5 posts tagged “music”

It has been a funny old week. I've been on holiday. Before you fall over in shock, this was not anywhere particularly far flung. I only made it as far as Newcastle Upon Tyne. But as regular readers of this blog will know, my journeys beyond the confines of Greater Manchester are few and far between.

(An aside - As the dark nights and cold weather draw in, I caught myself thinking only the other day about the delights of hibernation. If only I could go to bed and wake up in the spring, like a small mammal. Mind you, I've enjoyed the autumn this year, the trees have been particularly spectacular and as I recently read over on Elliot Jack's blog on MySpace, there's nothing so rewarding than kicking through fallen leaves in converse trainers. Here here.)

So with a few weeks annual leave from that pesky day job, I felt rather obliged to spend at least a proportion of it out of town, and what better occasion than to go to my old friend Lucas' 30^th birthday party. As I think I mentioned last time, Lucas is a professional musician with a certain band who shall remain nameless at this point (although the title of this entry might give it away somewhat). Better known to me as a fellow A-level music student from the mid-nineties, old friend and all round good guy.

Now I don't know how you feel about attending parties, but for me it goes in one of two ways. I either get extremely giddy and overexcited, drink too much and dance around like a man possessed, and then become an outrageous sex pest, or I'm overcome with apprehension and fear, especially if I feel I may not know too many people and that, god forbid, I might have to talk to strangers. It can go either way. It's all a matter of mood and circumstance.

Already feeling slightly out of sorts due to having to leave the safety of Mancunia, I arrived in Newcastle and found myself booking into a hotel that looked, on first site, to be situated above a tequila bar in full flow. I'm sure it didn't say anything about that when I booked the room online. Here's me hoping for a quiet night! I struggled in off the street, having just enjoyed the delights of the coach that stopped 6 times before arriving in Newcastle, at about half ten on Friday night. Well, my friends, the party was in full swing and as I walked in I had to question if indeed this was a hotel! After some confusion, I was escorted upstairs to a little room on no particular note apart from the lack of double-glazing and the lordly delights of Santana drifting up from the bar below. I faced a choice of a not-so-quiet drink downstairs before bed, or a bit of TV and semi-early night with possible music induced latino dreams. Wisely, I chose the latter.

The next morning I was up and about at 8.30am. This is early for me on a Saturday. But it was either that, or heaven forbid, miss breakfast. Why oh why to hotels have breakfast so early in the day? I've never understood it. No chance of a lie in even on holiday then. But you should never miss it. Oh God, the delights of a hotel breakfast. I always have a full english.

The official gathering of party goers was not until 2pm, where the plan was to visit the Baltic Art Gallery on the Quayside, but as I was up and about I opted to get my ass down there a bit earlier and pootle round the city by myself. I did do a quick tour of the Baltic, which I found to be distracting rather than engaging. It's one of those modern art galleries that aim to shock and befuddle, but don't quite make it. One exhibit involved hundreds of old fridges covered in glitter-ball mirrors in a big dark room. I'm not entirely sure what that was all about. As a spectacle it was a little underwheming. As a concept, it didn't seem to make a point about anything. I think the addition of some spinning lights would have made the whole thing rather more psychedelic. I'll suggest that to the artist if I ever meet them, or indeed, remember who they are.

Nothing in the gallery matched the view of the Tyne from the forth floor, which was wonderful, and a work of art in itself. I really must invest in a digital camera - then we can have an illustrated blog. There's a thought.

Anyway, I decided it would be a good idea to start drinking early (as I often do on a Saturday) so I had a lunchtime pint at the Pitcher and Piano, and would you believe it, I was able to sit outside in glorious sunshine and heat in the middle of November in Newcastle. If that isn't evidence of global warming I don't know what is. The pint set me up for the afternoon…. so like most lunchtime drinkers I went back to the hotel for 40 winks, and that was it! Lovely. Hibernation in action.

The evening proper began at about 8pm when I met up with Lucas and his friends. It was an odd collection of people from his home town in Yorkshire, Maximo Parkers, old university chums, and the odd random, such as myself. I suppose I was representing the school years. 30 is definitely old enough to have a proper retrospective party (although I've been having them weekly since I discovered vodka) and its rather heartening to know that in this day and age it is quite possible to keep in touch with people that you may not have seen for some years, but be able to pick up exactly where you left off. That's something boys are good at. It's something that Lucas and I seem to have no trouble with at all. This went along way towards tipping the balance from nervous introspection to outgoing silliness. I was proper enjoying myself.

We arrived at the Star and Shadow  a few hours later, which was hosting the main event, and a few fireworks were let off to celebrate Bonfire Night, which, incidentally, passed me by completely this year. The Star and Shadow is a cinema run not for profit by local filmmakers and aficionados. Big respect to what was an excellent venue with a lovely cheap bar and little nooks and crannies where one could explore in a drunken haze. Tom, MP's drummer, and then some other DJ's who I didn't know, supplied music and yes, I did have a wild dance. Not as wild as MP's manager, Stephano, who didn't stop dancing and didn't take his coat off all night. Boy, he must have been hot.

The party went on and it wouldn't be right for me to name and shame in such a public environ such as this blog, although I admit that doesn't stop me normally, but rest assured a good time was had by all. The party continued back at Lucas' house, which looks rather like it could do with a lick of paint but is entirely fitting for one who spends most of his life on a bus on tour, well into the next day. By this time it was knocking on eight in the morning and some lightweights were drifting off home. The arrival of the "beer taxi" prompted another round of Stella-drinking excitement, and the serious record listening began.

A couple of hours later I found myself on the moors. The moors seem to be a wild place in the heart of Newcastle. And they are really big. The sky is a massive vista that sweeps around you and carried you away. There's few trees, no buildings and no traffic noise. I'm a little hazy as to its exact location, but I was assured that if I walked for twenty minutes in a straight line across the moors I would eventually reach my hotel. Nothing like a short walk to clear the head after a big do. 

 

It took me nearly and hour. Maybe I took an unexplained detour. Luckily, I was entertained on the journey by a new friend and a great many joggers, who all seemed to be Canadian, and all of who were delighted to offer me some directions.

 

My return to hotel prompted hangover hell that lasted an eternity. I missed the coach home, so got a taxi back to Lucas' house. Providence provided a vehicle and driver, although how she managed to drive without near fatal injury amazes me. Not that there was anything wrong with her driving, its just we were both extremely hungover. I was very thankful. I left Lucas going to bed for the first time since Friday at about 2pm on Sunday afternoon, commenting that he was delighted he could still party as hard as he did when he was 21. It really has taken me until Wednesday to fully recover my wits. And that explains why this blog is a week late. But hey ho, no work this week and plenty of sleeping to be enjoyed to make up for the lack of on Saturday night, Sunday morning. And only 10 years to go until the next one.

Until next time, then.

Ben

This is our new tune.

Smooth, soulful, great guitar riff, some cello and an ace melody. Lyrics touch on Greek Mythology, Icarus, the sea, and the usual emotional turmoil!!

Check it out and let us know what you think!

Hear it live in Manchester on 15th September at Green Bohemia, Green Room Theatre.

www.myspace.com/thismorningcall

This is my wonderfully well written review of the film "Transformers". Enjoy.

Your opinions on Michael Bay’s live action interpretation of “Transformers” may well depend on whether you bought into the massively popular 1980’s toy line from Japanese manufacturer Hasbro. Bay’s self referential, fan boy movie about giant sci-fi robots trashing their way through various contempary US settings, including the now obligatory “war on terror” inspired Middle Eastern desert skirmish, will undoubtedly be enjoyed by those of us who spent slightly awkward, pre-pubescent years playing out intergalactic conflict from the safety of our bedrooms.

 

The movie is an assault on the senses, as loud and brash as any summer blockbuster, and in comparison to Bay’s other work, the insipid “Armageddon” and justifiably maligned “Pearl Harbour”, it is occasionally elevated above mediocrity. Bay’s climax, the red, white and blue coloured Optimums Prime, leader of the autobots, facing off to the evil Decepticon, spiky-grey Megatron, is explosive. The sight of these two machines, in an extended brawl reminiscent of “The Terminator” or “Godzilla”, tearing each other apart in the closing twenty minutes is surely the high point of the film. Flawless special effects will really make you believe that 30 ft high robots walk among us.

 

Unfortunately, it takes just over 2 hours to get there. What we are left with is a plot so lamentable it is practically forgotten half way through the film, and characters so loosely drawn as to become forgettable, walking stereotypes. Black characters are donught eating computer nerds, or fast-talking used car salesmen who still live with their grandmas, who are themselves abusive loudmouths. The token, white female presence qualifies as either “chicks that like cars” or “chicks with intelligence and top secret, national security clearance”. They seem present simply to titillate the predominately male audience with exposed navels, pouting lips, and their abilities with a screwdriver, or provide occasional plot revelations surrounding an alien audio encryption to various high ranking US officials.

 

The plot, slight as it is, concerns a mysterious cube, the “All Spark”, which apparently gave life to these intelligent machines and, in the wrong hands, also has the equally mysterious ability to destroy the planet. In this case, the wrong hands are the Decepticons. Their leader, Megatron, in pursuit of the cube, crash landed on Earth and has been frozen in artic ice for a millennia, only to be discovered by explorers and brought to Section 7, a secret establishment set up by President Hoover (who else…!) inside the Hoover Dam (where else…!). So we get seemingly endless scenes involving various US defence agencies, secret organisations and copious amounts of military hardware. The cube ultimately comes to teenager Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf), via a number of ridiculous coincidences, who has befriended Bumblebee, a friendly Autobot (Autobots = good guys, protectors of humanity, etc…), and with whom the fate of the Earth now depends.

 

Attempts to invest the film with a sense of humour are partially successful, and there is a delightful sequence involving Witwicky’s parents. Aware that their son is up to something in his bedroom, they initially accuse him of masturbating, before Bay revels several Autobots hiding in the garden, desperately clinging to walls and staying out of sight. As any nine year old would tell you, its as if being spotted by parents would break the spell and make them all disappear. Here, the guiding hand of Spielberg (Executive Producer) can be easily detected. The film toys with the same childhood fantasies explored to greater effect in “ET”. Like ET, Bumblebee, the friendly yellow Autobot (and “Herbie the Love Bug” rip off) is carted off by the military for scientific testing, tugs at our heartstrings when he is disabled in the final battle, and yet returns to fight another day. Irritatingly, unlike ET, he provides a perfect opportunity to set up a sequel when he asks to stay on Earth at the end of the film.

 

This film will probably please most Transformers fans, and although I’m not versed in the appropriate lore, my suspicions are that this movie sticks reasonably close to its source material. It’s a live action cartoon, a two dimensional trigger fest. Yet it remains delightfully unpretentious and despite a lame plot, this film delivers big bangs, explosions, crashes and enough engine oil to lubricate even the most hardened of cynical viewers.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, I'm back.

As you may have seen from various news reports, it wasn't the driest Glastonbury Festival on record; indeed, it's been the wettest weekend in June in the UK since records began, which is an awfully long time ago. With flooding in many parts of the UK resulting in loss of life and transport chaos, it comes as no surprise that this year's Glastonbury Festival was also a total "mudfest". We are talking serious, wellies required mud here. Not for the faint hearted.

 

However, this year we had one big advantage. We had been forewarned! The marvellous British institution that is the Met Office informed us well in advance of the impending deluge and in the light of this information, brollies, wellies and rain coats were all packed and taken to Pilton enabling one hundred and seventy seven thousand festival goers defied the elements and had one hell of a party.

This year's Glastonbury was the largest arts festival ever held. It took all day just to walk from one side of the farm to the other. There were literally hundreds of stages, dedicated to all different types of quality music from around the world. The famous Pyramid Stage featured, in my mind, the rather controversial choice of headline acts which were the Artic Monkeys (Fri, my friend said they were "just OK"), The Killers (Sat) and The Who (Sun), while The Other Stage (which is just as big) featured Bjork (Fri), Iggy and the Stooges (Sat), and The Chemical Brothers (Sun).

Although the live music and fun didn't start until Friday, most of us turned up on Wednesday to soak up some atmosphere and the campsite was filling up rapidly by mid afternoon. I'd strongly advise anybody going to Glasto in the future to turn up as early as possible as the camping areas get ridiculously full very quickly. Prepare to be very well acquainted with your neighbours throughout the weekend. I travelled light, with only a tent, sleeping bag, three bottles of vodka, a torch, boots and wellies and some clean clothes for company. In actual fact the coach down was so quick and easy, and it dropped me so close to where I was camping, that I barely carried my luggage 500 yards all day.

One of the great, unsung features of Glastonbury is the great array of foods available. You could eat your way round the site. The emphasis is defiantly on vegan, veggie and healthy foods washed down with cider and more cider. But there were plenty of meat options on offer as well. Its London prices so be warned. £3.50 a pint of cider. I didn't think that was too bad to be honest, all things considered.

Lets talk music. Bjork was amazing. One of my main reasons for going this year was to catch this set, and she didn't disappoint. She emerged wearing a mushroom shaped hat and long coat, but this soon gave way to a multicoloured flowing outfit with a silver painted forehead. She played a selection of hits, with at least one tune from each of her albums. Despite making a balls up of playing "5 years" (I don't think anybody noticed apart from obsessives like me), the set was excellent, and the triple-header of "Hyperballad", "Pluto" and "Declare Independence" was a magnificent finale. I must say the rendition of "Army of Me" was probably my musical highlight all weekend. Other acts I caught on the Friday were Arcade Fire, who didn't really grab me I'm afraid, The Magic Numbers, for whom the sun shined and we all sang along, someone I can't remember the name of at The Glade Stage, who were doing hip-hop and drum and bass with saxophones and were excellent, Mcr's very own The Travelling Band, who deserve a bigger stage and were terrific, and Bloc Party, who are a very tight band but bored me as I realised I don't like any of their songs, and they didn't play "Two More Years"!

Saturday saw CSS (excellent, camp nonsense), Babyshambles (outright rubbish, even with a guest appearance from Kate Moss), Klaxons (all shouting and loudness and jumping and brilliance), Maximo Park (who should be further up the bill, simply excellent stuff from them), and The Editors (only caught part of the set but sounded great). Then onto the Dance Arena. That's five different stages all catering for different dance music types, and I caught Mr. Scruff (a bit too downtempo considering the time of night), and Sasha (what a fantastic Thom Yorke remix he finished on) plus loads of random stuff.

Sunday will be known as the day I was the most wrecked, and the day in which I had to drink mostly lager because some of the bars had run out of cider! However, Shirley Bassey was probably the highlight – she knows how to hold a crowd and the diamond-encrusted wellies were remarkably clean. The Bond medley was brilliant, and we got "Big Spender" twice. The Kaiser Chiefs played and I have to say they have some great songs but why do they insist on yelling "whoa, whoooa, whoooooooahhhh" at every opportunity?  The last show of the festival for me was "The Chemical Brothers" and it was a stunning, stunning show – although I couldn't stay to the end because I needed the loo so much I just had to go.

So that was Glastonbury, and it was amazing. Although I had to get up for the bus early on Monday, the day it closed, I was home by three in the afternoon and started the painful process of readjusting to normal life again. I still have a raging thirst for cider. Luckily, I have some in the fridge waiting for me right now. I honestly don't think the bad weather and the mud spoilt the weekend at all for most people. Out of the four Glastonbury's I've attended (1997, 1998, 2003, 2007), three have been wet and wild and one has been sunny. I guess its all part of the charm. Hopefully, next year we can get a gig there. I shall do a rain dance to try and make this happen!!

 

I shall be field bound once again.

Ben