Take me to the Chapel

Lewis has formed a band, it's pretty good, the first single they released covered/robbed the lyrics from Dream a Little Dream (a beautiful song from the 30's) which shouldn't be tinkered with, but hey, he's my mate and he did an alright job. The second single is out now, Oh Maybe I, it's much more interesting, projecting internal confusion over the messiness of love. I wrote an article on the band for Dazed Digital, you can check it here.

The new track is available to buy as a limited edition, with individual Polaroids taken by the band along the tour, each with its own number and title. Tour dates can be found here.

The single available to buy from the 22nd February.

Crack Party

Bristol isn't the centre of the universe as far a media is concerned, yet it still capable of withstanding one or two good publications. One of those is a self-starter, created about oooh six months ago, by Thomas Frost and Jake Applebee ambiguously entitled Crack. The magazine covers all manner of subjects with a focus on art and music, each issue features illustrations, live reviews, interviews aiming to unearth Bristol's rather plentiful talents*. * Disclaimer - it does feature artists outside of Bristol too, but only if they are really good.

You can download a copy of issue four by clicking on this link.



Saturday was issue IV party time, with a celebration hosted by the Crack duo and one of their Ma's, we headed up the hill with bicycle to the Square Club in Clifton, notably one of the few private members clubs in Bristol (nice choice of venue boys). Inside we were greeted with a rather attractive and excitable crowd, primed for fun. The venue was intimate indeed, erring on the overfull, yet maintaining its composure. Jonquil were the headliners for the night, an impressive five piece from Oxford with a relaxed and rather poetic delivery; complimented by an excellent sound, big up to the tech guy!


Afterwards we headed to the Skins party for Toddla T, yah, dancehall, yah, bashment, and unsuprisingly he'd gone a little dubstep for the evening - you never know what tune-age you're gonna get from that dude. Highly entertaining nonetheless, we jiggled around like idiots, fitting in rather well with the under 21's. FUN. It was my first and noteably my last Skins party attendance, still its always good to see what the fuss is about. Sick and screaming probably?

Children take the lead

The two films I watched yesterday were both told through the eyes of children. First was Treeless Mountain a Korean film which charts the demise of two little girl's (Bin and Yin) worlds as there mother abandons them with there alcoholic aunt as sh goes in search of the girls father. Eventually they wind up on a farm with there grandparents slightly damaged by there experiences, yet with some naivety intact. The film is very subtle in its exploration, visually rich shots of broken cities, countryside and tight angles of expression. Director So Yong Kim talks about the film.



Treeless Mountain is inspired by events from my early childhood in Pusan, Korea. My mother divorced our father and left us with our grandparents on a rice farm. She immigrated to America in order to find a better life for herself and to build a future for her children. At the time of these events we were too young to understand and our mother did not tell us what was happening. I began writing the film to search for certain lost memories from this period of my life and also as a letter to my mother.

(A young So Youg Kim with sister).

The second revelation came from The Boy in Striped Pyjamas, a refreshing take on a rather overplayed subject matter, which as always created a attention due to the accuracies or rather inaccuracies of story. Fortunately I was in the dark as to how the plot panned out, don't read the synopsis before watching it really will spoil your enjoyment, although enjoyment seems an inappropriate word, I shall stop there.

It has thriller qualities and presents the innocent view of an 8 year old boy called Bruno played by Asa Butterfield who is also the son of a Nazi General. He encounters another boy called Shmuel played by Jack Scanlon. The film is taken from a book written by Irish author John Boyne, the film is written and directed by Mark Herman, having never read the book I am unable to comment of the translation, reading an interview with David Thewlis (of Harry Potter fame) who plays Bruno's warped father the film is told from a slightly older perspective (third voice) and centers around the family dynamic.

Film Overload

OK so i've gone a little overboard lately with all the film watching, what can I say I've got the film bug.

Recommended viewing this week (well one I haven't mentioned yet - A Prophet) A prison drama centered around a 19 year old illiterate male of French Arabic decent, sent to a 'proper' jail to serve six years. Fate bullies him into a situation he cannot escaped, forced to do the dirty work for others he is alienated from any internal social support from his fellow peers and has to work for the Corsicans. The story charts his wit and determination to improve his situation, cleverly woven together, the strong plot leaves you in awe at the mastery at play. It's in French and well worth a gander.

Y.W.A. - Yoghurt Weavers Anonymous

From now on everything I do that is remotely hippy dippy will be logged under YWA - Yoghurt Weavers Anonymous, Sunday was such a day for me. Not content with filling my morning dashing to Cheddar car booty, to gather well, booty, for the house mainly, save a pea coat for any handsome man that may suddenly appear in my life. After said jaunt we headed over to boiling wells for the Wassail, which is 5 minutes from my house, yet felt like it could have been 50.

Encased by woods with an expanse of hills either side you were surrounded, no sign of modern life, just wood buildings and a roaring fire. We watched dancers, singers, storytellers and drank mulled cider by the fire. We were there to toast good health to the apple trees that were to bore the fruit for the cider making to come. We toasted bread on the fire and hung it on the tree. I wandered around chatting to adults and children, playing on the wooden xylophone and using the compost toilet. There was a relaxed sense of contentment. What a wonderful way to while away a Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately I didn't get there early enough to see Kid Carpet perform live.

The world as we know it?

My week has been dotted with films that challenge my view of the world around us and where we are headed. These things come in threes

The Road
Cormac McCarthy on screen, its gruesome, depressing, sinister, but not half as scary or poignant as the book, entertaining nonetheless.




Children of Men
The world can no longer produce children, until 18 years later one pops along with no explanation. Ignore the plot and focus on the society surrounding it, the refugees, the police and equally brutal the activists.




Persepolis - named after a place in Tehran now Iran it charts the epic journey of a young girl into womanhood. Through several major political power shifts and the repression that ensues, heartbreakingly beautiful, with a haunting story line.

Everything you say? Well nearly!

Check out the museum of EVERYTHING, yes everything, its ace! Seriously impressed by the array of art of display, not so impressed with the petulant kid screaming for pleasure whilst he parents did nothing to discipline her (boy what sort of adult is she going to turn into). The venue is an old recording studio set just off the main drag in Primrose Hill. You can still identify its function with most of the inner structure intact, it all adds to the experience. Inside you are greeted with amazing Indian sculptures that represent humans/animals, both beautiful and humorous. There is insider art, outsider art, naive art, folk art, I found myself wandering round in awe, jotting down artists I had never encountered before.

There were quotations from better known artists explaining the pieces, I was particularly captivated by an artist who created smaller versions of little girls made to look like dummies in slightly alluring poses, midriffs showing and suggestive tongue protruding out the side of mouth. Grayson Perry offers an explanation for these works, he talks about the taboos and the relationship the artist has with his work. In addition were items of girls clothing in frames, a pleated navy skirt and sweater; it felt calming, alluring and yet slightly uncomfortable. One room was filled with 40s style illustrations set as reliefs which spanned the length of the room, they featured children with long pigtails and willies, girls with horns and various subversions, engaging. The sheer volume of pieces, each one in there own right raised interest, took me aback. Illustrations, paintings, worth a mention was the 1950's fully functioning miniature fairground - about six mechanisms - all complete with illuminated moving parts, magical!

Get down there now, they were quite ambiguous as to how long the exhibition will last.

Girls

Girls, girls, are you looking for a good time... perhaps its the cliche in me that like this band or maybe they remind me of a wreckless youth... anyways, treat yourself to a listen...

via myspace, anything on you tube appeared difficult to track down due to their ambiguous band name

GIRLS

I particularly like 'darling'

Whilst waiting for Emma...

I have been listening to

Panda Bear - Animal Collectives Noah Lennox

Get your kit off?

Our Journey from east to south London was a mission, the distance covered and the unpredictable nature of London transport was against us. Planes, Trains and Automobiles flashed through my mind as we ventured to the trains, Dalston overground was closed due to a stabbing outside Poundstretcher, we headed for the buses, we waited, no buses came, we got on one headed in a vaguely similar direction, it crawled, we got on a tube that was heading in the opposite direction which would allow us to eventually head in the right direction… I think you get the idea. After a huge amount of wrangling we arrived hot, flustered and just about intact for a performance ‘Trilogy’ at Battersea Arts Centre (BAC).

Inside I was immediately captivated by the venue, a grand staircase welcomes you in the main hall, producing a massive height above. Decorated with a aged grandeur, parcel tags hang in unison from the ceiling, grandma lamps and bonket seating furnish creating a relaxed homemade ambiance

The play in three parts begins with an introduction from the two main protagonists, part one culminates in 50 dancing naked ladies of all shapes and sizes, unfortunately not enough variations in colour but the contrast in jiggling parts gets the point across. We all have bodies to celebrate! Part two delves deeper focusing on an seminar of leading second wave feminists which took place in the early 70s, thoroughly entertaining it poses questions we may have forgotten about what it means to be a woman, where we fit in society, how far have we actually come. The final section aims to move forward in a proactive manner, offering suggestions towards a new movement, ‘herstory’ rewritten. There are dance interludes throughout which break up the seriousness of the content and of course continuous nudity.

The closing gift is an opportunity to the women of the audience to go naked on stage, perhaps a measurement of how successful the performance was. About 30 women rose to the occasion, myself being one of them. It was better to regret something I had done, than something I hadn’t. I feel a smile internally when I think back to the event, and revel at the power of nakedness.

Today I've been listening to...

dd/mm/yyyy
The new Warpaint EP - Exquisite Corpse
Toddla T - Fabriclive 47
and the radio station Martini in the morning

Jookabox Junk

Eclectic beat maker from Indianapolis who fuses rhythms, which inspire and mystify.

The artist formerly known as Grampall Jookabox (now just plain Jookabox) aka David ‘Moose’ Adamson originally mashed up his beats on a Yamaha DD-9, apparently that was a long time ago. Currently his songs muse over the joys of not having a pregnant girlfriend and retain a rather addictive air of the boy from school who succeeded in making everything seem easy, when in fact it wasn’t.

Dazed Digital: Do you look across the pond for inspiration, any English bands you are excited by? Jookabox: Yes, Trash Kit from London.

DD: You cite Beastie Boys as an influence, your work has a similar eclectic quality in that it pulls from many references, have you always taken this approach? Jookabox: I think I have always taken this approach, but when I first started it probably didn't make any sense/sounded awful. Over time you find ways to have it make more sense together.

DD: What is the scene like in Indianapolis? Jookabox: I feel proud of the music scene here. Right now there are a ton of shows going on and everyone seems really excited about something - new bands that I haven't heard yet. A lot of house/basement venues have popped up with a good mix music being made, everyone is willing to work together regardless. It is going to be a good summer in Indy. People here will say, "Man, do you remember summer '09?"

DD: If you were not making music, what would you be doing right now? Jookabox: I would be working one of countless random jobs I did until I became fed up and quit so I could do nothing for a week and then try to find another one.

You can read the rest of the article here

A ditty to the passage of a Wounded Warrior

fgsdl

Ripped by duress, unwilling to rejoin
A piece of my beat has disintegrated
Odds played in earnest
Failed fruition
So textbook for all to see, yet me
Desire bereft, conscious on repeat
My body lingers enough

It exists in my gut, insurmountable trust
Born from the existence of certainty
Credence is true
Adventures achieved
Self-belief is stronger than any foe I know

gsdkygfsl

TEED - Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs

I saw this guy play again on Friday at the LAB, he was despite technical difficulties, outstanding. A very ordinary looking boy surrounded by a serious amount of gadgets including a keytar. He sang, mc'd and played live whilst dressed in a dinosaur outfit. A particularly strong balkan inspired mashup of Deathray Trebuchay can be found on his myspace. Entertaining.

Christmas Panto with a DIY ethos.

As I begin to pack up my belongings ready for my journey east to London I reflect over the past few days events with contentment. Bristol seems to have opened its doors to me, the city has become a village and faces familiar. Friday was Heavy Metal Acid Panto, hosted by Invisible Circus, performed on a stage in the main room at the Old Fire Station right in the centre of town. The delivery was crotchy, thrusts and codpieces prevailed, the band rather alluring in a thrash metal Kiss kinda way, the humor lifted me from my SAD dysfunction. Most attendees had made the effort to glam up in LSD Disney style as recommended on the invite. For an £11 entrance it was well worth the money. Something that Bristol does well is DIY events, perhaps a reflection of the culture here. My small gripe was down to the seating, it was slightly shambolic with floor space at a premium you had to find and appropriate yoga position and ride in out. Costumes were excellent with the main dame outshining everyone save a few repeated put downs for various heckling audience members.

A Christmas Carol

On Thursday I was invited to a most Dickensian encounter which made me feel like an extra in A Christmas Carol (easily in my top five Christmas films), I was led through the back streets up and down until we reached the dead yet rather pretty end of Orchard Street (pictured), encased by grand houses in white complete with wrought iron fencing. The night was clear and bitterly cold warmed by the iridescent glow of tea lights shimmering from home made lanterns we sang seasonal carols to our hearts content. Kindly accompanied by cold-fingered pianist, a few passers by and several glasses of warm mulled wine. It was my first taste of Bristolian Christmas and I liked it.

Resuscitate the Rainbow...

Birmingham home to Brummies, once upon a time home to me also, like Simon le Bon, I like to think of myself as an honorary Brummie. A place I hold in high regard yet not without its downfalls, for example it has its ginormous overdeveloped Oxford Street inspired centre which save the rag market and Digbeth is a haven for chain stores and discount shops. I sense traffic is now a problem in all major cities, however none more prevalent in Birmingham, however there seems to be no workable solution (aside the talk of congestion charging) in place. The problems that face Birmingham are simple ones, too many people not enough space in the centre, creative, edgier nights are slowly finding spots outside of town. Places set to step forward and take the crown are Moseley, Kings Heath, Digbeth and Hockley, all of which contain excellent pubs and parties hosted by forward thinking music promoters, it would be great if the fashion and music shops that supported these were to follow.

Sunday I attended Below - a minimal tech night - hosted at the Rainbow in Digbeth, an excellent venue, which is under threat due to complaints from a new development of flats (which makes me pose the question which was there first – the pub or the flats?). UB40 recently played a gig to highlight the pubs plight - all money raised from ticket sales went towards sound proofing the roof. The main bar is still retains its original features with a grand bar in the middle, decorated with candor and compassion it incorporates its current usage and past history, with art on the walls and graffiti elements. The bar could have been stocked with a little more forethought, disappointingly the resident drunk turned out to be the landlord. However this doesn’t detract from the beauty of the place, the rear once a garden, now a roof warehouse space with graffiti, plants, fairy lights and installations is a soft intimate stead for bands and dj’s to do their thing. Below is best judged by the non-arrival of two its (I believe) three promoters, an excellent night was had by all those who attended, however I sensed it was nearing the end of its glorious run spanning a good five (if not more) years. I left hoping for projects, more nights and more life into the Rainbow!

Where has the face gone?

Last week I was lucky enough to have a shelf of old magazines dating from the early eighties to the nineties (The Face, Blitz, i-D) at my disposal. The greatest revelation was the vast difference in content spanning current social/political issues. Have we changed a great deal socially in terms of what we care about? The injustices and failings of the world we live in still have a place in a lifestyle publication. Yet the politics/annoyances seem to have taken a backseat and been replaced by the latest ‘product launch/sponsorship deal/collaboration’ aimed a keeping the magazine afloat through ‘special projects’. Has the money and drive for something genuine and honest completely run out? In The Face dated 1989 features a double page spread vehemently rejecting the then current YTS (Youth Training Scheme) as unworkable and divisive. How would today's readers of Dazed or i-D react to an article covering the lack of jobs for this years recent graduates, do people want to be engaged by the issues of life or simply prefer to bury their heads in the sand?

Back Up! Back Up!

My inevitable return to web logging has been played out my head repeatedly since a rather fruitful rekindling excursion to the big smoke last Monday (that’s a week last Monday in fact). Such as the reality of life, my documenting attempts do not appear to be as smooth and organised as I originally envisaged, however, the passion to produce an upfront delivery of my musings remains habitually steadfast. I shall be gradually offloading anecdotal snippets from the events not as I encountered them, rather in a similar vein to a patient suffering from alzheimers.

When dipping in and out of London you are lucky enough to be presented with a fresh set of senses, observantly you clock the changes as you are ushered into new venues by your friends in the know, you absorb and revel in their respective successes, a new record released, a gallery launch, a new fashion label booming, a new rather exotic sounding boyfriend and the evolving career monopoly. Gorging off the energy they happily throw at you and all the generous meals they lavish in your honor. In short it makes you feel like life is good. You don’t have to deal with a bullshit that comes with the day to day, for me, as a struggling creative it’s the constant battle for survival. My dreams aren’t of marrying my prince or winning the lottery instead they contain a career ‘sponsor’, born into rich parentage, a wealthy boyfriend or a rather generous old lady with a penchant for working class fashion students, someone capable of removing the financial burden of existence in an industry entirely supported by people working for free for protracted periods of time, in the hope of achieving creative enlightenment. The question –‘How long can I work for free until the job centre comes knocking and wants to know when I’m going to bite the bullet and get a sensible office job? Recites gleefully in my worried little head.

Micachu and the Shapes, Fiddlers, Bristol, Live Review

David Okumu of The Invisible towers down upon us, his broad frame and statuesque movements hypnotise the crowd, we let him lead us through a series of silkily fused electronica post-rock tracks, which ebb and flow gently into each other. The band are a testament to the Matthew Herbert influence, a solo project turned accidental trio work seamlessly and drive the crowd into a state of musical contentment. The band beat tonight’s headliners, Micachu & The Shapes, to a Mercury nomination earlier in the year for their eponymous debut album.

Slightly later than planned, Mica Levis, nee Micachu of Micachu & The Shapes, saunters on stage with a rather DIY looking medium sized guitar; charming yet not quite effervescent. This coy coquette garners the immediate attention of the crowd as they dash to the stage so as to not miss a beat - attentive and patient they are keen to be played too. The stage dynamic works quite well with Raisa Khan on keyboards and percussion, Marc Pell on drums facing each other and Micachu centre stage; behold the energy triangle.

The opening tracks sound promising if a little sketchy. I sense they are working up to something but a few more tracks through and my hopes are quashed. Repeated sound problems hinder delivery thus creating a break in the atmosphere. They begin a song, hit the chorus and decide to begin again, cue slightly awkward explanation and a rather weak joke. I am party to a missed sound check or rehearsal session, having missed their performance at Bestival, I wasn’t sure whether their haphazard delivery was meant to add to the charm. Hindered by the high volume of new ‘rough round the edges’ material and juxtaposed by the tightness of the ‘bigger’ tracks I sensed this was not the case. Especially when you consider the link which bought The Invisible and Micachu & The Shapes together - Accidental Records – Matthew Herbert avant-garde electronica maestro. Mid-set, Micachu wisely enlisted the help of David from The Invisible to perform an impromptu guest slot.

As a champion of Micachu, I had high expectations which were dented, yet not beyond repair. The later part of the set bore witness to a confused and talkative crowd, the recovery was slow, they picked up a little, but by the final encore Micachu sneaked a smile onto her charismatic face and confidently delivered their most celebrated track to date – save Just In Case (which wasn’t performed) - Golden Phone, the crescendo bought the audience to a rapturous jiggling finale and all was forgotten, well almost.