Writing Soundtrack: In the Aeroplane Over the Sea – Neutral Milk Hotel
WARNING: MAY CONTAIN SOME GRATUITOUS SWEARS
My last blog post was in 2016; four years ago. In that time not very much has happened. Life has trundled on; no drama, no major changes. Life continues to be simple and uncomplicated. Everyone is happy and well…
Oh hang on a minute, I was forgetting:
The inexplicable rise of Donald Trump to de-facto leader of the free world. How this self serving sentient gonad became president is beyond my comprehension. USA… have a fucking word eh.
The growing international influence of the far right in politics; 4chan, Breitbart, Farage, Yaxley-Lennon (feel free to add your personal favourite near-Nazi fuckwit)
Social networking’s gradual transition from a force for good to the thing that spies on you and attempts to influence your actions; what you buy, how you vote
The ongoing Brexit cluster-fuck
Prime Minister Boris fucking Johnson and his cabal of halfwits
A global health pandemic currently stretching the resilience of every country on the planet to breaking point.
I could go on all day, but I won’t. I don’t now about you but I’m exhausted; emotionally and psychologically battered. It has been one thing after another for four long years, culminating with everyone I know and love being trapped inside with only a vague idea of when things will return to normal. If indeed they ever do return to normal.
We are living through strange and scary times. When the announcement of a national lockdown was made on Monday evening, I found myself on the wrong side of a Pennine and the urge to be at home with loved ones was intense. One text to my boss informing him I would be working from home for the foreseeable then I was in my car and away. It’s weird what goes through your mind though. For the duration of my journey home I was half convinced I would be trying to dodge police roadblocks like some weird northern English version of Smokey and the Bandit. I think I had a minor meltdown and frankly feel like a colossal bell-end.
Anyway, I am home and consider myself lucky to have a job where I am able to work from home, for the short term anyway. Working in Manufacturing the factory is currently shut-down, so I will run out of work at some point. In fairness the company are playing with a straight bat and ensuring everyone gets paid for the next couple of months, which is a better position than many. There are so many people who still need to go out to work during this crisis, I am very aware that I am one of the privileged few.
It is interesting though, I have seen so much positive life affirming behaviour in the past week. We all know someone, or are related to someone, who works for the NHS. I mean they are the largest employer in Europe. I will be the first to admit I am not the most civic or community minded, but on Thursday evening we hung out of our windows with everyone else and clapped for the NHS. I found it incredibly moving if I am honest. There are a couple of medics on our street and I know how much this very simple thing, that costs nothing, meant to them. I just hope when the dust settles and the front-line NHS staff who are frankly performing miracles out there go back to something like normality, we all remember exactly who is responsible for running down the service, and you know, maybe think about not voting them back into power. Just a thought.
Anyway, looks like many of us will have a a bit of free time on our hands for a few weeks. Time to whittle down that pile of un-read books, make a scale model of the Eiffel Tower out of matches, whatever takes your fancy. I will probably be reading more, ringing my mum every other day and writing some more bollocks on here.
Last night I went to the theatre to watch Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. It was at the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield, so seemed like the obvious choice. I studied this over 40 years ago for my English Lit A level and I think my perception of it may have changed slightly now I’m in the stately phase of middle age.
When I first read, and saw this play, as a sixteen year old it seemed very black and white. The rationalist, though devout, John Proctor and the spiteful, viscous Abigail Williams were just tinder. They existed purely to stoke the fires of mass hysteria and mob rule. For me this was purely an allegory, a cautionary tale, specifically referencing the Mcarthy witch trials.
Watching as a middle aged man, it feels a much more nuanced play, and through a modern lens my reading of it was much changed. I feel much differently about the central characters. I see John Proctor for what he is, a weak man, whose vanity is flattered by the attentions of a (very) young woman. It his actions that set the whole thing in motion; so many people die because he couldn’t keep his trousers fastened.
Abigail Williams I initially read as a monster; capricious, cruel, vindictive and manipulative. While all of this remains true, I have more sympathy for her. She’s practically a child. What life circumstances caused her to be this way. She still has time to change.
The most striking thing is what this play says about America. It is this that makes it still relevant. America has always been, and always will be a nation prone to mass hysteria and submission to autocracy and thuggish rule. Just take a look at the news and see how things have shaken out since 2016. It may seem unfair to single the US out in this way, when our own backyard is littered with bodies, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles when you’re the big kid on the block.
So there we have it. I went to the theatre and it made me think, which strikes me as a good thing. Next time someone suggests further cuts to arts funding, you know what to do.
We live in strange times. Politics makes me physically ill and over exposure to the news is affecting my sleep. Social media used to be a salvation, but these days… Facebook account was deactivated long ago, Insta is 99% adverts, Mastadon confuses me and I have no idea what TikTok is.
Twitter is still there, clinging on by it’s fingertips despite its owner being a world class bellend. I will always have a weakness for Twitter. In the recesses of my personal history it has been responsible for too many positives and opportunities to avoid more pressing matters. So, when renaissance man of Twitter @StaggerLee30 decided to carry out his own version of the Sight & Sound greatest movies of all time poll, I was in.
A doddle I thought. An absolute breeze I said. Give me five minute and I’ll knock out my top ten movies of all time. That’s where the trouble started.
It has been a trying year, for many reasons, so this should have been a welcome distraction from the trials and tribulations of real life. However, what followed was three weeks of hand wringing, indecision, doubt and a ‘long list’ that kept getting longer. Correction: keeps getting longer.
I also set myself a rule: one film per director. With the benefit of hindsight I realise it was madness doing this at the ‘long list’ stage, but it did at least prevent it from getting into the hundreds.
On submitting my final list, I was immediately gripped with crippling self doubt. On a different day it may well have been a completely different ten. I have a note on my phone that I look at constantly, trying to justify my choices. I think I may have suffered a minor breakdown.
So here we are. I have re-opened this once abandoned blog to justify my own terrible decisions. And because I love you, you can share my pain.
The top ten films of all time, apparently…
10. Lost in Translation – Sofia Coppola
We watched this again quite recently and I’m beginning to think my list is upside down. Should this have been my number one? I find it hard to talk about this film without getting emotional and I’m not sure why. I mean it looks amazing, Bill Murray is at his most funny and charming, Scarlett Johanssen has never looked more beautiful or enigmatic, the soundtrack is just perfect. Yet it isn’t any of these things that make me love it so much. At heart it is a simple tale of two people at a crossroads in their life, beginning to regret some of their choices and finding comfort and solace in a likeminded soul. It is this that resonates with me more than anything. If we look into our own past we have all felt like that right?
9. Sorcerer – William Friedkin
So why Sorcerer? Why not the French Connection? Why not The Exorcist? Both incredible and highly acclaimed films by the same director. So why choose this ill feted remake of a genuine classic (The Wages of Fear) which was a massive flop on it’s release? I’ll tell you why… this is genuinely one of the most tense and gripping films I have ever seen. As four desperate characters transport two lorry loads of nitroglycerin across 200 miles of Ecuadorean jungle, it will shred your nerves to pieces. Also, I think Roy Scheider was one of the most underrated actors of his generation and in this he gives a powerful sweat soaked performance. As I understand it, making this film very nearly broke William Friedkin, and I can see why.
8. Once up on a Time in the West – Sergio Leone
I love a good western me, I grew up on them. I especially loved staying up late on a Friday to watch Spaghetti Westerns. They seemed so edgy, with Clint Eastwood or Franco Nero wandering around the dessert being cool to an Ennio Morricone soundtrack. Sergio Leone’s masterpiece, Once Upon a Time in the West though, that was something else. Even at a very young age I knew this was something special. The opening scene of three gunmen waiting for a train, goes on too long in a good way, building tension captured in every drop of sweat on the faces of Jack Elam and Woody Strode. Casting Henry Fonda against type as evil villain of the piece Frank, was a stroke of genius. Those eyes have never looked more menacing. It is debatable whether this is really my favourite Western, that changes daily, but it is certainly the most cinematic and surpasses it’s genre conventions in every way.
7. The Thing – John Carpenter
John Carpenter did his best work when he was on a shoestring budget. Prince of Darkness is brilliant and that appeared to have been made on nothing more than good will and hope. Nonetheless, there was a sweet spot in the early 80s when they entrusted him with a reasonable budget and he was able to deliver genuine thrills and chills. Like so many of Carpenters films, it nods towards Howard Hawks ‘Rio Bravo’, as a tale of men trapped and unable to escape while fending off existential threats. ALL the money went on Rob Bottin’s incredible special effects, creating one of the greatest movie monsters of all time. Kurt Russell leads a fine ensemble cast of B movie heavies and weirdos delivering a script that isn’t without humour. Favourite line: “I don’t know what it is but it’s weird and pissed off”.
6. Apocalypse Now – Francis Ford Coppola
Finally you say, it’s one of those classic films chosen by ‘boys’ of a certain age. Yep. And I have stuck it in anyway. I have watched just about every cut of this movie over the years; the Redux version clocks in at nearly three and a half hours! Ostensibly it’s Heart of Darkness transposed to the darkest days of Vietnam. It is the sheer scale of ambition that knocks me sideways. There was no handy green screen for this insanity. Nope they went to the Philippines with a doorstep of a script by crazy John Milius and went to war. It’s a weird psychedelic journey, like Alice in Wonderland with napalm, endlessly quotable with one of the bleakest endings imaginable. Strap in for the ride.
5. Naked – Mike Leigh
Talking of bleak, this small film is as bleak as it gets, it’s success resting entirely on a career best performance by David Thewlis. He is mesmerising and terrifying in equal measure. He plays Johnny, who runs away to London from Manchester following, looks up an ex-girlfriend and has long, strange conversations with everyone he meets. Intense, dark and relentless as he expounds on his personal philosophies and pet conspiracies, his nihilistic attitude feels oddly prescient. I can remember the film ending, the credits rolling and being unable to speak. The entire audience left in silence. A brutal film.
4. Withnail and I – Bruce Robinson
Let’s lighten up a bit with this evergreen classic. Bruce Robinson hasn’t made many films; in fairness many of them are patchy, but with this film on my CV I would have taken it easy for the next few decades as well. This tale of two poverty stricken unemployed actors bumbling about London, drinking themselves senseless before taking an Ill advised road trip to the Lake District is one of the most quotable movies of all time; you can probably quote half the film back to me without breaking sweat. Richard E Grant’s career defining performance is genuinely hilarious. If you’ve not seen this film, don’t speak to me until you have sorted yourself out.
3. Casablanca – Michael Curtiz
Sticking with quotable films, this is the mother-load. I once had a conversation with someone who claimed never to have watched Casablanca yet could quote me half the movie. I know it’s kind of cheesy but some films just defy their limitations to become something greater than the sum of its parts. There really should have been a sequel, with Humphrey Bogart and Claude Rains as a yin/yang double act getting into scrapes and solving crimes. It really should have been the start of a beautiful friendship.
2. Oh Lucky Man – Lindsey Anderson
The second film in Anderson’s loose trilogy, featuring Malcom McDowell. The first was ‘If…’; it talked about revolution, burning it all down and the brutality of public school. The last was ‘Brittania Hospital’ a film that stuck its mucky fingers into 1980s politics, exposing lies and hypocrisy on all sides. However it is this second film that always sticks with me. It is a 70s set shaggy dog story following ambitious salesman and wannabe capitalist Mick Travis on a picaresque journey across the English landscape. Anderson likes to pick at scabs and expose the lie that is British cultural life. He is a true maverick and in his own quiet way a revolutionary who should be celebrated more. Oh and it has a superb soundtrack by Alan Price.
1. Jaws – Steven Spielberg
Bloody hell Phil; it’s a bit route one mate. Could have been worse. Imagine how disappointed you would have been if it was The Shawshank Redemption. Anyway, at time of going to press, Jaws is the greatest film of all time, and now I have to try and justify that decision.
At the beginning of the first lockdown we all found ourselves re-enacting The Thing, thrust together for long periods of time with little to do but watch TV. To delay the inevitable homicides I hatched a plan. We each came up with a list of films and took turns to select what we would watch together. Jaws was the first film on my list and the one that we all really enjoyed, without exception.
There are reasons why this hokey 70s summer blockbuster still stands up. Firstly it is so skilfully done. To extract so much tension and drama from three men, a boat and a mechanical shark called Bruce is frankly a miracle. Yet somehow Spielberg does it. He sprinkles his magic dust and against all odds pulls it off, inadvertently ushering in the era of the summer blockbuster.
Secondly he was blessed with a first rate cast. The interplay between Scheider, Dreyfuss and Shaw is pure alchemy. The reluctant hero, the maverick scientist and the piratical old sea dog, draw you in and make you forget you are watching a ‘rubber shark’ movie. John Williams iconic score ratchets up the tension and Spielberg’s judicious use of jump scares makes it a roller coaster of a movie.
That’s the joy of it, that’s what makes Spielberg so great. He doesn’t make films, he makes movies. Jaws is a film to watch with a bucket of popcorn and a massive Coca Cola, not a notebook and an earnest expression. There are different kinds of greatness and while he will always be seen as the great populist they doesn’t mean he isn’t a great filmmaker.
…and there it is. If you have got this far, I am truly sorry, but thanks for reading.
Happy Christmas!
Oh sorry… there is a ps. Below is the ever growing long list that haunts me dreams and now yours too. You’re welcome.
⁃ Jaws – Steven Spielberg
⁃ Underground – Emir Kusturica
⁃ Naked – Mike Leigh
⁃ Oh Lucky Man – Lindsay Anderson
⁃ Once Upon a Time in the West – Sergio Leone
⁃ The Wild Bunch – Sam Pekinpah
⁃ The Thing – John Carpenter
⁃ Assault on Precinct 13 – John Carpenter
– Funny Bones – Peter Chelsom
⁃ Inherent Vice – PT Anderson
⁃ The Darjeeling Ltd – Wes Anderson
⁃ Some Like it Hot – Billy Wilder
⁃ The Long Kiss Goodnight – Rennie Harlin
⁃ The Nice Guys – Shane Black
⁃ Apocalypse Now – Francis Ford Coppola
⁃ Mash – Robert Altman
⁃ The Host – Bong Joon-ho
⁃ Old Boy – Park Chan-wook
⁃ Casablanca – Michael Curtiz
⁃ The Third Man – Carol Reed
⁃ The Red Shoes – Michael Powell
⁃ The Colour of Money – Martin Scorcese
⁃ Sorcerer – William Friedkin
⁃ Klute – Alan J Pakula
⁃ Sleeper – Woody Allen
⁃ Once – John Carney
⁃ Withnail and I – Bruce Robinson
⁃ LA Confidential – Curtis Hanson
⁃ Lost in Translation- Sofia Coppola
⁃ The Searchers – John Ford
⁃ Red River – Howard Hawks
⁃ 3 Colours Trilogy – Krzysztof Kieslowski
⁃ Touch of Evil – Orson Welles
⁃ Seven Samurai – Akira Kurosawa
⁃ The Night of the Hunter – Charles Laughton
⁃ Rear Window – Alfred Hitchcock
⁃ Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid – George Roy Hill
[Listening Soundtrack: The Revolution Will Not be Televised – Gil Scott Heron ]
It has been a funny old week. I mean, it’s been a funny old year, what with the whole global health pandemic and everything; but this past week has been particularly odd. My feelings are in a constant state of flux between incandescent anger and resigned defeatism. I am mostly trying to find some humour in it all.
I am not sure exactly what I want to say though. I know I want to say something; my head is filled with extremely annoying thoughts. I really wish it wasn’t. I think I am just going to puke up up the contents of my brain and let you deal with the mess. Frankly what comes next will be as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. So strap yourselves in, in this is going to be next level tedium.
Let’s start with a few dictionary definitions.
Privilege
COUNTABLE NOUN – A privilege is a special right or advantage that only one person or group has.
UNCOUNTABLE NOUN
If you talk about privilege, you are talking about the power and advantage that only a small group of people have, usually because of their wealth or their high social class.
Metropolitan
ADJECTIVE [ADJECTIVE noun]
Metropolitan means belonging to or typical of a large busy city
Elite
COUNTABLE NOUN
You can refer to the most powerful, rich, or talented people within a particular group, place, or society as the elite.
I’ll just leave those there for now. They comfort me.
All news and social media for the past week has been completely dominated by a funny Gollum-like creature with a sly smirk and a surly attitude called Dominic Cummings. Until recently none of us had ever heard of the man, but there he was in the rose garden of No 10 giving a press conference. Did I miss a meeting? Is he in charge now? I don’t get it. Isn’t that the place where Prime Ministers are supposed to make great announcements. This really needs unpicking.
Dominic Cumming is Chief Advisor to the Prime Minister, Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson. He is an unelected employee. He has his fingers in all of the pies, regardless of whether he qualified or not to do so, and he isn’t short of an unpopular opinion. The more unpopular the better. It would appear our Dom is, what we used to call at school, a bit of shit stirrer. It would also appear he has been a naughty boy and was now in the place reserved for the PM giving a press conference to and angry press pack. Why?
On the 23rd March, following several weeks of vague and confusing guidance, the Government announced we were to go into lockdown. The message was STAY AT HOME. Work from home if you can; only go into work if you an essential worker and provision is in place for you to work safely. Scary stuff, but the right thing to do. It would have been even better if we had done it three weeks earlier.
Four days later we saw the rat-like Cummings scurrying out of Downing Street. It was later revealed that a number of things then happened.
Both he and his wife started to develop Covid symptoms. They then did what anybody else would have done in this situation (!!!); they jumped into the car with their child and drove 260 miles to Durham, where they planned to self-isolate in one of several spare properties on Cummings’ parents farm.
Rule breach number one
During their stay in Durham, Cummings child became unwell and had to be taken to a local hospital by ambulance. Both Cummings and his wife accompanied their son, as you would expect, exposing medical staff in a provincial hospital, in a part of the country with some of the highest Covid 19 rates, to the virus.
Rule breach number two
On the 12th April, his wife Mary Wakefield’s birthday, the Cummings family packed themselves into the car and took a trip to Barnard Castle. According to Google Maps this is an hour and half round trip. This was, he said, to test out his eyesight prior to driving back to London. He had been suffering with an eyesight problem since being in Durham, so the obvious cause of action is to put your wife and vulnerable child into the car and go for a nice drive.
Rule breach number three
In a final act of contempt, he sat behind a table in the rose garden and told us all of this with a straight face. Explaining that it was all well within the Government guidelines and any public outcry was a result of the Media creating a mountain out of a molehill because they don’t like him. The sub-text – it is all our fault, not his. This is the classic distraction tactic; Cummings makes himself the story to divert attention from the shit job the Government is doing.
The more important question is, why is the PM, a man with more important things to do than attend Cobra meetings, putting himself front and centre to defend Dominic Cummings? Why are the entire Cabinet doing like-wise? I mean the obvious answer is they are a bunch of shit-weasles, which is true but doesn’t really get us anywhere. I think the answer is simple. Cummings is the rock upon which Johnson has built his house. The narrative that keeps this cult alive is that Cummings delivered Brexit; Cummings delivered a landslide victory for Johnson.
I don’t have the mental strength to unpack either of those things in any detail, but neither really bear scrutiny. How Brexit happened is the subject of much opinion and conjecture, but it is clear Cummings, amongst many other nefarious parties, exploited a feeling in the country to deliver a result. The election victory wasn’t a huge challenge. Whatever your feelings on Corbyn, and mine are mixed despite him getting my vote, it is clear that he was toxic to too many people. It was never going to present a major challenge to a snake like Cummings to exploit that and deliver a victory.
A constant theme of Brexit and the last election was that it was a vote to rid ourselves of the malign influence of the privileged Metropolitan elite. Hmm… hang on a bit, give me five minutes on google.
Cummings
Educated at Durham School & Oxford
Lives in London
His father in-law is Sir Humphry Wakefield, who owns Chillingham Castle and has some unfortunate views on genetics.
Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
Educated at Eton & Oxford, member of the Bullingdon Club
Former mayor of London
Earliest recorded ambition was to be ‘world king’
Gove
Educated Robert Gordon’s College & Oxford
Notorious member of the’Notting Hill set’ alongside David Cameron
Mired in one scandal after another; fiddling expenses, snorting cocaine, a book case containing books by holocaust deniers and books linking ethnicity to IQ
Rees-Mogg
Educated at Eton & Oxford
Made fortune in investment banking; forthright defender of off-shore tax havens. Old money.
Vehemently against same sex marriage.
White, privileged, Metropolitan, elite. I think they fit the description to a T.
How they have managed to convince a majority of people in this country that they are a viable alternative to the ‘old guard’, whilst being exactly that is genuinely beyond me. I guess a modicum of intelligence, combined with utter ruthlessness and a shit load of money can achieve great things.
The message extremely clear. Them and us, and they are in charge. They can do whatever they like without any consequences. The laws count for very little anymore. Divide and rule is the oldest game in town. Those of us not part of the privileged Metropolitan elite are reduced to serfdom, encouraged to climb a ladder with no end kicking everyone out the way on our ascent. It is all pointless of course; our names are not on the guess list, we are very much bared from entry.
The handling of the current pandemic is a case in point. the statistics speak for themselves; highest death rate and infection rate in Europe. So now would be the ideal time to start easing restrictions, right? The message once again is clear. The old, the vulnerable, those from a BAME background are the most likely to become infected. Simply put, those who may be considered a burden on the state or simply disliked by our overlords. Who cares if there is a bit of collateral damage, its just a convenient way to thin out the herd right?
Fuck it. I am just ranting now, like a manic street preacher after two many Special Brews. Still, it’s out of my head and locked in here now, so I can sit outside in the sun and count me blessings. Apologies if I have spoilt your Sunday.
Stay home if you can, stay safe, and fuck the Government.
So; how we all doing? Teaching yourself to play the clavichord in all that unforeseen free time we have? Cowering in a cupboard at the prospect of visiting the supermarket? Preparing for another game of Russian roulette in the care home you work in? Or maybe you’re lying in a mass grave on Hackney Marshes, in which case you’re obviously not virtuous enough to tackle Covid-19 head on. Not like glorious leader Little Lord FauntleFuck, who met the gaze of the beast in battle and came through the other side.
In Terry Gilliam’s 1977 film Jabberwocky, naïve peasant Michael Palin bumbles his way around a medieval kingdom governed by a corrupt, incompetent ruler and terrorized by a hideous, flesh-eating dragon, which seems like a fitting metaphor for where we’re currently at. Indeed, at one point a courtier hypothesizes that the prosperity of the very nation is entwined with the…
[Writing Soundtrack: Good Old Boys – Randy Newman]
Okay, hands up who can remember Pebble Mill at One? Well I guess that has alienated the youth demographic. Just us old folks left. Well, for the uninitiated Pebble Mill at One was a daily magazine show broadcast from the foyer of Pebble Mill studios in Birmingham throughout the 70s, 80s, and the early 90s. It was a bit like the One Show, but with worse hair, and less jarring segues.
I remember it fondly, as I would watch it as young child during school holidays or when I was feigning illness to get out of school. As it was shot in the foyer, there would often be amusing oiks pulling faces outside the large plate glass windows. It was tame fayre to be honest; usually an interview with a minor British TV celebrity, followed by Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen or Acker Bilk in his bowler hat. Although I do remember Bill Hicks making a bizarre appearance once, to the discomfort of all concerned.
Pretty much everyone had a go at presenting it at one time or another, but in its early days its star presenter was Bob Langley, the housewives choice. Tall, rakish and handsome, he was very much eye candy for the ladies in the wasteland of 1970s daytime TV. We shall return to Bob in a little while, but first I must digress a little.
It is 1979 and I am in 2nd year of senior school. My form tutor was Mr Hobson (‘Hobbo’) and he taught woodwork, metalwork, technical drawing, that sort of thing. I imagine you are picturing a short man in glasses, with an adenoidal voice and a slide rule. Hobbo was very much not that. At 6’2″ with shoulder length hair and an even longer moustache, he looked like should be playing bass in Deep Purple. He was passionate about motor racing, had a black belt in karate and was full of stories. He spent a few years teaching at a rough school in the East End of London (“the kids were fine once you wrestle the flick knives from them”). He designed and made furniture, which wouldn’t have been out of place at the most high end fancy boutique; there would always be some little project on the go at the back of his workshop. Hobbo also had an excellent turn of phrase when examining our fairly hopeless woodwork projects (“that is rough as a vultures armpit”).
Needless to say as impressionable 13 year olds, we idolised him. He had his favourites of course, and he co-opted a number of us to help out with extra curricular activities like building sets and props for school plays. We were ‘Hobbo’s Handy Helpers’. As a kid being brought up by a single parent, with no positive male role models around, he made a big impact on me. I was only in his form for one year, but many years later he would be my 6th form tutor. I would always arrive late, but he would let me off if I could come up with a creative enough excuse (“sorry sir, John Casey’s goat escaped and we had to catch it”). He would also let me play my Billy Connolly albums during morning registration, to the utter bafflement of most of the class.
Anyway, back to 1979. Hobbo was that rare thing, or so it seemed at the time; a teacher less interested exams than he was in trying to open up young minds to wider possibilities. . There were others of course, but none quite so colourful. Think of a more rock ‘n’ roll version of Hector in The History Boys. He would often spend morning registration trying to explain Edward de Bono and lateral thinking to a room of bemused 13 year olds. However, the thing I remember most was a book he insisted we all read; Lobo: A Vagabond in America by, yes you’ve guessed it, Bob Langley.
Lobo is Bob Langley’s slim memoir of a time in his youth when he travelled across a pre-civil rights America, living as a hobo. He jumped box cars, picking upon casual work where he could, including time picking cotton in the Deep South where he also embarked on a relationship with a black girl (all very racy for the 1950s). While to modern ears this might sound like a privileged white male indulging in a period of poverty tourism, I don’t think that is true in this case. It is an honest spirit of adventure and sense of open eyed wonder that comes across more than anything. The eyes of an outsider travelling a vast country, just on the cusp of huge changes, gives it an interesting perspective. I managed to track down a battered old copy a few years ago and it is one of my most treasured possessions.
So I often ask myself, why was Hobbo so keen for us all to read this book. I think the answer is obvious; he just wanted us to open up our minds to the possibilities and remind us that there is a big old world out there to explore. In fairness, it didn’t really work with me. My general low level state of anxiety and fear of change meant I didn’t travel very much. It is only in the past few years that I have been coaxed back on to an aeroplane. Typically, now I quite fancy seeing more of the world (nowhere too exotic, obviously), it feels like the idea of travelling anywhere is just out of reach.
Despite my lack of adventurous spirit I would hope, in some small way, I was inspired to be a little more open minded at least. If nothing else I think he inspired me to think for myself and make up my own mind about things, in my own weird little way. You can’t ask for more than that really can you? So tonight I think I may raise a glass to Rick Hobson & Bob Langley, odd bedfellows in in the tangled sheets of my mind. Cheers!
Oh yeah, one more thing, that time Bill Hicks was on Pebble Mill at One….
Writing Soundtrack: It’s All Over – The Best of the Broken Family Band
So two weeks into lockdown and I am still relatively sane. Working from home is a complete plain in the arse as everything takes ten times as long and direction from above is vague and impressionistic at best. Days drag on into evenings but to be honest thats preferable to being stuck at home with nothing to do. Nevertheless I still thank my lucky stars that I am able to do so. I haven’t yet been furloughed and I am not working in a role that requires any face to face engagement with the outside world. Also, every time I get vague and unclear instructions from above, I remind myself that its’ not as if I am doing anything important like a doctor, a nurse, a shop worker etc, and remind myself not to be a dickhead. That has become a useful creed: try not to be a dickhead. It’s more difficult than you might think.
Its’ as weird old time though and it is funny the things you notice.
If not working too late, we have been taking a stroll around the neighbourhood around 6:30 each evening. The streets are fairly quiet but there are usually a few people around doing the same thing, a few joggers, dog-walkers, the odd parent taking a child for a drag around the block. Obviously on occasion you find yourself having to negotiate around on-coming pedestrian traffic through deployment of what I have come to call the Corona shuffle; smiling ruefully while stepping into the road to ensure a minimum two meter distance is maintained at all times. It is always done in good spirits and the complete absence of traffic makes it pretty straightforward.
Many people post photos of their daily stroll on Instagram. Pictures of deserted high streets, empty railway stations, beaches devoid of any human life. Everyone of these posts looks like a scene from Terry Nation’s Survivors. (If you don’t know what the premise of Survivors was, for the love of god, DO NOT GOOGLE IT!)
In other social media news, Twitter is an oddly more positive place than it has been for many years. I mean its still full of grim news and ill-formed opinions, but beyond that I am starting to see flashes of good stuff. Twitter was an absolute life-line for me in the early days, it felt like a proper community of disparate people who genuinely cared about things. As a few people might know, it changed the course of my life completely, and for that I will always be grateful. Then it went a bit rubbish; Twitter I mean, not my life. But over the past few weeks I have witnessed the green shoots of what it once was returning; I like that.
My relationship with food has completely changed. Like everyone else, we are trying to minimise exposure to any environment where there will be other people. That means only going to the shops when I absolutely have to. So the food you have in feels precious and not something to be wasted; I am menu planning a week ahead to ensure everything is used up. I mean its not like we are going to starve, but even the slightest threat of food scarcity has had the strangest effect on my tastebuds: everything tastes better. I had a ham and tomato sandwich for lunch and I swear it tasted so good, I deserve a Michelin star.
I am trying to only look at the news once per day in order to preserve my own sanity. There are so many crank theories out there and too many opinions. Not wishing to add to this vat of brain sludge I woke up with an idea this morning which I feel compelled to write down. Here is my idea. With immediate effect we stand the government down for the next three months. We put the medics in charge of all of the important decisions and trust they will make the right decisions (as they are highly trained EXPERTS in their field). We hand over the day to day running of everything else to the Civil Service. After three months have elapsed and we are hopefully in a better place, we have a public reckoning. Everyone found to have actively pursued a path that endangered public health (you know things like instigating a herd immunity strategy and signing the death warrant of hundreds of thousands of people) is locked up.
Yes, I know, it’s utter bollocks right? Still it’s not like anyone will read this incomprehensible, disjointed nonsense anyway, so fuck it.
Stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane, stay indoors.
Love from the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire.
[Listening soundtrack: Blink of a Nihlist – BC Camplight]
Day 1 – Thursday
It’s been two years since I last went to a festival which involved camping , and this was my first visit to Greenman, a festival with a tendency to get a bit sploshy. So with a mixture of excitement and trepidation we set off on the long drive to the Black Mountains, laden down with clothing to suit every possible weather condition, including snow. At least we didn’t have the bother of erecting a tent having taken the Tangerine Fields option… Yeah I know it’s a sign of middle class sloth, but worth it not to have all that extra gear to drag around.
Arriving around teatime on Thursday and gear safely stowed in our tent, we set about orienting ourselves. As festival sites go Greenman really is a bit special, with its main stage nestled in a natural hollow and set against a spectacular mountain backdrop. It’s a compact site, with plenty of nooks and crannies to explore, so we spent an hour or so poking about the various stages and stalls before making our way up the the Far Out big top to see what was happening, basking in the late evening sunshine.
With just one stage running for the first night, the Far Out was understandably rammed. We arrived to catch the end of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard’s set making a big racket to an appreciative crowd. There seems to be an almost endless stream of Aussi psyche bands of whom King Gizzard seem to be the latest flavour of the month. I mean it’s fine and I guess if we had been down the front it would have been quite fun, but from the back it all sounded a bit Deep Purple meets Jethro Tull to my ears.
As King Gizzard came to and end the big top quickly cleared allowing us to bag a space at the front for Thursday headliners Wild Beasts, who are neither wild nor beastly. My feelings towards Wild Beasts are a bit odd, when I hear them on the radio I’m not entirely sure whether I like them or not. However I have seen them live a few times and always find them entertaining and enjoyable company; it must be my affection for Kendal mint cake. They are on good form as always and seem to have brought their fan club with them judging by the crowd of people near me singing along to every single word. Their current slinky electronic sound doesn’t translate as well to the festival environment as some of their older material, so closer of All The Kings Men turns into a mass bouncy singalong. All in all it felt like a nice gentle start to the festival weekend, and we returned to our tent excited about what the next day had to offer..
Day 2 – Friday
Friday arrives with a wet splodge. After a night of heavy rain we awake bleary and a little bit damp. I am immediately dispatched to procure cups of tea from the Community cafe, and have a crafty Welsh cake before embarking on the muddy trek back to the tent. We eventually sort ourselves out and headoff to the main festival site for brekkers before plotting our days entertainment.
First act of the day for me is Stephen J Adams on the tiny Walled Garden stage. The Broken Family Band were one of my favorite bands of the noughties; sharp, witty, often dark and cynical lyrics allied to great tunes, lent a slight Country tinge courtesy of Adams voice. He was in fine form today, despite the drizzly weather, backed up by a second guitarist, his set a mixture of songs old and new, plus a couple of obscure covers. Tears ofHappiness, a song about Satanism and kind of an answer song to the old BFB track, Living inSin was a real highlight, and I found myself singing along wildly. As ever his black sense of humor was to the fore in his between song banter; proclaiming, before the song Togetherness, that at least we now know who all the racists are… And where they live. He seemed to be really enjoying himself, and I saw him wandering round the site with partner and child several times over the weekend so clearly was making a weekend of it.
Next we head over to the main stage for Meilyr Jones, and as if on cue the clouds part and the sunshine floods down upon the Mountain Stage. Tall, thin, shoeless, dressed like he’d forgotten to take off his school uniform, and very Welsh, Meilyr was about to win the day at Greenman. Kicking off with the upbeat Dexys-like burst of How to Recognize a Work of Art, the addition of a trumpet player to the live line up makes all the difference. Great tunes allied to a hugely likeable stage presence makes for the perfect Friday afternoons entertainment. Angular like Jarvis, but without the sleeze, he was a non-stop ball of energy; his foray into the audience seeming perfectly reasonable rather than an annoying affectation. After an ebullient Featured Artist Set closer he hung around the the front of the stage, selling CDs and t-shirts, signing autographs and chatting to everyone. And as he went, the sunshine went with him.
In the olden days, when I was a youth, I had a cassette of songs taped off the radio. Yes that’s right kids, taped, no YouTube, no Spotify, no iTunes in the olden days. I played it all the time until it eventually broke…I was heartbroken. On the cassette there was a song called The Backyard by Miracle Legion. I knew little about the band but loved that song, it’s lyrics fondly remembering a simpler, more innocent time. In later years, when flicking through record shops I always looked out for them but there just didn’t seem to be any material available to buy. A brief Google search suggested that singer Mark Mulcahy had a life, both personal and professional, filled with tragedy. So my expectations of ever seeing them live were pretty slim.
Always suspicious of reunions I was not filled with confidence as they stumbled on stage; a post arrest Radovan Karadzic, Casey Jones, a fat Dennis Quaid and a Vegas card sharp. However, I could not have been more wrong. Mark Mulcahy demonstrated more life, soul, passion and fire in the belly than I could have hoped for. He danced and jiggled around the stage, his voice strong and rich, sounding like a man half his age. When they played The Backyard, well there were tears in my eyes.
We next wandered up to the Far Out to see Kamasi Washington. I have been enjoying his triple album, The Epic, this summer, so was particularly looking forward to seeing him live. However I have a complicated relationship with jazz, and unfortunately watching Kamasi confirmed all of my worst fears about live jazz. Firstly I struggle with instrumental music live, I need the central focus provided by a singer; but I guess that’s my problem, not theirs. Secondly they do the Jazz thing. You know, when one player takes a solo and everybody else stands back and looks on admiringly. Frankly they all seem to be having a far better time than the audience. So sadly, I never made it to the end of the set and bailed early to search of food.
After a sit down in the chilled out Babbling a Tongues field and some sustenance we had to make a decision on which headliner to see. Neither James Blake nor Lush were really floating our boat, so we opted for Kiran Leonard in the walled garden. It’s frightening that someone so young can be so musically gifted. After a couple of false starts Kiran and band launched into a wild and woolly version of Pink Fruit, the standout track from his last album. I am not entirely sure how he does it, I have never seen fingers move like that on a fretboard. Performance-wise, it is clear he is still a young man who has to learn how to really engage with an audience, but given time he has the talent to do something truly great..
Day 3 – Saturday
As I poke my head out of the tent door (do tents have doors? Just openings really.) , I felt a bit like Noah after the first day of the flood. It was time for a rethink on the day’s schedule. What we really need are some indoorsy things. So what better way to start the day than Pete Paphides & Bob Stanley’s fiendishly tricky pop quiz in the Babbling Tongues tent. This has multiple advantages as it provides a pleasant spot to sit down, on proper chairs, enjoying cups of tea and bacon sandwiches as well as being a right laugh. While not being in the prizes we achieve a respectable mid forties score and avoid the worst of the morning’s downpour.
As the rain abates slightly to a drizzle we decide to put up our hoods and venture outside. First up is BC Camplight in the walled garden. Philadelphia raised, Manchester based singer songwriter BC Camplight plays piano led pop in the classic tradition of Harry Nilsson, Elton John and Ben Folds. This is a surprise from a former musical compadre of War on Drugs and Kurt Vile. I can’t believe he has only just come to my attention because he is utterly brilliant and delivers a real shot in the arm to a damp Saturday. Looking like the lost Blues Brother and fuelled by Jack Daniels he is a real force of nature and every song sounds like your new favorite. Finishing on a wild cover of Nilsson’s Jump into the Fire he puts a massive smile our rain soaked faces. However, I do worry about how long he can keep up this pace, given the bottle of Jack he manages to put away in a sixty minute set.
Next I head up to the Far Out to catch Cavern of Anti-Matter, former Stereolab man Tim Gane’s Neu-esque outfit. Motorik drumming, weird bleepy electronica and psyched out guitar licks are just the ticket. I close my eyes and am immediately transported to mid-70s Dusseldorf, which considering I am in a field in Wales is some achievement. It’s odd juxtapositions that make festivals fun, so going directly from a set of driving Krautrock noodling to see Sheffield’s finest son John Shuttleworth is about as big a leap as it is possible to make. JS is hilarious as always but leaves us with an ear-worm that we are still struggling to shift a week later, ‘…I can’t go back to savory now, that shepherds pie was stunning, but I’m half way through me pudding…’.
Next we venture out into the pouring rain to watch The Magnetic North in the Walled Garden. A super-group of sorts comprising Carnival leader Erland Cooper, Gorrilaz/Verve axe slinger Simon Tong and folktronica goddess and all round genius Hannah Peel. This was on our must see list come rain or shine. Prospect of Skelmersdale, inspired by Simon Tong’s experience of growing up in a New Town and its later integration with the TM community has been playing in our house all summer. Live they are even better than we could have imagined, playing a mix of songs from the Skelmersdale album and the earlier Orkney record. Erland and Hannah in particular, have incredible stage presence. It has to be said, they have a sexual chemistry of the ‘get a room’ variety, but do sing the sweetest harmonies. Accompanied by a string section, songs build to epic crescendos, soaring into the sky and taking us with them. A cover of George Harrison’s Run of the Mill almost moves me to tears. The rain poured down but oddly it just added to the atmosphere of what was probably my favorite performance of the weekend.
Damp and emotional we decide to that ourselves to a couple of rather excellent Bloody Marys and a sit down under the trees….maybe it was my mood, but I swear it was the best Bloody Mary I have ever tasted. In a choice of headliners, I forego Laura Marling’s folk stylings to see Battles in the Far Out. I arrive in plenty of time to get a good spot near the front and, sensibly, deploy my ear plugs. The on-stage set up seems more frantic than usual; it later transpires they have driven overnight from Poland and only arrived forty five minutes before they were due to start. Understandably there is a slight delay to proceedings, but it allowed me some time to observe the world’s most laid back security team chatting and taking selfies with the crowd.
Built around the thunderous tub thumping of former Helmet drummer John Stanier, Battles are a ferocious live band. Drum kit front and centre, with a crash cymbal seemingly eight foot in the air, they make a wonderful racket. An underlying dense wall of odd noises and keyboard stabs, unearthly guitar effects allied to driving rhythms that seem to twist in all directions yet remain centred around a relentless driving beat, they sound like the best party on some far off alien planet. When they play Atlas, the ‘hit’, the crowd lifts off with them, bouncing along like demented fools. It was a brilliant performance and so very different to anything else I saw over the weekend, leaving me buzzing and elated.
Don’t hold your breath, but I think it has stopped raining. Usually by the last day of a festival weekend I am on my last legs, running on fumes. Surprisingly we are all feeling in pretty high spirits this Sunday. We start the day with kedgeree and breakfast stew in the Babbling Tongues tent and watch the Mojo interview with Belle and Sebastian. Despite best efforts of the interviewer to bugger it up they make for an interesting interview while we make our plans for the final day.
We catch Genghar on the Mountain Stage; they don’t exactly set my world on fire but are entertaining enough. We decide to check out The Moonlandings next at the Far Out, but get distracted by something far more interesting. While passing the Round the Twist bar we noticed a small queue of people and decide to investigate. On hearing the unmistakable sound of Ezra Furman sound checking inside we immediately join the queue and are lucky enough to witness a small intimate secret gig. On a tiny stage, just Ezra and his guitar, in front of a small crowd, he delivers a short set of songs touching on his, sexuality, gender and self esteem issues. It sounds like a downer, but it really wasn’t, rather it was genuinely moving. A surprising cover of You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman gives some idea where his head is at right now. At the end of the set @realearthmother managed to grab the set list, narrowly beating a too slow hipster to the punch. Amateur. Ezra kindly autographs it afterwards and chats away for a while with J & P, which I am sure pressed all of the wrong social anxiety buttons for him. It was yet another highlight of a wonderful weekend of music.
To close out our festival weekend it is a triple whammy in the Far Out; Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Ezra Furman & the Boyfriends and Grandaddy.
First up is UMO a band we have seen several times before and it has to be said tonight did not show them at their best. The first time I saw them they had a lightness of touch which seems to have been lost somewhere along the line. Firstly they appear to have an new drummer in tow, who while perfectly adequate lacks the swing and feel of Riley Geare. I am not sure whether this is a permanent personnel change or an enforced one, but if anyone knows the story I’d be happy to hear it. One of the highlights of previous performances was Riley’s wild drum solo section; they try the same trick tonight but it just feels leaden. One of the biggest issues I have is that their live set seems to have degenerated into schtick; the drum solo bit, the keyboard solo bit, the bit where Ruban sits cross-legged on the stage, the bit where Ruban climbs up the scaffolding. It is a real shame as Multi Love was one of my favourite albums of last year. Nonetheless the crown seem to love it and I guess they were okay, its just that I have seen them when they were so much better.
Next up is Ezra Furman & the Boyfriend’s full band set and the difference between this and the earlier intimate solo set could not be more marked. I am pretty sure Ezra doesn’t want the ‘voice of a generation’ tag, but if he continues to deliver exhilarating performances like this it’s going to stick. It’s been two weeks now, so forgive me if I’m hazy on details, but in my mind he started off with a blistering Tell ’em All to Go to a Hell (set-list FM begs to differ). Anyway it felt like a statement of intent and the rest of the set followed in a similar vein. All the frailties of earlier seemed to float away, replaced by a confident forthright young man with things to say; Body Was Made dedicated to all the queers. The Boyfriends have become a lean, tight unit, honed to perfection by a relentless few years on the road. They sound like a cross between the E Street Band and The Attractions at their feral 70s best. A shout out to all the folks who supported them over the years in sweaty dives up and down the country reminded me of the first time we saw him in the damp and dingy York Duchess. Ending on a celebratory and chaotic cover of Jackie Wilson’s (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher made this feel like a real headliners set. Maybe next year.
After all of the euphoria of Ezra’s set, it felt like a tough act to follow, and if it had been another high octane band it could have fallen on it’s face. So how do you follow something like that; simple, it’s dumb, it’s Grandaddy. This is a band I had pretty much given up on ever getting to see live, having been on hiatus for so long but a sighting of Jason Lytle playing Hewlett’s Daughter alongside Giant Sand at Stewart Lee’s ATP gave me some hope.
They were really the perfect way to end this festival for me. Their sleepy eyed Texan wooziness and lullabies for the soul bring us gently back to earth, enveloping us in a warm comforting hug. They played all of the hits too, AM180 and Summer Here Kids being standout tracks for me. Ending on the long, weird and impossible He’s Simple, He’s Dumb, He’ s the Pilot was a bold move but fitted the mood perfectly, Jason Lytle’s heartbreaking lilt creating that special piece of magic that is required to end a festival.
Happy and elated we gathered to watch the ceremonial burning of the Greenman and fireworks display. I couldn’t help but reflect on what an incredible weekend of music it had been. I hadn’t seen everything I would have liked to (missed Malcolm Middleton, missed Whitney, missed Ryley Walker, missed Belle & Sebastian, missed Tindersticks) but hey if you tried to watch everything it would become a trial rather than a pleasure. And festivals are one of life’s real pleasures; you turn off the outside world for three or four days and enter a fantasy place, where your only concerns are what to watch and what to eat. More of that please.
2014 has been a pretty incredible year for gigs. I’ve seen some bands for the first time, some I thought I’d never see, plus the occasional visitation from the past. So I thought, for my benefit as much as anything else it was worth summarising and reflecting…don’t worry this isn’t the prelude to mid-life crisis or breakdown or anything, it’s just a list. People seem to like lists.
1st Feb 2014 Wave Pictures ~ Deaf Institute, Manchester
I am a very much a latecomer to the Wave Pictures party, but having been introduced to them for the first time last year, they have become one of my favourite bands. The intimate environment of The Deaf Institute was the perfect place to see them for the first time. Effortlessly they charmed and beguiled, smiling through a set of old and new material finishing on a mass singalong to Like Smoke. I was mesmerised by the guitar playing of David Tattersall; how he coaxes such a beautiful noise from nothing more than a cheap guitar/amp and an expression of wry amusement, is beyond me. The first gig of 2014 was going to take some beating.
David Tatersall
14th Feb 2014 Ezra Furman & The Boyfriends ~ York Duchess
Valentine’s Day… I am struck by the notion of a romantic day in York, followed by dinner and a gig from an artist neither of us has seen before. What could possibly go wrong. Well the weather for one. After a day of rain-lashed wanderings followed by dinner in the only place we could get into (a bar festooned with Shed 7 memorabilia) we wandered into the damp smelling basement of The Duchess, tired and bedraggled.
Then things started to improve immeasurably. The support band The SoSo Glos where punky, fun and sincere. But the main event was something else. Ezra Furman, a bundle of wired yet vulnerable eccentricity, born to entertain had us spellbound from the start. It was a struggle to convince @RealEarthMother that she couldn’t adopt him. The Boyfriends are a tight backing band, full of personality, adding colour and shade to Ezra’s songs of desperation, depression and attempted suicide. I admit that doesn’t sound like a recipe for a fun night out, yet oddly it is. Such is the sense of fun and showmanship with which the whole thing is delivered you cannot help but walk away smiling.
1st March 2014 The National ~ 6Music Festival, Victoria Warehouses, Manchester
Against all odds we managed to get tickets. As festivals go it was an odd one; the venues didn’t seem to work that well. The second stage was too small and difficult to see and the main stage seemed too big. We caught a couple of other acts; Likke Li, Kieron Leonard, Wild Beasts, but I was only really interested in The National. Somehow we managed to snake our way through the crowd and get ourselves s good spot near the front.
This was my fourth time seeing them so I knew what to expect; they do know how to put on a good show. On a foliage covered stage they did exactly what it is they do best; delver a set of intense, opaque and emotionally poignant songs set to rich and complex musical arrangements. Matt was in a particularly intense mood it seemed, stalking the stage, smashing mics, kicking bottles of wine, forgetting lyrics and inevitably crashing into the crowd and climbing gantries. The final Vanderlyle encore was a mass singalong of adoring fans. A great night…. Just s long cold walk back to town due to nonfunctional trams to contend with, but these are the things we do for the bands we love.
8th April 2014
Lloyd Cole ~ Parr Hall, Warrington
Almost forgot this one. An intimate acoustic set, with support also from Lloyd Cole; it was clearly a tight budget. It never ceases to blow my mind to find artists I saw on Top of the Pops are now driving the length and breadth of the country, armed with just a guitar, to play arts centres and village halls. But, I’m happy they do. As you would expect, the classic Rattlesnakes songs (Perfect Skin, Are You Ready to be Heartbroken) drew the most applause, and there is nothing wrong with that. Lloyd was pleasant company for an hour or two, armed with just a guitar, some stories and some songs. Sometimes it’s nice just to be entertained. The only thing that was hard to bear is his uncanny likeness to Jimmy Carr.
12th April 2014
British Sea Power ~ Sheffield Leadmill
How I had managed to go through life without giving BSP so much as a second glance is beyond me. I’m sure the odd track must have entered my consciousness from the radio, but they are honestly not a band I had ever been driven to listen to. So this was very much a voyage into the unknown. It was clear this was a band with an obsessive fan base – the bloke who’d driven up from Norwich and attached himself to us on arrival being a case in point.
But it was a fun night full of songs unfamiliar to me, delivered with passion and commitment to a clearly adoring crowd. Anthems that don’t belong in stadiums would be my best description; rousing, uplifting, occasionally sad. The night was made for me by the two giant dancing bears crowd surfing above my head for the encore. Splendid.
British Sea Power
18th April 2014 King Khan & The Shrines ~ Brudenel Social Club, Leeds
Some gigs can be deeply moving experiences, which take you on a journey, make you think about your life, drag up deep buried feelings, leave you feeling battered and bruised, but somehow better for it. This was not one of those gigs. For those not familiar with the King’s work… Well try to picture a tall, paunchy Indian man, with a Jason King moustache, naked except for a pair of gold pants, a crown and a cloak, playing dirty but catchy 60s garage rock. Can you imagine that? Because that is exactly what you get. Certainly one of the most out and out fun gigs I have ever been too, the kind that want to make you laugh and dance at the same time. A super tight rock ‘n’ roll band, with horn section, they ripped the roof off the Brudenel. The band spending as much time in the crowd as on the stage, you had to keep on your toes as we were nearly decapitated when the keyboard player decided to join in the fun…jumping into the crowd with his organ over his head. Pound for pound the most fun you will see on stage all year.
1st May 2014 Shearwater ~ The Deaf Institute, Manchester
Another band about whom I knew absolutely nothing before seeing them live. To be fair apart from a single song on a mix-CD I’d heard nothing by them. Perched up above the stage on the tiny balcony of The Deaf Institute seemed absolutely perfect tonight. Jonathan Meiburg is warm and engaging, full of stories between the songs. The songs are predominantly covers, drawn from their Fellow Travellers album of songs by artists they have toured with, interspersed with a few originals. The arrangements are complex and compliment Jonathan’s rich tenor voice. Wonderful backing vocals and keyboards from transposed Manchester local Jesca Hoop as well. Finishing on Clinic’s Tomorrow was a big highlight, leaving us feeling happy like we had just been given a massive hug.
13th May 2014 Teleman ~ Deaf institute, Manchester
Steam Train Girl had been spinning round my head for the best part of a year since stumbling upon it while browsing Spotify, so I was looking forward to this a lot. Led by former Pete & the Pirates/Tap Tap man, Thomas Sanders Teleman are a particularly English confection. Songs seem to float into the ether like clouds of steam, delicate and slight. But there is so much going on, bubbling just below the surface, 23 Floors Up demonstrating there is more muscle here than you might think. The set is declared over when they eventually run out of songs and it seemed wrong to request anything from his Pirate days. All in all an enjoyable well composed set and certainly a band to be a watched.
17th & 18th May 2014 Neutral Milk Hotel ~ Albert Hall, Manchester
So this was a turn up for the books. I have written about this elsewhere on my blog, but it bears repeating, I genuinely never imagined I would ever see this band live and then I see them three times in a year. Go figure. And what a venue to see them in…a beautiful old Wesleyan chapel, long abandoned, hidden away above a dodgy night club, undiscovered for decades.
So we saw them twice. First night we watched from upstairs on the balcony and it was wonderful to hear those songs as they were meant to be heard for the first time. It was emotional. The only off putting aspect was the Gestapo like stewarding staff, stomping round in a threatening manner enforcing Jeff’s no photo policy with zealous glee. So for night two we headed downstairs and got as close to the front as we could, preferring to watch Scott and Julian rather than Jeff, who when not singing can seem a bit cold and distant. Once again it was a wonderful immersive experience, those twisted, tragic songs worming their way into my subconscious exactly as they did they first time I heard Aeroplane. Sublime.
28th May 2014 War on Drugs ~ Manchester Academy
WoD seem to be topping all of the EoY polls this year and there is no doubt it has been a breakthrough year for them. I admit I remain unconvinced. I certainly don’t actively dislike them, they are perfectly fine radio fare, they just don’t push my buttons for some reason. So I wasn’t exactly dragged to this, I always like to keep an open mind. To be fair they put on a good rock n roll show, a smidgen of Springsteen here, a sprinkle of Crazy Horse there. Adam Granduciel is clearly a fine guitarist, and one partial to a wig out…although in the spirit of democracy he did let the 2nd guitarist take a solo, just the one mind. It was entertaining enough, but did little to change my opinion.
14th May 2014 British Seapower performing From the Sea to the Land Beyond Sheffield Crucible
Not a gig as such, but I felt worthy of inclusion due to BSP’s involvement. Performed as part of Sheffield DocFest this documentary about the Sea and its relationship with the British people, with a live soundtrack by BSP was something quite special and moving. This was an almost silent film made up of old archive footage detailing the lives of the sea, sea life, sailors, fisherman, lifeboatmen, factory workers and all other manner of connected working life. BSP with their backs to the crowd, but facing the screen, providing a soundtrack which was sad, rousing and elegiac in the very best ways. Simply wonderful…. If they opportunity ever comes up to see this live then please do so.
17th July 2014 Afghan Whigs ~ Manchester Cathedral
It’s always nice when a sinner comes to church. Gregg Dulli has lost none of his muscular alpha male charisma, and time seems to have done little to mellow him. The Afghan Whigs’ return was about as good as anyone could have hoped for. Bold and magnificent in every way.
Preaching to the converted…
22nd July 2014 The Chills ~ Brudenel Social Club, Leeds
It must be over 20 years since I last saw The Chills. I was visiting a friend at college in Portsmouth, following a painful dumping. To cheer me up he got me drunk and we bunked in to watch The Chills. As far as I can make out I was pretty much the only person I knew who liked them; but I would play Kaleidoscope World to death for anyone willing to listen. In a weird way I think they encapsulate everything I love about music; catchy 60s garage band inspired tunes, coupled with a deeply resonant emotional lyrics. Plus they came from New Zealand, which may as well have been the moon.
Martin Phillips is certainly not the youthful presence I remember, a little road hardened to look at these days. But once he starts speaking the old naïveté is still there. Even by Brudenell standards they are a shambolic bunch; bits of non-functioning equipment, set lists out of sequence, long stumbling pauses between songs. Slick is not a word which troubles them greatly, and that is the essence of their charm. I watch the whole thing wide eyed and I love this. Pink Frost is still one of the saddest songs ever written and it is a struggle to choke back the tears. I doubt whether this will be featuring on many folks gig of the year lists, but for and hour or so tonight I was a very happy boy.
16th August 2014 Neutral Milk Hotel ~ The Forum, London
So it all seemed too good to be true; and it was. ATP present Jabberwocky…. All of your favourite bands under one roof in docklands, with NMH headlining. Tickets purchased – check. Hotel booked & paid for – check. Train tickets booked and paid for – check. Then with less than a week to go, ATP cancel. They’ve not sold enough tickets and they’ve spent all of the cash they have brought in from ticket sales, so refunds are tricky. What’s more, they show no remorse, just a long whiny list of excuses as to why it was everybody else’s fault except theirs. Utter bollocks and bullshit to a word. Those useless fucks will never get another penny of mine. Wankers.
Anyway, NMH picked up an alternate gig at The Forum supported by The Ex. They were both excellent.
29th-31st August End of the Road Festival ~ Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset
I’ve blogged about this so, I shall stick to the highlights.
5. Watching Unknown Mortal Orchestra stood inches away from Sean Lennon
4. The Flaming Lips soundcheck
3. John Grant, icy, majestic, emotional
2. Ezra Furman in a red mini dress dashing through the crowd to sing from the old Victorian stage
1. Gene Clarke No Other Band… Possibly the last ever performance, and one which I will never forget. The hairs on the back of my neck still stand up at the memory.
Unknown Mortal Orchestra
Wayne Coyne ~ the soundcheck which turned into a show
Ezra Furman ~ sunglasses
John Grant
Gene Clarke ~ No Other Band
22nd September 2014 Ezra Furman and the Boyfriends ~ Band on the Wall, Manchester
Ezra Furman has certainly been the find of the year for me. Great songs, super tight band, committed and full of wired, unpredictable twists and turns. We first saw them back in Feb and it’s clear from tonight’s performance that a year on the road has taken its toll. They are still mesmerising to watch but they seem ragged, tired and a bit tetchy tonight. Ezra in particular looks strung out and on the verge of exhaustion – I do hope someone is keeping an eye out for his well being. Despite looking a little frayed round the edges, the songs suit this and they deliver another knock out performance.
26th September 2014
Liverpool Psychefest, Camp & Furnace, Liverpool
Another year on and back to PsychFest. To be fair this is less about the music and more about having a weekend away in Liverpool, enjoying the city, catching up with friends and catching the odd band. Musically speaking it’s a bit of an odd one. There seems to be a hard line definition of what counts as Psyche (loud, droney, slow) and little room for light and shade. So I shall just list my highlights, as there were a few bands where we bailed after one or two songs….
1. Big gins in the Mad Hatter Brewery…. okay this has nothing to do with music. It was however a welcome oasis at times; somewhere to sit back on a comfy sofa (in what is basically a garage) with a refreshing drink and watch the world pass by.
2. Les Big Byrd: Loud, aggressive garage rock for sure, but also a lot of fun. A singer with the best side burns since Mungo Jerry and a band festooned with lights, they brought a blast of madness and energy to proceedings.
3. Mazes: Once again with an early slot on the Saturday, I was worried they would end up with two blokes and a whippet watching, but a reasonable crowd made the effort. They were tight and sharp and sounding much more slick and road savvy since EOTR. Bouncy, bright and full of fizz they never fail to make me smile….can’t help wondering if Jack’s other outfit Ultimate Painting might have been better suited to this festival though.
4. Grumbling Fur: Another band that don’t really fit the PsychFest identikit, and were a welcome breath of fresh air. The words ‘we are now going to play some improvised music’ would normally send me running for the hills, but actually there was nothing to fear. Alexander Tucker sat at a table making strange electronic noises from a variety of weird and wonderful devices, while Dan O’Sullivan plays fuzz base, frequently Hendrix style with the guitar behind his head. Think an experimental Depeche Mode, but in a good way. Marvellous.
5. Islet: I know nothing about them other than they are Welsh, funky and had a habit of running through the crowd. They are top fun. Go see.
10th October 2014
Grant Lee Phillips & Howe Gelb – Deaf Institute, Manchester
I think we ordered tickets for this back in March… one of those gigs where you just think, ‘well that sounds interesting’. I knew of Grant from his late 80s/90s Grant Lee Buffalo guise as well as his earlier involvement in 80s Psyche revivalists Shiva Burlesque. Howe I know from Giant Sand, a band who have been round since the ark and I’m ashamed to say I’ve never listened to. This was one of those gigs you go to with zero expectations and ends up being an absolute delight. Grant was warm and funny and open to requests, while Howe spent as much time (if not more) regaling the crowd with weird anecdotes than he did singing. A night of warmth, humour and beautiful songs delivered by a couple of old battle hardened troubadours; it left us with a warm glow that lasted for days.
1st November 2014
The Wave Pictures ~ First Chop Brew Arm, Salford
Step 1… find the venue. As we wandered around some waste ground under the railway arches we spotted a dim light and a few equally confused wanderers peering out into the darkness. Up some rickety stairs through a tiny bar, then down a tight corridor to what can only be described a tin shed with a makeshift stage. Welcome to the First Chop Brew Arm… this looks like the perfect venue for The Wave Pictures. Support is from a boy(guitar) / girl (drums) duo called Schwervon! They are excellent fun, snappy Jonathon Richman-esque tunes interspersed with beat poetry and interpretive dance. I recommend them highly.
The Wave Pictures are ostensibly there to play Artistic Vice, a cover of a Daniel Johnston album they have recorded and is only on sale at gigs. They were DJ’s backing band a few years ago and David Tattersall shared a few stories from that tour, the most amusing being that DJ kept calling him Roger Taylor (from Queen). In reality it is a mixed set with plenty of Wave Pictures originals, old and new, thrown into a mix. This will be the third time I have seen them this year, and I think this is the best I have ever heard them. David’s solos more intense and thrilling than ever, and as a band they really suit this ramshackle venue. Towards the end Franick puts down the bass to accompany David on a few songs on the mandolin (Frandolin). I love this band so much… why aren’t they as big as U2?
6th December 2014
Metronomy & Teleman – Albert Hall, Manchester
The final gig of 2014 was very much a last minute decision. To be honest I never used to get Metronomy. They were one of those bands which I filed away under the ‘not really for me’ category. But the Love Letters album this year has really got under my skin. It’s echoes of old Phil Spector girl groups coupled with end of the pier organ and complex, human lyrical concerns just grabbed me a big way. Also their performance at Glastonbury this year (watched on TV) was a real highlight. Tonight they are supported by Teleman and boy have they beefed up their sound since I saw them back in May. Thomas’ voice is still light as a feather, but the songs overlaid with layers of electronic noise sound fierce and raw in this big room. A summer of festival sets has taught them a trick or two.
Some bands are just about the music. Four hairy blokes in plaid shirts…what more do you need? Well Metronomy are a band who understand how to put on a show; it may be unfashionable amongst the hipsters, but I like a band who try to entertain. Every detail was perfect. The white boxed in keyboards with a built in light show, the slick white suits, the choreographed (sort of) dance moves; all designed to make you smile…and move your feet. A set drawn heavily from the last two albums is delivered with verve, humour and proper showmanship and the crowd love every second of it. The only slightly wobbly moment came when Joe Mount described the lovely old Albert Hall as ‘shabby chic’. They even manage to throw in a cover of Here Comes the Sun; a wonderfully perverse choice for a chilly December evening. They ended on the punky thrash of of You Could Easily Have Me and totally go for it, with amps turned up to 11…a perfect end to the set. The final gig of 2014 was a bit special, I hope 2015 has as many surprises up its’ sleeve.
End of the Road Festival 2014, Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset
[Writing Soundtrack: With Light & With Love ~ Woods]
Firstly, and by way of apology, sorry this is taking so long. Also, sorry if this one is a bit hazy; its been a few weeks and I have the memory of a gold… er… oh you know those shiny orange things that float around in tanks. You get the picture. Anyway, bear with me, it will all be over soon.
Day 3 of a festival is always a tough one; especially if like me you think camping is the devil’s work. I have had some wet and miserable Day 3’s, where it has been more about fighting off trench foot and getting to the end of the day without murdering a juggler. However, today is going to be different. Today we do this thing with minimum effort and maximum enjoyment. Well that’s the plan anyway.
Things get off to a good start; it’s dry. Not just dry, it’s sunny; one of those perfect late summer days, bright sunshine & little fluffy clouds drifting slowly past. This bodes well. A look at the clash finder indicates that there is lots to see at the Garden Stage today, so we decide to throw a couple of camping chairs over our shoulders and find a nice spot to park up and watch the day unfold in relative comfort. Following a leisurely breakfast, this is precisely what we do.
First up in the garden is Futur Primitif, the nom de plume of Daniel Lefkowitz. He used to be in The Low Anthem, a band who I admit never really crossed my path, but they seem very popular at EOTR so a reasonable crowd has parked up to watch him in the warmth of the early afternoon. He takes the stage, thin and unshaven, in an old suit jacket and carrying just an acoustic guitar and clearly at this early hour, very hungover (possibly still drunk). This is just what I need to break gently into the day. Actually, I should digress a moment here. Because what I really needed happened a few minutes earlier when the question was posed ‘would you like a Bloody Mary?’. The answer obviously was yes…. if you are ever asked that same question, the answer should always be yes. Very nice Bloody Marys they were too, from the groovy little cocktail bar at the back of the Garden, very spicy and no scrimping on the vodka. Frankly I’m spoilt now; any festival which doesn’t have a cocktail bar just isn’t going to cut it for me any more.
Future Primitif ~ well oiled
Anyway, seated in comfort with a delicious alcoholic concoction in hand seems the perfect way to watch Futur Primitif. Long rambling songs about life, and how not to live it, politics and pain, all delivered with a wry humour and an acerbic eye for the absurd. Just a man and a guitar, he is an interesting stage presence; slightly edgy with a hint of future self destruction, but not without warmth and has a real ability to connect. At one point a child joins him on stage to join him on a duet of Pale Blue Eyes… however this is post-Bloody Mary, so maybe I imagined this. A great way to start the day, this was my favourite song of his set…
After this I wander off to the Library stage to try to catch Viv Albertine discussing her autobiography. It is a tiny stage and there is a big crowd so it is impossible to see, however I hang around outside and listen to the interview. She is honest and funny and really seems to enjoy talking about it rather it just being a sales pitch for her book. A story concerning Johnny Rotten and a failed blow job, leads to a lady in front of me, young daughter in hand slipping away with the words ‘er… i think it’s time too find the loo’. Bawdy stories aside, her tales from the front line of punk can’t help be anything other than inspirational and I can’t wait to read her book.
By this time the sun is high in the sky and it has turned into an absolutely glorious sunny day. Perhaps influenced by Mr Lefkowitz I grab a sneaky early afternoon flagon of foaming ale and head back to the Garden. I am tempted to watch John Cooper Clarke in the Big Top but the lure of a nice sit down in the sunshine is just too tempting. Next up is Daniel Rossen from Grizzly Bear doing a solo set. He had been wonderful with the Gene Clarke No Other Band on Friday so I was intrigued anyway. In fairness he has a pretty torrid time of it, enduring some horrendous sound problems with his guitar and looks pretty stressed throughout. But the voice is still strong and rich and reminds me a bit of Harry Nilsson. A perfect accompaniment to a sunny afternoon.
Daniel Rossen
Sometimes just finding a spot and letting the day unfold is the best way to enjoy a festival, and today is shaping up quite nicely. Yo La Tengo arrive and set up on the little singing stage at the edge of the arena to do a largely improvised set. In fairness unless you are near the front somewhere it is difficult to hear everything, but they seem to be on good form, accepting requests & questions from the crowd and bantering happily. At one point even doing a spot of synchronised dancing. Visually it is a lovely spot to play, but we decide to offer our camping chairs to a nearby couple and make our way forward and get a good spot at the front for Woods.
Yo La Tengo
A theme of the weekend for me is seeing for the first time many bands who I have only discovered, or been introduced to, in the past year or so, and Woods very much fall into that category. This can be a bit perturbing, as you have a picture in your head of what a band looks like. On record they seem like the ultimate west coast folk rock band; strummed acoustics, 12 string jangle, wild wigged out electric guitar, all present and correct. So I was expecting to see a bunch of hairy doped up CSNY clones shambling onto the stage. It comes as a bit of a surprise to see they appear to be fronted by a high school supply teacher. Appearances can be deceiving though, as they proceed to unleash a set of sun dappled psych-folk which is the perfect accompaniment to the baking hot afternoon. Lead vocalist Jeremy Earl proving himself to be no mean guitarist either, swapping acoustic for electric and indulging in some impressive axe work on a wild and wooly With Light and With Love. A perfect Sunday afternoon festival band in many ways, and a real highlight of the day.
Woods
Feeling a little weary, the early afternoon alcohol intake making it’s presence felt, we head back to the tent to drop off the camping chairs. A quick nap turns into a rather big sleep so sadly we miss much of the early evening entertainment, from the Felice Brothers and Yo La Tengo’s main stage set. But hey, you can’t watch everything right? We manage to get our act together and head back into the arena later in the evening. We grab some food and hear the early part of Wild Beast’s set drifting over from the Woods stage. They seem to have attracted a decent crowd, which is pleasing, as the have been around for a while and this is a big gig for them, so I am sure it must be the icing on the cake for what has been a very good year.
Making our way back to the Garden we find a suitable vantage point to watch our final band of the weekend, White Denim. I last saw them play years ago, when still a three piece, and they tore apart the tiny Ruby Lounge with a set of ‘amps to 11’ raucous garage rock. Even then it was clear to see they would go onto bigger things. Subsequent albums have seen them develop and expand their sound to incorporate aspects of jazz, folk, & latin, played at sometimes deafening volumes and laced with a healthy dose of good old southern rock. As they launch into Pretty Green from Corsicana Lemonade it is interesting to see just how much singer/guitarist James Petralli has developed as a front man.He has never been the most chatty or engaging of characters, but there is no doubting his immense stage presence as he seems to channel the spirit of every classic rock performer of the last forty years. It has been a weekend of great guitarists (Tattersal, Nielson, Earl) but Petralli is the full package; rich and soulful on the more complex recent work and ferocious on the early stuff from Workout Holiday. To be honest, I had been feeling pretty ropey before this, but it is a testament to the healing power of rock music that this really lifted my spirits. So glad I saw them, a perfect end to the festival.
So thats it. Three days of sunshine, music and good vibes & better people; I’m glad to say that my first End of the Road was an amazing one. I hope there are many more. Now its just the tricky task of negotiating the journey home, locating a Little Chef (hopefully manned by an actual little chef) and then easing back in to the dull reality of the workday grind.
...and Here's Tom With the Weather 
