Seems music festivals in the US are going the same way as their British counterparts according to Ms Lipton of the Harvard Crimson: http://www.thecrimson.com/article.aspx?ref=524103&disqus_reply=2503736#dsq-alerts.
So what happens next?
Well, many of the small festivals that have sprung up over the past few years, in what seems like a reaction to the large corporation dominated events, are going to have a tough time next year. The sheer amount of these small festivals has meant that they aren't selling out, which has led to several of these festivals being cancelled, Hampshire's Blissfields and Somerset's Sunrise being two of note.
This trend can't be blamed solely on a saturation of the market however. Severe weather conditions, the 'credit crunch', to give it it's snappy title, and general organisational disasters have also been cited as reasons for the sudden wave of cancellations and postponements this year.
I don't know firsthand how 'corporate' these festivals have bocome in America, but watching footage from the AT&T sponsored Bonnaroo this year and the same company's blatant censoring of anti-establishment lyrics sung by Eddie Vedder last year, I have to admit that the future doesn't look too bright.
Back home things don't seem quite so bad. Reading this year was excellent, with a re-united Rage and a re-energised Metallica bookending the headline spots over a weekend of complete wreckage and mayhem. A nice surprise this year was the absence of a sponsor. Piss strength 'session beer' Carling has sponsored the Reading and Leeds festivals since recent memory, and a lack of corporate direction has only allowed organser Mitch Benn put on undoubtedly the best festival of the year.
Would Zack De La Rocha's 10 minute political rant have been televised if they'd played 'Reading Festival, Brought to you by British Petroleum'? Fuck that, they wouldn't have even been invited. We'd see 'safe' headliners like Scouting For Girls, The Kooks, or uh...The Killers... Wait... Hang on... they did get the sound right for The Killers...
Still, if does all go tits up, the festival industry as a whole implodes and even Glastonbury is cancelled, take a trip to a cold, wet field in the middle of Salisbury plain next midsummers night, and experience what I consider the original and best event in the hippie calendar, Stonehenge.
Sunday 21 September 2008
Monday 8 September 2008
Amy Winehouse...
Amy Winehouse is 24, successful, and part of the music industry. What did everyone expect to happen?
I know that tabloids have pages to fill, but is the constant public criticism and finger wagging really going to help a girl like Ms Winehouse? If Amy wants to indulge in 'self destructive' behaviour which is damaging to her career then fair enough, she should be left to do it, and offered help and support if and when she decides she needs it.
As much as we like to think that these celebrities, whom we love to see fall from the dizzying heights we place them, are public property as soon as our beloved red topped newspapers say so, they are still human beings, and as such deserve a degree of respect and dignity regardless of their lifestyle.
Hearing about Amy's Bestival appearance over the weekend, and how angry people seem to get about the constant cancellations and below par performances, what amazes me most is that fans are still buying tickets to these events at all, as if this time it'll be different. Perhaps the realisation her music has suffered so much that no-one is coming to see her anymore will be enough to set her back on track.
And if not, instead of criticizing and banging on about 'wasted talent' and her 'excessive' lifestyle, just listen to 'Back to Black' or 'Frank' and be grateful that she ever released anything at all.
I know that tabloids have pages to fill, but is the constant public criticism and finger wagging really going to help a girl like Ms Winehouse? If Amy wants to indulge in 'self destructive' behaviour which is damaging to her career then fair enough, she should be left to do it, and offered help and support if and when she decides she needs it.
As much as we like to think that these celebrities, whom we love to see fall from the dizzying heights we place them, are public property as soon as our beloved red topped newspapers say so, they are still human beings, and as such deserve a degree of respect and dignity regardless of their lifestyle.
Hearing about Amy's Bestival appearance over the weekend, and how angry people seem to get about the constant cancellations and below par performances, what amazes me most is that fans are still buying tickets to these events at all, as if this time it'll be different. Perhaps the realisation her music has suffered so much that no-one is coming to see her anymore will be enough to set her back on track.
And if not, instead of criticizing and banging on about 'wasted talent' and her 'excessive' lifestyle, just listen to 'Back to Black' or 'Frank' and be grateful that she ever released anything at all.
Saturday 2 August 2008
A Nation in Denial
So we have 100 months left to save the planet.
Even if this is some kind of exaggeration I'm still concerned. What worries me more is that no matter how much rubbish I recycle, how many miles I don't drive my car, how many holidays I don't take every year, all of this will come to nothing except a clear conscience if those with the power, and responsibility I might add, continue to do all but nothing to help.
This country I call home, England, Britain, the United Kingdom, is nothing but a slave to world trends under the illusion that it still has a significant influence on global issues. The British public need to feel like they are important on the larger scale, but we are a nation in denial. As a country we are in desperate need of some perspective. If all we are able to do is stand idly by and watch the world fall apart around us then so be it, but lets not delude ourselves into thinking that we are actually going to make a difference anytime soon.
I'm not saying we should stop any efforts to save this planet, in fact we should be doing a hell of a lot more. But like the housemate who buys all the food while all the others eat it, all we can do is continue what we are doing, stepping it up where we can, and hope and pray that sometime soon someone has an attack of conscience and starts taking responsibility, lest we all starve to death.
Even if this is some kind of exaggeration I'm still concerned. What worries me more is that no matter how much rubbish I recycle, how many miles I don't drive my car, how many holidays I don't take every year, all of this will come to nothing except a clear conscience if those with the power, and responsibility I might add, continue to do all but nothing to help.
This country I call home, England, Britain, the United Kingdom, is nothing but a slave to world trends under the illusion that it still has a significant influence on global issues. The British public need to feel like they are important on the larger scale, but we are a nation in denial. As a country we are in desperate need of some perspective. If all we are able to do is stand idly by and watch the world fall apart around us then so be it, but lets not delude ourselves into thinking that we are actually going to make a difference anytime soon.
I'm not saying we should stop any efforts to save this planet, in fact we should be doing a hell of a lot more. But like the housemate who buys all the food while all the others eat it, all we can do is continue what we are doing, stepping it up where we can, and hope and pray that sometime soon someone has an attack of conscience and starts taking responsibility, lest we all starve to death.
Some kind of ranter... (...and the point is...?)
Sometimes, in the society we live in today, we are pushed into doing things that we probably wouldn't do if we had the choice. I, for example, wouldn't be attending university if I thought I could pay the bills as a journalist without a degree. Maybe I haven't been trying hard enough, or maybe I'm simply not a good enough writer, but the fact remains that I'm doing something I promised myself I would never do. Then again, I thought I'd be touring the United States with my band at 19, so perhaps my younger self was a little optimistic in thinking that I could do anything I wanted to do without following the rules set by our government today. Excuse me for believing it's still 1965 and people are rewarded for their hard work, passion and originality as opposed to their ability to do whatever is asked of them by those in power, leaving all morals and integrity by the wayside.
Don't get me wrong, there are those who have got where they want to be in life with their conscience intact. And those people are to be applauded, be it the surgeon saving lives, or the rock star raising millions for charity. All I'm saying is that these people are few and far between.
When I started my university course last autumn, all I saw was a large group of 18/19 year olds, all thoroughly unprepared for what life is going to throw at them, and all believing that what they learn in the proceeding three or four years will take them through the rest or their lives. And perhaps, for a very lucky few, it will. But for most of us, sooner or later life is sure to come around when you least expect it, and I guarantee that no matter how many lecture notes you took, classes you attended, or exams you passed, the kick up the backside you receive will be just as hard, if not harder, than everyone else's.
Sounds pretty bleak? Life is what we make of it, but it is also this life which will be the making of us all. The sooner we realise that we will not all be earning over 40 grand a year by the time we're thirty, and that there is a chance that your hard work will never be rewarded, we can at least get on with the business of living our lives the best we can manage.
We might even start enjoying ourselves.
Don't get me wrong, there are those who have got where they want to be in life with their conscience intact. And those people are to be applauded, be it the surgeon saving lives, or the rock star raising millions for charity. All I'm saying is that these people are few and far between.
When I started my university course last autumn, all I saw was a large group of 18/19 year olds, all thoroughly unprepared for what life is going to throw at them, and all believing that what they learn in the proceeding three or four years will take them through the rest or their lives. And perhaps, for a very lucky few, it will. But for most of us, sooner or later life is sure to come around when you least expect it, and I guarantee that no matter how many lecture notes you took, classes you attended, or exams you passed, the kick up the backside you receive will be just as hard, if not harder, than everyone else's.
Sounds pretty bleak? Life is what we make of it, but it is also this life which will be the making of us all. The sooner we realise that we will not all be earning over 40 grand a year by the time we're thirty, and that there is a chance that your hard work will never be rewarded, we can at least get on with the business of living our lives the best we can manage.
We might even start enjoying ourselves.
Saturday 21 June 2008
Solstice Solace...
30,000 hippies, druids, old school acid heads, 20-something students and other curious wierdos from all walks of life and nationalities descended upon the 5,000 year old stone circle during the night. Their reasons for seeing out the solstice in the middle of the Salisbury Plains one cold, wet midsummers morning in June varied as much as their haircuts, political stances and drug consumptions.
You can hark on all you like about millennia long tradition and the inherent spirituality of the place. I won't argue with you for an instant. However, any eastern philosopher will tell you one does not find the buddha at the top of the mountain, you bring it with you. In this case along with three litres of scrumpy, a big bag of grass, a hip flask of cheap whiskey, and 5 grams of the best mexican red cap mushrooms it's possible to find in the suburbs of Bournemouth.
Ok, you may not find anything approaching enlightenment, but I guarantee it'll be one hell of a party...
And it was.
Doubts surrounding the weather conditions proved well founded as the light drizzle continued to bathe the monument in a refreshing shower for the duration. It doesn't detract from the event so much as sort the men from the boys. In the rain you can rest assured that those thousands of of people dancing, chanting and drumming to the tribal beat are the most deserving, chosen few. Those for whom no absence of music can stop the party. We were the music, and we played all night long.
From the moment we entered the car park we knew that we'd finally found a place that our kind of behaviour was almost acceptable. Apart from Michael Eavis' Glastonbury festival, summer solstice at Stonehenge is a rare opportunity for the masses to gain some kind of insight into an 'alternative' lifestyle shared by only a few thousand. However, fewer still are capable of actually turning their 'strongly held beliefs' into positive action. It's a speculative fact that only an insignificant proportion of those in attendance actually stick by their principals come voting day, and an event with a turnout of nearly 30,000 like minded people is unable to bring those people together in such a way as to make a major positive change in society today.
And here we have the problem with our country. We've gotten far too comfortable with our 9-5 lifestyle, maybe not entirely happy to grant our MP s a 20%-30% pay rise every year, but beset with the opinion that we as individuals are utterly powerless to stop it. And it is those in power who are perfectly happy for this defeatist attitude to continue.
But away from the politics of it all, those of us who enjoy living our lives one day at a time, with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested, to paraphrase the master, there is no better time and place to simply forget about the modern age's problems and live for the moment, if only for 5 or 6 hours a year.
You can hark on all you like about millennia long tradition and the inherent spirituality of the place. I won't argue with you for an instant. However, any eastern philosopher will tell you one does not find the buddha at the top of the mountain, you bring it with you. In this case along with three litres of scrumpy, a big bag of grass, a hip flask of cheap whiskey, and 5 grams of the best mexican red cap mushrooms it's possible to find in the suburbs of Bournemouth.
Ok, you may not find anything approaching enlightenment, but I guarantee it'll be one hell of a party...
And it was.
Doubts surrounding the weather conditions proved well founded as the light drizzle continued to bathe the monument in a refreshing shower for the duration. It doesn't detract from the event so much as sort the men from the boys. In the rain you can rest assured that those thousands of of people dancing, chanting and drumming to the tribal beat are the most deserving, chosen few. Those for whom no absence of music can stop the party. We were the music, and we played all night long.
From the moment we entered the car park we knew that we'd finally found a place that our kind of behaviour was almost acceptable. Apart from Michael Eavis' Glastonbury festival, summer solstice at Stonehenge is a rare opportunity for the masses to gain some kind of insight into an 'alternative' lifestyle shared by only a few thousand. However, fewer still are capable of actually turning their 'strongly held beliefs' into positive action. It's a speculative fact that only an insignificant proportion of those in attendance actually stick by their principals come voting day, and an event with a turnout of nearly 30,000 like minded people is unable to bring those people together in such a way as to make a major positive change in society today.
And here we have the problem with our country. We've gotten far too comfortable with our 9-5 lifestyle, maybe not entirely happy to grant our MP s a 20%-30% pay rise every year, but beset with the opinion that we as individuals are utterly powerless to stop it. And it is those in power who are perfectly happy for this defeatist attitude to continue.
But away from the politics of it all, those of us who enjoy living our lives one day at a time, with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested, to paraphrase the master, there is no better time and place to simply forget about the modern age's problems and live for the moment, if only for 5 or 6 hours a year.
Saturday 7 June 2008
Parts 5/6
Spain is nice this time of year. At least, I imagine it is when on holiday here. I'm finding it hard to take in the beauty of the Mediterranean while constantly looking over my shoulder. The cliché of it all; dark glasses, hats, beards, feels like we're in some kind of spy movie. Pierce Brosnan always got to go home after shooting though...
So that was that, I was now Robert Philips, a nice, unassuming 20-something from Winchester, a man who'd never gotten himself into any trouble at all. Steve was a 34 year old Mr Arthur King from Wolverhampton, and Mark transformed himself into Mr Andrew Statham.
So that was that, I was now Robert Philips, a nice, unassuming 20-something from Winchester, a man who'd never gotten himself into any trouble at all. Steve was a 34 year old Mr Arthur King from Wolverhampton, and Mark transformed himself into Mr Andrew Statham.
Monday 2 June 2008
Part 4
We were just a bunch of stoners who'd decided to venture out to the pub for a drink, it was Christmas after all. Ok, so Steve can tend to get a bit lively after a couple of pairs of double vodka red bulls, but it's not like he looks for trouble. None of us did. I mean, we could've let that arsehole go off in the middle of the pub and had nothing more to do with it, but no, we decided to bring the trouble home with us.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Thursday 8 May 2008
If only...
"There are, in the body politic, economic and social, many and grave evils, and there is urgent necessity for the sternest war upon them. There should be relentless exposure of and attack upon every evil man whether politician or business man, every evil practice, whether in politics, in business, or in social life. I hail as a benefactor every writer or speaker, every man who, on the platform, or in book, magazine, or newspaper, with merciless severity makes such attack, provided always that he in his turn remembers that the attack is of use only if it is absolutely truthful."
President Theodore Roosevelt, 1906
If every journalist took the words of 'Teddy' Roosevelt to heart, in the the spirit in which they were said, we may eventually find ourselves, as a society, possessing the knowledge and willingness to create a better world for all of us. If our national press starts to give us the real issues, and we take the responsibility as an aflluent society to do something about them, we have nothing to lose, and a better future to gain...
Oh yes, a responsible press. I lose count of the amount of people who tell me they are sick of the Madeline McCann story. Yet these are the same people buying The Sun or The Mirror every morning, believing that they are getting an unbiased, objective view of the world in which we live in. These people are not to blame for society's ills, it is our gutter press. These red topped newspapers constantly flood our extremely impressionable minds with anything they can sensationalise enough for us to be interested. This isn't news, this is business. And we are not intelligent readers with opinions, we are greedy, insatiable consumers.
While I'm probably wasting my time typing this up and posting it, I can only hope that soon we can begin to wake up and refuse to be treated as mindless money making drones, lining the pockets of unscrupulous and irresponisble fat cats.
C
President Theodore Roosevelt, 1906
If every journalist took the words of 'Teddy' Roosevelt to heart, in the the spirit in which they were said, we may eventually find ourselves, as a society, possessing the knowledge and willingness to create a better world for all of us. If our national press starts to give us the real issues, and we take the responsibility as an aflluent society to do something about them, we have nothing to lose, and a better future to gain...
Oh yes, a responsible press. I lose count of the amount of people who tell me they are sick of the Madeline McCann story. Yet these are the same people buying The Sun or The Mirror every morning, believing that they are getting an unbiased, objective view of the world in which we live in. These people are not to blame for society's ills, it is our gutter press. These red topped newspapers constantly flood our extremely impressionable minds with anything they can sensationalise enough for us to be interested. This isn't news, this is business. And we are not intelligent readers with opinions, we are greedy, insatiable consumers.
While I'm probably wasting my time typing this up and posting it, I can only hope that soon we can begin to wake up and refuse to be treated as mindless money making drones, lining the pockets of unscrupulous and irresponisble fat cats.
C
Wednesday 7 May 2008
Part 3
I have to admit, I knew Steve was connected, but I never realised the extent. Anyone who can get us out of the country on police bail must know a few people. He'd been planning this all along, just in case. While Mark and I were drinking ourselves sober in the bar for a week and a half, Steve was sat at home on the phone, trying to get us out of this mess. I can never thank him enough. But then, we didn't have to involve ourselves in this at all...
Friday 2 May 2008
Part 2
“Worst Christmas Ever”, as Mark most eloquently put it. 15 hours in a prison cell on Christmas Eve is never exactly a good time. Then again, all things considered, it could've been a hell of a lot worse. He could've died there and then on the pavement outside the house, but no, crazy fucker just wouldn't stay down. Steroids'll do that to a guy. I guess we have to give him that much credit, people have died from a lot less.
Wednesday 30 April 2008
A Short Poem...
'A Divine Image'
William Blake
Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge
The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd
The Human Heart, it's hungry Gorge.
William Blake
Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge
The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd
The Human Heart, it's hungry Gorge.
A Beginning...
Its been 4 months since the trial. That is, if the trial ever took place, I couldn't tell you. I expect that once they found out we were gone the trial was the last thing on their minds. The fact is, we never even went to the station once our bail was up. I imagine we were gone a while before they found out. As soon as they flicked that life support switch we were already halfway to France. Lets see just how much trouble that fucker can cause us dead.
Friday 18 April 2008
All Tomorrow's Parties...
The perfect way to wake up on a Friday morning is one of two ways. The first is beside a beautiful woman. The second isn't really waking up at all in the traditional sense. It's more a 'coming to', normally about six or seven in the morning, as the first new rays of a rising sun creep in through the split between the curtains. Lou Reed's Velvet Underground is on the stereo and you're wondering about how those few hours of sleep you didn't get are going to play a part in the coming day's events.
On mornings like these one can take it nice and slowly. Maybe start with clearing the empty bottles off the floor. Nothing too much, you've got all day.
Some people might call this 'bliss'.
"And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door" All Tomorrow's Parties
On mornings like these one can take it nice and slowly. Maybe start with clearing the empty bottles off the floor. Nothing too much, you've got all day.
Some people might call this 'bliss'.
"And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door" All Tomorrow's Parties
Thursday 17 April 2008
The real arty farty...
AAaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!
wankers
What is wrong with these people, do they not understand that their 'work', as much as it means to themselves, means absolutelyfuck all to anyone else.
People stand around all evening, drinking cheap wine, talking out of their arses about something that they know nothing about.
Cleverly, the artists leave the 'meanings' of their paintings suitably abstract, so as to attract the largest number of arty farty wanker students and critics to come along and debate the nature of said piece of 'art'.
As much as I have a problem with big corporations exploiting the planet's resources, at least they're honest and don't even try to hide it. Whereas, these so called artists exploit the minds of perfectly normal, impressionable human beings, all the while defending this practice in the name of 'art'.
Taking advantage of anyone is plain wrong, but this kind of subtle exploitation is just cheapening something that we should all be allowed to enjoy without having to pretend we're something that we are not.
wankers
What is wrong with these people, do they not understand that their 'work', as much as it means to themselves, means absolutelyfuck all to anyone else.
People stand around all evening, drinking cheap wine, talking out of their arses about something that they know nothing about.
Cleverly, the artists leave the 'meanings' of their paintings suitably abstract, so as to attract the largest number of arty farty wanker students and critics to come along and debate the nature of said piece of 'art'.
As much as I have a problem with big corporations exploiting the planet's resources, at least they're honest and don't even try to hide it. Whereas, these so called artists exploit the minds of perfectly normal, impressionable human beings, all the while defending this practice in the name of 'art'.
Taking advantage of anyone is plain wrong, but this kind of subtle exploitation is just cheapening something that we should all be allowed to enjoy without having to pretend we're something that we are not.
A musical genre with an identity crisis...
Anti-Folk.
The name doesn't tell you much. The interesting thing I've found is that the vast majority of anti-folk gigs won't tell you it's anti-folk on the poster. But ask anybody in the venue, band member or punter, and they will tell you it is.
It is difficult to stay sober at an anti-folk gig. In fact, sometimes it's better if you don't. SHIT are anti-folk. SHIT also like to encourage drinking. The last time I saw them they ended their set by cracking open a nice cheap bottle of Lidl's Sparkling white wine. I have to admit, being under the influence of something a little more potent than an orange juice and lemonade definately enhances the experience for me. Personally, I like to drink most of a crate of cider before even thinking about attending a gig at say, the Free-But in Brighton, or the legendary 12-Bar venue in London's West End.
This time however, things were different. From my last exulted position as Stand-In Drummer at the last gig, I had now been demoted to Stand-In Bassist/Roadie, which now required me to drive to the gig, which meant, obviously, staying sober throughout. I was not pleased.
And so SHIT delivered their usual brand of raucous punk-folk complete with offensive and provocative lyrics. Jesus and Mohammed Song was one stand out, and the usual closer AIDS went out with a suitable bang as it was cheap champagne all round.
Other highlights were MC Fashion and his laptop. Dressed in fake Burberry out he strode clutching his guitar and switching on his notebook. And out of these absurdities came some surprisingly enjoyable funky tunes that, had I not been abstaining from intoxication, I'm sure I would have enjoyed immensely. If anything, the MC's overall use of the stage and surrounding, empty, dancefloor earn him more than just an honorable mention.
It is interesting to see the marked differences between this gig and the previous 12 Bar show in Soho several weeks prior. The big difference being that in London everyone, artists and all, were completely plastered by the time the second band were on. This was not the case in Brighton, and, save the members of SHIT and their entourage who had been drinking in my car on the way, the 20 or so strong crowd never seemed to really liven up until the bands finished. Nevertheless, German band Woog Riots put on a most professional performance, which, seeing as they had only got into the country that day, was rather impressive. As anti-folk goes, this is about as experimental pop as it gets... Like the bastard child of Kraftwerk and The Magic Numbers, Woog Riots frogmarched through their set with military precision, stopping occasionally to regale us with on the road stories about being a mother in a band.
As the evening drew to a close, the bands packed away their equipment, and I realised I now had a sober 2 hour car journey with 3 nightmare drunks to look forward to, I decided that yes, as a genre anti-folk is certainly interesting, but to get the most out of it, just make sure that you're really really drunk.
And so as SHIT's drummer shouted obscenities to passers by as I was driving through Brighton town centre, I drove home with a smile on my face, safe in the knowledge that next time I'll be the one hanging out the car window...
The name doesn't tell you much. The interesting thing I've found is that the vast majority of anti-folk gigs won't tell you it's anti-folk on the poster. But ask anybody in the venue, band member or punter, and they will tell you it is.
It is difficult to stay sober at an anti-folk gig. In fact, sometimes it's better if you don't. SHIT are anti-folk. SHIT also like to encourage drinking. The last time I saw them they ended their set by cracking open a nice cheap bottle of Lidl's Sparkling white wine. I have to admit, being under the influence of something a little more potent than an orange juice and lemonade definately enhances the experience for me. Personally, I like to drink most of a crate of cider before even thinking about attending a gig at say, the Free-But in Brighton, or the legendary 12-Bar venue in London's West End.
This time however, things were different. From my last exulted position as Stand-In Drummer at the last gig, I had now been demoted to Stand-In Bassist/Roadie, which now required me to drive to the gig, which meant, obviously, staying sober throughout. I was not pleased.
And so SHIT delivered their usual brand of raucous punk-folk complete with offensive and provocative lyrics. Jesus and Mohammed Song was one stand out, and the usual closer AIDS went out with a suitable bang as it was cheap champagne all round.
Other highlights were MC Fashion and his laptop. Dressed in fake Burberry out he strode clutching his guitar and switching on his notebook. And out of these absurdities came some surprisingly enjoyable funky tunes that, had I not been abstaining from intoxication, I'm sure I would have enjoyed immensely. If anything, the MC's overall use of the stage and surrounding, empty, dancefloor earn him more than just an honorable mention.
It is interesting to see the marked differences between this gig and the previous 12 Bar show in Soho several weeks prior. The big difference being that in London everyone, artists and all, were completely plastered by the time the second band were on. This was not the case in Brighton, and, save the members of SHIT and their entourage who had been drinking in my car on the way, the 20 or so strong crowd never seemed to really liven up until the bands finished. Nevertheless, German band Woog Riots put on a most professional performance, which, seeing as they had only got into the country that day, was rather impressive. As anti-folk goes, this is about as experimental pop as it gets... Like the bastard child of Kraftwerk and The Magic Numbers, Woog Riots frogmarched through their set with military precision, stopping occasionally to regale us with on the road stories about being a mother in a band.
As the evening drew to a close, the bands packed away their equipment, and I realised I now had a sober 2 hour car journey with 3 nightmare drunks to look forward to, I decided that yes, as a genre anti-folk is certainly interesting, but to get the most out of it, just make sure that you're really really drunk.
And so as SHIT's drummer shouted obscenities to passers by as I was driving through Brighton town centre, I drove home with a smile on my face, safe in the knowledge that next time I'll be the one hanging out the car window...
Arty Farty
Free alcohol. Now you've got my attention, where are we?
Ah yes, I do remember someone saying something about an art exhibition.
That's tonight?
Oh, we're already here... That would explain the paintings...
And the wine...
So the reductive quality of the transitional matrix UNDERMINES the effect of the piece...
Another glass of wine? Why thank you...
And the artist's attempt to convey their feelings of simultaneous dispair and thoughtlessness is marred by his subtle blend of negative space with accessibility...
Ooo, Chardonnay...yes please...
And to think, all along I thought it was just a toilet seat...
More later...
C
Ah yes, I do remember someone saying something about an art exhibition.
That's tonight?
Oh, we're already here... That would explain the paintings...
And the wine...
So the reductive quality of the transitional matrix UNDERMINES the effect of the piece...
Another glass of wine? Why thank you...
And the artist's attempt to convey their feelings of simultaneous dispair and thoughtlessness is marred by his subtle blend of negative space with accessibility...
Ooo, Chardonnay...yes please...
And to think, all along I thought it was just a toilet seat...
More later...
C
Wednesday 16 April 2008
12 Bar Schmooze
Friday 15th February DAVID CRONENBERG’S WIFE + MR DUKE + J.HERZFELD & HOOVERVILLE + EXTRADITION ORDER + MIDNIGHT EXPRESSO + TIM TOMLINSON + LUCY’S DIARY + POPPY + SHIT + STAGE SAGES
£6
AntiFolk UK Winter FestivalHosted by Filthy Pedro, Richard Tyrone Jones & Tom Mayne.
Being the drummer in a band is never an easy task. The stigma attached to the role can be tough to weather, even in the most celebrated of bands. Everybody knows that Keith Moon and John Bonham turned to drink merely as a refuge from the endless torment of generic drummer jokes, and we know what happened to them. I mean, these guys were in two of the greatest bands of all time, what about those drummers in far lesser bands. I mean, imagine being the stand-in drummer in a really SHIT band, possibly playing extremely low down the bill at one of the tiniest venues in Central London, and then being told on arrival that you still have to BUILD the drum kit... It's enough to make the poor guy inclined to drink half a crate of Strongbow and take to the stage armed with a hammer. Trust me, I've seen it happen. Last Friday night actually, and all in aid of something it's exponents call AntiFolk. Indeed, most of the paying attendees at the gig probably missed the act of aggravated 'drumicide' seen during the last 'song' by the punk/folk trio SHIT, such was the size of the evening's bill. 10 bands, some gathered from as far away as Bournemouth and Cardiff, graced the stage of London's intimate but sleazily classy 12 Bar venue. All launching themselves into their 20 minute to half-hour sets with equal measures of passion and bloody mindedness, whether it was the acoustic pop/proto-folk of the lone Poppy and her songs of fishing and everyday chores, or the elegantly PJ Harvey-esque Lucy's Diary, the modest promises of Filthy Pedro's 2008 AntiFolk UK Winter Festival were easily kept and for the most part well exceeded. Drenched in an alcohol and 'God-Knows-What-Else' atmosphere, the venue's balcony seemed to almost audibly groan under the strain of dancing revellers as the floor space was quickly filled and the drinks began to flow a little more freely. So freely in fact that as much as your humble music reviewer would love to tell you how good the last couple of bands were, those 12 cans of cider eventually proved quite a barrier to objective rock journalism, and reduced anything the wrong side of Lucy Joplin's leather knee-highs to nothing but a sonic whirlwind of (ironically) bad poetry and brutalised acoustic guitar thrashing nonsense... So yeah, all in all, a fucking good night out. I say “Bring on the Spring Festival you pussies!!!”
£6
AntiFolk UK Winter FestivalHosted by Filthy Pedro, Richard Tyrone Jones & Tom Mayne.
Being the drummer in a band is never an easy task. The stigma attached to the role can be tough to weather, even in the most celebrated of bands. Everybody knows that Keith Moon and John Bonham turned to drink merely as a refuge from the endless torment of generic drummer jokes, and we know what happened to them. I mean, these guys were in two of the greatest bands of all time, what about those drummers in far lesser bands. I mean, imagine being the stand-in drummer in a really SHIT band, possibly playing extremely low down the bill at one of the tiniest venues in Central London, and then being told on arrival that you still have to BUILD the drum kit... It's enough to make the poor guy inclined to drink half a crate of Strongbow and take to the stage armed with a hammer. Trust me, I've seen it happen. Last Friday night actually, and all in aid of something it's exponents call AntiFolk. Indeed, most of the paying attendees at the gig probably missed the act of aggravated 'drumicide' seen during the last 'song' by the punk/folk trio SHIT, such was the size of the evening's bill. 10 bands, some gathered from as far away as Bournemouth and Cardiff, graced the stage of London's intimate but sleazily classy 12 Bar venue. All launching themselves into their 20 minute to half-hour sets with equal measures of passion and bloody mindedness, whether it was the acoustic pop/proto-folk of the lone Poppy and her songs of fishing and everyday chores, or the elegantly PJ Harvey-esque Lucy's Diary, the modest promises of Filthy Pedro's 2008 AntiFolk UK Winter Festival were easily kept and for the most part well exceeded. Drenched in an alcohol and 'God-Knows-What-Else' atmosphere, the venue's balcony seemed to almost audibly groan under the strain of dancing revellers as the floor space was quickly filled and the drinks began to flow a little more freely. So freely in fact that as much as your humble music reviewer would love to tell you how good the last couple of bands were, those 12 cans of cider eventually proved quite a barrier to objective rock journalism, and reduced anything the wrong side of Lucy Joplin's leather knee-highs to nothing but a sonic whirlwind of (ironically) bad poetry and brutalised acoustic guitar thrashing nonsense... So yeah, all in all, a fucking good night out. I say “Bring on the Spring Festival you pussies!!!”
A Short Essay on Essays, or, Why I Find It Difficult To Write What Has Already Been Written
The essay has for centuries been an integral part of the education process. Every student in practically every country could probably tell you of a time when they've locked themselves in a room for days on end in order to research and write an essay set months before, and due to be handed in and marked within hours or even minutes of finishing. Many of us could probably also relate to stories of shameless lying, begging, and even fraud when deadlines seem to just pass us by. Personally, I'm guilty of every single trick in the book when the situation demands it, but I'm not here to make excuses, nor am I here to apologise for it. If anything, I'm writing this to explain why I personally have a real problem when to comes to writing an essay. If anything.
Consider the materials one uses to write an essay. Books and other literature concerned with the subject, newspaper articles, websites, journals, films and T.V. Documentaries to name but a few. The one thing relating them to each other: They all tend to be written by professionals. It's not that I have a problem with researching, in fact I believe that it is one of, if not the, most important part of any piece of work. Indeed, where would these paid professionals be if they didn't bother researching their subjects. Well, they wouldn't be paid professionals for a start. No, my main issue is with adapting and concisely re-writing all of these sources in order to show what I have learned. Now I completely understand the reasons for this, after all, how is a teacher supposed to find out if the student has been working if there is no way of presenting the information the student has gathered? I simply just cannot get over the fact that someone out there has already written what I'm writing, has obviously done a much better job of it than I could do, hence why I used the material for my research, and at the end of it all received either payment, professional respect and kudos, or both.
Don't get me wrong, I want to be able to sit down and write an essay. Indeed, if I could do it then I would almost certainly not be 21 years old and only just starting my first year of university. It's simply the fact that everything I am technically forced to write counts to nothing in the long run. When I sit down to write an essay I find it difficult to ignore the words of the Roman scholar Pliny The Elder:
“True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it”
I think we can all agree that Pliny is onto something here. Surely, if I am merely writing what has already been written then I am adding nothing to the world. How can I learn to get past this dead end? Do I want to learn to get past this dead end?
I can't ignore the fact that I'm not going to pass any university course without writing essays. Indeed it is a real shame that this one obstacle may be one I simply cannot cross. I applied for a journalism course because I want to write what deserves to be read, and indeed what deserves to be written. It is unfortunate that to do this one has to concede that everything they do write for three years will be merely a substandard copy of what is already out there, through no real fault of my own. This to me is far too ironic to ignore for any longer.
Consider the materials one uses to write an essay. Books and other literature concerned with the subject, newspaper articles, websites, journals, films and T.V. Documentaries to name but a few. The one thing relating them to each other: They all tend to be written by professionals. It's not that I have a problem with researching, in fact I believe that it is one of, if not the, most important part of any piece of work. Indeed, where would these paid professionals be if they didn't bother researching their subjects. Well, they wouldn't be paid professionals for a start. No, my main issue is with adapting and concisely re-writing all of these sources in order to show what I have learned. Now I completely understand the reasons for this, after all, how is a teacher supposed to find out if the student has been working if there is no way of presenting the information the student has gathered? I simply just cannot get over the fact that someone out there has already written what I'm writing, has obviously done a much better job of it than I could do, hence why I used the material for my research, and at the end of it all received either payment, professional respect and kudos, or both.
Don't get me wrong, I want to be able to sit down and write an essay. Indeed, if I could do it then I would almost certainly not be 21 years old and only just starting my first year of university. It's simply the fact that everything I am technically forced to write counts to nothing in the long run. When I sit down to write an essay I find it difficult to ignore the words of the Roman scholar Pliny The Elder:
“True glory consists in doing what deserves to be written; in writing what deserves to be read; and in so living as to make the world happier for our living in it”
I think we can all agree that Pliny is onto something here. Surely, if I am merely writing what has already been written then I am adding nothing to the world. How can I learn to get past this dead end? Do I want to learn to get past this dead end?
I can't ignore the fact that I'm not going to pass any university course without writing essays. Indeed it is a real shame that this one obstacle may be one I simply cannot cross. I applied for a journalism course because I want to write what deserves to be read, and indeed what deserves to be written. It is unfortunate that to do this one has to concede that everything they do write for three years will be merely a substandard copy of what is already out there, through no real fault of my own. This to me is far too ironic to ignore for any longer.
Clothes For Pets
Clothes for Pets
Years ago my Gran used to put a peculiar little blanket-type-thing on her ancient Yorkshire Terrier when taking it for a walk.
The children who would pass her by used to laugh as the tiny shivering dog waddled along in its hideous green outfit. I declined the invitation to accompany my Gran on her walks as often as I could, but sometimes I simply didn't have an excuse to hand.
Having endured the laughter of my peers I quickly learnt two things; 1) how to make up excuses on the spot, and; 2) animals in clothes are funny.
From my old Gran's Yorkie's green body warmer, to the now retired Tetley's Tea commercial apes, pets in clothes are pretty much a guaranteed laugh, especially with kids. However, pet owners outfitting their pooches with pullovers, and moggies with macs is becoming more and more common.
Clothes for pets, especially cats and dogs would appear to be rather big business, as a quick Google search will show. Prices range from, a surprisingly expensive, £15 for a 'Beware of the owner' T-shirt, to £190 for a matching 'Blushing Brides' wedding gown and 'Bridegroom Tuxedo'. Curiously, clothing for ferrets can also be found easily, and ranges include hoodies, sweaters, and even a hat incorporating miniature reindeer horns...for Christmas, naturally.
With all this clothing on offer for your pets, there is inevitably an ethical and moral issue. Again trawling the depths of a Google search, one sees an active debate on the issue of pet clothing. Those against the idea in any form are certainly vocal in their opposition: “It's terrible!!!!!!!! It should be illegal” is one reply to the question of dog clothing.
Another user says that “It is a human fad and not at all fair on the animals”, but later backtracks a little with “...if a dog is old and feels the cold a well fitting coat is probably OK...”
Janet Tobiassen Crosby, DVM, a spokeswoman for the department of veterinary medicine, has said that: “While I am not generally in favour of clothes for pets 'just because', I do believe that jackets and outerwear do have a purpose, depending on the pet and the climate.”
Invariably, as is the custom these days, it is celebrities who are partly responsible for this current trend of dressing up our pets. Trust-fund socialite Paris Hilton is barely ever seen without her chihuahua Tinkerbell, who regularly displays the latest in canine fashion. Even rapper Snoop Dogg is keen to cash in on the 1.2 billion dollar pet clothing industry, with his own line that includes basketball jerseys and a 'Doggfather' hooded sweatshirt.
However seriously the advocates of this fashion trend take the industry, I am inclined to feel doubt as to whether we will all be outfitting our beloved cats and dogs in years to come, but, as something to merely bring out the inner child in us, whether dressing them up or laughing them down, pets in clothes will always be funny,
Years ago my Gran used to put a peculiar little blanket-type-thing on her ancient Yorkshire Terrier when taking it for a walk.
The children who would pass her by used to laugh as the tiny shivering dog waddled along in its hideous green outfit. I declined the invitation to accompany my Gran on her walks as often as I could, but sometimes I simply didn't have an excuse to hand.
Having endured the laughter of my peers I quickly learnt two things; 1) how to make up excuses on the spot, and; 2) animals in clothes are funny.
From my old Gran's Yorkie's green body warmer, to the now retired Tetley's Tea commercial apes, pets in clothes are pretty much a guaranteed laugh, especially with kids. However, pet owners outfitting their pooches with pullovers, and moggies with macs is becoming more and more common.
Clothes for pets, especially cats and dogs would appear to be rather big business, as a quick Google search will show. Prices range from, a surprisingly expensive, £15 for a 'Beware of the owner' T-shirt, to £190 for a matching 'Blushing Brides' wedding gown and 'Bridegroom Tuxedo'. Curiously, clothing for ferrets can also be found easily, and ranges include hoodies, sweaters, and even a hat incorporating miniature reindeer horns...for Christmas, naturally.
With all this clothing on offer for your pets, there is inevitably an ethical and moral issue. Again trawling the depths of a Google search, one sees an active debate on the issue of pet clothing. Those against the idea in any form are certainly vocal in their opposition: “It's terrible!!!!!!!! It should be illegal” is one reply to the question of dog clothing.
Another user says that “It is a human fad and not at all fair on the animals”, but later backtracks a little with “...if a dog is old and feels the cold a well fitting coat is probably OK...”
Janet Tobiassen Crosby, DVM, a spokeswoman for the department of veterinary medicine, has said that: “While I am not generally in favour of clothes for pets 'just because', I do believe that jackets and outerwear do have a purpose, depending on the pet and the climate.”
Invariably, as is the custom these days, it is celebrities who are partly responsible for this current trend of dressing up our pets. Trust-fund socialite Paris Hilton is barely ever seen without her chihuahua Tinkerbell, who regularly displays the latest in canine fashion. Even rapper Snoop Dogg is keen to cash in on the 1.2 billion dollar pet clothing industry, with his own line that includes basketball jerseys and a 'Doggfather' hooded sweatshirt.
However seriously the advocates of this fashion trend take the industry, I am inclined to feel doubt as to whether we will all be outfitting our beloved cats and dogs in years to come, but, as something to merely bring out the inner child in us, whether dressing them up or laughing them down, pets in clothes will always be funny,
First 'blog...
'...an outlaw can be defined as someone who lives outside the law, beyond the law, not necessarily against it.' Hunter S. Thompson
I thought I'd start this 'blog at the beginning. In this case, the beginning of my journalism career. Seven months in and already disillusioned with the course I'm paying £3050 a year for, nay, sacrificing my outlaw integrity for, I have decided to bring the fruits of my journalistic labours (with perhaps some added social commentary) straight to YOUR monitor via the technological miracle that is the INTERNET!
'Just before we start, can you all just turn around and say "hello" to the person behind you please' Julia, journalism course leader/motivational speaker
I'll never forget those words as we packed ourselves into the lecture theatre, a hundred or so naive, excited, 18 year olds. Thinking 'did I really make the right decision?', surrounded by people 3 years my junior, but it could have been 30 for all I felt I had in common with these skinny jeaned, straightened haired, lipglossed 'beautiful' people...
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