One thing I've never been comfortable with is police officers referring to virtually everyone they meet as either "idiots" or "scumbags". The former refers to anyone who's had more than four pints, the latter to a rather hazy concept of "bad people" who police deal with on a regular basis. I've always thought of "scumbag" as a lazy term that doesn't take into account all kinds of social problems: drug addiction, homelessness, alcoholism, mental health problems, broken homes, violent parents or carers, poverty. Many police officers throw derogatory descriptions around willy-nilly, which I've often thought is wrong. However...all it takes is to see things from a different point of view, and the cynical part of you takes hold. That happened to me a few weeks ago, just before Christmas.
I was punched in the face - in a post office enquiry office at 7am. Not exactly how I had the morning planned. When I'm asked for money I'm usually fairly brusque with my negative responses - I rarely get an "oh but pleeease". This morning, however, was a different story, and after I had been asked fairly aggressively for money, and told the chap firmly but politely that I wasn't giving him anything, he called out to his mate. At this point I realised I was in a dark, deserted cul-de-sac, and my heart rate increased quite a bit; I made a quick evaluation of the situation and decided I wouldn't hang about to engage in furher pleasantries and economic debates, but rather find a little space to make a quick phone call.
The only place where there would definitely be light, and hopefully some other people, was in fact my destination at the end of the cul-de-sac, where I was off to pick up a package (some Swedish music: Hans Jorgen Alsing's Vai Alsing Da'r and Har ar en Samba til Dej by the delightfully named Samba Group Bananas. 1980s European Brazilian fusion was not uppermost in my mind at this point, I have to admit, and when I saw the two gentlemen running after me, I was glad that I knew the way through the maze of the post office depot car park.
To cut a long story short I ended up taking a right hook to the right eye socket while still trying to get through to the 999 operator. Brent police were superb in their handling of things, made several arrests and were on top of things. Unfortunately, despite having seen both of the would-be robbers, and arrests having been made, the ID parade was a horribly stressful affair. I never found out for certain if I got it wrong, but I must assume that I did, as the case has been NFA'd for lack of evidence, and those lowlifes will be able to carry on robbing people at their leisure for the time being. A little old lady in the post office said to me "I'll be scared to walk around on my own"; rather foolishly, before I had time to think, I said "yes, you'd be right". The poor thing nearly collapsed. But if a confident 26-year-old bloke takes a punch for his troubles to hang on to his own wallet at 7am, will a pensioner be immune?
I'm a fairly fit, reasonably confident, mid-twenties male who can look after himself, and I felt quite shaken up afterwards. The other victims that morning were apparently more shaken up than I was. The only positive I can take is that I often deal with victims of crime myself, and it's a reminder of just how vulnerable and helpless they can feel - for that I'm glad.
Scumbags? I might not quite go that far just yet, but I can see why the description might be applied.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Hampstead & Kilburn: the battle has commenced
Boundary changes could throw up all kinds of surprises across the country and one of the most unpredictable seats in the country is my own constituency, Hampstead & Kilburn, where we'll see a three-way dogfight between incumbent Glenda Jackson, Conservative Chris Philp and Liberal Democrat Ed Fordham.
The literature from both the Philp and Fordham camps is dominated by arguements of which party is favourite to actually win. Due to the boundary changes, we are left in an odd situation where the two parties most likely to win are trying to put the squeeze on each other and presenting themselves as the alternative to Labour. Voters must be confused by the conflicting messages saying "Lib Dems have no chance here" and "Tories have no chance here"; presumably whoever gets their message across most clearly and convincingly will win the seat. The Lib Dems are using actual general election data from Thrasher & Rallings figures, including the "Lib Dem" wards from the old Brent East constituency - which suggests that it's a straight fight between Jackson and Fordham. That, of course, depends on Fordham & co getting the "westerners" out to vote, and tapping into the "Sarah Teather effect". Meanwhile Philp's camp denounce those figures as "old" - there hasn't been a general election since, so of course they're up to date! - and use more recent London Assembly figures instead. Given that the London Assembly votes were dominated by the Boris-vs-Ken struggle, he may be optimistic. Anyone with an ounce of sense can see that both camps are using the figures for political advantage, and the bookies may give an idea of the true state of affairs: in general the Lib Dems are even money, the Tories about 2/1 and Labour 5/2. There's a lot still to fight for. Don't for a minute think that Philp or Fordham are naive enough not to know exactly what the score is; they know what's going on, but are trying to take advantage of voters' ignorance. Who can blame them?
Promisingly, the campaigns so far have mostly been based around local issues such as the Royal Free, post offices, police stations and so on. Both Philp and Fordham have bickered over who has the better track record on local campaigning but that's politics; a rival candidate distorting the words you used about a particular issue isn't negative campaigning at all, it's healthy. It'll have to get a LOT rougher before either candidate can describe the way they're being treated as "a personal slur". Happily, there's been no talk of whether someone is local or not, over their family history, over what they might have said 20 years ago. Let's keep it that way.
Both Fordham and Philp have had high profile faces join them, of course; Fordham entertained Vince Cable at a private function this week and Nick Clegg has been in town recently, while Philp took the rather more risky strategy of letting Boris loose, although admittedly in (presumably) staunch Tory country.
What of Glenda Jackson? She is as invisible on the constituency as A friend of mine, who is a prominent Labour activist in the area, told me that Labour had high hopes in North London. When I joked that they had no chance in Hampstead & Kilburn, he looked at me oddly. "Of course not, H&K is gone," he said. "We're concentrating our efforts elsewhere." Jackson herself has hardly been seen in Parliament for years and is being described by opponents as "the laziest MP in London". At present, her team seem to be making similar efforts in retaining the seat.
The latest twist is that ecowarrior Tamsin Omond is standing with a new party called "The Commons" on a one-trick-pony trip. Denounced as an act of vanity by some, I don't have a problem with it - it'll make things just that little bit spicier. And at least she's chosen her own patch to stand in. Although taking on the Greens, she's actually perfectly amenable to helping them out in Brighton. Neither Omond nor the Greens have much of a chance in H&K, and the Lib Dems will need to be effective with a Green squeeze and not let themselves be distracted by Omond. They will also need to be effective in making sure that the Lib Dem wards in the western part of the borough are mobilised and not subjected to squeeze from Labour and the Tories.
As I have mentioned elsewhere, and many other commentators have noted, social media is having a huge impact on this election. Fordham, Philp and now Omond are all active on both Twitter and in their own blogs (and commenting on other blogs). As such, they're not afraid to confront the rumours head-on and deal with their own word-of-mouth coverage. I'd argue that certain blogs have as much, if not more, influence than the likes of the Kilburn Times, Willesden & Brent Times, Ham & High and Camden New Journal these days, and Fordham and Philp, in particular, have both shown that they are not afraid to engage directly with the voters online. The flipside, of course, is that social media can easily be a breeding ground for rumours, personal attacks, and shady anonymous negative campaigning. Thus far, we've seen little of this in H&K; hopefully, we'll see more of the positives and less of the negatives.
H&K is spicy already and will only get hotter. With Lib Dem-vs-Conservative seats possibly critical in determining whether we see a hung Parliament or and outright Tory majority, expect to see a LOT of attention here. I can't wait.
The literature from both the Philp and Fordham camps is dominated by arguements of which party is favourite to actually win. Due to the boundary changes, we are left in an odd situation where the two parties most likely to win are trying to put the squeeze on each other and presenting themselves as the alternative to Labour. Voters must be confused by the conflicting messages saying "Lib Dems have no chance here" and "Tories have no chance here"; presumably whoever gets their message across most clearly and convincingly will win the seat. The Lib Dems are using actual general election data from Thrasher & Rallings figures, including the "Lib Dem" wards from the old Brent East constituency - which suggests that it's a straight fight between Jackson and Fordham. That, of course, depends on Fordham & co getting the "westerners" out to vote, and tapping into the "Sarah Teather effect". Meanwhile Philp's camp denounce those figures as "old" - there hasn't been a general election since, so of course they're up to date! - and use more recent London Assembly figures instead. Given that the London Assembly votes were dominated by the Boris-vs-Ken struggle, he may be optimistic. Anyone with an ounce of sense can see that both camps are using the figures for political advantage, and the bookies may give an idea of the true state of affairs: in general the Lib Dems are even money, the Tories about 2/1 and Labour 5/2. There's a lot still to fight for. Don't for a minute think that Philp or Fordham are naive enough not to know exactly what the score is; they know what's going on, but are trying to take advantage of voters' ignorance. Who can blame them?
Promisingly, the campaigns so far have mostly been based around local issues such as the Royal Free, post offices, police stations and so on. Both Philp and Fordham have bickered over who has the better track record on local campaigning but that's politics; a rival candidate distorting the words you used about a particular issue isn't negative campaigning at all, it's healthy. It'll have to get a LOT rougher before either candidate can describe the way they're being treated as "a personal slur". Happily, there's been no talk of whether someone is local or not, over their family history, over what they might have said 20 years ago. Let's keep it that way.
Both Fordham and Philp have had high profile faces join them, of course; Fordham entertained Vince Cable at a private function this week and Nick Clegg has been in town recently, while Philp took the rather more risky strategy of letting Boris loose, although admittedly in (presumably) staunch Tory country.
What of Glenda Jackson? She is as invisible on the constituency as A friend of mine, who is a prominent Labour activist in the area, told me that Labour had high hopes in North London. When I joked that they had no chance in Hampstead & Kilburn, he looked at me oddly. "Of course not, H&K is gone," he said. "We're concentrating our efforts elsewhere." Jackson herself has hardly been seen in Parliament for years and is being described by opponents as "the laziest MP in London". At present, her team seem to be making similar efforts in retaining the seat.
The latest twist is that ecowarrior Tamsin Omond is standing with a new party called "The Commons" on a one-trick-pony trip. Denounced as an act of vanity by some, I don't have a problem with it - it'll make things just that little bit spicier. And at least she's chosen her own patch to stand in. Although taking on the Greens, she's actually perfectly amenable to helping them out in Brighton. Neither Omond nor the Greens have much of a chance in H&K, and the Lib Dems will need to be effective with a Green squeeze and not let themselves be distracted by Omond. They will also need to be effective in making sure that the Lib Dem wards in the western part of the borough are mobilised and not subjected to squeeze from Labour and the Tories.
As I have mentioned elsewhere, and many other commentators have noted, social media is having a huge impact on this election. Fordham, Philp and now Omond are all active on both Twitter and in their own blogs (and commenting on other blogs). As such, they're not afraid to confront the rumours head-on and deal with their own word-of-mouth coverage. I'd argue that certain blogs have as much, if not more, influence than the likes of the Kilburn Times, Willesden & Brent Times, Ham & High and Camden New Journal these days, and Fordham and Philp, in particular, have both shown that they are not afraid to engage directly with the voters online. The flipside, of course, is that social media can easily be a breeding ground for rumours, personal attacks, and shady anonymous negative campaigning. Thus far, we've seen little of this in H&K; hopefully, we'll see more of the positives and less of the negatives.
H&K is spicy already and will only get hotter. With Lib Dem-vs-Conservative seats possibly critical in determining whether we see a hung Parliament or and outright Tory majority, expect to see a LOT of attention here. I can't wait.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Abu Zaad, Edgware Road - review
This is the first time I've written a restaurant review on here, although it won't be the last! At the weekend we rather naively turned up at Mandalay without a reservation: don't even think about it. Another time we'll be more organised. Anyhow, Edgware Road is hardly short of places to eat...the question was WHERE without just defaulting to one of the Maroush/Ranoush chain (which seems like half the street). Don't get me wrong, the shawarma from Ranoush Juice (under £4) is as good as you'll get, but it feels like a bit of a cop-out to go there every time. The only other place I'd heard of, Patogh, a Persian place on one of the side streets, was also rammed (Saturday evening at primetime!) so we were forced to go offpiste and just plump for somewhere on spec.
We were tempted by a large Iraqi place (on one of the main corners, with neon lights, can't remember the name) as it had an interesting looking menu and was packed out with Arabic-looking people (a cliched way of choosing somewhere, but I always swear by it). It was slightly pricier than other places. One to check for the future.
In the end though, we went for a place called Abu Zaad (the website only mentions a Shepherd's Bush branch, but it's undoubtedly the same chain). It describes itself as being "Damascene" cooking, in other words Syrian. It was very busy and looked promising, so we gave it a go.
It was just my kind of place. Bright lights, plastic tables, groups of (mostly) Middle Eastern men speaking Arabic, Middle Eastern football on the telly, no alcohol baby! Between the two of us we opted for three mezze - hummous (a little bit rich for my taste, I perfer a little bit more zing and texture), some kofta-style meatballs (I always forget what the name of them is) and some moutabal - a very typical Middle Eastern dish - pureed aubergine with a hint of sesame and lemon juice, with the completely liquidised texture that us so typical of that cuisine. All were good.. My freshly squeezed apple juice was excellent (bits of peel in it were a bit offputting!). I then had Sheikh Almehshi: courgettes stuffed with mincemeat, all cooked in yogurt. I had half expected this would mean it was in a creamy yogurt sauce, like a mild curry - I was slightly taken aback when I saw several baby courgettes swimming around in sour, watery yogurt. It was very nice, admittedly slightly too much of the sourness of the yogurt for my taste, but well done nonetheless. Rachel's mixed grill was solid.
It's interesting to note the (far more professional) review of Bellaphon, who seems to go regularly and drew similar conclusions to me. Overall, I was very happy with the choice - exactly what I was hoping for in terms of experience, less sterile than Maroush/Ranoush and while the food might not have been quite as slick, for me it was a much more interesting & enjoyable. Food 7/10, atmosphere 10/10, overall: recommended, and a good one to have in the armoury if you're standing lost on the Edgware Road.
We were tempted by a large Iraqi place (on one of the main corners, with neon lights, can't remember the name) as it had an interesting looking menu and was packed out with Arabic-looking people (a cliched way of choosing somewhere, but I always swear by it). It was slightly pricier than other places. One to check for the future.
In the end though, we went for a place called Abu Zaad (the website only mentions a Shepherd's Bush branch, but it's undoubtedly the same chain). It describes itself as being "Damascene" cooking, in other words Syrian. It was very busy and looked promising, so we gave it a go.
It was just my kind of place. Bright lights, plastic tables, groups of (mostly) Middle Eastern men speaking Arabic, Middle Eastern football on the telly, no alcohol baby! Between the two of us we opted for three mezze - hummous (a little bit rich for my taste, I perfer a little bit more zing and texture), some kofta-style meatballs (I always forget what the name of them is) and some moutabal - a very typical Middle Eastern dish - pureed aubergine with a hint of sesame and lemon juice, with the completely liquidised texture that us so typical of that cuisine. All were good.. My freshly squeezed apple juice was excellent (bits of peel in it were a bit offputting!). I then had Sheikh Almehshi: courgettes stuffed with mincemeat, all cooked in yogurt. I had half expected this would mean it was in a creamy yogurt sauce, like a mild curry - I was slightly taken aback when I saw several baby courgettes swimming around in sour, watery yogurt. It was very nice, admittedly slightly too much of the sourness of the yogurt for my taste, but well done nonetheless. Rachel's mixed grill was solid.
It's interesting to note the (far more professional) review of Bellaphon, who seems to go regularly and drew similar conclusions to me. Overall, I was very happy with the choice - exactly what I was hoping for in terms of experience, less sterile than Maroush/Ranoush and while the food might not have been quite as slick, for me it was a much more interesting & enjoyable. Food 7/10, atmosphere 10/10, overall: recommended, and a good one to have in the armoury if you're standing lost on the Edgware Road.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Paranoia, Nazism and nastiness - why I'll be changing my blog reading habits
I've followed a number of political bloggers and Twitter accounts for a little while now. I suppose I use Twitter in the way the prolific bloggers intend me to use it: I follow a couple of hundred people, many of whom blog several times a day. Too many blogs to subscribe to, but enough that I can have a steady stream of chirps emenating from my TweetDeck with some tempting straplines and a link to a blog post. So far, so good - and as a result, I can keep an eye on plenty of blogs that may be some way away from my own particular political views.
As a result, on my "Following" list on Twitter are both Paul Staines aka Guido Fawkes and Tim Ireland aka Bloggerheads (who tweet from @guidofawkes and @bloggerheads respectively). Guido is one of the most heavyweight of the Tory bloggers, and doesn't pull his punches, while Ireland is a militant left-winger whose anti-Daily Mail stance and general sense of morality appealed to me. Both provide insights and leaks that the mainstream media may take days to pick up on if at all.
But as of today, I won't be following either of them any longer. Neither of them would thank me for saying it, but they're like two peas in a pod: they suffer from rabid negativity and paranoia that is simply depressing to read.
Ireland feels the whole world is against him, and writes increasingly delusional rants against...well, quite a list of people actually. He appears to be involved in swathes of libel claims and counter-claims, threats and counter threats, and generally consumes himself in his own outrage. Were he to put his manic energy into something a little more constructive than obsessive diatribes against obscure "terrorism experts", Tory MP Nadine Dorries, and bloggers Guido and Iain Dale, then he might be quite influential in this election and not come across as merely a fruitloop. Both Dale and Dorries describe Ireland as a "stalker" - something which he denies, but the incessant flood of tweets every few minutes asking in outraged tones why Dorries hasn't answered his last question, and torrents of blog posts analysing Dale's activity to every last detail suggest that their claims are hardly wild flights of fancy. He is also paranoid in the extreme. I genuinely have no idea what Ireland's own political views are as his blog and Twitter are too crammed with wild accusations to actually have any positive content. While his abrasive stance is entertaining, and I applaud his mission to hold the muckier tabloids to account, the simple fact of the matter is that my Twitter feed has become dominated by one person who tweets dozens of times a day, and it's just become too much.
On the other hand, Guido Fawkes has the luxury of being considered a "mainstream" commentator. Unfortunately his commentary is restricted to a steady outpouring of anti-Gordon Brown vitriol and negativity which just becomes tedious very quickly. Auther Staines rarely gives convincing arguments why any reader should be more tempted to vote Tory than Labour; instead one is subjected to endless holier-than-thou tabloidesque snippets of drivel about dodgy Labour comms professionals and moaning about the economy. Yes, the economy is in a catastrophic mess. But I don't need Guido Fawkes to tell me that. The "summary" comments, in red type, are in the style of the Sun, whether intentionally or not. The only appealing aspect of the blog is the comments section, where hordes of Guido-ites trade juvenile anti-Gordon slurs with voracious appetites, only taking time out to nip over to Nick Robinson's blog on the BBC to accuse the Beeb of wholescale bias with amusing predictability. Insightful this blog is not, whatever its influence.
It may seem strange that following Tim Ireland led me to check out Iain Dale's diary - and even stranger that today would be the day I decided to follow Dale's Twitter. This morning he published a cartoon which quite simply and explicitly compares Gordon Brown to Hitler. The artist, Louis Sidolo, provides a typically hopeless (for an artist) piece of English masquerading as a statement, which rather vaguely justifies the comparison by the fact that both Brown and Hitler were once chancellors and "caused huge economic damage". Dale, spectacularly naive, claims that he is merely "reporting" the art without any approving opinion. Pull the other one, Iain; for an influential blog, crammed full of opinion, to simply publish a piece of art without any accompanying text except for the unabridged artist's statement, is as much of an endorsement as you can get. Personally I didn't find the cartoon offensive, I just didn't find it very amusing (whisper it, but I didn't actually recognise the PM).
In spite of that, Dale comes across as both intelligent and articulate, and appears to be "in the thick of things" where the breaking stories are concerned. My early impressions are that he has more than an ounce of humanity about him. So for now, I'll keep half an eye on his Twitter and see what happens.
As I wrote elsewhere, and as others have written in many places, social media could easily tip the balance of the upcoming election. There has been wave upon wave of brilliant satire at Clifford Singer's My David Cameron, both from Singer himself and many other contributors - which became viral and hit mainstream headlines. I've personally had some of my laughs of the year from that site. Finally, some Tory efforts appeared (slightly bizarrely copying a spoof of a Tory poster) at My Labour Poster. Some of the Labourites (and Singer himself) claimed that the Tory efforts lacked humour and were vicious personal attacks; looking at them objectively, I found them no worse and indeed some of them were very funny. Singer, meanwhile, has said that he won't continue the site any further as the satire has run its course and humour could turn to bitterness. This is a dignified decision and the correct one. The original spoofs of the ridiculous airbrushed pictures of Cameron were the best of all - the site has done its work, provided a great many laughs and made the Tory comms team look slightly foolish. Social media is providing British politics with a huge new injection of nastiness and negativity and the less we see of this, the better. So I'll take my chances with Dale, and watch out for Singer's next project with interest.
As a result, on my "Following" list on Twitter are both Paul Staines aka Guido Fawkes and Tim Ireland aka Bloggerheads (who tweet from @guidofawkes and @bloggerheads respectively). Guido is one of the most heavyweight of the Tory bloggers, and doesn't pull his punches, while Ireland is a militant left-winger whose anti-Daily Mail stance and general sense of morality appealed to me. Both provide insights and leaks that the mainstream media may take days to pick up on if at all.
But as of today, I won't be following either of them any longer. Neither of them would thank me for saying it, but they're like two peas in a pod: they suffer from rabid negativity and paranoia that is simply depressing to read.
Ireland feels the whole world is against him, and writes increasingly delusional rants against...well, quite a list of people actually. He appears to be involved in swathes of libel claims and counter-claims, threats and counter threats, and generally consumes himself in his own outrage. Were he to put his manic energy into something a little more constructive than obsessive diatribes against obscure "terrorism experts", Tory MP Nadine Dorries, and bloggers Guido and Iain Dale, then he might be quite influential in this election and not come across as merely a fruitloop. Both Dale and Dorries describe Ireland as a "stalker" - something which he denies, but the incessant flood of tweets every few minutes asking in outraged tones why Dorries hasn't answered his last question, and torrents of blog posts analysing Dale's activity to every last detail suggest that their claims are hardly wild flights of fancy. He is also paranoid in the extreme. I genuinely have no idea what Ireland's own political views are as his blog and Twitter are too crammed with wild accusations to actually have any positive content. While his abrasive stance is entertaining, and I applaud his mission to hold the muckier tabloids to account, the simple fact of the matter is that my Twitter feed has become dominated by one person who tweets dozens of times a day, and it's just become too much.
On the other hand, Guido Fawkes has the luxury of being considered a "mainstream" commentator. Unfortunately his commentary is restricted to a steady outpouring of anti-Gordon Brown vitriol and negativity which just becomes tedious very quickly. Auther Staines rarely gives convincing arguments why any reader should be more tempted to vote Tory than Labour; instead one is subjected to endless holier-than-thou tabloidesque snippets of drivel about dodgy Labour comms professionals and moaning about the economy. Yes, the economy is in a catastrophic mess. But I don't need Guido Fawkes to tell me that. The "summary" comments, in red type, are in the style of the Sun, whether intentionally or not. The only appealing aspect of the blog is the comments section, where hordes of Guido-ites trade juvenile anti-Gordon slurs with voracious appetites, only taking time out to nip over to Nick Robinson's blog on the BBC to accuse the Beeb of wholescale bias with amusing predictability. Insightful this blog is not, whatever its influence.
It may seem strange that following Tim Ireland led me to check out Iain Dale's diary - and even stranger that today would be the day I decided to follow Dale's Twitter. This morning he published a cartoon which quite simply and explicitly compares Gordon Brown to Hitler. The artist, Louis Sidolo, provides a typically hopeless (for an artist) piece of English masquerading as a statement, which rather vaguely justifies the comparison by the fact that both Brown and Hitler were once chancellors and "caused huge economic damage". Dale, spectacularly naive, claims that he is merely "reporting" the art without any approving opinion. Pull the other one, Iain; for an influential blog, crammed full of opinion, to simply publish a piece of art without any accompanying text except for the unabridged artist's statement, is as much of an endorsement as you can get. Personally I didn't find the cartoon offensive, I just didn't find it very amusing (whisper it, but I didn't actually recognise the PM).
In spite of that, Dale comes across as both intelligent and articulate, and appears to be "in the thick of things" where the breaking stories are concerned. My early impressions are that he has more than an ounce of humanity about him. So for now, I'll keep half an eye on his Twitter and see what happens.
As I wrote elsewhere, and as others have written in many places, social media could easily tip the balance of the upcoming election. There has been wave upon wave of brilliant satire at Clifford Singer's My David Cameron, both from Singer himself and many other contributors - which became viral and hit mainstream headlines. I've personally had some of my laughs of the year from that site. Finally, some Tory efforts appeared (slightly bizarrely copying a spoof of a Tory poster) at My Labour Poster. Some of the Labourites (and Singer himself) claimed that the Tory efforts lacked humour and were vicious personal attacks; looking at them objectively, I found them no worse and indeed some of them were very funny. Singer, meanwhile, has said that he won't continue the site any further as the satire has run its course and humour could turn to bitterness. This is a dignified decision and the correct one. The original spoofs of the ridiculous airbrushed pictures of Cameron were the best of all - the site has done its work, provided a great many laughs and made the Tory comms team look slightly foolish. Social media is providing British politics with a huge new injection of nastiness and negativity and the less we see of this, the better. So I'll take my chances with Dale, and watch out for Singer's next project with interest.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Lyric's Three Sisters solid, but unmemorable
Three Sisters - Filter, Lyric Theatre ***
The Lyric Theatre's latest production with Filter of Chekhov's Three Sisters is frustratingly average. I was looking forward to seeing Sean Holmes' work with Filter having heard so many good things about their Caucasian Chalk Circle; the Checkhov turned out to be a very straight production, with rather limp humour, a complete lack of tension, and a narrative that was not fully explored.
First a gripe. It is not trendy, groundbreaking, or edgy to set up the soundbox on the stage. It is not "warts-and-all" theatre; it is lazy and merely a distraction from the fact that no money has been spent on a set. And having stage crew wander across the stage willy-nilly just papers over unprofessionalism elsewhere. I've seen this approach taken three times in the last year and a half (also with Complicite's A Disappearing Number and Kneehigh's Don John). The "let it all hang out" approach has added nothing to any of those productions.
As for the Sisters: Poppy Miller steals the show with a brilliantly repressed Vershinin. Romola Garai simply doesn't make the most of Masha - graduating from pouty to whiny via droopy and not a great deal else. A disappointment. Claire Dunne as Irina occasionally sparkles, but there were a few too many histrionics for my liking. Apart from Miller, only Ferdy Roberts as Andrei really shone.
The text had some wonderful moments and there were times when the tension of the small town life and frustration of the characters really manifested itself; and moments with the cleverly positioned microphones wored quite nicely. But I am writing this review barely a fortnight after seeing the production and I am already struggling to remember most of the production. Not bad, solid, but hardly life changing.
The Lyric Theatre's latest production with Filter of Chekhov's Three Sisters is frustratingly average. I was looking forward to seeing Sean Holmes' work with Filter having heard so many good things about their Caucasian Chalk Circle; the Checkhov turned out to be a very straight production, with rather limp humour, a complete lack of tension, and a narrative that was not fully explored.
First a gripe. It is not trendy, groundbreaking, or edgy to set up the soundbox on the stage. It is not "warts-and-all" theatre; it is lazy and merely a distraction from the fact that no money has been spent on a set. And having stage crew wander across the stage willy-nilly just papers over unprofessionalism elsewhere. I've seen this approach taken three times in the last year and a half (also with Complicite's A Disappearing Number and Kneehigh's Don John). The "let it all hang out" approach has added nothing to any of those productions.
As for the Sisters: Poppy Miller steals the show with a brilliantly repressed Vershinin. Romola Garai simply doesn't make the most of Masha - graduating from pouty to whiny via droopy and not a great deal else. A disappointment. Claire Dunne as Irina occasionally sparkles, but there were a few too many histrionics for my liking. Apart from Miller, only Ferdy Roberts as Andrei really shone.
The text had some wonderful moments and there were times when the tension of the small town life and frustration of the characters really manifested itself; and moments with the cleverly positioned microphones wored quite nicely. But I am writing this review barely a fortnight after seeing the production and I am already struggling to remember most of the production. Not bad, solid, but hardly life changing.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Camille O'Sullivan: a dangerous woman
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
A great ad gets the intended message across...nothing more, nothing less
A few weeks ago The Guardian published their list of the best TV ads of the last 10 years. Naturally, it was a subjective list with a mixture of simplicity, trendsetters, beauty and humour (I'll leave that unedited; Christ, I just looked at what I wrote and it looks like I'm a bloody evangelist for the industry. Horrible). Many are memorable pieces of creative work. Many have inspired thousands of pub conversations. Many have won prestigious awards. But how many of them sold anything? Well, I imagine most of them did. But was it in the way they intended? More generally, how many got across the message that they were trying to convey?
A case in point is the Guinness ad. It conveys the idea of going backwards in time well enough, and has a catchy tune and a cute lizard at the end but...does it get the message across that Guinness is worth waiting for? I'd say not. Incidentally, I was hauled in off the street to an ad testing market research session. I told the at the time it was crap - but at least they listened to my impassioned plea not to use some godawful cliched bongo-heavy generic pan-African music, which (I wrote) conformed to a stereotype of ape-men roaming Africa (sorry, but the animated versions shown to us in the testing were really dire).
There are some decent ads in the Guardian's list and some mediocre ones but for me only the John Smith's ads, by TBWA, stand out - the simplicity and humour supporting a strong concept and strapline. W&K's beautiful creation for Honda was bound to create a lot of buzz (it did) and it a lovely creative piece too. Without that word of mouth factor, though, it would be ordinary. My own favourites of the decade, however, are not featured in that list.
I have three ads in particular that stand out. The first is a print ad from this autumn:
Dixons.co.uk - "The Last Place You Want To Go" (M&C Saatchi, 2009)
This ad, created by M&C Saatchi, is brilliant because the POINT of the message is brought across in such a powerful way. It's risky, it's cheeky, it's self-deprecating, but you "get it" straight away.
Comparing Dixons to Selfridges? John Lewis? Harrods? It's brilliant. It's the same principle that Ikea and Richer Sounds are built upon: our products are just as good as anyone else's, but we cut corners to cut prices. Nowhere is this message better spelled out than here. The point is got across vividly - Ryanair style. We are cheaper.
Smirnoff - Love (JWT, 2006)
My favourite ad of the decade - possibly my favourite ever. It's set up in true cinematic style, beautifully shot, etc etc. But none of that matters. What matters is that purely as a result of this ad, I find it impossible to think of the word "distilled" without instantly thinking "Smirnoff". JWT have earned their money on this one.
It's a simple advertising trick, but one that's so powerful: create a strapline, or even just a keyword, with which you want the product to be forever associated; then create an analogy, metaphor or pun to make the association. What's so great about "Love" is that throughout you're thinking what's the message here? And what are they trying to advertise? Then you think taking away the bad bits...sanitising...leaving only the sweet, demure original...AHHHHHH TRIPLE DISTILLED FOR PURITY. Then to hit you with the product, with which they're trying to associate exactly that message: brilliant. Just brilliant. Utter smackdown. Throw in the fact that it's a really, really sexy ad as a bonus, and it all ads up to one of the best bits of communication ever.
Tfl - Do The Test (WCRS, 2008)
I'll leave Paul van Veenendaal's ViralBlog to discuss the viral aspect of the marketing campaign for this road safety ad, but how brilliant is it as a creative piece of work? In exactly the same way as the Smirnoff ad, WCRS's "Do the test" takes a strapline and builds a fantastic metaphor around it. Then hits you in the stomach at the end with the strapline and "product". Again - smackdown. I was left reeling. The simple analogy is inescapable. You feel guilty. In fact, by missing the bear, you almost feel like you've killed a cyclist yourself.
Oh, and I still haven't met anyone who spotted the bear first time round. So it's doubly brilliant.
A case in point is the Guinness ad. It conveys the idea of going backwards in time well enough, and has a catchy tune and a cute lizard at the end but...does it get the message across that Guinness is worth waiting for? I'd say not. Incidentally, I was hauled in off the street to an ad testing market research session. I told the at the time it was crap - but at least they listened to my impassioned plea not to use some godawful cliched bongo-heavy generic pan-African music, which (I wrote) conformed to a stereotype of ape-men roaming Africa (sorry, but the animated versions shown to us in the testing were really dire).
There are some decent ads in the Guardian's list and some mediocre ones but for me only the John Smith's ads, by TBWA, stand out - the simplicity and humour supporting a strong concept and strapline. W&K's beautiful creation for Honda was bound to create a lot of buzz (it did) and it a lovely creative piece too. Without that word of mouth factor, though, it would be ordinary. My own favourites of the decade, however, are not featured in that list.
I have three ads in particular that stand out. The first is a print ad from this autumn:
Dixons.co.uk - "The Last Place You Want To Go" (M&C Saatchi, 2009)
This ad, created by M&C Saatchi, is brilliant because the POINT of the message is brought across in such a powerful way. It's risky, it's cheeky, it's self-deprecating, but you "get it" straight away.Comparing Dixons to Selfridges? John Lewis? Harrods? It's brilliant. It's the same principle that Ikea and Richer Sounds are built upon: our products are just as good as anyone else's, but we cut corners to cut prices. Nowhere is this message better spelled out than here. The point is got across vividly - Ryanair style. We are cheaper.
Smirnoff - Love (JWT, 2006)
My favourite ad of the decade - possibly my favourite ever. It's set up in true cinematic style, beautifully shot, etc etc. But none of that matters. What matters is that purely as a result of this ad, I find it impossible to think of the word "distilled" without instantly thinking "Smirnoff". JWT have earned their money on this one.
It's a simple advertising trick, but one that's so powerful: create a strapline, or even just a keyword, with which you want the product to be forever associated; then create an analogy, metaphor or pun to make the association. What's so great about "Love" is that throughout you're thinking what's the message here? And what are they trying to advertise? Then you think taking away the bad bits...sanitising...leaving only the sweet, demure original...AHHHHHH TRIPLE DISTILLED FOR PURITY. Then to hit you with the product, with which they're trying to associate exactly that message: brilliant. Just brilliant. Utter smackdown. Throw in the fact that it's a really, really sexy ad as a bonus, and it all ads up to one of the best bits of communication ever.
Tfl - Do The Test (WCRS, 2008)
I'll leave Paul van Veenendaal's ViralBlog to discuss the viral aspect of the marketing campaign for this road safety ad, but how brilliant is it as a creative piece of work? In exactly the same way as the Smirnoff ad, WCRS's "Do the test" takes a strapline and builds a fantastic metaphor around it. Then hits you in the stomach at the end with the strapline and "product". Again - smackdown. I was left reeling. The simple analogy is inescapable. You feel guilty. In fact, by missing the bear, you almost feel like you've killed a cyclist yourself.
Oh, and I still haven't met anyone who spotted the bear first time round. So it's doubly brilliant.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Best of the decade: music
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 1980s so 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 highlight of Glastonbury 2009, 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...
Brownswood
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.
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 1980s so 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 highlight of Glastonbury 2009, 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...
Brownswood
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.
.
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.
Edinburgh's Silver Man: why he goes into Room 101
Princes Street. Edinburgh. The most magnificent major shopping street in the world? Maybe, if you keep your neck turned so you constantly face southwards. Snow-covered volcanic rock with a castle growing out of the top, with anorexic faux-medieval buildings in support, all overlooking a green valley? Superb. Then someone shouts "watchwhiryirgawn" as, not looking where you're going, you crash into the crowd whiling away their time watching The Silver Man.
Edinburgh folks will know what I'm on about. The Silver Man is cut from the same stock as the human statues and squeakers that infest tourist traps the world over. But he decides to set himself up on the single pavement on Edinburgh's busiest street, and single-handedly create a bottleneck.
It's not his awful bleep-techno-lite CD soundtrack played from his stereo (it's better than the atrocious bagpipe music blasted out from the Sikh-run tartan "buy William Wallace's actual claymore here" shops that are the only places who can afford Princes street rents these days. It's not his once-you've-seen-two-minutes-you've-seen-it-all moonwalking writhing (c'mon, I'd outdance him in a heartbeat). It's the sad, patheric faces of tourists and pasty-faced besprogged teenagers alike, who think they're being entertained. So sorry, Silver Man, you get my bullet.
Oh, and did I mention the fact that it clogs up the bloody pavement?
Edinburgh folks will know what I'm on about. The Silver Man is cut from the same stock as the human statues and squeakers that infest tourist traps the world over. But he decides to set himself up on the single pavement on Edinburgh's busiest street, and single-handedly create a bottleneck.
It's not his awful bleep-techno-lite CD soundtrack played from his stereo (it's better than the atrocious bagpipe music blasted out from the Sikh-run tartan "buy William Wallace's actual claymore here" shops that are the only places who can afford Princes street rents these days. It's not his once-you've-seen-two-minutes-you've-seen-it-all moonwalking writhing (c'mon, I'd outdance him in a heartbeat). It's the sad, patheric faces of tourists and pasty-faced besprogged teenagers alike, who think they're being entertained. So sorry, Silver Man, you get my bullet.
Oh, and did I mention the fact that it clogs up the bloody pavement?
Monday, 14 December 2009
Where has this sudden surge in female electropop come from?
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.
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.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Incompetent, greedy RBS wasters need to get a grip on reality
So the RBS directors are playing hardball over bonuses. Now, I actually had a lot of sympathy for Fred Goodwin. He was turned into a national pariah for destroying the world which Gordon Brown had to go and save (ah bless). To be honest, in his position as the most hated man in Britain, I'd have taken all the pension I could muster and hopped off to Spain to enjoy the rest of my life, as well; it's not like he single-handedly ruined the financial system, although to read the papers, you think he did.
This is different. RBS want to pay £1.5bn in bonuses to investment banking staff. And the directors are throwing their toys out of the pram - threatening to quit if the government vetoes it. Sorry lads: you don't call the shots any more. You've had your opportunity to run things, and blown it. Now, it's a case of put up or shut up.
Vince Cable, as usual, has called it right. The government should accept the resignations of the directors. If ever there was a tainted CV, it was one which says "RBS Director" at the top. And that's what the whole issue is about: retaining talent.
Paying decent salaries in the public sector is most certainly an issue, because talented people can earn multiple times their salary by making a move to the private sector. So I can understand the BBC's massive salaries (for executives, not on-screen talent; moving from BBC News to ITV News is unlikely to get you a pay rise). But apart from a lucky few, all the banks are skint; and moving abroad is an empty threat. There are plenty of talented people who would jump at the chance to do twice as good a job as the current crop of bankers, for half the money. The goalposts have shifted; it's time the bankers had a good look at themselves and look up "bonus" in the dictionary while they're about it. A bonus is a reward for outstanding performance. Judging from the catastrophic mess created in the last few years, "outstanding performance" has been thin on the ground recently. The bankers can quit their whingeing and get on with their jobs.
Oh, and one final point: the amounts of taxpayers' money going into inept bankers' pockets put the odd thousand here and there claimed by Tory MPs for their duck houses into the shade. I wish the media would put things in perspective sometimes.
This is different. RBS want to pay £1.5bn in bonuses to investment banking staff. And the directors are throwing their toys out of the pram - threatening to quit if the government vetoes it. Sorry lads: you don't call the shots any more. You've had your opportunity to run things, and blown it. Now, it's a case of put up or shut up.
Vince Cable, as usual, has called it right. The government should accept the resignations of the directors. If ever there was a tainted CV, it was one which says "RBS Director" at the top. And that's what the whole issue is about: retaining talent.
Paying decent salaries in the public sector is most certainly an issue, because talented people can earn multiple times their salary by making a move to the private sector. So I can understand the BBC's massive salaries (for executives, not on-screen talent; moving from BBC News to ITV News is unlikely to get you a pay rise). But apart from a lucky few, all the banks are skint; and moving abroad is an empty threat. There are plenty of talented people who would jump at the chance to do twice as good a job as the current crop of bankers, for half the money. The goalposts have shifted; it's time the bankers had a good look at themselves and look up "bonus" in the dictionary while they're about it. A bonus is a reward for outstanding performance. Judging from the catastrophic mess created in the last few years, "outstanding performance" has been thin on the ground recently. The bankers can quit their whingeing and get on with their jobs.
Oh, and one final point: the amounts of taxpayers' money going into inept bankers' pockets put the odd thousand here and there claimed by Tory MPs for their duck houses into the shade. I wish the media would put things in perspective sometimes.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
It's a small world
Orwell would have been proud. If I write a little post like this, then those experts at Social Media Library will get a little bleeping noise in their inbox thanks to Google Alerts. In fact, this blog will doubtless find its way into the Social Media Library at some point...and then everything I write will be archived, analysed and rated. Powerful stuff.
Yes yes, of course I work there, but it tickles me that I can write a private blog post and hours later get an email pinging in my inbox telling me all about it.
Yes yes, of course I work there, but it tickles me that I can write a private blog post and hours later get an email pinging in my inbox telling me all about it.
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