horrible remix, but forget that one - stick to the original.
Matthew Herbert Big Band, 2003
"Maverick" is a word that will always be used to describe Matthew Herbert, but I prefer "restless". Once merely a leftfield electronic innovator, he experimented with more and more techniques of musical production that put him in in a post-Cageian category. A techno anti-hero, his music varies from sublimely relaxed electronica (Bodily Fuctions LP) to unlistenable (The Mechanics Of Destruction). Chris Morris himself would be proud of the ridiculous genres (microhouse, anyone?) that have been invented by over-eager journalists to describe Herbert's work. But his talent - under whatever moniker he decides to use next - is past debate.
When I first heard rumours of a "Matthew Herbert Big Band" project, my tail started wagging uncontrollably. When the album dropped, I was ecstatic. Words cannot describe how I felt the first time I gave it a listen.
The principle is: take a large big band directed by Pete Wraight and including stellar individuals (Dave O'Higgins for example, whose album in collaboration with Jazzcotech, Fast Foot Shuffle, deserves a mention here); add Herbert's compositions and arm him with a sampler (his self-governed "PCCOM" prohibits and lazy sampling, however, and all samples are naturally occurring); throw in a few top vocalists (Dani Siciliano, Arto Liondsay); put them in a cauldron, add a hefty dose of magic, and serve. The result: a heady blend of soulful big band horns, with offkilter drums and noises (typewriters, books being closed). The lazy opener "Turning Pages" is a highlight, as is hypnotic closer "Stationary"; however, for me the star turn is that of Jamie Lidell, who contributes "Everything's Changed".
I made the trip up to Newcastle in April 2004, ostensibly to see my girlfriend, although "coincidentally" the MHBB were playing live at the Newcastle Opera House (a lovely warm, velvety building). Front stalls seats were a bonus. The band were nicely dolled up and Herbert himself appeared through a hole in the floor kitted out in full white tie and tails. The gig was pure theatre: from the opening moment where Herbert drank a cup of tea, then struck the cup with his teaspoon, sampled the sound and away we went with the sampler - to the inevitable politics where Herbert sampled the sound of newspapers being ripped up: "I normally to this with the Mail, but today I've decided to go for the Daily Express" (the Express had just confirmed their support for the Tories that day).
The Big Band's repoertoire includes a version of Herbert's sublime accordion-led "Cafe de Flore" - deservedly his only crossover success and to be found on many an Ibeefa-chillout album - a live version of which from the QEH I include below. There was another album in 2008 and the band still perform gigs, including a date at the Roundhouse earlier this year - but nothing can compare to that initial magic when the concept was first born.
Oh, and forget Robert Downey Jr: Matthew Herbert is the spitting image of Sherlock Holmes.
Sufjan Stevens
Another unique musical brain. Ambitious, too: my money's against him creating 50 albums, one for each state of the US, but moments like "Illinoise" and parts of the Christmas album justify Stevens' inclusion here.
Mumford & Sons, 2009 Sigh No More was an album I hadn't even heard of until I started a new job in October this year; with the luxury of Spotify in the office, we heard it a dozen times a day at its peak. A brilliant example of thunderous folk-rock, every track is memorable enough to be called an anthem while "Little Lion Man" was perhaps the best tune of 2009. Can't wait to see them at Shepherd's Bush Empire in the spring.
Berlin Philharmonic at the Proms, 2006
I managed to blag sitting in the Queen's Box (only plebs call it the Royal Box!) for two Berlin Philharmonic concerts, for nothing. Given that, at time of writing (December 2009) the Berlin Phil's two RFH gigs in 2011 are complete sell-outs, this was a blag indeed. Simon Rattle conducted an orchestra whose playing is so lush and perfect that at times I almost cried out for a little more edginess in the Mozart, but Brucker's seventh symphony, and works by Colin Matthews and Debussy, were sensational. Not for every day, but playing of this quality is out of this world.
Lily Allen
A performer on top of her game. Surprisingly, my highlightof Glastonbury2009, she is the queen of British pop music and has the confidence to match. Her catalogue includes a whole host of irresistibly catchy, sunny, quirky, sample-heavy reggae-ish hits. With that slightly anti-establishment attitude, trashy dress sense and great looks, she's got the whole package and is a true star. Oh, and she is the ultimate example of what the internet can do for musicians.
A ropey Youtube video this one, but I thought a little slice of that electric Glastonbury performance was worth including. Believe me, at the point where it went all drum & bass (about 2 minutes into this clip), the Pyramid Stage arena went nuts!
Brian O'Kane, from 2006
Young Irish cellist who I had the privilage of being able to watch on multiple occasions in the last few years. His technique was raw to begin with but his musicality outstanding; last I heard, his tone was much more polished, but the energy and depth of his playing were unaffected. His Bach playing shows the signs of maturity of top musicians thirty years his senior; his performance of the Rachmaninov sonata is electrifying. Watch out - this guy is up with the very best I've heard.
Messiaen's Saint-Francois d'Assise, Edinburgh Festival 2001
I've loved Olivier Messiaen's music for years so the chance to see his rarely-performed opera Saint-Francois d'Assise played live in concert was a dream come true. There's a reason it's rarely performed: the resources required are vast, and it's not exactly a crowd-puller. The whole conception is on an enormous scale - it kicks off with a five-minute chorus of birdsong, played on about ten xylophones, and this grandiosity is typical throughout the five hours.
Messiaen's later work is difficult to listen to, and Saint-Francois is challenging too - the coimposer's unparalleled attention to detail and ambitious structures mean that it's a complex work throughout, but with the religous fervour, spiritual ecstasy and profundity typical of Messiaen. It's impossible to describe without using sweeping generalities. At times the tempo almost grinds to a halt - there is a half hour passage where time itself seems to be suspended. The piety of the saint, brilliance of birdsong choruses and power and love of God are interspersed throughout, with several leitmotifs used. The final chord - an attempt to portray the glory and power of God in one note? - goes on, and on, and on, gaining in volume until you think it might make the whole hall explode. A very special moment.
I visited Westinster Abbey for the first time in 2008, Messiaen's centenary year, to see an Ascension Day service with Messiaen's glorious L'Ascension performed. It's a work whose accessibility takes nothing away from its beauty and it's astonishing to think Messiaen was 23 when he wrote it.
Myspace and the internet music revolution
Myspace. iTunes. Spotify. MP3s. Musical blogs. Filesharing. Youtube. Message boards. Suddenly music is global again - anyone can listen to anything, regional boundaries are transcended. Phenomena like Lily Allen need no comment from me. Talking of message boards...
What started out as a bunch of jazz and techno geeks and Gilles Peterson groupies extended into one of the most lively places on the internet for musical - and all kinds of - discussion. If you don't know the board, don't read this, just go there; it's a unique place. Record collectors and fans with a voracious appetite for music chew the fat over all kinds of music, with no holds barred. I've been an active member since the (fairly) early days and have made loads of friends and met people to go to gigs with. The Fun Your Ear sessions, an irregular night where Brownswood heads play tunes to each other (don't call it a club night!), are the stuff of legend. Other special moments included one contributor's (Ade P) 40th birthday party, in a scout hut on Hastings beach, which started out as a kids' party (complete with goulash) and slowly morphed into a full on raveathon by the seafront (complete with banging techno, and a techno/disco set from Luke Skyywalker which if released would be among the best mix albums of the decade. Talking of mixes, Weegee's Voices mix is superb - definitely worthy of inclusion here.
Cinematic Orchestra - Everyday, 2003
2003 was the year when discerning musical heads began to realise there was a difference between naff tippy-tappy Compost electronica-lite nu-jazz, and a breed of heavyweight producers driving the boundaries in a way not seen since the electronic revolution of the 90s and probably since New Wave in the 80s? The Cinematic Orchestra were among these heavyweights. Their Everyday LP is universally revered so little comment is required from me; perfectly judged arrangements, beats and tempi, along with not a little compositional talent from Jason Swinscoe, make up the album. However, while many critics saw the whole album as universally good, I felt that the flag-waving "All Things To All Men", with UK hip hop godfather Roots Manuva delivering an unusually excellent turn, stood head and shoulders above the rest of the LP. I'd go further than that now: it's one of the tracks fo the decade. Bar none.
It's a shame that the Cinematics weren't more prolific at delivering work that lived up to their moniker, but their soundtrack to Dziga Vertov's extraordinary1929 silent film Man With A Movie Camera is enough to leave me hungry for more of the same. It contains fragments of some of their finest previous work, with a lot more new material besides. It complements the celebration of the Soviet industrial revolution perfectly.
So, this is The Man With The Movie Camera. About 2'30" in, it segues nicely into a little bit of the Cinematics' remix of Nils Petter Molvaer's "Vilderness".
The jazz revival of the 90s continues...
The revival of the 1990s, from the Young Lions to M-BASE to innovators like Kurt Elling and Stefon Harris, already mentioned, took jazz out of the 1980s doldrums; in the new century, the quality of new music has increased exponentially. To mention a few: Esbjorn Svensson's (RIP) trio E.S.T (I turned down the opportunity to see them in tiny Henry's Cellar Bar in Edinburgh around the turn of the century; a few years later they were playing the 2000-capacity Usher Hall in the same city; a fears after THAT, Svensson was dead); Robert Glasper, making jazz cool to a hip hop generation again - particular mention should be made of his mashup of Radiohead's "Everything In Its Right Place" with "Maiden Voyage"; and Jose James boldly taking on the mantle of spiritual jazz supremo (with apologies to Dwight Trible). Special mention must be made of Jane Bunnett, one of my favourite jazzers, who produced several good albums, highlights of which included two tracks in particular: the raw "Conga Blue" and beautiful "Black Is The Color". As an aside, having brought up Radiohead cover versions, I should also mention Pete Kuzma & Bilal's brilliant version of "High And Dry", another highlight of the decade.
Back to the jazz, though, and it's in the UK that the best innovations have come. Andrew McCormack, Matthew Halsall, Acoustic Ladyland, the Polar Bear collective, and Robert Mitchell have all made jazz fresh and exciting. Other influences are apparent throughout: classical, dance music, hip hop, the nu-jazz movement and club scene. But the jazz shines through.
Two pianists, in particular, rise to the top. Neil Cowley - who I praise elsewhere in this essay - has a brand of Michael Nymanesque rich minimalism which is at once accessible yet deep. His Loud, Louder, Stop album contains ten consistently excellent tracks, with the single "His Nibs" the best of all (click the link to hear some samples). King of UK jazz though is surely Gwilym Simcock; the classically trained pianist writes music that is challenging and deep, but beautiful at the same time. His suite performed at the Proms in 2008 with the BBC Concert Orchestra, was perhaps the best example yet of the usually unhappy marriage of true jazz with true classical music. I only heard it on the radio, but a great concert.
Jazzanova - "L.O.V.E and You and I", 2001
The German producers were responsible for some of the great remixes of the decade (Heritage Orchestra, Shaun Escoffery, Masters at Work), a patchy, sprawling album, and an internationally successful sound and label. The "Compost sound" sold records by the bucketload across continental Europe, with scores of imitations of their "jazzy" (ugh) loungey sound. With few exceptions (Truby Trio - "High Jazz", Koop - "Summer Sun"), these imitations were atrocious.
Much has been said of the nu-jazz scene but, while responsible for some bossa-lite guff courtesy of Nicola Conte and his cronies, this clubbier sound found its way to Finland where live outfits like the Five Corners Quintet came out with driving dancefloor jazz reminiscent of the very best of the Blue Note sound.
But back to Jazzanova. The In Between LP, while inconsistent, had its moments, including some great remixes by others (Bugz In the Attic transforming "Mwela, Mwela" into a pounding club anthem, Domu's brilliant knob-twiddling on "Soon", various housey versions of "That Night"). But the opening track, "L.O.V.E and You and I" set the tone for the whole decade of music to come with some outstanding use of sampling combined with live electronic and acoustic sounds. The Five Stairsteps' "Something's Missing" is the most prominent sample but there are others in the track, plus great keyboard work on top of a hip hop beat, with a David Friedman vibes solo to finish things off. The result: a masterpiece and while I'm not a fan of sample-remix culture, this track, at least, shows me that not ALL sonic thieves are talentless.
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In fact, "Summer Sun" should have a section to itself...here it is. A genuine anthem.
Fertile Ground - Black Is..., 2004
Pete Collins' Baltimore collective have been consistently excellent since their inception, with their particular brand of energetic power soul/jazz. Navasha Daya's idiosyncratic vocals add something extra. Black Is... is a strong LP - every one of the six tracks a winner. From the driving soul of "Another Day" and "A Blues For Me", to the ultratight funky afrobeat of "Spirit World", it's a top album - but the stunning closing track, the spiritual jazz of the title track, clinches it to make it one of the albums of the decade without a doubt.
THIS! @ Bar Rumba - the nights when Irfane - "Just A Little Lovin" was new... (2002)
I had heard about the That's How It Is! club sessions at Bar Rumba before I was a student, in the days when I first heard Gilles Peterson's Worldwide sessions. When I went as a first year student, I had some of the hapiest nights of my life. I was new to all the music and it opened up new worlds for me. The packed, dark, sweaty club was throbbing until 4am every Monday night, with Peterson, Ben Wilcox and Raw Deal layng down a mixture of top quality Latin beats and uptempo jazz-housey sounds with hip hop, drum & bass (there was always a "drum & bass half hour" at peak time), techno, and some mellower soulful sounds to finish with. had some killer nights there around this time, dancing to tunes like DJ Gregory - "Damelo" and Masters At Work feat Roy Ayers - "Our Time Is Coming" (Jazzanova remix). But one evening, a new tune was dropped. And rewound. And dropped again. And dropped a third time. It was an instant winner. A killer vocal sample (which later transpired to be Sarah Vaughan), some wickedly simple production work which gave the track its unique "skipping" sound, and...that's it. 3 minutes of instant dancefloor mayhem. It was huge on the radio, it was huge with the DJs (only bootlegs ever appeared, until a watered-down official version was released without the sample), but most of all, it was huge at THIS! Some folks turned up their noses at it after it was hyped so much, but that takes nothing away from it when it was fresh.
Older heads nod sagely and say "I was there" when talking about the Paradise Garage and Electric Ballroom backintheday; I'm proud to say I was a THIS! disciple when it mattered.
The Heritage Orchestra
A monumental project which must have had some mean fundraising and dealing to achieve, the Heritage Orchestra is a frustrating project that could achieve mighty things that could be laid down as classics for decades to come, but seem too often to make wrong decisions and get caught up in mediocre affairs. The concept of a full orchestra playing jazz-classical-beats fusion is a winner from the start. After what seemed an age, an album appeared - it's not quite the classic it could be, but in "Sky Breaks" and "Tell Me Stories", the only two vocal tracks, they have two of they anthems of the decade. Jazzanova's remix of "Sky Breaks" sees the German masters back to their very best, stripping out the orchestral sounds and doing their own thing.
Live, they have been tangled up in some dodgy projects. The Concerto for Turntables and Orchestra by Gabriel Prokofiev (grandson of...) was well conceived but poorly executed - it's a very, very dull composition, and I was frustrated in that first half at the Scala. In the second half, however, the Heritages turned to something rather different: taking on the Warped sounds of electronica masters Plaid. This was what they were made to do: lush, full instruentation, gorgeous melodies, fantastic. Next year's Southbank gig, with John Cale of Velvet Underground performing his Paris 1919 album in full, already has "gig of the year" stamped all over it. I'll be there.
UK female soul generation
Echoing the sounds of Erykah Badu et al from across the pond, a new generation of female soul singers with lush, honeyed voices started to sprout in this country. Tawiah has delivered great things; there's the gorgeous Andreya Triana (who managed to upstage headliner Jose James at Cargo: she was brilliant live); but queen of the scene is Natalie Williams, whose Secret Garden LP, with plenty of crossover appeal, is a real winner, including top tracks "Butterfly" and "This Girl". Her finest moment, however, came in collaboration with the top drum & bass producer of the last few years, Nu:Tone, with a killer track entitled "System". Drum & bass isn't QUITE dead yet!
Domu
I'm not really in a position of authority to comment on Domu, since I know many people who know the man personally and all the ins and outs of his work over the years, whereas I'm merely an armchair dabbler. What I can say is that of what little I've come across myself, he shines brighter than any other electronic producer out there. For me, the broken beat scene was all about twisting rhythms until breaking point and Domu did exactly that. The highlights for me: the 2004 Enter the Umod LP - in particular the midtempo syncopation of "Tromboline"; and his remixes (particularly the vocal one) of the rather mediocre original of Jazzanova's "Soon" from the aforementioned In Between LP. Since the broken beat movement waned Domu produced slightly more conventional soulful house sounds, ran a label and was an insightful commentator - but his exploration of beats music with almost no on-beats, and liquid electronic sounds from the height of the broken beat scene which, in its heyday, contained someof the freshest sounds of the decade. Latterly he wrote a blog which was highly regarded (I never checked it) but recently became disenchanted, and to my knowledge has stopped both producing and writing. A great loss.
Three great oldies that got a revival through sampling
Locksmith - "Far Beyond" [Basement Jaxx - "Red Alert"]
Johnnie Taylor - "What About My Love" [Shapeshifters - "Lola's Theme"]
Labi Siffre - "I Got The..." [Eminem - "My Name Is"]
Leonard Cohen live at the Pyramid Stage, Glastonbury, 2008
[the following is taken from a post I wrote on the Brownswood message board in 2008. A bit raw, but I decided to leave my enthusiasm unedited]
It hit me properly on waking up. I woke, sweating and uncomfortable, surrounded by strewn underwear and sodden waterproofs, when the sound of a female voice came from a few metres away:
“…no, that wasn’t Nostradamus, it was Sigmund Freud…”
And I knew I had arrived, and dozed off again. Where else in the world could you wake up in the middle of a field at 8am and overhear a conversation like that?
This was my first experience of a festival of ANY sort – and I was told “if you go for the first time, make sure it’s Glastonbury” with knowing smiles. My mate and I stocked up the car – 120 cans of lager between two of us to last four days, plus wellies (titter: Microsoft Word autochanges “wellies” to “willies”) and a wheelbarrow – and picked up a couple of girls we’d recruited over the internet (bit of an early result here as they were (1) great fun and (2) quite easy on the eye).
Nobody’s interested in the journey down so suffice to say when we arrived, I was overwhelmed. The place is VAST. It’s not a festival at all; it’s a city, completely devoted to people having a good time in WHATEVER way they please. It caters for absolutely everything. All ages, shapes and sizes (though not colours: on many an occasion I looked around my field of vision and observed that there were NO non-white people anywhere to be seen. I would say AT LEAST 99% of the punters are white). The only thing in common was the fact that everyone wants to have a great time in some sort of way – more often than not, this incorporates getting completely smashed.
Heavy rain on Thursday night gave us the mud experience which just isn’t fun, no matter what anyone tells you. It’s a bloody ordeal. Caught the Levellers who put on a good show although, due to the fact that it was the only big gig on that night, plus the rain, meant that the tent was dangerously overcrowded which was nasty. Also wandered into a small chilled tent called the Elemental Tent and caught the lovely Hannah Atkins who plays various instruments, mostly piano, and sings, sampling herself and building up multi tracks, a la Andreya Triana. Very nice, although not massively memorable. She was then joined by two other girls on vocals (and a shoddy drummer) and this was better (not sure what they call themselves as a band). A wander round Shangri La with another wasted mate and I got to bed at a sedate 4am.
To all you hardened festival goers this is all old hat, but getting into the swing of a place that literally parties 24 hours a day (with a lengthy overlap period between people going to bed and getting up) takes a bit of getting used to. But get used to it I did. Routine: stagger blindly out of tent at a very early hour, queue at length for revolting toilet, get back to tent circle, root around in the detritus under the gazebo for a half-opened tube of Pringles from two days ago, consume Pringles – augmented by chocolate and cereal bars – realise that it’s 10am and getting a bit late, reach out hand in opposite direction and crack open can of nasty session lager, stock up bag and pockets with cans to punish liver therewith, and head outwards with boldest foot forwards.
It takes a while to realise the true essence of Glastonbury: if there’s one thing Glastonbury is NOT about, it’s music. We listened to Radio 1’s highlights show afterwards, playing “all the best new bands” and commented that this doesn’t present a representative view of the festival in the slightest. Not only is there more to life than a load of rock and indie bands, but actually you could have an incredible time without hearing any music at all, such is the variety of performers and experiences on offer. Some of the street performers were brilliant/bizarre: a couple of blokes sitting in the sunshine, giving Test Match Special-style commentary on passers by; a 12 foot kilted giant, with giant dog; a madman with briefcase which emitted bloodcurdling growls at intervals, scaring kids and monged-out ravers alike.
So, the music: once you realise that it’s impossible to even scratch the surface, that you’re going to miss a lot of great shows and that it’s better to be having fun with people you like at an average show than gritting your teeth on your own and battling through crowds to a show you want to see but nobody else does, then you get along fine. I kicked off with the Cuban Brothers who were great fun (I’d seen them before, but my mates were Hermanos Cubanos virgins). Chilled out for a bit to escape the rain serenaded by Horsemeat Disco DJs – great stuff, loved it. Caught a tiny bit of KT Tunstall, who is pretty tidy, but the music’s a bit, well, I can’t actually remember any of it so it was either the fact that I can’t work my ears and eyes at the same time or that she’s just a bit dull. Caught the Sons & Daughters after that. Now maybe I’m showing my age and the fact that I don’t listen to guitar based music any more, but do all indie bands at the moment sound exactly the same? The sound du jour seems to be upbeat 4/4 pop songs with irritating harsh guitar riffs. Horrible, horrible. To be fair, the Sons & Daughters were pretty good as a live outfit.
Then it was off to the Ting Tings who I knew nothing about other than that there’s a lot of hype. So much so that the John Peel tent was completely packed and we had to listen from outside; the sound just doesn’t penetrate outside and they were hard to hear. From what I could hear, I thought they were great: entertaining and eclectic. Trotted off to the Jazz World stage to catch the Fun Lovin Criminals where I learned an important lesson: don’t go off to see bands you thought were great 10 years ago and assume they’ve still got it. It was a very, very plodding show, musically mundane, and they didn’t “get” the crowd. The hits were great, of course. Then it was off to the Dance Village to catch Roisin Murphy (cracking show, although the music was incessantly bangin’) and afterwards, Fat Boy Slim who was a bit of a guilty indulgence for me. I’d never seen him play before and had always wanted to. From the word go, the crowd went NUTS. He could have played anything he wanted; as it was, it was good oldfashioned thumping house and beats – nothing groundbreaking but all good fun. Hardfloor – “Acperience” got dropped at one point, which I spacked out to; and obviously, all his own hits got played in a capella form in one way or another (“Right Here Right Now” over “Born Slippy” for example; not subtle and I’m sure I heard that exact same combo in the radio years and years ago but sod it, who cares when it’s such a good show?)
We headed down to Shangri La again and found a few bars to drop into and explore. At 1:30 it was time for one of only three bands that I had written down in the “definite” category on my itinerary – Hayseed Dixie. They were terrific – country versions of heavy metal classics, as well as some of their own material. The rocked the house. Really funny banter too.
Went with a mate up to the Stone Circle to see the sunrise and realised we’d missed it – it was properly light. It’s supposed to be “the” place to go for the sunrise but all there is there is a load of crusties lighting fires, beating drums and getting monged. We looked at each other and said, “We’ve drunk 15 cans of lager each and we’re both completely sober. Let’s throw in the towel and go to bed.” So we did.
Up three hours later and after steeling myself for a #2 (you never forget your first time) and the essential Pringle breakfast (and winning a tin whistle jam session with one of our bunch: result) managed to drag quite a few people down early doors to the Jazz World stage for the Neil Cowley Trio. Very few people there – it was just too early, I assume – but we sat down with breakfast and chilled. I thought they were terrific, after overcoming early minor technical problems. Had a quick chat with Neil afterwards (top bloke), and got a t-shirt and CD signed (the album’s a need for anyone currently dithering). I wonder if they’d ever played a sound system even half as loud before? Very, very good set. Jazz for the 21st century, the improvisation isn’t there but the spirit certainly is. Rich and luxuriant harmonies, Michael Nyman-like, in a way (that’s meant to be a compliment!). If you like “Goldwrap” by Esbjorn Svensson (RIP) then you’ll love this. Technically brilliant pianist too, with a tight band doing some nice rhythmic stuff. From there, it was a long walk back to the car to stock up on more booze (note for next year: pay the extra tenner and get a heavy duty wheelbarrow that has the luxury of a tyre and a body that doesn’t break when you put any weight in there). Caught the tail end of the Raconteurs – solid stuff. Then in a large group we wandered round to catch Simian Mobile Disco DJs. We were a bit battered by this point and didn’t even notice that they were on until halfway through the set. Pretty disappointing – bland beats. I know this stuff is oh-so-now and played in East London twatteries everywhere but I thought it was wank, to be perfectly honest. After that it was off to the other stage for Hot Chip. We were battered by this point so judgement might be slightly affected, but we all thought they were a bit naff as well. Truth be told, we weren’t really listening though.
Then came the Great Decision of the weekend: to Jay-Z or not to Jay-Z? Rumours abounded about Beyonce and Coldplay turning up. In the end the group split. Those who went said it was a sort of seven-out-of-ten show. I opted to stay at the Other Stage for Massive Attack.
Massive Attack’s performance was epic and utterly brilliant. They made an iffy start by getting political: within seconds of walking on and with reference to competing with Jay-Z, they said “everyone says that hip hop shouldn’t be at Glastonbury…well that’s just a bit fucking racist.” Stunned silence: bitterness is not the order of the day at Glastonbury. From then on, however, the show was monumental. Blending their hits (storming versions of “Teardrop” and “Karmacoma” in particular) with some lesser known tunes, combined with brilliant visuals and all in all a tremendous live show.
Ended up with a mate wandering along when we picked up four random scousers – two blokes and two girls. They had no idea what to do so we tagged along together and went to Shangri La again. Wandered into loads of places; found ourselves stumbling into the Jungle Drummer live (ace) and then onto some tiny place where everyone was absolutely wasted. It was only there that I realised these guys were banjaxed on sweeties themselves; my mate disappeared so I ended up raving the night away with them, drinking all their alcohol which they didn’t want and talking to loads of caners. All good fun. I ended the night walking one of them back to her tent and chatting until 8am. Utterly, utterly twunted.
When there’s serious lash to be had, however, there’s no time to be mucking about with sleep or feeling sorry for yourself, so within four hours I was up again, a bit disgusting as I’d fallen asleep on top of a half eaten peanut butter kit kat chunky in my sleeping bag and was minging. Voice gone, we grabbed some tea in the Park whilst listening to some dub in the morning sunshine (perfect) and got pissed again. Very pissed, very quickly. Caught Mark Radcliffe’s folk band, the Family Mahone, who were great fun. Most of the crowd were old and sedate; we were drunk and lairy. Much dancing was done. Amazing scenes.
We ended up at the Pyramid Stage where I ended up staying for the rest of the day – about 8 hours. Got the end of John Mayer (not bad, not my thing), all of Neil Diamond (cracking show), and then Goldfrapp who were chilled out to the point fo horizontal, and a bit vegan, but perfect in the circumstances. It’s amazing when you look at the programme of Glastonbury, you think “Eh?” to some of the programming on the major stages, but the programming is perfect.
Then came Leonard Cohen.
I’d had lots of great moments thus far but no Moments. Leonard Cohen was an hour-and-a-half long Moment. Quite simply put, it was the most stunning gig I’ve ever had the privilege to watch.The man is an absolute master (and the coolest man on the planet) – had the crowd eating out of his hand. The songs are gorgeous, he played them all super-slow with lots of organ backing and almost no drums, and as the sun went down and he went into "Everybody Knows", “I’m Your Man” and then “Hallelujah”, I broke down. I actually spent most of the gig looking backwards; it’s hard to put into words, but the sight of 50,000 people smiling is quite simply the most beautiful and wondrous sight I’ve ever seen. I spent all of “I’m Your Man” watching a grizzled, bandana-clad gent holding his braided 10-year-old daughter in his arms and they rocked softly from side to side and I just stood there with tears pouring down my face and no shame. Very, very special and a performance I’ll never forget. The man is so humble too – he greeted the rapturous applause at the end of each song with a simple “Thank you so much” that came from the bottom of his heart. A quasi-religous experience. Incredible.
This is, perhaps, the least satisfactory Youtube video ever - but sadly Cohen refused to allow any TV coverage of the gig, so clandestine filming from the audience is all that exists. Watch, in particular, the glimpses of sunset and smiling faces: some things lin life are priceless. This evening was one of them.
I'm not really au fait with pop music any more (I haven't been since roughly 1999 to be honest) but after years of the charts being dominated by either awful, awful bling-clone hip hop with atrocious vocal hooks from the likes of Chris Brown, N Dubz and various Eminem proteges, or cheesegrater voiced tight-trousered indie bands with harsh guitar lines and two-step "jaunty" drums (hello, Arctic Monkeys; hello, Libertines), things have taken a rather abrupt turn in the last 12 months. Because the charts seem to be dominated by female artists, with an interesting edge to them, who can actually sing.
Lily Allen is the queen of British pop. I saw her at Glastonbury this year and she had utter star quality: a woman at her absolute peak, enjoying every minute of performing, with a hefty catalogue of wonderful, idiosynchratic songs, lyrically and musically some of the best we've had in the last decade. She is glamourous in the extreme - "alternative" without Camden griminess, just the right level of gobbiness, and a consummate performer. It was a wonderful gig.
But Allen has been joined by a rather trendier set of female performers who have taken pop music in a whole new direction with their brand of electropop. And it's a revelation. Take Florence and the Machine for starters. Somewhere in between trance, disco, rock and operatic pop, it's a unique sound and my colleague reports that Florence's Brixton gig last night was tremendous. The Veronicas' wonderful "Untouched" - anthemic in a Calvin Harris sense but much more powerful - is easily one of the best songs of the last couple of years; the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' dancefloor friendly punky upbeat sounds are still all the rage and Little Boots is also on top of her game.
The "sound of 2009" clearly pays homage to the new wave sounds of the 1980s. But there's more - the androgynous, polysexual aspect of new wave culture has returned - but with female protagonists. For Frankie, Annie and Chris Tennant, we have a new breed - perhaps invoking the post-punk spirit of Debbie Harry. La Roux, for example, the alterego of Elly Jackson, describes herself as "well androgynous" - her neutral face (alt.gorgeous? I think so) while Katy Perry's lyrical flirtations with bisexuality tapped into the current climate.
However, the queen of the hypersexual, polysexual electropop world at the moment is undoubtedly Lady Gaga. Her costumes - which Westwood, McQueen and Gaultier would be proud of - are spectacular and help create a unique performing persona which perhaps masks a rather simpler soft centre (on Jonathan Ross a few months ago she just came across as weird and not very bright). At the heart of Gaga's package, though, is a string of blisteringly good pop tunes - reminiscent of Cher perhaps, but more pop than electro. Catchy, feelgood, lyrical...a far cry from X-Factor generated dross. I get wound up by her attention seeking as much as the next person but...my God, the girl can belt out a tune, and at least she's turned music into a performing art form again. I hope burlesque artists can be inspired again.
