London Fields # 86
First published Inpress (Issue # 1055), Melbourne on 29 December 2010, and in a shortened version in Drum Media (Issue # 1041), Sydney on 28 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
2010 was a year was marked by enforced inactivity, from environmental factors stopping travel to musicians actively not playing to raise money for charity. There was an election without a winner, and the country seemed to be the loser. A year that began with slacktivism ended with riots on the streets and the threat of water cannons to control them. A temporary immigration cap was ruled as unlawful, and the spectre of swine flu appeared, was forgotten about and then returned with the Yuletide snows. The island nature of Britain was emphasised again and again, as it was isolated by weather conditions and volcanic eruptions. In the weeks of silent skies brought on by the Icelandic volcano, it seemed British sea power was the only way to get off this island, or get back to it. The flotilla of boats crossing the channel were portrayed as embodying the Dunkirk spirit, but the panic as crammed ferries departed leaving some stranded in France seemed more like the last days of Saigon.
Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg seemed to offer a third way, and won many student votes with promises not to introduce tuition fees for tertiary students. When these (and other) election promises evaporated at the first important vote, there was justifiable anger leading to a series of demonstrations and near riots in cities across the country. Austerity was the catchphrase, and the pre-election word hope was quickly replaced by despair. The recession continued, and Royal Mail was offered up for privatisation. The only bright spot seemed to be BBC 6Music being spared the axe.
The National reached a greater audience with High Violet, but are still waiting for that R.E.M. style breakthrough. Although their London shows were blighted with poor sound, Archie Bronson Outfit’s Coconut was a remarkable curveball, in many ways achieving what Grinderman’s latest failed to do. Exit Calm’s self-titled debut captured the power of their live shows, while Stephen Jones revived BabyBird and on Ex Maniac created some of the pithiest pop in years. Peter Gabriel’s covers album may have been uninspiring, but his live orchestral show in the cavernous O2 was a one of the live performances of the year for me, along with shows from Julian Cope at Brighton’s Komedia, and Get Well Soon at the Borderline. Although larger venues thrived, some great smaller venues (such as The Luminaire) were lost.
On television, Misfits won the BAFTA for best drama, and returned with a strong second series, but Vexed showed writer Howard Overman could also get things badly wrong. Crime drama was everywhere, with The Silence continuing the trend of strip programming across consecutive weeknights. Luther allowed Idris Elba a British starring vehicle after The Wire, while Thorne showed Sky could produce drama and Sherlock was over too soon. The BBC also continued their run of excellent biopics, but their strongest contributions seemed to be documentaries - from Matt Frei’s excellent Berlin, through BBC Four‘s Maps season, to Michael Cockerell’s fascinating The Great Offices of State. But best of all was Wonders of the Solar System, where former D:Ream keyboard player Professor Brian Cox won huge audiences, by bring physics and astronomy together in a fascinating, involving, understandable yet uncondescending way.
While some of the old favourites, like The IT Crowd and Peep Show, showed definite signs of wear, it was a great year for new comedy on TV. Getting On returned for its first full series, while Rev. and Whites both became definite weekly highlights. Stand-up played a big role, but The Steven K Amos Show felt like a ‘70s timewarp and was barely watchable, while with Lee Nelson’s Well Good Show Simon Brodkin showed how well a live studio audience can be used. Harry Hill’s TV Burp and Charlie Brooker’s Wipe shows also were essential viewing, and I had a soft-spot for Mongrels whose puppets allowed them to get away with jokes living performers never could.
2010 saw the final death throes of New Labour, a government no one voted for seizing power, and the phrase ‘The Troubles in Ireland’ take on new meaning. It was the year that the World Cup bid wasn’t won, but where English fans expressed their love of the game by booing their own players. A year when so called legal highs were outlawed, a London bike hire scheme begin, and George & Lynne stopped appearing in The Sun. It was the year that The Bill ended its run, a year that wanted to be over so quickly that 2011 coins were already in circulation by December. As I write, the Arctic freeze gripping the country looks set to continue until at least the middle of January. The future seems to hold huge redundancies, further unrest, an unstable economy and a royal wedding. This last may give those still in employment an extra day‘s holiday. Happy New Year!
© James McGalliard 2010
Inpress: Published on page 53
Drum: Published on page 51
Wednesday 29 December 2010
Wednesday 1 December 2010
Synchronicity
London Fields # 85
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
In these days of the so-called ‘firework career‘, it’s rewarding when good acts manage to survive, even when fame remains elusive and circumstances are difficult. During November I saw album launches from two of the three acts I marked for greatness in my end of year writers poll for 2006 (regrettably Model Morning never got that far). Back then I had a bet with Evi Vine that when her album came, it should be short listed for the Mercury Music Prize that year. But her band fragmented, years passed and when she joined supergroup The Eden House I feared that chances of this ever happening were remote. Meanwhile I Like Trains signed to Beggars Banquet and released a debut album, but then found themselves label-less in the merger of Beggars and 4AD. Four years later in some kind of synchronicity both Evi Vine and I Like Trains have self-funded the recording and release of albums without the use of traditional record companies.
It seems somewhat ironic that the London launch of He Who Saw The Deep, the second album from I Like Trains, is taking place during a strike by Tube drivers. The recording was financed via fan pledges, and this sort of dedication ensures that the gig is well attended in spite of the travel woes. When they take to the narrow stage of The 100 Club it’s immediately clear that something isn’t quite right - their drummer is missing! It transpires that Simon, who I’d seen earlier on the merch stand, has a broken leg, so Scott Hislop from Kyte is filling in. I Like Trains have always been much more than the sum of their parts - a clear example of the chemistry between the players creating something special. Even though Scott does a fine job, the show was noticeably affected by the change of those elements. So while the guitars chime clearly (augmented by Ian Jarrold of the late Redjetson), the bottom end never sounds quite right. If tonight isn’t quite their night, Hope Is Not Enough and lost b-side Victress and still shine, and it seems you may well be able to see this consistently great act for yourself soon as Japanese and Australian dates are pencilled in for 2011.
Rising rents mean that The 100 Club is yet another live venue threatened with closure. Only this week the owners of The Luminaire, without doubt the best live venue in London, announced it is closing in a month due to financial pressures. I last ran into Evi Vine at when I Like Trains played The Luminaire last year (and actually first met her in a queue to see them back in 2006). Eighteen months later her long-promised album is finished, but The Social seems a strange choice for her album launch as it’s more a club space than a live venue. Daunting would be the best description of having to begin a show just after This Mortal Coil’s cover of Song To The Siren has been played, yet Evi turns it into an opportunity by singing along with Liz Fraser’s landmark vocal as a microphone check. When the song ends and the band begin, the background chatter virtually disappears, and I’m quickly reminded of why this voice and these songs floored me four years ago.
Her debut album ...and so the morning comes is a very different beast to the one she might have recorded back in 2007, but some of the songs remain, albeit radically reworked. The original drummer Steven Hill is now on guitars and effects, and it’s wonderful to see all but one of that earlier line-up here in the audience to support her tonight. The live renditions are better than the album, the seeming simplicity and restraint of the stripped-back arrangements make the voice and song all, and sometimes I forget other musicians are on the stage until they chime in. She maps the human heart, sometimes living in the dark places while hoping for the light, at others seeming to finally find a happy place, if only for a fleeting moment. Evi herself is a mixture of fragility and strength; I’m reminded of a Prince Rupert's Drop - glass which can take a hammer blow, but can also shatter explosively. The hauntingly beautiful love song The Colours Of The Night becomes a persistent earworm for days afterwards, the harp here replaced by a picked guitar which actually feels purer. They finish with Time Flies, and the pent-up energy pours out in a dazzling climax - something very special indeed.
Perhaps it was in some way fitting that the release version of Evi’s album wasn’t actually ready on the night. Like the long-promised remasters of My Bloody Valentine, it seems to slip just a little further into the future, tantalisingly out of reach, untouchably desirable. When it does come, I just might keep a closer eye on the Mercury that year.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
In these days of the so-called ‘firework career‘, it’s rewarding when good acts manage to survive, even when fame remains elusive and circumstances are difficult. During November I saw album launches from two of the three acts I marked for greatness in my end of year writers poll for 2006 (regrettably Model Morning never got that far). Back then I had a bet with Evi Vine that when her album came, it should be short listed for the Mercury Music Prize that year. But her band fragmented, years passed and when she joined supergroup The Eden House I feared that chances of this ever happening were remote. Meanwhile I Like Trains signed to Beggars Banquet and released a debut album, but then found themselves label-less in the merger of Beggars and 4AD. Four years later in some kind of synchronicity both Evi Vine and I Like Trains have self-funded the recording and release of albums without the use of traditional record companies.
It seems somewhat ironic that the London launch of He Who Saw The Deep, the second album from I Like Trains, is taking place during a strike by Tube drivers. The recording was financed via fan pledges, and this sort of dedication ensures that the gig is well attended in spite of the travel woes. When they take to the narrow stage of The 100 Club it’s immediately clear that something isn’t quite right - their drummer is missing! It transpires that Simon, who I’d seen earlier on the merch stand, has a broken leg, so Scott Hislop from Kyte is filling in. I Like Trains have always been much more than the sum of their parts - a clear example of the chemistry between the players creating something special. Even though Scott does a fine job, the show was noticeably affected by the change of those elements. So while the guitars chime clearly (augmented by Ian Jarrold of the late Redjetson), the bottom end never sounds quite right. If tonight isn’t quite their night, Hope Is Not Enough and lost b-side Victress and still shine, and it seems you may well be able to see this consistently great act for yourself soon as Japanese and Australian dates are pencilled in for 2011.
Rising rents mean that The 100 Club is yet another live venue threatened with closure. Only this week the owners of The Luminaire, without doubt the best live venue in London, announced it is closing in a month due to financial pressures. I last ran into Evi Vine at when I Like Trains played The Luminaire last year (and actually first met her in a queue to see them back in 2006). Eighteen months later her long-promised album is finished, but The Social seems a strange choice for her album launch as it’s more a club space than a live venue. Daunting would be the best description of having to begin a show just after This Mortal Coil’s cover of Song To The Siren has been played, yet Evi turns it into an opportunity by singing along with Liz Fraser’s landmark vocal as a microphone check. When the song ends and the band begin, the background chatter virtually disappears, and I’m quickly reminded of why this voice and these songs floored me four years ago.
Her debut album ...and so the morning comes is a very different beast to the one she might have recorded back in 2007, but some of the songs remain, albeit radically reworked. The original drummer Steven Hill is now on guitars and effects, and it’s wonderful to see all but one of that earlier line-up here in the audience to support her tonight. The live renditions are better than the album, the seeming simplicity and restraint of the stripped-back arrangements make the voice and song all, and sometimes I forget other musicians are on the stage until they chime in. She maps the human heart, sometimes living in the dark places while hoping for the light, at others seeming to finally find a happy place, if only for a fleeting moment. Evi herself is a mixture of fragility and strength; I’m reminded of a Prince Rupert's Drop - glass which can take a hammer blow, but can also shatter explosively. The hauntingly beautiful love song The Colours Of The Night becomes a persistent earworm for days afterwards, the harp here replaced by a picked guitar which actually feels purer. They finish with Time Flies, and the pent-up energy pours out in a dazzling climax - something very special indeed.
Perhaps it was in some way fitting that the release version of Evi’s album wasn’t actually ready on the night. Like the long-promised remasters of My Bloody Valentine, it seems to slip just a little further into the future, tantalisingly out of reach, untouchably desirable. When it does come, I just might keep a closer eye on the Mercury that year.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 3 November 2010
Radio Silence
London Fields # 84
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 3 November 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
It could be argued that in most music, there is no silence (excepting pop songs with false endings). But like the holes of a Henry Moore sculpture, the absence of something can be as important as its presence, and it is the sale of that absence that has made news in the latest bizarre story relating to the British pop charts. UK Christmas number one singles often fall into simple categories – it used to be the novelty song or the seasonal song, but in the last few years a new category of the reality TV show winner has been added. This modern paradigm was subverted last year when, through the actions of a Facebook group, Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine became an unusual Yuletide chart topper, keeping The X-Factor winner from the top slot, and annoying Simon Cowell in the process. In an attempt to make such acts of defiance against The Man a new tradition, this year there are moves to keep talent show hopefuls at bay by promoting the idea of getting John Cage’s 1952 composition 4’33” to number one slot in 2010, once again through an orchestrated Facebook campaign.
Although sometimes derided as pretentious, Cage’s composition (which had an early working title of Silent Prayer) isn’t really 4’33” of silence, but rather 277 seconds of deliberately not making noise. It was a deliberate response to the rise of Muzak at the time of its composition, and was written in three movements (purportedly of 30″, 2′23″ and 1′40″ duration). In live performance, the inclusion of ambient sounds, be they shuffling audience members, or your own breathing or the sound of blood circulating around the body, are key to the experience. Cage Against The Machine (as it’s come to be known) currently has 45,000 followers on Facebook, and things were looking very promising - until a rival silent record was announced. The Royal British Legion hopes to raise funds for veterans of conflicts by releasing Two Minute Silence via iTunes next Sunday.
In the UK, the Armistice silence is still marked at eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, but the major ceremonies take place on the Cenotaph on Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday which is commemorated on the second Sunday each November. Here the beginning of the silent observance is marked by a cannon fired in Horse Guards and its end by the playing of the Last Post, followed by the laying of wreathes by The Queen and leaders of the main UK political parties. The video to accompany Two Minute Silence mirrors this, showing a parade of known faces, from David Tennant to David Cameron, via Thom Yorke staring solemnly (or perhaps balefully) into the camera. They hope it will help them to meet the £36m target they’ve set for this year’s appeal, and reach #1 on Remembrance Sunday.
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 3 November 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
It could be argued that in most music, there is no silence (excepting pop songs with false endings). But like the holes of a Henry Moore sculpture, the absence of something can be as important as its presence, and it is the sale of that absence that has made news in the latest bizarre story relating to the British pop charts. UK Christmas number one singles often fall into simple categories – it used to be the novelty song or the seasonal song, but in the last few years a new category of the reality TV show winner has been added. This modern paradigm was subverted last year when, through the actions of a Facebook group, Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine became an unusual Yuletide chart topper, keeping The X-Factor winner from the top slot, and annoying Simon Cowell in the process. In an attempt to make such acts of defiance against The Man a new tradition, this year there are moves to keep talent show hopefuls at bay by promoting the idea of getting John Cage’s 1952 composition 4’33” to number one slot in 2010, once again through an orchestrated Facebook campaign.
Although sometimes derided as pretentious, Cage’s composition (which had an early working title of Silent Prayer) isn’t really 4’33” of silence, but rather 277 seconds of deliberately not making noise. It was a deliberate response to the rise of Muzak at the time of its composition, and was written in three movements (purportedly of 30″, 2′23″ and 1′40″ duration). In live performance, the inclusion of ambient sounds, be they shuffling audience members, or your own breathing or the sound of blood circulating around the body, are key to the experience. Cage Against The Machine (as it’s come to be known) currently has 45,000 followers on Facebook, and things were looking very promising - until a rival silent record was announced. The Royal British Legion hopes to raise funds for veterans of conflicts by releasing Two Minute Silence via iTunes next Sunday.
In the UK, the Armistice silence is still marked at eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, but the major ceremonies take place on the Cenotaph on Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday which is commemorated on the second Sunday each November. Here the beginning of the silent observance is marked by a cannon fired in Horse Guards and its end by the playing of the Last Post, followed by the laying of wreathes by The Queen and leaders of the main UK political parties. The video to accompany Two Minute Silence mirrors this, showing a parade of known faces, from David Tennant to David Cameron, via Thom Yorke staring solemnly (or perhaps balefully) into the camera. They hope it will help them to meet the £36m target they’ve set for this year’s appeal, and reach #1 on Remembrance Sunday.
The Royal British Legion is undoubtedly a good cause, but will the mp3 buying public play this game twice in two months, even if it is for charity? In a strange homage to The X Factor, the ‘winning’ charity for proceeds from Cage Against The Machine will be selected by a public vote. As far as videos go, I preferred The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre’s tribute to the 4’33” campaign (which you can find on YouTube). If CATM does succeed, will it get any airplay? Radio stations have an automatic emergency cut-in if more than a prescribed amount of ‘dead air’ occurs. A live broadcast of a performance of the composition by the BBC Symphony Orchestra on BBC Radio 3 a few years back required special measures to be taken to prevent the stand-by system cutting in.
But as far as Christmas goes, it now seems there a new contender in the ring. Another Facebook group set up to challenge The X-Factor’s chart dominance is snowballing. This one is attempting to get Surfin’ Bird, a 1963 single by The Trashmen (as featured in an episode of Family Guy) to the coveted Christmas #1. The group has already amassed around 11,000 members at the time of writing and the support of BBC Radio 1 afternoon DJ Scott Mills. But, as with all such movements, the question as to whether any group members will actually buy the song is question it is another matter altogether. I can think of some records that would be better if silent – anything by the Kings Of Leon would be a good start. But personally, I hope both silent records manage to top the charts. Silence to remember the dead is profound - as Hamlet’s last words chillingly declare “The rest is silence”. But as far a Christmas goes, what could be more appropriate than a piece of music that is truly Silent Night?
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 6 October 2010
Last Orders
London Fields # 83
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 6 October 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 6 October 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
One of the most famous pubs in London, if not the whole of the UK, was gutted by fire the other week. Thankfully no-one was killed, but as this East End local is a household name, the story attracted substantial media coverage. Actually The Queen Vic is not a real pub at all, but the social hub of long-running BBC soap EastEnders. For writers, pubs are an easy reason to get very diverse groups of people together, and when alcohol is imbibed, tongues are loosened and emotions can run high. The Queen Vic fire was a convenient storyline to allow the BBC to replace the old sets with ones suitable for high definition filming (as well as a way to write out some characters).
Yet EastEnders is far removed from life; the fictional properties these impoverished souls inhabit would be worth near enough to a million quid in the real world, so most likely they’d have sold up and moved to a larger digs in Chingford or Essex, pocketing a nice bit of change in the process. While in EastEnders the pub will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and re-open in refurbished HD glory (whilst allowing new characters to run it), in the real world it would most likely be converted into a set of expensive flats, as has happened to many pubs near the real-life inspiration of the show’s Albert Square. A Clapton local which was run by two brothers (whom I’m sure were the inspiration for the show’s Mitchell Brothers) has been standing empty for some years. For while we’re being assailed by horror stories of Booze Britain and the terrible cost to health alcohol causes, the truth is that this vital part of British culture seems to be dying a slow death itself.
Yet EastEnders is far removed from life; the fictional properties these impoverished souls inhabit would be worth near enough to a million quid in the real world, so most likely they’d have sold up and moved to a larger digs in Chingford or Essex, pocketing a nice bit of change in the process. While in EastEnders the pub will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and re-open in refurbished HD glory (whilst allowing new characters to run it), in the real world it would most likely be converted into a set of expensive flats, as has happened to many pubs near the real-life inspiration of the show’s Albert Square. A Clapton local which was run by two brothers (whom I’m sure were the inspiration for the show’s Mitchell Brothers) has been standing empty for some years. For while we’re being assailed by horror stories of Booze Britain and the terrible cost to health alcohol causes, the truth is that this vital part of British culture seems to be dying a slow death itself.
Once I would give directions to people based on the pubs they’d pass on the way (left at the Dog & Duck and down the lane beside The Crooked Billet), but so many have vanished that this is becoming increasingly impossible. Many London bus routes have stops named after the pubs found there, but these are disappearing as well. The 76 still terminates at the same place, but the bus destination no longer reads Tottenham Swan as this infamous late-night institution is currently being converted into units. The 55 may end its journey at Bakers Arms (Leyton), but the pub itself recently became a betting shop. And while (The) Nag’s Head (Holloway) is still there, it has been painted black inside and renamed The Gaff - and become the London home of the stoner rock movement.
These thoughts were precipitated when a friend contacted me to say a November visit was on the cards and that I must take her to a good old English pub. This could be a problem; most pubs in the centre are atrocious, and one of my favourites (and the only real ‘pub’ left in Shoreditch) Owl & Pussycat has recently been gutted. The Stag’s Head (another favourite nearby) has been forced to close as their rent became too high to be viable. After some thought, the best one I could think of was in Reading, a commuter belt town in Berkshire some 40 miles west of London, and not really handy for a shifty half. It’s not just my local favourites that are calling final time - The British Beer and Pub Association (BBPA) has reported that up to five pubs close permanently each day, which is up to a third more than last year’s already disturbingly high figures. Outside London, it may be even worse; the definition of a village is pub, post office and church, and in the BBPA reported 893 village pubs have closed in the past year. Meanwhile, the remaining pubs have seen the sharpest year-on-year decline in alcohol consumption since 1948, a significant 13% less than in 2004.
Obviously there are numerous factors that have led to the current state of things. The smoking ban had an impact (although for many it made pubs accessible again), while the recession has made cheap supermarket booze an appealing alternative an expensive night out, and changes to London’s cultural make-up mean there are now more communities in which alcohol plays no part at all. Small independent pubs must find it hard to compete with larger chains in a market where low prices are ever more important. Now there’s talk of the new government making changes to the 2003 Licensing Act. Although it failed in its aims of a bringing European café society to the UK, it did bring sensible drinking laws to the UK, meaning you could finally get a beer after 11pm without being a member of a secret society. With further austerity measures still to come, the future of this great institution is not looking good. So the next time someone asks "What ya havin’?" I’ll be hoping it’s a pub to drink it in.
These thoughts were precipitated when a friend contacted me to say a November visit was on the cards and that I must take her to a good old English pub. This could be a problem; most pubs in the centre are atrocious, and one of my favourites (and the only real ‘pub’ left in Shoreditch) Owl & Pussycat has recently been gutted. The Stag’s Head (another favourite nearby) has been forced to close as their rent became too high to be viable. After some thought, the best one I could think of was in Reading, a commuter belt town in Berkshire some 40 miles west of London, and not really handy for a shifty half. It’s not just my local favourites that are calling final time - The British Beer and Pub Association (BBPA) has reported that up to five pubs close permanently each day, which is up to a third more than last year’s already disturbingly high figures. Outside London, it may be even worse; the definition of a village is pub, post office and church, and in the BBPA reported 893 village pubs have closed in the past year. Meanwhile, the remaining pubs have seen the sharpest year-on-year decline in alcohol consumption since 1948, a significant 13% less than in 2004.
Obviously there are numerous factors that have led to the current state of things. The smoking ban had an impact (although for many it made pubs accessible again), while the recession has made cheap supermarket booze an appealing alternative an expensive night out, and changes to London’s cultural make-up mean there are now more communities in which alcohol plays no part at all. Small independent pubs must find it hard to compete with larger chains in a market where low prices are ever more important. Now there’s talk of the new government making changes to the 2003 Licensing Act. Although it failed in its aims of a bringing European café society to the UK, it did bring sensible drinking laws to the UK, meaning you could finally get a beer after 11pm without being a member of a secret society. With further austerity measures still to come, the future of this great institution is not looking good. So the next time someone asks "What ya havin’?" I’ll be hoping it’s a pub to drink it in.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 8 September 2010
A Plug-In Called Nostalgia
London Fields # 82
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 September 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
One of the recurring conversation topics that seems to come up whenever we discuss music down the pub regards which bands we’d wished we had seen, but never did, and who we‘d like to reform. While there are various particular shows I regret missing, for me there’s really only one act in this category now - and that’s Joy Division. Lacking a time machine, this had led me down all sorts of strange paths. When they were filming the Ian Curtis biopic Control in Nottingham, I applied to be an extra for the gig scenes. The Gillian-free line-up of New Order reintroduced Joy Division as a regular part of their sets, and twice I saw them perform sets as Joy Division; firstly for John Peel, and then in Manchester for Andy Rourke’s inaugural Verses Cancer charity bash. Yet the closest I’ve felt to recapturing something gone forever came when Section 25, who had an early record produced by the Joy Division singer, included a blinding rendition of No Love Lost in their set.
Now Joy Division’s bass player Peter Hook has combined the current fad for playing albums in their entirety with nostalgia for what has passed. To commemorate the thirty years since singer Ian Curtis’s death, he’s formed a touring band to play Joy Division’s brilliant debut album Unknown Pleasures live in its entirety - and they arrive in Australia later this month. One of the things I admired when I saw his new band Freebass was the lack of reliance on any material from their former famous bands. While Barney and Stephen Morris still feature Joy Division songs in the encores of Bad Lieutenant shows, but this is a new thing altogether. Peter Hook & The Light do get some things right; a real drum kit gives a much more authentic sound than an electronic one, and the guitarist retains the simplicity of the original playing. Hooky is the only member of the band to have played on the original recording, and the live show could be called Twobass as Hooky’s son plays many of the basslines, leaving the original bassist to concentrate on singing. This isn’t a slavish recreation of the original though. As a front man Hook does overplay the raised fist, but perhaps the most controversial decision is the inclusion of former Happy Mondays vocalist Rowetta to sing some of the songs. While I didn’t mind her take on Insight, some of the lyrics on that album are born of a very male despair, something at odds with the image of her busting out of a denim mini-dress and boots.
Yet should one expect something that was created in a studio to be played at home to work as a live performance? This is the flaw of the concept, no matter which band attempts it. The versions they play fall between the sheen of Martin Hannett’s production, and the rougher versions they played as a live act. Yet Joy Division only played Candidate live on three occasions, so by the time Hooky reaches Australia he’ll have sung this song live more times than Ian Curtis ever did. Yet if the original act rarely included it (or I Remember Nothing) in live sets, should that be telling us something? While it was magical for me to hear these songs live just once, regardless of context or history, it seemed a great many people around me only really want to hear the singles. Thus the finale of Love Will Tear Us Apart sees the place erupt as the Vikings lead the way in a singalong which turns that melody into a football terrace anthem.
We seem surrounded by recreations of the recent past or shallow imitations of them. Hurts seem to have stolen their image wholesale from the artwork of No Sense Of Sin by The Lotus Eaters. While the newcomers are drenched in press coverage, there was virtually none when the two core members of The Lotus Eaters took their emotionally open songs on the road in stripped bare acoustic arrangements - just two guitars and vocals. While it lacked the power of the full band show the previous year, some songs held on remarkable well, and it was very sad to see such a poor turn out. This need to go and revisit the past seems to be becoming more and more prevalent. It’s like trying to create a perfect memory, or to find something lost, or even to pretend to be part of something that you never were. Maybe it’s time to say - enough! The Joy Division song that always meant the most to me was the desperate cry of New Dawn Fades. Yet, as sung by Rowetta, these words written by Ian Curtis seem to take on a whole new meaning: “Me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else”.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 September 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
One of the recurring conversation topics that seems to come up whenever we discuss music down the pub regards which bands we’d wished we had seen, but never did, and who we‘d like to reform. While there are various particular shows I regret missing, for me there’s really only one act in this category now - and that’s Joy Division. Lacking a time machine, this had led me down all sorts of strange paths. When they were filming the Ian Curtis biopic Control in Nottingham, I applied to be an extra for the gig scenes. The Gillian-free line-up of New Order reintroduced Joy Division as a regular part of their sets, and twice I saw them perform sets as Joy Division; firstly for John Peel, and then in Manchester for Andy Rourke’s inaugural Verses Cancer charity bash. Yet the closest I’ve felt to recapturing something gone forever came when Section 25, who had an early record produced by the Joy Division singer, included a blinding rendition of No Love Lost in their set.
Now Joy Division’s bass player Peter Hook has combined the current fad for playing albums in their entirety with nostalgia for what has passed. To commemorate the thirty years since singer Ian Curtis’s death, he’s formed a touring band to play Joy Division’s brilliant debut album Unknown Pleasures live in its entirety - and they arrive in Australia later this month. One of the things I admired when I saw his new band Freebass was the lack of reliance on any material from their former famous bands. While Barney and Stephen Morris still feature Joy Division songs in the encores of Bad Lieutenant shows, but this is a new thing altogether. Peter Hook & The Light do get some things right; a real drum kit gives a much more authentic sound than an electronic one, and the guitarist retains the simplicity of the original playing. Hooky is the only member of the band to have played on the original recording, and the live show could be called Twobass as Hooky’s son plays many of the basslines, leaving the original bassist to concentrate on singing. This isn’t a slavish recreation of the original though. As a front man Hook does overplay the raised fist, but perhaps the most controversial decision is the inclusion of former Happy Mondays vocalist Rowetta to sing some of the songs. While I didn’t mind her take on Insight, some of the lyrics on that album are born of a very male despair, something at odds with the image of her busting out of a denim mini-dress and boots.
Yet should one expect something that was created in a studio to be played at home to work as a live performance? This is the flaw of the concept, no matter which band attempts it. The versions they play fall between the sheen of Martin Hannett’s production, and the rougher versions they played as a live act. Yet Joy Division only played Candidate live on three occasions, so by the time Hooky reaches Australia he’ll have sung this song live more times than Ian Curtis ever did. Yet if the original act rarely included it (or I Remember Nothing) in live sets, should that be telling us something? While it was magical for me to hear these songs live just once, regardless of context or history, it seemed a great many people around me only really want to hear the singles. Thus the finale of Love Will Tear Us Apart sees the place erupt as the Vikings lead the way in a singalong which turns that melody into a football terrace anthem.
We seem surrounded by recreations of the recent past or shallow imitations of them. Hurts seem to have stolen their image wholesale from the artwork of No Sense Of Sin by The Lotus Eaters. While the newcomers are drenched in press coverage, there was virtually none when the two core members of The Lotus Eaters took their emotionally open songs on the road in stripped bare acoustic arrangements - just two guitars and vocals. While it lacked the power of the full band show the previous year, some songs held on remarkable well, and it was very sad to see such a poor turn out. This need to go and revisit the past seems to be becoming more and more prevalent. It’s like trying to create a perfect memory, or to find something lost, or even to pretend to be part of something that you never were. Maybe it’s time to say - enough! The Joy Division song that always meant the most to me was the desperate cry of New Dawn Fades. Yet, as sung by Rowetta, these words written by Ian Curtis seem to take on a whole new meaning: “Me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else”.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 11 August 2010
Life In A Day
London Fields # 81
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 August 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
The English midsummer marks the height of the festival season - each weekend events jostle for attention and audience. Yet over the past few years there’s been a new type of event gaining popularity - that of the day festival. Usually at this time of year you’d find me at the Truck Festival at Hill Farm, Steventon in Oxfordshire. 2010 marked its 13th year, and it’s hard to think of a better combination of music, atmosphere and good vibes as this event continues to offer. But circumstances made it impossible for me to get there this year, so as compensation I decided to check out some of these newer day events. While these give you a festival experience without stepping out too far from home or having to camp, the trouble with holding them in urban parks is the enforced sound restrictions If it’s loud enough for the punters inside the fences, it’s probably a nightmare of shuddering windows for nearby residents. Yet when you use more high-tech directional PAs, it does really restrict the area in which paying audience can experience good quality sound.
The first thing that greets me as I arrive at the dusty expanses of a very dry Shoreditch Park in Hackney is an enormous queue. This it turns out if for VIPs and those on the free list . As I’ve bought my ticket for the third Shoreditch 1234 Festival it turns out I can walk straight in - well almost. The security searches are vigorous, and apparently they’re under strict instructions not to allow any food or water entering the arena. In front of me a woman gets into an argument with them as they take exception to a small box of nuts in her handbag. Her friend diffuses a rapidly escalating situation by taking them herself and tipping them into the bin. Nearby someone says they have special food with them due to a gluten intolerance - they’re told they have to eat it now or toss it. God help a diabetic carrying an emergency Mars bar. Inside are three tent stages, and one main outdoor one. Some of the acts I catch during the day include S.C.U.M, Dum Dum Girls, Vivian Girls, Rolo Tomassi, and Bobby Gillespie’s new covers supergroup The Silver Machine. Later I wait fruitlessly for These New Puritans to fix a catastrophic equipment failure which sees everything seize after a single song; it is in vain. But the real reason I’m here is to catch the only London performance of Peter Hook’s take on Unknown Pleasures. On the whole it’s better than you’d think it might be, although Hooky’s air punching gets a bit tiresome, and it is weird that his son who plays the iconic bassline to She’s Lost Control.
You’d be hard pushed to find a more corporately branded event than Ben & Jerry’s Sundae On The Common, yet the way it is done doesn‘t make it feel too much of an imposition. Like the end of an episode of Sesame Street, it‘s continually drummed in that today was bought to you by Fair Trade and a multinational company which loves the planet. This is the sixth year of Sundae and my third visit and while ticket prices may have nearly doubled in the last two years, at around £17 they’re still very reasonably priced. You couldn’t get an atmosphere less like the 1234 Festival After yesterday’s experience I have nothing with me; of course today anything is allowed other than drugs, glass and alcohol. It’s is genuinely a family-friendly event, and early in the day the bands tend to be seen as a mild distraction - the real attraction is the free ice cream.
Although officially opening the day, Barnsley’s Exit Calm are my main draw card and they play a headline-worthy set. Rob Marshall’s anthemic guitar lines are loud and clear whilst singer Nicky Smith paces up and down like a caged tiger, seemingly ready to explode into violence at any moment. Simon Lindley’s fluid bass and Scott Pemberton’s tight stick work complete the sound and it’s really damn impressive. When an act can hold a stage with such well-informed self-belief, it won’t be long before they’re topping the bill at events larger than this. Later in the day Frightened Rabbit explain that even though this is a family event if they only chose numbers with G-rated lyrics they’d be down to a two song set. So it’s business as usual - thankfully. Billy Bragg doesn’t have his hands down the front of his trousers but his undies on the outside of his jeans - for Pants For Poverty. His set includes a sublime rendition of Must I Paint You A Picture? as its subject used to live on the other side of the Common. doves close the day, and this is their penultimate set before going on a long hiatus. It all feels a little tired, and only on Kingdom Of Rust do I see again the band I used to love so much.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 August 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
The English midsummer marks the height of the festival season - each weekend events jostle for attention and audience. Yet over the past few years there’s been a new type of event gaining popularity - that of the day festival. Usually at this time of year you’d find me at the Truck Festival at Hill Farm, Steventon in Oxfordshire. 2010 marked its 13th year, and it’s hard to think of a better combination of music, atmosphere and good vibes as this event continues to offer. But circumstances made it impossible for me to get there this year, so as compensation I decided to check out some of these newer day events. While these give you a festival experience without stepping out too far from home or having to camp, the trouble with holding them in urban parks is the enforced sound restrictions If it’s loud enough for the punters inside the fences, it’s probably a nightmare of shuddering windows for nearby residents. Yet when you use more high-tech directional PAs, it does really restrict the area in which paying audience can experience good quality sound.
The first thing that greets me as I arrive at the dusty expanses of a very dry Shoreditch Park in Hackney is an enormous queue. This it turns out if for VIPs and those on the free list . As I’ve bought my ticket for the third Shoreditch 1234 Festival it turns out I can walk straight in - well almost. The security searches are vigorous, and apparently they’re under strict instructions not to allow any food or water entering the arena. In front of me a woman gets into an argument with them as they take exception to a small box of nuts in her handbag. Her friend diffuses a rapidly escalating situation by taking them herself and tipping them into the bin. Nearby someone says they have special food with them due to a gluten intolerance - they’re told they have to eat it now or toss it. God help a diabetic carrying an emergency Mars bar. Inside are three tent stages, and one main outdoor one. Some of the acts I catch during the day include S.C.U.M, Dum Dum Girls, Vivian Girls, Rolo Tomassi, and Bobby Gillespie’s new covers supergroup The Silver Machine. Later I wait fruitlessly for These New Puritans to fix a catastrophic equipment failure which sees everything seize after a single song; it is in vain. But the real reason I’m here is to catch the only London performance of Peter Hook’s take on Unknown Pleasures. On the whole it’s better than you’d think it might be, although Hooky’s air punching gets a bit tiresome, and it is weird that his son who plays the iconic bassline to She’s Lost Control.
You’d be hard pushed to find a more corporately branded event than Ben & Jerry’s Sundae On The Common, yet the way it is done doesn‘t make it feel too much of an imposition. Like the end of an episode of Sesame Street, it‘s continually drummed in that today was bought to you by Fair Trade and a multinational company which loves the planet. This is the sixth year of Sundae and my third visit and while ticket prices may have nearly doubled in the last two years, at around £17 they’re still very reasonably priced. You couldn’t get an atmosphere less like the 1234 Festival After yesterday’s experience I have nothing with me; of course today anything is allowed other than drugs, glass and alcohol. It’s is genuinely a family-friendly event, and early in the day the bands tend to be seen as a mild distraction - the real attraction is the free ice cream.
Although officially opening the day, Barnsley’s Exit Calm are my main draw card and they play a headline-worthy set. Rob Marshall’s anthemic guitar lines are loud and clear whilst singer Nicky Smith paces up and down like a caged tiger, seemingly ready to explode into violence at any moment. Simon Lindley’s fluid bass and Scott Pemberton’s tight stick work complete the sound and it’s really damn impressive. When an act can hold a stage with such well-informed self-belief, it won’t be long before they’re topping the bill at events larger than this. Later in the day Frightened Rabbit explain that even though this is a family event if they only chose numbers with G-rated lyrics they’d be down to a two song set. So it’s business as usual - thankfully. Billy Bragg doesn’t have his hands down the front of his trousers but his undies on the outside of his jeans - for Pants For Poverty. His set includes a sublime rendition of Must I Paint You A Picture? as its subject used to live on the other side of the Common. doves close the day, and this is their penultimate set before going on a long hiatus. It all feels a little tired, and only on Kingdom Of Rust do I see again the band I used to love so much.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 14 July 2010
In This Moment
London Fields # 80
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 14 July 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as migrating birds have their annual cycles, so do comedians - mainly based around the annual pilgrimage to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival each August. As that month now looms into view, comics up and down the land are immersing themselves in the ritual dance of writing, panicking and trying out new material that will (hopefully) sustain them for the three weeks of festival and most of the nine months following, before the whole cycle begins again in earnest. On seemingly every night now there’s many an act doing open rehearsals or warm-up performances. These can vary from late starters whose sets are primarily last year’s show with perhaps an additional ten minutes of new material awkwardly inserted, to those that have entirely new shows although these may fall quite short (in either length or quality) at the moment.
Daniel Kitson fell into the latter of these categories (length not quality) when I caught a very early run through of his 2010 theatre show It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later last week. Run was really an appropriate word here, as it is a work in progress, and the cohesive part of what he’s written to date takes him about 17 minutes to read, although he did tackle sections of it with breathless speed. Like last year’s wonderful The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church, it’s a story piece and is also going to premiere at the Traverse Theatre. Via a series of interrelated vignettes it illustrates the unrelated lives of William Rivington and Caroline Carpenter; their stories will eventually intersect, but only the once. Even at this early stage, it has moments of great depth and emotion, and it’s hard not be in in awe of some of Kitson’s turns of phrase. While these make me wish he’d go and write a novel, that perhaps would deprive us of the chance to hear the way he weaves these diverse threads into a greater whole. Whereas Gregory Church (which he later tells me he will be touring in Australia next year) showed that events that seem minor at the time may go on to have greater significance, the new piece is a step forward wherein Kitson is purely a narrator, and the breadth is to depict two entire lives. At the moment it’s really just an outline, yet like its predecessor it’s clear that capturing even the simplest of moments can be the sometimes be an important part of a genuinely lived life.
The following day I head down to Brighton to see The National, as it’s my only chance to see them in a reasonably-sized venue this year. Checking the stage times for the evening, I run in ¾ of The Veils outside the venue, who have also ventured seawards for the gig. Soph gives me a huge hug, and Finn tells me that he’s been busy writing and that they’re heading into the studios this week to record an EP of new material. Eschewing the support act, I take advantage of the beautiful evening and savour a quiet moment, sitting in a beachside bar slowly sipping an ice cold pint as I watch the sea while the world passes by. For years I’ve loved The National on record but for me they have always seemed to somehow fall short as live performers. The musicianship is there, as are the songs, but it always has felt as though something was missing. Yet tonight, with an extended line-up of two horn players, and the ever-present (and irreplaceable) Padma Newsome on keyboards and strings, they come close to bridging that gap. It’s wonderful to see the recognition they now have; what were once mere lyrics becoming crowd anthems, while frontman Matt Berninger seems to have peeled away his restraint, actually hurling himself into the crowd at one point. Tonight’s highlights are the slower numbers, the best being a sublime version of England, the accompanying horns just perfectly undercutting the song’s triumphant swell.
Afterwards, when the journey homewards takes more than three hours, the train delayed by a suicide on the line, I again think of Kitson’s idea of the importance of moments. These could be as simple as the touch of another person or the wonder that is that repeated lyric from Slow Show. After all, it is in fleeting moments that all life resides.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 14 July 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as migrating birds have their annual cycles, so do comedians - mainly based around the annual pilgrimage to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival each August. As that month now looms into view, comics up and down the land are immersing themselves in the ritual dance of writing, panicking and trying out new material that will (hopefully) sustain them for the three weeks of festival and most of the nine months following, before the whole cycle begins again in earnest. On seemingly every night now there’s many an act doing open rehearsals or warm-up performances. These can vary from late starters whose sets are primarily last year’s show with perhaps an additional ten minutes of new material awkwardly inserted, to those that have entirely new shows although these may fall quite short (in either length or quality) at the moment.
Daniel Kitson fell into the latter of these categories (length not quality) when I caught a very early run through of his 2010 theatre show It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later last week. Run was really an appropriate word here, as it is a work in progress, and the cohesive part of what he’s written to date takes him about 17 minutes to read, although he did tackle sections of it with breathless speed. Like last year’s wonderful The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church, it’s a story piece and is also going to premiere at the Traverse Theatre. Via a series of interrelated vignettes it illustrates the unrelated lives of William Rivington and Caroline Carpenter; their stories will eventually intersect, but only the once. Even at this early stage, it has moments of great depth and emotion, and it’s hard not be in in awe of some of Kitson’s turns of phrase. While these make me wish he’d go and write a novel, that perhaps would deprive us of the chance to hear the way he weaves these diverse threads into a greater whole. Whereas Gregory Church (which he later tells me he will be touring in Australia next year) showed that events that seem minor at the time may go on to have greater significance, the new piece is a step forward wherein Kitson is purely a narrator, and the breadth is to depict two entire lives. At the moment it’s really just an outline, yet like its predecessor it’s clear that capturing even the simplest of moments can be the sometimes be an important part of a genuinely lived life.
The following day I head down to Brighton to see The National, as it’s my only chance to see them in a reasonably-sized venue this year. Checking the stage times for the evening, I run in ¾ of The Veils outside the venue, who have also ventured seawards for the gig. Soph gives me a huge hug, and Finn tells me that he’s been busy writing and that they’re heading into the studios this week to record an EP of new material. Eschewing the support act, I take advantage of the beautiful evening and savour a quiet moment, sitting in a beachside bar slowly sipping an ice cold pint as I watch the sea while the world passes by. For years I’ve loved The National on record but for me they have always seemed to somehow fall short as live performers. The musicianship is there, as are the songs, but it always has felt as though something was missing. Yet tonight, with an extended line-up of two horn players, and the ever-present (and irreplaceable) Padma Newsome on keyboards and strings, they come close to bridging that gap. It’s wonderful to see the recognition they now have; what were once mere lyrics becoming crowd anthems, while frontman Matt Berninger seems to have peeled away his restraint, actually hurling himself into the crowd at one point. Tonight’s highlights are the slower numbers, the best being a sublime version of England, the accompanying horns just perfectly undercutting the song’s triumphant swell.
Afterwards, when the journey homewards takes more than three hours, the train delayed by a suicide on the line, I again think of Kitson’s idea of the importance of moments. These could be as simple as the touch of another person or the wonder that is that repeated lyric from Slow Show. After all, it is in fleeting moments that all life resides.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 16 June 2010
Tales Of A City
London Fields # 79
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 June 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as it’s easy to sometimes loathe where you live, dreaming of other far away or remembered places, sometimes events conspire to deflate fantasies of an imagined life elsewhere by providing experiences that couldn’t be found elsewhere. At times like this you find yourself tearing up those mental lists of reasons to be or not to be here and just revel in your time. Recently I’ve looked enviously at Melbourne shows by The Chills (compensated by seeing The Clean here), the closure and rebirth of The Tote and commemorations of The Seaview Ballroom.
But when you’re standing in a 350 capacity club, and Peter Hook is playing his six string Shergold less than ten feet in front of you, and Mani is a few feet further away playing the lower baselines, you just know that this is something you’d be unlikely to experience in the confines of the Northcote Social Club. For this is Manchester supergroup Freebass playing only their second proper gig. Andy Rourke is sadly absent, and Hooky is the centre of a fine night‘s entertainment, one which may recall the past, but is also entirely of the present, the band not relying on any of its member’s huge back catalogues to get by. It’s a performance free of frills, and watching it I’m reminded of the difference to seeing another new buzz Manchester band this year - Hurts, who had everything right as far as looks and staging, but had forgotten the need for songs.
Two nights later comedian Stewart Lee is playing a free show in a woefully ill-equipped pub on the edges of Shoreditch. The circumstances see him abandon his plans to test new material, and instead he improvises around some themes from his 2009 Edinburgh show. That night, his thoughts on leaving London for the country or places further afield struck a certain resonance with me. Escaping the confines of the Hobby Horse for a calmer locale, a wander down Orsman Road ends at The Stag’s Head. But I’m soon drawn into the band area where I witness an extraordinary bass groove that loops hypnotically for the next fifteen minutes. This it turns out is the single launch of Chips For The Poor and I leave happily clutching their new 7” clear vinyl and a free bonus CD of the full version.
Between these two nights I’m in Brighton to witness Julian Cope turn in a virtuoso solo performance. After sitting on that strange cobbled beach (nothing stranger than the sound of waves rolling over pebbles), I head off to the Komedia. While he can tend to be a little erratic, somehow on this barmy Brighton evening it all came together brilliantly, nearly leading to me missing the last train back to London. He’s a fabulous raconteur, and extremely funny, interspersing songs with thoughts arising from research into his next book (Lives Of The Prophets), weird Japanese lyrical translations, and tales of his 50th birthday acid trip. He chooses a wonderful selection of songs and his voice and playing are pristine while simultaneous displaying a lived-in wear of love. His acerbic wit remains and his comments that The Teardrop Explodes were consistent at being not very good makes his non-appearance a few days later to collect an award from Mojo in their honour not unsurprising.
With shows this month by Gang Of Four, James, Brendan Perry, The Lotus Eaters and Marc Almond, you do sometimes wonder what decade this is. But other than a visit in May 1982 with a disintegrating The Teardrop Explodes, when has Julian Cope visited Australia? Where else but London would you see John Foxx reunited with guitarist Robin Simon to perform songs from the landmark Systems Of Romance album? Or experience the preternatural stillness of the streets during an England World Cup game? And while Daniel Kitson may seem to spend more time in Australia than he does here, never would his former landlord and enemy turn up at the end of an Australian performance of 66a Church Road as happened here last Sunday.
As I reflect on all this heading home on one of the last remaining bendy buses , I think that despite all the fears for a bleak future forecast by the new Liberal Con coalition, it’s worth enduring life here for the things that couldn’t happen anywhere else. But as Daniel Kitson’s landlord said, there are two sides to every story.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 June 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as it’s easy to sometimes loathe where you live, dreaming of other far away or remembered places, sometimes events conspire to deflate fantasies of an imagined life elsewhere by providing experiences that couldn’t be found elsewhere. At times like this you find yourself tearing up those mental lists of reasons to be or not to be here and just revel in your time. Recently I’ve looked enviously at Melbourne shows by The Chills (compensated by seeing The Clean here), the closure and rebirth of The Tote and commemorations of The Seaview Ballroom.
But when you’re standing in a 350 capacity club, and Peter Hook is playing his six string Shergold less than ten feet in front of you, and Mani is a few feet further away playing the lower baselines, you just know that this is something you’d be unlikely to experience in the confines of the Northcote Social Club. For this is Manchester supergroup Freebass playing only their second proper gig. Andy Rourke is sadly absent, and Hooky is the centre of a fine night‘s entertainment, one which may recall the past, but is also entirely of the present, the band not relying on any of its member’s huge back catalogues to get by. It’s a performance free of frills, and watching it I’m reminded of the difference to seeing another new buzz Manchester band this year - Hurts, who had everything right as far as looks and staging, but had forgotten the need for songs.
Two nights later comedian Stewart Lee is playing a free show in a woefully ill-equipped pub on the edges of Shoreditch. The circumstances see him abandon his plans to test new material, and instead he improvises around some themes from his 2009 Edinburgh show. That night, his thoughts on leaving London for the country or places further afield struck a certain resonance with me. Escaping the confines of the Hobby Horse for a calmer locale, a wander down Orsman Road ends at The Stag’s Head. But I’m soon drawn into the band area where I witness an extraordinary bass groove that loops hypnotically for the next fifteen minutes. This it turns out is the single launch of Chips For The Poor and I leave happily clutching their new 7” clear vinyl and a free bonus CD of the full version.
Between these two nights I’m in Brighton to witness Julian Cope turn in a virtuoso solo performance. After sitting on that strange cobbled beach (nothing stranger than the sound of waves rolling over pebbles), I head off to the Komedia. While he can tend to be a little erratic, somehow on this barmy Brighton evening it all came together brilliantly, nearly leading to me missing the last train back to London. He’s a fabulous raconteur, and extremely funny, interspersing songs with thoughts arising from research into his next book (Lives Of The Prophets), weird Japanese lyrical translations, and tales of his 50th birthday acid trip. He chooses a wonderful selection of songs and his voice and playing are pristine while simultaneous displaying a lived-in wear of love. His acerbic wit remains and his comments that The Teardrop Explodes were consistent at being not very good makes his non-appearance a few days later to collect an award from Mojo in their honour not unsurprising.
With shows this month by Gang Of Four, James, Brendan Perry, The Lotus Eaters and Marc Almond, you do sometimes wonder what decade this is. But other than a visit in May 1982 with a disintegrating The Teardrop Explodes, when has Julian Cope visited Australia? Where else but London would you see John Foxx reunited with guitarist Robin Simon to perform songs from the landmark Systems Of Romance album? Or experience the preternatural stillness of the streets during an England World Cup game? And while Daniel Kitson may seem to spend more time in Australia than he does here, never would his former landlord and enemy turn up at the end of an Australian performance of 66a Church Road as happened here last Sunday.
As I reflect on all this heading home on one of the last remaining bendy buses , I think that despite all the fears for a bleak future forecast by the new Liberal Con coalition, it’s worth enduring life here for the things that couldn’t happen anywhere else. But as Daniel Kitson’s landlord said, there are two sides to every story.
© James McGalliard 2010
Saturday 15 May 2010
Electioneering
London Fields # 78
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 May 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Watching the media coverage of the recent UK General Election, I was reminded of a 1970’s student film called (something like) ”Fraser Opens Monash Toilets“ (although I couldn‘t find reference to it on Google). Anyway, the film in question features reportage from the front line of a student protest against Malcolm Fraser’s campus visit - the violent camera shakes indicating a thronging mass seemingly on the verge of riot. That is until you see the long shot which shows that all the fracas and pushing is actually the TV cameramen jostling each other to make it appear as though they were at the centre of a mêlée. Certainly I’ve never seen an election where the depiction of the situation varied so dramatically depending on the source which was providing the information.
Electoral reform had been a major issue throughout the campaigns and the end results seemed to make the need for an overhaul of the current system even clearer. As the saga unfolded, everything else became muddier; an election with no clear winner, talk of minority governments, rainbow coalitions, and possible stalemates which would lead to another election. There was much that made it feel like a US Presidential election, with leaders rather than parties being the focus, and three live 90 minute televised debates between these three leaders (of the main English parties, much to the annoyance of Welsh and Scottish parties who were not offered a part). Catchphrases from the Obama campaign crept in as well, and on the election day itself, The Sun featured a reworking Shepard Fairey’s iconic poster as its cover with Obama replaced by an image of David Cameron.
Yet there was no landmark victory. With no clear winner, Gordon Brown remained as Prime Minister, while the only clear losers were the British National Party who were comprehensively trounced in their attempt to gain a seat in Barking, and in the local elections for Barking and Dagenham Council, all 12 BNP councillors lost their seats. The only decisive victory came in Brighton, where the Green Party won their first ever seat. In London, Labour actually did well - my seat recorded a swing of over 5% swing in their favour, and they gained control of eight more councils in the local elections. After five days and much horse bartering, Brown resigned and a coalition government was formed between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats. And while it seemed that the nation as a whole has been more politicised by the live debates and ongoing saga of the hung parliament, it didn’t stop a large number of viewers contacting the BBC to complain that they had bumped popular soaps EastEnders and Holby City off their schedules to show these historic events live. The next morning saw The Sun relegate it Page Three girl to page 15 (well it had lots of photos of other types of tit to put on the preceding pages).
Amongst all the mess, one thing remains abundantly clear: no one got the government for which they had voted. Perhaps this will be a good thing? Certainly the scrapping of the ID card seems to be a good start, but I fear for the future of the BBC, and worry about the changes in the no confidence rules tied into the new fixed five year parliamentary terms. The other certainty is that the mother of all parliaments is desperately in need of renovation. This last election saw the largest voter turnout since the Blair Labour government came to power, but still only 65.1% of those on the roll bothered to make their voices heard (although in a travesty of democratic process, some hundreds of voters were left unable to vote due to understaffed polling stations). The UK system of first past the post even lead to a council seat being decided on a coin toss as both candidates had received exactly the same number of votes. It seems likely that there will be a move to Alternative Vote (like the Australian preferential vote) with other possibilities of reform (proportional representation) going to committee and perhaps referendum, and an elected upper house even further away. The Liberal Democrats offered themselves to the voting public as an alternative to the two major parties, and now find themselves actively aligned in government with one of them. Only time will tell if those who voted for them this time around may find themselves humming The Who‘s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in 2015.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 May 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Watching the media coverage of the recent UK General Election, I was reminded of a 1970’s student film called (something like) ”Fraser Opens Monash Toilets“ (although I couldn‘t find reference to it on Google). Anyway, the film in question features reportage from the front line of a student protest against Malcolm Fraser’s campus visit - the violent camera shakes indicating a thronging mass seemingly on the verge of riot. That is until you see the long shot which shows that all the fracas and pushing is actually the TV cameramen jostling each other to make it appear as though they were at the centre of a mêlée. Certainly I’ve never seen an election where the depiction of the situation varied so dramatically depending on the source which was providing the information.
Electoral reform had been a major issue throughout the campaigns and the end results seemed to make the need for an overhaul of the current system even clearer. As the saga unfolded, everything else became muddier; an election with no clear winner, talk of minority governments, rainbow coalitions, and possible stalemates which would lead to another election. There was much that made it feel like a US Presidential election, with leaders rather than parties being the focus, and three live 90 minute televised debates between these three leaders (of the main English parties, much to the annoyance of Welsh and Scottish parties who were not offered a part). Catchphrases from the Obama campaign crept in as well, and on the election day itself, The Sun featured a reworking Shepard Fairey’s iconic poster as its cover with Obama replaced by an image of David Cameron.
Yet there was no landmark victory. With no clear winner, Gordon Brown remained as Prime Minister, while the only clear losers were the British National Party who were comprehensively trounced in their attempt to gain a seat in Barking, and in the local elections for Barking and Dagenham Council, all 12 BNP councillors lost their seats. The only decisive victory came in Brighton, where the Green Party won their first ever seat. In London, Labour actually did well - my seat recorded a swing of over 5% swing in their favour, and they gained control of eight more councils in the local elections. After five days and much horse bartering, Brown resigned and a coalition government was formed between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats. And while it seemed that the nation as a whole has been more politicised by the live debates and ongoing saga of the hung parliament, it didn’t stop a large number of viewers contacting the BBC to complain that they had bumped popular soaps EastEnders and Holby City off their schedules to show these historic events live. The next morning saw The Sun relegate it Page Three girl to page 15 (well it had lots of photos of other types of tit to put on the preceding pages).
Amongst all the mess, one thing remains abundantly clear: no one got the government for which they had voted. Perhaps this will be a good thing? Certainly the scrapping of the ID card seems to be a good start, but I fear for the future of the BBC, and worry about the changes in the no confidence rules tied into the new fixed five year parliamentary terms. The other certainty is that the mother of all parliaments is desperately in need of renovation. This last election saw the largest voter turnout since the Blair Labour government came to power, but still only 65.1% of those on the roll bothered to make their voices heard (although in a travesty of democratic process, some hundreds of voters were left unable to vote due to understaffed polling stations). The UK system of first past the post even lead to a council seat being decided on a coin toss as both candidates had received exactly the same number of votes. It seems likely that there will be a move to Alternative Vote (like the Australian preferential vote) with other possibilities of reform (proportional representation) going to committee and perhaps referendum, and an elected upper house even further away. The Liberal Democrats offered themselves to the voting public as an alternative to the two major parties, and now find themselves actively aligned in government with one of them. Only time will tell if those who voted for them this time around may find themselves humming The Who‘s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in 2015.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 21 April 2010
Sounding Off
London Fields # 77
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 24 March 2010
Sow What
London Fields # 76
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 March 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There‘s a new drug on London‘s streets. “It stimulates the part of the brain called Shatner’s Bassoon, and that’s the bit of the brain that deals with time perception”. Actually, that’s a description of Cake - the “made-up drug” that was the centrepiece of an episode of Chris Morris’s satirical series BrassEye in February 1997. But reading the news over the past few weeks, time and time again it’s been hard to distinguish the current near-hysteria of the tabloids with a television show from 13 years earlier, which actually led to questions being raised in parliament.
The substance attracting all the headlines is mephedrone (meow meow, M-Cat, bubble and lordknowswhat), reportedly now the UK’s fourth most popular street drug (and rising fast up the charts). Of course, it’s not really that new at all; the change is in the public awareness of it, stirred into a frenzy now that deaths have been linked to the drug. After the immigrants taking our jobs, the paedophiles lurking on every street corner, the dangerous dogs, the easier school exams, the ASBO generation of dangerous youth and binge-drinking Britain, methadone is the latest weapon to make you fear for Queen and Country.
The thing that kickstarted the UK tabloid panic over ecstasy was the death of schoolgirl Leah Betts in 1995, who collapsed into a coma four hours after taking an E, and later died. News reports blamed the drug, with some claiming it was a contaminated batch. Yet the inquest determined that the primary cause of death was water intoxication (drinking 7 litres in 90 minutes) with the drug a possible contributory factor. What’s triggered the current outrage is the death of two teenagers, also reportedly first time drug users. While you may have sympathy for those grieving relatives who have lost family members, what is not being so widely reported as that in addition to mephedrone, they were drinking and also took the (prescription only) heroin substitute methadone. Mixing sedatives and stimulants in such a way puts a tremendous strain on the body, and can lead to heart failure.
The big fuss seems to be about these being so-called ‘legal highs’. But the legality isn’t the key selling point; it’s the affordable price. The danger of such reporting seems to be some weird correlation between it not being illegal and it being safe. Now mephedrone is supposedly sold as a plant food, with a greater than 99% purity. But as it retails for between £8 and £15 a gram (although this figure may include ‘free’ delivery), I doubt you’d pay that for Blood & Bone or Thrive. Unless of course you found you could get high off it. There are many substances it’s possible to abuse - the difference is this one is being sold as one thing officially while everyone knows its actual intended use is something else entirely.
Now the delay on a government report on M-Cat is being linked to resignations following the sacking of drugs czar Professor David Nutt last October. He controversially used published studies as evidence for suggesting that while undoubtedly unsafe, ecstasy and LSD were less dangerous than alcohol. He was swiftly asked to resign as chair of Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs by the home secretary as a result. His thoughts here mirror those that lost him his job. "Who knows what's in [mephedrone] when you buy it? We don't have a testing system. It could be very dangerous, we just don't know. These chemicals have never been put into animals, let alone humans."
As yet, I’m not sure how many inroads this drug has made into Australia, but I have seen UK online sellers spam Oz message boards advertising their wares. And of course, this is where the its current ‘legal’ status becomes an issue. But there’s a part of me that thinks the biggest result of the current furore has been a huge advertising boost for a newer player on the block. These’s no doubting, particularly with an election looming, that M-Cat will be banned outright fairly quickly, even though experts are saying this could be the worst move possible. The simple truth is people need to take some responsibility for what they pump into their bodies, regardless of its legality. ‘It’s only one molecule different from MDMA’ screams The Sun . Yeah and H2O2 is only one molecule different from water, but I wouldn’t advocate drinking hydrogen peroxide either.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 March 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There‘s a new drug on London‘s streets. “It stimulates the part of the brain called Shatner’s Bassoon, and that’s the bit of the brain that deals with time perception”. Actually, that’s a description of Cake - the “made-up drug” that was the centrepiece of an episode of Chris Morris’s satirical series BrassEye in February 1997. But reading the news over the past few weeks, time and time again it’s been hard to distinguish the current near-hysteria of the tabloids with a television show from 13 years earlier, which actually led to questions being raised in parliament.
The substance attracting all the headlines is mephedrone (meow meow, M-Cat, bubble and lordknowswhat), reportedly now the UK’s fourth most popular street drug (and rising fast up the charts). Of course, it’s not really that new at all; the change is in the public awareness of it, stirred into a frenzy now that deaths have been linked to the drug. After the immigrants taking our jobs, the paedophiles lurking on every street corner, the dangerous dogs, the easier school exams, the ASBO generation of dangerous youth and binge-drinking Britain, methadone is the latest weapon to make you fear for Queen and Country.
The thing that kickstarted the UK tabloid panic over ecstasy was the death of schoolgirl Leah Betts in 1995, who collapsed into a coma four hours after taking an E, and later died. News reports blamed the drug, with some claiming it was a contaminated batch. Yet the inquest determined that the primary cause of death was water intoxication (drinking 7 litres in 90 minutes) with the drug a possible contributory factor. What’s triggered the current outrage is the death of two teenagers, also reportedly first time drug users. While you may have sympathy for those grieving relatives who have lost family members, what is not being so widely reported as that in addition to mephedrone, they were drinking and also took the (prescription only) heroin substitute methadone. Mixing sedatives and stimulants in such a way puts a tremendous strain on the body, and can lead to heart failure.
The big fuss seems to be about these being so-called ‘legal highs’. But the legality isn’t the key selling point; it’s the affordable price. The danger of such reporting seems to be some weird correlation between it not being illegal and it being safe. Now mephedrone is supposedly sold as a plant food, with a greater than 99% purity. But as it retails for between £8 and £15 a gram (although this figure may include ‘free’ delivery), I doubt you’d pay that for Blood & Bone or Thrive. Unless of course you found you could get high off it. There are many substances it’s possible to abuse - the difference is this one is being sold as one thing officially while everyone knows its actual intended use is something else entirely.
Now the delay on a government report on M-Cat is being linked to resignations following the sacking of drugs czar Professor David Nutt last October. He controversially used published studies as evidence for suggesting that while undoubtedly unsafe, ecstasy and LSD were less dangerous than alcohol. He was swiftly asked to resign as chair of Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs by the home secretary as a result. His thoughts here mirror those that lost him his job. "Who knows what's in [mephedrone] when you buy it? We don't have a testing system. It could be very dangerous, we just don't know. These chemicals have never been put into animals, let alone humans."
As yet, I’m not sure how many inroads this drug has made into Australia, but I have seen UK online sellers spam Oz message boards advertising their wares. And of course, this is where the its current ‘legal’ status becomes an issue. But there’s a part of me that thinks the biggest result of the current furore has been a huge advertising boost for a newer player on the block. These’s no doubting, particularly with an election looming, that M-Cat will be banned outright fairly quickly, even though experts are saying this could be the worst move possible. The simple truth is people need to take some responsibility for what they pump into their bodies, regardless of its legality. ‘It’s only one molecule different from MDMA’ screams The Sun . Yeah and H2O2 is only one molecule different from water, but I wouldn’t advocate drinking hydrogen peroxide either.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday 24 February 2010
A DAB Hand
London Fields # 75
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 February 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
While channel hopping during a recent trip home to Melbourne, I recalled a particularly prescient old sketch from A Bit Of Fry & Laurie. A government minister dining in a restaurant finds himself the object of some obsequious attention from his waiter, who lavishes praise upon him for a particular Commons speech concerning the de-regularisation of broadcasting, even quoting sections word-for word. The waiter then expresses horror and abjectly apologises for the minister‘s silver cutlery - this simply will not do! He takes it away and replaces it with a huge pile of plastic coffee stirrers. The minister is baffled. The waiter explains “I mean, they may be complete crap, but you‘ve got the choice, haven‘t you?” Originally written as a response to The Broadcasting Act (1990) [UK], in some ways this sketch now also seems to apply to the less-than-shiny state of Australian digital broadcasting. It used to be that Australia was an early and rapid adopter of new technology; both colour television and VCR take-up was faster than virtually anywhere else in the world. But when it comes to Digital broadcasting, especially for radio, it seems to be taking longer to catch on.
Then again, the uptake was pretty slow in the UK too, at least until DAB radios were drastically slashed in price. Since then, the rise in listener figures (for digital only stations such as BBC 6Music) has been astonishing. According to Rajar figures, during the final quarter of 2009, 6Music’s listener figures were up by 11.4%, with a year-on-year rise of a whopping 12.3%. But this does not necessarily make for a secure future.. Both it, and flagship station BBC Radio 2 (the most listened to station in the country, with some shows getting over 10 million listeners) were the subject of a review by the BBC Trust, and neither station escaped unscathed. Radio 2 is meant to target the over 35s, yet has seen a huge rise in a younger audience over the past ten years, and they now account for 18% of the total audience. Meanwhile 6Music is a place for those who simply love music, and have outgrown Radio 1, but are not ready for the pastures of Radio 2. Radio 2 has 5 million who listen to no other BBC radio, and some 2 million who listen to no other station at all. The BBC Trust’s review felt that Radio 2 had gained this younger audience at the expense of older listeners, and that it should now actively seek new listeners aged 65 and older, even if this alienates the current audience. Meanwhile 6Music suffered through lack of awareness. Even though the ratings have risen exponentially, the review maintained that this was from a low starting point, and claimed that only 20% of the adult population were even aware that the station existed.
DAB still has teething troubles. Claims of “CD quality sound” are frankly laughable, with most broadcasts at 128kbps, a bitrate so low no music lover would choose it for their mp3 player. Additionally the processors at either end may mean that there’s an significant broadcasting delay, so that “live” cricket commentary lags some half minute behind play, rendering it virtually useless if listening while watching a game live at the ground. Yet unlike FM transmissions, they can avoid the interference of pirate stations, and scrolling text is an easy answer to the perennial “what song is this” question.
It seems that BBC 6Music is safe, for now at least; but there are greater external threats on the horizon. With a general election due around May, it’s possible more knives are being sharpened. The BBC is not a cheap body to run, and if it wasn’t for the TV Licence fee, it would be unable to continue as a worldwide public service broadcaster, covering as broad a remit as it does. But certain players want the BBC to lose it’s newsgathering prowess, and who knows what deals may be struck with large news corporations if there’s a change of government. Currently it’s the annual licence fee of £142.50 per annum from virtually every UK household that supports the television, radio, internet and news teams, and provides much of this service free to the world outside the UK. Yet the election battle lines are currently being drawn, and even the Falkland Islands may once again play a part. The BBC may be another victim in the conflict, and cease to continue as we know it.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 February 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
While channel hopping during a recent trip home to Melbourne, I recalled a particularly prescient old sketch from A Bit Of Fry & Laurie. A government minister dining in a restaurant finds himself the object of some obsequious attention from his waiter, who lavishes praise upon him for a particular Commons speech concerning the de-regularisation of broadcasting, even quoting sections word-for word. The waiter then expresses horror and abjectly apologises for the minister‘s silver cutlery - this simply will not do! He takes it away and replaces it with a huge pile of plastic coffee stirrers. The minister is baffled. The waiter explains “I mean, they may be complete crap, but you‘ve got the choice, haven‘t you?” Originally written as a response to The Broadcasting Act (1990) [UK], in some ways this sketch now also seems to apply to the less-than-shiny state of Australian digital broadcasting. It used to be that Australia was an early and rapid adopter of new technology; both colour television and VCR take-up was faster than virtually anywhere else in the world. But when it comes to Digital broadcasting, especially for radio, it seems to be taking longer to catch on.
Then again, the uptake was pretty slow in the UK too, at least until DAB radios were drastically slashed in price. Since then, the rise in listener figures (for digital only stations such as BBC 6Music) has been astonishing. According to Rajar figures, during the final quarter of 2009, 6Music’s listener figures were up by 11.4%, with a year-on-year rise of a whopping 12.3%. But this does not necessarily make for a secure future.. Both it, and flagship station BBC Radio 2 (the most listened to station in the country, with some shows getting over 10 million listeners) were the subject of a review by the BBC Trust, and neither station escaped unscathed. Radio 2 is meant to target the over 35s, yet has seen a huge rise in a younger audience over the past ten years, and they now account for 18% of the total audience. Meanwhile 6Music is a place for those who simply love music, and have outgrown Radio 1, but are not ready for the pastures of Radio 2. Radio 2 has 5 million who listen to no other BBC radio, and some 2 million who listen to no other station at all. The BBC Trust’s review felt that Radio 2 had gained this younger audience at the expense of older listeners, and that it should now actively seek new listeners aged 65 and older, even if this alienates the current audience. Meanwhile 6Music suffered through lack of awareness. Even though the ratings have risen exponentially, the review maintained that this was from a low starting point, and claimed that only 20% of the adult population were even aware that the station existed.
DAB still has teething troubles. Claims of “CD quality sound” are frankly laughable, with most broadcasts at 128kbps, a bitrate so low no music lover would choose it for their mp3 player. Additionally the processors at either end may mean that there’s an significant broadcasting delay, so that “live” cricket commentary lags some half minute behind play, rendering it virtually useless if listening while watching a game live at the ground. Yet unlike FM transmissions, they can avoid the interference of pirate stations, and scrolling text is an easy answer to the perennial “what song is this” question.
It seems that BBC 6Music is safe, for now at least; but there are greater external threats on the horizon. With a general election due around May, it’s possible more knives are being sharpened. The BBC is not a cheap body to run, and if it wasn’t for the TV Licence fee, it would be unable to continue as a worldwide public service broadcaster, covering as broad a remit as it does. But certain players want the BBC to lose it’s newsgathering prowess, and who knows what deals may be struck with large news corporations if there’s a change of government. Currently it’s the annual licence fee of £142.50 per annum from virtually every UK household that supports the television, radio, internet and news teams, and provides much of this service free to the world outside the UK. Yet the election battle lines are currently being drawn, and even the Falkland Islands may once again play a part. The BBC may be another victim in the conflict, and cease to continue as we know it.
© James McGalliard 2010
Thursday 28 January 2010
It's Snow Joking Matter
London Fields # 74
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 28 January 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Maybe with the recent excesses of a record-breaking heat wave, it may have been tempting to want to swap places with the denizens of the UK, who were moaning about a bit of a cold snap with a little snow. While it may not have been the Snowmageddon portrayed in the tabloids (with the Express claiming it proved global warming wrong), it wasn’t much fun either. For weeks, it kept all other news at bay. The attempt to overthrow Prime Minister Gordon Brown in an election year became a lesser news item, as the weather a story that in some way affected everyone in the country, even if it wasn’t really news at all. On the ‘worst’ day there were reports that less than 50% of employees had even made it into work. With the British economy already struggling, this kind of loss is the last thing it needs.
The heavy snows last February also saw the whole capital ground to a standstill, unable to cope with the wrong type of rain. There was outcry; questions were asked and promises made that London wouldn’t be caught unaware again. Yet when it did recur it was as though no lessons had been learned at all. As then, there was the grit shortage. When I first arrived in the UK, I was mystified by the large yellow bins labelled Salt-Grit. Mistaking it for a rubbish bin, I tried to put my chocolate wrapper in it, but it will filled with what turned out to be rock salt, which is used to break down ice and snow on footpaths. The trouble was there was a shortage of this, so widespread gritting didn’t really seem to happen, making smaller roads impassable.
Obviously the death toll amongst the elderly rises in cold weather, but reports placed the demise of around 20 people directly at the conditions themselves. Sadly there’s no equivalent of a warm change to bring relief either. While the snow may have caused problems, the real threat was what came next. Because as snow is walked upon it melts a little and then refreezes - as ice. And if snow can be a bit heavy going, ice is impossible. Casualty departments were filled with people who had fallen. Supplies of shoe cleats to give you some grip on the treacherous surfaces were quickly depleted, with no more deliveries expected until April.
Other cities in Europe get snow every year, and they don’t grind to a halt. So why is the UK in particular so blighted when these ever-more-frequent ‘unseasonal’ conditions hit? Here’s a clue. European houses not only tend to have snow shovels, they use them too. Not just their own entrance, and the footpath outside them as well. Meanwhile here in the UK it’s a widely held belief that if you clear a path and then someone slips on it, you can be held legally accountable. Regardless of the veracity of that, the thought has stuck and so people are reticent to act for fear of possible lawsuits.
One paper ran a story about the new-found popularity of encyclopædias and other large reference works from local opshops. But it wasn’t in a quest for knowledge. In 1953, Ray Bradbury wrote of a dystopian possible future where the prevalence of television has led to an unthinking society. The role of firemen was to burn books, as the knowledge they contained only made the populace harder to handle and keep sedate. The reality is perhaps more terrifying. For the books from the Salvos were destined for fireplaces of struggling pensioners - their combustion being the only affordable way to keep warm. They’re cheaper than a bag of coal, and much, much cheaper than running a boiler.
In the thaw the cost is still being counted. The rare species of birds that came into the cities and suburban gardens seeking food have now departed, and shops have stocks of salt and kitty litter once more. Dreams of White Christmases are now seen as nightmares. The snowfall was the worst in 30 years, and now it’s the roads that are in a real state. Some are so bad that buses, which were unable to run during the snow, are again sitting in the depot, as the potholes will cause too much damage to allow them to run safely.
So next time you’re cursing the heat, and wishing it were much, much colder, perhaps think again for a minute. As soon as the initial adventure and excitement fades, any extreme is just a pain in the arse.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 28 January 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Maybe with the recent excesses of a record-breaking heat wave, it may have been tempting to want to swap places with the denizens of the UK, who were moaning about a bit of a cold snap with a little snow. While it may not have been the Snowmageddon portrayed in the tabloids (with the Express claiming it proved global warming wrong), it wasn’t much fun either. For weeks, it kept all other news at bay. The attempt to overthrow Prime Minister Gordon Brown in an election year became a lesser news item, as the weather a story that in some way affected everyone in the country, even if it wasn’t really news at all. On the ‘worst’ day there were reports that less than 50% of employees had even made it into work. With the British economy already struggling, this kind of loss is the last thing it needs.
The heavy snows last February also saw the whole capital ground to a standstill, unable to cope with the wrong type of rain. There was outcry; questions were asked and promises made that London wouldn’t be caught unaware again. Yet when it did recur it was as though no lessons had been learned at all. As then, there was the grit shortage. When I first arrived in the UK, I was mystified by the large yellow bins labelled Salt-Grit. Mistaking it for a rubbish bin, I tried to put my chocolate wrapper in it, but it will filled with what turned out to be rock salt, which is used to break down ice and snow on footpaths. The trouble was there was a shortage of this, so widespread gritting didn’t really seem to happen, making smaller roads impassable.
Obviously the death toll amongst the elderly rises in cold weather, but reports placed the demise of around 20 people directly at the conditions themselves. Sadly there’s no equivalent of a warm change to bring relief either. While the snow may have caused problems, the real threat was what came next. Because as snow is walked upon it melts a little and then refreezes - as ice. And if snow can be a bit heavy going, ice is impossible. Casualty departments were filled with people who had fallen. Supplies of shoe cleats to give you some grip on the treacherous surfaces were quickly depleted, with no more deliveries expected until April.
Other cities in Europe get snow every year, and they don’t grind to a halt. So why is the UK in particular so blighted when these ever-more-frequent ‘unseasonal’ conditions hit? Here’s a clue. European houses not only tend to have snow shovels, they use them too. Not just their own entrance, and the footpath outside them as well. Meanwhile here in the UK it’s a widely held belief that if you clear a path and then someone slips on it, you can be held legally accountable. Regardless of the veracity of that, the thought has stuck and so people are reticent to act for fear of possible lawsuits.
One paper ran a story about the new-found popularity of encyclopædias and other large reference works from local opshops. But it wasn’t in a quest for knowledge. In 1953, Ray Bradbury wrote of a dystopian possible future where the prevalence of television has led to an unthinking society. The role of firemen was to burn books, as the knowledge they contained only made the populace harder to handle and keep sedate. The reality is perhaps more terrifying. For the books from the Salvos were destined for fireplaces of struggling pensioners - their combustion being the only affordable way to keep warm. They’re cheaper than a bag of coal, and much, much cheaper than running a boiler.
In the thaw the cost is still being counted. The rare species of birds that came into the cities and suburban gardens seeking food have now departed, and shops have stocks of salt and kitty litter once more. Dreams of White Christmases are now seen as nightmares. The snowfall was the worst in 30 years, and now it’s the roads that are in a real state. Some are so bad that buses, which were unable to run during the snow, are again sitting in the depot, as the potholes will cause too much damage to allow them to run safely.
So next time you’re cursing the heat, and wishing it were much, much colder, perhaps think again for a minute. As soon as the initial adventure and excitement fades, any extreme is just a pain in the arse.
© James McGalliard 2010
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