I was just thinking...

Dance @ Hero Japan 2012: Ms.Creative

2012-02-01T09:43:00.000-08:00

Here's a little 'gift' to get February under way. I don't usually like to 'hit-'n'-post' clips from Youtube but this all-female Japanese-based dance group, Ms.Creative got my attention. This footage is from the TV talent contest 'Dance@Hero'. Despite my usual misgivings about these kinds of shows, one of the members of Ms.Creative is a very dear friend of mine and I want to see them go all the way to the top. The final decision is up to you; the general worldwide public. Simply like the video and the one that gets the most 'likes' wins. Ce n'est pas la mer à boire.

Enjoy.

Classic Book Review: 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie' by Muriel Spark

2012-01-31T03:14:00.000-08:00

“‘The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie’ is technically beyond praise...’” Candia McWilliam

So says the foreword of the latest Penguin edition of Muriel Spark’s ‘The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie’, regarded as a modern British classic and one of the titles on the World Book Night 2011 reading list.

Spark's novel about a pretentious and incredibly self-confident Scottish school mistress and her elite group of protégées at the fictional Marcia Blaine School is so concise it straddles the novella borderline. Miss Brodie, in her self-appointed prime grooms her girls for life and love, occasionally using them as unwitting pawns in her own devious romantic games. Brevity is one of the novel’s assets, as is its slightly fragmented, non-linear narrative; the future constantly interrupting the past and vice versa. This is both a literary and visual device we’ve come to take for granted now. That Spark was using it 50 odd years ago when ‘The Prime...’ was first published suggests she was quite ahead of her time. Yet for all it has to recommend it, it is not the transcendent, life-changing read Candia McWilliam and other ‘...Miss Jean Brodie’ adherents would have me believe.

Initially Brodie’s extensive travels and devotion to the arts makes her quite the urbane maverick; ostracised, reviled and covertly admired by her colleagues in equal measure. You might be inclined to overlook her eccentricity and overblown self-belief. Yet as she connives to use individuals at her whim, not to mention her inexplicably cruel disposition towards poor hapless Mary MacGregor –the group’s resident scapegoat- Brodie’s hypocrisy and delusions of grandeur no longer seem so charming.

This is the main problem I have with ‘The Prime...’ Miss Brodie is just not likeable or relatable enough a character to justify her being venerated as a great literary masterpiece. Likeability is not especially important if you can at least have some understanding of the motivation for a character’s behaviour. ‘Notes on a Scandal’ author Zoe Heller for instance has a knack for creating harridans with whom you can occasionally empathise. Spark does not go into enough detail about Miss Jean’s background to gain proper insight or to warrant compassion for her. When we learn of Brodie’s eventual ‘betrayal’ by one of her girls, leading to her finally being ousted by her faculty foes, I felt no sympathy; merely vindication for those whom she’d wronged.

Indeed Brodie is a strong female lead character. Yet she also displays the wily and manipulative characteristics too often attributed to women seemingly in control; the root of Jezebel. If we can’t get our way using a direct approach, we can always resort to our sexuality and female cunning to achieve the desired outcome. It’s not the best representation of feminine strength in literature or otherwise but neither, thankfully, is it the only kind.

I suppose Brodie is meant to be one of those anti-heroes/heroines we come to begrudgingly adore in the way some seem to have a subversive affection for Mersault in Camus’ ‘L’étranger’ or Holden Caulfield in JD Salinger’s bafflingly overrated ‘Catcher In The Rye’. Yet they are devoid of the genuine pathos and roguish charm of a Jay Gatsby, say. Not so much loveable rogues as just plain old rogues.

Album Review- Johnny D presents: Disco Jamms Volume 1

2012-01-27T05:34:00.000-08:00

BBE christen 2012 with one of those old school groove-driven compilations that they do so well. This time Johnny ‘D’ DeMairo (of Henry Street Music house label fame) does the honours.

Continued reservations aside about referring to this kind of up-tempo 80s soul as Disco (post-Disco is a more accurate term, surely?) ‘…Jamms Volume 1’ is a fun and jaunty way to battle the winter blues. Up Front’s furiously catchy ‘Infatuation’ is a solid choice on Johnny’s part to get the collection underway followed by Spencer Jones’ ‘How to Win Your Love’ which has all the hallmarks of what made 80s soul production so special. Gated drums? Check. Lyrical synth bass? Check. Whimsical wind chime-style synths? Check. Anthemic chorus? Check. Some call it cheesy but what do they know?

Lafleur’s ‘Dub Til We Drop’ brings together Latin rhythms with the electric boogaloo, sounding like a harbinger for what came to be known as House. Things get treacherous on Skyy’s ‘Call Me’ as a friend makes a play for her best friend’s man. Lesser known classics from titans such as Ashford & Simpson and The O’Jays litter ‘Disco Jamms’ and The System’s ‘It’s Passion’ is worthy of note for similar reasons as Jones’ ‘How to Win…’ However DJ Johnny saves the bona fide goodies for last. Mahogany’s remixed ‘Ride on the Rhythm’ featuring Bernice Watkins tantalises the listener with smatterings of instrumentation before letting loose on the irresistibly danceable chorus. The strings on Ultra High Frequency’s super-upbeat ‘We’re on the Right Track’ are indicative of the epic quality of 70s soul arrangements and all the more loveable for it. Sass’ ‘Much Too Much’ (the Gap Band’s ‘Outstanding’ anyone?), completes the soulful hat trick, finishing things off with a flourish.

'Johnny D presents: Disco Jamms Volume 1' is out now on BBE Records.

Highlights from the London Acappella Festival 12-14 January 2012

2012-01-17T15:03:00.000-08:00

Canadian Quartet, Cadence.

Post-seasonal blues and the harsh winter weather make January probably one of the most sombre months for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. It’s a good thing then that harmony group extraordinaire the Swingle Singers and the good people of Ikon Arts Management have chosen to hold the annual London Acappella festival at this time of year. It couldn’t come a moment too soon.

This year had the usual high quality fare of world-renowned acappella acts gracing the King’s Place arts centre's stage and foyer, seminars, as well as vocal workshops that explore unaccompanied singing in its many forms.

Friday night saw all-male Canadian quartet, Cadence bring their effortless doo-wop charm to King’s. Armed with delectable interpretations of jazz numbers alongside the odd original composition (most of which has been written or arranged by tenor Aaron Jensen), Cadence’s is also an interactive show. They succeeded in enticing a reluctant audience to enthusiastically participate in the call-and-response refrain of Cab Calloway’s ‘Minnie the Mooch’ for example.

The quartet is a worthy affiliate of the superlative Swingles. Cadence’s harmonies suitably enthral (helped no end by the venue’s excellent sound engineering) and the comical choreography is testament to their prevailing, unapologetic sense of fun. Yet, like the Swingles this levity in no way mitigates the supreme skill it takes to dazzle and sustain an audience’s attention for an hour singing purely acappella. The quartet are especially prodigious in their imitation of a horn section. If we lived in a just world acts like these would be the true mainstream superstars.

The Swingles

The Saturday morning wake-up call didn't deter the many Swingles adherents of all ages and backgrounds that packed out Kings' Hall Two for the group’s vocal camp workshop. The space this time was altogether more conducive to improvisation and free expression than last year’s lecture hall. It was therefore ever so slightly ironic that this vocal camp took a more instructional format than its predecessor.

The group engaged the room in a series of balance and relaxation techniques before moving on to a walking exercise designed to raise a vocalist’s awareness of synchronicity in a group context. Following the warm-ups we got up close and personal by feeling each other’s resonance cavities. Keep your mind out of the gutter. The task was achieved through a wholesome game in which participants placed their foreheads on that of a partner whilst singing a variety of notes.

The workshop then took the form of an informal lecture. The Swingles gave extremely helpful tips for maintaining good pitch and tempo (both of which have been an Achilles heel for yours truly) before a Q&A session in which the group dispensed useful titbits on how to avoid singing flat (good posture, raising the soft palate and being conscious of each other’s tone quality), choreography and movement and how they avoid being at the mercy of different venues’ varying acoustics.

A cheeky attendee asked for a song to finish things off. After much coaxing the group obliged by doing a quick but no less inspiring rendition of Bach’s ‘Badinerie’.

Later on I was able to bend the ear of the group’s (very patient) bass vocalist Toby Hug from whom I gained further insight into singing like a Swingle.

Outside in the foyer playful all-female vocal outfits NoteOrious and Amersham A Cappella delighted audiences with their vibrant take on jazz and pop standards.

Alas, a previous engagement meant I would not be able to attend the Festival’s grand finale on Saturday night. I couldn’t complain. I had already received a great acappella fix.

Long live the LACF.

Cadence:

Carl Berger

Kurt Sampson

Aaron Jensen

Ross Lynde

http://www.londonacappellafestival.co.uk/

Film Review: Dreams Of A Life

2012-01-07T05:25:00.000-08:00

'Maria Ninguém é um dom que muito homem não tem' ('Maria Ninguem' comp: Carlos Lyra)

Filmmaker Carol Morley’s haunting and imaginative docu-drama ‘Dreams of A Life’ tries to make sense of the story of enigmatic Joyce Carol Vincent, who was found dead in front of her television-still switched on- in a North London bedsit in early 2006. She had lain there undiscovered for nearly three years. Her death only came to light whilst officials were attempting to execute a repossession order. Vincent had no history of substance abuse. She was asthmatic and was known not to be conscientious about taking her medication. She had had an operation a few weeks prior to her death. The inquest returned an open verdict with no foul play suspected.

Her macabre story caught Morley’s attention, her fascination piqued all the more given that the two women share a number of things in common. How could anyone be dead for so long without being missed? Carol started seeking information on Vincent from anyone who might have known her. An online and hard copy campaign for information was launched. Gradually Morley was able to piece together some of the mystery of this once bright young thing.

Let it be said at the outset that neither the local authorities nor Joyce’s relatives were of much use to the quest. When approached by Vincent’s local MP Lynne Featherstone as to how a dead woman’s council tax, TV licence and utility bills could go unpaid for so long without further enquiry the relevant bodies refused to cooperate (maybe an anonymous donor had been paying money into Joyce’s account unaware of her demise?). Perhaps even less surprisingly the surviving members of Joyce’s immediate family, a few of whom had attended the inquest, chose not to be involved in the film.

Through various accounts from ex-boyfriends, former flatmates, work colleagues and diverse other acquaintances an outline of Joyce’s life takes shape. The testimonials are interspersed with snippets of Morley's research notes and reconstructions of significant as well as everyday aspects of Vincent’s life. She is depicted by ubiquitous Renaissance woman Zawe Ashton.

Born in Hammersmith, West London the autumn of 1965 to Asian-Caribbean Lyris and Afro-Caribbean Lawrence, Joyce was the youngest of five girls. Her childhood came to an abrupt end aged just 11 when her beloved mother died suddenly following an operation. It's a trauma from which Joyce, understandably, appeared to have never fully recovered. Lawrence Vincent cuts an emotionally distant figure; a product of his generation, more concerned with being the neighbourhood lothario than a doting dad. Some of those who knew Joyce speculate she might have even been abused by a relative as a child, judging from certain behavioural patterns.

Joyce was effectively raised by her older sisters. By all accounts she was a very pretty, vivacious and articulate young lady who turned heads wherever she went. Despite not having any qualifications she landed very good jobs. In her youth she also enjoyed a buoyant social life, admired and envied by those around her. Whilst dating a producer Alistair Abrahams in the late 1980s she found herself mixing in rather illustrious circles. She rubbed shoulders with legends such as Gil Scott-Heron and Stevie Wonder, chinwagged with Betty Wright and Isaac Hayes and shook hands with Nelson Mandela at an event held in his honour.

However according to ‘Dreams...’ Vincent’s exciting life might have just been an illusion. Former lovers Martin Lister and Abrahams amongst others observed how Joyce didn’t seem to have an identity or interests of her own. She stumbled Forrest Gump-style upon great opportunities but lacked solid ambition. She tended to absorb the lifestyle and social set of whomever she was with. Those who attended her 21^st birthday bash for instance, noticed that all the guests were invited by Lister. There was no trace of Vincent’s family or friends.

Her acquaintances knew Joyce had her fair share of secrets and lies. She lived a peripatetic existence, often moving around London, staying with friends and even switching jobs a few times when attention from certain male co-workers apparently overwhelmed her. Her colleagues, who have especially fond memories of her, noted that she kept her relationships on a surface level. Any deeper anguish was buried under her supposed joie-de-vivre. Alistair believes she died alone partly because that’s how she wanted it. She had isolated herself from anyone who might care about her. On a pre-operation hospital form she put her bank manager as the next of kin despite having been in touch with Alistair in the not-too-distant past and having stayed at Martin’s residence as recently as the previous year.

Towards the end there is evidence that Joyce had escaped a violent relationship. She eventually sought refuge at a battered women’s home. She eked out a menial living. This vibrant young lady with the magnetic persona somehow never made good on the great potential and the promising contacts she once had. Old classmates and boyfriends burst into tears during the film. They can’t square Vincent’s lonely death with the convivial young woman they once knew. This isn’t how it was meant to be. Shallow it is but we don’t expect the young and gorgeous to die alone in their prime. As MP Featherstone put it...

‘I gather she was very beautiful, which for reasons totally spurious makes it more poignant because we always think beautiful people have everything go their way’

Joyce appeared to live the dream. In the end it brought her nothing. A former colleague remarks that Joyce's life ended as if she never existed at all; a mere figment of their collective imagination.

As with any second hand account, one has to question the authenticity of some of the testimonials. It would be impossible to know how much is exaggerated; how much of what is said is fuelled by guilt or shame or a tendency to eulogise the dead. There are times when certain themes recur again and again from different sources; Joyce’s secrecy, her propensity to shut people off emotionally once they got too close. There are other moments when the accounts contradict each other. Several acquaintances claim Vincent was an accomplished vocalist for example. Professional music maker Abrahams begs to differ.

Alistair gives the most elliptical account of all. Unlike Martin, no explanation is proffered as to how his romance with Joyce ended. You get the impression he knows a lot more about her life and background than he will let on, perhaps out of respect for Vincent's memory. Or simply because we don’t have the right to know everything about her; not without her there to give permission. His claim that her loneliness at the time of her death was partially self-imposed might indeed be true. It still doesn’t explain why almost three years elapsed without anyone looking for her; how her skeleton might have turned to dust if she wasn’t discovered by bailiffs; how her immediate neighbour didn't wonder why she had not seen Joyce for such a long time; why out of four sisters not a one relentlessly sought her whereabouts; how nobody thought to find and inform her of her father’s death in 2004 no matter how estranged they might have been; why there was an apparently systematic boycott of Joyce by her immediate relations. This in itself is very unusual for someone from an African/Caribbean background.

There’s much talk in the wake of tragic tales such as Joyce’s about the disconnected nature of industrialised society. It’s hard to deny that despite major developments in communication technology making it easier to stay in touch, there’s something about modern living that isn’t always conducive to establishing deep, long term bonds. More so if you live in a big city as did Joyce. You can't get away from the fact either that certain people deliberately keep others at arm's length. Some cynically state that it’s a wonder these types of cases do not happen more often. Such an assertion is far too glib. Vincent's story is unique. It is deservedly shocking that a young person who once lived such a full life could decompose in her own house without an alarm being raised much sooner about her absence, not least by a relative. It is alleged on one online forum that Vincent’s family hired a private detective to find her. If so then how far were the lines of enquiry taken?

Friendships are sometimes strange, nebulous entities. Non-relations can be very close yet circumstance dictates that they see and speak to each other infrequently. Besides, popularity-which Joyce clearly enjoyed-is not necessarily synonymous with friendship. In the film ‘Mon Meilleur Ami’ when it is suggested that affable Bruno (Dany Boon) is friends with everyone, he replies ‘Everybody is the same as nobody’.

Nevertheless family members have obligations, regardless of how relationships might have soured. Joyce was said to have been fond of her young nieces and nephews. Even if she pulled away from the family, contact should not have been severed to the point no one knew whether she was dead or alive.

As little or as much as one can form an idea of what a person is like from an hour and a half of second hand accounts, Joyce appears to have been an individual of many contradictions. Aren’t we all? She was a social butterfly that fiercely guarded her privacy, coquettish but at once naive about her sensuality; had emotions of steel and yet was incredibly fragile; she wanted to settle down and have a family but stability eluded her (or she eluded it?).

Morley’s film is a frank but respectful and sympathetic attempt to flesh out the details of this mysterious woman. It gives dignity to her heartbreaking death. The attention she needed alas comes too late. Ashton does a creditable job of capturing the many colours of Vincent’s personality as presented by those who claim to have known her. ‘Dreams Of A Life’ offers a public service more than mere diversion. There is something so disturbing about Joyce’s story, greater than the sum of its parts. Thus the film lingers like an admonishing presence, shadowing the viewer night and day. Morley’s documentary gives the lie to the notion that good fences make good neighbours. For that reason alone it demands to be seen.

www.joycevincent.com

2011-In Retrospect

2011-12-31T11:31:00.000-08:00

Revolution across the Maghreb, successive natural disasters, fears of nuclear meltdown in Japan, Long standing dictators across the world being overthrown and/or unexpectedly meeting their end, the former leader of the IMF and well-known louche is indicted on attempted rape charges, Slut Walks, Anti-cuts marches in London, The US hunt for Bin Laden comes to a bloody conclusion, summer riots blight the UK, a slightly sinister new breed of pre-teens/teeny boppers find new ways to make our ears bleed, the phone hacking scandal instigates the crumbling of the Murdoch media empire, a supremacist maniac massacres innocents in Scandinavia, another royal wedding accompanied by fuss about an overrated derrière*, economic turmoil in the Eurozone, Political and religious assassinations, a tormented pop-soul icon dies in her prime, Occupy Wall Street comes to London, an apparently untouchable Italian premier is forced to step down...

*True full bottomed-girls wouldn't be so easily impressed by the junior Middleton sister's posterior. I speak from experience. JLo, Shakira, Beyoncé et al needn't worry about being usurped in that department.

Phew. It is exhausting just recounting only some of the news stories in what has proved to be an exceptionally eventful year. Time and space do not allow me to enumerate them all. However you look at it, anyone old enough to be cognisant in 2011 will not forget it in a hurry. The expression 'stranger than fiction' couldn't be more appropriate. You couldn't make some of this up.

It’s been fascinating to witness such significant moments in modern history (I missed out on a front row seat to history-in-the making as a goodwill ambassador shortly after things kicked off in Tunisia. The fearful news reports of mass turmoil got the better of me). Maybe most interesting of all is how divine justice finally caught up with many corrupt, powerful individuals who hitherto behaved as if there would never be a day of reckoning.

Personally, probably the most outstanding thing that happened this year was turning 30. I marked the occasion with a lovely long weekend in Brussels courtesy of my very generous sister. This milestone notwithstanding, 2011 has not been quite as spectacular or progressive a year as I’d hoped. I assumed something magical would happen at the cusp of my fourth decade.

Children of the Revolution: Scenes from the 'Arab Spring'. Image courtesy of A1 Social.

Sometime in the last quarter of the year the seasonal blues hit me with a vengeance. The usual ‘what have I done with my life?’ questions dogged me. I only managed to shake them off a few weeks ago. Even as I write two days from the start of 2012, I’m not exactly on an emotional high. I have found the days coming up to the New Year and early January a particular challenge in the past. I'm not one to believe you have to wait for a new year to make a resolution. If anything you're more likely to fail if you procrastinate till a specific time to make a change. It’s best to start whenever and wherever you are, otherwise it begs the question; how serious were you about transformation in the first place? Nevertheless there is that almost crushing sense of expectation that comes with the Festive period and it is hard to ignore.

Several weeks ago, in the midst of my end-of-year melancholia I watched M. Night Shyamalan’s ‘Signs’ again, a film I once very much appreciated. Mel Gibson’s small town ex-minister Graham Hess loses his faith and gives up his vocation when his wife Colleen dies in a car accident. Towards the end of the film we see the couple’s final exchange in which Colleen appears to be gabbling nonsensically. It’s only a few years later, following an alien invasion and the former Reverend Hess is trying to save his household from hostile extra-terrestrials that her instructions come into better focus. It had been a while since I’d last seen ‘Signs’ and it has lost some of its sheen. There is a hint of self-importance and over-sentimentality of which I had not previously been aware. Plus Rory Culkin’s Morgan is so very obnoxious. How could I not remember that? Still the overall message of the film rings true; everything is everything. Things happen for a reason. For us mere mortals, not being privy to the grand design or greater context, setbacks and suffering can seem pointless. Yet as the film posits, and I am inclined to believe, there comes a time or situation when they start to make sense. Thus perhaps it’s still too early for me to tell how useful a year 2011 has been on a personal level. Progress can’t and shouldn’t be just measured on the basis of tangible or material gain. I am sure there are life lessons 2011 has taught me which will no doubt serve my character well in the long run.

I've definitely had some exciting adventures in my journalistic pursuits this year. There have been some really special highlights including the London Acappella Festival in January and Sade's long-awaited return to the UK stage after nearly 20 years in the Spring.

In 2011 I stepped out on a limb with my writing; partly from choice and partly due to circumstance. I set out to spend more time updating my blog and I by and large succeeded albeit without managing to consistently match the heady days of the first quarter of the year when I averaged three or four posts a week.

I would like to say I will continue posting at a similar level of regularity in 2012 but it seems rather too premature to say. Trying to publish a minimum of 10 blogs a month * is a lot harder than it might look. On that front I’ll keep my ambitions for next year more modest. I’ll be even more focused on quality than quantity than I was in 2011. In a bid to meet my blog quota I admit to posting reviews about items of which I was not entirely enthusiastic. I hope for there to be less of that in 2012.

*Yes. I am very aware I didn't always meet this target, as is the case this month. I draw the line at trying to draw blood from a stone. If inspiration doesn't come, I really won't force it. Sorry folks.

To those who have consistently supported ‘I Was Just Thinking...’ and even to the casual passer-by who took the time to read one of my many verbose offerings; I say thank you for humouring me. Being virtually cut off from the social network hegemonies of Twitter and Facebook it’s a wonder anyone found my blog at all. I hope we continue this journey together. Don’t forget to bring a friend.

Wishing you all a progressive 2012.

Album Review: ‘Books’ EP by Abimaro & The Free

2011-12-28T23:06:00.000-08:00

With one of the best band names I have come across in recent years, Abimaro & The Free this month release their latest EP ‘Books’, based on the four gospels. Of wonderfully diverse background and sound, Abimaro Gunnell, James Beatt and Alex MontaQue met whilst studying at London’s prestigious Goldsmith’s University. Following 2010’s stunning live EP ‘So I’ll Boast...’ the band gives us another sonic keepsake to tide us over until the much-anticipated debut album.

True to the tradition of the biblical accounts, ‘Books’ offers different perspectives on the life and ministry of Christ; from that of the apostles to the ordinary folk who simply needed to be healed spiritually and physically.

The subject of ‘Matthew’ yearns for the long-awaited Messiah to save her and her people from the Roman occupation. Much like the book after which it is named, ‘Mark’ focuses on Jesus as unconventional Saviour and Healer. In ‘Luke’ a gentile comes to the realisation that Christ’s love is not just for the Jewish people. ‘John’ looks beyond the miracle of multiplication in the feeding of the 5000+ and seeks a more profound relationship with the Messiah.

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://abimaroandthefree.bandcamp.com/album/books"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Books by Abimaro &amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp; The Free&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

Abimaro’s rich, raspy vocal is as warm and comforting as her sunshine personality. There’s an innate compassion to her voice –especially the Tracy Chapman-esque vibrato-that forms a perfect union with the vivid and sympathetically-crafted lyrics. MontaQue’s expansive piano arrangements and Beatt’s lyrical basslines both find a happy medium between ambition and restraint. With the occasional appearance of unobtrusive percussion ‘Book’s sparse soundscape is suitably aligned to its emotional depth. ‘Mark’ is the first amongst equals thanks to its melodic poignancy and the quiet urgency of Beatt’s bassline, followed closely by ‘Luke’.

This is ultimately a consolatory listen; despair gives way to hope, exclusion to acceptance and adversity to triumph.

Abimaro & The Free:

Abimaro Gunnell – Vocals

Alex MontaQue-Piano

James Beatt- Bass

Mixed & Mastered by Alex MontaQue

‘Books’ is available now for free download.

www.abimaro.com

Single Review: The Pigeon Men - The Little Unsaid

2011-12-24T03:03:00.000-08:00

One of my favourite off-mainstream discoveries of recent years, John Elliott and his band The Little Unsaid, return just in time for Christmas with yet another beautifully haunting single, ‘The Pigeon Men’. As an alternative to the fairy lights and tinsel, Elliott and co, as is customary, ruefully reflect on the lot of the lonely and destitute who are often conveniently overlooked in most modern festive ditties. Broken beats, mournful synths and strings, distant pipes and John’s plaintive Celtic-influenced vocals come together to make one enchantingly eclectic brew. And in case it all sounds as a bit too morose for the season, the record ends with cherubic little voices singing with what can fairly be described as tentative optimism ‘...For old time’s sake, for the sake of old times...’. Who said pensive had to be depressing?

‘The Pigeon Men’ is available for download here. The single is to raise funds for the band’s next album. Go on! It’s Christmas.

A Cruel and Fickle Mistress

2011-12-17T10:50:00.000-08:00

Look mum, I'm on TV! : Billy Pearce

There is something of the grotesque about BBC Documentary ‘I Had the X-Factor...25 Years Ago’. Broadcast just in time to mark the end of another series of one of those meretricious TV talent shows I studiously avoid, ‘I Had The X-Factor...’ charts the fleeting success and subsequent mixed fortune of six hopefuls from the then much-watched ‘New Faces 1986’ contest. Hosted by the late Marti Caine, herself a glamorous and multi-talented former ‘...Face’ winner, the show was the big draw in its day for those wishing to set themselves apart from the hum-drum hoi-polloi.

Watching it is a simultaneously fascinating and depressing exercise. It plays out like a comically tragic, far too realistic mockumentary; life imitating art in heart-breaking fashion.

There’s Vinny Cadman, who played the funny sidekick to a series of ‘straight men’ in various comedy duos. Dollops of tears fall from his baby blues as he reminisces on the highs and lows of momentary fame. The elation of being flavour of the month, the adoration of fair-weathered female admirers, the failed marriages and numerous kids...the crushing sense of rejection when Lady Fame’s fickle hand moves on to lure the next hapless victim after fleetingly brushing his cheek. Vinny says that even ‘shaking the hand of God’ could not compare to winning ‘New Faces’. Despite the demise of his career having led to alcoholism, a spell in prison and homelessness, Vinny holds onto his dream. Believing that he’s still destined for world-wide fame at the cusp of his twilight years, he refuses to work a ‘boring’ ordinary job.

There’s also Julie A Scott with the sweet, soaring ideal-for-musicals soprano. She worked hard to establish herself as a successful singer, harbouring hopes of motherhood once her ship came in. She became a ‘New Faces’ finalist at 29. In 2011 she sings on cruise ships and admits, on the brink of tears, that although she wouldn’t change her career it’s too late to start that family now. When asked if the show business experience differs greatly between men and women she replies ‘Yes, most definitely. I think men get the chance to have it all, whereas women always have to sacrifice something’.

Scouse vocalist James Stone wasn’t as focused on fame as some of the other contestants. He sang to escape the misery of living with his mentally unstable adoptive parents. Popular with the ‘New Faces’ judges and public he confesses being a finalist on the show didn’t lead to chart success. However he did carve out a viable career on the circuit and made hundreds of thousands of pounds...only to be swindled by his manager, a woman who he loved like a mother and six years after her death still hasn’t got a bad word to say about her. In 2008 Stone decided to relive the nightmare and reached the finals of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’. Finding favour with his royal smugness Simon Cowell, it is suggested to James that perhaps ‘bad luck’ and ‘bad decisions’ might have been the reason why he’s not yet a star since he’s obviously got enough talent and charm to have become one. The spiky-haired charlatan then implies that BGT could change that. Three years on Stone lives in penury (despite driving a new-ish looking Mercedes) with his significant other, both of them good-naturedly laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Not all the stories featured come to such a lachrymose conclusion. Stand-up comedian Billy Pearce enjoyed several years of being in demand after his stint on ‘New Faces’. Although he didn’t win, he arguably did the best out of it. On watching the documentary I recalled as a child seeing him often on my TV screen in various sketch shows and comedy skits. Pearce made a tidy fortune riding the popularity wave (at the cost of his first marriage) only to sink it all into a doomed business venture. Thankfully his incredibly supportive second wife and some loyal friends saw him through the hard times. He currently does panto and apparently still plays the comedy circuit.

Then & Now: Vinny Cadman

1986 series winner, then-17 year old virtuoso violinist Gary Lovini appears to live a fulfilled life with his one and only wife and two children making a living on the same sort of cruise ships that are also Julie A Scott’s bread and butter. Lovini and his missus only regret that there was no media mogul and million-pound record deal waiting at the end of ‘New Faces’. They know not what they ask. Chances are he’d probably be in the same place as he is now, just more broken and disillusioned after being chewed up and spat out by industry types. Just look at the poor inaugural winner of X-Factor, Steve Brookstein.

Even writing this article I realise I fall prey to the flawed mindset I’d pompously like to believe I’m above. I suggest that sustainable fame is some sort of Holy Grail; that chart success or long television or film careers are what would have validated these former contestants’ talents and efforts. Not wishing to make excuses, I do believe we of the MTV and reality TV generation are the most likely to be victims of this way of thinking. You know; daydreaming about the Oscar/Grammy/Brit Award speech, the prime time interviews, the glossy video...the whole ‘I’ll make all those who didn’t reckon with me eat their words’ of it. The tragedy is not that Vinny, Julia et al dropped off the radar; it’s that the radar was ever used to measure true success and happiness in the first place; that any of us think that it is worth sacrificing the genuinely important things such as family and one’s peace of mind for something as vacuous as popularity en masse. For a chance to be today’s tabloid headline/tomorrow’s chip paper, misguided souls line up to be exploited by mercenaries such as Cowell. We all know that the respect or acknowledgement of one’s peers is an affirming and legitimate pursuit. It’s just the cart is so far in front of the horse these days we can’t see the moral quagmire into which we’re falling. Now more so than ever we confuse fame with quality, notoriety with self-worth.

I believe it’s a natural and healthy desire to want to leave one’s mark in the world. The Preacher says in the book of Ecclesiastes that God has put eternity in the hearts of humankind. Sadly this healthy desire has transmogrified into the most unappealing kind of self-serving, narcissistic behaviour. What needs to change is the idea that anything worth doing has to be brought to the attention of the masses. For those of us who need to keep our motives in check we should ask ourselves ‘Am I willing to continue doing what I’m doing regardless of if I ever get widespread recognition for it?’

Film Review: Cisne (Swan)

2011-12-11T12:51:00.000-08:00

From 2-5 December the Instituto Camoes Portugal in association with Queen Mary University hosted the Women in Portuguese Cinema Festival. It’s a prime example of one of the many great things there are to do in London absolutely free of charge.

The Festival was my first foray into Lusophone cinema. Last Saturday I had the privilege of attending a screening of the premier of actress and director Teresa Villaverde’s ‘Cisne (Swan)’ about strangers whose paths intersect at a transitional stage of each of their lives.

Successful Portuguese chanteuse Vera (Beatriz Bartada) is the eponymous bird, gracefully gliding through life apparently fearless. Waiting for her at home is her cellist lover (possibly husband) the emotionally unstable Sam (Israel Pimento). He rather impertinently asks Vera to leave him home alone-in the house she bought-to explore what life is like without her. She graciously obliges by going on another tour during which she befriends the young man who is to be her driver and travelling companion, Pablito. He too is a ball of nerves, desperately yearning for the birth mother who gave him up as a toddler. Together they drift through Lisbon gradually forming an undefined but strong bond.

‘Cisne’ is an aesthetic delight. The Portuguese vista is captured at its most beautiful; clear azure skies and lush landscapes. The cast’s almost universally olive hue glows healthily in the bright Iberian sunshine. This all comes in very handy given the film is such a challenging, nebulous work. Villaverde really takes the idea of the celluloid short story as far as she can whilst still retaining something that vaguely resembles a coherent narrative. She is determined to give the audience only the bare bones of information.

‘Cisne’ ambles along as aimless and fractured in its beauty as the protagonists. Vera is carefree and supposedly inured to life’s little troubles but struggles to sleep alone. Her maternal relationship with all the men in her life betrays perhaps an underlying yearning she has taken pains to ignore. Pablito is hopelessly melodramatic. He blunders through life as if he has a monopoly on anguish and is somewhat self-involved. Yet he reveals a generosity of spirit in his solicitous attitude towards Vera and his attempts to rescue from an abusive environment a homeless orphan with whom he shares a fraternal affection. Sam and Vera’s muddled relationship speaks volumes about the symbiotic nature of male and female interaction in general.

In a post-show discussion Villaverde stressed that the film was not necessarily an allegory for the state of contemporary Portuguese society. Any sense of bewilderment and confusion is representative solely of these particular characters.

Despite its amorphous structure Cisne is a visually sumptuous wellspring of talking points, wherein lays its strength and charm.

Album Review: Gilles Peterson Presents Havana Cultura-The Search Continues

2011-12-08T08:32:00.000-08:00

Following his first foray into bringing the sound of Young Cuba to a wider international audience, Gilles Peterson follows 2009’s ‘Havana Cultura’ and 2010’s Remix album of the same name with a brand new collection of fresh sounds from Castro’s stopping ground. Disc one sees Peterson behind the mixing desk with collaborator Simbad, producing exclusive tracks for this follow-up compilation whilst Disc two reflects the happy discoveries Gilles stumbled across scouring Cuba’s underground scene.

Much like its predecessor, ‘...The Search Continues’ is a flurry of sensual, pensive and fun derivatives of Cuban Son. Gilles queenly protégée Danay Suarez not surprisingly makes a few regal cameo appearances. Much of the sultriness is down to her redoubtable presence on tracks such as ‘Espera Mi Gente’ featuring fellow Cultura mainstays Ogguere and ‘Cuando Ya No Este’ on which she delivers a surprisingly tender vocal. Still, Miss Suarez doesn’t have the monopoly on sultry here. ‘La Mulata Abusadora’ featuring Telmary and Elain Morales' seductive, undulating bass and breathy rap/spoken word stands out on an album with many good moments.

The perennial influence of Africa on Cuban beats and vocalisation can be heard all over ‘Orisa’ by the Havana Cultura Band, ‘Kimbiseros’ by Afrikun, beguiling Afro-Jazz Hip Hop cut ‘Malecon Habanero’ with Los Aldeanos and acapella ‘Peze Café’ by the amazing Creole Choir of Cuba. The bewitching ‘La Tormenta’ featuring El Tipo Este and Arema Arega also infuses the sound of the Motherland in its complex syncopated percussion whilst Arega’s otherworldly vocals hover spectre-like over the stark arrangement.

Gilles Peterson presents Havana Cultura: The Search Continues // CD01 Teaser by Brownswood

Cuban Hip Hop is as heavily represented as ever on ‘The Search...’ as heard on ‘Vida’ (The Havana Cultura Band feat Osdalgia and Edgaro), 'Me Quedo Voz' (Golpe Seko) and ‘Cojimar’ (Anonimo Consejo) amongst many others. Danay Suarez pops up again on possibly the most striking of the Hip-Hop inspired cuts ‘Yo Aprendi’, its solitary piano riff and moody bassline calling to mind the dark, atmospheric kind of Hip Hop favoured by the likes of Mobb Deep in the 90s.

‘The Search...’ has its lighter, carefree moments too. Kola Loka’s ‘No Me Da Mi Gana Americana’ is unadulterated Reggaeton fun. The Heavyweight Brass Band truly lives up to its name on ‘Nueva Orleans’- an infectious Cuban-Son-meets-marching band homage to Louisiana’s celebrated city featuring Ogguere once again. The Havana Cultura band return to do the honours on a sexy little cha-cha number ‘Vamos Al Mar’ which knows not to take itself too seriously. The band mix archetypical Cuban rhythms with house production on Carnival-friendly ‘Agita’ and Melvis Santo’s endearing ‘Tu Momentico’ is possibly ‘The Search’s...’ most sugary-pop contribution.

As one would come to expect from a Peterson project, ‘Havana Cultura Part 2’ has a bit of something for everyone.

'Havana Cultura: The Search Continues' is out now on Brownswood Recordings.

Film Review: Take Shelter

2011-12-04T08:38:00.000-08:00

'Take Shelter', a haunting domestic drama with a supernatural undertone, follows a few turbulent weeks in the life of construction worker Curtis (Michael Shannon); a small town hardworking, family man. Dogged by disturbing weather-related dreams and vivid day time visions, he is convinced that a dreadful storm is a-brewing. The fear of impending doom causes this stable, loving husband and father to act more and more unhinged.

He embarks on a Noah-style preparatory mission to renovate the abandoned storm shelter in his large garden at great financial risk. His increasingly erratic behaviour isolates him from his supportive wife Samantha (Jessica Chastain), friends and work colleagues. With a history of schizophrenia in his family Curtis starts to question his own sanity. But is he really losing his mind or are these apocalyptic nightmares genuine premonitions?

‘Take Shelter’ is not your average disaster movie. Under the aegis of writer and director Jeff Nicholls, it creeps along at a pace that is most suited for the sense of danger looming on the horizon. The film is ripe with meaty themes; Judaeo-Christian references, the spiritual gatecrashing the mundane, subtle socio-political commentary about the harsh US healthcare system, the unsympathetic attitude of some private sector employers towards workers facing personal crises and the strain everyday pressures can place on an individual’s psychological well-being. And mental health is really the crux of the matter. It’s never an easy subject to broach. The audience is left guessing whether the Apocalypse foreseen by this reluctant prophet is of wider significance or is in fact of a more personal nature. ‘Take Shelter’ is not concerned with caricaturing the vast array of psychosis-related symptoms. Rather it explores the shame and stigma that surround those who might be affected. Cultural expectations of masculinity, the film seems to say, prevent men such as Curtis from sharing their concerns with those closest to him leading to feelings of loneliness and paranoia which can further entrench the problem.

Nicholls’ characters are superbly complex, brought screaming to life thanks to laudably naturalistic performances from Shannon and Chastain as his strong, devoted and canny wife. It’s refreshing to see a woman so loyal to her man without having to be a doormat. Their depiction of a couple trying to struggle through a traumatic marital crisis is very moving.

‘Take Shelter’s special effects are striking but not over the top, ably fleshing out the biblical imagery. There is a constant undercurrent of the otherworldly but this extraordinary film remains grounded in terra firma. To top it all, Nicholls trusts the intelligence of his audience enough to end the feature in a deliciously ambiguous way.

Single Review: ‘Lions of Judah’ by Emanative and Ahmed Abdullah

2011-11-30T06:15:00.000-08:00

Next month sees the release of Emanative’s ‘Lions of Judah’ on Brownswood Recordings; a charity single from which all proceeds will go to the Steve Reid Foundation.

Renowned Jazz drummer Steve Reid-erstwhile collaborator of the likes of Miles Davis and Quincy Jones- was also a personal friend of Gilles Peterson. Thanks to the cash first/care later American health care system, Reid was unable to afford vital treatment in his fight against cancer. He passed away in Spring 2010. Peterson set up a foundation in his friend’s name to help musicians to get the assistance they need in times of hardship.

Despite the sad circumstances surrounding Steve’s death, Peterson clearly wished to celebrate his friend's life in his choice to release a cover of ‘Lions of Judah’. It is a triumphant helping of psychedelic funk. Originally written by trumpeter and Reid's former band mate, Ahmed Abdullah, Emanative's interpretation is ablaze with vibrant horn solos, a criminally catchy refrain and blithe ostinatos enthusiastically hammered out on the organ. In that regards it doesn't stray too far away from the original except this version has a more focused energy. Four-Tet’s Re-edit keeps in step with the A-side, adding just a whisper of a four-to-the-floor house flavour.

It’s for a good cause so get pre-ordering here.

Visit the Brownswood Recordings site for more information on the exclusive launch of Emanative's 'Lions of Judah' on 14 December 2011.

Album Review: ‘Pitchblack EP’ by Happy Hunting

2011-11-28T05:19:00.000-08:00

Singer/songwriter Jana Tyrrell has teamed up with her brother Alex to create the Happy Hunting project. Their first EP ‘Pitchblack’ is at first listen a strange and challenging journey into sound; you do not necessarily get instant shivers down the spine. Nevertheless for those who know the worth of investing a little bit of time warming to a record the reward is rich.

Drawing from various influences such as 80s pop/rock, dubstep, ragga and, if one particular intro is anything to go by Spaghetti Westerns, ‘Pitchblack’ is as dramatically morose as the title suggests and all the more engaging for it. Given its relative brief format you might not associate the word ‘epic’ with an Extended Play but Tyrrell & Tyrrell achieve it here. From lyrics such as...

‘Feel the blood it’s draining out and see the shapes slip away, this love will be the death of me...’

And the poetically menacing...

‘...Make this your last regret, ‘cos we all remember, what time forgets...’

...One gets the impression something or someone has broken Jana’s heart. The songs pulsate with the rawness of the experience as they very well should. Her expressive, crystalline soprano provides an added sense of fragility that sits somehow comfortably on top of the EP’s attractively chaotic –sometimes even savage-soundscape.

<p>&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://happyhunting.bandcamp.com/album/pitchblack-ep"&amp;amp;gt;Pitchblack EP by Happy Hunting&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;</p>

‘My Life Is a Mess’ is something of a dark horse, inveigling itself into the affections. Underestimate it at your peril. ‘This Love’, thanks to its memorable refrain, is a bolder creature; like the charismatic, more obviously good-looking sibling. Each has undeniable charm. Pitchblack’s apotheosis however comes in the form of stunning final track ‘Immorality’ which has a grand, meditative quality; the kind that has served Coldplay’s career so well.

There’s a hunger and fearlessness evident on ‘Pitchblack’ that suggest Happy Hunting are ones on which to keep a keen eye.

Download ‘Pitchblack’ for a price of your choice here.

Album Review: 'Glimpse' by Julien Dyne

2011-11-25T02:00:00.000-08:00

If BBE records are champions of new electronica then they’ve really thrown themselves behind the genre this year. The tail end of 2011 sees the release of another hard-basslined, drum and synth-heavy predominantly instrumental album ‘Glimpse’, this time by antipodean producer Julien Dyne. With mysterious Germanic sounding names such as ‘Koln3’ ‘Ernst’ and ‘Thirts’, ‘Glimpse’ is one of the stronger, more melodic Hip-Hop/Funk/Electronica hybrids from the label this year.

The album starts off on a sure footing with instantly likeable tracks such as the soulful ‘Bent’ intro and Krump-tastic ‘Mask’. ‘Glisten Up’ is reminiscent of J Dilla’s early work with the Pharcyde. The alluringly tranquil ‘Thirts’ is one of many tunes on ‘Glimpse’ that appears to have the freestyle Hip-Hop dancer in mind. ‘Looseends’ with its deliriously lyrical bassline is another. ‘Ernst’ could be the soundtrack to a thrilling intergalactic vehicle chase.

JULIEN DYNE 2nd album "Glimpse" snippet (WNCD005) [CD] 12月21日発売 by wonderfulnoise

With the exception of the Parliament Funkadelic-style vocals on ‘Creebin’, on the few non-instrumental tracks that there are on offer, (‘Get Closer’ featuring She’s So Rad, ‘Who Are You?’ with Lady 6 & Parks and the jaunty ‘So Far’ with Mara TK)) the vocals are just another part of the production; pressed down as far into the mix as possible without them disappearing altogether.

‘Glimpse’ is a consistently pleasing sound fest even if, clocking in at 19 tracks, it feels a bit overindulgent (the album wouldn’t have suffered if one or two didn’t make the final cut). It’s a shame then it comes after BBE have released a few hit and miss affairs. Electronica-meets-Hip Hop fatigue is starting to set in and this first amongst equals could get overlooked.

‘Glimpse’-coming soon on BBE Records.

Gig Review: Jazz Line-Up @ The Southbank Centre-London Jazz Festival 2011

2011-11-22T15:41:00.000-08:00

Sharp Sound: experimental Jazz outfit, Empirical.

This year the London Jazz Festival reached its nineteenth anniversary. Each autumn a vast array of the world’s most celebrated jazz-influenced musicians and vocalists gravitate towards the capital to play events across the city. For those on a budget there are plenty of quality free gigs on offer too, one of which this year was BBC radio’s late afternoon live broadcast of its Jazz Line-Up programme with Kevin Le Gendre, in association with the Southbank Centre.

On Saturday 19 November Kevin was joined by pianist-turned-saxophonist Trish Clowes plus her band Tangent, and quartets Aquarium and Empirical.

Miss Clowes and band opened up the show with the busy, intellectually challenging ‘On/Off’ before moving on to the more alluring and gentle (read: accessible) ‘Seven’. The song is an ideal showcase for Trish’s dexterity. Chris Montague on guitar is Tangent’s other ‘star’. There is great creative synergy between him and Clowes.

Apart from Montague, Tangent is comprised of Heidi Parsons on cello, Calum Gourlay on Double bass and James Maddren on drums. It’s certainly different from the average Jazz outfit. Clowes explained in a post-performance interview with Le Gendre that the quintet’s instrumentation reflects an orchestral intention in her arrangements. She likes the sonic proximity to the human voice of both the cello and sax and believes they complement each other.

On the contrary, if Saturday was anything to go by. Being so melodic the two instruments compete for the audience’s attention, even overriding each other. The cello deserves to be centre stage, part of a more relaxed set-up; no more than a trio or quartet as demonstrated by the excellent Ayanna Witter-Johnson. With Tangent it gets lost in the milieu. The overall effect is a tad busy.

Piano led quartet Aquarium fare better with their sparser, more melodically engaging compositions. They performed the globe-trotting themed ‘Strangers’, ‘Marrakech’ and ‘Milan’ for Saturday’s broadcast. Pianist/composer Sam Leak’s enviable skills are underpinned by a playfulness that manifests in the child-like enthusiasm with which he tinkers away.

The show closed with the very dapper-looking, experimental quartet Empirical who released their sophomore album ‘Elements of Truth’ last month. The inclusion of the Vibraphone and hints of more contemporary genres such as Drum’n’Bass made theirs the most interesting soundscape of the lot. The group have an energy (focused but at once laidback) and likeability that should take them far.

Trisha Clowes and Tangent:

Tenor Saxophone: Trisha Clowes

Guitar- Chris Montague

Cello- Heidi Parsons

Double Bass – Calum Gourlay

Drums- James Maddren

Aquarium:
Piano-Sam Leak
Double Bass-Sam Lasserson
Saxophone-Sam Crockat
Drums-Joshua Blackmore

Empirical:

Alto Saxophone- Nathaniel Facey

Drums- Shaney Forbes

Vibraphone- Lewis Wright

Double Bass- Tom Farmer

Listen to Saturday's performances here (available until 28 November 2011).

Theatre Review: 'Family Secrets'@ The Lost Theatre, London

2011-11-18T05:38:00.000-08:00

Hot on the heels of coming-of-age piece ‘Misidentity’ which enjoyed an acclaimed run earlier in the year, this Autumn Stepping Stonez Productions present the intriguingly titled ‘Family Secrets’ written by Silvano Griffith-Francis and directed by Serge Rashidi-Zakuani, co-founder of Stepping Stonez.

Ruth née Matthews (Griffith-Francis) is a successful career woman, designer clothes horse...and battered wife. Desperate to keep up appearances she hides her husband Adrian (Sheldon Nichols)’s abusive behaviour from her loving family. Junior sister Naomi (Raquel Larnyoh) is preparing to get married. The supposedly excited bride-to-be is privately cracking under the stress of wedding arrangements. The youngest Matthews, talented musician Zach (Sanchez Brown) is struggling to reconcile his sexuality with his faith. Presiding over them all is God-fearing matriarch Shirley (Latoya Louis).

A seemingly happy family covering up grim secrets is an enticing premise; the problem here is that the execution doesn’t live up to the promise.

Whilst ‘Misidentity’s young cast delivered assured, convincing performances , ‘Family Secrets’ ensemble are a lot more...green shall we say. Almost without exception the acting is either very wooden or bafflingly melodramatic, not to mention the tendency to gabble lines. It is more behove of an awkwardly performed school play than quality fringe theatre. It doesn’t help that the script has a soap opera clumsiness to it; inauthentic dialogue, embarrassing stereotypes, token European cast members, unrealistic plot devices (for example if Ruth’s family are as close and supportive as they are portrayed, how is it every one of them is completely oblivious to the domestic violence situation?)...

There are very obvious pacing problems throughout the piece too, the blame for which can be laid squarely at Rashidi-Zakuani’s door. The effect is unintentionally farcical. Many a guffaw could be heard from the audience at inappropriate moments. This is a crying shame because the play commendably attempts to tackle some heavy matters. There are rare moments of insight but ‘Family Secrets’ lacks the necessary components to address these issues with the skill and experience required. There is however, one thing to recommend this production and that’s Richard Mulenda’s beguiling acoustic soundtrack.

As with Tyler Perry’s theatrical endeavours and certain other TV, film and stage efforts flying the Christian banner, ‘Family Secrets’ underestimates the intelligence of its audience. At every opportunity the Gospel message is shoehorned into proceedings at the expense of credibility. It is possible for Christian writers to be true to and open about what they believe. It is also possible for all the essential elements to come together organically. It’s unfortunate that this doesn't happen nearly enough.

Creative Team:

Written by Silvano Griffith-Francis

Director - Serge Rashidi-Zakuani
Music - Richard Mulenda

Cast:

Ruth –Silvano Griffith-Francis

Adrian- Sheldon Nichols

Naomi- Raquel Larnyoh

Zach- Sanchez Brown

John/Jeff- Paul Blair

Shirley- Latoya Louis

Clive- Yazz Fetto

Peter/Carlos- Anyebe Godwin

Daniel- Ennis Langdon

Michelle- Sabrina-Marie Taylor

Marlon/Officer Hinds/Doctor- Uzoma Isichei

Officer Clarke/Care Line operator- Dorcas Olatunji

‘Family Secrets’ @the Lost Theatre until 20 November.

Playing the Harmony Game with Simon & Garfunkel

2011-11-16T05:19:00.000-08:00

Last week the BBC aired ‘The Harmony Game’; a documentary on the making of Simon & Garfunkel’s iconic ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, the last studio album the duo recorded. For both established fans of Paul Simon and those with an inchoate interest in his music, the programme provides fascinating insight into this era-defining record.

Paul Simon has a very special place in my heart. It is difficult for me to express my appreciation for his music-in particular his 60s-80s output-without sounding unintentionally trite. It’s not easy for me to define how listening to both his work with Garfunkel and his solo material affects me. Suffice to say that his music feels like coming home. Clichéd I know. I’m not even exactly sure what that means. I suppose it denotes an element of safety, recognition, the sensation of reconnecting with a part of myself of which I was previously unaware but is familiar still. To borrow an expression from a friend, Simon occupies a corner of my soul in the same way some of my other best loved artists-Stevie Wonder, Sade, Brazilian music and the Carpenters for example- each have their own nook.

Unlike Mr Wonder I didn’t grow up surrounded by S&G records. I discovered Simon’s work sometime in my early 20s. Of course I was au fait with his most celebrated songs and they’d always piqued my curiosity. However it was after watching a spoof interview reflecting on his reportedly turbulent relationship with Art Garfunkel that I finally decided to riffle through his back catalogue. I instantly came to regard him as one of the greatest 20^th century Anglophone songwriters; one of those rare individuals who, it would not be an exaggeration to say, has been touched by genius. Whilst so many are quick to extol the virtues of the (overrated) 'Fab Four', it's Paul's songwriting virtuosity that stands out from that era and beyond. From an enviably young age he has written with so much depth and empathy, at times way beyond his years. There’s a parochialism to much of his work that somehow manages to convey something universal. I don’t normally care for gushing, jingoistic sentiment in song but Simon’s appreciation for the land of his birth avoids mindless patriotism. He writes a lot about being a New Yorker, an American, what that means and how his own identity is wrapped up in the search for that definition. The Big Apple is the only part of the US I have any genuine interest in visiting thanks to Mr Simon. I want to walk the streets of the place that has inspired him so.

Yet he’s well known for drawing sonic inspiration from all over the world. He spent some of his youth living in the UK which influenced the folk direction he took in the early days of Simon & Garfunkel. His creative wanderlust has seen him visit Brazil, the Caribbean and South Africa.

So yep, I’m a Paul Simon fan. He’s not often in the public eye these days-as if he ever was-so this documentary was a treat. He and Art were interviewed separately each giving their unique perspective on the BOTW recording process. Paul’s speaking voice has retained its light, delicate but nonetheless masculine quality. The years have turned Art’s soft-spoken tenor into a gravelly baritone. The anorak in me did somersaults when Artie, as he is affectionately known, talked about constructing new melodies by taking liberties with the intervals between notes; exploring how far he could stray from the original tune whilst still working within the given chord structure.

Paul brought clarity to some of the myths that surround BOTW. No, the album's prevailing theme of loss and separation was not deliberate. In fact a number of the songs were written over a long period of time prior to recording. Yes, ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’ (one of the S&G songs dearest to my heart) is about Art going to Mexico to star in the film ‘Catch-22’. Yes, the ‘Tom’ of the song refers to Garfunkel’s alias from the days when the duo recorded as Tom & Jerry in their teens. Art himself refused to divulge details of their volatile but enduring friendship, much to the chagrin of some. True appreciators of the group’s music don’t need dirty linen to be aired to enjoy this expository in any case. For instance, it is fascinating to hear how the epic soundscapes of ‘Only Living Boy...’ and ‘The Boxer’ - in particular the rousing harmonies –were created; how cumbersome recording sessions were set up in chapels and echo chambers to capture the exquisitely haunting, expansive sound that characterises both songs.

‘The Boxer’ means a lot to me personally...

‘In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains ‘

This verse reminds me of my mother; her resilience, her indefatigable spirit and strength of heart in the face of so many obstacles life has thrown at her.

That’s the wonderful thing about timeless art. It can be both relevant on a personal and global scale. ‘The Harmony Game’ reflects on the social and political backdrop to BOTW, that of late 60s/early 70s America. Civil Rights, the Manson Family murders, the Vietnam War, the assassination of respected statesmen... When a documentary made at the time about the duo broached the subject of the impact of politics on Simon’s writing, it ruffled the feathers of the show’s sponsors. Paul admitted that they were both wide-eyed naive idealists back then. He assumed, coming from the liberal North-East of America that everyone espoused the same open-minded views as they. You can see how they were capable of such presumption. Old footage of the two betrays a callow bravado and self-importance befitting of their youth.

‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’s universally celebrated title-track of course is discussed in great detail. Although the documentary gave me a renewed appreciation of the song it is not one of my S&G favourites. It’s not even my favourite from the album. It is an amazing, transcendent song without a doubt. However perhaps because it has been played or covered so many times compared to most of Simon’s output, it has lost some of its sheen. It seems too obvious. It must be indicative of Paul’s singular gift that such a seminal song is arguably not even the best from his repertoire.

‘Bridge...’ would not have seen the light of day as a single if it wasn’t for the insistence of future Arista boss Clive Davis, then head of CBS records. He envisaged it has a hit whilst Simon & Garfunkel and their team merely saw it as a powerful album track. Well, we know the rest.

Album finale ‘Song for the Asking’ is described by Art as ‘an unappreciated gem’. I couldn’t agree more. It’s such a simple and earnest song. In the unassuming vocal (characteristic of Simon) and pretty chord changes lies the magic of his writing. The human condition is expressed with such profundity wrapped up in simplicity. It breaks my heart to listen to ‘...Asking’, in a good way. Like Mr Garfunkel I wonder why it is not covered more.

Towards the end of ‘The Harmony Game’ the duo explain how BOTW marked the beginning of the end. Having lived so long in each other's pockets Garfunkel longed for a little hiatus. They took different roads creatively too; Simon wanted to move away from the close-harmony Everly Brothers sound that had become S&G’s trademark. He was itching to be more political and Art wasn’t so keen. Paul points out how the vocals were less indivisible on ‘Bridge...’ Several songs feature one of them with hardly any accompaniment from the other.

The two weren’t to make another album. A few years later they recorded a stunning one-off duet ‘My Little Town’, featured on Paul’s solo effort ‘Still Crazy After All These Years’. The infamous Madison Garden gig in September 1981, which took place nearly two months after I was born (how I wish I could have been there) was the first of several live reunions over the years to come, but no more studio work.

Nearly 40 years after ‘Bridge...’ was recorded the Jonathan and David of music still speak fondly of each other. And an album now several decades old effortlessly stands as a master class in record-making. Like much of Simon’s work, there’s something painfully beautiful about ‘Bridge...’ Songs such as ‘So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright’, ‘The Boxer’ ‘...Living Boy’ and ‘...Asking’ tug away gently but persistently at the heart strings. Much like its predecessor ‘Bookends’ it takes a lot out of me emotionally. Maybe it’s the knowledge that it was to be the last studio album from the duo. Or maybe because it’s all so splendidly melancholy, as life can be; not devoid of hope yet reminding us that we’re constantly in transition.

Album Review: Brownswood Records' Bubblers Part Seven

2011-11-09T14:32:00.000-08:00

Gilles Peterson proves once again, as if he needed to, his panache for spotting blinding tunes with the classy seventh instalment of the Bubblers series from his label Brownswood Records. Bubblers 7, showcasing exclusives from underground talent across Europe and the US, is an archetypically eclectic affair; electronica, soul, house and experimental sounds of all descriptions sit very snugly together. It’s a testament to Peterson’s skills that such a diverse lot makes for a satisfying and cohesive listening experience.

The UK contingent represents in honourable fashion. Jon Phonics' Onra-esque 80s-sample led instrumental ‘The One’ makes for a firing album opener followed by former Elova vocalist Tania Auclair’s dystopian baby-maker ‘Thrum’. Acclaimed singer-songwriter Obenewa takes us through a spectrum of emotions; frustration, vulnerability, resilience on the engagingly raw ‘Make It Better’.

They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. If so many an artist on Bubblers 7 give their influences an enthusiastic nod. The lead vocalist on The Stepkids' gorgeous slice of psychedelic soul ‘La la’ appears to have listened to a lot of John Legend recently. KING’s splendidly wistful ‘Hey’ is reminiscent of Jill Scott in more fragile mode (indeed it is more appealing to a non-fan of Ms Scott than much of her output). Eric ‘Erro’ Roberson finds a musical progenitor in Jesse Boykins whose contribution to Bubblers 7 is the sophisticated old-meets-new school club banger ‘B4 the Night is Thru’. The UK’s folk-tinged all female act Stealing Sheep channel Bjork on the wonderfully dissonant ‘Shoot The Ducks To Win’. The deceptively simple, canon-structured, harmony soaked chorus alone will have you wanting to go back for seconds and thirds. Ntjam Rosie’s lush, heart-on-sleeve ‘In Need’ has more than a little Mama’s Gun era Erykah about it. The orchestral arrangement certainly has a Badu-ish ambition, staying the right side of opulent to enchanting effect.

Brownswood Bubblers Seven // Album Teaser by Brownswood

The obvious cross-references don’t stop Bubblers 7 from having its own stamp of individuality. Elsewhere off-mainstream favourite of soul fans Bilal steps a little outside of his comfort zone on Cubic Zirconia’s eerie house number ‘Night & Day’. Gospel track ‘Wind Blows’ by Ivy Chanel gets a vibrant Latin makeover. Yet another great instrumental, Tall Black Guy’s waltz-like ‘Water No Enemy’, has an appropriately reassuring in utero feel despite the slight urgency of the ¾ beat. Cleveland and Ahmed weave an attractively melancholy tale of heartbreak and rejection on ‘Sensitive’, with the same sort of uncluttered but expansive approach to its production as heard on ‘In Need’. Chris Turner’s falsetto competes good-naturedly with the jubilant horns on sexy mid-tempo funk jam ‘Liquid Love’. Rounding off with yet another solid instrumental (Ratcliffe’s post-industrial ‘Mindset’) there’s hardly a weak moment on Bubblers. Even the less than spectacular contributions by Sara McFarlane ('Waking Sleep') and The Park (the kooky ‘Belleville’) barely disrupt the steady flow of musical goodness.

'Bubblers 7' is out now on Brownswood Records

Theatre Review: The Swallowing Dark

2011-11-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

Wil Johnson (Canaan) & Allyson Ava-Brown (Martha) (c) Christian Smith

Polymath Lizzie Nunnery’s new play ‘The Swallowing Dark’ takes an unflinching look at that very human trait of reinventing the truth to suit one’s ends, using the officious and sometimes cynical asylum-seeking process in the UK as its vehicle.

Somewhere in Liverpool super-efficient yet sympathetic immigration caseworker Martha (Allyson Ava-Brown) is assigned to interview Zimbabwean refugee Canaan Muponda (Wil Johnson) and his son Nathan when they have to re-apply for asylum. Having made a life for himself in the UK, the application throws Canaan off balance. He’s already at his wits end trying to raise a sullen, unresponsive teenaged son. He’d rather not dredge up the past he’s worked hard to forget. But he has little choice if he wants to remain in the country. As Martha documents Canaan’s guilt-ridden, sententious and muddled account of his traumatic experience it becomes evident that the distinction between the oppressor and the oppressed is occasionally smudged.

Canaan is haunted by nightmares of his dead wife Nomsa (Ava-Brown), her slaughter being his main reason for fleeing Zimbabwe. Martha is also dealing with her own family-related demons, of which Muponda is only too aware. She’s not certain whether Canaan is a victim of a repressive regime or an expert manipulator attempting to escape the consequences of his questionable actions.

During its 90 minutes ‘The Swallowing Dark’ covers a lot of scope; bureaucracy, the West’s preoccupation with tragic news stories and relative indifference once they are no longer considered topical, cultural identity and the fluid interpretation of facts. Nunnery mercifully avoids weighing into heavily with her own views on the oft-discussed and frequently over-simplified political situation in Zimbabwe. The play is as much, if not more to do with the ability to tailor one’s personal history to suit the version of events that is most expedient. The individual’s culture and specific details are almost immaterial. What links these manipulations of truth is the desire to escape the harsh, relentless grip of reality.

Nunnery’s charged script (inspired by real-life refugee accounts) and Paul Robinson’s sound direction make good use of Alex Eales claustrophobic set, putting to effect pre-recorded footage, newsreels and animation. Ava-Brown and Johnson give emotive, wholly committed performances. The two of them have a vice-hold on the audience’s attention. Brown in particular, is a powerful presence whether in conversation or delivering one of several intensely emotional monologues.

‘The Swallowing Dark’ is compelling, evocative and skilfully executed.

Cast:

Canaan - Wil Johnson

Martha/Nomsa- Allyson Ava-Brown

Crew:

Written by Lizzie Nunnery

Director - Paul Robinson

Set Design - Alex Eales

Composition - Peter Coyte

Dialect Coach - Claudette Williams

Casting- Annie Rowe

'The Swallowing Dark' @ Theatre503, London until 26 November.

Film Review: We Need To Talk About Kevin

2011-10-31T10:48:00.000-07:00

I wrestled with the decision to see the film version of Lionel Shriver’s Orange Prize winning tome, ‘We Need To Talk About Kevin’. A veritable coup-de-maitre, I was blown away by Shriver’s 2005 novel about the highly fraught relationship between Eva Khatchadourian and her menace of a son Kevin (or KK), the pride and joy of her deluded husband Franklin. When KK is imprisoned for massacring several of his schoolmates, Eva sits down to reflect on their relationship and where it started to go wrong... and if it ever went right. Through cathartic letters to Franklin, from whom she is separated, we discover as much about Eva as we do about her nefarious son. For one thing, they are much more alike than she might care to admit. Kevin, being only too aware of this, turns pushing his mother’s buttons into a demonic craft.

‘We Need To Talk...’ is a thematic goldmine, exploring notions of maternal instinct, nature vs. nurture, societal responsibility, personal values, why mothers shoulder the blame for deviant children more than fathers and the true meaning of unconditional love, to name but a few. Having devoured the novel, I passed it on to my sister who became an even bigger fan of it than me. (I once even trekked inconveniently to the other side of London where Lionel was reading excerpts from the novel at a literary event, just to get her to sign my copy and add a little message for sis as well).

Lionel Shriver

With Shriver’s vivid style and rich characterisation, ‘...Kevin’ called out for a big screen adaptation. I just wasn’t sure if there could be a film made well enough to really do it justice. Besides, I’d been burnt recently by Hollywood’s cack-handed attempts to re-create best-sellers. ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’ and ‘The Secret Life of Bees’ were both huge disappointments compared to the source material. I felt sorry for the authors. As much as I admire Carey Mulligan and Andrew Garfield I avoided the movie version of a Kazuo Ishiguro favourite, ‘Never Let Me Go’ for fear of another let down, deterred by the idea of Keira Knightley as Ruth.

My interest was piqued by the trailers for director Lynne Ramsay’s interpretation of ‘...Kevin’ but I still had my doubts. The casting of Tilda Swinton seemed an odd choice. A Nordic-featured, ahem, quirky-looking strawberry blonde British actress, she wouldn’t have been at the top of my list to portray dark-haired, dark-eyed Armenian-American beauty Eva. Julianne Margulies, for instance, would have been better suited. Not only would she be closer to the novel’s descriptions of Eva physically, she also excels at playing women whose po-faced expression masks inner turmoil. Plus she’s actually American. John C. Reilly as Franklin was an even stranger choice. Kevin’s father is meant to be a broad-chested, athletic, attractive middle-aged man. Reilly hardly fits this image. I can’t think of him outside the context of Adam Sandler films.

Despite the nigh-universal acclaim Ramsay’s adaptation had attracted, I’d all but decided to give it a miss. Then I read a glowing review from none other than Lionel herself...

...‘Stunning...a brilliant adaptation of my novel’ beam the posters on the underground. It couldn’t come more highly recommended than that, I reckoned. Ms Shriver was so relieved that Ramsay hadn’t sullied the reputation of her book, particularly for those yet to read it, that she couldn’t gush over the film enough.

Well I had to see it now. And so last Saturday afternoon, my mother (who is not familiar with the novel) and I attended a matinee showing of the much-talked about ‘...Kevin’. As I write I am still not quite certain what to make of it but I’ll give it a go.

Ramsay opts for a fragmentary narrative; present-day Eva picking up the pieces of her life after Kevin is locked away, interspersed with flashbacks of life prior to the massacre. Easy enough for those of us who have read the novel to join the dots, perhaps a little confusing for the uninitiated. I suppose it’s a way of getting them to (pay to) watch it more than once.

The film opens with a jubilant Eva (Swinton) writhing around with some other revellers in what looks like bright red Gazpacho. Then cut to Eva’s post-tragedy abode; a dump compared to the palatial home she occupied before selling her multi-million dollar travel guide empire after having been sued for compensation by the families of Kevin’s victims (not adequately explained in the film). Her house and car have been doused in red paint by an unknown culprit. She’s attacked by strangers in the street. Her colleagues at work eye her suspiciously. This mother is paying for the sins of her child. When Eva was pregnant with Kevin, as an act of feminist defiance, she and Franklin decided he would take his mother’s maiden name (again, not explained). Now Eva is burdened with ignominy thanks to this accursed moniker. Slowly we discover exactly how her life became a living nightmare.

‘...Kevin’ is very atmospheric, a little too self-consciously so. Swinton’s Eva walks around in a perpetual daze wearing her suffering more visibly than her literary equivalent, who keeps up a resilient facade for the public. Behind closed doors she finds an outlet for her grief, in writing to Franklin.

Tilda Swinton (Eva) + John C Reilly (Franklin)

Ramsay is heavy on the symbolism. Kevin peels and eats a lychee as the family discusses his little sister Celia’s mysterious accident whilst supposedly under his supervision, in which she lost an eye. And I didn’t bother trying to count the numerous blood-red images that flashed across the screen during the course of the film. However, once you get accustomed to the director’s figurative style it is a visually sumptuous experience. Besides, a little grandiosity is expected with a story this epic.

The actors that play Kevin at different stages are all suitably malevolent, culminating in the inspired casting of newcomer Ezra Miller. I couldn’t have hoped for a more fitting KK if I auditioned him myself. Miller is Kevin; from his dark, brooding chiselled features and ever-present smirk to his calculating, I-don’t-give-an-expletive-about-anyone-or-anything demeanour. He’s passive aggression personified, malice with a pulse (if he had a heart); deliciously deviant. Ezra is a special find indeed.

Miller is so compelling that Swinton and Reilly just about get a look-in. The Franklin of Ramsay’s imagination is even more docile than his literary counterpart. He’s also a lot warmer towards Celia, who in the novel is superfluous to his Kevin-oriented needs. Reilly does a decent job as the over-indulgent paternal figure hovering in the background; unwilling to heed his wife’s warnings, unwilling to discipline Kevin and thus unwittingly complicit in his son’s heinous acts. Swinton gives an appropriately intense and distraught performance as Eva. But all eyes are drawn inexorably towards Miller’s Kevin.

As faithful an adaptation of the novel that the film tries to be, the limitations of the medium are also evident. Much of the nuance and complexity of Eva and older Kevin’s relationship, the painstaking journey from mutual resentment to uneasy affection, is lost. Scenes of their interactions during Eva’s prison visits are few and far between. This is a shame because they are a significant aspect of the book. Several of the themes are insufficiently explored. Stand out moments from the novel, not pivotal but fascinating nonetheless, are overlooked; key characters and plot developments have been omitted altogether. It wouldn’t have hurt if an extra 20 minutes were added to flesh out certain details. There could have even been narration. Since the book is in epistolary form, certain excerpts could have been used for this purpose. Allusions are made to strategic titbits of information but without a clear context, they might leave those unfamiliar with the novel slightly baffled. It’s not meant to be abstract. Ramsay sometimes focuses too much on atmosphere at the expense of a coherent story.

This is the problem with being a fan of a book that is adapted for the big-screen. Knowledge of the source material can both enhance and impede one’s enjoyment. I don’t feel betrayed by Ramsay’s interpretation but I am just a bit underwhelmed.

That said, although I wouldn't be as generous with praise as Shriver, it is probably as good a cinematic adaptation of ‘...Kevin’ as could be expected. Ezra Miller’s superb performance alone should be enough to secure future classic status.

Theatre Review: Speechless @ the Arcola Theatre, London

2011-10-29T18:36:00.000-07:00

L-R: Natasha Gordon (Jennifer), Anita Reynolds (Mrs Gibbons) and Demi Oyediran (June)

Polly Teale, co-writer and director of ‘Speechless’, now playing at the Arcola theatre, recalls watching a documentary nearly 20 years ago about the play’s central characters, twins June and Jennifer Gibbons. We must have seen the same programme. I remember staying up late one school night in my early teens, listening intently to surviving twin June’s account of the bizarre bond she shared with her sister. She had a pronounced speech impediment, having spent most of her life only communicating with Jennifer in a special language that they had formulated, to the exclusion of everyone including their parents and three other siblings. June told her story through gritted teeth, as if her jaw had been wired shut. I recall the documentary ended with Elton John’s ‘Sacrifice’ playing in the background and I thought it very apt. After serving an 11 year sentence in Broadmoor for arson, during which time Jennifer died suddenly from heart failure on the cusp of their release, June faced life alone having spent so long inseparable from her sister to an unhealthy degree. I was both disturbed and fascinated by the Gibbons’ tale. It must had a similar impact on Ms Teale.

‘Speechless’ is a stage adaptation of Marjorie Wallace’s biography of June and Jennifer ‘The Silent Twins’, which in turn derives much of its content from what is revealed in the sisters’ astonishingly mature not to mention poetic diary entries. Teale and co-writer Linda Brogan believe that much of the twins’ unorthodox behaviour was a consequence of the prejudice they encountered as second generation Afro-Caribbean immigrants in 1970s and '80s Britain.

From a very young age Jennifer and June (played by Natasha Gordon and Demi Oyediran) disappear into their own mysterious world, away from the racist taunts of their classmates at their virtually all white school. They play together, mirror each other’s movements, fight viciously only to later reconcile. At age 14, after an especially harsh incident in which the girls are bullied and beaten viciously, their unsympathetic secondary school decides to have them transferred to a special needs facility. At the new, more open-minded institution, well-meaning teacher Cathy (Katie Lightfoot) tries to prise the girls out of their impenetrable shell, with little success. Meanwhile in the haven of their shared bedroom we become privy to their innermost thoughts. Through their secretive interactions we glean the fraught relationship between their parents, exacerbated by the twins’ refusal to engage; their father’s emotional unavailability (characterised by the fact he remains forever off-stage); the frustration felt by their longsuffering mother Gloria (Anita Reynolds) and the rejection the whole family experience living on the thoroughbred RAF base where Mr Gibbons works. The family are never made to feel welcome by their English neighbours despite Gloria’s best efforts. We also learn that Jennifer is the more domineering of the two, refusing to heed her sister’s implorations to let the outside world in just a little bit. The girls decision to eventually open up finds expression in their perilous attraction to fellow damaged soul, Kennedy (Alex Robertson) a foul-mouthed, racially insensitive American expat at their school. Before long they are on a self-destructive path that leads to Broadmoor.

All photos: Robert Day

‘Speechless’ is demanding; physically for the actors to perform and emotionally for the audience to watch. Yet in spite of the harrowing nature of the twins’ story, the piece is multi-dimensional enough to show the girls at play as well as in distress. There’s a place for humour in this grim tale and Teale and Brogan make the most of it. ‘Speechless’ also deftly incorporates the cultural and political landmarks of the girls’ formative years; from the Queen’s Jubilee to the Brixton Riots, from obsession with ‘Dallas’ storylines and Top of the Pops to the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer.

The play is thankfully less heavy-handed in addressing the Gibbons' cultural exclusion than one might expect. Although the xenophobia the family experienced alongside other Windrush émigrés might have been a contributing factor to the twins’ peculiar conduct, it does not necessarily have as much to do with it as suggested. It’s far too simple an explanation, the kind proffered by well-intentioned but inadvertently patronising suburban liberals. The rest of the Gibbons family, after all, didn’t react in such extreme ways.

‘Speechless’ wants us to empathise with Jennifer and June but it does not ignore the devastating effect their selfish behaviour has on their loved ones. Oyediran and Gordon don’t just look similar; they also share a twisted, electrifying chemistry on stage. They totally embody the torment that the roles entail. Hats off too to Anita Reynolds as the beleaguered Mrs Gibbons, towards whom perhaps our sympathies gravitate the most.

Both cast and crew have created something as riveting as it is unnerving. ‘Speechless’ is theatre at its most challenging. The singular, intriguing tale of Jennifer and June Gibbons demands nothing less.

Cast:
Natasha Gordon - Jennifer
Demi Oyediran - June
Katie Lightfoot- Cathy/Headmistress
Anita Reynolds - Gloria Gibbons
Alex Robertson - Kennedy

Crew:
Written by Linda Brogan & Polly Teale
Director: Polly Teale
Designer: Naomi Dawson
Composer: Peter Salem
Movement Director: Liz Ranken

'Speechless' @the Arcola Theatre until 12 November.

Album Review: ‘Deep Impressions’ by Katalyst

2011-10-28T06:04:00.000-07:00

Fresh from his collaboration with Steve Spacek on the Space Invadas' 'Soul:Fi' project earlier this year, Ashley ‘Katalyst’ Anderson releases his third solo album ‘Deep Impressions’.

‘Solo’ in the loosest sense of the word; this is very much a collaborative effort as well. Fusing electronica, funk, hip-hop, soul and pop ‘ Deep Impressions’ suffers from a similar lack of consistency as Cit’s ‘Imagination’, whilst somehow being an altogether more cohesive work. When it’s good it’s good, whilst the rest could quite readily be forgotten.

The old school rocksteady charm of album opener ‘Day Into Night’ featuring Stephanie McKay is not a bad start. Spacek lends his trademark falsetto again to the very New Romantic-esque ‘The Popcorns’ alongside rapper Bootie Brown of the Pharcyde fame. Speaking of the Pharcyde, standout track ‘Ready to Drop’ featuring Kweeng uses the same Beastie Boys sample as Bootie and co’s Dilla produced mid-90’s anthem ‘Drop’. By far the best of the rap contributions to ‘Deep Impressions’, ‘Ready...’ has a wonderful exuberance, expressed in the eerie organ synths, acrobatic drum rolls and tumbling bassline. It’s a shame it all seems to end so quickly.

Some of the other Hip-Hop numbers, although of the same brevity, feel a lot longer...and not in a good way. On tracks such as ‘Black Dragon’ (with Mr Clean) and ‘Time Ticks On’ (featuring Hau) Katalyst’s energetic instrumentals aren’t so much to blame as what’s being done over them. Buff-1’s verses don’t convince on ‘U Can’t Save Me’ and Stephanie McKay’s vocals, whilst appropriately sweet on ‘Day Into Night’ feel like overkill here. The album’s most commercial offering ‘Clapping Song’s illusion of the cheerful is swiftly shattered by the school-of-hard-knocks hook and middle-eight. The vocalist sings about exchanging her bleak life for the forever happy existence apparently depicted on TV. ‘Clapping...’ might have mainstream appeal but it’s not necessarily representative of the record as a whole. Between rapper Coin Locker Kid’s faux-laidback delivery and the whiny-sounding chorus, it manages to slightly irritate. To be taken in small doses, only.

Some of ‘Deep Impressions’ most interesting moments are when Anderson marries his carefully-crafted instrumentals with samples from films, documentaries and rare soul gems. The peculiar ‘Pot or Pills’, on which a vacuous-sounding young woman talks casually about experimenting with drugs, is an obvious example. Others include ‘Beware’, the electrofunk-tastic ‘Who’s Doing It?’ and gorgeous album-closer ‘Dreaming of You’ which in particular showcases Katalyst at his Dilla-be best.

‘Deep Impressions’ is out now on BBE Records.

Theatre Review: Shalom, Baby

2011-10-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

A family affair: L-R Mandy Fenton (Frau Weissmann), Kyle Treslove (Ion, seated), Richard Simons (Herschel), Toby Wharton (Aimon), Tom Ross-Williams (Morris) & Nathan Clough (Ike).

Playwright/Director Rikki Beadle-Blair’s latest piece ‘Shalom, Baby’ explores one of the most recent chapters of the complicated and sometimes overlapping histories of the Jewish people and those of African descent. Research for the play took Blair to the US and Berlin to flesh out the seemingly scant information on African survivors of the Holocaust.‘Shalom, Baby’ is split between two eras; 1930’s pre-war Germany and 21^st century New York City.

In Brooklyn 2011 Ryan ‘Rhyme’ Watson (Toby Wharton), self-hating Caucasian rapper and self-professed ‘igga’ (he prefers to miss out the ‘w’) harbours dreams of Hip-Hop glory. After overhearing one of his poetic rants, African-American studio proprietor and manager Avery ‘Slice’ Price (Nathan Clough) decides to take Watson under his wing. Slice is engaged to young Jewess, Ruthie Vandermolen (Katie Borland). Her mother, the effervescent, sharp tongued but soft-hearted Abi (Mandy Fenton) bankrolls Avery’s projects. Ruthie’s crack fiend older brother Harry (Richard Simons) is a good friend of Slice’s and erstwhile customer. Striking, starry-eyed youngest child of the Vandermolen brood, Noah (Tom Ross-Williams) finds himself quite taken by Rhyme but the feelings aren’t so easily reciprocated.

Back in the 1930s, son of South African immigrants Ike Essien (Clough again), becomes the Sabbath help-or Shabbos Goy- for a lower middle-class Jewish family at the helm of which is generous to a fault matriarch, Hanna Weismann (Fenton). Frau Weismann is trying to keep anxiety at bay despite the menace of an ever-increasing Nazi influence on her beloved Germany. Her almost-stepson, gentile Aimon (Wharton), hopes that his father will make an honest woman of her and smuggle them all out of Germany before things completely deteriorate. Meanwhile older son Hersh (Simons) seethes with resentment at what he perceives as Jewish passivity towards discriminatory Nazi policies. Yet his own prejudices come screaming to the fore when his mother adopts Romany runaway Ion (Kyle Treslove) and his sister Natalie (Borland) falls in love with Ike. Baby of the family Morris (Ross-Williams) struggles with the grim reality of his country’s political situation and his inchoate attraction to Aimon.

Blending spoken word, rap and good old prose, ‘Shalom, Baby’ is at times a delicious serving of family dysfunction, post-post modern social commentary, and racial and cultural (mis)perceptions. Beadle-Blair’s script is explosive, insightful and very funny (a good example of which is the extremely politically incorrect pre-interval announcement).

Vanilla Slice: Wharton as 'igga' rapper Rhyme & Clough as his manager, Slice. All Pictures by Robert Day.

The cast deserve full marks for their abundant energy, often having to make rapid wardrobe changes mid-scene as the play oscillates between two distinct periods. Fenton thoroughly captivates as the formidable matriarch in both eras whilst other cast members 1930s incarnations are more convincing (Clough as Essien and Borland as Natalie). Simons also shows off his great acting range, alternating seamlessly between enraged, ready-for-action Hersh and idle, self-involved smart-alec Harry. The reticence and lack of self-assurance in Noah/Morris, is captured well by Ross-Williams’ nuanced performance.

‘Shalom Baby’ is let down however by its Hollywood cliché approach to the romantic subplots, of which a few are surplus to requirements. The second act doesn’t dazzle as much as the first maybe because of an overload of star-crossed lover storylines. There’s not enough groundwork put into Natalie and Ike’s romance for the audience to feel properly invested in their relationship. If Blair is relying on the interracial angle alone then it’s simply not enough. There are times their declarations of love are more cloying than soul-stirring. Ruthie and Slice’s tumultuous affair is more believable but as is the problem with the liaison between Noah and Rhyme, a multitude of sins are implausibly covered by some trite romantic gesture.

Indeed the plays final scene suffers from an over-eagerness to resolve everything too neatly, when reality tends to be a lot messier. Perhaps Beadle-Blair wanted more levity for the Vandermolens to offset the abject misery that awaits the Weissmanns, Ion and Ike. Oh yes Ike, he of the West African surname but South African origin. This is either an oversight because of inadequate research or a result of the lazy all-Africans-are-the-same attitude that the play otherwise appears to criticise.

The piece could also do with a few more female characters. Would the mixed-race relationship aspect of the story be any less potent, for instance, if it was an African Shabbos girl who fell in love with one of the Weissmann sons? Or couldn't one of the Vandermolen boys have fallen head over heels for a young African-American entrepreneuse also nicknamed Slice? Avery is potentially a unisex name after all. It would have made for a refreshing change. African/Caribbean females dating cross-culturally aren't always as well-represented as their male counterparts on stage or on screen it seems.

Still, at its best, ‘Shalom, Baby’ is a chaotic celebration of the power of familial loyalty and human resilience.

'Shalom, Baby': 20 October - 19 November 2011 @ The Theatre Royal Stratford, London.

Theatre Review: Highlights from the Casa Festival 2011 @ the Oval House Theatre

2011-10-24T14:24:00.000-07:00

A Galinha Decolgada (The Headless Chicken)

Since 2007, the Oval House’s ‘Casa’ festival annually celebrates theatre from South and Central America. All plays are performed in Spanish and Portuguese with English surtitles. Co-ordinated by multi-lingual artistic director Daniel Goldman, 2011's Casa, which finished on 23 October, has possibly been the festival’s most exciting run yet.

From Brazil the Teatro em Tramite presents ‘A Galinha Decolgada’ (The Headless Chicken) - a theatrical interpretation of a short story by morbid Uruguayan writer Horacio Quiroga. The marital bliss of ill-fated young couple, Mattino and Berta Mazzini-Ferraz (real-life husband and wife André Francisco and Gláucia Grigolo) comes to an abrupt end when their first son is blighted in infancy with a mysterious condition that causes arrested mental development. His three younger brothers suffer the same fate. The strain of looking after four children with special needs causes the couple to turn on themselves, blaming each other’s genetics. A glimmer of hope comes in the form of a perfectly healthy fifth child, a baby girl, whom the Mazzini-Ferraz’ lavish with love. Their four boys look on, apparently oblivious whilst jealousy simmers dangerously beneath their blank expressions.

‘A Galinha...’ is a bizarre take on a highly sensitive issue. Director Jefferson Bittencourt has the cast exaggerating their movements to a grotesque degree. Francisco and Grigolo’s faces are covered in sinister-looking make-up. Four almost featureless cloth dolls take the place of the sons. Yet the effect of these startling theatrical devices is not bathetic. The sheer anguish and frustration of the couple’s situation is potently conveyed. In its own unobtrusive way the play raises questions about the nature of unconditional parental love. The measured script, bolstered by mime, is loaded with unspoken emotion. It is sometimes done a disservice by the cumbersome way the Portuguese is translated into English, particularly the narration. Bittencourt wished to stay as true to the antiquated language in which Quiroga would have written during the 19^th century. Nonetheless a more flexible approach would have served the translation of ‘A Galinha...’ better. Whilst it is very ornate and poetic, sometimes the essence of it is lost.

In addition, the insinuation that those of limited mental capacity are somehow bestial is quite disturbing and as dated as Quiroga's story itself. The unfortunate lads are constantly referred to as ‘idiots’. Maybe this refusal to bow to political correctness is meant to reflect the daring nature of the project alongside the peculiar, affecting visuals and haunting original soundtrack.

‘A Galinha Decolgada’ is fringe theatre at its most idiosyncratic. With powerful performances by Grigolo and Francisco, it’s not a play you will quickly forget.

Gustavo Ott's 'Passport' with Luis Domingo González

Venezuelan theatre company Teatro San Martino de Caracas’ contribution to Casa is Gustavo Ott’s frequently adapted ‘Passport’. When a lone traveller gets on the wrong train and ends up in an unknown destination, with no knowledge of the language, misunderstandings abound and farce ensues. However farce quickly spirals into tragedy when the traveller is detained, stripped naked and mistreated by two trigger happy soldiers. One of them has tricked him into handing over his passport. The other, unaware of his comrade’s deception, believes the traveller is refusing to procure it when asked.

San Martino is an avant-garde collective. They are known to rotate roles amongst actors in order to offset boredom and complacency, even occasionally changing the gender of protagonists. No two performances are the same. Where ‘A Galinha...’ is economical with its script, ‘Passport’ has a surfeit of words; the surtitles struggle to keep up. (During the very interesting post-show discussion the ebullient and highly eloquent Ott confessed that San Martino actors have a tendency to improvise during performances, hence why the surtitles went awry). The results are cryptic, even by the standards of someone who usually enjoys a hearty helping of subtext. There is so much talking at cross purposes in ‘Passport’ that without a strong proficiency in Spanish it is exhausting to follow, making the piece seem somewhat longer than its mere 60 minutes. Thank goodness then for David Villegas’ performance. His endearing portrayal of the bewildered and ultimately vulnerable traveller transcends linguistic barriers, lingering long after the applause.

A Galinha Decolgada:

Director: Jefferson Bittencourt

Cast:

André Francisco

Gláucia Grigolo

Loren Fischer

Samantha Cohen

Adapted by: Jefferson Bittencourt & Gláucia Grigolo

Passport:

Writer: Gustavo Ott

Director: Luis Domingo Gonzalez

Cast:

Verónica Arellano

David Villegas

Luis Domingo Gonzalez

www.casafestival.org.uk
www.ovalhouse.com

Album Review: Cit- ‘Imagination’

2011-10-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

I know I am meant to be impressed by records such as Cit’s ‘Imagination’. A bright, young ‘experimental’ Hip-Hop producer probably inspired by Pete Rock and/or J Dilla and/or Flying Lotus and/or Nujabes, with perhaps a little penchant of his own (this time a heavy emphasis on drums) puts out their wares and we are all supposed to ‘wow’ on cue. The problem is, although many of these efforts are not bad they’re not particularly interesting either. Don’t get me wrong; not everyone is born to be a pioneer. I don’t begrudge that. However, if you can’t break new ground, at least cover the old territory in a way that holds the attention.

It took several uneventful listens for me to get something out of ‘Imagination’. A number of the tracks, for all their good artistic intentions, just test the nerves (the irritating bounciness and dull as ditch water vocals on ‘Did You Hear Something?’, the tiresome aggression of ‘Spaced Out’, the earnest but uninspired ‘Higher’ and ‘Thinkin’-which would otherwise be fine as a 60 second skit). Yet there are others that genuinely have something going for them. Both ‘Nothing Can Stop Me Now’ and ‘Destroy’ have rascally, infectious rhythms with ‘If You Just Make Love to Me’ and its cheeky lyrics following suite...

‘I’ll buy you a watch and chain if you just make love to me...’

Come again? I couldn’t decide whether to love or hate it.

The title track and ‘Dreamz’ share the same serene, otherworldly soundscape and provide the album’s most sophisticated moments. Cit’s love affair with percussion perhaps reaches its pinnacle on dark horse ‘Up Rock’. Still, I’m not quite certain if these highlights are enough to ensure the record completely delivers on its title.

‘Imagination’ is available from 14 November 2011 on BBE Records.

Film Review: Midnight In Paris

2011-10-21T04:12:00.000-07:00

Successful yet unassuming screenwriter Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) embarks on what is supposed to be a romantic trip to Paris with his fiancée- spoilt, pretty little rich girl Inez (Rachel McAdams). Not far behind are her elitist parents, John and Helen (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy). Gil is making a foray into literature and hopes the Parisian charm will get his creative juices flowing for the novel he can’t quite finish. He’s suffering from a crisis of confidence and finds no solace in his unsupportive, hyper-critical fiancée or her family. What's more, Inez and Helen aren’t impressed by Gil’s coup-de-coeur plans to relocate to the French capital. Frustrated by his current situation, Pender longs for a more inspiring time, the roaring ‘20s, when his literary and cultural heroes roamed the Parisian streets to a vibrant jazz soundtrack. One evening, whilst seeking temporary refuge from Inez’ nagging and the pretentious waffle of her new pal, the self-important Paul (Michael Sheen), Gil wanders aimlessly around the city only to be whisked away at midnight by a group of mysterious strangers on a time-travelling escapade to his favourite era. There he encounters his idols F.Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway as well as Pablo Picasso, TS Eliot, Josephine Baker, Cole Porter, Salvador Dali...

Pender is perfectly at home with the early 20^th century western intelligentsia, getting literary advice from the likes of Hemingway and Gertrude Stein (an ever-engaging Kathy Bates). When he stumbles across Picasso’s muse and on-off lover, the beautiful Adriana (Marion Cotillard), he starts to seriously reconsider his relationship with Inez and the direction his life is taking as a whole.

From the little exposure I have had to recent Woody Allen films-namely this and ‘Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona’- a few prevailing themes stand out. A male protagonist infatuated with several women (indulgence on Allen’s part methinks), Americans becoming enamoured with celebrated European cities and dissatisfaction with the present. ‘Midnight’s’... insights into the lure of nostalgia resonate strongly; the folly of overly romanticising the past at the expense of the here and now, no matter how unexciting it might seem. Allen’s latest offering doesn’t have the madcap energy of ‘Vicky, Cristina...’ but that’s not a criticism. It has its own subtle, wistful charm; you’re not quite sure where it’ll all end up. The film of course captures Paris at its most beguiling provoking, somewhat ironically, nostalgia for past visits. The acting is on fine form too. McAdams shows yet another side of her versatility; Brit Tom Hiddleston’s brief screen time as Fitzgerald nevertheless leaves an impression; Corey Stoll is eerily intense as Hemingway and Carla Bruni’s cameo as a museum guide isn’t half bad. Wilson himself is a pleasant surprise. True, his abilities aren’t stretched too much but it is still a mature, understated performance-not two adjectives I’d have hitherto associated with Wilson.

Nonetheless one or two things rankle. Inez is not written with enough complexity. Good looks aside, she appears to have no redeeming qualities that would make an easy-going intellectual such as Gil fall for her in the first place. And whilst I wouldn’t usually question his credentials, Michael Sheen’s dubious American accent sits uncomfortably on the ears (unlike Hiddleston, who I assumed was a yank until doing a little bit of research).

Yet much like the city to which it pays homage, ‘Midnight in Paris’ is enchanting enough to make one easily overlook any flaws.

Film review: Sket

2011-10-14T15:55:00.000-07:00

The Good, The Bad & The Beautiful: L-R Emma Hartley-Miller (Danielle), Aimee Kelly (Kayla), Lily Loveless (Hannah), Adelayo Adedayo (Kerry) and Varada Sethu (Kiran)

I’ll readily admit to harbouring the odd, non-kinky misandrous fantasy of beating up a man, especially when I am on the receiving end of unwanted attention. Although not a fan of the TV show ‘Heroes’, I did get a kick out of the character Nikki using her supernatural strength to throw (usually male) villains across the room. It is a brutal confession and not one I can nor should wholeheartedly justify except that it would be good if once in a while we ladies could level the physical strength playing field, for self-preservation if nothing else. No more having to be twice as circumspect as men coming home after dark or in unfamiliar surroundings.

Writer and director Nirpal Bhogal’s new film ‘Sket’ plays with this idea of avenging Amazons, switching the setting from ancient Greece to a rough East London estate. It’s billed as a ‘controversial’ proto-feminist flick for the smart phone generation. Even its name is an act of defiance; the word ‘sket’, usually a pejorative term for a young woman of supposedly easy virtue, is turned on its head.

A vigilante girl gang (who all happen to look like off-duty models) led by the no-nonsense Danielle (soap-opera veteran Emma Hartley-Miller) come to the rescue of new-to-London, 16-year-old Novocastrian cutie Kayla (Aimee Kelly) when she’s harassed by some scoundrels on the bus. Intrigued by the group’s fearlessness, the young Geordie is eager to join them. However the girls aren’t looking for new recruits and Kayla is met with much resistance. When her older sister and sole guardian is savagely attacked by drug king-pin Trey (Ashley Walters) whilst trying to intervene in an altercation with his girlfriend and metaphorical punching bag Shaks (Rhian Steele), Kayla calls on her newly acquainted anti-heroines to help her get revenge. As Trey and his goons close in, looking to silence her for good before she has a chance to get her own back, time is running out. Can Kayla convince a reluctant Danielle and co to join her quest for rough justice or will she have to go it alone?

Bhogal tactically side-steps potentially reinforcing racial stereotypes by ensuring his cast, in particular the gang, are of diverse ethnicity. Nevertheless it is difficult to make a film such as ‘Sket’ without resorting to certain tropes or turning the sprawling urban landscape and its inhabitants into caricatures. The screenplay, with its zealous use of current London slang and more mockney accents than you could shake a stick at is, unsurprisingly, riddled with clichés. One too many predictable and overly-convenient plot devices are dusted down for use. There is not much in the way of insight into the characters and their motivations either. The few attempts to get under their skin lack subtlety, overstating the obvious in a way that a more mature script might have avoided. And as much as I, a straight woman, can happily appreciate the beauty of other females, I couldn’t help wondering if having such a telegenic kick-a*se cast (one of whom, incidentally, was a 2010 Miss England semi-finalist) is a cynical ploy to get more male punters to patronise the film. The obligatory pseudo-lesbian interactions between Kayla and Danielle don’t do much to allay my suspicions.

Rhian Steele as Shaks

It is perversely satisfying to watch formerly victimised young women turn the tables on their male violators, refusing to wait around for Prince Charming to come and do it for them. I just don’t know how realistic it is that there wouldn’t be a heavier reprisal for these girls. ‘Sket’ isn’t completely devoid of a sense of consequence and the violence is never trivialised. However it is a bit baffling how often the gang’s victims accept their punishment literally lying down. Bhogal’s intentions to take a closer, contemporary look at gender perception, female empowerment and the gang as a surrogate family are admirable but there’s something a bit too lightweight and pop culture about the film. Try as it might, it only manages to scratch the surface.

Yet for all its flaws (not least an ending that feels not so much ambiguous as half-finished) ‘Sket’ is very watchable. One eye-catching scene follows another thanks to Bhogal’s canny use of colour in the midst of the grit and grime, not to mention his ghetto-glamorous cast. And despite the varied quality of the acting, there are some creditable performances from Walters (who, to be frank is not exactly stepping out of his comfort zone), Hartley-Miller as Danielle and most notably Steele, as Shaks, who does a lot with the limited material she is given.

‘Sket’ is unlikely to revolutionise the British film industry as we know it but it’s a sufficiently entertaining way to spend an hour and a half.

‘Sket’: in cinemas across the UK from 28 October.

Theatre Review: A View from the Bridge@the Broadway Theatre, London.

2011-10-11T15:38:00.000-07:00

This autumn Arthur Miller’s domestic epic ‘A View from the Bridge’ comes to South-East London’s Broadway theatre.

The life of hard-working, straight-talking Brooklyn longshoreman Eddie Carbone (Will Harrison Wallace) revolves around his work on the docks, his devoted wife Bea (Lowri Lewis) and beloved 17-year-old niece Catherine (Amy Brangwyn). Eddie hopes that Katie will escape the hardship of their poor neighbourhood by training to be a secretary. Seeing her as the daughter he never had, Eddie is unnerved by the male attention she is starting to receive. He becomes even more concerned when Bea’s impoverished Sicilian cousins Marco (Edward Franson) and Rodolpho (Danny Mahoney) come to stay with them, after sneaking into the US with the intention of working and saving enough money to get their families off the breadline. It’s not long before Catherine and Rodolpho become sweethearts. Their incipient romance unearths a can of worms as Eddie struggles with his confused feelings for his niece as well as the effect all this is having on his marriage and the relationships around him. Consumed by obsessive jealousy and paranoia, he’ll do absolutely anything to hold onto Katie...even if costs him everything. All the while lawyer and family friend Mr Alfieri (Keith Parry) looks on from a safe but uneasy distance; able to foresee impending doom but powerless to stop it.

Director Cameron Jack approaches ‘A View...’with all the reverence it deserves, save for how the fight scenes are choreographed which are high-energy but lack a certain credibility.

Billy Joel lookalike Harrison-Wallace’s inspired turn as the tragic hero really gets to the core of his complicated humanity. Jack’s Eddie is especially querulous. Even the lighter moments of ‘A View...’ are infused with his irritability. Nevertheless the genius of Miller’s play is that no matter how low Eddie sinks, he never completely loses our compassion.

Wallace is supported well by his on-stage wife, Lewis, and in particular Brangwyn as his niece. Her laudable portrayal of Katie is just the right side of ingenuous; sweet but not cloying. The complexity of her relationship with her uncle is handled with great sensitivity. Mahoney’s Rodolpho is camp, giggly and at times comically OTT; perfect fodder for Carbone’s wild aspersions about his sexuality. Parry (Mr Alfieri)’s narration captivates although it’s hard not to be distracted by his wandering accent, which oscillates between high-end estuarial and downtown New York with the occasional Italian inflection.

The Broadway’s powerful adaptation of this Miller classic proves once more just how layered and ever-pertinent it is.

'A View from the Bridge' continues @the Broadway Theatre, Catford until 30th October.

Single Review: ‘No One Will Love You (Like I Do)' by Sweet, Sweet Lies

2011-10-05T12:16:00.000-07:00

Tongue-in-cheek meets irresistibly poignant on ‘No One Will Love You (Like I Do)’ by surprisingly dapper new folk band Sweet, Sweet Lies. You can imagine this Brighton-based sextet singing lines such as...‘Every day that passes I get ugly and different; you’d never love me if you weren’t so persistent...’ and ‘...They won’t remember lifting you to put you in a cab when you’re too drunk to walk’ completely po-faced whilst winking furiously inside. ‘No one will...’ is a touching, beautifully honest ode to a post-infatuation romance; when the butterflies have given way to warts-and-all devotion. The vocals of lead singer and Joel McHale's doppelganger, Dominic Von Trapps (no, really I’m serious) call to mind earnest 80’s/90s pop-rockers Del Amitri as well as satirical underground folkster Elliott Mason. Lush, heart-tugging female BGVs sprinkled over the sparse string-led arrangement and moments of genuine profundity keep things on the right side of sincere. ‘No-one will love you...’ is fuzzy, warm and comforting in a strangely practical way, like ear-muffs.

‘No One Will Love You (Like I Do)’ is released 31 October 2011 on Something Nothing Records

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Album Review: ‘The Real Sound of Chicago & Beyond’ compiled by Mr Peabody Records

2011-09-30T12:47:00.000-07:00

Vinyl junkies, Mike Cole and Mark Grusane aka Mr Peabody Records, present a brand new double CD compilation of rare disco ‘The Real Sound of Chicago & Beyond’. Capitalising on the windy city’s reputation for spawning musical pioneers Messrs Cole and Grusane wanted this collection to shine a spotlight on those musicians and singers who never quite got the mainstream recognition they feel they deserved.

It’s hard to disagree with this assertion on hearing some of the cuts. The wonderfully lyrical bassline on album opener ‘I Want To Marry You’ should surely have caught more attention than it obviously did. The sunny-funk and catchiness of Oscar Strickland’s ‘Changing With the Times’ sounds all the better in the Indian summer sunshine the UK is currently enjoying. Sheila Hutchinson-Whitt’s ‘A New You In ‘82’ must have got many a Studio 54 patron on the dancefloor, whilst Nedra channels both Teena Marie and Cheryl Lynn on the jubilant ‘Get Up and Dance’. The Conway Brothers ‘Turn It Up’ is a good little slow burner worthy of a frantic attempt at the electric slide or three. But don’t be fooled; disc one is a bit of a mixed bag. The promising intro of Sun Sect’s ‘She’s Hot’ calls to mind Alexander O’Neal and Cherrelle’s ‘Saturday Love’ but promptly loses its way when the cringe-inducing, wooden banter gets going. At nearly seven minutes long, the novelty of Lady Gwendolyn’s rendition of ‘Shout’ made famous by Lulu soon wears thin and Dan Boadi And the African Internationals ‘Play That Funky Music’ doesn’t quite hit the target the way Wild Cherry do with their more famous song of a similar title.

We’re on safer territory with CD Two. True, it has its fair share of dead weight (Nadie le Fonde’s ‘Three Way Situation’, ‘I Only Have Eyes for You’ by The Energy Commission and Lily Field’s ‘Lover’) but it also features some impressive instrumentals by Vanatti (‘I’ve Got to Break Away’), Clive Stevens (the Brazilian-influenced ‘Chega’) and Hot Pepper (‘Cancion Ritual’). Setting the standard for the collection’s vocalised tracks is Elouise Burrell’s very groove-able tale of puppy love gone sour, ‘It’s Alright’ which seems to borrow just a bit from Parliament Funkadelic’s ‘One Nation Under a Groove’s bass line. And who’s complaining? Judy Clayton has some good, motherly advice for the single girls on the carefree ‘Love’s Gonna Find You’ whilst Jaisun’s ‘I Fall in Love Everyday’ is worth the listen just for the Stevie-esque Moog intro and the warmly arranged instrumentation on the verses.

Cole and Grusane’s mission to champion their unsung Disco heroes is an admirable one. You don’t get quite the same sense of ‘why weren’t these bona fide hits?’ unfairness as with BBE’s other 2011 underground soul compilation ‘Americana...’ but ‘The Real Sound of Chicago...’ makes a decent effort.

‘The Real Sound of Chicago & Beyond’ is out now on BBE Records.

Film Review: Troll Hunter

2011-09-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

Ask many Anglophones what comes to mind when you mention the word ‘troll’ and they would probably cite ‘The Three Billy Goats Gruff’ fairy tale and the early-90s craze for cute little pug-faced mascots with techni-coloured hair.

It’s a different matter in Norway; trolls are an intrinsic part of the country’s folklore. Director André Ovredal has taken this idea and created a dark-humoured mockumentary-style horror flick ‘Troll Hunter’, in the vein of a certain late ‘90s woodland-based scary film.

Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) and Johanna (Johanna Morck) are three young film students far more inquisitive than is good for them. After some bears mysteriously start showing up dead in their neck of the woods they go on the hunt for what they think is an illegal poacher, camera in tow. Whilst on the trail they stumble across enigmatic Hans (a suitably sullen turn from comedian Otto Jespersen) who, after some relentless stalking on the part of the three friends, agrees to let them shadow him while he works. And what an, ahem, interesting albeit thankless job he has. Thomas and co raise a quizzical eyebrow when Hans speaks of tracking trolls. They are soon smirking on the other side of their faces however after they are chased by one during a nightly escapade. Hans is convinced that something –or someone-has displaced the trolls from their natural confines, triggering nocturnal rampages that claim both human and animal victims. He is determined to discover what it is and put a stop to the chaos. The three students, Thomas in particular, are only too keen to go along for the ride. They uncover an intriguing web of government secrets and deception concerning these huge, deadly creatures on the loose. As they ruffle some bureaucratic feathers, it’s not long before the trolls aren’t all the young friends have to worry about.

Even those with a cursory knowledge of troll mythology will recognise some of the fairy tale staples in ‘Troll Hunter’. They have an aversion to sunlight, of course, and are wont to dwell under bridges. One aspect of the legend that might be unfamiliar to non-Scandinavians is that trolls are attracted by the smell of a Christian’s blood. Not ideal for troll hunting then (although Muslims appear to fare better). It is not entirely clear if Ovredal kept this detail for the sake of authenticity or is taking a sly swipe at Christianity. Benefit of the doubt, maybe?

Religious issues aside, ‘Troll Hunter’ is a fun, clever romp with several edge-of-the-seat moments. The cast give very naturalistic performances, Jespersen being in especially fine form. The computer-generated trolls are convincingly grotesque and thanks to Ovredal’s vivid imagination, they come in shapes and sizes beyond the familiar childhood illustrations. But it’s not all about the gore and jitters. ‘...Hunter’ has as much to say about man-made environmental problems as it does about the centuries-old fascination with mythical Nordic monsters.

Album Review: Mad Styles & Crazy Visions 2 mixed by Louie Vega

2011-09-23T13:04:00.000-07:00

I’m going to cut to the quick, a couple of BBE’s latest dance compilations haven't matched the standard of previous releases. Hearing the Sick Girls' 'Revolution No. 5 Sick Tricks & Urban Bass' mix was one of those rare occasions when I knew I wouldn't return to a record after just one listen. The 43-track collection of house-influenced dancefloor fillers, ‘Mad Styles & Crazy Visions’ (mixed by Grammy winner Louie Vega), although marginally better, does not do a great deal for me either. It is a shame because a good house mix can be just what the doctor ordered.

Disc one is the principal offender. Album opener, ‘Day of the Sunflowers’ by Basement Jazz featuring Yoko Ono is characteristically quirky with its timpani drum intro not dissimilar to that of Adam and the Ant’s ‘Prince Charming’. The fact that it’s one of the highlights of this half of the compilation isn’t really much of a recommendation. Loco Dice’s ‘Pimp Jackson is Talkin’ Now’ is a self-aggrandising ear-ache. Modern Disco queen Anané, aka Mrs Vega’s ‘Plastic People (ADRS Mix)’ makes an appearance but not an entirely welcome one considering it’s one of the least inspiring tracks from her otherwise enjoyable 2010 ‘Ananésworld’ album. Much of Disc one passes in an indistinguishably dull haze with only occasional moments of interest such as Agev Munsen’s tantalising bass line on ‘Gotta Get with You (Ancestral Mix)’, Elements of Life’s ‘Love Will Know’ with Lisa Fischer and a couple of tracks featuring sweet-voiced Peven Everett of Roy Davis Jr’s ‘Gabriel’ fame.

Disc two is on the whole more rewarding, standing up to a few more repeat listens than its predecessor. There are noteworthy soulful house contributions from Black Coffee featuring Hugh Masekela (‘We Are One’), Ian Friday (‘Found Myself’), Eric Kupper (‘Bloom’), Louie Gorbea & Chris Perez featuring Nina (‘Babalu Y Yemaya’), Josh Milan (‘Your Body’) and in particular Papa Sanchez’ (‘Guangaco’) who all appreciate the magic of a recognisable and appealing chord progression.

'Mad Styles & Crazy Visions 2 mixed by Louie Vega' is out now on BBE Records.

Book Review - ’C’ by Tom McCarthy

2011-09-22T12:32:00.000-07:00

Zeitgeist author Tom McCarthy’s ‘C’, available in paperback as of August, is the tale of one Serge Carrefax. Born at the end of the 19^th century to a communications pioneer, particularly in the education of deaf and mute children, Serge himself becomes quite the electronics enthusiast.

After the untimely death of his very bright, obnoxious older sister Sophie (whom he swiftly appears to forget) young Carrefax embarks on a nihilistic journey of self-discovery that takes in lush central European health spas, the First World War, London during the roaring 1920s and archaeological expeditions to Egypt. The novel chronicles Serge’s several fleeting sexual encounters whilst taking a romanticised view of his addiction to various drugs. The myriad significant historical events rumbling on in the background are a flimsy attempt to give the book some substance.

McCarthy has been hailed as one of the modern saviours of the purportedly hackneyed novel format. So far, so pretentious. What exactly is supposed to make ‘C’ so special isn’t clear. True, there are few in the way of recurring characters and the author opts for a present tense narrative. But neither of these are especially avant-garde literary devices. Maybe McCarthy was so busy trying to be a maverick that he neglected to create characters worth caring about. Apart from Serge’s redoubtable father, none of the characters elicit any lasting emotional attachment, including the chief protagonist. The novel becomes a chore to complete with such an indifferent ‘hero’. It’s possible to write a nihilistic character with whom the reader can empathise. McCarthy does not manage it here. It doesn’t help either that he falls into the stylistic trap of reproducing vast amounts of unfiltered research and dressing it up as unconvincing, tedious dialogue. This seems to be the trend amongst certain contemporary writers. Yes, that refers to you too, Jonathan Franzen.

(Incidentally, the copy I read belonged to the local library. A previous reader had left some helpful annotations in pencil flagging up the novel’s historical inaccuracies.)

There are isolated moments of great writing in ‘C’ that on their own would make decent short stories; the opening chapter is one, an extremely hilarious episode at a sham séance another. But for an overall solid, cohesive read ‘C’ does not make.

Any potential readers not deterred by the book’s aimless, unoriginal plot might be enticed by this article in the Sunday Times’ claim that it gives the novel format a well-needed ‘remix’. Why the obsession with reinventing the wheel? Especially if the new version has several important spokes missing that made the older model far more interesting.

For all the hot air and clambering by critics to applaud ‘C’, it amounts to very little. It’s yet another soulless, self-indulgent novel in which the author is more concerned with stylistic posturing than satisfying the reader. Its nomination for the Man Booker Prize is further proof that award committees sometimes mistake pretentiousness for novelty and ambition.

'C' by Tom McCarthy

Publisher: Vintage.

Theatre Review: Tell Them That I Am Young and Beautiful@The Arcola Theatre

2011-09-16T10:39:00.000-07:00

Image: Robert Workman

The Arcola Theatre’s ‘Tell Them That I Am Young and Beautiful’ takes its audience on an invigorating tour of stories from around the world. In rural Italy Salvatore the farmer woos a mysterious, heavenly signorina; Malian Baba is whisked to France to donate one of his kidneys to a young woman whose plight has caught the attention of the world’s media in a story based on true events; self-sacrificing pigeons from India, in love and in captivity pay the ultimate price to help a stranger; a petty squabble between friends proves more costly than it’s worth in a Senegalese village; a Parisian Gypsy goes on a quest for truth in order to win the hand of his true love...

Kathryn Hunter & Patrice Naiambana. Image: Robert Workman

These are tales of loss, desire, searching, loneliness, love and companionship all passionately brought to life by the energetic and nimble cast with just a little bit of audience participation. Actor-cum-director Marcello Magni has a lot of fun putting the many talents of his versatile cast to good use. Lone female Kathryn Hunter of the sumptuously raspy voice is the first amongst equals. Accompanied by the hypnotic beauty of Tunde Jegede’s Kora and Cello compositions, ‘Tell Me...’ makes for a quirky, amusing and at times very moving theatrical experience.

Written by Gilles Aufray
Director: Marcello Magni
Assistant Director: Susan Momoko Hingley

Cast:
Kathryn Hunter
Marcello Magni
Patrice Naiambana
David Bartholomew Soroczynski

Music:
Tunde Jegede

‘Tell Them That I Am Young and Beautiful’ continues at the Arcola Theatre until 8 October.

Overs

2011-09-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

Image courtesy of allposters.co.uk

That’s it. I’ve had enough. The self-loathing, the self-flagellation, the self-indulgence, the whole...self of this doomed from the outset flight of fancy...or should I say folly. I have incubated it for the best part of the year and you know what? I honestly can’t be a*s*d any longer. I’ve allowed it to feed off my craving for drama and it’s grown fat and comfortable. When I thought I was rid of it, it’d come back with a vengeance and I’ve only got myself to blame. I fed it. I liked it. I breathed life into it when it was ready to die. I felt I needed it. And so ‘it’ became a habit. Proust described habit as ‘...a force which, if nourished from the first by vanity, will overcome disgust, contempt, and even boredom’. Oh how right he was. Especially the boredom and vanity bit. Alas, bad habits make for especially loyal company.

I’ve looked for the source of it. I’ve contemplated the usefulness of even this action; it’s only more navel-gazing after all. I keep thinking if I could just get to the root of it...unravel it... cut off its blood supply. Snip the offensive wiring and put a halt to transmission once and for all.

At first I blamed my external circumstances. I wanted to disappear into something; escape my grim reality. But even that didn’t always hold water. I imagine I would find a reason to nurture the emotions even if my situation was better. True, if I had a 9-to-5 it would be a bit harder to foster...maybe. That blasted smile was my Achilles. But even then...who really is that beautiful? I mean, yes he is beautiful but...for this long? Really? Really? Surely the novelty should have worn off by now. Try as I might I can’t think of anything truly substantial that could justify why it’s lasted this long. Yes, that smile can be disarming. One week I’ll be strong and then...but let’s get some perspective here. There are other beautiful smiles in this world. What a waste of energy and mind space. Goodness me.

I’m just so tired. I’m tired of succumbing to weakness. Of seeing myself and the world through the prism of what I imagine his worldview to be. I’m sick of infusing almost every song with thoughts of a pint sized, skinny youth with admittedly great facial features. I’m tired of the self-scrutiny, trying to work out if the disparity in our size and frame would preclude him from finding me attractive. I’m tired of thinking if I was somehow different I’d be more eligible for his elusive affection and not quite sure what that difference should be. I’m tired of wondering if I was right those times he did appear to be attracted to me and if they were genuine why couldn’t he have been more clear. Not that it matters anyway. And I’m tired of that too. The sheer masochistic nature of it all, knowing that it would and could never be but still trying to run through alternative scenarios in my head. I’m tired of holding on to that memory of an early spring walk to the bus stop when he lingered....that might or might not have meant anything. I’m tired of imputing significance to it...and the times he (seems to) catch my eye and then holds my gaze...when his eyes rest on my Bristols. If it meant anything he would have followed up on it, no? And even if he did, nothing could have come of it anyway. Damn that vicious circle. Even if it wasn’t dead in the water I obviously can’t be trusted with these intense feelings. A more forthright response from him would have only served my vanity. Nothing noble in that. Hopes of friendship seem displaced now. I can’t trust my motives.

I’m tired of insisting on reading into every little thing that is said, recalling the minutiae of conversation to no meaningful end. Trying to work out if we were flirting then or if he was ticked off with me that other time. Who bloody cares? No more subconsciously scouring the streets, wishing I would bump into him ‘randomly’ and hoping that I’d be looking great if I do. Enough of precious thought life being occupied with this nonsense. There is a surfeit of serious issues in the world with which to concern myself. I could make a bit more room in my head for them.

‘Now as I begin to wash you off my skin, I’m going to peel you away; ‘cos you’re not right within...’ -Sade

Seven months on? Can you believe it? Looking back I have made progress of sorts. If nothing else, I am not as inclined to romanticise things as much as at the beginning.

For anyone who might stumble upon this, I’m accountable to you. Please don’t allow me to go back on my resolve.

Album Review- Americana Rock Your Soul: Blue Eyed Soul and Sounds from the Land of the Free

2011-09-13T15:23:00.000-07:00

I’ve got problems with the term ‘blue eyed soul’; I always have. I use it, if at all, with reluctance. It perpetuates the idea that darker skinned people have the monopoly on soulfulness and implies even more unhelpfully that music can or should be categorised by race. This can give rise to mediocre-at-best acts such as JLS or Jamelia thinking that credibility is an automatic by-product of their melanin concentration and that it is their birthright to inflict their subpar warbling on the world. Meabwhile the Bobby Caldwells and Jon Bs of the world remain frustratingly underrated. Prior to the success of acts such as Justin Timberlake, Amy Winehouse and Adele it had been a while since the listening public had embraced Caucasian artists doing overtly -soul influenced music enough to make them international superstars.

I therefore groaned inwardly just a bit when I saw the secondary title of BBE’s ‘Americana’ compilation. However once you ignore the patriotic references to ‘Land of the Free’, the Statue of Liberty artwork and the gushing, pseudo-jingoistic blurb of the (treacherous) non-American aficionados behind the collection Zaf Chowdhry and Mark ‘Goodvibes’ Taylor, ‘..Rock Your Soul...’ is a very worthy, virtually-cheese free audiofest.

The compilation starts strong with the instantly appealing ‘I Love Music’ by Babadu. Honey-voiced Eric Tagg, erstwhile collaborator of Lee Ritenour and behind funk ballad gem ‘Is It You?’ delivers a characteristically socially-conscious message on ‘Living off the Love’. Dirty-funk mode EWF meets 'The Dude' era Quincy Jones on Jaye P Morgan’s very classy ‘Can’t Hide Love’. The James Walsh Gypsy Band's catchy and deceptively upbeat 'I've Got the Feelin' is a sing-a-long treat. Breakaway fuse Gospel lyrics wirh opulent Disco on ‘Who Was It This Time?’ adding to the overall optimistic feel of the collection alongside cheerful numbers such as Mike Lundy’s ‘Love One Another’ and 1619 Bad Ass Band‘s ‘Just for You’. Lil’ Albert’s ‘My Girl Friday’ sweetness and light harmonies and Philly-esque arrangements almost distract from the rather primeval lyrics...

'My mop and dust express...my wash and dry expert, my authority on dirt... the seamstress of my dreams, my shake-and-bakin’ help...’

Oh well, perhaps it was still early days for progressive gender politics back then. Midnight Flyer’s ‘I Just Wanna Love You’ has Bee Gees circa Saturday Night Fever written all over it whilst Michael Killen’s ‘A Little More Time’ calls to mind Billy Joel at his most epic and heartfelt. Ian Willson’s ‘Four In The Morning’ (Goodking Edit) sticks in the cranium thanks to its simple but inspired guitar riff and driving bass. From the moment I hear the dramatic acoustic piano intro, Life Force’s moody ‘Slow Dancer’ conjures images of roller-disco heartache and finding solace on the dance floor in a song as deliciously melancholy as the rejected party might feel (not that I have any personal experience of this). The urgent rhythm and pleasantly predictable chord progression of Evans Pyramid’s ‘Never Gonna Leave You’, is a fitting finish to a highly enjoyable mix. With ‘Americana 2’ in the pipeline we can look forward to more rare delights from Chowdhry and Taylor.

'Americana Rock Your Soul: Blue Eyed Soul and Sounds from the Land of the Free' is out now on BBE Records

Theatre Review: A Clockwork Orange @ the Theatre Royal Stratford East

2011-09-10T16:21:00.000-07:00

Ashley Hunter (Alex) & Kirris Riviere (Jeffrey) Picture: Robert Day

It’s best I confess, at the beginning of my review of the new musical adaptation of Anthony Burgess’ controversial novel ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by the Theatre Royal Stratford, that I don’t usually like musicals. In fact I tend to avoid them. Strange that I love both theatre and music but reserve a healthy scepticism when the two are combined. I find I can only suspend belief so many times as cast members burst into song at random. Rather than drive the narrative along often these musical interludes break the continuity of the plot. So it was with some trepidation that I approached this re-imagining of ‘...Clockwork...’ Burgess’ tale of young classical music maven and extreme thug Alex causing mayhem in a near-future dystopia with his friends-or droogs-and his being subjected to sinister chemically-induced rehabilitation by the government. Even reassurance from the writer and musical director Ed Duranté and Fred Carl, that a musical version could be successfully executed didn’t completely alleviate my fears.

Within a few minutes however, it is patently clear this isn’t just any old musical. Carl, Duranté and director Dawn Reid have produced something quite special. For a start, the droogs' (or Horrowshow Ninjas as they are known in this production) weapons of choice have been updated and Alex' musical taste re-thought. Knives, nun chucks and fists have been replaced by guns; rapturous symphonies by Hip Hop rhymes and performance poetry.

Those like me, sceptical of the musical format, should cast their apprehension aside. Carl’s intelligent score stays true to the ethically inquisitive tone of the book...

‘...Virtue is a lie without temptation...’ one of Alex’ victims contemplates.

There’s a tongue-in-cheek humour to the songs too, subtly poking fun at the cheery abandon as well as absurdity of the typical musical. Plus the songs are actually good; the right mix of catchiness and sophistication.

Duranté’s script pays respect to the strong socio-political subtext of Burgess’ novel. Positing Alex’ and his Horrorshow Ninjas banditry as comparable to the larger scale financial shenanigans of corporations for example, is an idea to which a recession-stricken 21^st century audience could easily relate.

Duranté’s Alex (played by Ashley Hunter) is an even more complicated creature than his novel incarnation; ruthless, cocky, highly intelligent, loyal, vulnerable, sinister...incredibly charming to boot. Most importantly, this Alex occasionally cuts a more sympathetic figure than his literary equivalent. His parents, Mamama (Susan Lawson Reynolds) and Papapa (Marcus Powell) aren’t the cowering, insipid background characters of Burgess’ book either. This is indeed a true re-working of the text. Duranté, Carl and Reid use the original as a springboard for fresh ideas and further exploration of the story’s many themes without straying too far off the narrative, potentially isolating those already familiar with the novel. Durante’s incisive script is only marred by unconvincing use of American vernacular (Brits don’t say ‘Egg plant’ when they refer to aubergines or use ‘Janitor’ for caretaker).

Picture: Robert Day

Reid puts Alex Lowde’s relatively understated, flame-coloured, set to efficient use. Two trapezoid blocks on opposite sides of the stage and a discrete trap door each serve as a treasure trove of props for the cast. And what a solid cast it is. Newcomer Ashley Hunter makes a strong impression with his memorable portrayal of Alex. We’ll be seeing a lot more of him and his prodigious eyebrows in future if his stage debut is anything to go by. Other noteworthy performances include Darren Hart’s Pete, Kirris Riviere’s meditative serial killer with perfect enunciation, Jeffrey, (Alex’ cellmate) and Richard Lloyd-King’s mad Dr Brodsky, who masterminds the experiment to cure Alex of his sociopathic tendencies. Vanessa Sylvester and Jack Shalloo give particularly wonderful vocal performances. Shalloo stepped in at the last minute to play Georgie when the original actor sustained an injury and does a fine, seamless job of it.

The Theatre Royal’s dazzling interpretation of ‘A Clockwork Orange’ well and truly carves its own identity independent of the novel and film that have gone before.

'A Clockwork Orange' @ The Theatre Royal Stratford East runs until 1 October 2011. Click here for booking information.

Read my interview with writer and musical director of 'A Clockwork Orange: The Musical' Ed Duranté and Fred Carl here.

Album Review: ‘When the Clouds Ran Away’ by Si-Tew and '1979' by Mathias Stubo

2011-09-06T16:06:00.000-07:00

1979 - Mathias Stubo

Norwegian funk aficionado Matthias Stubo is an old soul. Barely 19 years of age, his musical palate gravitates lovingly towards late 70s/early 80s era electro-soul. This adoration is reflected not only in the name of his debut ‘1979’ (released on BBE records earlier this summer), but also in its production. All eleven original tracks remain unapologetically inspired by that time. Stand-out moments include the very aptly-titled ‘Diskorama’, funky-as-you-like ‘All Night Long’ and the eponymous ‘1979’.

As an experimental work Stubo’s first effort is a strong representation of his devotion to classic synth-led funk/soul. It certainly sounds authentic. However it lacks the variety needed to really grab the listener’s attention for very long. Most of the tracks would have been better off in bite-sized form rather than full length. Still, Mathias shows enough promise on ‘1979’ to keep us looking forward to future projects.

'1979' is out now on BBE Records

'When The Clouds Ran Away'-Si Tew

AtJazz Records release newcomer Si-Tew’s ‘When the Clouds Ran Away’; a wonderful accompaniment to those (as I write) beautiful, balmy days of late summer. There’s an intellectualism to ‘...Clouds...’ that steers clear of pretentiousness in spite of what track titles such as ‘Vaguely Fading (Red)’ might suggest.

To an extent the record is a genre-bending musical expedition by way of the good ship Electronica. Album opener ‘Silhouette’ featuring Shanade is an exercise in po-faced, ambient soul. Not a bad start to proceedings and it gets better. ‘One Percent’s very repetitive (but no less enjoyable) chord sequence is buttressed by a cheery synth drumbeat offset by the presence of morose-sounding strings. The classical influence can also be heard on haunting gem ‘Cold Day’ and the sparse, somewhat tense ‘Black & White’- both carrying a poignant air of their own. ‘Hard Lock’ has an aquatic-like comfort that tempers its intensity. The spirit of the late, great Japanese soulful Hip-Hop producer Nujabes looms welcome and large over ‘Why Answer?’ Soul meets Hip Hop again on the very likeable ‘Independent Light’ featuring Dwayne Haydn and Jack Da Lad; a contribution that displays its pop sensibilities more boldly than the others. And why not?

The very classy ‘Need to Grow’ with Pete Simpson is redolent of the much-missed vintage British R&B of yesteryear. Album highlight ‘All You Need To Know’ is an introspective affair that nevertheless compels the upper body to jerk rhythmically.

There really is little in the way of dead weight here. Si-Tew keeps the soundscape stimulating thanks to an endearing sense of musical curiosity.

Si Tew - When The Clouds Ran Away by Atjazz Record Company

'When The Clouds Ran Away' is out now on Atlazz Records.

A Re-Programmed Clockwork Orange: Interview with Fred Carl and Ed Duranté

2011-08-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in the bar of the Theatre Royal Stratford, East London with Ed Duranté and Fred Carl, writer and musical director of the forthcoming adaptation of Anthony Burgess’ infamous novel ‘A Clockwork Orange’. I am running behind schedule and have just got an ear-full from the play’s PR team. I am flustered, apologising profusely to Ed and Fred for the delay. They are mercifully quite Zen about it all, wasting no time in settling down to discuss their take on Burgess’ futuristic tale of 15 year old violence junkie Alex and his government’s highly suspect methods to try and rid him of his destructive tendencies.

Fred and Ed met over 15 years ago when the latter was a student at New York University and where Carl still tutors. Theirs is a ying-yang dynamic. Fred is tall-ish, lean and very softly spoken; so much so that it's a struggle to hear him over the clamour of the bar. However, during our interview at least, he is surprisingly voluble. Ed is smaller, of a sturdy build, has a loud, raucous laugh and speaks in an authorative tone. Yet he frequently falls into thoughtful silences, leaving Fred to give the lengthier, detailed responses. Perhaps these contrasts auger well for the play (which opens in early September), suggesting the collaboration will result in something as multifaceted as the story warrants.

Fred explains what attracted them to the project. (Those unfamiliar with how the novel ends, look away now).

‘The theatre approached us with the offer of a commission. We then read the book and I think we both had a similar reaction to it. We were familiar with the movie. It was great but it ends at a place where Alex is cured of his governmental manipulation and it seems like he’s ready to go back, hit the streets and cause mayhem again. I was pleasantly surprised to read the last chapter where in fact Alex makes a decision after he’s cured that there’s another kind of life that he wants to have. It felt like the story wanted to be told again. And that for me was probably the most exciting thing.’

Ed interjects ‘Right...any kind of drama is only interesting if you see the character make some changes. If the character doesn’t change in the end, what are you watching?’

Carl and Duranté also took a very different approach regarding the play’s cast.

‘I think we both immediately decided that we wanted to set it in a community with mostly people of colour. It kind of changed the look from everybody’s notion of the movie -which again is fabulous. But with people of colour it’s going to have a different kind of flavour’.

Re-imagining Burgess’ book as a musical is a little peculiar. With the exception of macabre tales such as ‘Sweeney Todd’ or hard-hitting socio-political dramas such as ‘Caroline or Change’, musicals have a reputation for being lightweight and blithe; attributes quite at odds with ‘...Clockwork’s’ very dark themes. Weren’t writer and composer worried that adding a score might be too much of a departure from what was expected? In short, no. Fred believes the musical goes far beyond the narrow confines in which it tends to be placed.

‘Anything that has a narrative and music is essential to that narrative, as far as I’m concerned, is musical theatre’. He expounds ‘When I think about musical theatre I think about anything from certain kinds of music videos to certain kinds of performances...Like a church service or a ritual. I look at those as having aspects of musical theatre. Seriousness isn’t antithetical [to the musical form]’.

‘I think there are always people doing other things that maybe a large audience doesn’t get to see. They sometimes see it on Broadway, they sometimes see it on the West End...outside of those places there are a lot of people experimenting with the [musical] form and telling all kinds of stories’.

Ed, however, can relate to why some might initially have reservations.

He confesses ‘Really, before I went to NYU’s musical theatre writing programme I saw musicals as bulls**t’. It was one of Duranté’s tutors that opened up his mind to the possibilities of the format.

‘ It’s just that I hadn’t been exposed to musicals that had important things to say’, he says about his change of heart ‘The music is just part of it; it’s the writing that matters. What is the message you are trying to convey?’

Alex and his Droogs: l-r Darren Hart, Raphael Sowole, Ashley Hunter and Sonny Muslim (Photo by Robert Day)

One of the hallmarks of the novel is Alex’ love of classical music. I wonder how much, if at all, Fred decided to reflect this in his score. He laughs heartily. Clearly, he has opted for a different route.

‘My reading of Alex’ love of classical music is that it was one way of Burgess saying that he was different; that he had access to high art; that although he was a thug on the street doing all this wild stuff, his sensibilities were refined enough to appreciate the highest form of western symphonic music. Burgess was a big fan of classical music and a composer. I like classical, but we were not going to take the route of equating Alex’ love of it with his intelligence’.

Carl and Duranté haven’t abandoned the connoisseur element of Alex’ personality altogether.

‘Since it’s such an intricate part of the novel, we did have to find a foray for it’ admits Fred ‘how did he approach music and more specifically what was the change in his musical sensibilities over the course of the piece?’

When either Ed or Fred speaks in the first person plural, they’re not merely being modest.

‘We collaborated completely. We discovered very early on that we could work together for ten or fifteen hours’ Fred recalls. Ed chips in ‘Fred influenced the things I wrote, not just the lyrics. When he was playing and working, there was something about the rhythms and what he was playing that had an impact on the dialogue. It was fantastic because it was the first time we had done anything [together]. The comfort of just sitting in a room, for hours and hours per day and not feeling like “I’m sick of this motherf****r”’ There goes that raucous laugh.

Smooth collaboration notwithstanding, following in the footsteps of Stanley Kubrick’s iconic 1971 film adaptation of ‘...Clockwork’ and the inevitable comparisons must have been daunting. Neither Ed nor Fred was fazed.

‘It had no impact at all’ says Duranté. ‘ Before this commission, I had not read the book but I had probably seen the movie 20 times. I loved the movie but I knew the commission was going to be like the novel and the novel is a completely different thing. Once I’d read it, I never thought about the film again’. The two men proceed to give a little background on Kubrick’s interpretation.

Malcolm McDowell in Kubrick's infamous film version of 'A Clockwork Orange'

‘The original American edition is what the film was based on. The last chapter is not included in the American version of the novel. The final chapter deals with Alex and his feeling of hope, the possibility of change in his life. That’s essential to why we decided we wanted to work on this project...seeing Alex grow up and make decisions...”I have free will and the choices that I make have a huge impact on what happens to me and everyone around me”’

This issue of redemptive change recurs constantly during our discussion and is prominent even in the press release.

Fred explains ‘Somewhere in what we’re doing we want to say a bunch of things....You can make different decisions. Life is not fair; it’s never been fair. Racism exists. Most governments will not take care of you. If you look a certain way, if you have disabilities...you’re not going to get the same chances that other people get. That doesn’t mean you don’t have certain choices you can make’.

Ed agrees.

‘It’s kind of like "I’m upset that the sky is blue". You know the sky is blue. You’re a young black man; you’re going to have to face difficulty in the world. You know what? Get over it. Now what you’ve got to do is figure out the choices you’re going to make to fulfil yourself.’

Nevertheless, neither wish to downplay the challenges that many have to overcome.

Fred adds sympathetically ‘That’s not to say you don’t fight against forces that are actually oppressive’. Ed: ‘That’s not to say those things are not huge and terrible and real. We are both black men; we live in America. It’s not like we don’t know what these things are. Across the globe in urban areas, young black men find themselves in situations where they’re perceived as being criminals. Often they live up to that because of expectations they put on themselves. "I am this because they told me I’m this" but you know, you are what you decide you are’.

Fred: I think on some level we want to say you can make constructive choices. Constructive might mean organising people to fight against something in order to get something that you need.’

Contrary to Duranté and Carl, Alex’ epiphany at the end of the novel was a most unsatisfactory resolution for me. It’s all wrapped up too conveniently. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a change of heart. It’s just that Alex’ turn around seems devoid of remorse. Even more disturbingly, Burgess seems to suggest rape, pillaging and manslaughter were merely a ‘phase’ for Alex; that somehow he could grow out of being a sociopath simply because he was on the cusp of his 20s.

Fred understands my reaction.

‘I agree it happens very quickly. That is something we did recognise...how do we dramatise Alex’ change? Is it something we make a list of...Is it somewhat mysterious? That’s definitely one of the challenges’.

Both writer and composer have endeavoured to stay true to Burgess’ thorough exploration of the notion of free will in the novel.

‘Fred: We’re touching on things about choice not just because it seems so integral to the novel but on some level we believe that. I can’t decide I choose to be a millionaire tomorrow but I can choose to be pleasant. I can choose to cultivate community; I can choose to cultivate a relationship’.

Image: Reuters

Ed adds drily, ‘I can choose to get a job to buy this television or I could steal it’.

Speaking of stealing televisions, at one point I rather predictably turn the conversation to the issue of England’s August riots. Fred describes how surreal the experience was for them.

‘It was freaky for us to be here in the middle of all that happening. We were opening up newspapers, watching television and whoever talk about "Oh, it’s like a Clockwork Orange" My friends on Facebook and email were like "How weird that you’re there"’.

Ed concurs ‘There was an article [on the riots] that was called ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and never even mentioned the book again’.

I ask if the play now has an added significance in the light of recent events. Fred isn’t keen to weigh in with any old off-the-cuff analysis.

‘We got interviewed last week and they were asking us to have an opinion. We don’t have the answer for society’s ills. We’re looking at this as a piece of theatre that is hopefully engaging and poses some questions and provides an opportunity for engagement/entertainment. Something that makes you think’.

Director Dawn Reid with Fred Carl. Photo by Robert Day

The Stratford East ’s re-imagining of ‘...Clockwork’ is directed by Dawn Reid. Considering the dearth of strong female characters in the novel and Alex’ extremely disturbing perception of women-mainly as objects of sexual violence- a female director is an interesting choice. I am curious to see if Reid brings a feminine sensibility, assuming there is such a thing, to this particular adaptation. Ed is rather defensive in his response.

‘I think she just brings the talent she has as a director. It has nothing to do with her gender at all. It has to do with her being a very talented and smart woman who understands the novel and what we’re trying to say.’

Fair enough. But are the female characters at least afforded more sympathy in this interpretation?

Fred definitely believes so.

‘The mother in our piece has a lot more backbone. She’s a central character in Alex’ life. The relationship between Alex and his mother and father we’ve certainly changed. In the novel he pretty much tells them what to do; that’s not the relationship that our Alex has. They are a family that is recognisable as a unit. The father has a strength and the mother has a strength and we give them an opportunity to show both of those things’.

Ed, Dawn and Fred have also made full use of creative license, introducing a female character not originally part of Burgess’ book.

‘She is not a love interest’ Fred is eager to point out ‘She is one of the people posing this issue of making a different choice. By the end this is the only character that is really left for Alex; again, not in a romantic way. We’re trying to get to this place where it’s not about a love story but it is about that serious connection you have with people that isn’t based on sex.’

This is probably one of the biggest liberties taken with the text but a welcome one at that. Alex’ misogyny is arguably the most disturbing of his many vices.

He is a confusing character; a young man of singular perverse taste but as riddled with complexity as the world around him. Burgess avoids making explicit judgments about his characters which in turn makes ‘...Clockwork...’ quite morally ambiguous. I ask Carl and Duranté what they personally think of Alex.

‘I think I would not have wanted to meet Alex at 15’ muses Fred ‘There would be no reasoning. There would be no way to talk. There would be nothing, just mayhem. I think I might want to meet Alex at 25. I know some people who did really wild stuff when they were younger that I would not necessarily want to be around. But when they became adults they decided to make different choices and they are absolutely beautiful people’.

For Ed re-working the novel was a personal odyssey.

‘It was very difficult for me. To write Alex I very much had to be Alex in terms of my thinking. A lot of times it got me really depressed. I had to associate what the character in the novel was going through with real stuff that I’d gone through. I was never a criminal; I was never that person [but] I had to deal with choices and bad things that I did. I had to re-investigate those things for myself to write it and that was not a pleasant experience'.

'For me the only way to write is to make it very personal and to examine oneself as the character. I had to be honest with myself; many of those characteristics within Alex I had in me although not in a violent, criminal way. So I was happy to have at least redemption at the end of the show’ Ed cheers up at this thought, laughing boisterously again ‘I know myself that I have changed. I know that people can change if they make a decision to change’.

‘And it’s also a choice for the community’ adds Fred ‘if someone has been living their own way and makes the effort to be a different person then it’s for the community to accept them back’.

Classical music fan: author of 'A Clockwork Orange' Anthony Burgess (Guardian.co.uk)

Evidently Duranté and Carl don’t take their artistic responsibility lightly. I probe them on what they would ideally like the audience to get from this adaptation.

‘The worst thing would be if someone left and said "Well that was boring!"’ says Fred ‘I would love this audience to leave saying "That was time well spent. I felt the music. I dig the story. That made me think. That reminded me of such and such". That would be a lovely thing’.

Ed on the other hand hopes this production will inspire the audience to go back to the source material.

‘I would like people to see this experience and say “I want to read that book”. We don’t read books anymore. ‘A Clockwork Orange’ is classic literature. It’s very important. It’s global in terms of what it’s talking about, how people interact with one another and how people view themselves. Besides that I especially want the black community to think about the issues we are addressing in this piece. I want them to come to the show’.

Fred takes a more universal line.

‘Hopefully a lot of different communities will want to come and see what we are doing’.

'A Clockwork Orange' @ The Theatre Royal Stratford East opens on 3 September 2011. Click here for booking information.

Theatre Review: ‘I Am England’

2011-08-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

Photos by Oyin Solebo

As part of the year-long celebration of their silver Jubilee, this bank holiday weekend

Talawa theatre company presents ‘I Am England’; an ambitious, experimental look at the shifting nature of English cultural identity over the past 25 years. The play is a result of an intense 4 week programme involving twelve 18-25 year olds selected to partake in Talawa Young People’s Theatre (TYPT) summer school.

Fusing drama, dance, a live DJ set, poetry, news archives and footage of momentous events from recent history, ‘I Am England’s journey starts long before 1986, encompassing such significant moments as Margaret Thatcher’s infamous ‘swamped’ comment about UK immigration in the late 1970s and the 1985 Brixton riots. There are also sombre reminders of the many members of the British African/Caribbean community who have died in suspicious circumstances whilst in police custody.

Still, this is not just a story about fraught British race relations during the last few decades. ‘I Am England’ examines several era-defining national and world events from the last quarter of a century: New Labour sweeping into power in 1997, the death of Princess Diana, the 11 September 2001 US terrorist attacks, the 7 July 2005 London bombings and the election of Barack Obama, amongst many others. The play brings things right up to date with a take on the nationwide riots earlier this month.

The play even dares to peek into the future; a bleak one according to TYPT, characterised by paranoia, more intrusive government policies regarding surveillance and scarce natural resources.

It takes a little time to adjust to ‘I am England’s alternative format; at the start it comes across as slightly pretentious. As thorough as its appraisal of the last two and a half decades is, there is at least one occasion when it’s a tad simplistic. Whilst, for instance, the cast recite recent headlines pertaining to the August riots they scrawl ‘Hear My Voice’ on Perspex. It is hoped that this is not an attempt to oversimplify the many causes of the unrest, reducing it to merely the angry response of a disaffected few. Perhaps it’s too early to explore this issue in theatrical form; time is needed to form a clearer perspective.

However the cast’s élan, commitment and youthful energy compensate for any small flaws the piece might have. It probably helps that they are working with some solid material. The script addresses substantial topics in commendable fashion, such as the extent to which the media manipulate the dissemination of information. ‘I Am England’ keeps a firm grip on its sense of humour too. It is sure to give its audience something to talk about.

‘I Am England’ plays at Sadler’s Wells this weekend. For booking information please click here.

Album Review: GI Disco

2011-08-24T06:31:00.000-07:00

BBE’s likeable collection of familiar 80s soulful dancefloor fillers is perhaps not best served by the title ‘GI Disco’. It’s a tad misleading; post-Disco would be more accurate. The expansive, melodramatic arrangements of the late 70s give way to the slightly more clinical, synthesised sound characteristic of the following decade.

The compilation is something of a sonic time capsule reflecting much of the political, social and economic climate of the era. This was probably very deliberate on the part of German DJs Kalle Kuts and Daniel W. Best when selecting the tunes. ‘GI Disco’ turns the spotlight on the kind of US and UK soul hits that were rocking pre-1989 Berlin, still very much caught up in the chill of the Cold War. Early 80s MJ and Quincy Jones is all over Cashmere’s ‘Let the Music Turn You On’. This was also a time when politically correctness hadn’t yet wielded its consuming influence over song lyrics (check out Barbara Mason’s annoyance at her cheating undercover brother lover on ‘Another Man’ or Timex Social Clubs take on salacious gossip in ‘Rumours’). The Valentine Brothers’ ‘Money’s Too Tight to Mention’-made famous and quite frankly ripped-off almost note for note on these shores by Simply Red-speaks of the miserable consequences of Reaganomics and the widespread financial discontent during the decade of greed. Not much difference between then and now, after all.

The grim backdrop of the songs and severe facial expressions of the soldiers on the album’s artwork aside, the vast majority of ‘GI...’ is light and breezy, some lyrics so lightweight in fact it’s far more expedient to ignore them if you wish to avoid going stiff from cringing.

With karaoke-ideal selections such as Freeez’ ‘I.O.U’, The O’Jays ‘Put Our Heads Together’ and Wish’s irresistible syrup-meets-funk ‘Touch Me’ (later covered by Cathy Dennis) it’s easy to envisage ‘G.I Disco’ being the soundtrack to many a hen night, up and down the UK. A not-so-guilty pleasure indeed.

GI Disco is out now on BBE Records .

Aftershock

2011-08-14T09:03:00.000-07:00

Image: Reuters

I was debating whether to post on the riots that rocked England this week, sending shock waves around the world. However it would seem remiss if I did not at least acknowledge what’s happened on my blog, especially considering some of it took place on my very doorstep.

I first became aware of the disturbance in Tottenham following the police shooting of father -of -four Mark Duggan, 29, last Sunday evening. Rather late really considering it all kicked off Thursday 4th August. Ironically it was my Japan-based sister who informed me. With rumours flying that Duggan was some kind of gangster, the reaction of angry Tottenham residents appeared disproportionate. Some of us jumped to conclusions. Duggan was supposed to have shot at police, thus the assumption was that he brought the calamity upon himself. As the week has progressed there’s still a shroud of mystery around what exactly took place but it has come to light that Duggan did not open fire on the police, his name unnecessarily sullied in this regards. A bit similar to how Charles De Menezes was unfairly accused of running when he saw the police prior to being gunned down by law enforcement officials in the aftermath of the 7 July 2005 terrorist attacks in London.

In any case, Tottenham was in disarray. Yet it felt remote. I live the other side of London. It’s never an area on which I’ve been keen; too rough around the edges. Like many I presumed it was an isolated incident. Duggan’s death was a tragedy but I didn’t dwell much on the street violence that ensued.


Torched cars on Albion Way in Lewisham. Image: Metro.co.uk

The following day, Monday evening, I was trying to make my way to a rendezvous. I noticed there were some buses being diverted through the high road off which I live in the borough of Lewisham, south east London. I needed to catch a train and had cut it rather fine time-wise. I had a sinking feeling the bus service on which I relied to get me to the train station had been disrupted but had no clue why. Then a young man at the stop mentioned there had been rioting in the centre of Lewisham, in and around the bus and train stations. ‘What’s Tottenham got to do with us?’ I wondered. I wasted no time in finding an alternative route. I heard helicopters overhead, saw buses parked in unusual spots and witnessed local residents standing around speaking in hushed tones, looking slightly worried. I was preoccupied with getting to my appointment, which I did, half an hour late.

It was only on my return home, when I saw the deserted bus garage and that Lewisham high street had been completely cordoned off by police, that I started to realise how badly the area had been affected. Due to the inaccessibility of the high street I literally had to go around the houses to get back to my flat. Everywhere was so quiet, even more so than usual on a Monday night. The Specials’ ‘Ghost Town’ suddenly came to mind. I met a lady on the street, apparently very shaken up warning me to be careful on my journey. She blurted out that the daughter of a friend was fighting for her life in hospital; something about ‘missiles’ being thrown into residential homes. She had also just witnessed a child of about 13 being beaten up by a gang of older kids in Deptford, on the way back from New Cross (which had seen its own fair share of disturbance) where she worked. I couldn’t believe my ears. Neither could I believe my eyes when I saw the Dirty South Bar and adjacent Chinese takeaway at the bottom of my road smashed to smithereens, blood on the floor outside. I later learned from my mother, who witnessed the vandalism that I’d just missed the attack on the shops when I went to look for an alternative route to my engagement. She explained how she saw young people streaming from all directions, faces covered, descending on the unsuspecting local businesses. At first it didn’t look as if they would start random acts of destruction. It only took one to break away from the pack and commence the mayhem.

As I watched the man who worked in the takeaway good-naturedly trying to board up his now non-existent window all I could say was ‘...Sorry. I am so sorry’. I learned later of the several cars that had been set ablaze on Albion Way, around the corner from my flat. At home I listened to radio reports and went online to learn more about this frenzy that had overtaken London, only to learn it had spread nationwide.

By Tuesday everyone was on tenterhooks. My aunt told me over the phone that Greenwich High Street, near where she lives, had all but come to a standstill. Everywhere was boarded up as a precautionary measure in anticipation of more violence. The musical director of my vocal group cancelled rehearsals following notification from several members that they wanted to stay safe and sound at home. I ventured out to my local library only to discover it had closed seven hours early. I decided to take a walk down my High Street to survey some of the damage. It was a pleasant day. Sad really that these were not more carefree circumstances. After such sporadic weather so far this summer, such a temperate and sunny day would usually be the very British topic of discussion. We had bigger fish to fry now. McDonalds was boarded up after having been trashed. All the banks had notices pinned to their doors/shutters stating that they were closing early as a result of the civil unrest, Barclays remaining closed until further notice. The normally busy-all-day Lewisham branch of Nandos was shut. Even most of the Asian-run businesses, some of which won’t close for Christmas Day, had shut-up shop early. There was an overwhelming police presence on the streets. The officers I approached were none the wiser as to what to expect. They just advised people to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.

Not surprisingly the events of the week have cast a shadow over just about everything. The riots dominate the news. Politicians cut their summer breaks short and Parliament resumed for a one-off mid-holiday session on Thursday.
Everyone has their theories as to why this happened. Some call it the ‘blame game’; I call it addressing the root of the problem rather than simply focusing on the symptoms.

Image: Reuters

There’s no justification or excuse for marauding, the malicious destruction of property and endangering the lives of innocent people. Many of the victims of the rioters and looters actions are ordinary citizens just like them, all with their own challenges and frustrations; the old and/or vulnerable; families; small businesses. Nevertheless there are reasons behind these seemingly mindless acts of violence. The devil makes work for idle hands. I don’t for one minute imagine all those involved in criminal activity this week are from poor and disadvantaged backgrounds. Of course there were a lot of well-heeled opportunists who deliberately got caught up in the melee. These riots certainly don’t have the clear political motivation of previous examples of civil unrest. Yet those who would like to conveniently ignore the current economic situation as a cause are deluding themselves. Chickens are coming home to roost for the Coalition government and their drastic cuts to public spending that everyone from President Obama to the IMF warned against. With various community initiatives, many of them beneficial to the youth, closing down for lack of funds, not to mention scarcity of work in the public sector, where many school-leavers used to get their first job, is it any wonder there are problems? Shiftless, jobless young people on summer holidays, with little reason to be cheerful will find not-always-wholesome ways to occupy their time. In the aftermath of these riots, a friend of mine who up until recently worked as an external consultant for Job Centre Plus was lamenting over the many disenfranchised young men she came across in her former line of work; eager to earn money but nothing but full time unpaid opportunities available to them.

Of course not all the unemployed are given to vandalism and terrorising locals. Unfortunately some are. If these rogue elements had something legitimate to occupy their time, let’s say a job, it would distract them from creating chaos. Without much effort I can imagine the perverse and dizzying thrill that comes with a mob mentality. There’s no time to reflect on insignificant details such as consequences and personal responsibility.

Unlike some of the ludicrous comments I read from the Daily Mail demographic on the BBC website, I’m not going to blame the supposedly ‘soft touch’ approach of the previous Labour administration towards crime or call for the more relaxed attitude to police brutality preferred by some of our European neighbours or demand national service to be brought back. There weren’t riots under ‘softy’ Labour. I don’t want to live in a police state thank you very much and rather than waste money on reviving national service invest it in creating more apprenticeships and jobs. Lord Harris, himself a Conservative Peer, when asked in a BBC radio 4 interview if former Labour London Mayor Ken Livingstone was right to link the violence and looting to ‘economic stagnation’, admitted that youth unemployment was indeed a contributory factor in areas such as Tottenham and that he hoped the government ‘...are going to try to do more work to help the young people of this country...’ adding ‘If we could get the economy moving there would be more jobs available.’

Image courtesy of bbc.co.uk

It’s not a coincidence that the last time such civil unrest gripped the UK, as Livingstone also pointed out, was in 1981 the year I was born, during very similar political and economic circumstances. The protestors back then just didn’t have Blackberries and Twitter at their disposal to make the mayhem go viral.

The Coalition were looking to slash the police budgets and thousands faced redundancy. With the 2012 London Olympics just around the corner and all the security risks that could bring, such a decision was mind-bogglingly precarious in any case, without the menace of riots. I used to be indifferent when certain individuals complained about there not being enough officers out and about. Following this week I can understand what they mean. I have never seen so many Bobbies on the beat.

Having started to hang themselves with the very long rope they were given, Cameron and co might very well have to revise their plans to reduce the Met’s budget. They’ll find the money somewhere; after all they did for military intervention in Libya.

However it would be over-simplifying matters to simply blame spending cuts and bloody-minded government policy. I’m not, unlike some, going to play the race card either. It is almost always a very reductive line of argument that ignores the shades of grey such as the fact not all the rioters were from African-Caribbean backgrounds.

Looters in Peckham. Image courtesy of Guardian.co.uk

No. Ours is a society generally in decline. TV footage of the riots and eyewitness accounts tell of whole families going out a-lootin', of individuals battered by riotous thugs being mugged by those pretending to help them. The famously law-abiding British public are showing a different, ruder, inconsiderate side. Only recently I have been mourning alongside family and friends the apparent loss of chivalry and basic manners evident from the dog-eat-dog fashion people use public transport or merely interact on the street. With the Christian faith being relegated to the hinterland of the public consciousness, a lack of accountability has sprouted in its absence. People are looking for guidance but don’t always find it. Misguidance makes for a sinister substitute. I won’t romanticise a past I wasn’t always around to witness but I believe it’s fair to say there was a time the ‘fear of God’ or some kind of cosmic reprisal kept many a citizen on track even if they weren’t a person of faith. For all the similarities to the situation in 1981 and other uprisings worldwide, including those in North Africa and the Middle East earlier this year, the riots this week have not had a shred of the political nobility of these other movements bar the initial peaceful protests that took place in Tottenham following the killing of Duggan. Things have taken an anarchic turn for the worse. Now, as sis so sagely put it, you can be sitting next to someone on the tube who is a Tweet away from murderous activity. Technology provides a cloak of anonymity under which we can hide. If we can vehemently exchange faceless insults on Youtube and forums, it’s not that far a leap for some to mindlessly trash the home or burn the car of a local they don’t know.

Where are the collective values, my sister asked; the sense that we all should be invested in a cohesive society?

Hyper-consumerism (blamed for the looting), moral, ethical and economic bankruptcy, political disillusionment...the possible triggers for the madness that ensued this week are numerous and in no way do I claim to have exhausted them here. We can only look to the future and hope, as I do that some long term good can come out of this crisis. I doubt the Con-Dem coalition can continue business as usual regarding their money-saving plans. Dare we dream that some well-needed revision of policy is in the works?

The morning after the night before: Citizens help to clean up. (Image courtesy of Euronews.com)

In ordinary citizens willing to donate their time to clean up in the wake of the carnage, we see many have not lost their community spirit. The Law Society have opened a pro bono helpline for the victims of the riots. I’m not sure if this is what Cameron had in mind when he spoke of the ‘Big Society’ but it is another reason to be optimistic. It’s also good to see clergyman and other Christian community leaders such as Pete Grieg founder of 24/7 Prayer making their voices heard and getting involved in the clean-up operations both practically and spiritually. However it’s the usual suspects so to speak, those already on the frontline, who have been pro-active. I would like to see more church leaders from the so-called Black Majority Churches (BMCs) many, although not all, of which have historically tended to be very self-involved and insular) stir their congregants to respond more to their communities' needs as well as pray for them. If this week’s events have taught UK based churches anything, it’s that not all of us have been as community-focused as we should. Maybe if we had, it could have helped mitigate the damage even if it couldn’t be avoided altogether. Praise God, it’s never too late to make a start. Just this weekend I’ve seen positive signs; more BMC members, for example, out on the streets in Lewisham, trying to reach the people in their community with a message of hope. Beauty from Ashes.

In Defence of the Novel

2011-08-11T06:28:00.000-07:00

Profuse apologies are due for my two week hiatus, the longest I've taken since I relaunched 'I Was Just Thinking...' in January. Here come the reasons/excuses.... I was away for a few days at the end of last month/beginning of August commemorating turning the big Three-Zero. It's taken me a while to get back into my stride vis-a-vis updating the blog. I have had other commitments too. In all honesty, since I decided to start posting more frequently at the start of the year I realise it's not as simple as it appears. I got off to a fine start, having already had loads of features lined up. However as the months progressed I have found it increasingly challenging. Some months are more inspired than others. Creativity can't and shouldn't always be forced. Unfortunately, having made such a late start I suspect August will be a quiet month for 'IWJT...'. Please bear with me; I will try to do better as time and inspiration allow. I hope the following piece will make up for my absence to some extent.

If the bleak literary articles I have read in recent years are anything to go by, the novel as an art form is on its last legs.

I have for some time noticed a kind of snobbery towards fiction, even amongst fellow writers. It appears to be a badge of honour for some that they give the novel, especially contemporary fiction, a wide berth. As a lover of prose, for me the novel is my favourite literary expression (although a well-executed short story can be just as breathtaking). I gushed over many a work of fiction when reflecting on my top ten reads earlier this year. Nevertheless, at the risk of sounding melodramatic I’m beginning to feel as if we novel appreciators are a dying breed. And by novel appreciators I am not referring to those who read nothing but high profile genre fiction and would not even think to pick up a book that hadn’t been turned into a film franchise or with the potential to become Hollywood fodder.

Maybe it’s boredom, or specifically ‘fiction fatigue’ that has led to the increased trend of writers and reviewers engaging in this putative grave-dancing. South African literary giant and winner of numerous prestigious awards JM Coetzee, spurred on by fellow disaffected author David Shields, famously claimed to be ‘.... sick of the well-made novel with its plot and its characters and its settings.’ A few of his novels ('Elizabeth Costello', 'Summertime' for example) have flirted with more fluid structures infusing elements of memoir and pseudo-academic text. Funny, as I find these the most insufferable of Coetzee’s books whilst his far more orthodox ‘Disgrace’ is a very satisfying read indeed. Erstwhile literary darling of mine Zadie Smith states ‘Novels are idiosyncratic, uneven, embarrassing, and quite frequently nausea-inducing — especially if you happen to have written one.’

Having myself become disenchanted with Smith’s style I can concur with this statement and would add that she certainly speaks for herself.

Last year stateside literary reviewer Lee Siegel hailed the death of the great American novel, his comments sparking a furore in their wake. As far back as 2001 historian and BBC mainstay political maven Andrew Marr wrote an article in The Observer on (*yawn*) the death of the novel. I like Andrew Marr. I really do. His presenting style is an admirable mix of indisputably vast intellect and non-patronising accessibility. Yet we’ll have to agree to disagree where the backlash against the novel is concerned. In his 2001 piece Marr posits that...’the novel makes no claim to extend the boundaries of how we understand the world’ with the exception of fictional work that lifts the lid on ‘other cultures’ (assuming, as he does, that the Western world is the default standpoint from which to observe). I am not sure I entirely agree with Mr Marr’s observation. A good novel can put a fresh spin on a familiar subject without having to reinvent the wheel; fully engaging with what we know but breathing new life into it.

I find some of those literary works that are celebrated for their experimental style pretentious and at worst hard to engage with at all. Virginia Woolf’s ‘Mrs Galloway’ is less a classic in my eyes and more the indecipherable mutterings of a perturbed mind. Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? I am. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is surely a master scribe but with frequent interruptions in the form of magical realist non-sequiturs and self-indulgent asides, I am yet to comprehensively lose myself in one of his novels. Sometimes they are more a feat of endurance. And I always prefer Toni Robinson’s more coherent works to her structurally quirkier ones. Call me lazy, unimaginative or old fashioned but what’s wrong with the novel following more conventional patterns if it’s done well? Change is inevitable but novelty for novelty sake is not necessarily indicative of genuine progress.

The best non-fiction I’ve read, specifically memoirs by Maya Angelou, Richard Wright and Chris Van Wyk, even newcomer Ismael Beah’s ‘A Long Way Gone’ borrow heavily from the novel format. It’s not just a matter of staid, colourless recitation of significant events. These books have strong narratives, interesting narrative arcs and characters that are so vividly depicted that they leap off the page. These are all hallmarks of great fiction too.

Marr claims the novel presents no new ‘truths’. We can but re-visit the themes established by classic authors of the 19^th and 20^th Century. Yet this in itself should not render the novel obsolete or suggest that there are not some glorious days for fiction ahead. As King Solomon put it, there’s nothing new under the sun. There have never been any ‘new’ truths of which to speak...just undiscovered ones. Or ones yet to be articulated in an accessible way. If it’s perfectly legitimate for historical text to bring fresh perspective on established facts why not the novel? Plus there are as many nuances in worldview as there are people. How exciting these viewpoints are to read depends on the writer’s ability to convey them. We live in very peculiar times indeed; exponential technological and scientific advancement and the pros and cons that comewith, the displacement of faith and its importance in contemporary life, unprecedented environmental crises, economic buoyancy followed by catastrophic meltdown, the far reaching influence of the media and entertainment industries and the way said influence is aided and abetted by technological ‘progress’; the great facility with which formerly obscure predilections whether innocent or depraved are now indulged...all these things and more are evidence that we are living in an era distinct from any other in history. It would thus not cease to be of interest to re-evaluate these established truths to which Marr referred, especially now when, at least in the West, few wish to rock the boat of moral relativism. As long as it is done well, long may the ontological debates rage on in fiction and elsewhere.

Caine Prize Winner: Brian Chikwava

As societies and languages continue to evolve, there’ll always be room for cultural commentators, of whom talented novelists, alongside ingenious songwriters, are arguably those with the best shot at artistic durability and thus very important. By using a bit of creative flair and artistic licence these commentators help us make sense of this topsy turvy world as they always have done.

Besides, there is a certain high I get from a good novel that I can’t get through any other medium. To call it mere escapism is reductive not to mention dismissive. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with escapism for its own sake either. There’s no better way to temporarily check out on life than to lose oneself in an absorbing, well-crafted novel.

As Zimbabwean author Brian Chikwava postulated in his lovely apologia of the novel the kind of nay-saying that has recently beset fiction has ‘...a shocking disregard for the power and scope of the imagination’. Chikwava’s article is welcome reassurance that I am not so alone after all in my love of the novel.

Album Review: ‘Lagrimas de um Pássaro’- Heidi Vogel

2011-07-28T06:43:00.000-07:00

This summer, honey-over-coal voiced chanteuse Heidi Vogel releases ‘Lagrimas de um Pássaro’, eleven interpretations of various classics from the Brazilian songbook. This is something of a personal project for Ms Vogel. She has chosen to follow her heart rather than instant commercial viability by recording, in the starkest fashion, songs that are dear to her. These super-mellow, scaled back arrangements are quite different from what one might expect from Heidi’s gigs.

Heidi has a comfort blanket voice; scratchy yet lovely and warm in all the right places. ‘Lagrimas...’ is a soothing, undemanding listen. The simplicity of the production means that technically there’s little at fault here. There are some great song selections too. Not surprisingly, Tom Jobim and Vinicius De Moraes are well represented. Celebrated, oft-interpreted compositions such as ‘Copacabana’, ‘Dindi’ and ‘Bonita’ sit nicely alongside the less familiar. Vogel’s version of Ivan Lins’ ‘Love Dance’, made famous by George Benson, in particular brings out the wonderfully soulful properties of her voice. Beneath her understated vibrato passion simmers quietly away as she spars vocally with guest artist Cleveland Watkiss. They make a very complementary duo. Joao Donato’s ‘The Frog’ is another highlight, being the closest the album gets to an up-tempo-or even mid-tempo number.

Herein lies ‘Lagrimas’....’ main flaw; it is very ‘safe’. At the risk of making one of those inane-sounding comments frequently uttered by clueless ‘judges’ on TV talent contests, the record takes no real creative leaps, not even with tempo. The results are therefore somewhat repetitive, even a tad dull. Several times this reviewer shuffled the order of the songs only to note that it was difficult to distinguish one track intro from the other. It is understood that Vogel wished to create an uncluttered soundscape. However that shouldn’t necessarily preclude at least a little more sense of adventure within the boundaries of these minimalist arrangements.

http://www.myspace.com/heidilevo