The Maths of Rock

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

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

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

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

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

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

© James McGalliard 2011

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

Heard It Through The Grapevine

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

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

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

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

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

© James McGalliard 2011

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

A Plug-In Called Nostalgia

London Fields # 82
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 September 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

One of the recurring conversation topics that seems to come up whenever we discuss music down the pub regards which bands we’d wished we had seen, but never did, and who we‘d like to reform. While there are various particular shows I regret missing, for me there’s really only one act in this category now - and that’s Joy Division. Lacking a time machine, this had led me down all sorts of strange paths. When they were filming the Ian Curtis biopic Control in Nottingham, I applied to be an extra for the gig scenes. The Gillian-free line-up of New Order reintroduced Joy Division as a regular part of their sets, and twice I saw them perform sets as Joy Division; firstly for John Peel, and then in Manchester for Andy Rourke’s inaugural Verses Cancer charity bash. Yet the closest I’ve felt to recapturing something gone forever came when Section 25, who had an early record produced by the Joy Division singer, included a blinding rendition of No Love Lost in their set.

Now Joy Division’s bass player Peter Hook has combined the current fad for playing albums in their entirety with nostalgia for what has passed. To commemorate the thirty years since singer Ian Curtis’s death, he’s formed a touring band to play Joy Division’s brilliant debut album Unknown Pleasures live in its entirety - and they arrive in Australia later this month. One of the things I admired when I saw his new band Freebass was the lack of reliance on any material from their former famous bands. While Barney and Stephen Morris still feature Joy Division songs in the encores of Bad Lieutenant shows, but this is a new thing altogether. Peter Hook & The Light do get some things right; a real drum kit gives a much more authentic sound than an electronic one, and the guitarist retains the simplicity of the original playing. Hooky is the only member of the band to have played on the original recording, and the live show could be called Twobass as Hooky’s son plays many of the basslines, leaving the original bassist to concentrate on singing. This isn’t a slavish recreation of the original though. As a front man Hook does overplay the raised fist, but perhaps the most controversial decision is the inclusion of former Happy Mondays vocalist Rowetta to sing some of the songs. While I didn’t mind her take on Insight, some of the lyrics on that album are born of a very male despair, something at odds with the image of her busting out of a denim mini-dress and boots.

Yet should one expect something that was created in a studio to be played at home to work as a live performance? This is the flaw of the concept, no matter which band attempts it. The versions they play fall between the sheen of Martin Hannett’s production, and the rougher versions they played as a live act. Yet Joy Division only played Candidate live on three occasions, so by the time Hooky reaches Australia he’ll have sung this song live more times than Ian Curtis ever did. Yet if the original act rarely included it (or I Remember Nothing) in live sets, should that be telling us something? While it was magical for me to hear these songs live just once, regardless of context or history, it seemed a great many people around me only really want to hear the singles. Thus the finale of Love Will Tear Us Apart sees the place erupt as the Vikings lead the way in a singalong which turns that melody into a football terrace anthem.

We seem surrounded by recreations of the recent past or shallow imitations of them. Hurts seem to have stolen their image wholesale from the artwork of No Sense Of Sin by The Lotus Eaters. While the newcomers are drenched in press coverage, there was virtually none when the two core members of The Lotus Eaters took their emotionally open songs on the road in stripped bare acoustic arrangements - just two guitars and vocals. While it lacked the power of the full band show the previous year, some songs held on remarkable well, and it was very sad to see such a poor turn out. This need to go and revisit the past seems to be becoming more and more prevalent. It’s like trying to create a perfect memory, or to find something lost, or even to pretend to be part of something that you never were. Maybe it’s time to say - enough! The Joy Division song that always meant the most to me was the desperate cry of New Dawn Fades. Yet, as sung by Rowetta, these words written by Ian Curtis seem to take on a whole new meaning: “Me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else”.


© James McGalliard 2010

Movin' On Up

London Fields # 38
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 18 April 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The papers here are full of stories about London’s housing crisis. Having just been through the wringer of finding a new abode, I have first-hand experience of some of the difficulties, and how much you pay for so little. Another survey showed that Londoners had the smallest number of close friends of anyone in the UK , with an average of 5.3 each. Luckily, I managed to get through the past month with the support of some of mine. So why live here at all? Well, on nights when I really should have been packing, I snuck out and caught a few more nights of live music.

A few years back, I lent one of those friends my copy of The Lost Riots, the debut album from Hope Of The States. He loved the opening instrumental, The Black Amnesias, but lost interest when frontman Sam Herlihy began singing. He may well like Troubles then, as it’s the core of HotS, but without drums or vocals. The live performance is a forty-minute tone poem, as songs melt and merge into one another, tumbling more like movements of a greater vision, rather than individual pieces in their own right. There are eight on stage; Sam alternates between piano and guitar, whilst other members play guitars, strings and brass. The trouble with Troubles is that it’s all too much – they’re yet to find the openness or space in the sounds they’re creating. There’s too much kitchen sinking; it would be more effective if all of them didn’t play all the time. Still, this is definitely an evolving work in progress, and one to come back to.

They were supporting the very wonderful iLiKETRAiNS, who are also in the process of change. Gone are the trademark British Rail uniforms, replaced by white shirts, black ties at half mast, and mourning bands. They are halfway through recording their debut LP for Beggars Banquet, but there is no looking back – the album will be all new material. They play a few of these new compositions tonight, including current single Spencer Percival, a nine-minute epic about the only British Prime Minister to have been assassinated in office. The band are a little sedate tonight, but the distance allows me to appreciate new aspects of them; the power of the drumming and how the band manage to keep reined back live, when the temptation must be to race and up the tempo.

On the other hand Arcade Fire managed to be distinctly underwhelming - how did my favourite live act of 2005 fall from their pedestal? Put simply, they now seem more like an incorporated company than a collective of like-minded individuals. The excitement of the random motion, like tea leaves swirling in hot water, has been replaced by something that feels far more choreographed. There’s less fun on stage, and the joy they used to communicate to their audience was lost in the cavernous spaces of the Brixton Academy . Still you couldn’t complain about the setlist, and how Power Out segues beautifully into Rebellion (Lies) to finish on Intervention. Yet tonight it all feels as false and hollow as the organ pipes on stage not actually connected to an organ, but merely for show.

But the live highlight of past month has probably been seeing the reformed James, playing their second ‘secret rehearsal’ gig in the tiny confines of Holloway’s Nambucca, mere weeks before their sold-out arena tour. Along with The Blue Aeroplanes, James were the best British band of the ‘90’s who never toured Australia . But now they’re back after a six-year hiatus, and it’s the classic six-piece who recorded the career-best Laid album. Tim Booth was carrying a shoulder injury, but he still swayed along, even if the electrocuted Ian Curtis dancing was put on hold for the evening. It was great to see them avoiding the ‘big’ numbers for this gig, playing songs so new that the ink on the handheld lyrics was barely dry, then delving deep into then back catalogue for songs like Chain Mail. I’d forgotten what a difference Larry Gott’s searing guitar made to their sound, but it’s the reaction between musicians who know and trust each other that makes this night so special, giving space and life to something like Heavens, which I’d only remembered from a somewhat homogenous form on Seven. I can’t wait to see them at Brixton now! Like the Gang of Four, James are another post-punk original returning to show pretenders how it’s really done!

On television, we sadly bid farewell to John Simm as Sam Tyler in the BBC’s Wizard Of Oz, time-travelling ‘70’s cop show Life On Mars. Yet it won’t be long before he’s back as the enigmatic Season Three meme Mr Saxon in Doctor Who. It may well get interesting if it’s more than coincidence that his Life On Mars character was an anagram of Masterly.

© James McGalliard 2007

I wander thro' each charter'd street

London Fields # 37
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 March 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Most of my free time recently has been taken up with flat hunting, as unexpectedly my (rented) home for the past four years has been placed on the market. While the vagaries of the London property market or an examination of the worlds revealed by snooping into other people’s homes, could both make worthy column topics, I really just don’t want to think. So rather bemoan my lot, maybe it’s better to write about some acts I’ve recently seen while not flat hunting?

American bureaucracy forced My Latest Novel down to London to apply in person for their visas for SxSW. Luckily for us, they thought to offset their expenses by playing a one-off show at The Spitz. They are serious but not sombre, and occasionally whimsical. What they play is neither fey, nor twee; Ryan’s drumming and the power of the vocals pack too much of a punch for that. They are masters of the dog-leg song; ones that start off in one direction, then, just when you think you have them sussed, veer off at right angles. Like when Wrongfully I Rested goes to a xylophone, then the violin swoops down and carries the song away. It’s a short-ish set tonight, but the highlights for me are two new songs, I Declare A Ceasefire and If The Accident Will. They clearly show that Wolves was no firework fluke, and that the second album promises to be wonderful rather than difficult.

I caught The Long Blondes twice this month. I thought their debut album was one of the biggest disappointments of 2006; such was the opportunity squandered. Then at their headline NME show, I realised the sad truth – that it was an accurate representation of the homogeneous band they’ve become. Yet as a support to Kaiser Chiefs a mere fortnight later they shine again, it’s roughly the same show without the lowlights. I still think their move towards being Kate Jackson and The Long Blondes is a grave mistake, but hey, it worked for Blondie. Speaking of new wave maestros, am I the only one who thinks that Kaiser Chiefs are today’s equivalent of The Police? Think about it - simplistic songs with singalong choruses that can be learnt on one listen. They put on a mighty fine show too, but sadly over familiarity via saturation airplay may well breed contempt a second time.

Each time I see Apartment, they give me new reasons to continue to rate them as highly as I do. At The Borderline, it was the daring to cover Willie Nelson’s Crazy (as immortalised by Patsy Cline), and to not only get away with it, but to make it entirely their own. There are now many strong tracks that it feels like a greatest hits set, and David’s complete demolition of a guitar during set closer Beyond My Control is the first time I’ve seen it done and not felt it was childish or unnecessary posturing. And they’ve signed Tim Ten Yen to their label Fleet Street Records, and will be releasing his debut single, Run Around (Get Around).

Tim Ten Yen is possibly the most arch creator of pure pop tunes since the heyday of The Reels! Tall, and wearing a suit, there’s a tiny bit of Nick Cave, a huge dollop of Neil Hammond, and even a sprinkling of Pee Wee Herman. It’s camp and vaguely silly, but as it’s done with such panache and humour he gets away with it. The songs are written to be remembered on first listen; his dance moves may take longer to pick up. For what you effectively have is someone who looks like a city worker running round like Bob Downe doing Ian Curtis, singing songs about bears and foxes up in the mountains. But TTY isn’t just limited to pop; his set touches reggae and country & western, even leaving room for a paean to MOR. So, what on one level is a giant karaoke show, with a besuited man running on the spot, adding occasional live Casio accompaniment, becomes one of the most endearingly funny and original things I’ve seen in ages.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are a strange beast. They play to a formula but are in no way formulaic. They have pretensions, yet still seem to be honest and genuine. Theirs is a simple colour palette: white, red and black, with a misting of dry ice. Tonight they get all the big numbers out of the way early, which allows them to get on and just play. And when they get going they’re like some relentless juggernaut. Playing a one-off gig in a beautiful Art Deco ballroom to preview songs from the forthcoming Baby 81, BRMC demonstrate that they have moved on from Howl, but the acoustic guitars that were the backbone of that album are still in place, but now playing rock. It’s hard to really let go at their shows as they don’t – they may be an extremely good live act, but while enthusiastic they never seem impassioned. So when the audience go nuts for Punk Song, they don’t. Nevertheless, I’m still looking forward to seeing them again in a month.

By which time I hope normal service have been resumed, from a new home (if I can find it)…

© James McGalliard 2007

Next Wave

London Fields # 32
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 November 2006
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The live scene in London is probably the healthiest it’s been for any time in the last thirty years. But the sheer popularity has led to its own problems - big, rowdy crowds in large anonymous rooms leading to less-than-enjoyable nights. So now a night at the Brixton Jamm is better than one at the Brixton Academy, and the 250 capacity Luminaire in Kilburn certainly deserved winning the Time Out award as best venue over many of its better known competitors.Not that going smaller means missing out though.

There’s a great chemistry between the four members of Bethnal Green based Apartment. Around 18 months ago they were in a similar position to Editors. But Apartment took a slower route, choosing to release a few independent singles and then setting up their own label, Fleet Street Records. The time involved has led to a richer and more integrated live sound, helped by the addition of occasional keyboards by frontman David Caggiari. He has a great voice, and he knows it, but sings without pretension. The evolution is evident on their forthcoming debut album The Dreamer Evasive, which will be released early in 2007, and is even better than their live performances or singles indicated. Their days in small venues are numbered.

With Hope Of The States splitting earlier this year, I wondered who was might fill that gap by creating big emotional music? Look no further than Leeds-based iLiKETRAiNS, who sing of doubt and times lost - things that have slipped away or been forgotten. Recently signed to Beggars Banquet, their songs are explorations of real people and events, such as chess legend Bobby Fischer, or Dr Beeching, whose ideas led to the slow demise of the UK Railways. But the standout is Terra Nova, which relates the thoughts of a doomed Captain Scott as his expedition lies dying in Antarctica in 1912 – it’s probably the finest song of the year. On stage, they dress in British Rail uniforms – these clothes represent another lost era, as this nationalised rail company was smashed up and sold off by Thatcher. Complemented by projected images, they create huge rolls of sound that wash over you, full of feeling and anguish, the trumpet and shoegazey guitar duelling with one another, sending shivers up the spine. How rare it is that the singer in not the focus - the individual becomes unimportant, - it’s all about the sounds created when the five of them collide. It’s just so incredibly powerful – there really is no one else like them.

But the first time I saw them they were was at a Sonic Cathedral night curated by Fields, who also have a huge live sound and the potential to leave you standing in awe. Their music is hard to describe – a bit folky but with a darker undercurrent, the best songs working on the interplay between the acoustic guitars, the powerful drumming, and the big builds to huge the vocal choruses. I didn’t think they’d be able to produce that studio sound live, but they open with Song For The Fields, all doubts vanish and I’m instantly hooked. Officially they’re only released one 7” single and a four-track EP, but there are currently 20 tracks downloadable via their website. Nick from the band said he liked fans to see the evolution of the material, and so was happy to share it. It certainly didn’t do Arctic Monkeys any harm either. They’ve just finished recording their first album with noted rock producer Michael Beinhorn for Atlantic Records. They’re supporting Wolfmother on the NME Tour this month, and will be playing with Bloc Party both in the US and the UK early next year; so it won’t be long before they get the recognition they warrant.

Fields do also remind me a little of the acoustic side of Seafood as well. Remember them? Yes, they’re still around. Since their last trip to Australia, they signed to Cooking Vinyl, released two albums, lost their bass player, and singer David Line has suffered a collapsed lung (twice). With all this adversity, and a lack of airplay for new album Paper Crown King, I travelled down to Brighton to catch the final gig of the current tour, fearing that all this adversity would be too much to bear. Before the show guitarist Kevin Penney assured me that if they were going to quit, they would have done it long ago. While it was by no means the best show I’ve seen them play, they are still a great act, which deserves to be much more popular than they are. Perhaps the difficulty is in the variety of music they produce – how does the hard rock fan handle a song from The Wicker Man? It’s a difficult line for them to walk, and in trying to address the balance, the new LP lacks some of the charm of As The Cry Flows. The good news in the current album may yet get Australian release in 2007, and they’d love to tour there again.

Don’t miss My Latest Novel or Archie Bronson Outfit when they tour either. But all this is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s also Vatican DC, who have one of the most arresting frontmen since Julian Cope, and Spotlight Kid who had my heart leaping with joy, and…


© James McGalliard 2007

Mind Your Language

London Fields # 24
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 22 March 2006
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

When you spend some time away from a place, you see it with different eyes on your return. There are so many similarities between Melbourne and London that it can be easy to get a little confused. Particularly when it’s a mere twenty-three hour blur between the two. Hitting the equinox, it may now be light at 5pm here, but that’s when the temperature plummets. With snow expected for Easter, it seems as though spring is still some way off.

No, you know you’re in London because it’s squirrels in the garden and not possums, the sky is low-hanging and slate grey, and housing comes in unbroken rows of terraces. If a stranger speaks to you it’s probably because they want something; it can all seem unfriendly and threatening. But there are compensations – British newspapers, digital broadcasting and a great live music scene.

It may seem strange, but asides from climate, the biggest barrier between the two cities is probably language, which can cause all manner of strife. It’s easy to get into a mess, as the promoters of Australian tourism recently discovered. For all the fuss in the Australian media about the "Where the bloody hell are you?" campaign, so far it hasn’t really made its presence known much at all. A friend saw a press ad [without the bloody], but that’s about it. I suppose anything’s an improvement over "I can see a rainbow" though.

But it’s all a matter of what you may consider to be offensive. London’s Evening Standard has devoted a fair bit of coverage to its ongoing feud with London Mayor Ken Livingstone. When a persistent reporter door-stepped Ken after a private function, Livingstone lost his composure and compared the reporter to a concentration camp guard. A year of legal wrangling, and non-apologies, led to a four-week suspension from his post [currently frozen pending judicial review]. So, it’s all about use of language that may be deemed offensive, right? Yet in the issue of the Standard that carried pages of coverage relating to the initial suspension, was a column by AN Wilson on Australia and the Republican movement, in which the author saw fit to use the term "Abo" as an appropriate description of indigenous Australians. Despite letters to the paper, complaining about the use of the term, and some coverage in TNT Magazine, no apology was forthcoming from the paper or author.

It is strange watching Melbourne through a British lens. If you only saw the news, you’d think that it was only the countries in the UK who’d won medals at the Games. Thank god for digital broadcasting. The UK has latched onto this faster than any other country in the world. Over ten million Freeview boxes have been sold, which allow reception of free-to-air digital broadcasting. Add this to those with satellite and cable services, and over two-thirds of UK homes have now gone digital. Just as well as analogue transmission is planned to end in 2012 [just in time for the London Olympic Games]. With ten million homes on broadband internet, and 2.7 million DAB radios sold, and you have the dawn of a new digital age. With the Games, it means that you have a choice of watching five different events through the one channel via interactive broadcasting. Sadly that’s five events in which the Brits are favoured, but you can’t have it all.

Although I love the BBC, and only begrudge a little the £126.50 annual TV licence fee, which pays for all the BBC’s TV, radio and web services, they don’t always get it right. Of course, via interactive TV, I could have watched the Opening Ceremony of the Games without commentary, but then I would have missed their embarrassing gaffs. My favourite was when the commentator had no idea who Ron Barassi was, so mistakenly proceeded to spend a few minutes discussing Herb Elliott, as Barassi walked on water. It was only when the baton was passed to Elliott that they realised their error and apologised. And the whole duck thing may have made a little sense if they’d bothered to explain the Leunig connection. When it came to the highlights repeated that evening, the whole section from the tram landing to the Queen’s arrival bit the dust, as did the performance by The Church. Weirdly The Cat Empire stayed in…

Speaking of language barriers, how did they match countries with their relevant giant fish on the Yarra? Whilst pike(r) is a quitter in Oz, pike(y) is an extremely offensive term for a particular class and type of thief. Did the organisers of the games think about this? – I wonder if there was some big joke in giving Northern Ireland a pike, and England a roach?

But amidst all the ‘Bloody’ fuss, you may have missed this gem. Lastminute.com had their wrist slapped by the Advertising Standing Authority for an e-mail campaign for children’s theatre tickets entitled Doing It For The Kids. What did they do that was so wrong? This was in the text of the ad: "Like Gary Glitter in a sweet shop, you too can have your pick of kiddy treats in London’s theatre world". Eh Gadd! [Paul Gadd, eh?] Now that’s the way to get your bloody message across!



© James McGalliard 2006

An Oldie But A Goodie

London Fields # 19
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 19 October 2005
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

As an inveterate gig-goer, I was recently asked, "Is there any band that you wanted to see, but never did?" With reformations, and changes in taste, I was stumped for a moment. Well, there was the Velvet Underground reunion in 1993, but the venue [the soul-destroying black hole of Wembley] put me off the idea, both then and now. Which really only left the impossible dream of Joy Division.

I think I’ve raved enough in the past about the joy of seeing the reformed The Psychedelic Furs back in June. But the worrying trend of 2005 is that the old guard seems so much better live than the young guns.

A few weeks back I caught the original line-up of Gang Of Four playing at the Barbican. Even in such sterile environs, these older men summoned up more bite and bile than virtually any band coming up through the ranks now. Hugo Burnham may have filled out, but he still provides a powerhouse backbeat. From a distance Andy Gill and Dave Allen seem little changed - fairly bristling with energy as they stalk, duck and dive. As a near-Marxist collective, they attempt to undercut the role of frontman, but there’s one member who positively demands your attention. Regardless of which microphone he’s using, Jon King remains the central focus. Whether he’s slowly demolishing a microwave with a baseball bat like a human metronome, or crawling on all fours like a giant spider crab, or even running wildly backwards and forwards across the apron of the stage, arms waving up and down like the last space invader overrunning the base, it’s a magnetic performance. And their sound now is what the old recordings only hinted at – within thirty seconds you know that no one can touch these originals.

You could form a new line-up of a band with sixteen original members, but without one cantankerous grizzly old bastard, it wouldn’t be The Fall. Now in line-up number two thousand, the only thing that unites them is the irascible Mark E Smith. He still looks like a geography teacher and he’s still up to his old tricks. Possibly as an antidote to boredom, he sets about trying to distract the other members of the band. At a recent appearance he turned off a guitar amp, drowned out backing vocals by putting his vocal mike up to the amps, fiddled with drum mikes, and played odd notes on the keyboard. Yet this is all part of the charm, and they still create a great racket - utterly unique, yet completely recognisable.

If anyone else had done what John Cale did for his recent Black Acetate shows, the audience would have walked out. After opening with Venus In Furs, he played a two-hour set imbruing old and new material alike with a Sturm und Drang approach of repeated grinding guitar riffs. This was the Cale of the hockey mask, having fun. Ever since the 5 Tracks EP, every one of his tours has been stylistically different and intriguing. But as he carried it all out with such aplomb, he gets away with it.

This year Simple Minds are the trimmest they’ve been for over twenty years, both musically and physically. They’ve lost all their stadium rock flab, and have heavily trimmed the pomp. Their renewed energy and vigour allows the new material to shine [as does the pre-Live Aid material], and Eddie Duffy’s basswork recreates the steel structures that made us love them in 1981. Charlie still mouths the lyrics, Jim still dances, and they can still send shivers up your spine with the opening of Waterfront…

There may be some interesting developments in music here at the moment, but none of them are in London. Sheffield is at the forefront of an explosion of new acts [surf for Thee SPC or Sandman Magazine for more], and a new wave of pop is threatening to erupt [The Chalets, The Pipettes, El Pres!dente]. But instead of these bright hopes, we’re being told about Battle, who are about as shite as a live experience can be. So instead we’ll continue to look back to the originators, and sometimes find that the imitators become completely redundant.

At a concert to commemorate the life of John Peel last week, New Order did a set drawn entirely from the JD days. While four of these tracks have been a staple of their live sets for a few years now, playing a set with no New Order material, and including Shadowplay and Warsaw, was something special. This was the closest I will ever get to seeing Joy Division [barring a time machine], and dammit, didn’t it make me miss Peelie all over again. In honour of the occasion, you could forgive Barney’s excruciating dancing [now with added pirouettes], and technical hitches. The only thing that let them down was the vocals – the one thing they could never really replace.

But if Mark Burnett is looking for a follow-up to RockStar: INXS, I may have an idea for him…

© James McGalliard 2005