The T Is For Texas

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

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

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

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

© James McGalliard 2011

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

Christmas Wrapping

London Fields # 86
First published Inpress (Issue # 1055), Melbourne on 29 December 2010, and in a shortened version in Drum Media (Issue # 1041), Sydney on 28 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

2010 was a year was marked by enforced inactivity, from environmental factors stopping travel to musicians actively not playing to raise money for charity. There was an election without a winner, and the country seemed to be the loser. A year that began with slacktivism ended with riots on the streets and the threat of water cannons to control them. A temporary immigration cap was ruled as unlawful, and the spectre of swine flu appeared, was forgotten about and then returned with the Yuletide snows. The island nature of Britain was emphasised again and again, as it was isolated by weather conditions and volcanic eruptions. In the weeks of silent skies brought on by the Icelandic volcano, it seemed British sea power was the only way to get off this island, or get back to it. The flotilla of boats crossing the channel were portrayed as embodying the Dunkirk spirit, but the panic as crammed ferries departed leaving some stranded in France seemed more like the last days of Saigon.

Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg seemed to offer a third way, and won many student votes with promises not to introduce tuition fees for tertiary students. When these (and other) election promises evaporated at the first important vote, there was justifiable anger leading to a series of demonstrations and near riots in cities across the country. Austerity was the catchphrase, and the pre-election word hope was quickly replaced by despair. The recession continued, and Royal Mail was offered up for privatisation. The only bright spot seemed to be BBC 6Music being spared the axe.

The National reached a greater audience with High Violet, but are still waiting for that R.E.M. style breakthrough. Although their London shows were blighted with poor sound, Archie Bronson Outfit’s Coconut was a remarkable curveball, in many ways achieving what Grinderman’s latest failed to do. Exit Calm’s self-titled debut captured the power of their live shows, while Stephen Jones revived BabyBird and on Ex Maniac created some of the pithiest pop in years. Peter Gabriel’s covers album may have been uninspiring, but his live orchestral show in the cavernous O2 was a one of the live performances of the year for me, along with shows from Julian Cope at Brighton’s Komedia, and Get Well Soon at the Borderline. Although larger venues thrived, some great smaller venues (such as The Luminaire) were lost.

On television, Misfits won the BAFTA for best drama, and returned with a strong second series, but Vexed showed writer Howard Overman could also get things badly wrong. Crime drama was everywhere, with The Silence continuing the trend of strip programming across consecutive weeknights. Luther allowed Idris Elba a British starring vehicle after The Wire, while Thorne showed Sky could produce drama and Sherlock was over too soon. The BBC also continued their run of excellent biopics, but their strongest contributions seemed to be documentaries - from Matt Frei’s excellent Berlin, through BBC Four‘s Maps season, to Michael Cockerell’s fascinating The Great Offices of State. But best of all was Wonders of the Solar System, where former D:Ream keyboard player Professor Brian Cox won huge audiences, by bring physics and astronomy together in a fascinating, involving, understandable yet uncondescending way.

While some of the old favourites, like The IT Crowd and Peep Show, showed definite signs of wear, it was a great year for new comedy on TV. Getting On returned for its first full series, while Rev. and Whites both became definite weekly highlights. Stand-up played a big role, but The Steven K Amos Show felt like a ‘70s timewarp and was barely watchable, while with Lee Nelson’s Well Good Show Simon Brodkin showed how well a live studio audience can be used. Harry Hill’s TV Burp and Charlie Brooker’s Wipe shows also were essential viewing, and I had a soft-spot for Mongrels whose puppets allowed them to get away with jokes living performers never could.

2010 saw the final death throes of New Labour, a government no one voted for seizing power, and the phrase ‘The Troubles in Ireland’ take on new meaning. It was the year that the World Cup bid wasn’t won, but where English fans expressed their love of the game by booing their own players. A year when so called legal highs were outlawed, a London bike hire scheme begin, and George & Lynne stopped appearing in The Sun. It was the year that The Bill ended its run, a year that wanted to be over so quickly that 2011 coins were already in circulation by December. As I write, the Arctic freeze gripping the country looks set to continue until at least the middle of January. The future seems to hold huge redundancies, further unrest, an unstable economy and a royal wedding. This last may give those still in employment an extra day‘s holiday. Happy New Year!

© James McGalliard 2010

Inpress: Published on page 53
Drum: Published on page 51

In This Moment

London Fields # 80
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 14 July 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

As much as migrating birds have their annual cycles, so do comedians - mainly based around the annual pilgrimage to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival each August. As that month now looms into view, comics up and down the land are immersing themselves in the ritual dance of writing, panicking and trying out new material that will (hopefully) sustain them for the three weeks of festival and most of the nine months following, before the whole cycle begins again in earnest. On seemingly every night now there’s many an act doing open rehearsals or warm-up performances. These can vary from late starters whose sets are primarily last year’s show with perhaps an additional ten minutes of new material awkwardly inserted, to those that have entirely new shows although these may fall quite short (in either length or quality) at the moment.

Daniel Kitson fell into the latter of these categories (length not quality) when I caught a very early run through of his 2010 theatre show It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later last week. Run was really an appropriate word here, as it is a work in progress, and the cohesive part of what he’s written to date takes him about 17 minutes to read, although he did tackle sections of it with breathless speed. Like last year’s wonderful The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church, it’s a story piece and is also going to premiere at the Traverse Theatre. Via a series of interrelated vignettes it illustrates the unrelated lives of William Rivington and Caroline Carpenter; their stories will eventually intersect, but only the once. Even at this early stage, it has moments of great depth and emotion, and it’s hard not be in in awe of some of Kitson’s turns of phrase. While these make me wish he’d go and write a novel, that perhaps would deprive us of the chance to hear the way he weaves these diverse threads into a greater whole. Whereas Gregory Church (which he later tells me he will be touring in Australia next year) showed that events that seem minor at the time may go on to have greater significance, the new piece is a step forward wherein Kitson is purely a narrator, and the breadth is to depict two entire lives. At the moment it’s really just an outline, yet like its predecessor it’s clear that capturing even the simplest of moments can be the sometimes be an important part of a genuinely lived life.

The following day I head down to Brighton to see The National, as it’s my only chance to see them in a reasonably-sized venue this year. Checking the stage times for the evening, I run in ¾ of The Veils outside the venue, who have also ventured seawards for the gig. Soph gives me a huge hug, and Finn tells me that he’s been busy writing and that they’re heading into the studios this week to record an EP of new material. Eschewing the support act, I take advantage of the beautiful evening and savour a quiet moment, sitting in a beachside bar slowly sipping an ice cold pint as I watch the sea while the world passes by. For years I’ve loved The National on record but for me they have always seemed to somehow fall short as live performers. The musicianship is there, as are the songs, but it always has felt as though something was missing. Yet tonight, with an extended line-up of two horn players, and the ever-present (and irreplaceable) Padma Newsome on keyboards and strings, they come close to bridging that gap. It’s wonderful to see the recognition they now have; what were once mere lyrics becoming crowd anthems, while frontman Matt Berninger seems to have peeled away his restraint, actually hurling himself into the crowd at one point. Tonight’s highlights are the slower numbers, the best being a sublime version of England, the accompanying horns just perfectly undercutting the song’s triumphant swell.

Afterwards, when the journey homewards takes more than three hours, the train delayed by a suicide on the line, I again think of Kitson’s idea of the importance of moments. These could be as simple as the touch of another person or the wonder that is that repeated lyric from Slow Show. After all, it is in fleeting moments that all life resides.


© James McGalliard 2010