It has been a long, long time since my last gig review. As this blog is mostly professional now, this is perhaps not such a bad thing. I did half write a review of Roy Harper and Joanna Newsome in Sept last year, but it never got posted. Don’t think I have been to gig since then. Still onwards.

I’ve been a fan of June Tabor for a long time, particularly her album with Martin Simpson even if it does have terrible cover art. Despite this, and the fact that she lives pretty close to my home town, I’ve never seen her live. Her music is dark and eclectic, her voice rich. Combined with the Oysterband’s tendency to do strange adaptations folk-style it was destined to be an interesting gig. The music is something like gothic folk if that is not a contradiction in terms. While singing, June Tabor comes as a foreboding presence on stage. Between songs though, she’s entertaining, witty and light, which was a bit of a relief.

The gig was fantastic. Her voice is as excellent live as on record, with adding prescence. She adds to the music by, erm, explaining what it is all about (this can be something of a problem otherwise). The evening was well managed, moving from gentle and quieter music to end-of-evening barnstormers. It was good to be listening to live music again.

But one thing I didn’t understand. Why does Ray Cooper stand on a box while playing bass? He’s already the tallest.

Last night was my first time at the Cluny 2, which used to be the Round, as some of the signs inside still claim. It’s not round any more, having a conventional stage. There is still noise from the Cluny 1 upstairs and the occasional flushing of toilets; I guess that they can’t complain about this anymore.

The support was Naomi Sommers. Pretty standard format, really, one woman and a guitar. She has a lovely voice, rich and warm which made the show. Some of her songs are pretty strong (“February”); some were less good, but no bad ones. Enjoyable.

Eric Taylor, I’ve not seen before. He also has a great voice, supported by some excellent finger-picking. His stage presence is dark and melodramatic. He’s also a bit nuts; songs were separated by repetitious and rambling talks about, well, something. Most of it didn’t really make sense. Combined with the increasingly cold Cluny 2, it was all a bit much, so I skipped the encore. Entertaining, in parts, but not entirely satisfying.

There is a mystery behind Brains SA; what exactly does it stand for? Among those who know, it is universally revered as skull attack. I’ve reasonably fond of it, but tonight, perhaps, I finally understood how it came by it’s moniker.

After getting home, following several pints, I was suddenly struck by a desire to listen to Jimmy Sommerville; there is, of course, no sanity or logic to this at all, but there you have it. Now, of course, his pop sensibilities are well known, but I remember, like a folk memory hidden deep in my brain, “For a friend” released shortly, perversely after “Never Can Say Goodbye”. No dancy pop tune this, but an elegiac ballad to a friend lost to the virus of the 80s. I think I only heard it twice before it disappeared; but I remember it was wonderful.

A quick search of spotify led me to his latest collection, digital only, called “Suddenly Last Summer”. The most bizarre, wonderful collection of songs, covers, with an odd twist. “Hanging on the telephone” as folk ballad; “Hush” with a mandolin solo.

I have my own ideas and opinions about the future of music. And as a sometime, occasional performer myself, I do care about musicians. I want them to be earning a living. I don’t know if Lily Allen is right, or whether the internet will be the death of middleman, to the benefit of us all. But, for myself as a consumer, the ability to gain instant gratification, to listen to such strange, marvelous music that surely I would never have remembered to buy, even if it had been available in a store has to be great thing. I don’t know for sure how musicians of the future will make money; but, I live in hope. Are there enough people like my, acting on a strange impulse, to make it worthwhile. But musicians have something to sell, something that people value; there must be a business model hidden in there somewhere.

The record companies and Pop Idol, well, that’s a different issue. Few people will mourn their passing.

SA, indeed.

Beginning of term, so I guess it’s not too much of a surprise that I haven’t blogged for ages. Life does get slightly swamped by work at this time of year; yesterday, I was so tired after working at full-tilt for two weeks that I even took most of the day off.

Anyway, I realised that I’ve been missing out on films that I have watched, so I thought to do a quick, condensed review here. All of them films that I’ve been looking forward to, but only 1 managed to fulfil its promise.

So, Spiderman III. I do enjoy superhero films; plenty of action, add a bit of pathos and some humour; then, you have a food film, especially good for a plane or otherwise. Spiderman I and II were, I thought, great examples. No III was one too far; basically, the plot was too winding, too random; it just felt like a day-in-the-life, a diary of a superhero. Pity. Don’t know why. Perhaps, they just ran out of ideas.

X-Men III is a different kettle of fish; a new director for the final part, and one who did not show the deftness for ensembles that Bryan Singer did. Despite throwing in more characters, despite a “bigger” story and despite behaving with more dramatic events (including killing of half the cast), it just failed. Also confused and random, I wasn’t always sure what was going on, and it didn’t feel like a logical development of the former. Same problem as spiderman essentially.

Son of Rambow. Probably cost 1/10 of the others (or less). Magnificent. Funny, engaging and heart-warming without a hint of tweeness. The characters were lovely, the acting adept and the script very, very funny. If you haven’t watched it, well, just do. And don’t stop for Spiderman or X-Men along the way.

I’ve been meaning to go and see one of the outdoor performances in Jesmond Dene for a while. Last week, I finally got to one — Emma, by Jane Austen, on a lovely, bright friday evening.

The story itself isn’t really up to much. Almost all of the main characters are unlikeable and unengaging; Emma, herself, is an interfering, arrogant and affected snob, with no redeeming characteristics; she barely stands out against the characters who are meant to be unpleasant. Very little happens that is of particular interest; I can’t find it in my heart to be excited about a ball or a picnic. There wasn’t even the consolation of a few tragic deaths; the one funeral is a minor character, and you can’t take pleasure in that. During the big finale it all ends well for Emma who gets hitched; but, I felt sorry for her other half, and what was being inflicted on him.

Despite this, the adaptation and performance by Heartbreak Productions, was excellent. The actors shifted between multiple characters with ease, and then made full use of cheap theatrical tricks to make up for the simple set and small cast. The audience participation was funny without being irritating, and the dropped out-of-character to provide narration and expand on plot lines. They added to this with reflections on the story (“it’s all about women sitting on chairs, arguing about which chair they are going to sit on next”), as well as the occasional, gentle knob gag to keep the blokes happy.

At the end of it, I was insect-infested with a sore neck and backside from sitting on the grass, but had had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Well worth seeing.

On Saturday, Newcastle was host to an Americana festival; anything with lots of music anywhere is always going to make me happy. In this case, we ended up a music boat; there’s a company that regularly cruises up and down the Tyne, and I’ve long thought it might be fun to give this a go; what better than to combine this with a bluegrass band (the midnight ramblers) and Devon Sproule, who is always good to see. It was a good fun; the cruise itself was entertaining, especially with the weather being so nice. Unfortunately, you couldn’t hear the band from the top deck, but as I’d forgotten my floppy hat, staying atop wasn’t an option anyway. The band were fun; very competant, professional and fluid. Poking around their website, they appear to be part-time, which belies their touring schedule; if it’s still true then their suggestion that they are gaining success as a result of their hard work is no lie. Devon Sproule was great as always, even though she looked rather irritable when she started; performing seems to make her happier. It was a pleasure to see her in a small (floating) venue again, as she is at her best in this sort of venue.

Sunday, was the Sunderland air show. The day was much cloudier, but this worked out well; you could look up into the sky without getting blinded. The aerobatics was exciting, although starting off with the Red Arrows robbed the occasion of it’s climax. Still watching machinery that was designed to kill people leaves me with a slight feeling of unease, particularly when some of it costs upward of 100 million per plane; it’s impressive, but for that price it should be. Still I guess the fundamental problem is that there are only a limited numbers of tricks that a plane can do; one barrel roll is fairly similar to another, even if the planes are different colours. In summary, a good day out, but not sure that I’d want to go every year.

And the trains? Well, took the metro to Sunderland. Pretty weak, but I thought it was a good title for a blog post.

I finished Exit Music this morning. I’ve been reading Ian Rankin’s novels for nearly a decade now starting, perhaps ironically, just after leaving Edinburgh for London. I still think Black and Blue is the best, although Tooth and Nail is my favourite. I heard Ian Rankin say once that as he’d just moved to London and was feeling miserable, he’s inflict the same onto Rebus. As I was hating London also, I emphasised greatly with the book. Also, it’s got a keystone cops, comedy car chase at the end. Both author and detective moved back to Edinburgh fairly shortly afterwards. I never did, although I did leave London.

The last book is good and a suitable ending. Like many of his more recent books, there is a random, unresolved element to the plot. But it’s exciting, page-turning and a suitable finish for the series.

Having said that, it’s probably a good thing that it’s coming to an end. The books got lots of moody, black and white shots of Ian Rankin, with readers notes and meaningful questions about the use of metaphor for reading groups. Doesn’t detract from the novel, but is, really, deeply pretentious.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Been looking forward to Jolie Holland for a while; I think her records are superb, from the Be Good Tanyas onward. Her strange, wierd vocals seem to work; Mexican Blue is stunning song, which leaves me lost everytime I hear it.

I guess this is a lot to live up to. Last nights gig missed by a mile. The support, who’s name I forgot, was poor; nice voice, but the songs were crap, and the performance shambolic. This was replicated by the main act; she treated the audience like they were the wall-paper at her own private practice session. The band spent lots of time talking to each other; they had to tell poor jokes while she tuned up, which took ages. And she needed it; the first three songs were played with an out-of-tune guitar, that was mixed up loud enough that you couldn’t hear her voice anyway.

God knows, I’m not a performance fascist; I like things relaxed, I don’t mind raw and I’m not a technical freak. But a live performance is just that — a performance; if you can’t be bothered, then you shouldn’t be there.

Originally published on my old blog site.

John Martyn has been around for donkey’s years. Sometime, in the 80′s he decided that enunciation was for wimps, and he started to sing like a wookie. More recently, he’s lost a leg, put on enough weight that resembles Jabba the Hutt (two star wars, references in one review; hmmm). He must be passed it now.

John Martyn started off as a folkie, more or less invented trip hop along the way; his music is mesmeric and beguiling. In his prime, he could take the stage on his own, with his Les Paul and fill the entire room, entrancing the audience. I think he was the second musician (not including the pub blues bands that were the stable of my youth) that I ever saw live. I’ve seen him from the North to the South of the country; Solid Air graces my mp3 player at great regularity; in many ways, he has been a critical part of the music that has changed me from the time we got our first record player, to the washed out, muso, gig junkie that I am now. He is passed his best now, but he’s made up for his own lack of mobility with a band, to fill the sound that he used to. This tour is the Grace and Danger tour; the music was sad and heart-breaking at points. Solid Air itself has been lent new immediacy, for me, with the loss of a good friend to suicide earlier in the year.

This was one of the most moving gigs that I’ve been too for years; I was left silent till the day after (unusual for me). One of the best gigs of the year.

Originally published on my old blog site.

It’s all gone a bit mad since October. I’ve been to so many gigs that, combined with the start of term, I haven’t really had time to write them all up.

Stephen Stills was my first gig at the City Hall; cool venue inside, dramatic, good looking, comfy seats. The sound is pretty poor though. I was sitting a way back, but on the balcony and right at the front of it so the view was excellent. Being at the gig made me feel young; it’s rare that I am in the lower quartile of the age range these days. There was an element of homage about the whole thing; there were two old hippies in the front row who clearly got stoned to CSN (or maybe Buffalo Springfield) when they were young and were going to cheer regardless. But, it was a good gig. His voice is a bit wavery with age — he murdered "Change Partners" — but his guitar playing was generally wonderful; I think I preferred the acoustic half to the electric, but both were strong. It was all a bit dad rock, but it was still good.

Erik Mongrain I’ve not seen or heard before, but he’s made a splash on YouTube. This was in the same series as the Bob Brozman gig that I went to earlier in the year; their advertising is still chaotic. It was 10 quid to get in, but half price because I am on the mailing list (which I don’t think I am, all although I tried to be). The venue was in North Shields. The box office phone was redirected to a random office somewhere, and never answered.

Gig was great through. Erik’s clearly a technical genius, playing intricate, complex music uses both hands interchangably to make music — he strums with his left hand, fingers with his right. All very guitar hero stuff. He’s also quite shy, and retiring. He often described what his songs were about, but the descriptions were usually incomprehensible; regardless, there was a wonderful meditative feel to the evening. You could listen and relax and let the music wash over you.

I hope the series continues, because they’ve got some great players. But, if they advertise so badly and carry on making it hard to get tickets, it’s not going to. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Originally published on my old blog site.

It’s been over 10 years since I last saw Bob Brozman; in this time, he’s lost none of his prowess, and learnt a fair few new tunes. I think he’s got more rhythmic as well.

He’s a difficult musician in many ways; he changes rhythm a lot, his sense of humour is continual and a little strange; his musical tastes are getting to define the word eclectic. But, he’s also engaging, entertaining and exciting to watch. It was a superb gig; I would be a fool if I left it 10 years again.

It was a strange gig also; I was faced with a difficult choice: Bob Brozman, a house party or a combined barbeque and eurovision night. In the end, I know that I made the right choice. What was interesting though, is that this is the first gig that I have been to for ages on my own; since I have moved up north to Newcastle, I’ve had the fortune to meet quite a few people with similar music tastes. Actually, I really enjoyed being solitary; that I was exhausted added to it; I almost slept in the interval; I became totally engrossed in the music, and lost a sense of self.

I’d not been to the Buddle arts centre in Wallsend before; but they have some stonking gigs coming up. I shall be there for more I think.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Last week, I saw Toumani Diabate at the Royal Northern College of Music. My experience of the Kora is a busker who plays in Manchester at times; he’s pretty good actually. In concert, though it becomes a different instrument. The music is actually fairly repetitive, but the pieces generally play in cycles, flowing rather than jumping following one theme, then moving to another a note at time. As a result, it’s hypnotic rather than exciting and lulls the audience. He only played four numbers (before the encore); I think that like many people, I was surprised to find that this had taken well clear of an hour.

The one negative part of the night was the accompanying blurb; this suggested that the audience should stiffle any sneezes or coughs and not open sweets during the performance to maximise everyones enjoyment. I mean what a load of po-faced nosense; like the SAGE, it’s obvious that the RNCM is a snobbish, uptight venue but this is really taking it too far. Music is to be enjoyed, engaged in, not worshipped with great reverence. When I rule the world, I will find the idiot responsible for this statement, and string them up publicly, in front of an audience, to whom I shall allocated bubble gum, packets of crisp and low velocity, high volumn sneezing powder air rifles.

Rachael Unthank and the Winterset at The Round was the an entirely different experience. A small intimate venue anyway, they were playing on home turf; their mum (the two main singers are sisters) was in the audience. The venue is odd — basically someone’s put a roof on the gap between two buildings. The sound proofing isn’t too great; you could hear music and people walking upstairs, but this makes it more personal and engrossing. The music was wonderful; like much folk, and Toumani Diabete it’s often hypnotic. Their arrangements are remarkable, often highly melodramatic, and very innovative especially when compared to more traditional folk. I think, we were lucky to get tickets; I’m not sure that they will be playing a venue that small in future or will sell out quicker than they did.

Wish she hadn’t done the gag about Hexhamshire though; it was about a misheard lyric; I won’t repeat it. I’ve had the song (Fareweel Regality) running through my head for the last week; now it will be associated with an alternative version instead.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Saw the Doll’s house at the Northern Stage this week; it was well done, had some nice gags in it. But basically, it was dreary, long-winded and rather dull. I didn’t like any of the characters, the central plot device was silly and I just wanted it to end. Right at the end, it perked up a bit, with the patronized woman, spreading her wings and starting anew; but, this felt unbelievable, and it makes no sense spending two and a half setting the scene for 5 minutes of excitement. I can see that the play must have been revolutionary at the time, but it now is only of historical interest.

Battle of the Planets, on the other hand, has little plot, doesn’t really make sense, and is generally daft. But it’s full of 70′s haircuts, the animation is exciting and the score is wonderful. Added to this a chief baddie who wears red, thigh-length boots, a villanous cackle and the most fullsome pout this side of page 3 and you have a winner. The Doll’s House has probably helped to change our world, redefine the relationship between men and women, and has last a 100 years. But BofP was more fun to watch and at 30 years old ain’t doing bad either.

Originally published on my old blog site.

I have finally finished reading the Night Listener. I’ve always had a fragmented relationship with Armistead Maupin; I keep on getting half-way through a book, then stopping. I borrowed More Tales of the City from a friend, for example, and was half-way through reading it, when I found the copy I had bought 3 years before and then stopped. In that case, I had moved house in between and it got backed at the bottom. The Night Listener got caught by my move from Manchester. I’ve tried to start reading it again several times, but mostly while travelling; I think it’s been around the world at least twice. For some reason, I picked it up a few days ago, and read the second half in two days. My conclusions: it’s great, nicely paced, gentle and engrossing; the writer-writing-about-a-writer plot only annoys occasionally.

To celebrate my success in finishing it, I picked up Atonement, as I have stalled on this several times. Hmmm. Well, less good here. I still couldn’t care less about Bryony’s adolescent playwrite prentensions, nor understand why it needs so many chapters. Worse, I’ve read these chapters four times now. I should hire the film, but it’s got Keira Knightly in; an actor that you can see through both metaphorically and physically.

I’ve been looking forward to the second season of Northern Exposure for a while; unfortunately, the music has been replaced with elevator musack. Moreover, as well as the music being badly chosen, it’s been mixed poorly, at bad levels. It totally breaks the suspension of disbelief, making it’s very hard to get involved. Very poor performance, indeed.

Originally published on my old blog site.

All a bit mad, having been on the road for a while, so just a quick review here. When he started, I thought he was well past his best; probably because he was singing in a strangulated falsetto when we got in.

Anyway, this turned out to be wrong; he was just warming up. The singing got better and the guitar was wonderfully rhythmic. Afterwards we squeezed into the little hall for Monica Vasconcelos, who played mellow jazz, and samba tinged music. Good voice, excellent band.

And all for 7 quid, in the cheap seats which I quite like. No complaints there.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Went to the biscuit factory yesterday for the first time. On the whole, it was pretty good, and I enjoyed it. Most of the stuff in there was wildly too expensive; they had a lovely mirror, for instance, with a carved wooden frame, but 700 quid is just too much for something that has a reasonable chance of getting broken.

One of the things that amused me, though, was the artists’ statements. They seem to be required these days; people appear to judge art by what the artist is thinking rather than what they can see. I guess that they are teaching the writing of these personal statements in the art colleges nowadays; one thing that it is clear they are not teaching is grammar—in some cases it was terrible (okay, I hear you saying, maybe the pot is calling the kettle here, but blogs are quick written not studied).

These statements varied from the pretentious to the prosaic—with more of the former. A selection of my favourites (or paraphrases from memory) with my translations were:

• the individual instintively views the piece from many different angles and viewpoints (translation: it’s a shiny mirror and looks pretty in the lights).
• the latest series explorers the artists emotional response to the weather on the bleak moorlands of Northumberia (translation: hell, it’s windy up here).
• "I dislike personal statements as they force the artist to move from the abstract and ambiguous realm of the medium, to the concrete realm of writing" (translation: I’m a painter! I like painting; I hate writing).

My favourite statement, though, was short and simple. It went

"Emma (I think this was her name) generally paints from the local environment. She paints from what she sees. She likes to work on location wherever possible as she enjoys the interaction with passers-by".

Wonderful; if she had replaced "enjoys the interaction" with "likes to natter" it would have been perfect; frank and to the point. The paintings were good as well.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Lions and Lambs — three interlocking stories, over the theme of war and the media. Well done, entertaining, and a light touch. Rather too earnest too eager for me. Lacking a bit in humour

We own the night — a cops and robbers flick, with added family drama. Not a bad film, although felt rather like Cagney and Lacey on steroids. Good performances all around, lots of brooding silences and a fortune spent on blood bags.

Beowulf — finished it off. Looked great, some wonderful hacking and slaying. Story was a variation of the original with (as noted previously) added masturbation gags. Turns out that the story was adapted by Neil Gaiman; explains a lot.

L’auberge rouge — a black, murder farce. Big ensemble cast, lots of fast dialogue, and pretty well done. Not nearly as good as Juno, but the best of the lot.

Juno — missed the first five minutes of this, so watched them as well, and then let it run on a bit. Strangely, it’s been Japanese filtered on the way back; that is no swearing, no sexual references or, indeed, to any bodily functions; head-lopping and guns are okay, but sadly Juno is short on the latter.

Four and a bit films in one flight — well, I am tired and all the of the padding in my cushion has gone, and everything from my knees to sacrum is aching. And my shoulders and neck come to that.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Watched Enchanted, some of Beowulf and almost all of Juno.

Enchanted — a reverse fairy-tale, like a live action Shrek. Not bad, actually, kept me going for a while.

Beowulf — blood, guts and some serious beef swilling. Definately aimed at the adult market, containing at least one mastubration gag. Would probably have watched it, but the it was a bit dark and I couldn’t hear the dialogue over the plane noise, so I stopped half way through.

Juno — a comedy about a teenage pregnancy. This was by far the best of the bunch. Quirky, funny, and beautifully acted. The whole thing is done without sentimentality (just like Enchanted, er…), but the characters were still wonderfully endearing.

I spent too much of the film trying to identify two of the actors (from the daredevil and spiderman films as it happens). Yeah, well, I’m on a plane and ache all over.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Not been to the Northern Stage, at least not for a show. I used to get food there sometimes, but it’s expensive and the portions have got smaller.

Went to see Static last night. Strange thing — it was a cross between a music commercial, a mystery story and a tragedy. It’s mostly about a woman coming to terms with the death of her husband. The side-plot is that he is deaf and the story of how he looses his hearing.

It was pretty good actually. I was dubious at the beginning; they used a lot of short sentances to the audience to set the scene which I found rather disjointed. But the story started to run after that. The "innovative staging" failed to detract from the story, the music was quite fun and the twist at the end worked pretty well. Worth going to see.

Originally published on my old blog site.

Never seen him live, so thought, why not. Basically, he was okay. He has a substantial back catalogue, and is a powerful songwriter. But ultimately, he’s not a great performer. He’s witty and engaging, but neither his singing or guitar-playing is particularly fantastic. I found myself waiting for one of the big hits, and then being slightly disappointed by it; Golden Brown is needs more than a strummed acoustic.

Originally published on my old blog site.