This Morning Call’s blog

Author: Rick and Tom from ListentoManchester.co.uk

Published on: Monday, 26 Oct 2009

“One idea we wanted to explore was using projections which allude to the themes of the album and also create some interesting visual textures within which to frame Ben. So we have images of the sea which link to the track “Tides”, the hills and mountains which link to the track “In Country”, and the evening sky which link to the track “The Observatory”, explains Lisa.

I wanted a minimalist feel and also to explore the use of white light against skin in some of the photographs. Lisa and I were inspired by this picture called “The Secular Man” by David Bowie. (yes, that David Bowie!) The figure in the artwork appears to be in a semi-religious position, arms outstretched, head hung to one side, like an image from the crucifixion. Yet the picture is called “The Secular Man”, which seems ironic. It was quite an interesting idea and one that I felt worked well with the more downbeat elements of the music I was writing at the time. We also incorporated some of the slides from the projector we had hired. Despite the apparent seriousness of intent behind these photos, they were immense fun to work on!

“Ben explained how the theme of time passing is a very important one on the “All Quiet At 4AM” album, whether it’s references to specific times of the day, or long periods of time linked by major life events such as births or deaths”, said Matthew, another Black Cherry photographer. “We alluded to this photographically by producing some interesting time-lapse effects with multiple images of Ben in different positions across the frame.”

“We also wanted to produce the photographs ‘live’, rather than relying too heavily on effects produced by Photoshop or other image manipulation software.”

I wanted to blog about this earlier but one or two things – like finishing the album! – got in the way. Better late than never, though. Here’s the story…This Morning Call visits the Louvre!

Louvre

I was delighted to find myself in the fair city of Paris once again, on a mission. That mission was to visit one of the greatest art galleries and museums in the world, the Louvre. I’m sure, dear readers, that many of you will have had the good fortune to visit the aforementioned establishment yourselves. If not, I urge you to take some time and get yourself down there. It is excellent, not least because the weather in Paris was much warmer and sunnier than the rather drab August afternoon that I left behind in Manchester. And, well, it’s a romantic place and it always puts me in a romantic mood!

The Louvre only deals with items that were painted or created before1840, so no Damien Hurst or Salvador Dali. However, that is not to say that the Louvre stands isolated, unchanging, or as a monument to times gone by. It remains, thankfully, an ever changing canvas – for example, the addition of the glass pyramid in the museum’s courtyard that by creating one of the world’s most controversial architectural juxtapositions is perhaps the most obvious nod towards the post-modernist age. As a landmark, it is almost as iconic as the Eiffel Tower itself.

Inside the Louvre, corridor after corridor contain the treasures of an empire, stretching right back to the pre-classical eras, the Egyptians, and the Iranian civilisations, then Greek and Roman, and finally drifting through the second millennium, the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and the Enlightenment. The guidebook tempts with several key objects d’art - items the Louvre is justifiably famous for housing. The Mona Lisa, The Venus d’Milo. Who could resist a whistle stop tour of some of the most famous and priceless works of art in human history?

First port of call, like so many who venture within, was the Mona Lisa, and what a bizarre experience that was. Its actually a portrait of Lisa Gherardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo, but that doesn’t matter. The picture, which is not big, had a whole wall to itself. A barrier was placed ten feet around the painting, guarded and defended by curators and security. These visible defences were no doubt matched by more technological feats invisible to the naked eye, lasers and light traps perhaps. Punters clustered around, their eyes transfixed by the lady’s famous unreadable expression, or transfixed by the settings of their newly purchased XLR camera, or struggling to lean into the crowd to get any kind of a look at the portrait at all!

Mona Lisa

Does the picture deserve all this attention? It’s certainly a decent effort, but in my opinion that question is itself is no longer relevant. The issue here is what constitutes the artwork itself. Given that is it now impossible to view the Mona Lisa (as an average tourist) without fighting your way through a throng of people, only to find you cannot approach within ten feet, and to discover that the majority of people are only viewing the painting through a camera lens, or worse, a 2-bit mobile phone camera (for shame!), it follows that the artwork itself must extend from the portrait into the room to encompass the visitors, the gallery space, the security and perhaps more pertinently, the reputation and excitement that proceed it. Ironically, in a gallery that purports to home no 20^th Century works, its most famous lady now embodies a fiercely contemporary, post-modern condition where context and reproduction are everything.

And people were excited. It was almost like a celebrity had entered the room. Nobody had eyes for any of the other works on the other four walls, despite some incredible pieces as far as the eye could see. If Princess Diana herself had come back to life before our very eyes, rising like a spectre from the Louvre’s medieval foundations, it may yet have not been enough to distract the growing crowds. And the snappers were snapping away, everybody taking away with them an exact photographic reproduction to the portrait to their own, individual specifications. So this is participatory art, then, interaction in the purest sense, because none of the participants realise they are participating. Without them, what is remarkable about the Mona Lisa other than her complete lack of facial hair? Well? Didn’t you realise she has no eyebrows?

Here we are at the Venus de Milo.

“There’s nothing more frustrating than studying Greek art, given that the originals are so few and far between and are never seen in their original state. Could you imagine this statue with arms, and adorned with jewelry and colour? The Venus de Milo, or Aphrodite of Melos (named after the Greek island on which it was discovered in 1820), is one of these magnificent originals. Her naked torso enabled her to be identified as Aphrodite, the Roman Venus, goddess of love and beauty, born out of the foam of the sea. And with her, Greek art gave birth to all Western art’s female nudes.” – I quote from the guidebook.

My colleague and friend Joe did manage to snap a quick one of a similar crowd who were “participating” with the famous Greek sculpture. It wasn’t as big a crowd as was for Mona, but here they are, unwittingly captured:

The crowd gathered around the Venus de Milo

One of the most interesting Objects d'Art that we managed to locate was the oldest piece in the museum. I’ve looked all over for a picture of the sculpture but to no avail, not even on the museums website. At nearly 9,000 years old, this little lady draws parallels with the Mona Lisa in that both have a bewitching stare. However, its pure simplicity and mysterious origins made this a clear winner for our affections. When this was made, the world would have been a very different place, but this beautiful statue made us stop, stare and think. Surely, if there was one definition of what art is, this would be it. If only I could find a picture of it or remember what it was called!!

Critics and public alike have often expressed their amazement at the shear scale of the Louvre galleries, and indeed, our whistle stop tour lasted in excess of three hours! Hunger, sore feet and a baking hot day outside called our bluff and a halt was called.

I’ve been perhaps unfairly drawing your attention away from the masterpieces that were on display, by talking about context, or postmodernism, or the visitors. But I hope I’ve been able to illustrate how, even after hundreds of years, we can still look at these ancient objects in a new light and perhaps draw meaning in ways that even the mighty Leonardo D’Vinci might have struggled to imagine.

Ben

Yes folks - check out some new tracks from me today at the MySpace site (VOX wont let me upload music for some reason, a technical glitch....??) www.myspace.com/thismorningcall

I'm anticipating a Jan 2010 release! - the promotional wheels have started to turn. The album sounds amazing. :)

Also, we are now on http://www.friendsofmine.com/This_Morning_Call/ - a brand new profile with an exclusive track not available on any of our other social networking pages (which are getting ridiculously numerous.... time for a bespoke website methinks... Its called "The Observatory" and its very good even though I say so myself.

Pop along and have a listen when you get chance.

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Part Three

Sunday. The morning is hard work. People are falling about the place, tired and hungover from the excesses of Saturday night. Who can blame them? It was a big night, but there’s still a whole day of entertainments to enjoy and enjoy it we shall – from a seated position as my feet are hurting.

I indulge in some pie and mash for breakfast which sets me up nicely for the day. The last time I’d had pie and mash was Friday evening, in a slightly drunken state, and that seems ages ago now. On to business, I park myself and my camping chair towards the rear of the Pyramid Stage field and relax as the sun once again peeps out from behind a wispy, morning cloud.

I arrive just in time to catch Amadou et Mariam, an African outfit (I presume? – I suppose they could be from Croydon) who underwhelmed me with a somewhat lacklustre show that seemed to be all about lazy Afro-melodies, rhumba percussion and a sound that could have been rather more rootsy. It didn’t help that, slowly pickling in my comfy camping chair, I think I dozed off.

Things did improve, though, and on trots the voice of valley’s, Tom Jones. My hazy memories from last year were of the mighty Dame Shirley Bassey delivering the Sunday tea-time slot with remarkable aplomb. This year, Tom didn’t rise to similar heights I’m afraid, but solidly entertained with hits such as “Delilah” and “Its not Unusual”. More of a passing fancy than a defining moment.

So far so dull, to be honest. I suppose if I’d had the energy, I would have trundled over to the Other Stage to watch Bat For Lashes. Alas, I just couldn’t, and anyway it was nearly Blur time.

I’m getting ahead of myself. By this stage, the field had begun to fill with more and more punters – what could they be waiting for? Well, it wasn’t long before Madness, that perennial British favourite, appeared to the delight of the capacity crowd. What followed was a set that clearly demonstrated why the band have remained a household favourite for so long. They have so many great tunes, so much daft energy. A saxophone player hosted up on wires flew around the stage, tooting his instrument. Lead singer Suggs, suited and booted as you would expect, addressed the crowd and milked every last drop of deadpan humour from his darkly comic songs. Only in England would you get a band like this. I’ll never forget the sight of seventy thousand people skanking around to the bounce of “Baggy Trousers”. Magic.

In complete contract, but no less special, was Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. This was dark, dark and thrice dark. A big, guttural rock sound with dirty, overdriven guitars, Cave himself a malovent prescence stalking the front of the stage and delivering his songs with a rare growl. I can’t claim to know any songs by the band by name, and at times I did feel hampered by this unfamiliarity. Cave is a songwriter and a storyteller. Somewhere in this dark mass of noise there are narratives waiting to unfold on multiple listens. I guess that’s why they invented records!

Those of you who know me will know that I am a massive fan of Blur. It will come as no surprise to any of you that this was the set I was waiting for with some considerable anticipation, not least because this was an opportunity to watch the band following the return of original guitarist Graham Coxon to the line-up – arguably the finest guitarist of his generation. They are all touching forty now. I remember them as fresh-faced twenty-somethings from “Down South” who p*ssed all over these Northern bands like Oasis and The Smiths who, being from “Up North”, we were all supposed to be into during the mid-nineties.

So, as darkness fell over the Pyramid stage for the closing set of the festival, a great roar went up when the band launched into their debut single “She’s So High”, and tumbled out onto the stage. The last time I had seen them play at Glastonbury was the headline set in 1998, the year Britpop died. This was better, fresher, more energetic, and better represented the depth and breadth of material that they had amassed over the course of seven studio albums. I particularly enjoyed the material they played from their second long-player “Modern Life Is Rubbish” – probably my favourite ever album – as I thought I’d never get to hear them live. For the Blur nerds out there, like me, they played no less than five tracks of the record – “Chemical World”, “Sunday, Sunday”, “Oily Water”, “Advert” and of course “For Tomorrow”. To that list you can add “Popscene”, which was released as an EP around the same time. Great stuff.

And so Glastonbury 2009 came to a close. Following the Jay-Z debacle last year, when the festival regained its crown as the best of the best, this year it could have felt complacent. Far from it. The festival delivered once again and on balance still manages to justify the ticket price of £175. The best thing of all was the weather, which was almost perfect. If you can plonk yourself on the grass and not get a wet arse – well that scores very highly in my book. I felt sad when we left. I always do. However, I’m safe in the knowledge that I can do it all again next year...

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