Kitchen Motors Collective at Cargo. 27 November 2006.
What the blurb says… “Deliciously hypnotic music from Reykjavik - Kitchen Motors is a Reykjavik-based artists’ collective with a reputation for cross-art chemistry and surreal charm. With members drawn from across the musical spectrum, Kitchen Motors is a creative playground, where exciting new ensembles appear by happy accident and dense and magical films entwine with thrilling new sounds.”
Bet there is a subplot here. Ah yes. The Múm subplot. Múm are, for me, the most influential and important band of the last ten years; pioneers of a new form of music combining electronica, folk, pop and contemporary classical; not just plinky plonking the elements together but fusing them at great temperature to produce a new hybrid music. Traces of the radiation emitted by this fusion can be found all over the poposphere, from Goldfrapp to Tunng to Cibelle :::::
by the way look out in 2007 for its cross fertilisation with the New York freaky folk scene – Cibelle on the bill with CocoRosie at David Byrne’s “Welcome to Dreamland” all star freaky gig – Bjork working with Anthony (without his Johnsons) – CocoRosie currently recording their new album on a boat somewhere near the Arctic – oh yes :::::
But Múm are dead; long live Múm. There was a big clue on their My Space site – “it is difficult to know who we are any more.” I feared the worst when vocalist and founder member Kristín Anna Valtýsdóttir (under the name Kría Brekkan (which apparently means “to tern the slope”)) appeared on the bill with dullard psyc-rockers Animal Collective at the Astoria earlier this year. She appeared very fragile and almost not there. See for yourself at http://www.underexposed.org.uk/kriabrekkan/kria1.htm . Hear for yourself at http://www.rosmedia.se/kria.html. Then I found out that she’d only gone and married one of the Animals (Avey “Yoko” Tare) and moved to New York, and the official announcement of her departure from Múm came earlier this week, together with a sad letter which you can find here: http://www.fat-cat.co.uk/mum.pdf.
But Múm are not dead. First there is a vintage Peel Session recorded in 2002 being released in a few weeks. And the founding foundling boys, being Gunnar Örn Tynes and Örvar Þóreyjarson Smárason, have formed a new line up and recorded a new album out early 2007. And Múm have always been something of a collective, with, from what I can gather, something of a symbiotic relationship with the Kitchen Motors collective. So anyway the subplot was that this was a chance to check out some of their new members, in particular Hildur Gudnadottir (cello and vocals) and Ólöf Arnalds (violin / viola / guitar / vocals) - actually I remember Ólöf playing with Múm at the infamous “game of two halves” double header with Cat Power at the Barbican last year.
Yeah yeah yeah that’s all very well and good, but isn’t this meant to be a gig review.
So first up was Hildur Gudnadottir with just a cello and laptop for company. After some heavyweight drones she was joined by the rest of the Skuli Sverrisson group including Ólöf Arnalds. Musically this was the post-Reich end of the contemporary classical spectrum; repeated patterns and distortions with a few touches of electronica misting in from the sea, and the ladies on vocals and guess what – both Hildur and Ólöf sing kind of like Kristín Anna: breathy girly swirly lovely.
Next up was Kira Kira and her box of electonix (more later).
Finally the Johann K Johannsson group with dreamy soundtrack stylee contemporary classical with touches of electronica in the beats and sounds.
1. Coolness of crowd: 8/10 – an odd mix of grungy students, North Europeans in layers of wool in different shades of taupe, some Japanese, some punks, some Shoreditch Twats, some classical fans in retro Geography teacher costume.
2. Bob quotient: - 8/10 – high, though tended to be of the fuzzy cut sort rather than the clean lines I prefer.
3. Annoyment factor: - 8/10 – excellent decorum, probably the all time best for a club venue. Anyone talking was poked and shushed from all sides. Get this, I didn’t even have to give anyone a hard stare! I was amongst kindred spirits. The only real sonic interference came from people knocking over beer bottles.
4. Sound quality: - 10/10 – crystal clear; especially impressive in the Kria Kria session.
5. Comfort: 5/10 – many chose to sit on the concrete floor, but it’s dirty and no good for someone with tight glutes. So I stood, and as the gig lasted for some two and a quarter hours without break, I was in some discomfort by the end.
6. Sexytime: 6/10 – maybe affected by my discomforture.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 30/10. Both the Skuli Sverrisson and Johann Johannsson groups employed sampled beats and effects and mild electronica, but the highlight was the Kira Kira set. Wow. Double Wow. She had a wooden box the size of a cigar case with knobs on and stuff inside, gravel I think, which she tilted about. A tiny music box kind of thing spewing paper spotted with chads and a tiny little handle for winding the paper back in. A long stick covered in glitter with five or so little handles each linked to the most miniscule music box imaginable, and which she would also breathe into. Plus beats and samples triggered as if by thought alone. All were miked up to an unbelievable degree of clarity and power. When she opened up the wooden box and stirred the gravel with her hand, it was like the earth had titled on its axis.
Overall: 75/70 – a good time had by all, but the highlight for me was the Kira Kira set; the others sets were more in the vein of contemporary classical that is very much of the moment but which can tend a little bit towards the sort of thing you find on Classic FM TV.
Merchandise: No T’s, but an agonisingly huge selection of cds, about 15. One of the lovely Icelandic ladies from the collective helped me to buy 5 of them as well as filling me in on the Múm subplot.
Gruff Rhys? He wasn’t there. He should have been.
Visuals: Nice. Lots of grainy black and white footage, and some nice use of a glitter ball effect. Best visuals award go to Kira Kira who performed against a blue sky and clouds backdrop, wearing a nice white frock onto which was projected an image of a colourful flying kite (the kite had polygonic blocks of colour which reminded me of Vanessa da Silva’s blocky work on the latest Tunng album / tour). I found out later that the kite was one of fifty she had miked up and flown around a lighthouse in Iceland, as you do.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
thought for the day
spare a thought for melvyn prophet, age 49, from the west midlands, who i just saw on 'this morning'. mr prophet has not had an erection for 7 years. bet he didn't see that coming.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Perpetual Motion.
It’s just a matter of mathematics really.
There are only 24 hours in a day. That’s not going to change anytime soon. Each year, the public transport system struggles ooh just a little bit more to cope. The journeys take longer. Extrapolate - you will begin to spend more time in transit than you do at work or in bed. Soon you will be able to access your mobile ‘phone on the tube, and with that will come full wireless interconnectivity. So rather than travelling to your office, you will be travelling in your office. As we approach 2012, the tube will run 24 hours a day. The pharmaceutical companies will have perfected pills which reduce the need for sleep. Exacerbated by rising house prices, people will start to live on the tube: working, not sleeping, always travelling. A support culture will arise; tiller girls and boy walking up and down the carriages offering ice cream, beverages, smart “cereal” bars, paid for by chip and pin cards inserted in your index finger.
Portaloos will be installed on every platform. The loos will analyse your stool, and advise if for example you need more zinc or vitamin B12 in your diet. The results will be downloaded to the NHS database and shared with other governmental systems; your DNA compared with information on your ID profile; any illegal substances (steroids being the drug of choice for the professional classes by the turn of the decade) will be detected and the information passed on to police via the crime database.
For shopping, head on down to the Tesco Circle Line, a mini Metro on every platform, and a fully stocked supermarketsupertrain coming round every twenty minutes. Lack of sunlight and genetically modified supasoya ™ dinners will take their toll on your libido, but for those rare moments you will be able to pop down to an easyFUCK ™ capsule brothel located in one of the disused tunnels. All five genders catered for. Virgin Active Trains will offer gyms although most users will go just for the showers.
This isn’t about prophecy, it’s about calculating the results of the equations.
There are only 24 hours in a day. That’s not going to change anytime soon. Each year, the public transport system struggles ooh just a little bit more to cope. The journeys take longer. Extrapolate - you will begin to spend more time in transit than you do at work or in bed. Soon you will be able to access your mobile ‘phone on the tube, and with that will come full wireless interconnectivity. So rather than travelling to your office, you will be travelling in your office. As we approach 2012, the tube will run 24 hours a day. The pharmaceutical companies will have perfected pills which reduce the need for sleep. Exacerbated by rising house prices, people will start to live on the tube: working, not sleeping, always travelling. A support culture will arise; tiller girls and boy walking up and down the carriages offering ice cream, beverages, smart “cereal” bars, paid for by chip and pin cards inserted in your index finger.
Portaloos will be installed on every platform. The loos will analyse your stool, and advise if for example you need more zinc or vitamin B12 in your diet. The results will be downloaded to the NHS database and shared with other governmental systems; your DNA compared with information on your ID profile; any illegal substances (steroids being the drug of choice for the professional classes by the turn of the decade) will be detected and the information passed on to police via the crime database.
For shopping, head on down to the Tesco Circle Line, a mini Metro on every platform, and a fully stocked supermarketsupertrain coming round every twenty minutes. Lack of sunlight and genetically modified supasoya ™ dinners will take their toll on your libido, but for those rare moments you will be able to pop down to an easyFUCK ™ capsule brothel located in one of the disused tunnels. All five genders catered for. Virgin Active Trains will offer gyms although most users will go just for the showers.
This isn’t about prophecy, it’s about calculating the results of the equations.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
“Gig” Review – Antony and the Johnsons
Antony and the Johnsons perform Turning. Barbican 5/11/06.
Another “"gig"”? Well sort of. Part performance, part art happening. Antony sings his melancholy ballards of love death and gender confusion whilst on the side of the stage is a revolving platform onto which step a succession of thirteen New York “beauties” who are filmed and the images projected on to a giant backscreen where they are mixed live by Charles Atlas.
The Charles Atlas? Yes indeed. The. A man who has cast a long shadow over my artistic world, from the moment I first saw his nineteen eightyfourish (the year, not the Orwellian nightmare) film “Hail the New Puritans” which featured Michael Clark, Leigh Bowery, and various other London nightlife bohemians and culminated in strange goings on at the legendary Taboo nightclub. As a young boy this seemed to be where I aspired to be, even though it was no place for a straight, chubby, Jewish boy with a high forehead and a wardrobe of polyester M&S flairs. Atlas has continued to design the lighting for Michael Clark; and it has always been one of the highlights of any Clark show. Austere, with much use of lighting coming from the side of the stage, it provides a particular atmosphere and ambience, very clean and magical. In Clark’s “mmm”, which I saw last week and haven’t had time to blog, there was some interesting use of blocks of more pastel shades. Anyway Atlas is primarily known for his video art rather than lighting per se, and this was the first time I had seen him in action, so to speak.
So tell me about the lovely ladies. Hmmm. Well I am pretty sure that four of them really were women. And I’m pretty sure that five of them were born men. Thereafter, everything is not so very illuminated. As to the degree of transgender transformation I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess, but they probably ranged from straightforward drag queen all the way to post-op. Des Lynam would have been in his element.
So, “Turning”. Yes that’s what it was called. Revolution not evolution. A reference to the rotating platform, but also I thought to the process of feminisation, of turning into a woman. Also of turning as in on the turn, and as in the ageing process, as the big screen brutally revealed every skin blemish, wrinkle, divot, crevice, crater, eruption; the beauties came in all ages and sizes. And the turning of live flesh to screen projection; so often the projected face looked completely different from the real.
Perhaps it should be said that Antony sings like an angel.
1. Coolness of crowd: 10/10. Yes very. All sorts, as you might imagine. And yes there were some people getting in a pickle about which toilets they should be going into, although I suspect this was less a question of gender politics than the size of the queue.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10. Very high. All colours and shapes. Very bobby indeed.
3. Annoyment factor: 10/10. You could hear a pin drop, though Antony does tend to have that effect on people (when he performed at (and won) the 2005 Mercury Music Prize, he silenced a room full of boozed and coked up music executives)
4. Sound quality: 9/10. As always at the Barbican, top notch.
5. Comfort: 7/10. I had a slight bobble in my seat. Also I foolishly had drunk 1 litre of water before going in, and as soon as Antony started singing, the urge was growing. Remember that Shakespeare quote from the last review.
6. Sexytime: 7/10, but I would have to be very very drunk, and not find out until its too late, and then think what the hell, expand your horizons, if it’s good enough for Des Lynam and Alan Partridge…
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 6/10. Well it all sounded lovely, and for once there was no need for extra augmentation (should that be orgmentation?).
Overall: 57/70. Yet another extraordinary and unique event culminates in a rapturous standing ovation.
Merchandise: Two t shirts with ambiguous designs, A glossy brochure. CDs. All top notch stuff.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn’t there. As you will have gathered, I was bursting for Gruff from the moment of the first note.
Visuals: - yeah well, amazing; haven’t you been paying attention?
Another “"gig"”? Well sort of. Part performance, part art happening. Antony sings his melancholy ballards of love death and gender confusion whilst on the side of the stage is a revolving platform onto which step a succession of thirteen New York “beauties” who are filmed and the images projected on to a giant backscreen where they are mixed live by Charles Atlas.
The Charles Atlas? Yes indeed. The. A man who has cast a long shadow over my artistic world, from the moment I first saw his nineteen eightyfourish (the year, not the Orwellian nightmare) film “Hail the New Puritans” which featured Michael Clark, Leigh Bowery, and various other London nightlife bohemians and culminated in strange goings on at the legendary Taboo nightclub. As a young boy this seemed to be where I aspired to be, even though it was no place for a straight, chubby, Jewish boy with a high forehead and a wardrobe of polyester M&S flairs. Atlas has continued to design the lighting for Michael Clark; and it has always been one of the highlights of any Clark show. Austere, with much use of lighting coming from the side of the stage, it provides a particular atmosphere and ambience, very clean and magical. In Clark’s “mmm”, which I saw last week and haven’t had time to blog, there was some interesting use of blocks of more pastel shades. Anyway Atlas is primarily known for his video art rather than lighting per se, and this was the first time I had seen him in action, so to speak.
So tell me about the lovely ladies. Hmmm. Well I am pretty sure that four of them really were women. And I’m pretty sure that five of them were born men. Thereafter, everything is not so very illuminated. As to the degree of transgender transformation I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess, but they probably ranged from straightforward drag queen all the way to post-op. Des Lynam would have been in his element.
So, “Turning”. Yes that’s what it was called. Revolution not evolution. A reference to the rotating platform, but also I thought to the process of feminisation, of turning into a woman. Also of turning as in on the turn, and as in the ageing process, as the big screen brutally revealed every skin blemish, wrinkle, divot, crevice, crater, eruption; the beauties came in all ages and sizes. And the turning of live flesh to screen projection; so often the projected face looked completely different from the real.
Perhaps it should be said that Antony sings like an angel.
1. Coolness of crowd: 10/10. Yes very. All sorts, as you might imagine. And yes there were some people getting in a pickle about which toilets they should be going into, although I suspect this was less a question of gender politics than the size of the queue.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10. Very high. All colours and shapes. Very bobby indeed.
3. Annoyment factor: 10/10. You could hear a pin drop, though Antony does tend to have that effect on people (when he performed at (and won) the 2005 Mercury Music Prize, he silenced a room full of boozed and coked up music executives)
4. Sound quality: 9/10. As always at the Barbican, top notch.
5. Comfort: 7/10. I had a slight bobble in my seat. Also I foolishly had drunk 1 litre of water before going in, and as soon as Antony started singing, the urge was growing. Remember that Shakespeare quote from the last review.
6. Sexytime: 7/10, but I would have to be very very drunk, and not find out until its too late, and then think what the hell, expand your horizons, if it’s good enough for Des Lynam and Alan Partridge…
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 6/10. Well it all sounded lovely, and for once there was no need for extra augmentation (should that be orgmentation?).
Overall: 57/70. Yet another extraordinary and unique event culminates in a rapturous standing ovation.
Merchandise: Two t shirts with ambiguous designs, A glossy brochure. CDs. All top notch stuff.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn’t there. As you will have gathered, I was bursting for Gruff from the moment of the first note.
Visuals: - yeah well, amazing; haven’t you been paying attention?
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
"Gig" Review: The Photophonic Experiment
The Photophonic Experiment – An Evening of Electro-Spectral Musical Phenomena. Featuring Pram. Blissbody and Project Dark. QEH 31/10/06
““Gig”” in inverted commas? Yeah well I’m not sure if this was a gig, or more of a sound art performance, or even an experiment (as they described it, due to the unpredictability of the “various electrical apparatus” being used.)
What? Yes well the thing here was the conversion of electricity and light into sound. The stage looked like the den of a mad boffin – think Dr Frankenstein. There were all sorts of glass tubes and vessels and bizarre instruments which produced crackling sizzling sparks. It was kind of like Halloween and Guy Fawkes night wrapped into one. There was even a touch of Chanukah when they used those spinning tops which light up as they spin, in combination with a device called a photo-synth which transformed the colours into sound.
To be honest, when I saw the stage, dimly lit, with a menacing thud of deep throbs of sound circulating in the theatre, I was a little scared. I was in the front row. Some of these devices carry 10,000 vaults. They are unpredictable. Some bass frequencies can be so powerful as to loosen the bowels. Did I say I was in the front row? Knowing what I by then knew, I was even more scared by the time of the second half.
Did Shakespeare having anything to say about this sort of thing? Funny you should ask. “Some men there are … when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose, cannot contain their urine” Merchant of Venice Act IV Scene I.
1. Coolness of crowd: 10/10 – well yes probably the oddest assortment of people I have ever seen gathered under one roof. My particular favourite was a guy who looked like he was in a fetish movie directed by LS Lowry. Stick thin, black coat, a small black formal hat on his head, huge ring with bauble through his septum. He carried a black cane, and a small medicine bag, about 6 inches deep, 14 inches wide. I can only imagine the bag contained instruments of the most deviant sexual torture imaginable. I am quite sure he has a basement styled like a mental hospital clinic, all white floors and walls, where nurses in white pvc uniforms inject large quantities of water into his testicles until they are blown up like watermelons.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10 – high. Although as you will see, a bob is no guarantee of good behaviour.
3. Annoyment factor: 3/10 – disastrous. The two bobbed women behind me talked loudly throughout the second half, and yes one was wearing and shaking bangles, and even at one point took out her keys and started rattling them about. Fucking unbelievable. I tried a polite plea for them to be quiet, but I think this only made them more determined. Someone a few seats along loudly shushed them towards the end and I think this had more effect. Did I say anything to them at the end? I couldn’t call myself a mate of Dickie Silverfish if I hadn’t. I said to the glum looking woman behind me “it’s a pity you had to talk so loudly. You really spoiled it for me”. She didn’t react except to look a little bit more glum.
However a couple of factors saved it from being a complete white-out. Firstly the sonic assault from the stage was really powerful. I don’t mean loud, although in part it was. There was a purity and intensity to the sine waves which gave the whole thing a synaesthetic feel – these were sound waves you felt rather than heard. Big bass rumbles that shook your ribs. Throbbing pitches that made your arms tingle. And a screeching finale that left me barely able to walk for a good five minutes. Secondly, although the sounds would coalesce into something approximate to tunes at various stages, this was hardly beautiful music. The softer moments were more like a sorbet intercourse, refreshing the aural palette before the next onslaught.
What I resented about the people behind me was that their yabbering served as an artificial and irritating interface between me and the sound performance, preventing full emersion, and anchoring my brain to the physical surroundings, so that it couldn’t go awandering too far. Mind you, this might just have prevented my brain from wandering off so far that it got lost and couldn’t find its way home again.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 – superb. I was particularly impressed by the quality of the sampled sounds. The virtual drummer sounded so authentic, and so precisely placed in the mix, that I searched the stage to try and see where he was hiding. Live sampling and processing of a trombone was also astonishing, the live and the sampled were indistinguishable, producing a very weird ear/mind disconnect (cos like the movements of the trombonist and the sound produced were out of sync – keep up!)
5. Comfort: 6/10 - nice comfy seats, good view, couple of marks deducted to reflect the fact that some of the sounds had the effect of making me feel quite uncomfortable.
6. Sexytime: - 7/10 – yes, but in only in the most perverted sense.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: - 25/10. Where to begin? They had a Theremin – that’s a bonus 10 marks straightaway. And other similar instruments played by waving fingers over the instrument. A vast array of knobs, gadgets, things to twiddle, boxes with flickering green lines like hospital monitors. Then there were the home built electric light instruments: a Jacobs Ladder, an Aquaphon, a Spark-o-phone, and the Jar of Charge. Plus the photo-synths mentioned earlier. Strange objects being played by tv remote controls; things being plucked or bowed; things bursting into flames as they were played.
Overall: 68/70 – a strange difficult and certainly unique night out. Probably won’t be appearing at the Arts Depot anytime soon.
Optional categories:
Merchandise: - nice free brochure, some cds from one of the performers, nowt to get too excited about.
Gruff Rhys?: - He wasn’t there.
Visuals: - yeah well the whole thing was visually extreme anyway, but they also had a screen which showed close ups of the instruments or very weird retro Victorian style horror films. Also two large white half-globes either side of the stage, like the device from the Prisoner, which glowed or showed films distorted in the curves. And a great moment when they faked an explosion – loud flash and bang, lots of smoke, everything gone black. The women behind me nearly wet themselves. Shame they didn’t.
““Gig”” in inverted commas? Yeah well I’m not sure if this was a gig, or more of a sound art performance, or even an experiment (as they described it, due to the unpredictability of the “various electrical apparatus” being used.)
What? Yes well the thing here was the conversion of electricity and light into sound. The stage looked like the den of a mad boffin – think Dr Frankenstein. There were all sorts of glass tubes and vessels and bizarre instruments which produced crackling sizzling sparks. It was kind of like Halloween and Guy Fawkes night wrapped into one. There was even a touch of Chanukah when they used those spinning tops which light up as they spin, in combination with a device called a photo-synth which transformed the colours into sound.
To be honest, when I saw the stage, dimly lit, with a menacing thud of deep throbs of sound circulating in the theatre, I was a little scared. I was in the front row. Some of these devices carry 10,000 vaults. They are unpredictable. Some bass frequencies can be so powerful as to loosen the bowels. Did I say I was in the front row? Knowing what I by then knew, I was even more scared by the time of the second half.
Did Shakespeare having anything to say about this sort of thing? Funny you should ask. “Some men there are … when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose, cannot contain their urine” Merchant of Venice Act IV Scene I.
1. Coolness of crowd: 10/10 – well yes probably the oddest assortment of people I have ever seen gathered under one roof. My particular favourite was a guy who looked like he was in a fetish movie directed by LS Lowry. Stick thin, black coat, a small black formal hat on his head, huge ring with bauble through his septum. He carried a black cane, and a small medicine bag, about 6 inches deep, 14 inches wide. I can only imagine the bag contained instruments of the most deviant sexual torture imaginable. I am quite sure he has a basement styled like a mental hospital clinic, all white floors and walls, where nurses in white pvc uniforms inject large quantities of water into his testicles until they are blown up like watermelons.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10 – high. Although as you will see, a bob is no guarantee of good behaviour.
3. Annoyment factor: 3/10 – disastrous. The two bobbed women behind me talked loudly throughout the second half, and yes one was wearing and shaking bangles, and even at one point took out her keys and started rattling them about. Fucking unbelievable. I tried a polite plea for them to be quiet, but I think this only made them more determined. Someone a few seats along loudly shushed them towards the end and I think this had more effect. Did I say anything to them at the end? I couldn’t call myself a mate of Dickie Silverfish if I hadn’t. I said to the glum looking woman behind me “it’s a pity you had to talk so loudly. You really spoiled it for me”. She didn’t react except to look a little bit more glum.
However a couple of factors saved it from being a complete white-out. Firstly the sonic assault from the stage was really powerful. I don’t mean loud, although in part it was. There was a purity and intensity to the sine waves which gave the whole thing a synaesthetic feel – these were sound waves you felt rather than heard. Big bass rumbles that shook your ribs. Throbbing pitches that made your arms tingle. And a screeching finale that left me barely able to walk for a good five minutes. Secondly, although the sounds would coalesce into something approximate to tunes at various stages, this was hardly beautiful music. The softer moments were more like a sorbet intercourse, refreshing the aural palette before the next onslaught.
What I resented about the people behind me was that their yabbering served as an artificial and irritating interface between me and the sound performance, preventing full emersion, and anchoring my brain to the physical surroundings, so that it couldn’t go awandering too far. Mind you, this might just have prevented my brain from wandering off so far that it got lost and couldn’t find its way home again.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 – superb. I was particularly impressed by the quality of the sampled sounds. The virtual drummer sounded so authentic, and so precisely placed in the mix, that I searched the stage to try and see where he was hiding. Live sampling and processing of a trombone was also astonishing, the live and the sampled were indistinguishable, producing a very weird ear/mind disconnect (cos like the movements of the trombonist and the sound produced were out of sync – keep up!)
5. Comfort: 6/10 - nice comfy seats, good view, couple of marks deducted to reflect the fact that some of the sounds had the effect of making me feel quite uncomfortable.
6. Sexytime: - 7/10 – yes, but in only in the most perverted sense.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: - 25/10. Where to begin? They had a Theremin – that’s a bonus 10 marks straightaway. And other similar instruments played by waving fingers over the instrument. A vast array of knobs, gadgets, things to twiddle, boxes with flickering green lines like hospital monitors. Then there were the home built electric light instruments: a Jacobs Ladder, an Aquaphon, a Spark-o-phone, and the Jar of Charge. Plus the photo-synths mentioned earlier. Strange objects being played by tv remote controls; things being plucked or bowed; things bursting into flames as they were played.
Overall: 68/70 – a strange difficult and certainly unique night out. Probably won’t be appearing at the Arts Depot anytime soon.
Optional categories:
Merchandise: - nice free brochure, some cds from one of the performers, nowt to get too excited about.
Gruff Rhys?: - He wasn’t there.
Visuals: - yeah well the whole thing was visually extreme anyway, but they also had a screen which showed close ups of the instruments or very weird retro Victorian style horror films. Also two large white half-globes either side of the stage, like the device from the Prisoner, which glowed or showed films distorted in the curves. And a great moment when they faked an explosion – loud flash and bang, lots of smoke, everything gone black. The women behind me nearly wet themselves. Shame they didn’t.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Re Tale
It is the first day of November and it still warm enough for the people of South Central Finchley to dine al fresco in the many cafes that line Temple Fortune. After a skinny latte and white chocolate muffin, I take a stroll to the site of the last pub in this part of Finchley, now divided into two retail units.
One remains a bare concrete shell; the only sign of pending life a bright yellow banner announcing “Fireworks 4 U !!” For such a seasonal business they are cutting it mighty fine.
The other unit is open, but it has no sign up. The inside is fitted out in Ben Nicholson tones of brown, from thick gluey tar to soft fudge. In the centre of the shop are three large leather cubes. Along each wall runs a single shelf. On each shelf there are five similar looking objects, each placed rhythmically apart from the next object.
“Can I help you?”
The voice comes from the far end of the shop. I suppose I had not noticed her before because her hair and clothes and complexion were co-ordinated with the tones of the décor.
“Just looking.”
I pick up one of the objects. It is brown and shaped like a large seashell with five ridges running lengthways. The object is solid but soft.
“Those are the ladies'. The men’s are on the other side.”
“Thank you” I say. The shop assistant is leaning in a languid manner against the back wall. Perhaps from embarrassment, or self-consciousness, I glance down. Her feet hover just above the floor; no more than an inch or an inch and a half.
I can see no discernible difference between the men’s and the women’s products. I can feel the woman’s stare on the back of my neck.
“You know what they are?” she says.
“Of course” I say studying the object. There is an opening at the narrower end of the object.
“Would you like to try one on?”
“Erm” I say. “Actually what are they?”
She glides over to me, smiling.
“Hand shoes” she says.
“Oh, of course” I say.
“We import them from Italy. They are hand made by an old cobbler in Venice. His family have been making hand shoes for over three hundred years. He is the last.”
“Do you know your size?”
I shake my head. She grabs my hand and examines it, pressing her fingers hard into my flesh. She lets out an indecipherable “hmmm” as she studies my hand. “Maybe a 5.”
“OK” I say, “although my hands are quite broad.”
“Which style?” she asks.
I look along the row. I think I can discern subtle variations in colour and style.
“How about this one?” she says.
“No” I say.
“How about this one?”
“No” I say.
“How about this one?”
“Ok” I say.
She glides to the back of the shop and disappears through a door. I don’t remember seeing the door before.
She returns with a white box. The hand shoes are wrapped in layers of soft white paper. “Rice paper” she says. She pulls open the aperture and I push my hand in, but it is too tight.
“Try a 6” she says, “but I do recommend buying them on the tight side because they will loosen up.”
“I know” I say “but I have a rule, learnt from many years of bitter experience, that if it doesn’t fit right in the shop, it will never be comfortable.”
The size 6 is too loose.
“Do you do half sizes?”
The woman shakes her head.
“What a shame” I say.
“I think I’d better leave it” I say.
The shop assistant smiles.
One remains a bare concrete shell; the only sign of pending life a bright yellow banner announcing “Fireworks 4 U !!” For such a seasonal business they are cutting it mighty fine.
The other unit is open, but it has no sign up. The inside is fitted out in Ben Nicholson tones of brown, from thick gluey tar to soft fudge. In the centre of the shop are three large leather cubes. Along each wall runs a single shelf. On each shelf there are five similar looking objects, each placed rhythmically apart from the next object.
“Can I help you?”
The voice comes from the far end of the shop. I suppose I had not noticed her before because her hair and clothes and complexion were co-ordinated with the tones of the décor.
“Just looking.”
I pick up one of the objects. It is brown and shaped like a large seashell with five ridges running lengthways. The object is solid but soft.
“Those are the ladies'. The men’s are on the other side.”
“Thank you” I say. The shop assistant is leaning in a languid manner against the back wall. Perhaps from embarrassment, or self-consciousness, I glance down. Her feet hover just above the floor; no more than an inch or an inch and a half.
I can see no discernible difference between the men’s and the women’s products. I can feel the woman’s stare on the back of my neck.
“You know what they are?” she says.
“Of course” I say studying the object. There is an opening at the narrower end of the object.
“Would you like to try one on?”
“Erm” I say. “Actually what are they?”
She glides over to me, smiling.
“Hand shoes” she says.
“Oh, of course” I say.
“We import them from Italy. They are hand made by an old cobbler in Venice. His family have been making hand shoes for over three hundred years. He is the last.”
“Do you know your size?”
I shake my head. She grabs my hand and examines it, pressing her fingers hard into my flesh. She lets out an indecipherable “hmmm” as she studies my hand. “Maybe a 5.”
“OK” I say, “although my hands are quite broad.”
“Which style?” she asks.
I look along the row. I think I can discern subtle variations in colour and style.
“How about this one?” she says.
“No” I say.
“How about this one?”
“No” I say.
“How about this one?”
“Ok” I say.
She glides to the back of the shop and disappears through a door. I don’t remember seeing the door before.
She returns with a white box. The hand shoes are wrapped in layers of soft white paper. “Rice paper” she says. She pulls open the aperture and I push my hand in, but it is too tight.
“Try a 6” she says, “but I do recommend buying them on the tight side because they will loosen up.”
“I know” I say “but I have a rule, learnt from many years of bitter experience, that if it doesn’t fit right in the shop, it will never be comfortable.”
The size 6 is too loose.
“Do you do half sizes?”
The woman shakes her head.
“What a shame” I say.
“I think I’d better leave it” I say.
The shop assistant smiles.
Friday, October 27, 2006
That thing
THE THING
The thing is, what is the thing? Is this the thing, or is this simply the route to the thing? Or maybe just a red herring?
Will the thing live outside this thing, or will it be part and parcel of the same thing?
Can this thing be the thing, and if so what kind of thing can it be?
Can I think the thing into being, or will the thing just be?
Can I be the king of thing, or just a fucking nothing?
Nothing can come from nothing, but a thing can come from another thing.
One thing leads to another.
Wouldn’t that be something?
The thing is the thing the thing is.
The thing is, the thing is the thing.
The thing is, what is the thing? Is this the thing, or is this simply the route to the thing? Or maybe just a red herring?
Will the thing live outside this thing, or will it be part and parcel of the same thing?
Can this thing be the thing, and if so what kind of thing can it be?
Can I think the thing into being, or will the thing just be?
Can I be the king of thing, or just a fucking nothing?
Nothing can come from nothing, but a thing can come from another thing.
One thing leads to another.
Wouldn’t that be something?
The thing is the thing the thing is.
The thing is, the thing is the thing.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Vanessa da Silva
As you will have gathered from the gig review, I'm an enormous fan of Tunng's artwork, especially the image on the left which has numerous animals embedded in it. Perfectly suits the Tunng aesthetic, bucolic, nostalgic, slightly sinister, and at the same time bursting with energy and form.
Well I have tracked down the artist responsible.
She is Vanessa da Silva, and her website is http://www.vanessadasilva.com - go check out her illustrations!
Gig Review - Tunng
Tunng. The Scala. 25/10/06
Who: Tunng – one of the most interesting bands in England right now.
What do they sound like: The Wicker Man soundtrack meets Múm with a touch of the Books thrown in for good measure. Bizarrely rated as one of the Jewish Chronicle’s upcoming bands of 2006 due to the presence of Becky “I’ve got a Bar Mitzvah to go to” Jacobs on vocals, but Tunng are very much a Klezmer free zone.
Another gig Robin? Yes, three in five days. Also my third slice (lashing?) of Tunng in under a year. I’m just a bit evangelical about them and keeping dragging people off to see them. But yes aural fatigue was setting in.
Don’t forget the review criteria can be found a few posts below this one.
1. Coolness of crowd: 6/10 – Not very. All a bit studenty. Disappointing lack of facial hair in the audience.
2. Bob quotient: 3/10 – Generally a bit lame in the ladies hair department.
3. Annoyment factor: 3/10 – Much loud talking in my vicinity about, inter alia, accountancy, upcoming exams and where shall we go to play pool. Much smoking of particularly smelly fags. I seem to have received some stick for this category, but then was delighted to pick up a flyer for the Luminaire (my favourite stand up gig venue in London after the Scala) and noticed it says at the bottom “if you like to talk when the bands are on you’re not welcome here”. Bravo!
4. Sound quality: 7/10 – bit fuzzy in the vocals.
5. Comfort: 5/10 – there are some alcoves to sit in, but then you can’t see anything and the sound is not so great. I guess because I have seen Tunng so often, I was less fussed than normal about securing a good spot, and consequently didn’t have a great view of the right hand part of the stage.
6. Sexytime: 6/10 – a touch of free hippy love in the air.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 10/10 – Tunng have it all. An electronics man wizzing off beats and samples and clicks and grunts. In truth he was a bit off his game/face, and mucked up some of his trigger points. A drummer with an array of obscure olde English percussive instruments, including what I believe is called a faggot. Plus drummer and Becky Jacobs both sported those little keyboard thingies with plastic tubes you put in your mouth.
Overall: 40/70 – perhaps a little low, but I think this reflects my theory that getting stuck in a noisy and unappreciative part of the crowd can really spoil one’s enjoyment. The gig was filmed for Channel 4 – I might review the “at home gig” if I can be bothered and compare the scores.
Optional categories
Merchandise: tremendous. Full range of cds for Tunng and supporting acts (who weren’t very good as it turned out). Tunng have the best range of T shirts of any band anywhere (see visuals below). Three different designs in multiple styles.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn’t there
Visuals: fantastic. Seemless integration of cover art, t shirts, visuals, website. I have tracked down the artist responsible and will be reporting to you separately about her.
Who: Tunng – one of the most interesting bands in England right now.
What do they sound like: The Wicker Man soundtrack meets Múm with a touch of the Books thrown in for good measure. Bizarrely rated as one of the Jewish Chronicle’s upcoming bands of 2006 due to the presence of Becky “I’ve got a Bar Mitzvah to go to” Jacobs on vocals, but Tunng are very much a Klezmer free zone.
Another gig Robin? Yes, three in five days. Also my third slice (lashing?) of Tunng in under a year. I’m just a bit evangelical about them and keeping dragging people off to see them. But yes aural fatigue was setting in.
Don’t forget the review criteria can be found a few posts below this one.
1. Coolness of crowd: 6/10 – Not very. All a bit studenty. Disappointing lack of facial hair in the audience.
2. Bob quotient: 3/10 – Generally a bit lame in the ladies hair department.
3. Annoyment factor: 3/10 – Much loud talking in my vicinity about, inter alia, accountancy, upcoming exams and where shall we go to play pool. Much smoking of particularly smelly fags. I seem to have received some stick for this category, but then was delighted to pick up a flyer for the Luminaire (my favourite stand up gig venue in London after the Scala) and noticed it says at the bottom “if you like to talk when the bands are on you’re not welcome here”. Bravo!
4. Sound quality: 7/10 – bit fuzzy in the vocals.
5. Comfort: 5/10 – there are some alcoves to sit in, but then you can’t see anything and the sound is not so great. I guess because I have seen Tunng so often, I was less fussed than normal about securing a good spot, and consequently didn’t have a great view of the right hand part of the stage.
6. Sexytime: 6/10 – a touch of free hippy love in the air.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 10/10 – Tunng have it all. An electronics man wizzing off beats and samples and clicks and grunts. In truth he was a bit off his game/face, and mucked up some of his trigger points. A drummer with an array of obscure olde English percussive instruments, including what I believe is called a faggot. Plus drummer and Becky Jacobs both sported those little keyboard thingies with plastic tubes you put in your mouth.
Overall: 40/70 – perhaps a little low, but I think this reflects my theory that getting stuck in a noisy and unappreciative part of the crowd can really spoil one’s enjoyment. The gig was filmed for Channel 4 – I might review the “at home gig” if I can be bothered and compare the scores.
Optional categories
Merchandise: tremendous. Full range of cds for Tunng and supporting acts (who weren’t very good as it turned out). Tunng have the best range of T shirts of any band anywhere (see visuals below). Three different designs in multiple styles.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn’t there
Visuals: fantastic. Seemless integration of cover art, t shirts, visuals, website. I have tracked down the artist responsible and will be reporting to you separately about her.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Thought for the day
Before you speak, ask yourself:
is it kind ?
is it necessary ?
is it true ?
does it improve on the silence ?
Shirdi Sai Baba 1856 - 1918
is it kind ?
is it necessary ?
is it true ?
does it improve on the silence ?
Shirdi Sai Baba 1856 - 1918
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Gig Review - J Spaceman
Acoustic Mainlines Tour - J Spaceman plays the music of Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized. QEH 23/10/06.
What? J Spaceman, aka Jason Pierce, in a kind of chamber pop meets gospel meets Unplugged melange. Mr Spaceman plus a man on electric piano, a string quartet, and 3 gospel singers.
1. Coolness of crowd: 6/10 - not very, nor was it particularly studenty or hairy. Just kind of normal I guess. But warm and supportive for the band.
2. Bob quotient: 4/10 - very poor, score would have been worse had it not been for a Regina Spektor look alike in a beret and curly ringlet combo picking up a few marks for general "nice hair".
3. Annoyment factor: 7/10 - an appreciative audience let down by consuming too much booze before the gig, leading to constant comings and going to the loo - not very sociable in a seated concert hall.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 - excellent, crystal clear.
5. Comfort: 7/10 - the seats at the QEH are fine, nicely padded, but just a little bit short, leading to extra strain on the hamstrings. Leg room aint great either.
6. Sexytime: 2/10 - songs about Jesus and death. Not really conducive.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 4/10 - none. Not even a drummer. Mr Spaceman did however sport this season's other essential accessory, a string quartet (this being the 4th string quartet I have seen in 3 gigs, and that's not including the full orchestra at the JCV gig).
Overall: 39/70. A poor score. But see below.
Merchandise: About 7 copies of the last Spiritualized album. A T shirt stall that only opened after the gig. But the T shirts were quite cool.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn't there. But there were plenting of people throughout the night going off for a Gruff, much to my annoyance (see above).
What have we learnt? Well, only the second gig since I established the marking system and my methodology is in doubt. I think the system is essentially sound, but there will be some exceptional occasions when it breaks down and this was one of them. On paper at least, there was much scope for cynicism. Another string quartet. Acoustic guitars and gospel singers. Songs mostly about Jesus and the death of loved ones and the battle with the devil. White boy rips gospel and sells it back to a 99.9% pissed up white atheist audience. Oh Happy Day. And yet. And yet. Though the ingredients are familiar, their combination here was unique. After all, the key to great cooking is good ingredients, correct assemblage and the right seasoning. The strings carried much of the tune, rising above being mere garnish. Does Spaceman believe all the Jesus stuff? Who knows, he doesn't say much, apart from "thanks" at the end. Let the music do the talking.
And yet...there was real beauty and power in the songs. Spaceman's virtuoso performance was intense and it was an evening that will linger long in the limbic system where memory lies.
Final thought - J Spaceman has taken rock n roll back to the very moment of its conception, when Robert Johnson stood at the crossroads wrestling with selling his soul to the devil in return for immortality. Spaceman has reimagined a different outcome to that struggle, one where Jesus wins, and the blues and rock n roll lie down with gospel and country.
What? J Spaceman, aka Jason Pierce, in a kind of chamber pop meets gospel meets Unplugged melange. Mr Spaceman plus a man on electric piano, a string quartet, and 3 gospel singers.
1. Coolness of crowd: 6/10 - not very, nor was it particularly studenty or hairy. Just kind of normal I guess. But warm and supportive for the band.
2. Bob quotient: 4/10 - very poor, score would have been worse had it not been for a Regina Spektor look alike in a beret and curly ringlet combo picking up a few marks for general "nice hair".
3. Annoyment factor: 7/10 - an appreciative audience let down by consuming too much booze before the gig, leading to constant comings and going to the loo - not very sociable in a seated concert hall.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 - excellent, crystal clear.
5. Comfort: 7/10 - the seats at the QEH are fine, nicely padded, but just a little bit short, leading to extra strain on the hamstrings. Leg room aint great either.
6. Sexytime: 2/10 - songs about Jesus and death. Not really conducive.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 4/10 - none. Not even a drummer. Mr Spaceman did however sport this season's other essential accessory, a string quartet (this being the 4th string quartet I have seen in 3 gigs, and that's not including the full orchestra at the JCV gig).
Overall: 39/70. A poor score. But see below.
Merchandise: About 7 copies of the last Spiritualized album. A T shirt stall that only opened after the gig. But the T shirts were quite cool.
Gruff Rhys?: He wasn't there. But there were plenting of people throughout the night going off for a Gruff, much to my annoyance (see above).
What have we learnt? Well, only the second gig since I established the marking system and my methodology is in doubt. I think the system is essentially sound, but there will be some exceptional occasions when it breaks down and this was one of them. On paper at least, there was much scope for cynicism. Another string quartet. Acoustic guitars and gospel singers. Songs mostly about Jesus and the death of loved ones and the battle with the devil. White boy rips gospel and sells it back to a 99.9% pissed up white atheist audience. Oh Happy Day. And yet. And yet. Though the ingredients are familiar, their combination here was unique. After all, the key to great cooking is good ingredients, correct assemblage and the right seasoning. The strings carried much of the tune, rising above being mere garnish. Does Spaceman believe all the Jesus stuff? Who knows, he doesn't say much, apart from "thanks" at the end. Let the music do the talking.
And yet...there was real beauty and power in the songs. Spaceman's virtuoso performance was intense and it was an evening that will linger long in the limbic system where memory lies.
Final thought - J Spaceman has taken rock n roll back to the very moment of its conception, when Robert Johnson stood at the crossroads wrestling with selling his soul to the devil in return for immortality. Spaceman has reimagined a different outcome to that struggle, one where Jesus wins, and the blues and rock n roll lie down with gospel and country.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Gig Review : Jean Claude Vannier.
Jean Claude Vannier : L’Enfant Assassins Des Mouches and Histoire de Melody Nelson – Barbican 21/10/2006.
What? First and probably only ever live rendition of two classic soundtrack albums made by JCV and Serge Gainsbourg in the early 1970s. Featuring full orchestra, choir, band, a child string quartet, special guest stars, and a boy on stage. Conducted by JCV.
1. Coolness of crowd: 7/10 – remarkably high. I could easily have worn the Agnes B Hat in this company, but I couldn’t risk it in the rain.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10 – particularly fine slinky shiny black bob next door but one to me.
3. Annoyment factor: 8/10 – the chap next to me (not Oli) was doing a head bop thing in an annoying way, and also seemed to be in some sort of a relationship with the girl with the slinky bob. Minor rustling behind me which stopped when the concert began.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 – lush and creamy.
5. Comfort: 8/10 - nice seats, perhaps a tad too springy. Because the stage was extended forward and we were in the front row, I was looking up a lot which led to slight neck stiffening.
6. Sexytime: 8/10 - it was very French.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 10/10 - this is what I’m talkin’ about. Bravo Michel Musseau. Instruments included electric whisk on hung sauté pans, sewing machine, coffee grinder, slamming door, and Monsieur Musseau marching in a box filled with gravel. All performed with a stern, uniquely French face, even when he nearly fell over during the marching part. Other sound effects performed by the rest of the orchestra included the chorus spraying aerosols, the whole orchestra waving white handkerchiefs, and a young boy lighting giant matches, tearing up pieces of paper, and shutting a giant pair of silver scissors.
Overall: 58/70 - a triumph.
Optional categories:
8. Merchandise: signed posters and a choice of two t shirts. Also a free booklet with lots of useful stuff, including lyrics in English and French. Not bad given this was a one off event. Picked up a T shirt bearing the imprint “l’enfant assassins des mouches” (literally ‘the child killers of the moustache’). Should confuse them on the promenade in Eilat.
9. Gruff Rhys factor: He was there. Singing in Breton. Other notables included a gloriously fucked Brigitte Fontaine, Jarvis “son of Joe” Cocker, Badly Sung Boy, Mick Harvey out of the Bad Seeds and Laetitia Sadier of Sterolab, who I thought looked very dirty (in a good way). The band included Vick Flick who did the original James Bond theme (dang de-dang dang, dang dang dang - dang dedang dang - that one) and Herbie Flowers who played the bass on Walk on the Wild Side.
What? First and probably only ever live rendition of two classic soundtrack albums made by JCV and Serge Gainsbourg in the early 1970s. Featuring full orchestra, choir, band, a child string quartet, special guest stars, and a boy on stage. Conducted by JCV.
1. Coolness of crowd: 7/10 – remarkably high. I could easily have worn the Agnes B Hat in this company, but I couldn’t risk it in the rain.
2. Bob quotient: 8/10 – particularly fine slinky shiny black bob next door but one to me.
3. Annoyment factor: 8/10 – the chap next to me (not Oli) was doing a head bop thing in an annoying way, and also seemed to be in some sort of a relationship with the girl with the slinky bob. Minor rustling behind me which stopped when the concert began.
4. Sound quality: 9/10 – lush and creamy.
5. Comfort: 8/10 - nice seats, perhaps a tad too springy. Because the stage was extended forward and we were in the front row, I was looking up a lot which led to slight neck stiffening.
6. Sexytime: 8/10 - it was very French.
7. Percussion / sound effect function: 10/10 - this is what I’m talkin’ about. Bravo Michel Musseau. Instruments included electric whisk on hung sauté pans, sewing machine, coffee grinder, slamming door, and Monsieur Musseau marching in a box filled with gravel. All performed with a stern, uniquely French face, even when he nearly fell over during the marching part. Other sound effects performed by the rest of the orchestra included the chorus spraying aerosols, the whole orchestra waving white handkerchiefs, and a young boy lighting giant matches, tearing up pieces of paper, and shutting a giant pair of silver scissors.
Overall: 58/70 - a triumph.
Optional categories:
8. Merchandise: signed posters and a choice of two t shirts. Also a free booklet with lots of useful stuff, including lyrics in English and French. Not bad given this was a one off event. Picked up a T shirt bearing the imprint “l’enfant assassins des mouches” (literally ‘the child killers of the moustache’). Should confuse them on the promenade in Eilat.
9. Gruff Rhys factor: He was there. Singing in Breton. Other notables included a gloriously fucked Brigitte Fontaine, Jarvis “son of Joe” Cocker, Badly Sung Boy, Mick Harvey out of the Bad Seeds and Laetitia Sadier of Sterolab, who I thought looked very dirty (in a good way). The band included Vick Flick who did the original James Bond theme (dang de-dang dang, dang dang dang - dang dedang dang - that one) and Herbie Flowers who played the bass on Walk on the Wild Side.
Gig Reviews - marking system
Having been to many gigs in recent months, I have devised a unique system for scoring/reviewing purposes.
In almost all cases, the quality of the performers and my interest in their music is a given; I have realised that what really affects my enjoyment of a gig, and elevates one to the status of supergig (CocoRosie at the Scala late last year) and another to that of a turkey (Stereolab at Koko a few months back) are factors to do with the venue and the crowd.
I have included one performance related category; the sound effects performer. Almost every great act I have seen in recent times has featured a table laden with bizarre items or unusual percussion instruments or some electronic sound production box, which greatly enhance the vibe, the depth of sound and the visual spectacle. If the percussionist can bring a touch or Tommy Cooper / Eric Morecambe to proceedings then so much the better.
The system is as follows:
1. Coolness of crowd.
2. Bob quotient – important enough to warrant a category of its own. Needless to say the more bebobbed girls, the better. I don't want to open up a whole Pandora's Box about hair colour, but without doubt when it comes to the bob, black is best. Similarly the sharpness of the cut, and the shape of the wearer's neck, are key ingredients.
3. Annoyment factor – coughing, rustling, camera activity, phone activity, generally annoying behaviour (sitting on the floor, talking rubbish, smoking, smelliness). In this category, marks are deducted for annoyance - 10/10 is a stress free evening, 0/10 is an evening at the Hampstead Theatre.
4. Sound quality.
5. Comfort.
6. Sexytime – an entirely subjective vibeometer reading.
7. Percussion / sound effect function.
I will also include a number of optional categories which may or not be appropriate on any given occasion. These will not bear a score for the sake of consistency. They might include:
8. Merchandise – its nice to take home a souvenir.
9 Gruff Rhys - any portmanteau concert at the Barbican where an obscure non- English language album is recreated for the first and only time would not be complete without a guest appearance from Super Furry Animals lead singer Gruff Rhys, preferably singing in a tongue other then Welsh or English (eg Portugese, as he did at the Tropicalia gig earlier this year). Also rhyming slang, as in “I’m bursting for a Gruff”. Not to be confused with Griff Rhys Jones.
In almost all cases, the quality of the performers and my interest in their music is a given; I have realised that what really affects my enjoyment of a gig, and elevates one to the status of supergig (CocoRosie at the Scala late last year) and another to that of a turkey (Stereolab at Koko a few months back) are factors to do with the venue and the crowd.
I have included one performance related category; the sound effects performer. Almost every great act I have seen in recent times has featured a table laden with bizarre items or unusual percussion instruments or some electronic sound production box, which greatly enhance the vibe, the depth of sound and the visual spectacle. If the percussionist can bring a touch or Tommy Cooper / Eric Morecambe to proceedings then so much the better.
The system is as follows:
1. Coolness of crowd.
2. Bob quotient – important enough to warrant a category of its own. Needless to say the more bebobbed girls, the better. I don't want to open up a whole Pandora's Box about hair colour, but without doubt when it comes to the bob, black is best. Similarly the sharpness of the cut, and the shape of the wearer's neck, are key ingredients.
3. Annoyment factor – coughing, rustling, camera activity, phone activity, generally annoying behaviour (sitting on the floor, talking rubbish, smoking, smelliness). In this category, marks are deducted for annoyance - 10/10 is a stress free evening, 0/10 is an evening at the Hampstead Theatre.
4. Sound quality.
5. Comfort.
6. Sexytime – an entirely subjective vibeometer reading.
7. Percussion / sound effect function.
I will also include a number of optional categories which may or not be appropriate on any given occasion. These will not bear a score for the sake of consistency. They might include:
8. Merchandise – its nice to take home a souvenir.
9 Gruff Rhys - any portmanteau concert at the Barbican where an obscure non- English language album is recreated for the first and only time would not be complete without a guest appearance from Super Furry Animals lead singer Gruff Rhys, preferably singing in a tongue other then Welsh or English (eg Portugese, as he did at the Tropicalia gig earlier this year). Also rhyming slang, as in “I’m bursting for a Gruff”. Not to be confused with Griff Rhys Jones.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Tubano Bop
Quite why over 10 million people have tuned in to see this vid of two Israeli (her left eye is lazy) girls dancing is a little beyond me, but at least it's nice to have some positivity for a change : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_CSo1gOd48
Personally the following clip does it for me much more : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIXs6Sh0DKs
Personally the following clip does it for me much more : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIXs6Sh0DKs
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Secret Squirrel
I'm sorry to have to report a major security breach.An intruder managed to evade tight security and make it all the way into the grounds of the Finchley Love Palace.
I mean what if the little fucker had had a gun?
A full investigation is under way.
Meanwhile here are stills taken from the FLP close circuit surveillance camera network.
I'm just a Chi Machine
After my pilates session, they kindly let me have a go on their latest gizmo, the Zen Chi Machine. It looks like a little cushion perched on top of an upside down washing up bowl – I found a picture on the net, but in the one I tried the leg supports were covered by the cushion. You lie on your back with your feet in the slots and the contraption then vibrates. Quite strongly. It feels a bit like when you give your duvet a good shake in the morning – here you are the duvet and the motion is lateral rather than vertical.
Anyway it was set to give me five minutes of shaking all over. When it stopped I was advised not to try moving for a bit. I felt a buzzy tingling on my skin over the whole of my body. My pilates instructor said something about my aura but I was astral travelling at the time and so unable to comprehend what she said.
I was certainly spaced out and feeling quite mellow and happy. My sinuses seemed particularly clear. The good feeling lasted all the way home and after dinner I fell into a deep sleep in front of the telly, although this might have been something to do with the tedium of the Chelsea – Barcelona game.
The science: – according to one website selling it, “the Zen Chi Machine is a unique non-impact exercise movement that stimulates venous and lymphatic return, as well as the digestive tract, all whilst lying down. Making it the easiest exercise routine. Just 15 minutes exercise a day will improve energy levels, body appearance and create an overwhelming sensation of well being.”
Chi of course is “life force energy” and as William Blake said (and something of a new motto for me) Energy is Delight.
Not sure I would buy one (at £150) but would certainly try it again.
17th October 2006.
I read in the newspaper that History Matters, a quango comprising a load of other quangos like English Heritage and the National Trust, were running a "blog in" at www.historymatters.org.uk, the intention being to collect as many blogs as possible for the day of 17th October 2006, which then would be stored at the British Library. Well I couldn't resist, and inspired partly by a nostalgia that has arisen from hours of fiddling about on my space tracking down artists I haven't heard of for years, and partly by a growing existential dispair at the world we live in, I decided to write a serious piece. Not like me I know, but it happens sometimes.
This is what I wrote:
"“We need to get the balance right between integration and multi-culturalism” said Prime Minister Tony Blair today. Multi-culturalism is the word du jour.
I remember when I first heard the phrase back in the 1980s. Actually what I first heard was “Multi-Kulti”, the name of an album by Jazz trumpeter Don Cherry. Back then multi-culturalism meant something completely different. It was all about sharing and exploring people’s identities, roots and culture. England was drab and grey in the 1970. To be young in the 1980s gave you the hope that the future would be better. Music, clubs, magazines, nightlife, food – everyone seemed to be exploring and mixing it up. Going to clubs like Dingwalls on a Sunday afternoon, you would see old white jazz beards mixing with sharp suited young black jazz dancers, united in a love of music. “Youth” culture was specialised – you chose your clubs, your clothes, your diet, according to which tribe you aspired to, but you were free to choose any you wanted, and to chop and change. In the late 1980s came the “acid house scene”. Again all sorts of unlikely people united in revelry. The music itself was an extraordinary hybrid; growing out of a US scene which was largely black and for the most part gay, it fused with the British working class “scally” culture of the terrace “casuals” to become something new, something for everyone, even for nice middle class educated white boys like me. That was multi-culturalism; a pick and mix and remix culture. Everyone getting along just fine. I’ll swap you some jerk chicken for a slice of kugel. It may seem superficial, but actually what makes us human more than food and music?
We thought we would grow up like this, and that our fundamental belief that everyone was equal, and that diversity was a good thing and a thing to be shared, would change the world.
Fast forward to 17th October 2006 and the world is a very different place and multi-culturalism has a very different meaning. In the age of spin, there is nothing that the media and politicians like better than to adopt slogans and phrases whose meaning is apparently indisputable, thereby avoiding any real discussion of the issue. But the words and phrases come ready loaded with emotion and prejudgment. “Weapons of Mass Destruction.” “Disproportionate.” “Islamic.” “Militant.” “Insurgent.” “Apartheid.” “George W Bush.” “Zionist.” They are designed to stifle debate and to hide underlying meaning; often you can best define their meaning by asking yourself what word the user is seeking to avoid using.
So today’s word is multi-culturalism. It is used to mean the opposite of integration, even its enemy. That it means nothing of the sort will not worry the media or the MPs. What they want it to mean is uni-culturalism, or isolationism, in the specific context of Muslims in Britain. But they will not say this. To use clear and specific language in this day and age is a dangerous and unfashionable thing."
Well, try as I may, the site just wouldn't accept my entry. I was well within the character count limit, but I reduced the piece to a single paragraph, took out contentious words like "Muslim" but still no joy. I tried different, how might I put it, more authentic identities, but still no joy. The speed of rejection was quite something. I began to suspect foul play. Some censorship bug or other.
Out of despair, I tried a different tact. I submitted this:
"Had a lazy day."
And it sailed through, no problem.
So there it is. That is my contribution to history. Had a lazy day.
If you want to post, you have until 1st November.
This is what I wrote:
"“We need to get the balance right between integration and multi-culturalism” said Prime Minister Tony Blair today. Multi-culturalism is the word du jour.
I remember when I first heard the phrase back in the 1980s. Actually what I first heard was “Multi-Kulti”, the name of an album by Jazz trumpeter Don Cherry. Back then multi-culturalism meant something completely different. It was all about sharing and exploring people’s identities, roots and culture. England was drab and grey in the 1970. To be young in the 1980s gave you the hope that the future would be better. Music, clubs, magazines, nightlife, food – everyone seemed to be exploring and mixing it up. Going to clubs like Dingwalls on a Sunday afternoon, you would see old white jazz beards mixing with sharp suited young black jazz dancers, united in a love of music. “Youth” culture was specialised – you chose your clubs, your clothes, your diet, according to which tribe you aspired to, but you were free to choose any you wanted, and to chop and change. In the late 1980s came the “acid house scene”. Again all sorts of unlikely people united in revelry. The music itself was an extraordinary hybrid; growing out of a US scene which was largely black and for the most part gay, it fused with the British working class “scally” culture of the terrace “casuals” to become something new, something for everyone, even for nice middle class educated white boys like me. That was multi-culturalism; a pick and mix and remix culture. Everyone getting along just fine. I’ll swap you some jerk chicken for a slice of kugel. It may seem superficial, but actually what makes us human more than food and music?
We thought we would grow up like this, and that our fundamental belief that everyone was equal, and that diversity was a good thing and a thing to be shared, would change the world.
Fast forward to 17th October 2006 and the world is a very different place and multi-culturalism has a very different meaning. In the age of spin, there is nothing that the media and politicians like better than to adopt slogans and phrases whose meaning is apparently indisputable, thereby avoiding any real discussion of the issue. But the words and phrases come ready loaded with emotion and prejudgment. “Weapons of Mass Destruction.” “Disproportionate.” “Islamic.” “Militant.” “Insurgent.” “Apartheid.” “George W Bush.” “Zionist.” They are designed to stifle debate and to hide underlying meaning; often you can best define their meaning by asking yourself what word the user is seeking to avoid using.
So today’s word is multi-culturalism. It is used to mean the opposite of integration, even its enemy. That it means nothing of the sort will not worry the media or the MPs. What they want it to mean is uni-culturalism, or isolationism, in the specific context of Muslims in Britain. But they will not say this. To use clear and specific language in this day and age is a dangerous and unfashionable thing."
Well, try as I may, the site just wouldn't accept my entry. I was well within the character count limit, but I reduced the piece to a single paragraph, took out contentious words like "Muslim" but still no joy. I tried different, how might I put it, more authentic identities, but still no joy. The speed of rejection was quite something. I began to suspect foul play. Some censorship bug or other.
Out of despair, I tried a different tact. I submitted this:
"Had a lazy day."
And it sailed through, no problem.
So there it is. That is my contribution to history. Had a lazy day.
If you want to post, you have until 1st November.
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