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
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Tales Of A City
London Fields # 79
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 June 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as it’s easy to sometimes loathe where you live, dreaming of other far away or remembered places, sometimes events conspire to deflate fantasies of an imagined life elsewhere by providing experiences that couldn’t be found elsewhere. At times like this you find yourself tearing up those mental lists of reasons to be or not to be here and just revel in your time. Recently I’ve looked enviously at Melbourne shows by The Chills (compensated by seeing The Clean here), the closure and rebirth of The Tote and commemorations of The Seaview Ballroom.
But when you’re standing in a 350 capacity club, and Peter Hook is playing his six string Shergold less than ten feet in front of you, and Mani is a few feet further away playing the lower baselines, you just know that this is something you’d be unlikely to experience in the confines of the Northcote Social Club. For this is Manchester supergroup Freebass playing only their second proper gig. Andy Rourke is sadly absent, and Hooky is the centre of a fine night‘s entertainment, one which may recall the past, but is also entirely of the present, the band not relying on any of its member’s huge back catalogues to get by. It’s a performance free of frills, and watching it I’m reminded of the difference to seeing another new buzz Manchester band this year - Hurts, who had everything right as far as looks and staging, but had forgotten the need for songs.
Two nights later comedian Stewart Lee is playing a free show in a woefully ill-equipped pub on the edges of Shoreditch. The circumstances see him abandon his plans to test new material, and instead he improvises around some themes from his 2009 Edinburgh show. That night, his thoughts on leaving London for the country or places further afield struck a certain resonance with me. Escaping the confines of the Hobby Horse for a calmer locale, a wander down Orsman Road ends at The Stag’s Head. But I’m soon drawn into the band area where I witness an extraordinary bass groove that loops hypnotically for the next fifteen minutes. This it turns out is the single launch of Chips For The Poor and I leave happily clutching their new 7” clear vinyl and a free bonus CD of the full version.
Between these two nights I’m in Brighton to witness Julian Cope turn in a virtuoso solo performance. After sitting on that strange cobbled beach (nothing stranger than the sound of waves rolling over pebbles), I head off to the Komedia. While he can tend to be a little erratic, somehow on this barmy Brighton evening it all came together brilliantly, nearly leading to me missing the last train back to London. He’s a fabulous raconteur, and extremely funny, interspersing songs with thoughts arising from research into his next book (Lives Of The Prophets), weird Japanese lyrical translations, and tales of his 50th birthday acid trip. He chooses a wonderful selection of songs and his voice and playing are pristine while simultaneous displaying a lived-in wear of love. His acerbic wit remains and his comments that The Teardrop Explodes were consistent at being not very good makes his non-appearance a few days later to collect an award from Mojo in their honour not unsurprising.
With shows this month by Gang Of Four, James, Brendan Perry, The Lotus Eaters and Marc Almond, you do sometimes wonder what decade this is. But other than a visit in May 1982 with a disintegrating The Teardrop Explodes, when has Julian Cope visited Australia? Where else but London would you see John Foxx reunited with guitarist Robin Simon to perform songs from the landmark Systems Of Romance album? Or experience the preternatural stillness of the streets during an England World Cup game? And while Daniel Kitson may seem to spend more time in Australia than he does here, never would his former landlord and enemy turn up at the end of an Australian performance of 66a Church Road as happened here last Sunday.
As I reflect on all this heading home on one of the last remaining bendy buses , I think that despite all the fears for a bleak future forecast by the new Liberal Con coalition, it’s worth enduring life here for the things that couldn’t happen anywhere else. But as Daniel Kitson’s landlord said, there are two sides to every story.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 16 June 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
As much as it’s easy to sometimes loathe where you live, dreaming of other far away or remembered places, sometimes events conspire to deflate fantasies of an imagined life elsewhere by providing experiences that couldn’t be found elsewhere. At times like this you find yourself tearing up those mental lists of reasons to be or not to be here and just revel in your time. Recently I’ve looked enviously at Melbourne shows by The Chills (compensated by seeing The Clean here), the closure and rebirth of The Tote and commemorations of The Seaview Ballroom.
But when you’re standing in a 350 capacity club, and Peter Hook is playing his six string Shergold less than ten feet in front of you, and Mani is a few feet further away playing the lower baselines, you just know that this is something you’d be unlikely to experience in the confines of the Northcote Social Club. For this is Manchester supergroup Freebass playing only their second proper gig. Andy Rourke is sadly absent, and Hooky is the centre of a fine night‘s entertainment, one which may recall the past, but is also entirely of the present, the band not relying on any of its member’s huge back catalogues to get by. It’s a performance free of frills, and watching it I’m reminded of the difference to seeing another new buzz Manchester band this year - Hurts, who had everything right as far as looks and staging, but had forgotten the need for songs.
Two nights later comedian Stewart Lee is playing a free show in a woefully ill-equipped pub on the edges of Shoreditch. The circumstances see him abandon his plans to test new material, and instead he improvises around some themes from his 2009 Edinburgh show. That night, his thoughts on leaving London for the country or places further afield struck a certain resonance with me. Escaping the confines of the Hobby Horse for a calmer locale, a wander down Orsman Road ends at The Stag’s Head. But I’m soon drawn into the band area where I witness an extraordinary bass groove that loops hypnotically for the next fifteen minutes. This it turns out is the single launch of Chips For The Poor and I leave happily clutching their new 7” clear vinyl and a free bonus CD of the full version.
Between these two nights I’m in Brighton to witness Julian Cope turn in a virtuoso solo performance. After sitting on that strange cobbled beach (nothing stranger than the sound of waves rolling over pebbles), I head off to the Komedia. While he can tend to be a little erratic, somehow on this barmy Brighton evening it all came together brilliantly, nearly leading to me missing the last train back to London. He’s a fabulous raconteur, and extremely funny, interspersing songs with thoughts arising from research into his next book (Lives Of The Prophets), weird Japanese lyrical translations, and tales of his 50th birthday acid trip. He chooses a wonderful selection of songs and his voice and playing are pristine while simultaneous displaying a lived-in wear of love. His acerbic wit remains and his comments that The Teardrop Explodes were consistent at being not very good makes his non-appearance a few days later to collect an award from Mojo in their honour not unsurprising.
With shows this month by Gang Of Four, James, Brendan Perry, The Lotus Eaters and Marc Almond, you do sometimes wonder what decade this is. But other than a visit in May 1982 with a disintegrating The Teardrop Explodes, when has Julian Cope visited Australia? Where else but London would you see John Foxx reunited with guitarist Robin Simon to perform songs from the landmark Systems Of Romance album? Or experience the preternatural stillness of the streets during an England World Cup game? And while Daniel Kitson may seem to spend more time in Australia than he does here, never would his former landlord and enemy turn up at the end of an Australian performance of 66a Church Road as happened here last Sunday.
As I reflect on all this heading home on one of the last remaining bendy buses , I think that despite all the fears for a bleak future forecast by the new Liberal Con coalition, it’s worth enduring life here for the things that couldn’t happen anywhere else. But as Daniel Kitson’s landlord said, there are two sides to every story.
© James McGalliard 2010
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Electioneering
London Fields # 78
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 May 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Watching the media coverage of the recent UK General Election, I was reminded of a 1970’s student film called (something like) ”Fraser Opens Monash Toilets“ (although I couldn‘t find reference to it on Google). Anyway, the film in question features reportage from the front line of a student protest against Malcolm Fraser’s campus visit - the violent camera shakes indicating a thronging mass seemingly on the verge of riot. That is until you see the long shot which shows that all the fracas and pushing is actually the TV cameramen jostling each other to make it appear as though they were at the centre of a mêlée. Certainly I’ve never seen an election where the depiction of the situation varied so dramatically depending on the source which was providing the information.
Electoral reform had been a major issue throughout the campaigns and the end results seemed to make the need for an overhaul of the current system even clearer. As the saga unfolded, everything else became muddier; an election with no clear winner, talk of minority governments, rainbow coalitions, and possible stalemates which would lead to another election. There was much that made it feel like a US Presidential election, with leaders rather than parties being the focus, and three live 90 minute televised debates between these three leaders (of the main English parties, much to the annoyance of Welsh and Scottish parties who were not offered a part). Catchphrases from the Obama campaign crept in as well, and on the election day itself, The Sun featured a reworking Shepard Fairey’s iconic poster as its cover with Obama replaced by an image of David Cameron.
Yet there was no landmark victory. With no clear winner, Gordon Brown remained as Prime Minister, while the only clear losers were the British National Party who were comprehensively trounced in their attempt to gain a seat in Barking, and in the local elections for Barking and Dagenham Council, all 12 BNP councillors lost their seats. The only decisive victory came in Brighton, where the Green Party won their first ever seat. In London, Labour actually did well - my seat recorded a swing of over 5% swing in their favour, and they gained control of eight more councils in the local elections. After five days and much horse bartering, Brown resigned and a coalition government was formed between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats. And while it seemed that the nation as a whole has been more politicised by the live debates and ongoing saga of the hung parliament, it didn’t stop a large number of viewers contacting the BBC to complain that they had bumped popular soaps EastEnders and Holby City off their schedules to show these historic events live. The next morning saw The Sun relegate it Page Three girl to page 15 (well it had lots of photos of other types of tit to put on the preceding pages).
Amongst all the mess, one thing remains abundantly clear: no one got the government for which they had voted. Perhaps this will be a good thing? Certainly the scrapping of the ID card seems to be a good start, but I fear for the future of the BBC, and worry about the changes in the no confidence rules tied into the new fixed five year parliamentary terms. The other certainty is that the mother of all parliaments is desperately in need of renovation. This last election saw the largest voter turnout since the Blair Labour government came to power, but still only 65.1% of those on the roll bothered to make their voices heard (although in a travesty of democratic process, some hundreds of voters were left unable to vote due to understaffed polling stations). The UK system of first past the post even lead to a council seat being decided on a coin toss as both candidates had received exactly the same number of votes. It seems likely that there will be a move to Alternative Vote (like the Australian preferential vote) with other possibilities of reform (proportional representation) going to committee and perhaps referendum, and an elected upper house even further away. The Liberal Democrats offered themselves to the voting public as an alternative to the two major parties, and now find themselves actively aligned in government with one of them. Only time will tell if those who voted for them this time around may find themselves humming The Who‘s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in 2015.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 May 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Watching the media coverage of the recent UK General Election, I was reminded of a 1970’s student film called (something like) ”Fraser Opens Monash Toilets“ (although I couldn‘t find reference to it on Google). Anyway, the film in question features reportage from the front line of a student protest against Malcolm Fraser’s campus visit - the violent camera shakes indicating a thronging mass seemingly on the verge of riot. That is until you see the long shot which shows that all the fracas and pushing is actually the TV cameramen jostling each other to make it appear as though they were at the centre of a mêlée. Certainly I’ve never seen an election where the depiction of the situation varied so dramatically depending on the source which was providing the information.
Electoral reform had been a major issue throughout the campaigns and the end results seemed to make the need for an overhaul of the current system even clearer. As the saga unfolded, everything else became muddier; an election with no clear winner, talk of minority governments, rainbow coalitions, and possible stalemates which would lead to another election. There was much that made it feel like a US Presidential election, with leaders rather than parties being the focus, and three live 90 minute televised debates between these three leaders (of the main English parties, much to the annoyance of Welsh and Scottish parties who were not offered a part). Catchphrases from the Obama campaign crept in as well, and on the election day itself, The Sun featured a reworking Shepard Fairey’s iconic poster as its cover with Obama replaced by an image of David Cameron.
Yet there was no landmark victory. With no clear winner, Gordon Brown remained as Prime Minister, while the only clear losers were the British National Party who were comprehensively trounced in their attempt to gain a seat in Barking, and in the local elections for Barking and Dagenham Council, all 12 BNP councillors lost their seats. The only decisive victory came in Brighton, where the Green Party won their first ever seat. In London, Labour actually did well - my seat recorded a swing of over 5% swing in their favour, and they gained control of eight more councils in the local elections. After five days and much horse bartering, Brown resigned and a coalition government was formed between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats. And while it seemed that the nation as a whole has been more politicised by the live debates and ongoing saga of the hung parliament, it didn’t stop a large number of viewers contacting the BBC to complain that they had bumped popular soaps EastEnders and Holby City off their schedules to show these historic events live. The next morning saw The Sun relegate it Page Three girl to page 15 (well it had lots of photos of other types of tit to put on the preceding pages).
Amongst all the mess, one thing remains abundantly clear: no one got the government for which they had voted. Perhaps this will be a good thing? Certainly the scrapping of the ID card seems to be a good start, but I fear for the future of the BBC, and worry about the changes in the no confidence rules tied into the new fixed five year parliamentary terms. The other certainty is that the mother of all parliaments is desperately in need of renovation. This last election saw the largest voter turnout since the Blair Labour government came to power, but still only 65.1% of those on the roll bothered to make their voices heard (although in a travesty of democratic process, some hundreds of voters were left unable to vote due to understaffed polling stations). The UK system of first past the post even lead to a council seat being decided on a coin toss as both candidates had received exactly the same number of votes. It seems likely that there will be a move to Alternative Vote (like the Australian preferential vote) with other possibilities of reform (proportional representation) going to committee and perhaps referendum, and an elected upper house even further away. The Liberal Democrats offered themselves to the voting public as an alternative to the two major parties, and now find themselves actively aligned in government with one of them. Only time will tell if those who voted for them this time around may find themselves humming The Who‘s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in 2015.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Sounding Off
London Fields # 77
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Sow What
London Fields # 76
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 March 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There‘s a new drug on London‘s streets. “It stimulates the part of the brain called Shatner’s Bassoon, and that’s the bit of the brain that deals with time perception”. Actually, that’s a description of Cake - the “made-up drug” that was the centrepiece of an episode of Chris Morris’s satirical series BrassEye in February 1997. But reading the news over the past few weeks, time and time again it’s been hard to distinguish the current near-hysteria of the tabloids with a television show from 13 years earlier, which actually led to questions being raised in parliament.
The substance attracting all the headlines is mephedrone (meow meow, M-Cat, bubble and lordknowswhat), reportedly now the UK’s fourth most popular street drug (and rising fast up the charts). Of course, it’s not really that new at all; the change is in the public awareness of it, stirred into a frenzy now that deaths have been linked to the drug. After the immigrants taking our jobs, the paedophiles lurking on every street corner, the dangerous dogs, the easier school exams, the ASBO generation of dangerous youth and binge-drinking Britain, methadone is the latest weapon to make you fear for Queen and Country.
The thing that kickstarted the UK tabloid panic over ecstasy was the death of schoolgirl Leah Betts in 1995, who collapsed into a coma four hours after taking an E, and later died. News reports blamed the drug, with some claiming it was a contaminated batch. Yet the inquest determined that the primary cause of death was water intoxication (drinking 7 litres in 90 minutes) with the drug a possible contributory factor. What’s triggered the current outrage is the death of two teenagers, also reportedly first time drug users. While you may have sympathy for those grieving relatives who have lost family members, what is not being so widely reported as that in addition to mephedrone, they were drinking and also took the (prescription only) heroin substitute methadone. Mixing sedatives and stimulants in such a way puts a tremendous strain on the body, and can lead to heart failure.
The big fuss seems to be about these being so-called ‘legal highs’. But the legality isn’t the key selling point; it’s the affordable price. The danger of such reporting seems to be some weird correlation between it not being illegal and it being safe. Now mephedrone is supposedly sold as a plant food, with a greater than 99% purity. But as it retails for between £8 and £15 a gram (although this figure may include ‘free’ delivery), I doubt you’d pay that for Blood & Bone or Thrive. Unless of course you found you could get high off it. There are many substances it’s possible to abuse - the difference is this one is being sold as one thing officially while everyone knows its actual intended use is something else entirely.
Now the delay on a government report on M-Cat is being linked to resignations following the sacking of drugs czar Professor David Nutt last October. He controversially used published studies as evidence for suggesting that while undoubtedly unsafe, ecstasy and LSD were less dangerous than alcohol. He was swiftly asked to resign as chair of Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs by the home secretary as a result. His thoughts here mirror those that lost him his job. "Who knows what's in [mephedrone] when you buy it? We don't have a testing system. It could be very dangerous, we just don't know. These chemicals have never been put into animals, let alone humans."
As yet, I’m not sure how many inroads this drug has made into Australia, but I have seen UK online sellers spam Oz message boards advertising their wares. And of course, this is where the its current ‘legal’ status becomes an issue. But there’s a part of me that thinks the biggest result of the current furore has been a huge advertising boost for a newer player on the block. These’s no doubting, particularly with an election looming, that M-Cat will be banned outright fairly quickly, even though experts are saying this could be the worst move possible. The simple truth is people need to take some responsibility for what they pump into their bodies, regardless of its legality. ‘It’s only one molecule different from MDMA’ screams The Sun . Yeah and H2O2 is only one molecule different from water, but I wouldn’t advocate drinking hydrogen peroxide either.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 March 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There‘s a new drug on London‘s streets. “It stimulates the part of the brain called Shatner’s Bassoon, and that’s the bit of the brain that deals with time perception”. Actually, that’s a description of Cake - the “made-up drug” that was the centrepiece of an episode of Chris Morris’s satirical series BrassEye in February 1997. But reading the news over the past few weeks, time and time again it’s been hard to distinguish the current near-hysteria of the tabloids with a television show from 13 years earlier, which actually led to questions being raised in parliament.
The substance attracting all the headlines is mephedrone (meow meow, M-Cat, bubble and lordknowswhat), reportedly now the UK’s fourth most popular street drug (and rising fast up the charts). Of course, it’s not really that new at all; the change is in the public awareness of it, stirred into a frenzy now that deaths have been linked to the drug. After the immigrants taking our jobs, the paedophiles lurking on every street corner, the dangerous dogs, the easier school exams, the ASBO generation of dangerous youth and binge-drinking Britain, methadone is the latest weapon to make you fear for Queen and Country.
The thing that kickstarted the UK tabloid panic over ecstasy was the death of schoolgirl Leah Betts in 1995, who collapsed into a coma four hours after taking an E, and later died. News reports blamed the drug, with some claiming it was a contaminated batch. Yet the inquest determined that the primary cause of death was water intoxication (drinking 7 litres in 90 minutes) with the drug a possible contributory factor. What’s triggered the current outrage is the death of two teenagers, also reportedly first time drug users. While you may have sympathy for those grieving relatives who have lost family members, what is not being so widely reported as that in addition to mephedrone, they were drinking and also took the (prescription only) heroin substitute methadone. Mixing sedatives and stimulants in such a way puts a tremendous strain on the body, and can lead to heart failure.
The big fuss seems to be about these being so-called ‘legal highs’. But the legality isn’t the key selling point; it’s the affordable price. The danger of such reporting seems to be some weird correlation between it not being illegal and it being safe. Now mephedrone is supposedly sold as a plant food, with a greater than 99% purity. But as it retails for between £8 and £15 a gram (although this figure may include ‘free’ delivery), I doubt you’d pay that for Blood & Bone or Thrive. Unless of course you found you could get high off it. There are many substances it’s possible to abuse - the difference is this one is being sold as one thing officially while everyone knows its actual intended use is something else entirely.
Now the delay on a government report on M-Cat is being linked to resignations following the sacking of drugs czar Professor David Nutt last October. He controversially used published studies as evidence for suggesting that while undoubtedly unsafe, ecstasy and LSD were less dangerous than alcohol. He was swiftly asked to resign as chair of Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs by the home secretary as a result. His thoughts here mirror those that lost him his job. "Who knows what's in [mephedrone] when you buy it? We don't have a testing system. It could be very dangerous, we just don't know. These chemicals have never been put into animals, let alone humans."
As yet, I’m not sure how many inroads this drug has made into Australia, but I have seen UK online sellers spam Oz message boards advertising their wares. And of course, this is where the its current ‘legal’ status becomes an issue. But there’s a part of me that thinks the biggest result of the current furore has been a huge advertising boost for a newer player on the block. These’s no doubting, particularly with an election looming, that M-Cat will be banned outright fairly quickly, even though experts are saying this could be the worst move possible. The simple truth is people need to take some responsibility for what they pump into their bodies, regardless of its legality. ‘It’s only one molecule different from MDMA’ screams The Sun . Yeah and H2O2 is only one molecule different from water, but I wouldn’t advocate drinking hydrogen peroxide either.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
A DAB Hand
London Fields # 75
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 February 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
While channel hopping during a recent trip home to Melbourne, I recalled a particularly prescient old sketch from A Bit Of Fry & Laurie. A government minister dining in a restaurant finds himself the object of some obsequious attention from his waiter, who lavishes praise upon him for a particular Commons speech concerning the de-regularisation of broadcasting, even quoting sections word-for word. The waiter then expresses horror and abjectly apologises for the minister‘s silver cutlery - this simply will not do! He takes it away and replaces it with a huge pile of plastic coffee stirrers. The minister is baffled. The waiter explains “I mean, they may be complete crap, but you‘ve got the choice, haven‘t you?” Originally written as a response to The Broadcasting Act (1990) [UK], in some ways this sketch now also seems to apply to the less-than-shiny state of Australian digital broadcasting. It used to be that Australia was an early and rapid adopter of new technology; both colour television and VCR take-up was faster than virtually anywhere else in the world. But when it comes to Digital broadcasting, especially for radio, it seems to be taking longer to catch on.
Then again, the uptake was pretty slow in the UK too, at least until DAB radios were drastically slashed in price. Since then, the rise in listener figures (for digital only stations such as BBC 6Music) has been astonishing. According to Rajar figures, during the final quarter of 2009, 6Music’s listener figures were up by 11.4%, with a year-on-year rise of a whopping 12.3%. But this does not necessarily make for a secure future.. Both it, and flagship station BBC Radio 2 (the most listened to station in the country, with some shows getting over 10 million listeners) were the subject of a review by the BBC Trust, and neither station escaped unscathed. Radio 2 is meant to target the over 35s, yet has seen a huge rise in a younger audience over the past ten years, and they now account for 18% of the total audience. Meanwhile 6Music is a place for those who simply love music, and have outgrown Radio 1, but are not ready for the pastures of Radio 2. Radio 2 has 5 million who listen to no other BBC radio, and some 2 million who listen to no other station at all. The BBC Trust’s review felt that Radio 2 had gained this younger audience at the expense of older listeners, and that it should now actively seek new listeners aged 65 and older, even if this alienates the current audience. Meanwhile 6Music suffered through lack of awareness. Even though the ratings have risen exponentially, the review maintained that this was from a low starting point, and claimed that only 20% of the adult population were even aware that the station existed.
DAB still has teething troubles. Claims of “CD quality sound” are frankly laughable, with most broadcasts at 128kbps, a bitrate so low no music lover would choose it for their mp3 player. Additionally the processors at either end may mean that there’s an significant broadcasting delay, so that “live” cricket commentary lags some half minute behind play, rendering it virtually useless if listening while watching a game live at the ground. Yet unlike FM transmissions, they can avoid the interference of pirate stations, and scrolling text is an easy answer to the perennial “what song is this” question.
It seems that BBC 6Music is safe, for now at least; but there are greater external threats on the horizon. With a general election due around May, it’s possible more knives are being sharpened. The BBC is not a cheap body to run, and if it wasn’t for the TV Licence fee, it would be unable to continue as a worldwide public service broadcaster, covering as broad a remit as it does. But certain players want the BBC to lose it’s newsgathering prowess, and who knows what deals may be struck with large news corporations if there’s a change of government. Currently it’s the annual licence fee of £142.50 per annum from virtually every UK household that supports the television, radio, internet and news teams, and provides much of this service free to the world outside the UK. Yet the election battle lines are currently being drawn, and even the Falkland Islands may once again play a part. The BBC may be another victim in the conflict, and cease to continue as we know it.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 24 February 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
While channel hopping during a recent trip home to Melbourne, I recalled a particularly prescient old sketch from A Bit Of Fry & Laurie. A government minister dining in a restaurant finds himself the object of some obsequious attention from his waiter, who lavishes praise upon him for a particular Commons speech concerning the de-regularisation of broadcasting, even quoting sections word-for word. The waiter then expresses horror and abjectly apologises for the minister‘s silver cutlery - this simply will not do! He takes it away and replaces it with a huge pile of plastic coffee stirrers. The minister is baffled. The waiter explains “I mean, they may be complete crap, but you‘ve got the choice, haven‘t you?” Originally written as a response to The Broadcasting Act (1990) [UK], in some ways this sketch now also seems to apply to the less-than-shiny state of Australian digital broadcasting. It used to be that Australia was an early and rapid adopter of new technology; both colour television and VCR take-up was faster than virtually anywhere else in the world. But when it comes to Digital broadcasting, especially for radio, it seems to be taking longer to catch on.
Then again, the uptake was pretty slow in the UK too, at least until DAB radios were drastically slashed in price. Since then, the rise in listener figures (for digital only stations such as BBC 6Music) has been astonishing. According to Rajar figures, during the final quarter of 2009, 6Music’s listener figures were up by 11.4%, with a year-on-year rise of a whopping 12.3%. But this does not necessarily make for a secure future.. Both it, and flagship station BBC Radio 2 (the most listened to station in the country, with some shows getting over 10 million listeners) were the subject of a review by the BBC Trust, and neither station escaped unscathed. Radio 2 is meant to target the over 35s, yet has seen a huge rise in a younger audience over the past ten years, and they now account for 18% of the total audience. Meanwhile 6Music is a place for those who simply love music, and have outgrown Radio 1, but are not ready for the pastures of Radio 2. Radio 2 has 5 million who listen to no other BBC radio, and some 2 million who listen to no other station at all. The BBC Trust’s review felt that Radio 2 had gained this younger audience at the expense of older listeners, and that it should now actively seek new listeners aged 65 and older, even if this alienates the current audience. Meanwhile 6Music suffered through lack of awareness. Even though the ratings have risen exponentially, the review maintained that this was from a low starting point, and claimed that only 20% of the adult population were even aware that the station existed.
DAB still has teething troubles. Claims of “CD quality sound” are frankly laughable, with most broadcasts at 128kbps, a bitrate so low no music lover would choose it for their mp3 player. Additionally the processors at either end may mean that there’s an significant broadcasting delay, so that “live” cricket commentary lags some half minute behind play, rendering it virtually useless if listening while watching a game live at the ground. Yet unlike FM transmissions, they can avoid the interference of pirate stations, and scrolling text is an easy answer to the perennial “what song is this” question.
It seems that BBC 6Music is safe, for now at least; but there are greater external threats on the horizon. With a general election due around May, it’s possible more knives are being sharpened. The BBC is not a cheap body to run, and if it wasn’t for the TV Licence fee, it would be unable to continue as a worldwide public service broadcaster, covering as broad a remit as it does. But certain players want the BBC to lose it’s newsgathering prowess, and who knows what deals may be struck with large news corporations if there’s a change of government. Currently it’s the annual licence fee of £142.50 per annum from virtually every UK household that supports the television, radio, internet and news teams, and provides much of this service free to the world outside the UK. Yet the election battle lines are currently being drawn, and even the Falkland Islands may once again play a part. The BBC may be another victim in the conflict, and cease to continue as we know it.
© James McGalliard 2010
Thursday, 28 January 2010
It's Snow Joking Matter
London Fields # 74
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 28 January 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Maybe with the recent excesses of a record-breaking heat wave, it may have been tempting to want to swap places with the denizens of the UK, who were moaning about a bit of a cold snap with a little snow. While it may not have been the Snowmageddon portrayed in the tabloids (with the Express claiming it proved global warming wrong), it wasn’t much fun either. For weeks, it kept all other news at bay. The attempt to overthrow Prime Minister Gordon Brown in an election year became a lesser news item, as the weather a story that in some way affected everyone in the country, even if it wasn’t really news at all. On the ‘worst’ day there were reports that less than 50% of employees had even made it into work. With the British economy already struggling, this kind of loss is the last thing it needs.
The heavy snows last February also saw the whole capital ground to a standstill, unable to cope with the wrong type of rain. There was outcry; questions were asked and promises made that London wouldn’t be caught unaware again. Yet when it did recur it was as though no lessons had been learned at all. As then, there was the grit shortage. When I first arrived in the UK, I was mystified by the large yellow bins labelled Salt-Grit. Mistaking it for a rubbish bin, I tried to put my chocolate wrapper in it, but it will filled with what turned out to be rock salt, which is used to break down ice and snow on footpaths. The trouble was there was a shortage of this, so widespread gritting didn’t really seem to happen, making smaller roads impassable.
Obviously the death toll amongst the elderly rises in cold weather, but reports placed the demise of around 20 people directly at the conditions themselves. Sadly there’s no equivalent of a warm change to bring relief either. While the snow may have caused problems, the real threat was what came next. Because as snow is walked upon it melts a little and then refreezes - as ice. And if snow can be a bit heavy going, ice is impossible. Casualty departments were filled with people who had fallen. Supplies of shoe cleats to give you some grip on the treacherous surfaces were quickly depleted, with no more deliveries expected until April.
Other cities in Europe get snow every year, and they don’t grind to a halt. So why is the UK in particular so blighted when these ever-more-frequent ‘unseasonal’ conditions hit? Here’s a clue. European houses not only tend to have snow shovels, they use them too. Not just their own entrance, and the footpath outside them as well. Meanwhile here in the UK it’s a widely held belief that if you clear a path and then someone slips on it, you can be held legally accountable. Regardless of the veracity of that, the thought has stuck and so people are reticent to act for fear of possible lawsuits.
One paper ran a story about the new-found popularity of encyclopædias and other large reference works from local opshops. But it wasn’t in a quest for knowledge. In 1953, Ray Bradbury wrote of a dystopian possible future where the prevalence of television has led to an unthinking society. The role of firemen was to burn books, as the knowledge they contained only made the populace harder to handle and keep sedate. The reality is perhaps more terrifying. For the books from the Salvos were destined for fireplaces of struggling pensioners - their combustion being the only affordable way to keep warm. They’re cheaper than a bag of coal, and much, much cheaper than running a boiler.
In the thaw the cost is still being counted. The rare species of birds that came into the cities and suburban gardens seeking food have now departed, and shops have stocks of salt and kitty litter once more. Dreams of White Christmases are now seen as nightmares. The snowfall was the worst in 30 years, and now it’s the roads that are in a real state. Some are so bad that buses, which were unable to run during the snow, are again sitting in the depot, as the potholes will cause too much damage to allow them to run safely.
So next time you’re cursing the heat, and wishing it were much, much colder, perhaps think again for a minute. As soon as the initial adventure and excitement fades, any extreme is just a pain in the arse.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 28 January 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
Maybe with the recent excesses of a record-breaking heat wave, it may have been tempting to want to swap places with the denizens of the UK, who were moaning about a bit of a cold snap with a little snow. While it may not have been the Snowmageddon portrayed in the tabloids (with the Express claiming it proved global warming wrong), it wasn’t much fun either. For weeks, it kept all other news at bay. The attempt to overthrow Prime Minister Gordon Brown in an election year became a lesser news item, as the weather a story that in some way affected everyone in the country, even if it wasn’t really news at all. On the ‘worst’ day there were reports that less than 50% of employees had even made it into work. With the British economy already struggling, this kind of loss is the last thing it needs.
The heavy snows last February also saw the whole capital ground to a standstill, unable to cope with the wrong type of rain. There was outcry; questions were asked and promises made that London wouldn’t be caught unaware again. Yet when it did recur it was as though no lessons had been learned at all. As then, there was the grit shortage. When I first arrived in the UK, I was mystified by the large yellow bins labelled Salt-Grit. Mistaking it for a rubbish bin, I tried to put my chocolate wrapper in it, but it will filled with what turned out to be rock salt, which is used to break down ice and snow on footpaths. The trouble was there was a shortage of this, so widespread gritting didn’t really seem to happen, making smaller roads impassable.
Obviously the death toll amongst the elderly rises in cold weather, but reports placed the demise of around 20 people directly at the conditions themselves. Sadly there’s no equivalent of a warm change to bring relief either. While the snow may have caused problems, the real threat was what came next. Because as snow is walked upon it melts a little and then refreezes - as ice. And if snow can be a bit heavy going, ice is impossible. Casualty departments were filled with people who had fallen. Supplies of shoe cleats to give you some grip on the treacherous surfaces were quickly depleted, with no more deliveries expected until April.
Other cities in Europe get snow every year, and they don’t grind to a halt. So why is the UK in particular so blighted when these ever-more-frequent ‘unseasonal’ conditions hit? Here’s a clue. European houses not only tend to have snow shovels, they use them too. Not just their own entrance, and the footpath outside them as well. Meanwhile here in the UK it’s a widely held belief that if you clear a path and then someone slips on it, you can be held legally accountable. Regardless of the veracity of that, the thought has stuck and so people are reticent to act for fear of possible lawsuits.
One paper ran a story about the new-found popularity of encyclopædias and other large reference works from local opshops. But it wasn’t in a quest for knowledge. In 1953, Ray Bradbury wrote of a dystopian possible future where the prevalence of television has led to an unthinking society. The role of firemen was to burn books, as the knowledge they contained only made the populace harder to handle and keep sedate. The reality is perhaps more terrifying. For the books from the Salvos were destined for fireplaces of struggling pensioners - their combustion being the only affordable way to keep warm. They’re cheaper than a bag of coal, and much, much cheaper than running a boiler.
In the thaw the cost is still being counted. The rare species of birds that came into the cities and suburban gardens seeking food have now departed, and shops have stocks of salt and kitty litter once more. Dreams of White Christmases are now seen as nightmares. The snowfall was the worst in 30 years, and now it’s the roads that are in a real state. Some are so bad that buses, which were unable to run during the snow, are again sitting in the depot, as the potholes will cause too much damage to allow them to run safely.
So next time you’re cursing the heat, and wishing it were much, much colder, perhaps think again for a minute. As soon as the initial adventure and excitement fades, any extreme is just a pain in the arse.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
That Was The Year That Was
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
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
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Label With Love
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
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
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
State Of The Nation
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
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
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Black & White TV
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
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
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Edinblur
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
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
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