| Sick and tired of being sick and tired |
[Jan. 5th, 2007|12:15 am] |
I've been reading lots these past few weeks, but not been writing up any reviews. As a result some of these updates are going to be a little bit vague. More to come in the next few days.
Doctor Who: Drift – Simon Forward
Once upon a time, back in the wilderness years before Russell T. Davies brought Doctor Who back to the masses, the only fix us Who fanboys and girls could get was through the book range. And they were marvellous. Often much better than the TV series that originally inspired them, the books published first by Virgin and then by the BBC took Doctor Who in exciting new directions. Then the TV show came back, was staggeringly ace, and concurrently the Doctor Who book range went to shit.
Anyhow, gripes over. This is one of the books from the good old days. It’s no classic, to be sure, but it’s a hugely enjoyable read, years ahead of the recent range. The fourth Doctor (that’s Tom Baker to the not-we) and his companion, Leela (her out of Eastenders), land in the icy wilderness of a small North American town. A storm is building, ravenous coyotes are preying on the locals, and a mysterious cult is up to no good. Pretty much business as usual then.
American horror fiction, especially that of Stephen King, is a clear reference point here and Forward does a decent impression of King's tales of small town terror. It’s a pacey read with the regulars sounding very much like their televisual counterparts, even if they do get zero character development throughout the novel. Instead Forward carefully draws up a sprawling cast of his own characters. It’s here however that he rather loses himself. Instead of developing just a few of his creations, he tells his story through numerous factions and cast in double-figures. It soon gets very confusing, especially when the characters have back-stories begin to tie into each others. Then again, that’s small town life for you and maybe I’m just being a bit thick.
There are much, much better Doctor Who books than Drift. Try those written by Lance Parkin or Paul Cornell for instance. Then again, Forward’s novel does pretty much what you want it to do satisfactorily enough. This is 280-odd pages of well-crafted and well-written Doctor Who.
Spectre – Stephen Laws
It’s been a while since I’ve read any full-on, old fashioned horror, but it was lovely to return to a genre I adore with this book. I’ve read Laws work before. He’s not my favourite horror writer (Simon Clark, please stand-up), but he’s a good and underrated writer, and it’s great to find out that he’s returned to writing recently after taking a few years off. This novel, first published in the mid-eighties, tip-toes niftily along the line between serious scares and OTT horror clichés. It’s got a killer dummy in it for fucks sake, but somehow manages to make it seem a plausible and genuinely menacing threat.
There’s a palpable sense of dread oozing from every page. Something unknowable (yet with a peculiar knowledge of the protagonists lives) stalks the streets of Newcastle. One by one a cast is established and then whittled away in a series of shocking set-pieces. By the mid-way point it will have become pretty obvious to everyone just how the characters are connected and Laws loses control a bit towards the end (read it and I can guarantee that you will be shouting ‘just shoot the cunt’ for most of the last twenty pages), but it still manages to end on a nicely sinister and ambiguous note. It’s nothing remarkable, and certainly not the classic some have made it out to be, but it’s a good read all the same. |
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| Lost and found |
[Dec. 14th, 2006|08:48 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Now That's What I Call Wrong Music 5 | ] |
I used to keep a books diary, y'know. For about two years I kept a record of every book I read. Then my hard drive crashed and I lost it and gave up on the idea. Well, with my Myspace blog now taking care of my whingeing and moping I have decided to revive the idea here, creating two seperate blogs. Zoiks! These aren't going to be especially in depth reviews, just some thoughts on the books as I finish them. To kick us off, here are four I've read (and mostly enjoyed) recently.
Terry Pratchett – Jingo
This is ‘Discworld goes to war’, or so Pratchett described it when it was first released. The reality is rather different: instead Jingo covers the run-up to war, looking at the shifting political allegiances and the growing tide of racism that wars inevitably bring. Heavy stuff, or so you’d think. Instead this is a fairly jolly book and also a slightly disappointing one. Pratchett can do funny, we all know that, but he has a talent for darkness as well, and given the serious nature of the subject, it’s a shame that he doesn’t explore it much here. You suspect that he knows this, which is why he tackled the subject again a few books later with the infinitely better – and darker – Monstrous Regiment, which really does get into the nitty gritty of battle.
But Pratchett doesn’t write bad books and this is still great fun. The City Watch are as entertaining as ever and we finally get a good central role for the Disc’s best character, Lord Vetinari. A good book then, but not up to Pratchett’s high standards.
Terry Pratchett – Night Watch
The one great thing about Jingo is that it's sparked an interest in the City Watch stories I didn't have before. These are essentially straight forward police procedurals, but with all the twists that Pratchett’s usual fantasy environment brings. In particular I love the character of Sam Vimes. He’s a very moral hero, but with enough flaws to make him interesting. He kills one particularly nasty baddy here not through malice, but through simply forgetting about him and then not bothering to help when he realises his error.
Night Watch dispenses with the rest of the usual Watch cast, instead transporting Sam back in time to the beginnings of the Watch. Trapped in a period he knows is going to erupt into violence, Sam has to look after a younger version of himself, ensure that time flows along its proper course and deal with a serial killer, also from the future.
It’s basically Back To The Future meets Quantum Leap on the Disc, and has some sweet little nods towards other time travel stories, The Terminator reference being a particular favourite.
I’ve not a lot to say about this really. Night Watch is funny, moving and is a serious contender for the best Discworld ever award. Great stuff. You should read it immediately.
John Brunner – The Wrong End Of Time
John Brunner was an incredibly prolific writer, who has been virtually written out of SF's history. I picked up a whole bunch of his paperbacks from the seventies a few years back, but aside from The Long Result – a decent SF/political thriller, haven't gotten round to reading any of them until recently.
The Wrong End Of Time starts from a typical SF premise: a spaceship has been spotted travelling towards Earth, with the intention of mass destruction. Brunner then goes on to completely ignore this thread for the rest of the book! You quickly realise that it really isn't the point. Instead the book focuses on an eerily realistic portrait of an America ruled by fear of terrorist attacks and paranoia. Told from the point of view of two secret agents from opposing power blocs, this is an intensely personal story of a tortured man trying to make sense of his unique abilities in a world that wants to repress people with differences.
Brunner's prose is often quite blunt, even a bit pulpy, and is reminiscent at times of a slightly less insane Philip K. Dick. This is a good thing, obviously. But given the cult that has sprung up around Dick, it makes you wonder why such a following hasn't been afforded Brunner. It can only be down to the frankly tragic fact that of his seventy odd novels, only Stand On Zanzibar is currently in print and readily available in the UK.
After all the gloom and doom through the novel the final twist takes the alien sub-plot and turns it neatly on its head. It's actually rather lovely, offering a glimmer of hope into what is a thoroughly bleak vision of what was supposed to be the future, but actually seems very much like our present.
Iain Banks – A Song Of Stone
I'm not quite sure why I read Iain Banks. I've read six of his books now and only actually enjoyed two of them. But the guy is undoubtedly a talented writer, able to change his style at whim from hard science fiction to rock n' roll comedy to enigmatic fable. It is into this last category that A Song Of Stone fits.
It can be summed up pretty easily. A couple of aristo's leave their beleaguered castle home, get captured by some bandits and are taken back to it. Then some horrible stuff happens. The end.
This book is remarkable for several reasons. It's predictable, irritating, pompous and, even at 280 pages, far too long. And yet…I wanted to keep reading. Partly it was sheer bloody mindedness and a determination to not let him beat me into submission with overly-florid descriptions of absolutely everything, and partly it was also a genuine curiosity as to if there was any more to the book than there seemed to be.
Well, there isn't. The decision to keep everything as vague as possible gives it an intriguingly mythic feel. But it's really just the literary equivalent of Deal Or No Deal. There is no secret mystery at the heart of this story. It's all just smoke and mirrors to mask a really vague and simplistic theme, essentially: "War turns people into psychos!" Wow. How's that for an insight?
Now maybe I've missed something, but I don't think so. Spike magazine has this to say about the book: "For every manifestation of violence and ugliness that erupts around them, there seems to be an eruption of a corresponding internal sickness and spiritual rot. Abel may in fact be a man of his times, with all the taint that that entails, in spite of his professions to the contrary, and it is these spiritual malignancies which may have set the cataclysm around him in motion, and which may completely destroy him."
But that's bollocks. Now, I like to think that I'm quite a moral person on the whole, and, to my mind at least, Abel doesn't do anything particularly wrong. He likes kinky sex (and goes on about it at tedious length), but that just makes him a normal and healthy person as far as I can see. OK, so his lover is also a relative, which is a bit weird, but this is the aristocracy we're talking about remember. We should be greatful he wasn't doing it with a peacock or something. It's a very judgmental reading of the book and can be discounted with one simple test. If Abel and Morgan had been any different at all, would the outcome of the story be changed? The simple answer is no. The camp full of refugees near the castle is raided, the women raped and men beaten. Were they all also spiritually corrupt in some way? Bollocks say I.
I'll keep on reading Banks. Something about his writing always draws me back, and he is capable of brilliance. The fact that all of his books are so dissimilar means that no doubt the next one I read will feel completely different to this. Well, I hope so anyhow. |
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| Sometimes I hurt myself and sometimes I help myself |
[Oct. 20th, 2006|12:36 am] |
Hello. I've not updated here for a while, but if, for some odd reason, you feel to need to read my rantings on life, TV, sex, my utter failure to get past the first chapter of my novel and my hilariously lightweight and ill-thought through political ramblings, then please come visit me at my myspace page, http://www.myspace.com/diehumanscum.
I plan to do something different and interesting with this LJ. I'm just not sure what yet. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 10th, 2006|12:19 pm] |
Some more reviews from Pluto, most of which were cut to shreds in the actual editions, with added spelling errors:
Stereolab - Fab Four Suture
Reviewed by William Salmon
It’s good to see Stereolab back, after their unceremonious dumping by Warner Music last year. But some 14 years into the band’s career, this compilation of previously vinyl only tracks, is a mixed bag.
There’s quality here, of course. Eye of the Volcano sounds like the Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) theme (the real Randall and Hopkirk that is, not the Vic and Bob one) and Interlock is all brass and cheesy synths. But…it’s all very samey.
Combined with the irritating Kyberneticka Babicka parts one and two that bookend the album, you can’t help but think that Stereolab are treading water. With the recent Broadcast album raising the bar for retro-lounge-electro-pop, Stereolab need to up their game. Hopefully the forthcoming ‘proper’ album will be an improvement. Until then, this is a decent enough stopgap that Lab fans will adore.
Gorillaz – Kids With Guns/El Mañana
Reviewed by William Salmon
Is there really a need for any more singles from Demon Days? Surely everyone knows by now if they like Gorillaz or not? Anyway, Kids With Guns is a bit like Ian Dury gone electro, and El Mañana is largely forgettable.
Mogwai – Mr Beast
Reviewed by William Salmon
Mogwai have always hovered around the mainstream, never quite getting the attention they deserve. This, their fifth album, is unlikely to change that, but it shows the band at their very best.
The name, Mr Beast, may suggest a brutal monster of an album, but there’s a lot of melody here amongst the feral guitar savagery. Indeed, it’s the gentler tracks that stand out. Acid Food, with its western guitars, always hovering on the edge of cheesiness, and the ebullient Friend of the Night are especially lovely.
Mr Beast isn’t, as Alan McGee has suggested, the best art-rock album ever, but it’s hard to think of a better one since Kid A. It’s a vast, squatting behemoth dropping violent turds onto its pathetic opposition. Take that Blunt! Eat lead Powter! Guitar blandness is no longer an option. Feel the wrath of Mogwai!
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 28th, 2006|04:40 pm] |
It's been a while...thank you to the lovely Tim for reminding me to update this place.
So...these past few weeks have been strange. I have been beavering away working on our uni group magazines. The first was a business magazne about the gambling industry, called Snake Eyes, and the second a mag for teenage girls, called Trash. Both were absolute hell to make, mainly due to some of the staff being nazi's. At the moment we're making The Wok - our third and final mag, and then I'm free to make my own mag, which at the moment, is called FRINGE and is about all the weird shit music that I like.
On the plus side, I've started interviewing more people. In the past three weeks I've interviewed The Go! Team (very nice), Fastlane (very nice), The Delays (lovely gents), Save Ourselves (very nice) and Hundred Reasons (the singer is a miserable arse, but the rest are okay). Apparently I might be talking to Rick Stein the next couple of days too, which is, weirdly, more nerve wracking than the others.
I don't have long to spend here today, but if you're on myspace, why not come and Be My Friend at http://www.myspace.com/43412833.
I shall post some reviews and other stuff here soonish.
Take it easy chaps. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 31st, 2006|04:52 am] |
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I have been in uni now for 20 hours. We are finishing off our first magazine and it's been the suck. I want to hurt people. But most of all I want to sleep. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 4th, 2005|06:56 pm] |
I am very tired and depressed today. I have my portfolio of work due in this Friday and have consequently spent the weekend not speaking to people and working in the library. It's not been much fun.
Keeping me sane at the moment:
Rewatching Buffy from the beginning again. I did this in 2003, I think, before I went to Canada, and wrote a dissertation on it. I've just got through all of the mighty Firefly and Serenity (film of the year, by the way) and couldn't bear to leave Whedonland just yet. Hopefully I'll get around to buying seasons 4 and 5 of Angel at some point too.
Secret House Against The World by Buck 65. Awesome album, the review I did below really doesn't do it justice. Great act live too.
But! It's been a good semester. I've met a lot of interesting people (ask me sometime in the future and i'll fill you in on the madness that is my class), gotten to interview top horror writer Simon Clark and a bunch of taxidermists. And I'm still writing my stupid column for the Brid paper, even though it takes far too long to write, I have to censor myself and not use words like 'wankery', and is read by approximately five people (including the editor). But no matter. I've written a shit load of words because of this course and that's a good thing.
Plus, The Variety does 2 bottles of Kronenberg for £2. Bargtastic dadster, as I might say, if I was being a twat.
Goodnight. |
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| Some Reviews |
[Dec. 2nd, 2005|05:05 pm] |
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A few reviews written for the uni paper.
Various Artists - Sounds From Monsterism Island Vol. 1
Words cannot express quite how much I love this album. Which is a bit of a pain, as I have to write about 250 of them. Suffice to say, in a week of bird-flu, natural disasters and The Beatles winning yet another bloody award, just thinking about this record has me bouncing around, grinning like a maniac. It’s a compilation album of sixties psych-folk and exotica, designed to accompany the surreal paintings of Super Furry Animal’s and Magic Number’s cover artist Pete Fowler. Basically, if you’ve heard any of the Furry’s recent records, you should have a pretty good idea of what to expect here. From bizarro glockenspiel funk to the sun-warped psychedelia of bands with names like The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band and Sagittarius. And then just as you’re feeling all lovely and summery in the rain blasted depths of Preston in October, it’ll throw in some distorted sex sounds and heavy guitar, just to weird you out a bit. It’s the most fresh and exciting record I’ve heard all year, which is worrying given that most of it was recorded forty years ago.
Many of the tracks on here have never been released on CD before, so some might criticise the decision to mix a few of the tracks together, but for the purposes of the album it works. Really, this is mellow, mental genius that every single one of you should buy immediately.
Buck 65 – Secret House Against The World
In which everyone’s favourite Canadian alt-rapper embarks on a peculiar new country and western direction. Think Beck’s Odelay! sung by Johnny Cash and without the irony, and you’ll get some of the way there. “Hip hop music ruined my life,” growls Buck (real name, the rather less evocative Rich) on Surrendering to Strangeness, and indeed he appears to have all but abandoned rap and straightforward hip hop in favour of “deep fried blues” and scuzzy electro-rock. Rich has always had a bit of a blues thing going on in his music, but these whiskey-fuelled songs of betrayal and “black angels” push it right to the forefront. In truth, the Cash-isms can get a little wearying and self indulgent after a while, but when it works – on The Suffering Machine and Blood of a Young Wolf in particular – it works fabulously.
But it’s not all countrified doom and gloom. Other tracks like Le 65isme and the Iggy inspired Kennedy Killed The Hat see a more danceable approach that recalls some of Buck’s earlier work.
This is an awkward, belligerent record. It’s too long and a couple of tracks (The Floor especially) are bland. But for the most part this is a fresh, exciting album. Hip hop purists may moan, but frankly, hip hop purists can sod off and leave the rest of us in peace.
Killa Kela - Elocution
Killa Kela is one of the best known and most respected beatboxers in the UK. He’s notched up a formidable live reputation and worked with everyone from Vadim and The Neptunes to, ahem, Justin Timberlake. And it’s easy to see why - when it comes to beatboxing, Kela is simply awesome. Whether imitating breakbeats or pulling off extremely convincing vocal scratches, he’s very talented. Unfortunately his debut album is torpedoed by his rather foolish decision to sing on all the tracks.
Don’t get me wrong – I have absolutely nothing against this in principal and he’s not actually bad as such. It’s just that Kela seems to be aiming for smooth and soulful and arriving instead at boyband cheesiness.
Rave of the Future is as naff as it sounds and virtually every track is drenched in interminable strings.
That said, when the album’s good, it’s really good. Here Comes The Submarines is a typically ace collaboration with Roots Manuva, proving yet again that whatever Rodney Smith touches turns to gold. Jawbreaker is as heavy as its name suggests, with Kela’s fey vocals working as a strong counterpoint to the brutal beats; and Time Frame brings the album to a pleasantly chilled close. It’s not enough though. Kela definitely has what it takes, but that doesn’t stop most of this album from being a damp squib and a real disappointment.
Blackbud – The Heartbeat EP
Intriguingly, Blackbud’s website talks of the band being heavily influenced by jazz and reggae, as well as the more standard indie reference points. You wouldn’t know it. The Heartbeat EP instead sounds very much like three tracks of Bends era Radiohead. I so wanted to write the band off as derivative.
But I couldn’t. Because Heartbeat haunted me, when I could have really done without it messing up my snobbish preconceptions. It’s absolutely gorgeous, going for the slow build before lifting off into an epic – and surprisingly rocking - climax. Corner of the World is more delicate, but equally lovely. Only Steal Away disappoints, sounding like the bland b-side material that it is.
Not perfect then, but on the evidence here, Blackbud could turn out to be something very special indeed. Let’s have more of the reggae next time though, eh?
Backini – Re: Creation
Irritating title aside, this is an average little album from a man people are comparing to DJ Shadow and Mr Scruff. In truth, Backini isn’t a patch on either, but that doesn’t stop Re: Creation from hiding a few gems amongst a morass of half-baked ideas and cheesy samples. Boathouse is a fun slice of Warpish techno, while Electro Industry is excellent trip hop. The album has a lot going for it, but it never quite lifts off because of a reliance on hip hop clichés (sampling self help records is so passé darling) and childish humour. One song is about a robot masturbating over the books of Stephen Hawking. That’s not a sentence I ever expected to write, but it speaks volumes about the level of wit that Backini is working on. This is fun then, but far from essential.
Clearlake – Amber
Ah, dull name, drab cover, it must be a bad indie band. Don’t be deceived though, there’s a lot more to Clearlake than you might initially expect. This, their third album, is ambitious and expansive with a surprisingly wide range of influences. The chimingly lovely title track, Amber, suggests that the band have been listening to Four Tet, while Finally Free has a touch of Graham Coxon about it. While the album occasionally slips into the realms of bland garage rock – first single Good Clean Fun being a particular offender – songs like album highlight You Can’t Have Me more than make up for it. Clearlake may be just that bit too weird to break into the mainstream, but they deserve to. This is fantastic album that you’d be a fool to miss out on come January.
Gorillaz – Dirty Harry
As if there was ever any doubt, this is further proof that there’s only one band worth listening to in the charts at the moment – and they don’t even exist. Dirty Harry has got a children’s choir and Bootie Brown rapping in the space of the same four minutes and somehow doesn’t sound like a hellish mess. It’s not quite as ace as the mighty Dare, but this is still a catchy slice of avant-pop. Believe me, you’ll be humming this one forever.
Kate Bush – Aerial
There’s a certain amount of fanboy obsession surrounding Kate Bush that, to a newbie like myself, seems more than a little bit strange. The fact that Aerial seems to have garnered rave reviews from just about everyone while still being rubbish suggests that there’s a wee bit of adolescent hero worship going on here.
Because Aerial is poor. Not offensively so – there are a few highlights here and there – but they’re buried beneath dated production, bird song and self-consciously ‘wacky’ lyrics (“Slooshy sloshy slooshy sloshy, get that dirty shirty clean” on Mrs Bartolozzi). And it goes on for an hour and a half! Wasn’t there a law passed a while back banning double-albums from everyone except the Aphex Twin? If not, then Aerial is further evidence that there should be, and that offenders should be punished by being forced to sit in a room with nothing but a copy of their boring, self-indulgent twaddle on a loop for all eternity. Slooshy sloshy slooshy sloshy…
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 16th, 2005|06:43 pm] |
At the risk of sounding deeply pretentious, I'm starting to feel like David Bowie in Cracked Actor.
I've been sat at this PC for hours working intensely on stuff, coursework, reviews and my music column. It's pretty much finished now, but I can't drag myself away from the screen. There must be something more to do! I know that if I go, I'll feel guilty, but if I stay there's a chance that it's going to turn to gibberish (if it hasn't already).
It's a great feeling to have work flowing so easilly, but frightening too. I really hope that one day I can get my prose work to come this quickly.
I'm going to shut up now. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 28th, 2005|08:06 am] |
A very quick one today, just to let you know that I haven't given up on this despite the big break between updates.
I'm writing from the journalism department at the university. No one else is in for an hour or so, and it's quite cool to have the place to myself and be able to get on with work and such. I'm working on some reviews for the student paper at the moment and listening to a dodgy album by a human beatbox. It's a strange life sometimes.
Anyway, I'll write about something interesting next time, promise*.
*maybe. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 16th, 2005|06:01 pm] |
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| |  contemplative | ] |
Bye bye Bridlington. |
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| And my exciting news is... |
[Sep. 16th, 2005|10:21 am] |
I have a regular music column on the Gazette and Herald. I'm very pleased and excited, and am having my photo taken for it today. The first one's about Portishead and I'm basically going to do classic albums and new stuff, an album a week.
In other news, I had a reverse tramp attack yesterday. By which I mean a tramp forced money into my hands and hassled me to buy him cigarettes. He was alright though, offered me a can of beer from his carrier bag afterwards. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 15th, 2005|03:48 pm] |
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I have just found an old note to myself that reads, inexplicably, "Shelving? Queer as Folk". |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 14th, 2005|05:43 pm] |
I'm using the rather wonderful www.pandora.com at the moment. Basically you stick in the name of an artist that you like (say, Boards of Canada and Aphex Twin as I did) and it plays a continuous selection of music that's similar but different. I'm listening to Roni Size at the moment and Pandora tells me it was selected for its, "ambiguous lyrics" (in this track the single word "wwwaaaannnn").
The Gazette front page is in! I'm very excited. Plus, I have some officially exciting news, but I'll save that until I've had it confirmed.
Only 2 days to the big move... |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 8th, 2005|05:40 pm] |
I have two fairly small pieces and one film blurb in this weeks Free Press. Next weeks Gazette and Herald should be more exciting, where I think I've somehow ended up with the front page story! Plus assorted bits on stolen milk and enormous leeks.
The work experience is top. I've got one more day to go and it's been an exhilirating and intense few days, but I've loved it. I expected to be filing and making coffee. Instead, ten minutes into my first day I was writing. By the afternoon I'd done my first phone interview and yesterday I was in court. Best of all I managed to convince a certain large electrical company to apologise to a customer it has been haranguing and send him a goodwill gesture. Power of the press and all that. On top of that, everyone in the office has been lovely and helpful. If I had any doubts about following this path before, this week has quashed them. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 11th, 2005|02:24 pm] |
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My hunt for a magazine placement continues and quite badly at that. In the mean time, I have just secured a weeks placement on the Bridlington Free Press! I'm very excited. I also have a room in a house in Preston now reserved for September, so it's all go. Don't mention the laptop situation though. My feelings on all of this can be best summed up with the word, "oh". |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 5th, 2005|01:17 pm] |
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It's all go go go at the moment. Tomorrow I look for housing in Preston and today, shudder, I'm phoning around trying to convince magazines to give me a work placement next year. Things are pretty hellish at the moment, to be honest. I'm sure they'll calm down a bit when I've got these sorted out, but it's all quite terrifying. Love to all of you out there. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 4th, 2005|10:46 am] |
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Apologies for the many mistakes and typos in that last ramble, it was written very quickly. I expect most of you know by now, but just in case there's someone that I haven't told, I have my funding confirmed now, so I am going to Preston in September to train to be Evil Journo Scum. Hurrah! In other news I have an interview on Thursday for a job. I'm not 100% morally happy knowing that if I get it, I'll be quitting on them very shortly after, but I need more money than what I'm currently earning, so it has to be done. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 23rd, 2005|12:53 pm] |
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So, the festival…
Firstly, the Isle of Wight is absolutely stunning. A swift ferry ride from Portsmouth on a windy day and you’re there. It doesn’t look like much at first, but exploring the town the next day was lovely. It has to be said that this is the most chilled out festival I’ve been to. Smaller and friendlier than Glastonbury (“Pull the glass out of my hand mister”) and T (“She’s fuckin’ nicked me Helly Hansen!”), everyone seems unnaturally calm and sober. It doesn’t last, of course. Our neighbours are chav lads. They’re not too bad, but one of them has a genuinely psychotic gleam in his eye that puts me and Mark immediately on the defensive.
Thursday night and the tents are set up. On this jaunt are myself, Katie and, joining us for his first festival, Mr Mark Mainprize. We’re aloud out of the campsite, so rather than hang around the food fields we head into town for a quick drink at the pub. One drink soon becomes several and a fine evening ensues. There’s bad karaoke in the local Yates’ and the single most bored looking woman I’ve ever seen in my life, whose boyfriend is busy talking to other girls. Green wristbands everywhere. We head to the Turquoise Takeaway, stock up on food and wander back. I wander into Ottakars, wondering why it’s open so late, only to realise that I’ve crashed a book launch party.
I hate sleeping at festivals, even more than I hate the toilets. The first night of T in the Park last year was one of the worst of my life. You don’t know Hell until you’ve been surrounded by thousands of pissed up Scottish teenagers. This first night was awkward, but not so bad. I did actually get some sleep, which was a nice surprise. The great festival tradition of shouting “bollocks!” at every available interval continues however.
Friday is an oddity. The actual festival doesn’t start till about five o’clock, so we use the opportunity to explore Newport some more. A lovely place, sadly blighted by the curse of every UK town centre now looking identical. Topshop, HMV, W. H. Smiths, the lot. And yes, I fully acknowledge what a total and utter hypocrite I am for complaining about these places while happily shopping from them. I prefer to look on it as an interesting character trait.
Some nice pubs in Newport. I especially recommend The Bargeman’s Rest. The manager looks excitingly like a pirate and the rinks are good, if pricey. It’s in a lovely spot by the canal, which was perfect for resting by in the terrifying heat. Then, back to the festival.
First up is Idlewild. The downside of Isle of Wight’s ‘intimate’ approach is that if you don’t like a band, there’s not really much else to see. I’m unconvinced by Idlewild, but they put in a decent performance and Katie fancies the singer, despite him being ram. At this point, I go into a weird depressive slump. I’m worried about the amount of booze I’ve been drinking lately. Supergrass are better. They’re still not my kind of thing, but at least they’re fun. I really can’t face the thought of Razorlight though, so I wander off to look around the site. I gravitate towards the ‘Smirnoff Ice Cube’, which is playing some good dance, and end up staying there for ages, dancing with various strangers. I should point out at this point that I have bought a black trilby that is attracting a lot of attention, some of it more welcome than others. One guy wants to swap me it for a brown pill, but I turn him down. The DJ is playing some fairly chilled out house, but keeps shouting, “hold tight!”. I wander back to meet the others, but they’re lost in the crowd. I watch the last few songs of Razorlight and feel happy to have missed their earlier songs. If I can sum their set up in one word, it’s ‘wanky’. Back to the dance tent to see Gilles Peterson until halfway through Faithless’s set when I finally get in contact with Katie. Their last few tracks are surprisingly good and everyone is very excited, especially Mark who has spookily made friends with one of the people I was dancing with in The Cube.
Saturday is a full day, so a good thing that I slept well. The chavs are heckling a girl camped near us. Her boyfriend doesn’t look happy about this. It’s also a lot busier than yesterday. It starts of well with an unsigned band called Skanked or summat like that. Very Coral-ish, which is no bad thing. A nice alternative to the rest of the music on offer today. We spend most of the day at the main stage and see a lot of bands. Tara Blaise is fucking awful. Ray Davies is surprisingly good. Babyshambles live up to their name and not in a good way. Doherty’s turning into a parody of himself, coming on stage with a belt around his arm, cos, y’know, he’s a rebel and he does drugs and isn’t he just so shocking, blah, blah, blah. It is bollocks. Goldie Lookin Chain are already silly, but in a good way. They put on a good show with some ace new songs (key moment: “fuck you Alicia Keyes!” shouted by several thousand people). We skip Feeder (dull) and check out the Cube. The atmosphere tonight couldn’t be more different. Tense, unfriendly and swarming with security. We make a swift exit and return to Roxy Music. I’ve been in some rough crowds. Taken kicks to the head for Cypress Hill; jumped around at the front of the Pixies and been hassled by teens at Blur. But a Roxy crowd is hardcore. Hundreds of middle-aged people stoned out of their brains reliving their glory days. It’s not a pretty sight and for the first time all weekend, I know RAGE. There is a woman in that crowd that I truly despise, who even thinking about now makes me seethe with hatred. I’ll leave it at that. The band were quite good though. Mark has been looking forward to them all weekend, but is disappointed. We head for freedom and watch Travis while eating at the back of the crowd. They’re not great, but they put on a nice enough sing-a-long and everyone ends the night happy enough. Except the chavs, whose tent has been destroyed. Hmm, wonder who did that…?
Sunday is the big day for me, as the Magic Numbers are playing. First up though is Caravan. Not the sexiest of bands, even in their heyday, they’re a distinctly odd choice for an indie festival. They play a sort of proggy sludge that doesn’t really work on a lazy summer afternoon. But…but…I quite like them. They’re boring, but sort of good boring, if such a thing exists. And in a moment of pure genius, there’s a solo played on electric spoons! Glorious.
The Magic Numbers don’t disappoint. This is their biggest gig to date and they seem genuinely astonished to be here. The show itself is lovely, but the real thrill is just seeing the four of them looking so happy and getting such a great reaction. Their album is out the following Monday. I reckon they’ll have shifted a few extra thousand just from Isle of Wight festivalgoers.
Me and Katie go for a wander while Embrace and Starsailor are on and find…FREE CIDER! Seriously, girls wandering around with Cider dispensing backpacks on. Bless you Strongbow. We struggle towards the front for Snow Patrol, but are surrounded by thousands of teenies. Amusingly, I recognise the singer as the guy who walked past me an hour ago, completely unaccosted. Now he’s got the entire audience screaming and whooping for him. Again, I’m not a fan, but they’re quite good. We catch up with Mark, head for some food and decide to watch REM’s grand finale from the back. Stipe’s painted his face blue, which is typical and amusing. Good for him. It’s a great show and the festival ends on a high note. We dawdle around, check out The Cube again (more relaxed tonight) and eventually head back to the tents.
So, to sum up, Isle of Wight is a fun weekend, but suffers from its limited choice of bands and single main stage. For all of Babyshambles rubbishness, at least they’re not in the Very Sincere Whinges About My Girlfriend genre of Starsailor, Embrace etc. Ray Davies, the Magic Numbers and Faithless all succeeded by being exciting, fresh and fun as well as sincere. So a wider range of bands would be appreciated. And a return from the lovely Strongbow girls please. But I’ve waffled enough for now. I’m off for lunch. |
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