It’s never over till it’s over…
You know the way certain songs don’t end but instead just fade out slowly? Well that just bugs me greatly.
To me a song is, or should be, a narrative, a story almost. It has to start somewhere, obviously, and by the same token should end somewhere but very often they don’t they just fade out. It’s either lazy songwriting or lazy production but either way it’s lazy.
Many great songwriters and recording artists are guilty of it. There’s just too many to list unfortunately. In fact I’d say it’s been happening since the dawn of recorded music.
Maybe it’s dictated by a higher power, ie the record company, but still I feel cheated. Almost like I’ve been brought on a journey that trailed off to nowhere. It’s the equivalent of a movie just slowly fading to black in the middle of the third act as the projectionist slowly dims the projector’s bulb. No good. We need closure. We need conclusions.
Whether it ends on a cymbal crashing, a chord jangling or on a final word all I want is for songs to have proper, actual endings. Is that too much to ask?
One man and his beat…
2 in the afternoon. The lad at the bus stop was dancing. Taken over by a beat, a beat unheard by the rest of us. And shaking his head like there was no tomorrow. Musta been some good shit coming through those headphones.
People looked at him like he was half cracked. He could see them look at him like that but he didn’t care. Because he was lost in the music. And I bet he didn’t give a fuck how long the bus was taking to arrive. But everyone else was staring up the road counting the seconds, worrying, fretting about this about that. I bet he doesn’t worry about much.
So keeping dancing lad. They’re the ones missing out.
The bus arrived, he bopped on and air-drummed his way into town.
And why not? He’s dead fucking right. I just wish I could’ve heard his beat.
I was a dancer all along…
I’ve been told that I’ve taken to talking in my sleep of late. Much to the amusement of her indoors. The latest instance of which has been my spoken word version of Dance Dance Dance by Lykke Li. Vocals delivered in a most deadpan style I’m told. Could well be a hit methinks.
Q102 you burgled my bank of youth…
Last night, after some post-work pints with the intelligentia, I turned away from the dead loves that were born for me and flagged a taxi on Georges Street. Which, thankfully, these days isn’t too difficult on the monster’s back.
The driver looked like one of the Guildford Four or the Birmingham 6. Not sure which. But anyway, surprise surfuckingprise Q102 was the swinish radio station of choice. Steaming dunghills.
The first song I heard was some woe bejaysus-awful Mike & the Mechanics number. A song of cowards’ brood.
But then they played a song from my youth, my formative days. From when my stumble had the poise and stride of Apollo. It was a song I once thought was against the grain, counter culture almost. Obviously not any more.
And a little piece of me died right there and then in that taxi. Lost the long hours of pleasure. Thanks to Q102.
You flung a ditch on my vision of beauty, love and truth. The laugh from my love you thieved. And I paid €15 for the privelige.
But hey you followed it up with some Laura Izibor.
101 feelgood songs to banish those cleaning blues…
Mother’s Day is coming up. Next Sunday. Pencil it in folks.
This CD compilation is being advertised quite heavily on TV at the moment, just in time for Mothering Sunday. I’m not joking, it’s real.
Now, I ask you, who would be stupid enough to buy this as a gift for their Mother? I for one would most definitely get a slap if this was purchased for Mother NaRocRoc.
“101 feelgood songs to banish those cleaning blues”, they say. It includes Chubby Checker and the Fat Boys. Are you brave enough?
Art or Deception?
My old mucker Claude DeBussy once said… “art is the most beautiful deception of all. And although people try to incorporate the everyday events of life in it, we must hope that it will remain a deception lest it become a utilitarian thing, sad as a factory”.
I love that last line. Sad as a factory. So poetic. So evocative.
So why on this Monday morning am I gettin’ all poetic and deep on your asses? Well because I’ve been thinking all weekend about the deception of live performance. Particularly in music and of so-called artists and performers miming in front of a live audience who are investing their time, money and hopes in the artist and their work.
Maybe aul Claude has a point but miming, mostly on TV shows but also in stage performances, happens all too frequently and if truth be told it bugs the hell out of me.
It’s been said that “the art of pleasing is the art of deception”. So should audiences be happy just to be pleased by the lifestyle and image and presence of a performer in front of them who is lipsyncing to a backing track? I for one don’t think so. The essence of lying is in deception, not in the action itself.
People come to music to seek oblivion, which in itself is also a form of deception. So where’s the harm? Well the harm is in the cheating, the lying and the falseness. It’s not on in my book.
Now there are those who may argue that “a deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths”. And there may well be some logic there. A grain of truth. But I don’t buy it.
I know why artists mime. And I know modern music is more about image and lifestyle than about the actual core of music and performance. And I know management and record companys put the pressure on for their clients to look and sound as good as possible. But If I were an artist, a musician, a performer I couldn’t stand in front of an audience and mime. Be it on stage, on television, whatever. I couldn’t deal with the shame. The shame of deception. It’s glorified fraud.
So Andrea Bocelli and Steve Craddock, this is my truth, tell me yours.
NaRocRockin Beats…
Soundcheck last night. I did something I never thought I’d ever do. Ever. I played a Pet Shop Boys track. And I enjoyed it.
It went very well indeed. Yes it was daunting initially, I had probably built it up too much. But once I got into Spy I just thought fuck it. It wasn’t packed, there was no one expecting great things and there were plenty of good heads there. People were having a drink or two and noddding away to the msuic. Not much dancing but that’s just fine.
When I arrived Bluebirds Are So Natural were ripping it up and playing a blinder. I introduced myself. Very nice folk altogether.
I downed a quick Carlsberg. Then it was my turn. Lady Gaga got the ball rolling.
The lovely Milan Adenauer came over to say hello. She doesn’t look a jot like her avatar.
Rick rocked in looking pimpishly cool. The best cane I ever did see. Rapture Ponies introduced herself with a big hug. Anthony McG rolled by in 3-D glasses. And sure why not?!
My planned setlist went out the window and I played whatever took the mood from thereon. And it was over in a flash. Really glad I did it tho. Felt like my Blogmitzvah if you will. My stepping out from behind the veil of anonymity. And it didn’t hurt one bit.
Afterwards I chatted to some more fine folk. Anthony, Pedro, Nialler, Aoife to name but a few. It was great to meet you all.
The music was eclectic and always wonderfully unpredictable.
Oh and Jim would it have killed you to play a bit of Aslan?!?
All in all, a cracking night was had. Hats off to Una and Sarah for putting it all together and running such a tight ship. Gold stars all round.
And despite all my threats, I never got around to playing Guns N Roses. Next time I swear!
Fuck it… LET’S ROCK
I’m sitting in a pub across from Spy. Had a mental day in work. But still legged it earlier than supposed to.
The couple of Carlsbergs have just evaporated. Soundcheck I’m sure is rocking and rolling. I admit I’m quite fucking nervous. But the world still turns.
Right so. The time is now. Fuck it. Let’s rock.
There Will Be Cake…
I twisted my ankle last night playing football. Thankfully nothing broken. Except maybe pride.
I was clean through on goal too when a rogue tackle and my trademark Messi shuffle combined to make me crumble in a heap of man pain on the astroturf. And now I hobble like, like, like something that hobbles a lot (note to self… insert mindblowingly apt analogy here later) and my ankle looks like something you should need planning permission for.
What does all this mean you may well ask?
Well kids I am lined up for some Soundcheck Blog Off action in Spy tomorrow night and now the Har Mar Superstar-styled dance routine will have to take a raincheck I’m afraid. Just think of what might have been.
Anyway, those fine folk also vying for blogger imortality:
Nialler9
Jim Carroll
Rick O’Shea
Ian Wright (Thrill Pier)
UnaRocks
Sweet Oblivion
Raptureponies
Aoife McIndieHour
Bluebirds Are So Natural
Dublin Streets
It promises to be an eclectic affair. There have even been threats of Prefab Sprout. Lord help us and save us.
First blogger up will be hitting the decks at 7pm. Admission is free before 11pm (and then a fiver thereafter). Drinks promotions on the night and Una has made promises which involve cake.
So let the games begin.
One thing I can guarantee is that I won’t play any Beyoncé. How many times can one woman say “If you liked it you should’ve put a ring on it” in 3 odd minutes? No wonder he fucked off and didn’t put a ring on it you whingey aul sod.
So shine on you crazy diamonds. I hope to see you there. I still might wear a mask.
Grammy Schmammy….
I watched the 51st Grammy Awards late last night. It really was a cringe-worthy affair. I jotted down some random thoughts on proceedings with the intention of putting a post together today. But fuck it, here are those very thoughts instead…
The new U2 song is really really pants. And there’s no saving it live. In fact it’s probably even worse live than on record. Oh dear.
They could well have jumped the shark those four Northside boys. Surely Adam and Larry are getting embarassed at this stage?
Why bother giving Whitney Houston a standing ovation? Fuck her. Mad cow.
Jennifer Hudson looks like she had an accident involving a photocopier.
Why is Morgan Freeman begloved on his left hand only?
Kid Rock is a cock.
Does Samuel L Jackson ever get sick of being Samuel L Jackson?
Shame Guantanamo Bay is being decommissioned. They could’ve forced inmates to listen to Miley Cyrus murdering some song about being fifteen. Eardrum massacre.
The Jonas Brothers are no longer virgins. They just gang raped Stevie Wonder. Ill-advised Stevie, ill-advised.
Katy Perry is neither raunchy or particularly sexy it must be said.
Coldplay really do look silly in those outfits. Enough lads, enough already. Still the Grammy’s could well be the point where they stepped out of U2’s shadow and left them for dead.
Lil Wayne looks like he had an accident involving a typewriter.
I didn’t know Blink 182 had split up. Nor did I care.
Radiohead are still geniuses. Great performance. Shame it’s lost on the Grammy folk.
The Grammy people sure do love the Dullsville affair that is Robert Plant and Alison Krauss.
The Kings of Leon look extremely bored.
Leona Lewis was born a man right?
Adele must be sick of that song. What’s it all about anyway? Chasing bleedin pavements.
Who is Justin Timberlake trying to kid sitting at that grand piano? C’mon JT, we’re not stupid.
Paul McCartney, fresh from selling out Buddy Holly, is really enjoying having his ass licked by Jack Black and Chris Martin.
The day the music died? Perhaps.
Dear Daily Mail Editor Person,
I was raised in a household where Buddy Holly was on heavy rotation… and that’s all good. The guy was an icon with killer specs. A legend with a deadly stratocaster and a deadlier fringe. But more than all that, he had a bevvy of rockin’ tunes. I kid you not. Just ask John Lennon, Elvis Presley, or George Harrison. Or maybe just Bob Dylan or Mick Jagger. They all know that Buddy was the shit.
I grasp you’ve already asked Paul McCartney but more on that later.
Where am I going with all this you may ask? Well you see, I will not sit idly by while Buddy’s image is taken in vain. Your new TV ad uses a fine song of his called Every Day. Sacrilege of the highest order I tell you.
You’re just piggybacking on his clean cut image and his legacy is tarnished by the merest association with your rag. Buddy’s estate should never have allowed that to happen.
Moreover, Paul McCartney, who owns the publishing rights to Holly’s song catalogue, should not have allowed it to happen. Should we blame Heather Mills and her hefty settlement? Perhaps. But still, McCartney should know better.
And interestingly, in the course of research, I discovered an article on the Daily Mail online with the headline…. “Surely Michael Jackson and Buddy Holly don’t deserve this? Jodie Marsh reveals hideous new ‘pop star tattoos’”. It turns out the classy Essex girl has images of Wacko Jacko, Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry on her arms. Incisive journalism indeed.
And you have the cheek to say Buddy Holly doesn’t deserve this?
I tell you this for free Mr Xenophobe, what Buddy Holly does not deserve is to have his image and one of his fine tunes pillaged in your ad.
So cease and desist. It may suit Paul McCartney Inc to rake in the royalties but it’s not what he nor Peggy Sue would’ve wanted.
Yours,
NaRocRoc
The password is fidelio…
Burning with curiosity, I ran across the field after the rabbit with the watch in its waistcoat-pocket. Fortunately I was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. Down I went after it, never once considering how in the world I was to get out again.
Alice and the rabbit heading down to Soundcheck on the 19th of Feb
And so word has spread like wildfire, like a rogue meteor if you will.
I saw it here first, a real blog war you say? I’m there.
Supremo led me to the the Creator of it all. It’s like the Truman Show really. Except in Soundcheck form. With the almighty UnaRocks as the Morgan Freeman, God-type character. Except with better taste in music and an enviable energy to be setting up the likes of this lark.
In truth I brought it on myself. I answered the call. I’m sure I won’t regret it yet I’m excited and vaguely nervous in equal measure. And I don’t get nervous.
Maybe it’s the knowledge that there are some serious muso-blog type luminaries on the bill. Many of whom do it professionally and very well for that matter. I might just have to wear a mask.
Maybe it’s the knowledge that there’ll be some serious muso-blogger types on the dancefloor. People who can write, slate and review like there’s no tomorrow. Literally. Right there right then. They have the technology. And that’s perhaps more daunting. I might just have to wear a mask.
So let the Battle of the Bloggers begin. It’s on like Donkey Kong.
One thing I will say is that I can’t guarantee I won’t just play Guns N Roses.
Are we dancer you ask?
There is a very fine line between being cool and aloof and being an ignorant dickhead. And Lord knows we’ve all straddled that line. I sure have.
But all we crave is just a little of that human touch. So Mr Flowers to answer your question, yes, we are merely human. In a world without pity. Yes, we may be pretenders, and although we do like to dance from time to time, that does not necessarily make us dancers. Or denser.
If you should have any more questions I suggest you talk to Uncle Bruce. He can fill you in in ways I never will. He may well charge you €96 for the privilege but, believe me, it’ll be worth it. He might even point you in the direction of his friends with the Neon Bible.
Every little piece of your life will add up to one…
This only happens me every once in a blue moon but you know when you hear a song, for the first time and you instantly connect with it? Seems to capture a moment perfectly, a place, a time. Almost like it somehow takes on an extra dimension of meaning.
I felt such a connection to one such song in recent days. From the first few bars of angular guitar and snappy drums, it somehow encapsulated a mood I had been feeling quite often of late. It seemed to become a soundtrack of sorts to what was happening in my life over the course of a few days. It counterpointed various emotional moments.
“Keep a light on those you love, they will be there when you die”.
So go the first words of the track.
The song was on a compilation CD a good friend put together for me. It contained tracks he thought I might not have heard but might like. Most of the tracks were new, to me at least. And this one stood out a mile.
The tracks weren’t labelled but I have since discovered the track is called The Weight of The World. by Editors. It sounds very Interpol-like with a dash of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thrown in for good measure. I think it’s a cool track.
The chorus goes thus:
“Every little piece of your life will add up to one,
Every little piece of your life will mean something to someone”
It struck a nerve with me. Had meaning beyond the mere words and melody. Some music real life fusion mongrel hybrid type shit goin on! Anyone got any similar instances of this?
Give it a listen, let me know what you think.
Maybe then you’ll know what it’s like…
I had forgotten how much I like this song by Everlast until I stumbled across it again today…
Called “What It’s Like”, it’s a brilliantly written track from his 1998 album “Whitey Ford Sings The Blues”.
Originally the front man in House of Pain, Everlast’s conversion from groundbreaking rapper to long suffering blues journeyman spawned what was billed, at the time, as a “classic rap battle” (or beef!) between himself and a clearly very annoyed Eminem, back when he was interesting and groundbreaking himself.
According to wikipedia their feud erupted in 2000 when…
Eminem felt insulted by “Cock my hammer, spit a Comet like Haley. I’ll buck a 380 on ones who act Shady” from an Everlast verse on a track called “Ear Drums Pop”. Eminem believed it was a reference to his daughter. Eminem then in turn dissed Everlast several times in public and on the song “I Remember (Dedication To Whitey Ford)”, mocking Everlast’s rap/rock crossover. Everlast then recorded the track “Whitey’s Revenge” and released it on his official website. The track contained the lyric “Better run and check your kid for your DNA”, again referring to Eminem’s daughter, Hailie Jade Mathers. Eminem responded with the help of his group D12 on the track “Quitter”, in which he took shots at Everlast and threatened to kill him if he ever mentioned Hailie’s name again. The 2nd half of the track uses the beat to 2Pac’s Hit Em Up, a diss song aimed at The Notorious B.I.G.. Everlast later stated in various interviews that he felt everything had been said and he would now refrain from further responses.
So they squared off and threw their toy guns out of their cots. Despite the childishness of it all the tracks are quite cool, in a strange, expletive filled kinda way. So regardless of the ridiculous threats from both Everlast and Eminem that they would kill each other and such like, each of them really put effort in, both lyrically and musically, to outdo the other. As “classic rap battles” go, the tracks really are well worth a listen!
It’s all explained here in a well-made youtube clip which cuts back and forth between their “diss” tracks…
Track links…
Eminem: I Remember (Dedicated to Whitey Ford)
Everlast: Whitey’s Revenge
Eminem: Quitter
“There’s not enough hype in the world”… hmmmmm?
Glasvegas are so hot right now. Still, they’re not to be confused with the TG4 show of the same name. Which was apparently “THE SHOW IRELAND HAS BEEN WAITING FOR…”. That may well be but the Scottish band are not the band I’ve been waiting for. Their self-titled debut album has just been released. NME.com describe the album as “sonically perfect” and rate it at a heady 9/10. They say “there’s not enough hype in the world for Glasvegas”. Now if that doesn’t put you off right away please read on. “They are an important, amazing, real band that won’t let you down”. I beg to differ. I feel let down. They remind me of The Frank & Walters, minus their wit, energy, and mostly their melody.
Not only have NME gotten high on Glasvegas hype, Bryan Boyd, in his Irish Times review, described the album as “very big and very clever”. Worse still in a Ticket article he goes on to say Glasvegas are “not just the best new band in Britain this year but quite possibly the world”. Faint praise indeed. The thing is, I just don’t get it. We all know hacks need hype and hype sells magazines. And it makes them feel part of the whirlwind, especially if they get in on the act early. As NME state “there’s not enough hype in the world”. So why not create some more? Alan McGee’s backing it so it must be good right? Throw in a working class background and a few Oasis anecdotes and you’ve got a cover story. Couldn’t damage circulation figures any more right? And as Jim Carroll, over at On The Record, points out, that the hype is certainly paying off, so much so that their promoters MCDjust don’t know what venue to book them into. And only for Metallica, they would’ve nailed the number one spot in the charts last week.
As Giant Axe, a commenter on the nme.com review page, states… “you’ll love this if your idea of good music is The Proclaimers singing over a watered down Jesus & Mary Chain b-side. A good record for falling asleep to.” You know Giant Axe I think you’ve cracked it.
I could post a Glasvegas track but the backlash begins here so I’m gonna play this instead. After All by The Frank & Walters.
And while I’m at it, another thing I just don’t get is this… the continued success of Dara Ó’Briain. What’s that all about? Am I missing something?
Raise your raw skinny fists to Hopeland….
On Sunday evening I braved the biblical downpour that befell Dublin and made my way through the Iveagh Gardens to find comfort in the very cosy Spiegel Tent to witness The Electric Picture Palace. And I wasn’t disappointed. Well not by the music anyway. 3EpKano were superb. Subtle yet cinematic. Always starting sparsely before building gently to stunning crescendos. I was suitably impressed. And the sound of the rain hitting the tent provided the perfect compliment.
Musically 3EpKano strike me as a cross between Godspeed You Black Emperor and Sigur Rós, sans vocals. That said they are their own band with their own sound. Had I the talent or the dedication, they’re the kind of group I would love to be part of. Here’s a video…
I was however disappointed by the visuals. They were supposed to be the foremost element of The Electric Picture Palace. So much so that 3EpKano were literally hidden behind the 2 projector screens. I understand Donal Dineen had technical issues but that doesn’t explain some of the poor visuals work. It’s almost as if he didn’t know the music at times or how it would develop. Instinct and timing are central to good visuals at a gig and neither of these were in strong supply. Some of the visuals were quite effective but technically the display left a lot to be desired. Transitions were poor, use of layering and FX unimaginative, and there was over-reliance on the same stock clips.
I expected better given Dineen’s talent and having read this before the gig. He’s a fine DJ. And his work on early No Disco was often pioneering but maybe visuals are not his forte. This felt like a vanity project for him but if you’re gonna put yourself on a pedestal in this way back it up with some substance. A lighting rabbit and some unimaginative visuals weren’t enough. In this instance it would’ve been better served if the visuals supported the band and not the other way around.
The Paddy McGuinness gig last night in the Olympia was ok. Nothing more nothing less. As mentioned in a previous dispatch the ticket was free and expectations were low. There were some laughs but the material wasn’t top notch and McGuinness owes a huge debt to Peter Kay for his career as a whole but also for his delivery style and type of material. I like comedy with a bit of originality, a bit of edge and McGuinness provides neither. That said he’s a likeable enough stand-up in a cheeky chappy, Northern England, working class kinda way. But all in all a mediocre gig that finished at quarter past ten. If I’d paid €30 for a ticket I’d be disappointed.
When I got home I watched a bit of TV. Unfortunately I didn’t get to see episode 2 of the divisive Raw last night due to the comedy gig but I watched it this morning. I thought it picked up nicely where episode one left off. Similar energy and drive, characters and arcs are developing nicely. Again some flaws but not enough to get in the way of the enjoyment. Some nice twists. And again some well chosen music on the soundtrack. From The Ronettes to Jape, Hanson to the Chemical Brothers. Good work. Watch episode 2 here.
Last night I also watched The Dark Side of Fame with Piers Morgan. It got up close and personal with comedian Jim Davidson and pulled very few punches. Davidson doesn’t come out of it with much credit. Wrecked a few marriages and blames everyone but himself for his indiscretions and general arsehole-ish ways. In fact he’s quite a detestable human being. He’s shown to be racist and homophobic in equal measure. An online forum described him as thus… “I think Hitler and Ian Huntley would be more tasteful.” But I couldn’t help pitying him. An interesting programme. The kind of show Ryan Confidential wishes it could be.
Read Mike Ashley’s statement regarding the state of affairs at Newcastle Football Club. It’s very interesting, well worth a gander. Just goes to show how quickly it can all go sour in Premiership football and how money can be literally thrown away by the million.
The week that was / is…
There’s so much going on in Dublin right now what with the likes of the Theatre Festival, the Fringe Festival , Hard Working Class Heroes and the comedy festival. It’s hard to keep up.
Calexico
After watching Ireland’s solid, if unspectacular, performance against Montenegro, I had the pleasure of seeing Calexico @ Tripod on Wednesday. A fine gig, by a fine band. They have such a lovely, underrated sound. Beautiful balance. Capable of rocking it but lovely when mellow. The amazing trumpeteer Jacob Venezuela was on top form. As was the pedal steel guitarist who looks kinda like Fintan O’Toole in a lumberjack shirt. They’ve also recruited a new guitarist who looks like the offspring of David James and Rio Ferdinand, but more reliable than both.
Highlight: the ever brilliant cover of Love’s Alone Again Or.
Lowlight: In your face security at the end of the gig. Annoyingly it was just so the student night could start at eleven. Three meathead bouncers stood over me as I finished my pint, less than 5 minutes after the band finished. One told me to “stop drinking like a woman and get the fuck out”. Did I not pay for my ticket and for the pint? Why do we put up with this shit? Plus Calexico had promised a customary second encore which never materialised. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were told to “stop playing like women and get the fuck out”. A disappointing end to a fantastic gig.
Image (c) Jo Strømgren Kompani
On Thursday I went to see a very striking play/performance called Polaroid @ Smock Alley as part of the Fringe Festival. A Norwegian hybrid of physical theatre and contemporary dance, Polaroid details what Greenlandic Inuits get up to when the nature documentary cameras stop rolling, when the helicopters leave and there are no outsiders watching. Love, life, death, sex and dancing. All at once.
Image (c) Jo Strømgren Kompani
Much of the play is in Greenlandic. And sure why not?! A sexy, fluid, beauifully realised production. Containing very physical and intelligent dance, excellent Swedish music and stunning lighting design. For me Polaroid highlighted how language and dialogue need not be the be all and end all of theatre. Movement, tone, lighting, music and mood contribute so much. A facial reaction often says more than a monologue ever will.
It seems Raw, RTÉ’s new drama, has been quite divisive. Some like it. Some don’t. Others think it’s “crappy“. And some don’t like the way snooker is portrayed. Episode 2 is on tomorrow evening. We’ll see how it develops.
This week also saw B’Dum make the outrageously blasphemous claim that REM are greater than the Beatles. Pure madness form the Longford Leader. At least Darren is keeping it righteous (see comment #2) over at Pedro Monscooch’s great Beatles post .
The REM v Beatles thing reminded me of this classic Alan Partridge moment…
Hard Working Class Heroes is on this weekend and unfortunately I won’t get to see any of it due to other engagements and having to work for the man. Via Una I discovered the excellent MUZU TV site which has a special HWCH section shining a light on many of the acts playing the festival. It’s like an Irish version of the wonderful La Blogothèque. The videos are shot in a similar one take, lo-fi manner but look cool and have really great sound. Hats off to the MUZU brigade. I shall be dipping in and out a lot. And shall post some vids here in due course.
Friday night; Micheal Gambon, Micheal Colgan and Jimmy Carr on the Late Late Show. Great stuff. Gambon’s anecdotes were wonderful, Carr’s one-liners equally so. Watch it here. Lisa Hannigan’s performance was beautiful too. Looking forward to hearing her debut album.
Tonight, Sunday, it’s The Electric Picture Palace with Donal Dineen & 3EpKano @ the SpiegelTent. Should be interesting, I hope.
I guess I’ll have to tape Raw tomorrow night, Monday, as it’s Paddy McGuinness at the Olympia. A free ticket and low expectations. We’ll see, I might be surprised.
Rant:
Plastic Bags have been annoying me greatly this week. The 22 cent environmental charge is all good by me. But do they have to be so shit? Every time I get shopping they rip. Every time. Bastardos.
Rant Over.
“I can only feel my ego swellin’!”
So says Guy Garvey, lead singer of Elbow who have won the Mercury Music Prize with the Seldom Seen Kid. It’s a really fine, dark n dirty, romantic album so I’ve no complaints. Plus they’re a great band live which is always a bonus.
Here’s the moment it was announced by the ubiquitous Jools Holland followed by the band’s acceptance speech.
Further reaction here, here, here and here.
There’s a great live version of the fantastic Seldom Seen Kid , as performed a while back on Tubridy Tonight , here.
Monday morning coming down…
A fantastic shimmery, slow burning track for a Monday morning. Called See You In The Next One (Have A Good Time) it’s by Verve (before they became The Verve) from their underrated, underappreciated 1993 debut album A Storm in Heaven.
For those of you recovering from the Electric Picnic!
