London Fields

The T Is For Texas

2011-12-14T12:00:00.009Z

London Fields # 99
First published Inpress (Issue # 1204), Melbourne on 14 December 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1090), Sydney on 13 December 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I’m not sure if it’s just people I know, but at this time of year the interest in Top Ten lists feels like something that’s escaped from the pages of High Fidelity. These tend to make me reflect on the fact that music was a big factor in abandoning my native Melbourne for the comparative anonymity of London, and further realise that I haven’t really written much about it since returning from Primavera Sound back in May. This year it did feel that the festival was beginning to be a victim of its own success, but PJ Harvey still provided a captivating 75 minutes making the large expanses feel intimate, while the first public performance of the return of Pulp met and exceeded all reasonable expectations. Here also The National finally achieved what they’ve been on the verge of on so many occasions I’ve seen them over the years – finally capturing that heartbreaking melancholy and delivering a powerful and sustained emotional punch throughout their early evening set. A secret highlight was eschewing both The Walkmen and Grinderman to see Smoke Fairies deliver what could have been the performance of the festival to a small but gripped crowd.

The most enjoyable performances of this year’s Camden Crawl could be found in the front lounge of the Spread Eagle, where Andy Ross curated a wonderful two days of performances. The larger shows there were more of a mixed bag with S.C.U.M (supporting Killing Joke) a particular lowlight (strange as they’ve gone on to produce one of the best albums of the year), but my overall highlight was Mat Motte’s deranged take on pop. I caught the new expanded line-up of Spotlight Kid on various occasions, as the year progressed they became an ever-more cohesive live outfit. Seeing Veronica Falls play their upbeat pop on a Dalston rooftop made the August riots seem very far away while Still Corners only seemed to gain by losing a member as they became a more striking live proposition as a four piece. Elsewhere Esben & The Witch were remarkable for refusing to pander to the conventions of live performance. However my pub gig of the year would have to be The Horrors at The 100 Club; their star has now risen so high that shows of this small a scale are virtually unknown, and this night was allowed the rare pleasure of a close-up insight into how Skying was created. 2011 was a certainly a year for veterans, especially from Manchester. James toured the country with an orchestra, their set mostly kept away from the hits and concentrated on rarer album tracks and early numbers. Thankfully WU LYF showed that not everything in Manchester was about the past, which was just as well as The Stone Roses announced their reformation and most of New Order reassembled for live dates. Their contemporaries The Cure certainly had all made friends again as Lol Tolhurst joined them as they played their first three albums in their entirety at the Royal Albert Hall. I even saw Blancmange and Modern English this year, so it certainly sometimes felt like another decade. That said, Scritti Politti’s Christmas shows in Dalston proved that some sounds are indeed timeless.

But there’s been one artist who both live and on record has been the key player of 2011 and his name is Josh T Pearson. It saw him begin the year in the tiny environs of The Slaughtered Lamb and end at the prestigious Barbican Hall in November. His album Last Of The Country Gentlemen brought about this remarkable change in his fortunes, but its success was also a bind, as it saw him having to relive the disintegration of his marriage on stage night after night. Sometimes the shows felt like an elaborate game, as he challenged his audiences to be quiet enough to hear his near-whisper on stage, while the terrible jokes he told between songs served as some respite from the soul-baring examinations of his compositions. My hope for 2012 is that he will be able to put this elongated catharsis to rest and bring his new-found audience with him. Finally any discussion of live music in London this year must also mention the loss of its best live venue when The Luminaire closed its doors forever in March. Vale – you are still very much missed and I fear we shall not see your like again.

Inpress: Published on page 54
Drum: Published on page 52

England Prevails

2011-11-16T12:00:00.004Z

London Fields # 98
First published Inpress (Issue # 1200), Melbourne on 16 November 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1086), Sydney on 15 November 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Recent events made the scheduling of the film adaptation of V For Vendetta on the evening of 5th November feel like a quiet political statement by state broadcaster BBC Two The film was originally due to have its UK release on the eve of the 400^th anniversary of the foiling of The Gunpowder Plot, yet in the period since 2005 the stylised Guy Fawkes mask worn by the central character of V has become a common sight at protests, from student marches to the current Occupy London camp in the grounds of St Paul’s Cathedral. While the film may differ from Alan Moore’s original vision, the picture of an isolated nation in crisis, presided over by an authoritarian government, with the people as that 99% rang some bells. There was another protest by students against fees and cuts in central London last Wednesday, but this passed without serious incident. The number of marchers was much reduced, perhaps dissuaded by the advance police warning that baton rounds (rubber bullets) could be employed if any trouble erupted; those that went were met by 4000 police officers. This week has also seen a furore over the reported relaxation of the border controls over the summer months - sackings and resignations are sure to follow. Behind the wheels of government, following changes to the Act of Settlement 1701 at the recent CHOGM in Perth, royal heirs will soon have equal rights to the throne regardless of gender, and be able to marry a Roman Catholic. Meanwhile the Fixed-term Parliaments Act 2011 (which received the Royal Assent on 15 September 2011) removed the Royal Prerogative which allowed the monarch to dissolve parliament, so there won’t be any Remembrance Day 1975s here.

Guy Fawkes Night traditionally means bonfires and fireworks but it’s been a few years now since I’ve heard anyone asking for “a penny for the Guy”. These days it’s more commonly referred to Bonfire Night and cross-pollinated with Halloween, but Southwark Council got into all kinds of hoo-hah when they attempted to re-brand their event as The Colour Thief: A Winter Extravaganza Celebrating the Change of the Seasons. One place where the old traditions hold true is in Lewes in East Sussex where for 200 years they have marked the prevention of the Gunpowder Plot and remembered the Marian Martyrs burned in the town in the mid 16^th century. Last year they blew up an effigy of the Pope as part of the celebrations, but this year there were bigger villains to pillory. The Waterloo parade featured an effigy of Rupert Murdoch as a dragon being ridden by Rebekah Brooks which was later sacrificed to the flames

The clocks may have gone back at the end of October, but temperatures are still in double figures and the leaves only just falling from trees en masse, meaning autumn’s arrived very late this year. The mild days bright have made the return to Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) harsher than ever; suddenly it’s dark before 4.30pm and by the solstice it will be pitch black before 4pm. For years there have discussions about changing the UK time zone, but a Private Members Bill tabled by MP Rebecca Harris may actually make this possible. This Thursday the money resolution of her Daylight Saving Bill 2010-11 will be debated in the House of Commons. If agreed, it will lead to a three year trial, yet it hinges on getting agreement from Scottish Parliament, Welsh Assembly and Northern Ireland Assembly. The change would mean England was on GMT+1 (aka CET) in winter and Central European Summer Time (GMT+2) in summer. It would result in the carbon savings on lighting, a reduction in the road toll (as drivers are more tired in the evenings), and a boost for tourism. Additionally, the latest findings show it would also help to curb childhood obesity as light is a key factor on decisions to play outside. Despite this, The Mail On Sunday is insisting a move to what they call “Berlin Time” would be a disaster, particularly for Scotland where sunrise would be very late. But surely it has to be good for businesses to synchronise with Europe (even if the economies are in crisis)? The solution would be for Scotland to keep its current time zone. That said it would be strange to think that nowhere in England would ever be on Greenwich Mean Time again, even in Greenwich. Maybe if all this comes to pass, GMT will end up nicknamed “Glasgow Mean Time”?

Inpress: Published on page 56
Drum: Published on page 54

Essex Education

2011-10-19T12:00:00.006+01:00

London Fields # 97
First published Inpress (Issue # 1196), Melbourne on 19 October 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1082), Sydney on 18 October 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

It was hard to not notice her, but it proved somewhat harder to remember how or why we all recognised her. We were in a park-side local after work taking advantage of one of the recent strangely warm autumnal evenings when we noticed someone doing the whole ‘don’t look at me, I’m here incognito’ thingy; the one that just makes you tend to take more notice while affecting not to at all. Finally it twigged – she had been one of the housemates in the very first series of the UK version of Big Brother over a decade earlier. When it began here back in 2000 it was an interesting social experiment; by the third year it had degraded into a platform for nobodies who were only involved as they wished to become somebodies (or just had a personality disorder). It could be argued that the decline of the television documentary began with two offerings from the BBC – Airport in 1996 and Driving School in 1997. From these a new phenomenon was born – the reality star; an ordinary person living their normal life who now attained some kind of celebrity status merely by doing what they did (followed by a film crew). This was like some sort of dystopian imaginings from science fiction, and the phenomenon became full entrenched once Big Brother arrived.

The staged reality soap can be seen as the latest incarnation in the blurring of the lines from documentary via reality television to pure soap. What began with MTV’s The Real World de-evolved into Jersey Shore and The Hills, which in turn led to UK equivalents which were something else entirely. Last year ITV2 had a surprise hit (and winner of the BAFTA audience vote) when The Only Way is Essex (TOWIE) arrived and brought vajazzle into the lexicon. This year it was followed by Channel 4’s entry into the genre, the godawful Made In Chelsea, and last week Vice recently reported that auditions are underway for a Shoreditch-based one (which if they had any sense of humour they’d name Hoxton Twats but not tell the participants until it aired). All these bear possibly even less resemblance to real life than EastEnders does to living in East London or Neighbours does to suburban Melbourne. What these staged-reality shows do have in common with the latest version of Big Brother (now on Channel 5) is how the names of the “characters” are embossed on screen each time they appear. Is this just to help first-time viewers, or is it a sad indication of what the makers consider to be the average viewers’ attention span, or merely an honest admission that the people portrayed are so forgettable that you need to be reminded who they are every time they appear?

But a documentary series currently screening on Channel 4 showing real people in their ordinary lives moves away from many of these recent conventions and simply allows the actions to tell the story. That show is Educating Essex and was filmed with real Year 11 and 12 students and their teachers at Passmores School in Harlow, Essex. Placing 65 cameras all over the school meant they were able to film without the intrusion of a film crew (although one was used for interviews after) which meant that people acted more normally. Yes of course the students were aware of the cameras and so subject to the Hawthorne effect, and of course the filmmakers selected the footage and highlighted stories for effect and narrative drive. Yet despite all this, what emerges is a cabal of caring, dedicated individuals with seemingly incredible patience spending a great deal of time on a small percentage of pupils with behavioural problems or personal crises. While series like TOWIE seek to reinforce the opinions, prejudices and stereotypes that we might expect for the subjects that they portray, Educating Essex instead challenges them and does all it can to rewire them. Media coverage of modern schooling in the UK is almost uniformly negative and the continual improvement in examination results is linked to a supposed dumbing down of the tests themselves, while the press if full of stories about the “youth” are out of control, and the cause of so many of ‘Broken’ Britain’s woes. What Educating Essex shares in common with its comic predecessor Summer Heights High, is that the stories of these people are initially funny and finally deeply moving, just as Chris Lilley’s series was.

Inpress: Published on page 61
Drum: Published on page 62

The Sound Of The Crowd

2011-09-21T12:00:00.001+01:00

London Fields # 96
First published Inpress (Issue # 1192), Melbourne on 21 September 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1078), Sydney on 20 September 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The tagline of the original Alien film was 'In space no one can hear you scream'. In London it often feels that there’s no place you can get far enough away from people to scream. While you may have difficulty finding a private space to vent your bottled-up frustrations without being overheard, the flip to this is the worry that if you did cry out for assistance, seemingly no-one would heed your call. The capital is so densely populated that it’s hard to find respite, and recent studies show that it will only get worse in the future. The Royal Institute of British Architects found that many newly built or converted properties are too small for comfortable living, with one bedroom properties being 4 square metres smaller than the recommended minimum, barely leaving room to navigate around a single bed.

The shared walls of terraced housing mean you hear the neighbour’s washing machine rumbling late into the night, and even the sounds of their toilet roll spinning in its holder. Yet the great advantage of terraces is the quiet solitude created by the square itself to be enjoyed in back rooms (except when your neighbour decides that 8am on a Saturday morning is the ideal time to mow that lawn). Outside the home it’s harder to find peace, especially now that public transport has decided to talk to us. Being informed that “This is a number 38 bus to Victorian” (sic) at every stop makes bus journeys seem longer than ever, something that can only be made worse by the near unavoidable low-fi sodcasting from mobile phones. The only solution is to plug in your own headphones to drown out the background, so your brain only has one distraction to ignore.

One of the pleasant side effects of the volcanic eruptions in Iceland was the silence that that fell over the country as a result of the closure of UK airspace. In south east London, residents who lived under the Heathrow flight path could hear themselves think for first time in many years, the absence of modern sounds proving to be a rare treat. Something that is more common on the medieval byways of car-free Italian cities such as Venice or more especially Siena, where it’s still possible to be lost in time, the quiet streets allowing the sounds of history to seep through. In the City of London you can sometimes experience similar feelings on weekends, walking the narrow lanes off Cheapside within the sound of Bow Bells, but these prove fleeting.

This past weekend has seen the 19^th annual Open House event, wherein various usually inaccessible buildings open to the general public for a few hours providing a rare opportunity to see both new architecture and glimpse into a hidden past. It’s often said that smell is the sense that is most deeply tied into memory, but there are many times that a song or a piece of music takes you back to a particular time or place, or maybe just the memory of a person, perhaps now lost. But a group of scientists are currently delving into the world of archaeoacoustics, so it may soon be possible to hear how things used to be, as well as see and smell them. This was the subject of a fascinating documentary broadcast on BBC Radio 4 last week. In Hearing the Past Professor Jim Al-Khalili looked at the pioneering work by a diverse group of scientists, engineers and artists, led by staff of the Department of Electronics at the University of York. Dr Damian Murphy sought to recreate what the sound of choral music would have been in Coventry Cathedral before it was destroyed in a bombing raid in 1940. Using an anechoic chamber and some advanced computing, the results were astounding.

Now others have taken this technology and used it to replicate how ceremonies may have sounded at Stonehenge 4000 years ago, without the rumble of traffic from a nearby A road. The documentary reported that the site develops a resonant bass rumble that it compared to a Depeche Mode synth sound. Using studios to create certain acoustic environments is nothing new, nor is electronically altering sounds once they are recorded. When Peter Gabriel released Plays Live in 1983, the liner notes made clear that the original live recordings had been tinkered with before release, honestly admitting that “the generic term of this process is ‘cheating’." I wonder how long before this new technology is used by artists to create ‘live’ recordings in locations they’ve never even visited?

Inpress: Published on page 52
Drum: Published on page 54

Life's A Riot

2011-08-24T12:00:00.002+01:00

London Fields # 95
First published Inpress (Issue # 1188), Melbourne on 24 August 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1074), Sydney on 23 August 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Last week I found myself on a rooftop in Dalston, a literal stone’s throw away from where a myriad of Turkish shopkeepers successfully defended their livelihoods from the approaching horde during the recent riots. On stage were Veronica Falls, and their C86-styled Dunedin-ish surf pop was an uplifting and welcome respite from the troubles of the inner city over the past few weeks. I’ve nearly always lived in the (better parts of the) poorer areas of London. When I had a visit from my brother some years ago, he said that it reminded him of an old psychology experiment. He explained that when you confined too many rats in too small a space their established rules of order broke down. Talking to the family this week, the conversation moved onto causes and responses. While I conceded the very valid point that the last government hadn’t really done too much to address the issues, I considered that it was one thing keeping a beast in terrible conditions, and quite another to poke it with a stick through the bars of the cage.

Part of me is wary of discussing the troubles that hit nearby streets, then the media, then areas across England over the past few weeks but feel I can’t really ignore the events for which the London of 2011 is likely to be remembered. In the online world, some were romanticising the violence, finding joy in the titles of songs by The Clash. Let’s be clear about one thing: being in the centre of a riot is NOT fun; it is terrifying. Perhaps the most shocking aspect of this whole thing was how quickly this city changed into a place that felt unsafe, as helicopters hung in the sky indicating places where it was best not to go. As soon as the working day ended, there was an impetus to rush home; fearing that dallying to visit the supermarket on the way might lead to you being caught up in new trouble. Watching the rolling news from the relative safety of the home, it seemed that the media were fanning the flames and a mixture of the bored, the disenfranchised and sheer thugs were leading the charge that spread to other urban areas.

There has been a literal deluge of information, and it’s been near impossible to keep up with it all. No-one seems to be able to agree on what led to this, but asides from the original outbreak of trouble in Tottenham, what followed has seemed to have had very little to do with the shooting of Mark Duggan. Neither was it a direct response to the austerity measures and cuts that are hitting the poorest of this country hard(est); targeting sports shops and electrical goods retailers seems to have much more in common with criminality than civil disobedience, and as small stores suffered alongside the large chains there was no political agenda in play. It may well have been an expression of discontent, much like the office worker who pisses on the floor of the company toilet to express displeasure at how he feels he is treated.

Then there are the politicians. We’re told that this is not the impression we want to give of the city less than a year away from the opening of the 2012 Olympics. I wonder if London Mayor Boris Johnson would have cut his holidays short earlier if it was the Olympics site rather than people's homes and livelihoods that were burning to the ground? Then came arguments over the causes, how the police handled the disturbances, and the sentencing of those convicted in court. On the eve of the last general election addressing a final rally in Bristol, the then opposition leader David Cameron beseeched “don’t let fear triumph over hope”. There have been stories of hope, from the brigades who came out with brooms to tidy their communities, to the community who raised £20,000 to help Hackney shopkeeper Siva Kandiah to reopen his shop mere days after it was completely cleared by looters. Over at the Royal Albert Hall, the annual BBC Proms are continuing apace. The key moment on The Last Night Of The Proms comes with the performance of Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 - a raucous flag-waving and patriotic moment. But instead of uniting the kingdom, our leaders seem intent on spreading messages of fear, making the days of Land Of Hope And Glory seem very distant indeed.

Inpress: Published on page 55
Drum: Published on page 50

News Of The World

2011-07-27T12:00:00.003+01:00

London Fields # 94
First published Inpress (Issue # 1184), Melbourne on 27 July 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1070), Sydney on 26 July 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

A Sunday morning stroll through the News Of The World’s website to see what celebrity muck had been freshly raked used to seem like a bit of fun. Many of the stories were seemingly so ludicrous that they were amusing, and it could be done with a clear conscience didn’t involve actually buying the rag. But the fairly ambivalent attitude of the British public to the phone hacking saga changed dramatically about three weeks ago when it was revealed that News Of The World had not only hacked into the voicemail of murdered schoolgirl Milly Dowler, but had deleted messages as well, leading relatives believe that the then only missing family member was perhaps still alive. Targeting those who had at some point actively sought the limelight didn’t seem so bad, but this was another thing entirely. As Billy Bragg sings in his new song Never Buy The Sun: “the means justify the ends because we only hunt celebrities and it's all a bit of fun”.. But this reprehensible act shocked a nation and (contrary to what I read in a piece in The Australian) quickly became a hot topic of conversation across all classes and beliefs.

As this saga unfolded I kept recalling the central motif of HBO’s Game Of Thrones: "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." For decades newspapers have played at king making - Murdoch papers supported Labour Party in the elections of 1997, 2001 and 2005, and then at the last election reverted to their formal loyalties to stand firmly behind David Cameron and the Conservative Party. So perhaps it’s not unexpected that Ed Miliband, the current leader of the British Labour Party, has seemed to finally gain some teeth when discussing this issue. While it seems this present government is determined to substantially weaken the BBC, some papers have tried to claim that the whole Hackgate sage was a beat-up of a private leftist cabal between The Guardian and the BBC, with a Daily Mail headline asking “why won't he [Miliband] tackle the REAL threat to our way of life - the BBC” in response.

While attention was focussed on this, there wasn’t much room for other stories. So the announcement that the NHS, which we’re continually reassured isn’t going to be privatised, will have £1billion of services opened up to private competition passed almost unmarked, as did Education Secretary Michael Gove’s report to the Commons that the rebuilding project for 58 schools which he axed would remain scrapped (despite the opinions of the High Court). Meanwhile on television late night current affairs show Newsnight saw a surge in rating as day-by-day new revelations came to light, and hosted great live interviews such as one where Steve Coogan eviscerated a NotW journo. Over on Question Time, another celebrity who had found himself the subject of tabloid stories fought back, with Hugh Grant proving himself mightily impressive.

The shining knight in this whole sorry affair has been the pioneering and persistent investigative work by The Guardian that has brought this into the light. Yet its continued future is a cause of concern. Although The Guardian has the second largest online readership of any English language paper in the world, there is no paywall (Comment Is Free) but last month it revealed an annual loss of £33 million and stated that the Guardian Media Group could run out of cash within five years “if the business operations did not change”.

This weekend showed nothing much had really changed. While that the closure of the News Of The World may have put some people out of work and adversely affected newsagents Sunday takings, the act has done relatively little to address serious issues in certain sections of the Fourth Estate. One tabloid led with what was apparently Amy Winehouse’s final drug deal, while others were happy to quote the story and show photos of the late singer’s blanket covered corpse being removed from her home. While in (Murdoch owned) The Times last Friday cartoonist Peter Brookes depicted three staving Africans, one of whom opined “I’ve had a bellyful of phone-hacking”. But perhaps the most telling comment on the whole affair was automatically generated by a machine. When I tried to access the NotW website from my work PC, I found it had been blocked by my employer. The reason given was that it was “categorized as: Tasteless & Offensive”.

Inpress: Published on page 57
Drum: Published on page 60

The Maths of Rock

2011-06-29T12:00:00.006+01:00

London Fields # 93
First published Inpress (Issue # 1180), Melbourne on 29 June 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1066), Sydney on 28 June 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

My first thought upon seeing that Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff (or Miles Hunt and friends play the songs of the Stuffies) were embarking on a joint Australian tour was of the great bands of that era that have never played in Australia, particularly James and The Blue Aeroplanes. Following a six year hiatus, James reformed in 2007 (with the classic line-up that had recorded their career best album Laid) and while most attention was focused on the Glastonbury Festival at Worthy Farm over the last weekend, in London James played a giant show in Hyde Park supporting The Killers.

It was at Glastonbury in 1992 that I saw art-rockers The Blue Aeroplanes amass a dozen guitarists on stage for their traditional closing cover of Breaking In My Heart. There’s been two constants throughout The Blue Aeroplanes’ history: frontman Gerard Langley and a multitude of guitars. Like The Fall, the non-playing vocalist has been the constant in myriad line-ups, and over 40 musicians have been members of the band at some point. But unlike the tyranny Mark E Smith exerts, The ‘planes are more like a collective, a team where members come on and off the bench according to need and availability. To celebrate the release of their new album Anti-Gravity, they played a one-off show at The Borderline in central London the other week. Here the football analogy was even stronger as around eleven players went off and off stage according to the demands of the songs. Gerard hardly seems to have changed over the years; although his hair is now dyed and he carries a book of lyrics as an aide-mémoire, under stage lights in his ever-present dark glasses he looks almost identical to 21 years ago. It’s hard to explain how joyous it all is, but much like how dancer Wojtek Dmochowski weaves around the small stage, trying not to trip in guitar leads in the process, so the different melody lines of each guitar intertwine as they ring true and clear. Tonight sees Angelo Bruschini (now usually in Massive Attack) return for a rare appearance, and while I miss the Rickenbacker chime of Rodney Allen, when all these guitars mesh, as on Warhol’s 15 tonight, it truly is a thing of beauty.

Before the show, I spotted Marty Willson-Piper of The Church in the audience, and troubled him to ask if there was any chance of seeing the 30^th anniversary show that recently toured Australia. At The Church’s last London show a few years back, Steve Kilbey said it was likely to be the last time we’d see them play in London. Marty was kind enough to give me a long and detailed description of just what the costs and difficulties are in organising a tour, and then talked in refreshingly candid terms about the size of crowd the band can expect to pull in London these days. All in all it painted a fairly bleak picture for bands playing medium sized venues.

Last Thursday I ventured into the wilds of South Wimbledon to see Colchester veterans Modern English playing in London for the first time since the eighties, in an expanded line-up with all but one of the original members. These days they’re now mostly known for that song - Melt With You - which was kept back to the end of their set. What is best about this show is that there’s no feeling as though it’s to prove anything, but they’re playing merely just because they want to do it. The music is both naïve and organic, as one intro explains “this was before we knew about bridges and choruses - we just called them sections”. But these sections slot together in a way that current acts trying to recreate this period miss altogether. In their heyday they were a key act on 4AD and were an essential part of the This Mortal Coil project. For me the highlight comes in the encore with 16 Days, one of their songs that also was on the first TMC album.

Having spent this weekend doing an ‘Armchair Glastonbury‘ via the BBC‘s coverage, I kept thinking what a poor reflection the televised version was of the music being played on smaller stages throughout the UK. I also recalled how every time I’ve chatted to David Gedge he’s asked if I know an Australian promoter who might want to bring The Wedding Present out. You see, some English bands from the late eighties and early nineties are still making music worth hearing; perhaps one day you’ll get to discover this live in your town.

Inpress: Published on page 46
Drum: Published on page 52

Is This The Way The Future's Meant To Feel?

2011-06-01T12:00:00.002+01:00

London Fields # 92
First published Inpress (Issue # 1176), Melbourne on 1 June 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1062), Sydney on 31 May 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I’d walked within a hundred feet of Placa de Catalunya only the day before. From a distance I’d seen banners flying and heard the sounds of speeches being made and murmurings of discontent. Not long before sunrise on Saturday morning I walked through the tent village set up in this square at the centre of Barcelona, trying to interpret the signs and placards. Elections are nigh and unemployment, particularly among the youth, is phenomenally high. What I hadn’t realised that an attempt to clear the area by police ahead of the weekend’s final between Manchester United and Barcelona had resulted in a reported 99 casualties requiring hospital treatment.

When travelling, you want to feel that you’re on holiday. Maybe a few days away from the misery of world news events can be a holiday in itself? So once the volcanic ash cloud had cleared, I was happy to blissfully spend a few days without radio, TV or rolling news. Yet this meant that it was only by the way Jarvis Cocker’s introduction to Common People at the end of Pulp’s first official reformation gig as part of Primavera Sound 2011 that I was aware of what had taken place earlier in the day minutes from where I was staying. With music happening on site for around 12 hours of the day, by the time you’ve commuted, eaten, slept and recuperated from the previous day, you’re heading back to the festival grounds again, leaving little time to partake of the host city. No one would think twice if you went to Reading and only saw the bands; but in Barcelona such an act seems almost criminal.

Primavera Sound takes place at the end of each May in Parc de Forum, a huge seaside construction of concrete bridges and piers - massive architecture that dwarves people that is sure to feature in dreams to come. Its location often brings a cooling breeze and even though it’s doubled in capacity since I was last here four years ago, the layout of the site means it’s pretty easy to get around most of the time. While the overall site has also expanded considerably, the area around the main stage can now barely cope with the sheer weight of numbers, so to get a decent vantage point (or at least one where you can see the stage and not just the screens) now means arriving considerably early for the biggest names. Despite all this the thing that marked it apart of UK festivals of a similar size was how aggro-free it was.

With stages programmed by ATP, Pitchfork and Vice, there was a wide variety of acts on show and a series of speakers placed at audience level in the pits on every stage meant that a stage-side view no longer involved sacrificing decent sound. But the biggest innovation this year was one which may change the face of festivals - the smart card and Portal system. This was effectively a way of making the festival cash-free; you transferred money electronically or in cash at paypoints at the festival and this was to be the only way you could buy drinks on site. To encourage you to transfer money in advance, the card was also to be used to pay for reserved spaces at size-restricted stages. The aim of this audacious plan to replace the previous system where you bought raffle tickets (that expired at the end of each day) to be used in lieu of cash at the bars. Any money put on the cards was non-refundable, so that which was unspent went into the organisers’ coffers. Yet many food places took cash only and the collapse of the entire wireless system on the first day meant the system had to be scrapped and bars started accepting cash. Yet despite the teething problems I can see that this will be the way that festivals will progress.

This week hasn’t just been about the bands. I’ll take home memories of the masses of men standing around outside the site running a cottage industry of beer reselling, the city-wide celebrations at Barcelona’s football victory, 15 foot marionettes negotiating the city’s narrow streets, crowds of leather men crowded into a small smoking area outside a gay club, a toy shop which had a train set running through the entire premises, and mostly what a wonderfully liveable city Barcelona appears to be (as long as you don’t partake in peaceful protest). And now when I should be out enjoying this brilliant Sunday afternoon, instead I’m inside writing this, listening to the city’s beating heart through my open window.

Inpress: Published on page 52
Drum: Published on page 58

The Disinformation Campaign

2011-05-04T12:00:00.005+01:00

London Fields # 91
First published Inpress (Issue # 1172), Melbourne on 4 May 2011, and Drum Media (Issue # 1058), Sydney on 3 May 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Were you aware than six out of ten Australians want to change their current electoral voting system to the one used in the UK? Neither was I, but this has been a key claim of the “No” campaign for the upcoming UK referendum. Saturation media coverage of a certain London event may have overshadowed it, but this has the potential to have far greater and longer-reaching effects on the future of the United Kingdom than the wedding of a possible future monarch. May 5th marks only the second national referendum in British history, on a potential change to the voting system. Currently British elections use First Past The Post (FPTP), a system where the candidate who receives the highest number of primary votes is elected, regardless of how few votes they receive. After the last indecisive UK election, the Tories and Liberal Democrats spent days trying to reach a compromise to form a coalition government, and voting reform was a key discussion. The LibDems wanted Proportional Representation (PR), but had to settle for a referendum to change from FPTP to AV (Alternative Vote). AV, also known as preferential voting, is very similar to what is used in Australia, except under AV you don’t have to rank all the candidates (single transferable vote).

It’s been a nasty campaign, full of disinformation. The “six out of ten Australians” figure came from a leading question put to 1202 people in a single survey conducted over three days last October. The “No” side points out only Papua New Guinea, Fiji and Australia use preferential voting and seem to imply that perhaps it is not quite democratic. They claim that AV will led to every government being a coalition, and that the change from FPTP would mean the end of “one person, one vote”. In truth AV allows you to vote for who you want to win the seat (rather than tactically vote against who you might want to keep out) so it’s closer to “one person, one meaningful vote“. The “No” campaign have also claimed AV would make it easier for the ultra right (and ultra white) BNP (British National Party) to gain seats, when the converse in actually true. The votes for any party other than the BNP would weigh more heavily under AV meaning they’d have to win 50% of the primary vote to get in. No wonder BNP supremo Nick Griffin has come out in favour of the “No” campaign, but they’re not trumpeting that.

There’s another Nick who’s not really wanted by either side - that’s Deputy Prime Minister and leader of the LibDems Nick Clegg. Clegg’s record of broken promises on issues such as tuition fees has seen him used as a reason against a “Yes” vote by the “No” side. The strangest thing in the campaign has been the weird cross-party partnerships it has set up - former Labour Home Secretary John Reid with the PM on one side, and the government’s Business Secretary Vince Cable with the leader of the opposition on the other. Yet as an Australian I find it galling to see aspersions cast on a democratic system that has only failed once (when the monarch’s representative interfered in 1975), as though it was a rigged system of a backward and corrupt banana republic. In the UK David Cameron has created an unprecedented 117 new peers for the House of Lords in his first year in office (Tony Blair averaged out at 37 a year, and Gordon Brown a mere 12), which amounts to gerrymandering on a grand scale. Instead of criticising the Australian system, they should instead be learning from it; a system where the upper house is elected by the people, and elections take place on weekends, rather than during the week, to make it easier for working people to vote.

David Cameron has variously described AV as undemocratic, obscure, unfair and crazy. We’re told that it’s too complicated and expensive, and a bit hard for us to understand. In one speech he quoted Winston Churchill who saw it as a system where “the most worthless votes go to the most worthless candidate”. Yet it’s how he became party leader! David Davis received the largest number of votes in the first round of the last Conservative Party leadership contest in 2005, so under FPTP he might be the PM now. What the “No” campaign has failed to tell us is that they want us to keep a system which the parties don’t want or use themselves. Sadly the largest vote next Thursday is likely to be apathy, and then the possibility of positive change will disappear for many years to come.

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 44
Drum: Published on page 48

Stars In Their Eyes

2011-04-06T12:00:00.003+01:00

London Fields # 91
First published Inpress (Issue # 1168), Melbourne on 6 April 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1054), Sydney on 5 April 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Is science the new rock ’n’ roll? Over the past few years there seems to have been an ongoing and deliberate move to ‘sex-up’ science on television. Numbers of those studying sciences at schools were dropping dramatically and it was clear something had to be done. While some may claim programme makers have ‘dumbed-down’, it’s clear that the real aim was to attract large audiences while making complex ideas more comprehensible. The most game changing was Wonders Of The Solar System which finally reached Australian screens recently via on SBS. It successfully used locations around the world to illustrate surfaces of other worlds, the glorious cinematography and clear explanations drew large audiences, making it the most significant series on astronomy since Carl Sagan’s landmark Cosmos.

Here in the UK, its four-part follow-up Wonders Of The Universe has just completed its terrestrial broadcast run. It proved to be a much more controversial programme than its predecessor, for a few reasons. It didn’t have as clear reasons for the Bond-like world travelogue, which cause a kerfuffle amongst some licence payers. The volume of incidental music on television programmes has long been an area of contention, and it appears as if Universe was the first casualty of a recent BBC Report into the issue. The sound mix was radically altered after the first episode, pleasing a vocal few but equally infuriating others, including presenter Professor Brian Cox who stated, "It should be a cinematic experience – it's a piece of film on television, not a lecture." When the carefully planned sound mix was replaced with a last minute one with the background score faded down, the show definitely lost some of its majesty and impact.

Last month, The Sky at Night celebrated its landmark 700th programme. Since it began in 1957, presenter Sir Patrick Moore has only missed one monthly broadcast (in 2004 due to illness) making it the longest running show in the history of television. Sadly these days Sir Patrick Moore seems to be suffering the same fate that befell John Peel in his later years. The BBC can’t axe the show, but they can show disrespect by screening so late at night that only insomniacs catch it (although an extended repeat is shown at a reasonable time on the digital only BBC Four). Moore recently celebrated his 88^th birthday, and (also like Peel) the show now comes from his home, rather than a BBC studio. These days he appears on screen less often; Dr Chris Lintott effectively anchors the show. The anniversary edition featured Dead Ringers Jon Culshaw as a younger Patrick Moore meeting his older self. And the near-ubiquitous Brian Cox. January saw Cox joined by Dara O Briain early on three consecutive weeknights for Stargazing Live, while on BBC Radio 4 The Infinite Monkey Cage saw (you guessed it) Cox teamed up with comedian Robin Ince and guests including Alexei Sayle and Tim Minchin. This is now on a national tour of music venues (as Uncaged Monkeys).

So is science the new rock ‘n’ roll? Well Kate Bush did sing Pi to 150 places on her last album Aerial, and Cox is actually a former rock star (if playing keyboards for D:Ream counts), and he’s also been building his indie kudos with a regular guest spot on BBC 6Music’s breakfast show. He is part of a new generation of younger walk-and-talk scientific experts, alongside Neil Oliver and Alice Roberts (who helped Coast to be a hit) and Scottish geologist Iain Stewart (whose Men Of Rock was actually about Scottish geologists), attempting to appeal to a wider (and younger) demographic. Back on BBC Four Professor Jim Al-Khalili is about the same age (but looking older) and his Everything and Nothing took a different take on some of the topics covered in Universe. After comedian Harry Hill pointed out the huge budgetary differences between his show and Universe, he was happy enough to don a wig and perform Helter Skelter live on TV Burp.

Yet all of this newfound interest in the skies seems of little use in London as high levels of light pollution mean it’s rare to see any more a handful of stars, and only things like the recent supermoon having much of a chance of being sighted at all . To fully appreciate these Wonders, I may need to journey to Sark in the Channel Islands which as just been officially recognised as a "dark sky island".

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 56
Drum: Published on page 56

Heard It Through The Grapevine

2011-03-09T12:00:00.005Z

London Fields # 90
First published Inpress (Issue # 1164), Melbourne on 9 March 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1050), Sydney on 8 March 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Trying to get other people to listen to music you recommend can be fraught, particularly in a live setting. Get it right, and all is sweet; but friendships can strain if you get things wrong too often. So, having talked them up to a mate, I was a little trepidatious when Chips For The Poor began their set in the Brixton Windmill. Frontman Scott doesn’t really believe in microphones, or stages for that matter, as he walks in circles through the audience, hollering over the band’s assembled racket, in a slightly disturbing, unhinged yet wonderful way. Songs run continuously, the changes indicated only by a tempo shift in the drum machine until we’re all swept into the maelstrom, culminating in the monster groove that is I Am A Warrior. Returning the favour, I finally catch Blindness at the Buffalo Bar in Islington, and based on this performance, I shouldn’t have procrastinated so long. Strong basslines are key here as well, particularly on the showstopping track Broken, where the hypnotic tattoo spirals over and over while vocalist Beth Rettig writhes on the floor. Over at The Slaughtered Lamb in Clerkenwell, Josh T Pearson is playing his first London headline show in ages, featuring songs from his brilliant forthcoming album Last of the Country Gentlemen. This material is much more delicate than some of his older songs, and a quiet environment is needed to fully appreciate them. The more rapt the audience become, the quieter he sings, till it’s barely a whisper, and the loudest sound in the room is the intrusive click of an SLR lens.

None of these acts appeared on any of those ‘Sound of 2011’ lists; as sadly these are often more indicative of a marketing department budget than what they should be - a list of acts that should succeed and so deserve recognition and support. This year’s longlist did have Anna Calvi, whose self-titled debut album was not without some distinctively impressive tracks, while Brighton’s Esben And The Witch were remarkable in sounding nothing like anything else on the list. Regrettably for them in the eighteen months between their self-released EP and debut album Violet Cries, other artists have come along with similar ideas. Seeing EATW play recently in Nottingham, I was struck at how all embracing their sound is. Songs tend to blend into each other a little, but the whole effect is mesmerising. But there’s so much more going on at the moment than these lists indicate.

While Brighton’s Mirrors may be this year’s Hurts (or another OMD), on the harder side of electronica there’s Factory Floor, who sound like they could have appeared in Dogs In Space. Talking old school, next month sees a pioneer go back to analogue equipment with Interplay by John Foxx and the Maths, while Credo is the first album of original material from The Human League in a decade, while Blanc Burn marks 25 years since the last studio album from Blancmange (and there’s a UK tour as well). When some acts will never reform, it is a problem if Still Corners evoke the spirit of Slowdive, or if the genuinely uplifting Veronica Falls sound like a lost release from 20 years ago? Texans Ringo Deathstarr were barely old enough to be aware of music when the music that now inspires them was being released, but Colour Trip fairly rattles along in a way few contemporary albums do. Through the vagaries of international releases, you may also have missed Through Low Light And Trees by Smoke Fairies, a nu-folk duo whose haunting melodies fulfil the promised they displayed when I first saw play in a small Hackney bar some years back. Meanwhile Life! Death! Prizes!, the second album from Shrag (an acronym of Sussex Heights Roving Artists Group) has a much stronger song structure than their debut, as illustrated by the moving duet Coda and Rabbit Kids, one of the catchiest singles of the past 12 months.

I suppose my point is that there’s much more going on that you can get from any one source. I’ve discovered most of the above acts almost by chance - hearing a live session on the radio, seeing them as a support act, or from friends’ recommendations. So even though we’re told that blogs have supposedly replaced printed music papers and the internet makes us all critics now, I think that word-of-mouth is still a powerful tool, and that there’s still a validity in reading about music that may inspire you to seek out the sounds afterwards.

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 56
Drum: Published on page 54

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

2011-02-09T12:00:00.005Z

London Fields # 89
First published Inpress (Issue # 1160), Melbourne on 9 February 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1046), Sydney on 8 February 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

“We are live; please do not swear”. The axing of Big Brother may have seen this catchphrase pass into the annals of TV history, but it also seems as if taboos are shifting also. On three occasions recently BBC presenters have inadvertently dropped the c-bomb whilst taking about the current government. Meanwhile Channel 4 advertised their scrapping of the 10” broadcast delay for the 21^st British Comedy Awards, ensuing all the naughty words would be unable to be expurgated. The ceremony this year was fairly tame; Miranda Hart was the night’s big winner; and the most significant comedy story began when members of Top Gear made comments about the sexism row concerning Sky Sports presenters backstage.

In the following weeks Top Gear ended up in the news again after some questionable racial stereotype jibes aimed at Mexicans and their ambassador to the UK featured in a recent edition. Now Ambassador Eduardo Medina-Mora Icaza didn’t take too kindly to this; far from being indolent, he had put his life in peril leading a major campaign against drug gangs prior to his London posting. Last Saturday Jeremy Clarkson used his column in The Sun to apologise, claiming that offence is necessary in humour; the column ended with another ethnic joke about Mexico. So what are the taboos in comedy nowadays - terrorism, racism, political incorrectness, disability? Over the weekend, Steve Coogan, clearly incensed by the situation, wrote in The Guardian that “…you can get away with saying unsayable things if it's done with some sense of culpability”, believing that that comedy should have a “moral standpoint“ targeting “hypocrisy, human frailty, narrow-mindedness“.

A couple of weeks ago I was in the audience for the filming of four episodes of the second series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. By far the most edgy section was an appreciation of the IRA - “gentlemen bombers” with achievable aims, whose street art was a natural precursor to Banksy. Lee’s skilled in irony, but sailing so close to the wind makes misinterpretation ever more likely. His 2009 Edinburgh show If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One had a lengthy section on Top Gear, wishing all sorts of terrible calamities to befall their presenters, and their families. His get-out phrase there was the same one they use on Top Gear, that it’s “just a joke“. It may seem like a long time ago, but the repercussions of the phone messages Russell Brand and Jonathon Ross left on Andrew Sach’s answering machine are still being felt. Sachsgate was the 5th most complained about incident that broadcasting watchdog Ofcom have received in the last decade (with Lee‘s own Jerry Springer The Opera at #3), and the BBC has only just aired an episode of Never Mind The Buzzcocks filmed two years earlier as Brand had been a panellist in it. What you can do on stage, or on DVD ,is very different to what you can do as a state broadcaster, so it’ll be interesting to see if the BBC, still smarting from Sachsgate, allow all of Lee’s material to go to air.

Over on Channel 4, Frankie Boyle's Tramadol Nights also made headlines. After the initial fuss about a joke involving disability and incest had subsided, his use of the racist P-bomb and n-bomb in the fourth episode raised shackles again. In context the joke was a variation of “the ethnicities of the fatalities were, in order of importance…”, but here using evocative terminology for those at the bottom. Boyle displays a mean intelligence. Mean is a particularly apposite description; his comedy is a cross between the vitriolic rantings of a misanthrope and a carefully planned assault pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable. While sometimes very funny, it’s also spiteful and vindictive with a nastiness that can leave a distinctly unpleasant taste.

Speaking in Germany last Saturday, British Prime Minister David Cameron echoed the words spoken by German Chancellor Angela Merkel last October when he said that multiculturalism was an experiment that had failed. On the same day in Luton, the EDL mounted a massive demonstration against Islam. Meanwhile last Thursday, the BBC decided not to film a certain section of an upcoming Stephen Fry programme in Japan after the backlash over a section on QI where jokes were made about Tsutomu Yamaguchi, the only official survivor of both nuclear blasts in Japan in 1945. Taboos can be challenged, as Chris Morris did last year with Four Lions. But maybe it’s time for some to stop hiding behind the safety curtain of ‘political correctness gone mad’. and be seen for what they are - the classroom stirrer deliberately making provocative statements just to get attention.

Inpress: Published on page 58
Drum: Published on page 54

In The Bleak Midwinter

2011-01-12T12:04:00.001Z

London Fields # 88
First published Inpress (Issue # 1056), Melbourne on 12 January 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1042), Sydney on 11 January 2011
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 successful dramas on British television in recent years came late in 2010 when Oscar winning screenwriter Julian Fellowes based his new series on life above and below stairs in Edwardian society. Downton Abbey proved to be perfect Sunday night viewing and a huge ratings success for ITV, regularly pulling over 10 million viewers. As far as drama goes this was more like a filling pudding than a substantial meal, but it did seem to carry some interesting subtexts, such as how kind the ruling class are, and wasn’t it better and wonderfully reassuring when people knew their place in society? Staying in to watch TV was especially appealing recently; December 2010 was the coldest since records began, while the average temperature of -1C coincided with a big hike in fuel prices. Shops saw their revenues fall far below expectation as snow kept customers away. With January came a further disincentive to spending as VAT rose from 17.5% to 20%, as part of a raft of measures and cuts imposed by the government to tackle the UK’s enormous debt. This was followed by the news that music giant HMV would be shutting 40 of its stores (along with 20 Waterstones bookshops) by the end of 2011. The rise in VAT will affect the poorest most of all, and will help to widen the gap between the haves and the have-nots. As much as the last government failed in its moves towards a classless society, it seems that the new one is intent on making those divisions clear once again.

In his new year address Prime Minister David Cameron stated that these drastic actions were “not out of some ideological zeal”, yet these austerity measures aren’t merely emergency arrangements to be removed when the crises eases, but permanent changes. “We are all in this together” he continued, as the scrapping of the education maintenance allowance (EMA) will make it harder for children in poorer families to stay in education. Meanwhile there has been no move to restrict bankers’ bonuses, and no sign of a more equitable Robin Hood tax. Many of the decisions seem impulsive, like the axing of the Bookstart programme to encourage young readers, which, following protest, was partially reprieved. Transport fares rose sharply for yet another year, and my annual season ticket now costs 25% more than two years ago. It’s been over four years since there was a weekend without any line closures on the London Underground - we’re told that these works and the fare rises are necessary to make improvements before the 2012 Olympics. Yet The Olympic Delivery Authority recently admitted that London Transport will only cope during that period if Londoners don’t actually use the service during the period of the games, and suggests they walk, or work from home instead.

While WikiLeaks revelations drew headlines, on the streets of Birmingham weeks of uncollected rubbish piled up in the streets as a result of snowfall and ongoing work-to-rule industrial action. As cuts hit local services very hard, this may just be the start of things to come. Sharon Shoesmith, who was dismissed from her job as director of children's services in Haringey council over the tragic death of Peter Connelly (better known as "Baby P") said last Friday that these cuts could impact children protection services and so increase the odds of similar tragedies. In the West End, Baby Blue Eyes, a new musical based on the 1983 film A Private Function is using as its tagline: “It's 1947 - austerity Britain, belts are being tightened, fair shares for all, the coldest winter in decades and a Royal wedding. Sound familiar?”. In today’s Britain 12-year-old Nicky Wishart is pulled out of lessons and interrogated by anti-terrorism officers after setting up a Facebook event to protest at the closure of his local youth club in Cameron’s constituency. Meanwhile The Office for National Statistics is setting up methods of measuring the happiness of people living in the UK. Is this the Big Society we were promised? On the streets battle lines are being drawn, between protesters and police, or against groups such as the anti-immigration English Defence League (EDL). It’s as though the country is at war. Yet the only thing it seems to be fighting is itself.

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 54
Drum: Published on page 56

Christmas Wrapping

2010-12-29T12:00:00.006Z

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

Synchronicity

2010-12-01T12:00:00.002Z

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

Radio Silence

2010-11-03T12:00:00.006Z

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.

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?

Last Orders

2010-10-06T12:00:00.004+01:00

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

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.

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.

© James McGalliard 2010

A Plug-In Called Nostalgia

2010-09-08T12:00:00.003+01:00

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

Life In A Day

2010-08-11T12:00:00.003+01:00

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

In This Moment

2010-07-14T12:00:00.003+01:00

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

Tales Of A City

2010-06-16T12:00:00.001+01:00

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

Electioneering

2010-05-15T12:00:00.002+01:00

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

Sounding Off

2010-04-21T12:00:00.003+01:00

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?

© James McGalliard 2010

Sow What

2010-03-24T12:00:00.003Z

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

A DAB Hand

2010-02-24T12:00:00.000Z

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

It's Snow Joking Matter

2010-01-28T12:00:00.002Z

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

That Was The Year That Was

2009-12-23T12:00:00.009Z

London Fields # 73
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 23 December 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

With news broadcasts full of stories of retail closures and impending strikes, it’s hard to summon up a spirit of seasonal bonhomie, despite the snow falling outside. Britain is still feeling the full brunt of recession, and as unemployment continues to rise, no one can be sure if they’ll still be in work in six months time. Such an atmosphere means that people seem to avoid unnecessary extravagances, so the great British public has probably spent more time staying in to watch television, or socialising in their own homes instead of pubs than at any time I can recall.

2009 was the year of so-called stripped-programmed event TV. Following last year’s experiment with Criminal Justice, where a drama was screened over consecutive weeknights, this year saw Torchwood return in this format with Children Of Earth, while the same approach was applied at ITV for Collision. Of course, you could argue that this is no different to a nightly soap, but the 43 consecutive weeknights of HBO’s In Treatment demanded intellectual and emotional attention in a way Home & Away never could. With a run of late night screenings on BBC Two, this was the year when The Wire hit the UK mainstream, as you didn’t need a premium subscription or a DVD to see what the fuss had all been about. Although its timeslot and heavy schedule were hard to keep pace with, it still made a major impact - from parliamentary discussions over street drug trade to the creators expressing their annoyance that the BBC policy of subtitling every show they broadcast meant audiences didn’t have to listen to the nuances to pick up what was being said.

The effects of last year’s Manuelgate are still being felt. TV comedy, particularly on the BBC, was visibly running scared, and most of the edgier material ended up back in the clubs, or online. This made Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle especially groundbreaking; most of it was simply a man talking to an audience, in a way perhaps not seen since the heyday of Dave Allen, but this wasn’t about simple jokes. Lee’s lengthy polemics were both witty and vicious and were intermingled with some sharp sketches to illustrate the point. On the other extreme was Miranda; this wasn’t to my taste, but I had to admire they way it attempted to revive the sitcom format of the ‘70s, albeit with perhaps more innocence, but additional Brechtian breaking of the fourth wall. It has been recommissioned; Lee has not. The wowsers also attacked The Thick Of It - its jump from satellite to terrestrial broadcast led to complaints about the wonderfully vivid swearing. Psychoville saw half of The League Of Gentlemen return, while the axed Pulling signed off with a one-off special, and then won even more awards; Sharon Horgan reappeared in Free Agents on Channel 4.

The influence of Skins continues to be felt. While the cast change had a better intent than the eventual reality, it could be argued that it led to both Misfits (E4) and Mouth To Mouth (BBC Three). Both these shows focused on a different central character of an interrelated group each week, so rather than a straightforward story arc, the back-story slowly becomes clear once you’ve heard the story from all the viewpoints. While Mouth To Mouth was literally a string of talking heads monologues, Misfits has a darker humour, and like Being Human nicely subverted expectations and genres. But perhaps the biggest shock on TV this year was Merlin which grew into a secret treat after a fairly risible first season, punching well above its weight in both in scripting and complexity.

The sound of 2009 was the motorik beat, perhaps ringing most clearly in the volte-face fortunes of The Horrors. It was a year that artists tried to work independently of the big labels, either by self releasing downloads (like The Boxer Rebellion or Spc-Eco) or by raising money for recording from fans through Bandstocks and the like (Patrick Wolf). Musical trends bubbling away included a predicted reemergence of C86, as well and a smattering undercurrent of prog, while electro went to mainstream chart success. The reunions continued - The Specials, Th’ Faith Healers, Spandau Ballet, The Comsat Angels, The Primitives, Blur, Chapterhouse, The Lotus Eaters and Ultravox – some as one-offs, and others as ongoing concerns. The charts themselves however were once again weighed down by the heavy influence of TV talent shows. Susan Boyle became a star, seemingly for having a talent more appealing than her appearance. But this also led to the popularity of truncated names (SuBo) in the tabloids, obviously predicated by LiLo (or was it South Holborn being better known as SoHo?). The cancellation of Big Brother after ten years could have been seen as the death of so-called reality TV, if over 20 million viewers hadn’t tuned in for the final of The X-Factor in December, leading to another battle for the Christmas # 1.

Following on from Echo & The Bunnymen performing Ocean Rain with an orchestra late last year, 2009 saw ABC, Elbow and James among others follow suit, with mixed results. Now it appears the trend may be headed your way too as The Angels are going to do this in Adelaide next April. Speaking of Australian acts, where were they this year? Wolfmother and Pendulum can still fill large venues here, and Jet’s take on Iggy Pop is a perennial radio favourite, but with the exception of The Temper Trap, where were the new Australian artists? I can only hope that they take advantage of the comparatively weak sterling and make a stronger contribution to events such as The Great Escape next year.

In London, it was the year that the Circle Line stopped going around in a circle, and that the River Thames disappeared from the iconic London Underground map. February snow brought the capital to a complete halt and the battle of the free evening papers led to the demise of both thelondonpaper and London Lite, while the Evening Standard was forced to become a freesheet. Political sleaze was back on the agenda, with parliamentary expenses claimed for everything from moat dredging to a floating duck house. In a year where only new shops opening were pawn brokers and even big chains like Borders went bust, there were some people who made it all bearable. In print and across his four TV series, Charlie Brooker once again was a brilliantly funny and scathingly critical voice of outrage and reason. On stage, with two entirely different shows, Daniel Kitson covered big topics, but with a human perspective. This clever, erudite and self-effacing chap weaved larger-than-life yarns which eventually revealed the heart-warming joy in the minutiae of the smallest details of everyday life.

© James McGalliard 2009

Label With Love

2009-12-09T12:00:00.004Z

London Fields # 72
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 9 December 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There was a recent television history of British music that skipped straight from the second summer of love in 1988 to BritPop in the mid-nineties, as though nothing happened in the interim. In fact, BritPop and Dad Rock spelled the end of a much more interesting music scene. At the time, shoegazing was coined as a pejorative term, referring to guitarists staring at their array of effects pedals down from behind curtained hair while all-but-ignoring the audience. In the years since, the influence of that music has reverberated with another generation, and an ongoing renaissance has been steadily progressing, albeit without much mainstream recognition. While the whole concept of an impending shoegaze revival is a bit of a misnomer, what has changed is the general awareness and appreciation of the music, so that My Bloody Valentine can now pull audiences they couldn’t even dream of in their heyday.

Club AC30 celebrated their fifth birthday last April, and over the last weekend of November presented Reverence # 2, exhibiting just some aspects of the modern scene, over three nights at the ICA in London. Club AC30’s shows are different to the norm; Robin and Duncan (with Nick) have a genuine love of their music and every band has a reason to be on that particular bill. As such, an unknown opener could prove to be your new favourite band, which makes their nights special indeed. Reverence # 2 sees a mix of old and new, with two of the headliners reforming from way back when.

Air Formation‘s music promises that their forthcoming album could be a blinder; live however, they’re a little hindered by the vocals, although these improve immensely as their set progresses. I’ve always thought there was a link between shoegaze and the euphoric side of trance. Ulrich Schnauss doesn’t go near a guitar, but like trance, his music acts as a soundtrack to an internal journey, one where it’s possible to lose oneself in it and make freefall associations as though in a deep meditative state - but this is travelling without drugs or physical movement. As projections show a travelogue through the cities of Europe, I realise that this music isn’t about pedals or controlled feedback, but a state of mind. Headlining the night, Chapterhouse are probably a better live prospect now than they were back then. They stake a valid claim not to be forgotten, and Falling Down feels like a lost baggy anthem from Madchester. The following night Swervedriver play as though there’s some unfinished business and they’re trying to set it right. It’s a strange contrast – there’s warmth but a clinical edge, and the raw edge to the vocals makes me think of Chris Bailey. Earlier, The Depreciation Guild show that this music can be light, playful and joyous, but still carry gravitas. I confess Jesu were a bit heavy for me, or at least for my mood on this evening.

On the final night, The Tamborines are rather special - things fall into place like no other gig I’ve seen them play and they’re damn impressive. They’re followed by Ringo Deathstarr from Austin, Texas who mix fuzz pedal rock, dreampop and US garage punk - In Love being the standout of a strong set. The only disappointment of the whole three nights comes at the finale with The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Playing as a five piece, it’s more like The Heartbreak Of Playing Painfully Flat, and only Higher Than The Stars threatens to lift things, but even that crumbles when the singing starts. This C86 inspired mess is so bad a pastiche it’s almost offensive, yet the members of the audience who spent all of Ringo Deathstarr’s set taking photos of each other for Facebook seem mesmerised, so what do I know?

Although I’m excited by some releases by newer bands coming in 2010 (Exit Calm and When The Sun Hits for starters), there’s still some originals I’d love to return to show why they’re remembered so fondly. While Lush isn’t possible, and Slowdive more than unlikely, I can still hope to see Pale Saints or Bark Psychosis play again in some form. Meanwhile, the rumour mill whispers that a certain Oxford four-piece will choose not to Leave Them All Behind next year, so this is far from over.

© James McGalliard 2009

State Of The Nation

2009-11-11T12:00:00.003Z

London Fields # 71
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 November 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Overhead there’s an explosion every few seconds as rockets and mortars light up the night skies. It feels like a siege is underway, and the view outside is reminiscent of the CNN footage at the beginning of the 1991 Gulf War. But the barrage is actually the height of the annual firework season; where every man sets something alight, and his every dog (or cat) hides behind the sofa. While Guy Fawkes Night can be seen as a celebration of over 400 years of religious persecution (certainly more traditional events, such as Lewes, centre on anti-Popery), for me it serves to illustrate an ongoing conflict between the forces of reform and reactionary change which lie at the heart of a conflicted nation.

Remembrance Sunday this year saw attention focused on current British military actions, particularly those in Afghanistan. As the death toll (in hostile actions there) passed 200, it came to light that Prime Minister Gordon Brown had misspelled the surname of one of the fallen in his handwritten condolence letter to the soldier’s mother. It could be argued that this was a failing of his support staff by not noticing that their partially sighted boss had confused ‘m’ and ‘n’, but instead the whole thing felt like a rejected script from satire The Thick Of It, and just seemed to reinforce the general lack of confidence his premiership inspires.

The pound is excessively weak, and Britain is about the only country in Europe that is yet to emerge from recession. Inflation may be low, but unemployment is steadily rising, and with banks collapsing, redundancies and last year’s real estate crash, folks fear for their futures. This has led to the rise of the staycation – a holiday in the only country where a £ is still worth a £. For tourists coming to Britain, the cheap pound is great news. But once they arrive, they may find things a little more difficult. Ongoing upgrading of technical systems on the London Underground is seeing widespread line closures, particularly at weekends, making the city damn hard to get around. Next year we are promised further closures and huge fare rises, as well as a general reduction in buses and late night tube services.

But what will the relatively low value of the currency mean to traditional Aussie backpackers? Why work in the UK for pounds when Euros are available to earn in Ireland and throughout Europe? The money they save here will no longer be that nest egg for when they return home, nor will it go far in those European escapes. Meanwhile you may find it tempting to internet shop while prices for Australian consumers are so comparatively low, but with the recent rolling strike action by Royal Mail employees, who knows when your purchases may arrive? I ask a local postie if he thinks the current strike action is just handing the government over to the Tories. As far as he’s concerned, that battle’s already lost, and the only hope of a continuing living wage for postal staff is industrial action now.

The parallels with the winter of discontent and the Britain Isn’t Working campaign which led to the election of Thatcher and all that followed are striking. The only thing missing is the power blackouts (which, we are told will come in the next few decades unless a lot more nuclear power plants are built). This climate of fear is leading to a rise in popularity of far right groups, perhaps most visibly by the British National Party (BNP), which was the centre of a recent furore when invited to appear on flagship current affairs show Question Time. Even those tabloids which make it their passing trade to engender distrust and fear, pilloried BNP leader Nick Griffin on their front pages, thus giving him the chance to claim bias and attempting a form of martyrdom. Yet selecting such a specific target misses a bigger picture – the empty promise of a return to a nostalgic world which never actually existed.

The daily news is filled with stories of random acts of senseless violence, and am saddened as I watch things slide. Meanwhile, out to the east, the building of the facilities for the 2012 London Olympics continues regardless.

© James McGalliard 2009

Black & White TV

2009-10-14T12:00:00.005+01:00

London Fields # 70
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 14 October 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Perhaps the most contentious section of comedian Richard Herring’s Edinburgh show Hitler Moustache began when he chose to use the term “Paki” to make a point. In the UK it is no mere abbreviation, but one of the most taboo terms of racist abuse, a derogatory catch-all for anyone from the Asian subcontinent. I felt myself catch my breath as he uttered it, for it’s dangerous territory to tread. Herring is not a racist by any stretch, but there’s a risk in being quoted out of context, such as the furore that surrounded his “maybe the racists have a point” comment from elsewhere in the show. His expansive conjecture was that an extreme racist’s ‘us and them’ mentality was only one step away from the truly enlightened state of seeing that we’re all the same; so those liberals who see hundreds of separate races on Earth were hundreds of steps further away from the ideal. He went on to illustrate that if people from India and Pakistan saw themselves as a racist sees them (the same), they’d be no conflict between the countries. Now this was never meant to be a serious proposition; the whole point of his show was to challenge perceptions and assumptions.

There’s been another recent TV race row playing out in the papers, where Strictly Come Dancing contestant Anton Du Beke saw the spray-on tan of his partner Laila Rouass and exclaimed “You look like a Paki”. The comment was made off air, and apologies were quickly made and accepted. Yet it’s still shocking that such a remark could be made, even in ‘jest’. ‘Only joshing’ was Carol Thatcher’s excuse earlier this year too, when she used the word “golliwog” to describe tennis player Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. It was also an off-air remark – the difference was that she refused to apologise (at least initially), saying there was nothing wrong with it. Rightfully, the BBC dismissed her, yet there are those who claim that the Beeb has not been even-handed in its handling of such incidents. Both the Celebrity Big Brother affair and Manuelgate are still fresh wounds in TV Land, and the BBC faces an uncertain future, particularly if there is a change in government at the next election.

Hence the BBC Trust’s latest broadcasting guidelines are reactionary, and the new restrictions on bad language feel like a visit from the ghost of Mary Whitehouse. Yet the modern world is one wherein you need to be more aware that certain, seemingly innocent words may carry a hidden weight. Only the other I week a responded to a ribald remark from a fellow employee with “cheeky monkey”, only to then freeze as I remembered that in England that word has nasty associations to anyone of black decent. And a few weeks earlier I was completely dumbfounded when a handyman at my flat started expressed some pretty hateful opinions, and used some racist expressions I’d never heard used in real life and hoped had been lost in the 1970s.

Yet the most shocking example of TV gone wrong recently wasn’t any of these, but the Jackson Jive act on Hey Hey It’s Saturday. It’s thirty years since Bert Newton wrongfooted Mohammed Ali with his infamous (yet genuinely innocent) “I like the boy” remark, and longer since The Black And White Minstrel Show was consigned to the cultural dustbin. So you’d have hoped that a true multicultural society might have become more attuned, yet the “Where’s Kamahl?” cartoon genuinely served to bundle all races of colour into the one basket that Richard Herring satirised. It isn’t about political correctness; it’s about being aware of a wider world - one in which the Lucky Country, with its detention camps and belated ‘Sorry’ is sometimes viewed as backward, homophobic and racist. Personally, I was simply embarrassed, and somewhat glad that this didn’t become a bigger story here, as it would have been impossible to defend my homeland. It’s not necessarily a question of racism, but it’s certainly one of sensitivity and awareness. Would they have been allowed to perform in blackface holding boomerangs, didgeridoos and a copy of the Mabo Treaty? To put it simply - “Wake Up Australia!”

© James McGalliard 2009

Edinblur

2009-09-16T12:00:00.008+01:00

London Fields # 69
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 September 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Edinblur tends to strike the Scottish capital each August, as those journeying to the annual Edinburgh Fringe Festival try and cram as much as possible into the time and space available. This is my attempt in words. Pappy's Fun Club's World Record Attempt: 200 Sketches in an Hour is an immediate highlight. They are able to make a large venue feel quite intimate, and it’s clear that they’re actually really enjoying it and each other. Their best material is imbued with a childlike wonder that makes it rather special. It’s very funny with running gags that work really well, some great ‘home made’ props, but mostly it’s about how they take you along on the ride with them, so much so that you’re literally dancing in your seat by the end.

New Art Club mix dance and humour in This Is Now, a reminiscence of 1983, first loves, cassette tapes, bad hair and the dawn of the Now That’s What I Call Music chart compilation LPs. Never again will I hear Give It Up by KC and The Sunshine Band again without picturing their accompanying choreography of IRA kneecappings and executions by balaclava-wearing dancers. Manchester’s Lady Garden were also busting with energy, and the multi-faceted performers have a pretty good grasp of when to end a sketch. From the simple supermarket announcements, to what real ladettes would be like, to the Six Wives of Henry VIII as Britain’s Next Top Monarch, they are a troupe to watch for.

Former Perrier Award winner Laura Solon returned with Rabbit Face Story Soup, a self-composed multi-character one-woman show, in which aspiring literary agent’s assistant Diana Lewis relates the story of her entry into the world of publishing. Solon takes on a kaleidoscope of roles to tell the tale, and inhabits each part in a bravura performance, which additionally introduces the concept of Crocodile Scrabble to the world. Elsewhere Pythonesque attempted to tell the story of Monty Python via a pastiche of their sketches. While a clever conceit, for the most part it lacked the anarchic edge of the source material, with only James Lance’s turn as Eric Idle bemoaning Python fanatics and theatre crowds coming anywhere close to capturing what it sought to honour. Over at the Traverse, The Interminable Suicide Of Gregory Church saw Daniel Kitson combine theatre and stand-up in a tale which effortlessly slipped from the real to the imagined as he unravelled the mystery of a suicide that took twenty-four years to succeed. It may seem like dark matter for comedy, yet Kitson’s skill is to gradually get you to care about his characters by the building of a complex jigsaw that mirrors a real life lived. It makes for a genuinely affecting, beautifully humanistic and eventually uplifting and life-affirming evening.

Australian cinema may never recover from its potted history as depicted in The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre Goes To Hollywood. Their last show was my highlight of 2008, and this year’s return featured a suitably irreverent Michael Jackson tribute, the best costume fast-changes on the Fringe, light sabres making music and a song about swine flu – to the theme of Footloose! On a more serious note, Hitler Moustache, the 25th consecutive show Richard Herring has taken to Edinburgh, felt like the culmination of all that he’d done before. It cunningly challenged perceptions of racism and pushed boundaries in a cleverly considered and thought-provoking way in which even liberals were not beyond baiting or criticism. Some of the gratuitousness was extremely funny, but he also successfully linked the recent political successes of far-right parties to general apathy without it feeling too much like a lecture.

The sheer physical skill and dexterity of the acrobats of ThisSideUp’s Controlled Falling Project provided many moments of jaw-dropping wonder, while Stewart Lee proved that his point that the last taboo of stand-up is to do something sincerely and well, by closing with a beautiful rendition of Steve Earle’s Galway Girl. Festival veteran Simon Munnery jumped from light to deeply personal in his AGM 2009, and his quiet self-assurance had me really liking what he was doing without being able to explain exactly why afterwards. Ophelia (drowning) by 3Bugs Fringe Theatre recreated Millais’ famous painting in a hotel swimming pool, and having the audience leaving her floating corpse in a pool, with no applause to break the mood or signal the end, was a chilling coup de théâtre. On my last night, Edwyn Collins was joined by fellow Orange Juice cohort Malcolm Ross for a few numbers. The band’s instruments were all amplified acoustic, performing new arrangements that really worked well, especially a gripping version of Rip It Up. The love in the room it was particularly touching, and it was a special way to end this year’s experience.

© James McGalliard 2009

A Bigger Canvas

2009-08-19T12:00:00.004+01:00

London Fields # 68
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 August 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

For years the fourth plinth of London’s Trafalgar Square has been the centre of discussion and controversy. It is no longer the age of Empire, so what is an appropriate subject for a new permanent statue? Artist Antony Gormley has come up with an intriguing, albeit temporary solution in a work entitled One & Other. Over the course of 100 days and nights, 2400 ordinary folks will each get one hour on top of the empty plinth to do almost whatever they please. So far, around 32 000 have applied to take part. Andy Warhol’s famous quote about fame may be true in another way here too, for some ‘plinthers’ (as they’re known) seem to run out of steam after about fifteen minutes, and end up twittering on their mobile. Via the live streams on the website I’ve seen someone dressed as a giant pigeon (Trigger Happy TV anyone?), another dressed as a giant CCTV camera, and some partial nudity. Last week someone went to whole hog and took off all their clothes (until police made him cover up after about five minutes). But it’s also been a place where music and art meet. Chris T-T took his guitar and a small PA up with him and busked, and a woman named Verity stood serenely while she resolutely and quietly sung wordless laments into the darkling air.

Music also met art over at the Roundhouse in Camden, where Nick Cave gave his first ever public reading from forthcoming novel The Death Of Bunny Munro. When I interviewed him about Grinderman for this paper a few years ago, he told me that he’d love to write a second novel, “...but I just don’t have the fucking time”. After the reading he revealed that this had been written over an intense six-week period while touring, late at night after shows, and in the mornings, and had a very different creative process to And The Ass Saw The Angel some twenty years ago. It transpires that this was originally a screenplay he wrote for John Hillcoat, and when the project stalled (at least temporarily) he just started telling the story in prose form, and liked how it turned out. It was fascinating to see him in this light, made somewhat hesitant and uncertain by venturing outside his comfort zone. The novel itself reflects some of his music; the spirit of Grinderman especially seems to permeate the text, from a reference to lampreys, to the naked need for sexual congress at any cost. The modern setting allows Cave to create some new verbs and adjectives from brands such as iPods, Zippo lighters and Tarzan, and in this digital age it is being released on multiple formats, including a talking book, and accompanying soundtrack.

Over at the Horse Hospital, DNA was a short art exhibition in praise of, and inspired by the pioneering work of John Foxx. Rather than a retrospective, all the work here was contemporary, and featured a blend of the analogue and the digital. Perhaps the physical centrepiece was The Grey Suit, one of four suits that over the years John has lent to friends and colleagues for the seeming properties that allow its wearer to become anonymous and move through the city without being noticed. These ideas and reflections have all contributed to The Quiet Man, a forthcoming work which Foxx has been spent over 30 years in refining. Gary Numan contributed an OSCar synthesiser (interestingly the keyboard of choice for the Foxx-free Ultravox of 1983) and a video interview about Foxx, while Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran had two digitally manipulated prints on display. Most interesting to me was Andrew Back’s No Numbers which breaks down the 3’18” of Foxx’s own Mr No into sets of numerically displayed digital samples which if transcribed on the paper provided at the rate of one number per second it would take four weeks to transcribe. Sadly Alex Proyas’ film was unable to be screened at the time I attended due to its gritty subject matter. Foxx told me he had enjoyed last year’s Australian Tour, and thought the ACMI in Melbourne (which he performed Tiny Colour Movies last May) had the best sound system of any venue he’d ever played. Although he won’t be working with Louis Gordon for a while, this is a verdant creative period for him, as he currently has five completed albums just waiting to be released.

Back at The Roundhouse, David Byrne has taken the combination of art and music one step further. His Playing The Building seeks to convert the structure, built over 150 years ago to turn railway locomotives around like a giant turntable, into a giant music instrument. At the centre is an old pump organ, reinforcing the steam-punk feel of the enterprise, and like One & Other, the general public are part of the installation, and can even be the ‘musician’.

© James McGalliard 2009

Summer In The City

2009-07-22T12:00:00.003+01:00

London Fields # 67
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 August 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

When you live in a place, you end up with all kinds of insider knowledge without ever quite knowing how you picked it up in the first place. In London, milk is cheaper at the corner shop than it is in the big supermarkets, a hint of sun on a day warmer than 17 will result in hoards of shirtless men in the high street, and if you see a Japanese person with a bewildered expression in the centre of Hackney, it’s most likely they’re trying to find the Burberry factory outlet. Although an Englishman’s home is supposedly his castle, the fiercest pride and competition is in his garden. An unkempt hedge will draw disdainful glances, and any foray into your back garden is to invite comment on its state. That said, a true joy of gardening here is the lack of ferocious beasties; there are no white tails hiding in your gloves, or deadly critters in the undergrowth.

The great centres of the British making conversation continue to be weather and sport. The predicted long hot summer has so far failed to arrive, which is a little bit of a blessing as the long brick terraces of the capital can become furnaces once the mercury creeps over 30. Football (soccer) is the ubiquitous game here and virtually nothing else comes near challenging its dominance. Such is the strength of both sentiment for the sport and team loyalty, that to really follow a team you have to be born into it, which is not part of a shared upbringing for a lad from suburban Melbourne. These are some of the few weeks of the year when the game isn’t being played professionally; still it’s always football and never cricket that’s being played on the streets around where I live.

All that was different a few years ago, if only for a few short weeks, in 2005, when The Ashes were last played here. Back then the whole country suddenly went cricket mad, particularly after England ended up winning them back (The following series, where England copped a drubbing in Australia, seems to have been conveniently forgotten about). With the Poms last-minute survival in Cardiff, and their first Ashes win at Lords in 75 years, I fear that all this is going to repeat itself once again. In 2005, the Ashes games were shown free-to-air; this time around the live broadcasts are exclusive to a premium satellite subscription channel. So maybe it won’t capture the nation in the same way? It seems Aussie baiting has already become a secondary sport; all the more reason to hope Ponting and his team can still turn this series around.

Surely part of the experience of living in another country is about immersing yourself in that lifestyle, and becoming a part of the community in which you live? So while I may want to ‘fly the flag’, another part of me keeps a distance from the expat community here. Last week, the BBC dug out The Adventures of Barry McKenzie and I was wondering if it isn’t due for an update about the new generation of Oz ambassadors to the UK. With visits from Melbourne friends recently, more than once I’ve ended up on a purely Melbourne table in a pub. It was nice to talk to people with shared experiences of growing up, and to learn new examples of Australian vernacular as well. Walking up Essex Road in Islington en route to another pub, I pointed out Britannia Row, the former studios where Joy Division recorded Closer. In the ensuing conversation, it was suggested that the London I was living in was one based in the past, rather than what is happening now. I’ve never considered myself much of a scenester, in the context of this column it bothered me. So for a while I may be taking a step back from music and concentrate on writing about other aspects of life here.

Reading seems little more than a satellite town of London in the characterless commuter belt. I found myself here again recently as it was my only chance to catch some other friends from Melbourne before they flew home. Given the persistent mizzle falling, there was little other option than to retire to a nearby hostelry. It could easily be argued that real ale appreciation is just gauze to disguise another excuse to get drunk. But there was no piped music in The Hobgoblin, and mobile phones were frowned upon, so the only sound was that of animated conversations, it made me very glad to be in this place and time. It was a distinctly English environment yet sadly it’s now hard to find a place like this anymore in the city. On the train back into London, another thought struck me. It’s friends who make anything worth experiencing, regardless of where you or they came from originally.

© James McGalliard 2009

Midyear Malaise

2009-06-24T12:00:00.007+01:00

London Fields # 66
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 June 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

In the northern hemisphere, as well as being the longest day of the year, the solstice is considered to be the first day of summer. Hence the beginning of the northern summer also marks the halfway point of the year, and I’m finding myself a little out-of-step with 2009. The temptation to spend an evening at home, rather than out watching music gets ever stronger. Nothing would persuade me to go to the Glastonbury Festival now (even though some friends have flown over from Oz just for it). It’s just too large now; smaller events like Latitude or Truck are far more tempting, as you can actually see the bands. While I can keep up with developments in music via MySpace and YouTube (and Glasto is on TV anyway), nothing matches the experience of a live band on the right night. On those nights I’ve been glad I got off the couch, or even went further a field for the experience.

At the Deaf Institute in Manchester, My Latest Novel played their first English show in several years. Selecting material almost exclusively from their yet-to-be-released second album Deaths And Entrances may have been a gamble, but I was both entranced and transported by the spirit of the band, their musical progression and the sheer joy of the inspiring music they created. Similarly, when I Like Trains played at The Luminaire for the launch for a Belgium Festival, most of their set was work-in-progress, some still without titles. The change to a four-piece has seen a shake-up their world view, and the new songs premiered showed that they are writing material of a different hue than they have so far released.

The innate experience and skill of The Bats shines through whenever they perform (as does their charm). They effortlessly recreate their sound in the basic set-up of The Brixton Windmill, and there are lots of older songs sprinkled amongst most of The Guilty Office (although sadly no Trouble In This Town or Made Up In Blue). Promoters (and label) Club AC30 can always be relied upon to provide gigs of quality, and The Bats supported Crystal Stilts for them at The ICA the following night. But a far more impressive show came at another AC30 show early the next week, when Stephen Lawrie used Doncaster three-piece 93MillionMilesFromTheSun as a backing band to perform a set of Taste-era material of his band The Telescopes. The result was punishingly brutal, but brilliant!

It doesn’t always go so well. I bought a ticket for The Gaslight Anthem mainly to catch their support for the tour, Frank Turner. Now I’ve seen Turner triumph at small gigs, and win over large festival crowds, but this middling-size audience proved a tough size to crack. Still, he did better than the headliners, whose repetitive songs seemed honed for audiences who wanted Bruce Springsteen 1978-85, without any of the slow ones, but with added ‘indie’ cool. I didn’t stay for the whole show; neither did I make it through all of doves on their recent tour. Before they hit the encore, I hit the pub next door – only to see rafts of attendees who hadn’t lasted as long as I did. And although I waited until the end of The Longcut at The Luminaire, things didn’t get much better than they began. The live sound was messy, and the band failed to find that elusive groove.

I’ve no interest in the daily reports of Blur (PLC) playing ‘secret’ show after ‘secret’ show. I don’t understand why White Lies end up on high rotation and brilliant releases like that by Joe Gideon & The Shark remain unnoticed. Over at the Enterprise, I catch Kid Harpoon, playing again as a solo performer. It makes me sad that music as fresh as vibrant isn’t being heard as it should. Since I last saw him, he’s recorded an album, scrapped it, re-recorded it and had Nambucca, the venue he lived about, and called home, burn down. Tonight sees him playing a piano-led paean in his memory, whilst older unreleased songs like Colours and Late For The Devil draw a strong response, and I fear the bouncing floor may give way during a rousing version of The Milkmaid.

Sometimes it feels like a lone battle against mediocrity. There are some great acts out there, and concepts like Bandstand Busking offer some hope. But is it enough to ward off the repercussions of five years of unthinking cover versions from TV talent shows? Just when I feel I may be losing it all, I run into someone who has worked with many of the bands I rate or care about. Over the next few hours that we end up chatting, on numerous occasions he stops and hugs me, merely for the opinions I express. So then I start to wonder, is that I am off the ball, or is just that most of the current music is just dull and unimaginative? Let me know…

© James McGalliard 2009

South By South East

2009-05-27T12:00:00.007+01:00

London Fields # 65
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 27 May 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

While most of Great Britain sat inside to see how Graham Norton handled Terry Wogan’s Eurovision crown, I found myself wandering the lanes and seafront of Brighton seeking another type of music entirely. The Great Escape festival is a three-day event combining music conference and showcase spread over thirty Brighton venues. Perhaps partially a UK response to South by South West, it’s now in its fourth year, and draws around 3000 delegates and press and over 10000 punters. This particular weekend Brighton was literally overrun, as it coincided with the Brighton Festival, and its accompanying Fringe events, as well as ‘Heroes Run’ on the Sunday morning after the final night.

But it’s not just about seminars and performances, there’s networking as well. Outside the Thistle Hotel I run into Andrew Todd, the guitarist of The Boxer Rebellion. There’s a big announcement to be made regarding the band very soon, but for the time being they’re being very tight lipped about it. However if things go as planned, Andrew may well get to play his Adelaide home as part of a large touring summer festival in early 2010. The Australian presence was a little muted and understated this year; certainly there was nothing to rival the New Zealand showcase which saw Die! Die! Die!, Connan Mockasin and The Veils amongst the acts performing on the pier on the Saturday afternoon, although their twenty-minute sets were a little restrictive.

As the evening’s events began, so did the inevitable clashes. Torn between I Heart Hiroshima and Yves Klein Blue, we end up at the latter as it’s closest to our next destination. While you couldn’t fault their confidence, I kept waiting for one song to pull me up and make me pay attention; sadly it doesn’t appear. Maybe I’ve become too British in my tastes, but they sounded like 2004, and seemed to be lacking cohesion in what they were trying to do.

The next decision was a difficult one. Two of my favourite bands were playing at exactly the same time, but seeing either one of them ruled out seeing School Of Seven Bells, British Sea Power or Idlewild. However as Joe Gideon & The Shark have a London show next month, we opted for I Like Trains (formerly iLiKETRAiNS) at the large Concorde 2. There’s a disappointingly small crowd, which is a shame as iLT put in a first rate show. Keeping nothing back they open with Terra Nova, with a Rickenbacker bass you feel as much as hear, and the band silhouetted in dry ice in slowly rotating spots. It’s an old school approach but it works brilliantly. It’s hard to see why this band found themselves without a label; the new songs indicate that the next album is likely to sidestep the pitfalls of their ambitious yet flawed debut, and they are a great live act. While there are times it’s not quite gelling, it all comes together for the epic closer Spencer Percival, where the brooding menace which has been building up over the preceding eight minutes explodes into an apocalyptic cataclysm that is literally jawdropping.

Word reaches us that Patrick Wolf’s show is completely full, so do we see whether British India can justify their full page ad in that week’s NME, or go catch Gang Of Four? It’s not a hard choice. With the previous act running vastly over time, Gang Of Four have only fifteen minutes playing time before the curfew sets in, so they make the best of it. Jon King is one of the most brilliant and confrontational frontmen around. There’s a steeliness to him, whether conveyed by his impassioned wail, or the systematic destruction of a microwave with a baseball bat. He and Andy Gill are constantly moving between the three mikes, weaving like some deranged dervish. Their energy can barely be contained. Losing one of the best rhythm sections around is a cruel blow, but Mark Heaney is a strong presence on drums and Thomas McNiece nicely replicates those immense bass lines. While they may not cause structural damage like Allen’s did, it suits the band well. Gang of Two? Nah, they’re still firing on all cylinders.

Then there’s another long walk, trying to catch Dark Horses, Lisa Lindley-Jones new act which for these shows featured guest vocalist Emiliana Torrini. Sadly they’re done by the time we get there, but we do see a relaxed Patrick Wolf walking down the road tucking into chicken and chips. A midnight street conversation sees us at Audio, where I lose my friends to the packed throng on the dance floor. By now it’s nearing 1am and alone I catch the end of the set from one of the last acts performing, The Shiny Brights from Adelaide in the small downstairs bar of Jam. Singer Wolfgang brings some genuine frontman pizzazz to proceedings, and while not quite my thing, there’s a joyous energy here that is somewhat infectious.

The next morning I’m recovering in the Hove sunshine, watching hundreds of people dressed as superheroes trying to break a world record for the largest number of capes ever assembled in the one place. It’s a surreal end to a great experience. Next year I’ll be back for all three days. I only hope they get more extended licensing, or begin shows earlier so that the bands that have travelled so far to be here may be able to play for longer.

© James McGalliard 2009

Memories In Future Tense

2009-04-29T12:00:00.005+01:00

London Fields # 64
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 29 April 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

When was the last time you walked on St Kilda Pier? Or took a stroll through the Botanical Gardens, or a gander at Cook’s Cottage? When you live in a place, you tend to take the local attractions as part of the background. There’s no imperative to see them, as they’ll always be there (as perhaps may you). So you get on with your life, tied up in the patterns of the daily commute, where to get lunch, and what housework probably needs doing but you can put off for just one more day. lf both life and work are based in suburbia, you can become so absorbed in all that entails that you lose sight of where you actually are.

This is true of adopted homes too. On a glorious autumn day last week, I travelled down to Brighton to catch Ultravox on their Return To Eden tour, which sees the commercially successful line-up of the band playing together for the first time since Live Aid some 23 years ago. Getting out of London can prove difficult, and once you do it’s still a long way to any beach, but seeing the sea made me wonder why I didn’t more often. While Brighton did have a pretty dingy period of faded glamour in the nineties, now its myriad streets of small and varied shops seems a world away from the recession-hit capital where the only new outlets seem to be bookies, pawn brokers and money lenders – some taking over the abandoned offices of real estate agents. Yet prices are steep down on the Suffolk coast – even a simple round of drinks was more than I’ve ever paid in London.

I had temporarily forgotten it was St George’s Day, until a labourer-philosopher on a nearby table in the pub started to lecture his mates on the subject (this just after his lengthy diatribe on the particularly outstanding qualities of the breasts of that day’s Page 3 girl). Now every English pub will have one or more of these chaps, and today’s outrage centred on how he wasn’t allowed to celebrate being English; especially as all these foreigners got their special religious holidays (obviously he’d momentarily forgotten that four-day Easter weekend a few weeks back). So here he was, wanting to celebrate a Roman soldier born in Turkey who may never even have existed. And while England should have a national holiday to match Ireland, Scotland and Wales, some nasty racist factions have appropriated this flag as England for the English, so it’ll be a difficult balancing act to get right. Maybe April 23 should be celebrated as Shakespeare’s birthday instead?

I’m glad to say Ultravox weren’t a disappointment; Midge’s voice is still outstanding, and it was joyous to see onstage the one reformation I feared would never happen. I still remembered every lyric, and was glad I was in a place and time I could see this limited reformation. Recently it’s been hard to know what decade this we’re living in here. The reformed Spandau Ballet are appearing on chat shows, ABC just played the entire Lexicon Of Love album with an orchestra, and lame Life On Mars sequel Ashes To Ashes has returned for a second series, set in a imagined 1982. Meanwhile, highbrow digital television station BBC Four commemorated the 25^th anniversary of the miners’ strike with a series of documentaries. The heavy-handed response by the police at some of those pickets is still shocking today, and while you’d hope such things are remnants of a dark past, the kettling tactics and assaults on some people in the vicinity of the G20 protests is a sad reminder that the world has not progressed as much as you’d hoped it had.

Anyway, so the train pulled into London Bridge from Brighton late at night and I had about twenty minutes to make the connection to Liverpool Street, which involved crossing the river that really divides the city in two. The Thames is not a sedate meanderer like the Yarra; it’s wide, turbulent, fast, and unpredictable; it’s unlikely you’d survive if you fell in. To my right I saw Tower Bridge for the first time in a few years, and it struck me that I was living in a place I had seen nightly on TV programmes on the ABC as I grew up. Unreal city indeed. Off to the left the huge dome of St Paul’s was still dominating the skyline as it has for hundreds of years. With so much despair around, it can be difficult to see the simple beauty that surrounds us. This floodlit colourful vision snapped me out of my reverie and left me vaguely awestruck, a feeling which as clung to me for several days. As the late Grant McLennan once sang, “If you spend your life looking behind you, you don't see what's up front”.

Decalogue

2009-04-01T12:00:00.002+01:00

London Fields # 63
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 April 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There used to be simple rules of gig etiquette that everyone knew and understood. Recently these seem to have slipped by the wayside, and so the experience of being part of a large number of people crammed into a very small and poorly ventilated space is often an ordeal rather than any kind of pleasure. Now some of these codes of conduct have changed, or no longer apply. The conceit of never wearing a t-shirt of the band you are seeing seems to have passed into obsolescence. The smoking ban has relegated several others, but at outdoor events and guerrilla gigs erratic dancing can still result in cigarette burns in a neighbour’s clothing, or worse still, on their skin.

While you may now come home from a gig without reeking of stale tobacco, the absence of smoke has revealed other odours that used to lie hidden in the haze. Principally is the seemingly new phenomenon of gig farters. We’ve probably all been quaffing away happily for many years – the difference is now you can smell it, and it can be overpowering. Indie gigs seem to be the worst – notable recent eye-watering instances have occurred at gigs by The Wedding Present, Wavves and The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Although you can’t really suggest Thou shalt not fart, the relentless onslaught throughout the performance sometimes makes me fear for the gastrointestinal health of those around me.

I know I’ve written about gig talkers before, but they really are the bane of all but the loudest gigs. Put simply, they just show a complete lack of respect for both the performer and everyone else who has paid to hear the artist. There are other verbal annoyances, like the moron who yells out for a particular song after every song. Nick Cave has the best riposte to this “Yes, we’ll play anything you yell out. As long as it’s on that list (points to setlist). And in that order”. Yet some talk is good – like asking Excuse Me, rather than roughly barging a way through, But don’t use excuse me so that someone makes a space for you to squeeze through, only to stand in the space that was made for you as a temporary concession.

Neither should you expect to find an easy road to the front if you arrive at the last minute. And if you want to be right against the stage, you may have to forego some other things. If you need to make six trips to the bar in ninety minutes then perhaps you should stand nearer the bar, so you don’t have to disturb people twelve times on your travels? Once you get to the bar, show some good grace. We’ve all had to queue for drinks, and we’re all missing something as we wait to be served. But when people push in, it just leads to aggro.

At the front respect the rules of the mosh pit. If someone goes down, you stop and get them up, and out, if needed. Don’t go running full pelt into the periphery. We’re here to hear music, not to get into argy-bargy with someone spoiling for a rumble. Speaking of space invaders - take off your bloody backpack! You have no idea how many drinks you’re spilling, and people you’re bumping. If you must have your bag with you, then take it off your shoulder and put it on the floor. Or at least wear it on your front so you can see where it’s swinging.

The final one shouldn’t even need to be stated, but sadly it does. Don’t steal - from other punters, or the venue, or the band. Piney Gir, in a recent MySpace posting, made a list of all the things that she’s had nicked from off stage in recent gigs, and it paints a pretty horrible picture of the state of play.

Now I’m not for rigorous adherence to rules per se, and have probably broken many of them at some point (except the last). At one gig I was bailed up for talking. When I challenged this, he said that he couldn’t actually hear my commentary himself, but the microphone with which he was bootlegging the gig could. Another time a friend complained that the couple in front kept canoodling, and each time their heads pressed together, it blocked his view of the stage. Easy - you just move. Drink plays a factor in all of this, and there’s nothing worse that someone who’s drunk and obnoxious (unless they’re leery as well). But the loss of these abiding principals seems in some way to reflect a growing contempt of other people. So rather than a list of commandments, let’s keep it simple: don’t make your enjoyment of the gig result in ruining someone else’s.

It’s simple - the tall bastard will stand in front of you just before the band come on, some idiot will spill your drink, or spill his over you, someone will yell out inanities, and someone else will treat you like crap. Yet sometimes the experience transcends all of this, and it is for these magic moments that we persevere. But if your pleasure is at the cost of someone else’s enjoyment, something’s gonna break.

What's In A Label?

2009-03-04T12:00:00.004Z

London Fields # 62
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 4 March 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Last week marked the 15^th anniversary of the death of Bill Hicks, and while watching a headline band recently I ruefully recalled his ‘Play from your heart’ routine. While not every live show will have his bubble of blood on the nostril, I hate watching someone onstage looking as if it’s a boring day job. One band that always meant it was Seafood, so I was excited to learn of a performance and screening in a small South London pub. Because while a band going quiet doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve just gone, it can do. But when the introductions start that night, I realise I’ve come unknowingly to a wake; this great act have sadly called it a day, without so much as a farewell tour or performance. Before the film, they screen some old videos and I’m struck by just how much better these songs and this band are than most of the current British indie fodder that receives recognition and airplay. The film, Where Have You Been, follows the band around Europe on what was to be their last ever tour. For director Ben Hall it was a labour of love, and while overlong, it is a wonderful insight into the joys, japes, and sheer tedium that is the life of a touring band; punctuated by the thrill of getting those vital minutes on stage, despite all that is against you. It also made you aware of how much of an uphill battle even established bands face; and how not giving up must be the toughest part of it all.

Yet even the ‘biggest band in the world’ can appear to struggle. U2 have been unavoidable this week, with blanket coverage across the nearly all stations of the BBC’s radio and television network; even BBC News 24 who showed their performance from the rooftop of Broadcasting House live. Yet even all this wasn’t enough to place comeback single Get On Your Boots in the Top Ten. The Boxer Rebellion used to share a label with U2, but they were dumped a fortnight after the release of their debut album Exits in 2005. Over the next three years, the unsigned band called in favours, and played shows between day jobs, determined to carry on and record a follow-up. This “was funded partially by the guys and partially by a Japanese promoter who fell in love with the band after seeing them perform live in Tokyo,” their manager Sumit Bothra tells me. Money that may have gone towards a physical release was spent on getting the final mix and mastering just right. The resultant album, Union, was released as a download only in January. Sadly, despite outselling Coldplay and Kings Of Leon, they were ineligible for the album charts, as The Official Charts Company only include download sales if there is an accompanying sanctioned physical release. While an official chart-eligible CD release may yet follow, for the time being there will be a limited edition run of 1000 copies for fans to be sold only at shows.

The full repercussions from the release strategy of Radiohead’s In Rainbows are yet to be felt. Geoff from Portishead, writing on the band’s MySpace described themselves as ”free of a deal and free of commitment” and asked “if you lot have any bright ideas of how we should sell our music in the future let us know”. Perhaps it’s no wonder that many bands, especially those who have been through the corporate mill before, are now taking matters into their own hands, for being Idlewild is selling their next album via their website before the recordings are even finished. But fans who pre-order it will receive a limited edition of it months before the official chart-eligible release. This allows them to part-fund the project, and makes fans feel part of the whole process, as their names will appear in the accompanying CD booklet, and allows the band to remain in control of their music. without a label can give them freedom to change the rules.

Spc Eco has also released their new album 3-D themselves, but at this point it’s only available as a high-quality download from their website. Dean Garcia has been through the business once before, with his previous act Curve. He explained it to me thus: “The upside is you can do exactly as you wish and retain full control and rights of the work. You can if you wish also license to individual territories (where you get the best of both worlds) like we have just done with Quince Records in Japan.” He notes that the downside is lack of funding for a market blitz, so the important “thing is to be able to somehow stick out from the crowd.”

An artist self-releasing music is independent in the truest sense of the word. But then there’s another band I know who are effectively in limbo. Their label has their finished album, but has decided not to release it at this point. So while labels can support an artist, and put them on a guaranteed wage, they can also slowly suffocate their charges. In many articles it’s been claimed that record sales were only a small part of band revenues now, and that the real money was in ticket sales and merchandising. But sometimes you have to wonder, is illegal downloading killing music, or is the industry killing itself?

Live And Let Live

2009-02-04T12:00:00.003Z

London Fields # 61
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 4 February 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There are venues you love and cherish, others you go to only to see a band, and those you avoid no matter who is playing. The London Astoria, which closed for demolition last month, probably fell into that middle category for me, and I found it hard to be too upset about its demise. However it was loved by many, and playing there marked a significant stepping stone on a band’s career from playing club shows to the really large venues like Hammersmith or Brixton. Admittedly I did see some pretty special performances there, most notably Hope Of The States, and U2’s back-to-basics launch for All That You Leave Behind. Along with his sister venue, LA2 (formerly The Mean Fiddler), and The Metro in Oxford Street, it’s being pulled down as part of the long-awaited Cross Rail project, and its various late night clubs will struggle to find other suitable venues.

The economic downturn is causing other casualties. The Charlotte is Leicester has gone into administration, and even the efforts of local lads Kasabian may not be enough to save it. Both The Garage in Highbury, and Ocean in Hackney remain closed, despite mumblings that both may be going to reopen at some point soon. There are other threats lurking in the wings Various bands have posted MySpace bulletins urging their fans to sign a petition on the 10 Downing Street website against introduction of “…laws insisting anyone applying or re-applying for an entertainment license must have a noise control device fitted to the venue.” When this petition closed on 23 January, it had collected 86,281 signatures. Musician Warren James, who started the petition out of a concern that these devices would be made mandatory, has since issued a statement on his website that this never fear came to fruition. Interestingly, local authorities already have the power to introduce them if they so wish.

But there are major issues with noise levels at live shows. I’ve been to gigs where sound limiters cut all power the minute a snare drum was hit, and to city-based festivals where their volume levels were capped at such a ridiculously low decibel level that the person talking next to me was louder than the band. And that for me is a much greater noise problem - gigtalkers. I wish more venues followed the example of The Luminaire, where signs around the room make the situation unmistakably clear: “QUIET. IF YOU’RE TALKING WHEN A BAND IS PLAYING, WE’LL TELL YOU TO SHUT UP.” Sometimes volume can be an answer, but if the mix is too loud then the music can be lost; too few gigs recently have had brilliant live sound. But really all this is just a way of venues avoiding litigation. At their reunion shows last year, My Bloody Valentine issued complimentary ear plugs beforehand - but not every act can get away with playing aircraft landing loud.

The very first column I wrote for this paper, some five years ago, was about the introduction of the Licensing Act 2003. Hidden behind the much-needed relaxation of drinking hours were some clauses that could have horrendously affected any venue putting on live acts. It felt was a little like that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa has her airline fight path bill passed as it was paperclipped onto an innocuous and wanted legislation amendment. But there is a much more insidious piece of paper than the imagined threat of compulsory noise reduction devices. It also has a petition against it on the Downing Street website, started by Jon McClure of Reverend & The Makers; sadly this legislation is not imagined. The petition reads, "We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to scrap the unnecessary and draconian usage of the 696 Form from London music events. So what is Form 696? A police form for event promoters which not only asks for the names, aliases, dates of birth, addresses and telephone numbers of everyone playing, but also about the audience likely to attend. In December they revised the form, halving its length and removing the most contentious questions about the ethnicity of performers and audience. Yet this question remains: Music style to be played / performed (e.g. Bashment, R’n’B, Garage). Somehow I don’t feel it’s white indie kids they’re interested in. Elsewhere it asks about the make-up of the patrons. This form needs to be submitted 14 days in advance or else fines and possible imprisonment could follow, and applies to 21 London boroughs but could go countrywide if successful. At the time of writing only 15,025 signatures had been collected opposing it – particularly interesting as its Facebook page has 26,385 members!

Now I can understand the police wanting to be able to prepare for possible problems. You could tell when there were ‘interest’ acts appearing at one East London venue because they’d be metal detectors on the doors, and the entrance was screened from the street, perhaps as a deterrent to drive-bys. It may all be down to thinking a watched pot never boils, but actions like this are more likely to create an ethnic pressure cooker.

Future Retro

2009-01-07T12:00:00.009Z

London Fields # 60
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 6 January 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Sometimes you need to look into the past to see the future. I was trying to predict trends in the UK music scene for the next year, but realised it would be rather pointless to simply write about acts that are going to be bigged-up or fawned over by the broadsheets or music press. Concentrating on personal favourites who may never even get around to releasing a single song commercially would perhaps be even worse. Yet a great deal of what’s happening here now comes from two places – the early eighties and the mid nineties.

For in the early eighties, synthesizers became affordable, and these cheaper keyboards opened a door to music, like an after echo of the DIY manifesto of punk. Today the sound of those old analogue instruments is ever more sort after, and some of the groundbreaking artists of this era are receiving recognition by a generation who weren’t born when these records were first made. In the mid nineties, the current eighties revival first began - The Human League toured on Octopus, Heaven 17 played live for the first time and Martin Fry put on the gold lame suit again, embracing his past with ABC.

Last month saw The Steel City Tour, when all three of these Sheffield acts played together for the first time. And not cabaret-style with a house band – this was three fully independent groups. It was a great idea on paper, but I’ve seen all perform better in the last decade; it was also hugely disappointing that Martyn Ware and Phil Oakey didn’t collaborate. December also saw Simple Minds on a 30th anniversary tour, which involved them playing the entire New Gold Dream in the middle of their set, while 2007 saw Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark taking Architecture and Morality around the country.

But is the live arena the place to replicate music designed to be listened to at home, specifically by playing a ‘seminal’ album in its entirety? When Gang Of Four brought their Entertainment LP to Don’t Look Back, they pretty much kept to the same set of songs as at other shows on their reunion tour; I’m not sure if every track was actually played. As curator of the Meltdown festival, Patti Smith organised a showcase of the entire Horses album, in order. Yet in the excitement of performance, she forgot a track, which she later slotted into the encore. Now these were seated gigs, in formal concert venues, with an audience there for one act only. Yet when you take this concept to the festivals, it becomes more questionable, for it breaks the cardinal rule about playing known songs to seduce music goers who have never seen you live before. Yet at Primavera Sound in Barcelona the other year, there was Sonic Youth announcing “And now here’s side two, track 2”, as they track listed their way through Daydream Nation. Following a record’s running order slavishly not only takes away the spontaneity of the live environment, but it also ignores that a totally different sequence of tracks may be needed to keep a audience’s attention than is right for the passive listening of a studio recording.

There are other pitfalls of this too. At the same festival, Dirty Three had a valid complaint about performing Ocean Songs - “How are we meant to play an album that lasts over an hour in a forty minute slot?” asked Warren Ellis quite reasonably. Now I’m not necessarily against these things – I’ve paid to see a quite a few of them myself. But do we risk tainting our memories, and do bands risk ruining their reputations? Sometimes these events involve bands reforming, and that raises the tricky question of whether to write and perform new material? James are one of the more successful examples of this, but their 2008 album Hey Ma failed to capture the magic of the live rehearsals that took place during its recording. When they do work, it can be very special. The Blue Aeroplanes launched their deluxe re-release of the brilliant Swagger by playing the album in order, including tracks that had never been played live before.

So why the backward glance? Well, one look at the BBC Sound Of 2009 longlist is enough to make you despair for the future. It was only a few years back that The Bravery won; this year we have White Lies, who sound like The Bravery performing The Teardrop Explodes in the style of The Killers. Other ‘hopes’ also seem to be pillaging the past, and it looks as if there’s going to be a belated attempt to break some Electro into the UK mainstream.

It’s hard to see where 2009 will actually go. There are yet more eighties acts on the way - Blancmange is quietly working together again, and April will see the hit-making version of Ultravox bringing their arpeggios and flanged notes back on stage for the first time since Live Aid. But while the acts of the past were innovators, innovation seems largely absent today. Personally I can see two things – a new wave of C86 influenced acts from the USA, and this ceaseless digging bringing forth a BritPop revival. You have been warned.

© James McGalliard 2009

Boom and Bust

2008-12-29T12:00:00.005Z

London Fields # 59

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 29 December 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

But you really don’t care for music, do you? Isn’t it more than a little ironic that the debut single of this year’s winner of The X Factor is a cover of Leonard Cohen’s classic Hallelujah? The fastest selling download in UK history was released just after the final, so it’s fair to assume that all the late contenders recorded their own karaoke rendering of the same arrangement. The sheer commercial hard-headedness of it just fills my heart with seasonal glee. Saturday night telly is where the BBC and its commercial rival ITV battle it out in audience-voted talent quests, the modern day equivalent of variety shows. Even Peter Kay’s one-off piss-take Britain’s Got The Pop Factor And Possibly A New Celebrity Jesus Christ Soapstar Strictly On Ice spawned its own single, and it seems nothing will stem this tide of bilge passing for entertainment.

Pop may well eat itself, but television feasts on its own entrails. Literally in Charlie Brooker’s Dead Set (E4), which focussed on a microcosm of refugees hiding in the Big Brother house whilst the world outside fell to zombies. Brooker was also behind Screenwipe, an informative, cruel and bloody funny show about television. On ITV, the award-winning TV Burp saw Harry Hill take a gentler ramble through the previous week’s viewing, replete with some lovely running gags. While BBC Four had a series of biopics of famous comedians and their bloody depressing lives, it wasn’t a vintage year for TV comedy. New sketch shows failed, Pulling improved but wasn’t recommissioned. With the exception of Peep Show, the brighter lights were the newcomers, like No Heroics, or The Kevin Bishop Show. 2008 also saw the serious decline of the documentary. reality TV and lifestyle challenges had already done damage, but the new decline was evidenced by ‘mission’ shows. Even Horizon turned mental illness into a game of Spot The Looney.

Dramas prepared us for the end of the world. Spooks saw a Russian sleeper planting a nuclear device in central London, and the ropey Spooks Code 9 was set in the aftermath of a nuclear attack by terrorists at the 2012 games. Survivors (a remake of Terry Nation’s 1970’s original) began with a pandemic wiping out over 99% of the earth’s population, and next year we’re promised a new version of The Day Of The Triffids. While I suppose anything is more entertaining than Hole In The Wall or I’m A Has-been, Restart My Career, you start to wonder if we’re being slowly prepared for a new, tougher world, one where you can only hold onto what is yours by force.

In the real world of London’s streets, 28 teenagers died violently and gangs fought post code-based wars. Britain talked its overvalued housing market into a crisis, and we all just watched helplessly as the credit crunch inevitably became a recession. For sure, someone made a nice profit out of the misery of wrecked lives. Every day a further 350 Londoners lose their jobs; unemployment stands at 1.8 million, the highest since 1991, and predictions expect this to rise by another million by 2010. But the most telling sign of the downturn has been the loss of an integral part of British life and one of the country’s retail giants - Woolworths. Perhaps actually closest to the long-gone Coles Variety stores, Woolies modern Australian equivalent would be Target or K-Mart. Yet Woolies wasn’t an outer suburban megastore - with 807 stores they held a place on every high street. Nothing has felt less like Christmas than watching a wake of buzzards descend upon the 27 000 soon to be unemployed workers, to pick clean the carcass of the dying beast, all to the sound of piped Christmas songs. Ironic also as this was where many a single of Christmas Past was bought.

My catch cry of live gigs this year seems to have been ‘Oh, maybe it was just a bad night’. Hence Robert Forster was dull and uninspired and Nick Cave at Hammersmith seemed a little out of love with The Bad Seeds, perhaps wishing he was playing Grinderman instead. The exceptions to ‘bad nights’ were wonderful. My Bloody Valentine joined the rare echelons of acts whose reunion was a good idea, and Edwyn Collins, who I was a little scared to see after his stroke, proved bloody great, both musically and spiritually. The baggy workings of Working For A Nuclear Free City hinted at a possible return to Madchester, and Frank Turner’s enthusiasm and sheer joie de vie made every show special. Get Well Soon as a full band surpassed their excellent debut album, and Fuck Buttons dark rave provided an exhilarating contrast to boring Carling rock acts.

With Top Of The Pops gone, and only very large stores carrying any physical singles at all, does the singles chart really matter any more? Railing against bad cover versions, I feel a little like Alex DeLarge, strapped into a chair, my eyes clamped open, screaming “It’s a sin!” Yet as I write, the campaign to get Jeff Buckley’s cover of Hallelujah is gaining momentum. Perhaps there is some hope for the future after all?

Scapegoating

2008-12-03T12:00:00.002Z

London Fields # 58

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 3 December 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Righteous indignation seems to be favourite pastime of a disgruntled populace. Fanning the flames of anger helps to sell newspapers, so it’s become the backbone philosophy of certain British tabloids (or Red Tops as they’re known) and perhaps their lifeblood. Deliberately provocative language is used to heighten emotions, and the manipulation may also make you seethe with rage.

They need things for you to be angry about, and while there’s nothing new about making news out of nothing, this rebel-rousing feels like the work of the Ministry Of Truth. You’ll find stories of how youth are out of control, or how Britain is not as great as it was, or how foreigners are taking away British identity. And this sort of piffle perpetuates the vision of a decaying nation and opens the door to politicians that play on dreams of sovereignty and jingoistic nationalism.

The British believe strongly in justice. So when someone was voted off The X Factor is questionable circumstances, Ofcom (the broadcasting standards council), was besieged with complaints. In this instance, people actually watched that show, and made complaints themselves before it became a news story. But that’s not always the case.

I’m not sure how much of BBC’s Manuelgate permeated the Australian conscience, so here’s a brief précis. On a Thursday night, comedian Russell Brand was pre-recording his Saturday night show for BBC Radio 2, along with special guest Jonathan Ross, a near ubiquitous BBC presenter and talk show host. They unsuccessfully tried to contact Andrew Sachs (Manuel from Fawlty Towers) for a phone interview. As he was unavailable, they left four explicit messages on his answerphone, centring on Brand’s dalliance with Sach’s granddaughter, the burlesque performer Georgina Baillie. Perhaps the presenters felt no need to curb their exuberance as the show wasn’t being broadcast live, so anything too risqué could be edited out later. Sachs was contacted about the messages and content prior to actual transmission. Here, accounts vary; certainly some material was cut, and the show was approved by station management and broadcast, claiming an audience of 400 000. Two of these listeners complained - about Ross’s language, not the content itself. More than a week later, The Mail on Sunday picked it up as a story, and from there it snowballed into front page news, and stayed there for weeks, going on to become one of the most complained about broadcasts in the history of the BBC. Ross was suspended without pay for three months, while Brand resigned, as did other high ranking BBC staff, including Lesley Douglas, the controller of BBC Radio 2 and BBC 6Music. Georgina Baillie hired publicist Max Clifford, and was the centre of a Channel 5 documentary called Russell & Ross: What the F*** Was All That About?

There are a number of key questions raised by it all. Do people in public life have a right to privacy, or has the world of gossip magazines and paparazzi taken that away? Was anyone hurt by it? Was it funny? And what does it mean for comedy? Adrian Edmondson (Vyvyan of The Young Ones) writing for The Independent, and the brilliant Charlie Brooker (whose television programme about television Screenwipe has recently returned to BBC Four) in The Guardian questioned the effect there might be on comedy if producers were so worried about reprisals and recriminations for allowing material which pushed the boundaries.

The real thing that was called into question in all this is the BBC’s role as a public broadcaster. Yet perhaps the reason for the story was envy – of the sexual proclivities of Brand, and the enormous pay packet of Ross (£6 million a year). Can an organisation which is funded by the public afford to pay commercial salaries? It probably wasn’t helped by Ross’s quip about his income at last years British Comedy Awards - "I'm worth 1,000 BBC journalists". Personally, I’ll pay the licence fee just for Doctor Who. Incidentally, this story almost buried the news that David Tennant is stepping down from the central role in Doctor Who at the end of next year. But it did allow former Doctor Sylvester McCoy to suggest on GMTV that Sachs and Baille could take the show back to its roots, with the Doctor as an old man, accompanied on his travels by his granddaughter.

A few days after newsagents were left with unsold newspapers with Brand or Ross on their covers, Barack Obama was elected president, and these papers were all sold by lunch. Brits care about a lot more than their television. The short sad life and circumstances surrounding the death of Baby P was indeed a tragedy, and one that caused genuine feelings of revulsion and sadness. But the prurient humour of two adult schoolboys knocked the government’s huge bail-out of British banks off the front page; and made us forget that the US election wasn’t taking place in the UK. Britain hoped too when it had a major change in 1997, and I don’t think it will ever forgive the Blair government for what followed. One can only hope that Australia and America are not similarly disappointed in their respective new golden ages.

© James McGalliard 2008

A Tale Of Two Cities

2008-10-08T12:00:00.005+01:00

London Fields # 57

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 October 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

So I’m sitting in a bar in Swan Street, Richmond, briefly back home in Melbourne, and I’m attempting to communicate over the noise and the alcohol some of the almost invisible differences between Melbourne and London life. When two societies are so close in so many ways, it’s the simple differences that can cause such misunderstanding and havoc. Even simple abbreviations can be treacherous, as a shortened version of Pakistani is an even more offensive racial slur in Britain than an abbreviation of Aboriginal is in Australia, yet the latter is a term which the Brits seems to use casually and without thought.

In the UK, a pedestrian has no right-of-way at a zebra crossing until they have walked onto the road, and even then you have to hope that that car will actually stop. But anyway, I’m trying to illustrate the unwritten rules which underlie social order in the British Isles. I explain that in a London pub it would be wrong in normal circumstances to strike up a conversation with a neighbouring table (subject to regional variations), hence the popularity of events like pub quiz nights, where these rules break down. Meanwhile, the effects of the smoking ban were more clearly visible in Melbourne both as evidenced by a chain of burning rubbish bins throughout the CBD from poorly-extinguished cigarettes and by the evenings spent huddled with the smokers in freezing beer gardens. In the UK, smokers duck outside for a few minutes, and then try to slip seamlessly back into the conversation.

I think I’m still fairly Australian, but when I use the expression ‘taken umbrage’, I am pulled up for being far too British. It’s a relief that the culture of fear than permeates London’s streets is fortunately yet to make major inroads in Melbourne. For in London you need to be very careful in offering assistance to strangers lest your motives are misinterpreted or taken advantage of. An offer of help can be seen as more than a threat than anything else, so the friendly Aussie soon learns to walk on by. But some things are not better in the Lucky Country. I was shocked at how expensive Australian groceries had become – the cost of a weekly shop is markedly higher than in the UK. And these rising prices seem to be leading to a new class divide – the haves and the have-nots, perhaps most easily distinguished by the home brands in their shopping trolleys. At least the recession is yet to hit, as the property market is buoyant compared to that in South East England.

While in Melbourne I caught The Wreckery play the first hometown show in twenty years. It was great to see them live again, and offered a chance to show that their legacy was a lot more vital and vibrant than reflected in the silly joke names that have dogged them for years. Even more refreshing was the fact that a large percentage of the audience were too young to have seen them the first time round, meaning that their sound, which has dated very little, has the potential to find a whole new listenership if they continue. Less than a fortnight later, I’m at the Royal Albert Hall to watch Echo & The Bunnymen, accompanied by an orchestra, celebrate their 30^th anniversary by playing the entire Ocean Rain album. The difference between the gigs was marked; the average Bunnymen fan was well over forty, and I didn’t see younger fans at all. Of course, that may in part have been due to the high ticket prices, but could it also be that younger Oz punters are more interested in what they missed? Sadly The Bunnymen were mostly underwhelming and lacking in the sense of occasion, which made the occasional moments of brilliance all the more frustrating, as it showed how great they can be still.

So it’s a few weeks later and I’m standing in a small venue in Hoxton watching a short but brilliant set from Frightened Rabbit. They finish with one of the best songs released by any band this year, Keep Yourself Warm, and I’m thinking that it’s a little like a modern take on Throw Your Arms Around Me. But “we may never meet again, so shed your skin and get started” has been replaced by “I’m drunk, and you’re probably on pills; if we’ve both got the same diseases it’s irrelevant girl”. So is this the change from 1984 to 2008, or is it Australia verses the UK? I’m not sure I know the answer to that.

Now I’m no anthropologist, so while some of the above may be a version of participant observation, I probably fail to maintain sufficient distance and become involved, making me prone to more than a little field blindness. But I think it is fair to say two things. Twelve days is barely enough time to find your feet again, let alone make value judgements. And that there is that risk in travelling – while trying to find a place that feels like home you may lose whatever one you thought you had in the first place.

Just a little off The Fringe

2008-09-10T12:00:00.006+01:00

London Fields # 56

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 10 September 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

For three weeks every August, Edinburgh visibly groans as patrons of the various festivals add to the already considerable weight of the tourist horde. Even though The Fringe had one of its worst years ever for ticket sales (leading to the resignation of its director Jon Morgan), rooms remained hard to find and expensive. On the Royal Mile, there’s fierce competition from leafleters to street performers for your attention and patronage.

Most striking was the way the city was tagged EVERYWHERE, with stickers, specially printed t-shirts, postcards and beer mats proclaiming This Belongs To Lionel Richie. Such inventiveness led me to see the flagship of their five show assault This Sketch Show Belongs To Lionel Richie. This seven strong team kept things brief, rattling through 25-odd sketches in an hour, meaning little overstayed its welcome. It also didn’t rely on the constant repetition of characters which seems to be the current industry standard, and it had almost TV-like speed in its switches between scenes. Special mention must go the sketch featuring the misguided attempts of using Radiohead’s Thom Yorke to advertise mini chicken kievs (Pay whatever you like, or nothing at all, or get them in a deluxe boxset for £40…No Thom! Cut!!)

There was a strong Australian presence at the Fringe as well, from small free events to Circus Oz’s 30th anniversary show. Brendan Burns, the winner of last years IF award (formerly the Perrier) was a hot ticket, as was Tim Minchin, particularly after a feature of the BBC2’s special Edinburgh edition of The Culture Show. Also featured on the same programme was The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre, which was my personal highlight of my time there. It’s a one man two-hander (three if you count the invisible Emo sock), featuring a playful reworking of Johnny Cash’s Walk The Line with a guitar-playing sock, a five minute King Lear, a dissection of Abbott & Costello’s Who’s On First routine, and a improv song from cut-outs of Kraftwerk in a cameo appearance. Of course it’s a little naff, but knowingly so, and so good natured you can’t help but love it. And on top of that all, it’s extremely funny, even (especially?) when things go a little wrong. I hope that someone from the Melbourne Comedy Festival sees sense and brings this show out next year.
Over in The Spiegeltent, My Friend the Chocolate Cake returned for their first UK shows in over a decade. With no London shows booked, their appearance was the deciding factor making the trip north. With a short 70’ set, perhaps they didn’t pick the best material to showcase themselves, and some sound issues early on didn’t help. But then it all came together, and was over much too soon. Theirs was a relatively small crowd the night I went, and it made me a little sad to see the queue around the Spiegelgarden for the late show, La Clique, which through word-of-mouth became the must see show of the Festival.

In the Balcony Room of the Gilded Balloon, the subject of Damian Callinan’s show mmm… they’re small proved a bit much for some audience members, who walked out once it became clear that it was gonna be an hour of balls, or at least about them. Perhaps it was an error in judgement for the flyers not to explain that the show is his journey of self-discovery about infertility and relationships, both interpersonal and with his testicles. There were many ways this could have gone, and for me the mix of high and low humour, pathos, education, knob jokes, Catholic references and role playing just didn’t hang together. It felt more like a work in progress, lacking both laughs and a deeper emotional level. While Callinan remains an extremely likeable performer, this didn’t really show his best side.

Then again, it is the contrasts that make the festival so interesting. Simon Kempston and Friends, a trio of guitar, cello and bodhran, stitched through with his unique otherworldly voice, provided a lunchtime moment in St Giles Cathedral. On the street outside, David McSavage’s routine consisted of harranging passers by with very funny short musical ditties (although one day someone will twat him, as some of these were a little on the sharp side). On South Bridge Street there’s a queue outside an unassuming café called The Elephant House. Inside are more people sitting alone with their laptops than you’d think possible. For it was here that a certain Joanne Rowling sat each day to write the first Harry Potter novel, so other aspiring writers pilgrimage here hoping that a little, ahem, magic will rub off on them.

But perhaps the most surreal moment of the whole Festival occurs late on a Sunday night as I walked across The Meadows after catching some free Finnish stand-up (don’t ask). For coming from the nearby marquees was the distinctive sound of ex-Fringe favourites The Doug Anthony All Stars. Yep, The World’s Best Kisser graced the Fringe once again, this time courtesy of The Ladyboys Of Bangkok. Oh yes, I hope to be back again next year.

NB: This column does NOT belong to Lionel Richie!

© James McGalliard 2008

Going To The Dogs

2008-08-13T12:00:00.012+01:00

London Fields # 55

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 13 August 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Londoners often tend not to know what they’ll miss until it’s lost. So when one of the first initiatives of new London mayor Boris Johnson was to ban the consumption of alcohol on all public transport, wags used Facebook to organise a number of giant booze-ups on the Circle Line for the last night of legal drinking. Predictably, it all went awry, leading to chaos, closed lines, and arrests.

A few weeks later, waiting with my shopping for a (now booze-free) bus outside Walthamstow Central station, a family of rats frolicked playfully around my feet. You can’t live in London long without someone helpfully reminding you that you’re never more than fifteen feet away from a rat in central London, but the exuberance of this lot was something else. As I got off the bus in the middle of the local estate, I was greeted by the all-too-familiar sound of a police siren. I looked up and down the street, as did others also waiting to cross, but there wasn’t a cop car to be seen. Then we realised that the ‘siren’ was emanating from ten year old lad, sitting astride his BMX. This junior Michael Winslow’s rendition was so uncannily accurate (including the switches in tone used to get through heavy traffic) that people looking for the police car broke into hails of laughter as they realised its source. Like a bowerbird imitating what it hears, this lad had captured the sound of the London streets.

While a wail of a siren is a modern soundtrack, so many symbols of the old East End have disappeared from the streets. Some changes are a reflection of its changing emigrant culture; others are due to financial pressures. It’s been many years since I heard the ringing school bell and cries of “any old iron” from the scrap metal man, and even longer since I last saw (or heard) the clip-clop of the horse and cart of the rag and bone man (as immortalised by Steptoe and Son). With a large influx of followers of religions which shun alcohol, many of the smaller local boozers have closed and been converted into flats. Very few pie and mash shops, which sell the traditional jellied eels, remain. Greasy spoons are one of the remaining stables of the East End, but the price of a fry up has risen 15% in the past year, according to a report in The Sun.

And next Saturday, Walthamstow Stadium, an iconic landmark and a centre of greyhound racing in the capital for 75 years, will close its doors for the last time. Last May the Chandler family, who have owned and run the track since it opened in 1933, sold the 8.1 acre site to developers for the construction of new-build flats. So I spent last Saturday night at the dogs. This is not the world I usually inhabit; in the bar they’re playing Phil Collins’ Against All Odds and Chicago. Sitting in the seats of the grandstand around me are four generations of the same family, brought together by something that will soon be another lost relic of the old East End. It’s a real mix; young couples on dates, old couples, children, Hoxton haircuts - all gathering as an era ends. The stadium also has a place in rock history, as all the photographs of Blur’s breakthrough album Parklife were taken here.

No matter what happens, the beautiful neon frontage, the East London equivalent of the Nylex or Skipping Girl Vinegar signs will be saved, as it was listed by English Heritage last year. But it will become a façade with no heart behind it. The closure will also mean the loss of hundreds of jobs for local people. While there are two rescue packages on the table and a big protest march planned for the lunchtime on Saturday, at this stage the only hope seems to lie in the developers fretting over the slump in the housing market.

For The Stow, as it’s affectionately known, is one of the few places of entertainment in this impoverished ‘Olympic’ borough. Waltham Forest remains the only London borough without a cinema, since the local Odeon closed early this decade; it now lies rotting as they decide what to do with it. And the horrible giant 3.7 metre TV screen that the council have just installed this week in the Town Square, to show both the Chinese and 2012 Olympics every day from 7am to 11pm, is no replacement.
Even local MP, Neil Gerrard, a former greyhound racer himself, can’t really see the council opposing the development, reports the Waltham Forest Guardian, as it fits into the social housing agenda. But he also said, “We don’t need housing at the expense of everything else, especially the biggest leisure facility in Walthamstow”. Over twenty greyhound stadiums have closed around the country in the past ten years, but The Stow was the jewel in the crown. Next week, London will only have tracks remaining at Wimbledon, and in Romford, Essex. While the opponents of greyhound racing may applaud its closure, there’s a part of me that’s very sad about it. For this is another part of London that will be irretrievably lost, and once again, people may only realise what they had once it’s gone forever.

Knifey Spoony

2008-07-16T12:00:00.003+01:00

London Fields # 54
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 July 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

On the streets of London there is a steadily growing sense of rising resentment and bubbling aggression that is becoming almost palpable. Perhaps it can in part be attributed to the current “credit crunch”? (Whatever you do, don’t dare call it a recession!) Families can afford less as salaries fail to keep pace with inflation, and prices of basic domestic necessities have risen drastically. For many years, the price of supermarket goods seemed to have been dropping year-on-year, but recently there have been sudden and dramatic increases, with certain items going up 20% overnight.

In this market, houses remain unsold; vendors see their prices falling, and some reports say there is only one buyer for every ten properties. For the buyer, mortgages are harder to get, and the interest rates are much harsher than even a few months ago. So while property prices have fallen over 10% in the past few months, it seems as if no-one is brave enough, or can actually afford to buy in this uncertain climate. This in turn results in a great shortage of rental accommodation, which allows landlords to push their prices up rapidly as demand exceeds supply.

I was recently speaking to an ‘old school’ real estate agent – one who’d been in the game long enough to have been through the last major downturn in the early ‘90’s. He said that many of the current players didn’t know how to handle this situation at all. “These guys are used to putting a ‘For Sale’ sign on the front, showing a few people round, and then selling it within a few weeks. They have no idea how to actually sell”. He also predicted that they’d be many casualties in the coming months. And he was right – already I’ve noticed some former estate agents are now up for let as they’ve gone to the wall, and this so-called “crunch” hasn’t really started to bite yet.

But this depressing picture could also be linked into the one story that’s dominated London news recently - the alarming rise in lives lost in knife crime in the capital. Last Thursday alone, there were four fatal stabbings in London in the space of sixteen hours, taking to twenty the number of teens who have died in knife-related incidents in the year to date.

There’s a certain way to walk London streets. You don’t look directly at other people; you more sense where they are. Almost automatically you find yourself ceding the footpath to one group, and walking through the middle of another. Because not standing aside, or giving way when you shouldn’t, or even meeting someone else’s eyes can be seen as a challenge to the street code of “face”. Some would say it’s about “respect”, but really it’s more akin to “cock of the walk”, or animals making themselves look bigger when threatened. Whatever its origin, it is an unspoken language and code of conduct which is difficult to learn. You have to trust your instincts, and sometimes repress your wish to respond as regretfully it seems to be the only way to walk the streets without confrontation.

However if you’re a teenager, getting it right can be even more difficult, especially if the other party is looking for trouble. Put blades into the equation, and a simple altercation can leave a deadly outcome. A doctor from the Casualty Department of Homerton Hospital claimed that there had been a big change had been in the type of wounds inflicted – slashing has been replaced by stabbing attacks. With the number of vital organs located in the torso, this has led to a huge rise in fatalities. Some other figures claim that the overall number of violent incidents has remained much the same, with the rise in knife incidents reflected in a fall of firearms-related ones. But you can’t buy a gun at your local supermarket, and the laws to stop real life games of Crocodile ‘That’s not a knife – that’s a knife’ Dundee prowess seem to be completely ineffectual.

Now I’m wary of being too pragmatic about this subject; grieving families have lost loved ones over the most minor of disagreements. And I’m also lucky as this hasn’t really touched me. But I’m also a feared about how it’s possible to use this as a blunt instrument for political gain without due consideration. When Conservative candidate Boris Johnson launched his bid for London Mayor last September, he advised Londoners to “tackle a thug” as the chances of being stabbed were “microscopic”. Now he’s won the election and has the job, he been forced to make a massive volte-face on those statements in the light of these events, now advising you NOT to intervene in disagreements, lest someone is tooled up.

Sometimes I feel that we moving towards the dystopian future of V For Victory. When a climate of fear is used to push through a law allowing terrorism suspects to be held 42 days without charge, perhaps there are others at fault? Yet the media is more likely to tie this into the spate of 17 seeming unrelated teen suicides in the Bridgend area of south Wales during the 13 months up to last February, and ask “What is happening to youth of Great Britain?”

Perhaps they’re a reflection of what they see?

© James McGalliard 2008

Dispatches From The Moshpit

2008-06-18T12:00:00.010+01:00

London Fields # 53
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 18 June 2008
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 troubles with seeing so many live acts is finding time to write about them. Individual reviews need to have a reason to stand on their own, and sometimes you may only have scribbled a few rough thoughts about the evening before life intervenes. This month I thought I’d share an assemblage of rough thoughts on some of my recent live experiences, which never quite became full reviews.

Rest Now, Weary Head, You Will Get Well Soon is easily one of my favourite albums of the year, but I wasn’t sure how well a meticulously assembled one-man studio project would work live. But only a few seconds into a recent show at Bush Hall, any fears were allayed as a seven-piece Get Well Soon launched into Prelude, its a cappella opening bursting into a full band roar. This was quiet/loud as an art form, and rarely have I seen it performed with such grace and skill. This was swiftly followed by the mariachi horns of You/Aurora/You/Seaside, and the dark brood of If This Hat Is Missing I Have Gone Hunting. I was left in awe at the sheer skill and mastery of it all, and time and time again deep shivers of joy ran down my spine. In this band I hear what everyone else sees in Radiohead. The live act jumps from brash cymbal crashes, to soulful violin or piano accordion, through keyboards, to massed singing. It also has one of the best drummers I’ve seen in a long time, perfectly able to keep up with the extremely eclectic nature of Konstantin Gropper’s compositions. “Are you ready for some nu rave?” was the jokey introduction to his inspired redux of Underworld anthem Born Slippy, but most heartbreaking of all was Automatic Heart, where everything was stripped down to a whisper, until the full band retook the stage for the song’s finale. Seriously brilliant!

Elegies To Lessons Learnt was one of the great disappointments of last year for me; it felt too singularly paced, and it seemed as though iLiKETRAiNS had failed to meet the potential they’d shown with their earlier material. But live it all makes glorious sense – these songs are reflections and tributes to those who have passed before. Ashley Dean’s projections create a travelogue through the losers and losses of history - sort of a weird skew-whiff history presentation. While it could so easily be pretentious, it isn’t at all. It’s a good spirited affair with plenty of banter between band and audience. New song Progress Is A Snake (“A snake can shed it's skin but never change”) turns out to be one of the highlights of the set, and from there the second half is riveting. They can rock like a mother too – so hard that during set closer, Spencer Perceval, frontman David Martin accidentally smashes his guitar. He laments “It’s all very well being rock and roll, but we haven’t any money!” The encore sees a beautiful change of pace, by following the preceding deluge with the sublime instrumental Joshua and slightly upbeat Before The Curtains Close Part 2. Their heyday is yet to come.

The Veils also work on a deeper emotional level. After a major shake-up, they really found their stride on Nux Vomica. They’re in the middle of a residency (above a small pub in Camden) roadtesting material prior to recording the third album, which they hope will be out by January. The new songs sit nicely along old standards like Jesus For The Jugular, which gets an airing tonight. I want to be moved by music; I want to be excited - and nights like this do it. It’s great seeing an established band play with this drive, coming to grips with arrangements which are still fresh to them – seven of the ten songs played are new. The highlights are Someday All This Will Be Yours, and the gentler (and band favourite) Sit By The Fire. There’s a different dynamic without the keyboards, but the barer sound seems to bring out different aspects of the songs, and the band feel harder and more intense than ever.

Another album I’m looking forward to is Simple, which is due out next month from Andy Yorke. His London show saw him struggling with a throat infection, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on that makes his music deeply affect me. Is it the way that the melody of the songs glides, or the way the cello occasionally cuts through, or cedes to a Spanish guitar? I’m not sure, but my love of him also led me to discover Frank Turner who he was supporting that night. And Turner is another great find of 2008 for me. I mean how can you not love someone who preludes his set with an acoustic verse from AC/DC’s Rock 'n' Roll Singer, or who introduces himself “I am the Jason Donovan of punk”? Frank Turner’s album launch at the 100 Club was a euphoric singalong from the get-go, of punters finding something that spoke to them, lyrics that touched on a common cultural experience “Yeah, England’s still shit and it’s still raining”. It’s a rare knack to have the great and the cool dosey-dohing, chanting, hugging, and losing their voices by the end of the night, and Turner proves himself a master.

© James McGalliard 2008

The Crunchy and The Smooth

2008-05-21T12:00:00.003+01:00

London Fields # 52
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 May 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

“If you hate the place so much, why have you lived there for the best part of twenty years?” This question arrived by e-mail in response to a recent column, and played on my mind for days. Was I portraying such a negative viewpoint, or merely being actively and critically aware? And if I did indeed hate London, why have I chosen to make this large, cold, distant and potentially dangerous city my home for so long?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been watching a pair of magpies build a nest outside my office window. But I can no longer see it or them. For in the course of three days Spring arrived, and a tree of bare branches became so thick with foliage that the nest was lost from view. Now with this sudden change of season came the pollen, which for the past three years has blighted the capital with itching, eye irritation and other allergies. Even if you see it all though teary eyes, how can you not love a place that goes troppo the minute there is sun and temperatures over 20? The change in people’s personalities is astounding too, like that old episode of Star Trek where the townsfolk’s demeanour changed as the clock struck twelve. So too, the Londoners shed their winter hides and suddenly exchange scowls for smiles - there’s a latent friskiness in the air. At lunchtime, London Fields was awash with sunworshippers, and the turnstiles of the recently opened lido (outdoor swimming pool) clicked incessantly. It can be these little things that make you cherish a place so.

The London pub is a special place, and the old style establishments are becoming rarer all the time. Many have been converted into flats, or ‘upgraded’ to gastropubs and dining rooms. Yet they can still be found, and in a local boozer on a Hackney estate, they quickly learn your name, and remember what you drink. In this very pub recently a mate (London born and bred) commented on how hard it was to make friends here, but friendships you do make are exceedingly strong. So while it is harsh for the newcomer, there are rewards for staying longer term. For a place is as much about people as it is about architecture, and so London has become more an International city than a British one, as a true reflection of its shifting multicultural population.

Although folks moan about it, public transport in the capital is pretty amazing considering the sheer numbers it has to cope with. And living in a city so large means that it can take hours to get to a gig, but the sheer variety and number of acts means it’s hard to keep it to less than two nights a week. Bands from all over the world play here, and the local scene is better than it ever has been. Melbourne is so far away; here I see bands that have never made the journey there, sometimes because their Australian fanbase simply isn’t big enough to make a tour financially viable.

While it’s by no means perfect, the National Health Service (NHS) remains amazing, simply by surviving all the cutbacks. It may be underfunded, but is staffed by dedicated professionals who provide a high level of healthcare. You may sometime have to wait a while, and you’d be lucky to build the same bond that you had with your Australian GP, but I never fail to be impressed by a system that provides care to all, regardless of income or private insurance.

Another publicly funded jewel, the BBC, is an absolute gem. I may not entirely agree with its direction of travel, but find myself watching its five main television stations, listening to four of its radio stations, and using its comprehensive website daily. Really it is unmatched anywhere in the world. And it’s all commercial-free! British newspapers, from the popular red tops, to the ones given out free at train stations, to quality papers like The Independent and The Guardian are also wonderful. Without them, I feel disconnected from the wider world in a way that even the SBS News can’t fill.

I miss Cherry Ripes, and being able to say ‘Morning’ to people I pass in my street, and having a peer group with a similar background. But for the time being this will continue to be my home. I like that bands are finished by 11pm, so I can get to work the next day without too many ill effects. I love being embedded in history, from local place names, through to contemporary pop references.

I think what it all comes down to is that some time into a relationship, you realise that your chosen partner isn’t perfect. You see their faults, yet still love them. For if the things you love outweigh those you don’t, you stay. My eyes may wander, and my heart may desire more, but for now I’ll continue my relationship with London. Melbourne was my first love; and your first love remains with you for your whole life. I have no desire to be here when the Olympics arrive, and London is increasingly a city for the young. But for the time being at least, London is the one I’ll come home to each night.

© James McGalliard 2008

Gypsyfolkpunkrock

2008-04-23T12:00:00.004+01:00

London Fields # 51
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 23 April 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There are some interesting developments in indie UK music away from the generic ‘Carling Indierock’ that seems to be widely exported. There’s a growing unquiet, which is finding its expression not through radio-friendly unit shifters like The Enemy, but via singer-songwriters. While you could say that some of these were following in Billy Bragg’s footsteps, and others from a folk rock tradition, each is saying something different in a vibrant way.

I suppose the most long-standing one of these artists is Chris T-T. His early records were very London-based – The 253 album was named after a bus route (which ran from Whitechapel to Euston via Hackney, Finsbury Park and Camden). In October 2005 came his furious protest LP 9 Red Songs, resulting in some media attention and a live session with Tom Robinson on BBC 6Music. I caught him play a mid-afternoon set on the main stage at Truck Festival last summer, and was suitably impressed with his personality, his wit and his songwriting. He’s just released Capital, which completes the London triptych he began with The 253. Sharing a label with Chris T-T, and having recently toured in America with him, is Frank Turner. Like Billy Bragg, he came from a punk background, in this case as frontman of defunct punk rock band Million Dead. Turner has just released Love Ire and Song, his second album as a solo artist. It’s a more political beast and perhaps not as endearing as its predecessor, Sleep is for the Week, which dealt more with personal relationships. Yet both albums share a refreshing honesty and candour of music and lyrics which distinguish him from the run of the mill. For both artists are making strong statements in a time when much of the music that is broadcast is mainly apolitical and homogeneous.

On The Ballad Of Me And My Friends, Frank Turner sings of playing ‘another Nambucca show’. Tom Hull, aka Kid Harpoon, started his London career living above, and playing regularly at that very north London venue. I first caught Kid Harpoon as a solo artist, opening the bill for shoegazey folk-rockers Fields. Accompanying himself on an acoustic guitar, he had a great presence, and a strong set of songs. But the crowning glory was his blistering take on Leonard Cohen’s First We Take Manhattan. Since then, he’s recruited a band, The Powers That Be, and I’ve seen them several time before, but nothing prepared me for the joyous explosion they created recently at a show at Dingwalls. For in an age when gigs can be over-regulated, they showed people it was possible to have fun without being ejected from the venue. From the people who ran onstage and planted kisses on Tom’s cheek, to the crowdsurfers, and those who stayed onstage to sing along the chorus of The Milkmaid – all were left alone to get on with it and no-one was hurt or evicted. With the full band, the music is sorta gypsy folk punk rock, showing the transparency of all those post-Libertines acts. For what Kid and The Powers have created is a musical timewarp, an age when you could let it all go at a gig and have a fantastic time without fear. And it’s still early days; he and his band are still finding their way and learning just what they can achieve. But the most startling thing is the way Manhattan is now his song, just as much as John Cale or Jeff Buckley can lay claim to Cohen’s Hallelujah.

Although not folky in any sense, but like Kid Harpoon another of my picks for 2008, there have been great leaps forwards by Exit Calm. When I first saw them I loved the music but was unsure of their singer. But now Nicky Smith has all the swagger of Ian Brown and the menace of a young Liam Gallagher, but his throaty rasp is all his own. The only thing that may stand in their way is the volume of Rob Marshall’s guitar, which at a recent show at The 100 Club threatened to destroy anything within a 400’ radius of the stage.

Speaking of loud, there’s been a huge shift in the world of The Twilight Sad - they’ve added a fifth member. Now the Sad were my favourite act of 2007; each show was special and unique. And it’s unfair to make a judgement based on a single show, but their London showcase at The 100 Club was the first time they didn’t blow my proverbial socks off. Dok (from Aereogramme) is the newcomer, and he fills out the sound with keyboards, loops and some additional guitar. Alas, it was a case of more is less. For there was a purity about the four-piece – the contrasts between the fury and the ebb. The impact of this has lessened with the expansion, as all the spaces are filled. Afterwards the band tells me this addition is permanent, as they felt they needed some new input. I’ll tend to trust them and wait to see how it all turns out as they’ve been right in so many ways before. Oh, and the new stuff sounds just grand…

© James McGalliard 2008

Paperweight

2008-03-26T12:00:00.002Z

London Fields # 50
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 26 March 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I’m often baffled at which stories Australian newspapers choose to republish from their UK counterparts. It sometimes means that weird creatures, such as the lesser-spotted celeb become known in Melbourne, when the TV show that made their name hasn’t been screened overseas. Perhaps more interesting are the stories that don’t get reprinted; maybe they seem too English, or simply not relevant. But these can paint a disturbing picture of the land in which I live.

Concerns about ‘youth run wild’ help to fuel fear (and to sell newspapers). So tabloids became obsessed with a spate of teenage suicides in the South West, even claiming links to social networking sites. Closer to home, London teenage gangs are said to be aping their LA equivalents in a war over territory and colours. Last year, 34 were killed; this year 7 have died so far. In Camden, a fast food chain is hiring bouncers as the late-night shenanigans of post-pub punters are getting out-of-hand.

The race for London Mayor ahead of the forthcoming elections on 1 May has lead to debates about everything from bendy buses to the future of live music venues. On 11 March, following the publication of the This City Is Built For Music report, current Mayor Ken Livingstone launched an initiative to try and halt the closure of so many of London’s music venues. Yet three days later, it was announced that The Astoria was to be demolished (to allow a new station to be built), following in the footsteps of the Hammersmith Palais and the Spitz. While we’re promised that a new, larger, swankier venue will replace The Astoria, the future of Camden’s Electric Ballroom is still undecided. But why should this be of any concern to someone that doesn’t live here? If London becomes end up a city of larger super-venues, the variety will suffer, as a wave of hyped or generic bands that can fill the larger spaces become the mainstay. Meanwhile, over in Shoreditch, some of the former YBAs (Young British Artists) are creating opposition to the demolition of a pub to build a twenty-five-storey tower, which they feel will destroy the character of the area.

One thing that may strike any visitor to London is the lack of public loos. Across the UK, over five thousand have closed over the last ten years, for reasons including cost, vandalism, safety, cottaging and drug use. There are some French-style Turdises about, but these are often out-of-order or unusable. And with pubs being closed and converted into flats, there really is literally nowhere to go.

Smokers have had a tough time of it here. The ban in public places was one thing, but some live venues continue to have a No Passouts policy. A smoker told me that last week’s three hour plus gig by The Cure at Wembley felt even longer than a long-haul flight as he couldn’t duck out for a ciggie! Now there’s talk of removing cigarettes from visible sale, so they’ll literally become under-the-counter items. But there’s more; Health England wants to introduce smoker’s permits - without one of these photocards you won’t be able to purchase tobacco at all. I suppose it’s all down to the lack of tax on the illicit, but a report last week stated that a line of coke is now cheaper than a London pint.

If a smoker’s ID card sounds a bit Orwellian, then what about the introduction of new UK national ID cards? Non-European Union nationals will be issued with compulsory ID cards later this year. Then, almost by stealth, it will roll out to security staff, and then students will be encouraged to apply as it will ‘assist’ them to apply for a loan, or to get served in a pub. Anyone applying for an UK passport from 2011 will automatically be enrolled. There are fears of how secure our data will be. We may shred our bank statements, but government officials seem to almost have developed a habit of leaving CD-ROMs full of personal data lying around. But at least an ID card is an invisible marker.

David Cameron, the Conservative leader of the opposition, has an idea about how to deal with overcrowding in British jails (asides from building new ones). He wants those on Community Service to wear a uniform so that they can be easily identified by members of the public. I’m not sure if he wants them to wear pink stars or yellow triangles as an additional form of identification. Yes, that comment is in questionable taste, but is it worth noting that he launched this idea a mere ten days after describing government support for visits to Auschwitz as a "gimmick"?

© James McGalliard 2008

TV Club 18-35

2008-02-27T12:00:00.001Z

London Fields # 49
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 27 February 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

In the UK it’s not your 8 cents a day, but rather your £135 a year to fund Auntie. The compulsory TV Licence funds 75% of the BBC’s costs, from TV & radio to the news-gathers & websites. There’s huge pressure to show that this revenue is being used wisely; and the biggest visible shake up recently has been to digital station BBC Three. It’s aimed at the 18-35 market, is the UK home of Man Stoke Woman and The Mighty Boosh, and has just gone through a major revamp. With the BBC cutting back on its news services, questions are being asked about how the licence fee is being spent. Some may say the station is fighting for its very existence.

Spearheading the re-launch was Lily Allen and Friends, a chat show that was sadly awkward and uncomfortable to watch, and not because of the host. Elsewhere, the ‘light’ documentaries, which may cover serious issues, but tread a fine line with reality TV, continue as a mainstay. These have included the series Freaky Eaters, Sex With Mum and Dad and Can Fat Teens Hunt, and one-offs like My Big Breasts And Me, My Small Breasts And I, Me And My Man Breasts, Dawn Goes Naked, Dawn Goes Lesbian… Yeah, I know these sound made-up – sadly they’re all real.

Amongst all this mire, Being Human - the tale of a ghost, a werewolf and a vampire sharing a house in Bristol - shone. Although it had its light moments, it was no comedy. While it is post-Buffy, but in some ways it feels more like it could be a successor to the fabulous Ultraviolet, the 1998 series in which the Vatican were out to stop vampires (referred to as Code Fives or leeches) from creating a nuclear winter to claim the earth. The vampires of Being Human also feel that they’ve been living in the shadows for too long and, under the leadership of Adrian Lester, things are going to change. At a gathering he chillingly uses a little Blake to question whether evolution gives man any superiority: "Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" I couldn’t wait for the next episode; sadly at the moment they’re isn’t one. Hopefully the powers that be at the Beeb will see sense and commission this as a series. It was written by Toby Whithouse, who has also written for Doctor Who (the one with Giles, K-9 and Sarah Jane at the school), and for Torchwood.

Yes, Torchwood is also back, but it’s been rebooted so savagely you can almost see the tread-mark on the face. While the first series was almost Doctor Who without the Doctor but with added sex and swearing, the new series is about relationships. It’s like when James Bond briefly became a one-woman guy in the aftermath of AIDS. There’s romance, but very little sleeping around – it’s more about the yearning. The series began with the addition of James Marsters (Spike from Buffy The Vampire Slayer) playing, well, Spike from Buffy, except in name. It really doesn’t quite know if it’s Arthur or Martha. Speaking of which, Martha Jones has jumped from the TARDIS to appear in it too. There is an underlying story that a major invasion is underway, but as a story arc it’s suspiciously absent. So far it still fails to involve me; it’s lacking the emotion range of the revamped Who. But I’m still watching.

Over on ITV, Primeval returned, and it too has gone through a major reboot, this time by taking the central conceit of Ray Bradbury’s time-travel classic A Sound Of Thunder. For stepping into the past has changed the present, and only Cutter knows things are not the same. This has allowed the makers to tweak with the story elements, while keeping the core. But the problem with high concepts is that they can wear out rather quickly. The second season of Life On Mars showed strain, but sequel Ashes To Ashes has broken the towrope. This time it’s Keeley Hawes as DI Drake - sent back to London 1981 with a bullet (literally). It’s lacking the charm of its predecessor, kills any ambiguity of the conclusion of Mars in the first few minutes, and just feels forced. Sure it’s fun to visit the Blitz club, but would Steve Strange (playing himself) have worn ear monitors fronting Visage in 1981? But there’s a way out - it’s not the real 80’s, but Drake’s idea of it. But who do we blame for the squandering of the wonderful character of Gene Hunt? Or the soundtrack that feels trowelled on? And, worse of all, for it being dull??

Thanks then for Channel 4’s 18-35 channel, E4, and the second season of Skins. The first series went from the humorous to the very dark, but managed to maintain reality. Its high concept was the weekly baton changing of the focus of the unfolding narrative. The second season is darker, and so far has been telling character’s stories in doubles. If the arc of the first season was the fall of Tony, maybe the key to this one is his rehabilitation? Bill Bailey (complete with his dancing dog) appears as Maxxie’s father (continuing the theme of parents played by comics, mostly in non-comedic roles), while the school is presenting Osama The Musical. Once again, it’s a joy to behold intelligent programmes that don’t talk down to their audience. Why can’t all drama be like this?

© James McGalliard 2008