Friday's Forgotten Books: Lyrics and A Hard Road to Nowhere

  A bit of a cheat: a music two-fer. One is old, but the other's new; nonetheless, given the difficulty of finding your audience in the ocean of new publications out there, it deserves a boost to the signal.

The Fall: Lyrics by Mark E. Smith

The lynchpin of my current writing career: what, you think I exaggerate? With stories like "It's a Curse" and "Bill is Dead" and "Mandrake Anthrax" and "Grotesque" and "Just Waiting"? I do occasionally have stories not inspired by Smith's lyrics but they're getting to be in the minority. The Fall's lyrics are like Zen koans mashed up with the ramblings of a mad meth drinker with overstuffed carrier bags.

My garden is made of stone
There's a computer centre over the road
I saw a monster on the roof
Its colours glowed on the roof

All the songs in this collection will forever be coloured by reading the German translations out loud on the tube going back from Kentish Town to Stockwell while giggling madly after that first hypnotic show. Magic.

John Hodgson's A Hard Road to Nowhere: The Blitzkrieg Bop Story captures that story from the other side of the equation; the intoxicating, maddening, frustrating and elating process of forging music in the fluctuating organism that is a band -- or rather a series of bands that finally create a centre of gravity that becomes Blitzkrieg Bop. Obviously blown away by The Ramones at a crucial age, Hodgson and his fellow bandmates find a wellspring of inspiration as the first eruptions of punk arrive in the remote northeast of England. The third person narrative occasionally feels a bit awkward but it provides a way to highlight the pages ripped from Hodgson's journals of the period, which capture the youthful highs and lows with vivid authenticity.

Cheap as chips: get it now -- and be sure to bookmark Hodgson's Soundcloud page for the music to accompany it. A wide variety of songs, old and new and updated. Good stuff.

See also my review of Val McDermid's The Distant Echo over at A Knife & A Quill.

Not sure if the FFB will be at Patti's or at Todd's -- check both, they're bound to be worth it.

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: The CundeeZ

Wi language az rough az a rhino's erse
Oary Dundonian in poetic verse
Itz oor tongue, oor dialect, itz how wi converse

I heartily recommend The CundeeZ: punk rock with Dundee accent and a DIY can-do spirit. And not just because lead singer/songwriter Gary Robertson was the punk rock cupid that brought me and my sweetie together :-) but because the music is terrific. I've written before about Gary's book Skeem Life (which he tells me he's now turning into a musical) and about finally seeing them play -- albeit briefly -- for the the first time back in December. I suspect I will have plenty of opportunities to see them again when I am back in Dundee.

Their latest CD Lend Wiz Yir Lugs can be bought or downloaded for just £5 and it's a fine set of ear scorchers, veering from punk to ska to a little old school rock-n-roll. It's a wild ride from the evocative pipes of "Caleil" to the blistering "Mr E Go" and the plain-talking "Yir Talkin' Shite" (dedicated to politicians everywhere and all the rest who sling manure). It's all good: check out their first CD, Cundee Radio, too.

Find them on ReverbNation, Facebook and Twitter. Here are some of their videos to give you a taste; if you are of delicate constitution or easily alarmed by frank language, this is not the band for you. Everyone else: Enjoy!

As always, see the full round up of TOA/V at Todd's blog.

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Thirst & Linear Obsessional Recordings

A bit of news first: my story that asks the question "what if Christopher Marlowe wrote like an Elizabethan Hunter S. Thompson?"AKA "Fear and Loathing in Deptford," is featured at the World SF Blog. World SF is dedicated to posting links, news and original content related to science fiction, fantasy, horror and comics from around the world, so check them out for a wide variety of tales you won't see elsewhere.

THIRST: I'm slowly catching up on my Korean horror films. I am fond of Park's films and glad to have finally seen this one. It was part of the vampire run on Film 4 this past week. I'd seen just about everything else, so this was a nice surprise. In Thirst Kang-ho Song plays a priest who inadvertently becomes a vampire in his attempt to try to heal. He's driven to try to rescue the beaten-down Tae-ju, but saving the damsel in distress turns out to be a lot more complicated than he anticipates. Ok-bin Kim gives the orphaned outsider bride a mercurial character that reflects the deprivations of her marginalised life and her greed for excess that cannot be quenched. A very entertaining take on the vampire mythos.




LINEAR OBSESSIONAL RECORDINGS: Social networking brings you into contact with unexpected delights. Facebook connections brought me to Linear Obsessional Recordings and their coalition of experimental musicians. You'll find everything from a deconstruction of J. G Ballard's "The Atrocity Exhibit" to music for barges to found sounds as well as collages of loops and various improvisations. If you enjoy experimental work and ambient sounds, you'll find plenty to interest you there. You can stream all the music and download many for free (donations also accepted) -- some you can even remix as they're under a Creative Commons license. I spent all day yesterday listening to their recordings while writing. Good stuff. A lot to enjoy here.

Support indie music!

Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Ken Russell's Elgar

The BBC has been pulling out a bunch of Russell films from the vault in a grudging sort of admiration for the filmmaker's passing, including a doco on his life, A Bit of a Devil. So my DVR seems to be filling up with an assortment of things (which means I'll finally see The Boyfriend). I actually watched this in real time and plan to re-watch it soon. We're all used to thinking of Russell as the bad boy of excess (who, having seen it, can get the giant penis of Listomania out of their eyeballs?). Certainly a number of his films live up to that surreal excess.

But there is a range to his work -- even within his most excessive films (what would qualify for that? The Devils?) there are quiet enigmas. Elgar, a short film made for Monitor shows a restrained Russell at work but one who (as the doco tells us) delighted in dancing naked to extraordinary music. People tend to remember Elgar most for the song they hear at graduations, but there's so much more. Another one of those weird confluences of the zeitgeist: the events in Penda's Fen hinge on Elgar's Dream of Gerontius and the composer makes an appearance as the story takes place in the same location, the hills of Malvern.





I was talking about this on Twitter with a friend about how sensitive and deft the film was, how it put the music at the center. It tread the line between documentary and re-enactment without falling into the silliness that usually means. As Susie said, this was in sharp contrast to the slickness of current documentaries "and no silly camera work, no 'acting' Loved shot of Elgar walking into room of draped chairs to his draped billiard table." The film is full of striking images that encapsulate significant moments of Elgar's life (some of which reappear in Russell's work, but they're integrated into Elgar's story well). The music is the real star and Russell allows the audience to embrace the music full on, giving us space to really listen with visuals that compliment but never intrude on that experience. You can watch it in pieces on YouTube: not ideal, but worthwhile nonetheless. Excellent work.

See the roundup of recommendations over at Sweet Freedom.

Teaching tomorrow: eek. So much to do! Fortunately it seems as if the zeitgeist has taken the initiative to come up with a PR campaign for my forthcoming novel Owl Stretching, so that will save me some time.

Don't forget: enter to win a free copy of It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7 over at Goodreads.

How I Did It

I am guest blogging over at Mr B's on how I wrote It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon, Vol 7. A careful dissertation of the creative process or a wild pack of lies? You be the judge. I had fun writing this story, I had fun writing about writing about this story -- should I add a third level of self-reflection and admit to having a good time writing about writing about writing? Perhaps not.

Hard to believe I'll be teaching again soon (in so many ways). I have enjoyed my semester of freedom, perhaps a little too much. The liberty has gone to my head. I must remember how to do this, too.

At least I have been practising what I will be preaching -- commercial fiction, that is. Now to get better at it. Teaching remains the best way of learning. Be sure to check out the whole pack. Mr B says there will be a print collection later this year in February with his new prequel included (I've already had a sneak peak at it -- much fun!). Much fun -- and that's what it's really all about. Life is grand.


 

Know-vember: Paul Hamilton

Tuesday is usually Overlooked A/V Day, so it seems entirely appropriate to give the day over to a Know-vemberist who is also in the music world (and the only one to include an advertisement along with his responses). He's pictured here with one of his heroes, Kevin Godley (himself on the left, God on the right). I first met Aitch because of the Peter Cook Appreciation Society for which he has been one of the guiding forces as well as co-author with Peter Gordon of How Very Interesting: Peter Cook's Universe and All That Surrounds It, which I have recommended before. Let the madness ensue --

1. What's the first thing you do upon waking in the morning?

I kick the crackers out of my bed and send them back to Georgia. Then I like to do a spot of light dusting. Why I insist on fluttering at ceiling height placing dust particles on light bulbs is a matter of free choice - and the 12 men pointing guns at me and barking "PUT ZE DUST ON ZER LIGHT!" all day long.

2. What's a song you might be persuaded to dance to?

Discreet Music by Brian Eno turned up incredibly quiet - even better, if the speakers were disconnected from the gramophone. I love a good singalong - that "Yo-o heave-ho" song softly bellowed by freshly-starved oarsman. My ideal job would be as the supplier to their caterer.

3. Where in the world do you live?

In Cognito, a suburb of Limbo. As a would-be record mogul [www.smokingantrecords.com, thrill-seekers], I have found the music industry to be a minefield; everywhere you go, there's always someone shouting "That's MINE! MINE!"

4. What's a great night out for you?

Standing in the street watching my house burn down.

5. What's a great night in?

Looking out the window watching the street burn down.

6. If you were offered an all expenses paid trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Somewhere mercifully free of dust-obsessed men pointing guns at me. I was told that Prague was 'an experience' so I went there and there was no experience to be experienced at all. It was just like Leeds but with a slightly more decipherable dialect. The only good thing about Leeds is you get robbed very quickly: I got off the train, went to the first pub I saw and within 10 minutes my wallet was purloined. So I quaffed my half of Orphan's Piss and got the next train home. Perhaps the cutpurses of Leeds knew that I couldn't contain my disappointment any longer. Thanks, boys!

7. What book do you wish everyone would read so you could talk about it?

Yours, of course! [ED: awww] Well - now that you've disconnected the electrodes from my wand o' lust - I'm not a big book reader. Anything over six foot square I find hard to concentrate on; mainly because of the blood in my legs failing to circulate. 'Six Foot Square' - not a bad name for an address…
So, yes, any book that doesn't give me varicose veins or thrombosis is all right in my book (which is extremely small and tethered to a melange of balloons).

8. What movie makes you cry?

As time roars off in a flash car filled with youthful gaiety, leaving me choking on the dust which I must collect and sprinkle on light bulbs, I find that the things that made me hoot with laughter as a bouncing baby (I was born with springs for legs) now distress me. The last 10 minutes of Peter Cook & Dudley Moore's Bedazzled, for example, has me in tears these days - it's so empathetically written (Stanley Moon [crestfallen]: "Being me didn't seem like very much at the time…" George Spiggott: "Well… it wasn't very much… but it's a good deal better than the alternatives." Stanley: "(Sighs)… I'd give… anything… to be myself again but… I don't have anything to give, really, do I?").

9. What makes you laugh?

Yes, the word 'What' makes me laugh [ED: groan]. I bought a magazine called 'What's On TV' in the hope it would list all the programmes that mention the W word. Imagine my crushing disappointment. Suckered by The Man! However, to staunch the flow of sad, sour teardrops, I have a dictionary to hand and can look at the word 'What'. Failing that, I can consult the phone directory and call up some people called 'Watt' and say, 'Watt?' They invariably reply, 'What?' And, whilst fluttering around the ceiling performing my light dusting, I notice that the bulbs are 100 Watts and this has me grinning like a man who has caught a freshly-flung dinner plate with his mouth.

10. Are there fairies at the bottom of your garden?

I have no idea what could be living in Graeme Garden's bottom.

And now the advertisement:

Paul Hamilton's albums include 'Play For Today' by Bisonics and 'Only Two Can Play' by Doug Murphy & Paul Hamilton. Hear, see, feel and sniff  them at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bisonics/106739522693898 or even BUY them at http://www.smokingantrecords.com/shop/ why don'tcha? Bisonics' second album, 'Seconds' (you see what they did there?), will be unleashed around Xmas/New Year. He has just finished recording another album with Jazz Cattle and has financed 'The Luckless Pedestrian Years' the debut album by G.T. Thomas.

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Keeping it Peel

I am showing great restraint by not simply posting a bunch of clips of John Peel introducing The Fall. Are you proud of me? You should be. Here's a nice four part interview with Peel talking about the reality of punk music and its development in his usual straightforward way (further parts on this other site). Even if you've never heard of John Peel, if you like good music, you owe him a lot. Today's his remembrance day, a good reason for Keeping it Peel.





Be sure to drop by Sweet Freedom to read the rest of the overlooked recommendations.

FFB: The Fallen

For the full list of Friday's Forgotten (or neglected or insufficiently trumpeted) Books, see Patti Abbott's blog. If you're in need of reading material, there are always wonderful suggestions.

I remember when Marko asked if I had got The Fallen yet and I said, "Nah, I'm really only interested in MES, don't think I'll be interested." But then my editor Simon at the Spectator sent me a copy of the updated edition and suggested I follow the author Dave Simpson on Twitter and, well, they were right. This is an amazing book about a singular band and the obsession it provokes -- which really is all about Smith. Shot through the main narrative is also Simpson's account of the unraveling of his own relationship as his obsession with tracking down the dozens of former Fall members grows. He finally realises he has hit bottom when he finds himself listening to -- and liking -- Phil Collins songs:

What greater slur can a man carry than admitting to listening to Phil Collins?

The tale begins and ends and really never travels too far from the enigmatic frontman (whose autobiographical tome I have also written about for FFB). Many of the Fallen have gone on to success on their own -- Brix Smith is a fashionista, Mark Riley a popular DJ, Julia [Nagle] Adamson head of Invisible Girl Records -- but so many expressed a willingness to return to the fold should the boss ever ask them to do so, despite the acrimony that often accompanied their departure. Smith's philosophy gets likened to a football coach, an intimidating schoolmaster and an experimental psychologist, who thinks, "routine is 'the enemy of music'" and that regular shake-ups help keep the team on their toes (as does fiddling with their instruments and equipment on stage in the midst of a show.

While people like to celebrate groups like the Rolling Stones that have been together since the Pleistocene era (yawn) because they don't want their favourite things to change, Smith has managed a musical sleight of hand by means of constant if unpredictable change. He's famously claimed that even if it's "me and your granny on bongos" it's still the Fall and he's right. A Simpson realises,

...for all the hiring and firing in the group, the person most feeling the pressure of carrying the legend like The Fall is Smith -- because, after all, it's his reputation on the line.

By the end of the book, there's a distorted collage of the genius behind the band. Smith seems to grow and change, to be all things to all people, a "God" to some and "the boss" to others, a trusted friend and an unruly psychopath. But singular -- and indeed genius. The Fall are musical Marmite, but I think anyone who loves the music scene will find this book riveting as it delves into the 70s, 80s, 90s and noughties. It's an amazing tale well told by Simpson. Highly recommended.

BitchBuzz: Sarah Angliss/Spacedog

Looking forward to catching some of these performances in London: I find her work absolutely fascinating.

Sarah Angliss and "Spacedog"

By K.A. Laity

Musician, engineer, writer Sarah Angliss has embarked on a round of performances under the aegis of Spacedog. Her unique combination of nerdy science knowledge, inspired music and automata brings together technology, history and the spirits of the dead, including the titular dog, Laika the canine cosmonaut.

I think I first came across her work while researching puppetry. Her essay on the "Uncanny Valley" led me to exploring the fascinating compositions and videos she has created. Angliss characterises her work as a heady mix of unexpected elements:

Trained in electroacoustics, music and robotics, I specialise in creating original sound installations, exhibits and live performances that mix cutting-edge technology with curious or vintage sound equipment and little known stories from the history of science. I’m particularly interested in creating sonic art that enables people to generate or manipulate sound using novel physical elements (e.g. robots; motion sensors). Whenever possible, I try to avoid compositions that generate music entirely through software – I find algorithmic music is richer and more delightful when it’s coupled to the real world in some meaningful way...

Read the rest: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/sarah-angliss-and-spacedog.html#ixzz1Mo7LSS3a

Today's film in the horror class: the original Night of the Living Dead, which means I need to explain the 60s -- mostly that it wasn't all hippies and the Grateful Dead which seems to be the association my students usually make with the time period.

Carnival of the Animals

Image via Sokoblovsky Farms, petitelapgiraffe.com

The CSR Camerata concert went very well (not just saying that; read the review :-). I had a lot of fun reading Nash's poems and listening to my fabulous colleagues play. We all went out to The Point afterward, which is always lovely, too. I am consequently brainstorming more ways to combine the written word and music. Who wouldn't want to add beautiful music to an academic presentation? Wonderful.

A hectic week ahead which culminates in leaving Friday for Iowa to give the keynote speech at the Craft/Critique/Culture Conference. Let's hope by the time I get on that plane I am happy with the talk and the Powerpoint presentation, so I can relax and read something fun rather than continue tinkering with it all.

Not there yet. Argh -- at least not Sunday afternoon as I type this, though perhaps Monday morning when it posts was supposed to post [d'oh!]. Because I've got events all day Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, so there's precious little time left.

Gulp.

At last, Mr Hitchcock

Last night Peg and I headed off in the direction of MassMoCA to catch Robyn Hitchcock and Joe Boyd perform their show Chinese White Bicycles, which links together readings from Boyd's memoir in the music business in the 60s and Hitchcock's performance of the songs from the artists including Dylan, the Incredible String Band, the Move, Fairport Convention and yes, Syd Barrett. Many of you know how much I adore Mr Hitchcock, but I've never had a chance to see him live because he always seems to be touring here when I'm in another country, and touring elsewhere when I come back. So squees a-plenty when I got tickets for this.

We stopped off at the Man of Kent pub for lunch then, on a whim, stopped at the Clark Art Institute where I have never managed to go. We caught the final day of the Dürer exhibit, which was delightful, then explored the rest of the museum which ended up having unexpected delights like Bouguereau's Nymphs and Satyr, Turner's Rockets and Blue Lights (Close at Hand) to Warn Steamboats of Shoal Water, and Monets, Degas and Singer Sargent, including his Fumée d'Ambre Gris.

By the time we got to MassMoCA, the exhibits had closed (I was hoping they'd keep them open a bit later because of the concert), so we wandered around the rolled up sidewalks of North Adams and then tried out the new rib place (good!) before wandering back and taking up our seats. It was not a sold out show, which amazed me, but what do I know.

I know I was grinning like an idiot when they came out, Hitchcock in purple trousers and his purple glasses and one of those wild shirts. From the start, Boyd's low-key delivery of pivotal moments from White Bicycles where his personal history and rock history collided (meeting Dylan at breakfast with a young woman he'd hoped to bed) meshed well with Hitchcock's music, "setting the scene" as he said because like jelly it had to be. Boyd deflated some long-repeated mythologies -- he was there when Dylan went electric and no, Peter Seeger did not have an axe -- and Hitchcock infused familiar songs with renewed meaning. I haven't heard "Masters of War" in so long; it's easy to forget just how powerful it is. "Mr Tambourine Man" was magic and The Move's "I Can Hear the Grass Grow" a delight.  In between typical Hitchcock banter both with the audience and with Boyd: "Interesting is a word with a lot of "i"s in it... okay, it starts off with two, but the more you look at it, it grows extras..."

Boyd had a lot of interesting behind-the-scenes stories, connecting the reborn Fairport Convention to their reawakening at The Band's Music from Big Pink, then relating how the guys from Los Lobos said they would have remained a bad heavy metal band had they not listened to Fairport and turned to their own folk music for inspiration. I don't know the Incredible String Band that well, but I loved Hitchcock's rendition of "Chinese White" and laughed at Boyd's story about how leaving the band alone in New York for three days while he flew out for business in LA ended up leading to their joining Scientology (and perhaps consequently derailing their career).

Boyd had been the owner of the influential UFO club, that really gave the big boost to the then unknown Pink Floyd. If you only know the post-Syd Floyd (as most people seem to do) you're missing out. The genius that was Syd Barrett! Boyd read his encomium to Barrett which appeared in the program for a tribute concert the two worked on. It brought tears to many eyes, including Hitchcock's and then he performed "Bike" which is a just about perfect song, and delighted everyone.

They signed copies of the book afterward, so I actually got extra squee. Joe Boyd liked my Ganesh scarf and I asked Robyn to sign my Moleskine, so now I can take a little inspiration with me everywhere. Happy sigh. Looking forward to reading the book, too!

Falling for The Fall

Over at The Spectator, I get my geek on about The Fall:

With the release of Your Future, Our Clutter, The Fall marks 33 years of recording with another stellar disc. The music has evolved over that time, from proto-punk to a more poppy tunefulness to electronica and new noise – and the line up has changed time and again.

But at the centre of the group always lies mastermind Mark E. Smith. He has famously declared, ‘If it’s me and your granny on bongos, it’s still The Fall.’ Some 40 or more folks have cycled in and out of the band over the years, as Dave Simpson has chronicled. But Smith is right: it always sounds like The Fall.

There’s an absolute certainty in his vision that can put some people off. Smith has at times been notoriously difficult with interviewers and journalists, and at times cheekily proud of the fact. ‘The Observer magazine just about sums him up, e.g. self-satisfied, smug,’ he sings in ‘How I Wrote Elastic Man’, itself a song written to express his annoyance with people’s failure to read the materials, as he clearly sings ‘How I wrote Plastic Man,’ a reference to the comic book hero.

The Fall’s music has influenced bands and artists (see his Tate Modern interview) but Smith insists on maintaining the picture of himself as just another working stiff. When an academic conference on The Fall took place in 2008 at the University of Salford, Smith’s relatives buttonholed presenters at the pub, demanding to know who authorized it, and Smith later called former Fall producer Grant Showbiz in the middle of his presentation.

The Fall are one of those bands that create musical Marmite: you’ll find very few people who can take them or leave them...

Read the rest at The Spectator and hey, leave a comment! I'm knee deep in work today. Resurfacing later -- I hope.

Reviews: Harry Nilsson/King's Speech/True Grit

I have no doubt about the finest film I saw last year this past year: hands down, it was Winter's Bone. I've heard people carp about how "accurate" it was, especially people who felt it portrayed their part of the world unflatteringly. I don't know -- there's plenty of areas like that, even here in upstate New York. And if "accuracy" is going to be some kind of gauge for best picture of the year, there's an awful lot of statues to be handed back. All the trailers I saw before True Grit today claimed to be "based on a true story" which always makes me groan. The truth is no basis for a story: too messy. But let me save that rant for another time.

Who is Harry Nilsson? (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him) offers an insightful look at the brilliant singer songwriter and his life. The film benefits from the ailing Nilsson's decision to try to record a kind of autobiography, the found tapes proving a real treasure trove of commentary that makes the late singer a very vivid part of the film. It helps too that his family including his third wife, Una, with whom he had six children and seemed to be as happy as he found possible, were also cooperating. The tragedy of course is that someone so talented was also so troubled. Paul Williams' description of Nilsson as a great big bunny with real sharp teeth captures that succinctly. He had many hits, collaborated with the Beatles and the Pythons, but wasn't able to shake the ghosts that haunted him, from the father who abandoned him to the friends near to him who died like Keith Moon and John Lennon. As a bonus there are so many extras, too -- as if they couldn't bear to part with any of the footage shot, including Eric Idle's tribute song. They talk to all kinds of people who worked with him from Richard Perry to Van Dyke Parks and with his wives and kids. Excellent: I highly recommend it.

The King's Speech has already received laurels a-plenty which has a lot to do with its cast: they are indeed splendid, including many fine actors in tiny roles who get a couple of lines each (like Claire Bloom, alas). Like so many films now, the background is left enigmatic (well, you know the history, fill in the details yourself, I guess) and only the central actors received development. That really only means Rush and Firth: Helena Bonham Carter is reduced to appearing with corgis and going "there, there" on occasion (AKA a MWW masquerading as a MW1W). The direction is bizarre at times, especially in the first half hour, with angles that take you out of the narrative wondering where on earth the camera is supposed to be. Worse, in the set-up scene between the Prince-soon-to-be-King and the Aussie therapist, the camera work is so bad as to make it look like they're both gazing off into space rather than talking to each other. What really makes the film fall flat is the overwrought ambiance, from the overplayed music to the mountain-out-of-a-molehill plot. Yes, as someone once crippled by the thought of public speaking and who overcame it, I know what a trial it can be for people, but to have someone who treated men just back from Gallipoli call the pampered royal "the bravest man I've ever known" (as do half the people in the film) is just ridiculous hyperbole. If you love Firth, you'll still enjoy it, I guess.

True Grit is like a truly satisfying meal when you're really really hungry. The Coens have a great team of people (apparently Matt Damon has his own whole team, too, according to the credits) from Carter Burwell's musicians to Roger Deakins' seemingly flawless eye. You know Jeff Bridges is going to be good, and yeah, I'll admit it though it burns me a bit, that Matt Damon can be truly skillful when he wants to be. There's a whole host of grizzled frontiersmen, too: Peg and I were joking after the film that they must have put out a call for the ugliest character actors with the tag, "Must have abundant facial hair."

The real star is Hailie Steinfeld. Like Jennifer Lawrence in Winter's Bone, here's a young woman who more than capably carries the film flanked by powerhouse actors who might easily intimidate many a seasoned performer. From the get-go Steinfeld strides into town and into the part with all the certainty of the true believer that she is. You believe her, the grudging respect she wins from the men and when her faith falters, you see that she is a child yet and so very young. It's incredible work. For the Coens, this is a bit different from a lot of their work because there's not that distance that allows ironic humor (we have to be able to laugh at Barton Fink's sufferings because they would be too harrowing; A Serious Man walks that razor's edge with dizzying grace). It's a straight-forward adventure. Don't get me wrong; there's humor, but as in Shakespeare's dramas, it's there to give you a breather from the tension. Well done: go see it.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Renegade

"I don't really write from a solid idea. It's never that certain at the start. You get to what you're saying through the writing, the process; and then you move on." ~ Mark E. Smith

    

My entry may not really be 'forgotten' so much as completely unfamiliar to many. I bought a copy in one of the bookstores on the Southbank last year, which was near the start of my growing obsession with The Fall. I'd only seen them live once, but I've been obsessed ever since. A big part of that is irascible frontman Mark E. Smith who has keep the band going through various personnel changes since the heyday of punks. Their most recent release, Your Future, Our Clutter, proves they are still amazing all these years later.

Smith's narrative ranges freely over the many years of his career, projects as diverse as the ballet performed at the Edinburgh Fringe to accompany I am Kurious Oranj and the play he wrote about the rumored stories behind the sudden death of the first Pope John Paul, Hey, Luciani -- not to mention a lot of great music in between, as well as fights, marriages, sackings and a lot more. I can think of no better way to tell you what this book is like than to let the man speak for himself.

  When I was five I used to go and sit with my next-door neighbour, Stan the pigeon guy, in his back garden. He was a Teddy Boy, and in those days, before everyone had phones, the Teds used to send pigeons off to their girlfriends in Blackpool or wherever, with little messages attached.
  Sometimes he'd have three pigeons, each with a girl's name on it. I'd say to him, 'Why you doing that, Stan?'
  'So at least one of them will get through.' (11)

  That's why I've never aligned myself to the whole punk thing. To me, punk is and was a quick statement. That's why most of the main players couldn't handle the fall-out of it all, they were like a bunch of shell-shocked army majors stuck in time, endlessly repeating their once-successful war cries. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but I wanted something with a bit more longevity. (42)

  I used to do tarot readings as well. I went through a phase of reading books on the occult. I was fascinated by it. I still believe that things leave vibrations. America, for instance; I've visited all these Civil War sites and the atmosphere is incredible. You can almost reach out and feel it. (67)

  Women are more in tune with rhythms than men. It's very hard being in an all-male group. They don't get anything I say to them. The tunes in my head don't go past three chords. But men can't get it. There's something in their brain that's out of touch with this idea. I feel alienated from men musically, whereas women can transform my ideas into reality a lot more accurately. (129)

  I've always tried to dress smart. It's important... (130)

  [On Orson Welles] He was in another zone. Telling stories on stories until in the end he himself is a story. He didn't seem afraid of living in that world; and it's childish in a way, but when you can deal with it and use it, the results are evident.  I think it's like heightened awareness, similar to when you don't eat for a few days, or you've been on a bit of a bender -- you see things differently. And not always in an obvious way. (235)  

See the other Forgotten Friday Books rounded up at Patti Abbott's blog and of course, Todd (who persuaded me to take part again with some guilt-provoking) always does an FFB.

Laurie Anderson's 'Delusion' & Nowhere Boy

Friday I had the chance to catch a couple of fun things: Laurie Anderson's Delusion at EMPAC (my favourite local venue) and Sam Taylor-Wood's Nowhere Boy at the Spectrum 8 (as usual). Of course there were several other things possible that night -- among them, Nick Lowe sob! -- but one can't do everything (but two might try, but how to make two of me...?).

Nowhere Boy tells the story of John Lennon's teenage years living with his aunt Mimi (Kristen Scott Thomas) while getting reacquainted with his mother (Ann-Marie Duff)who had left him at the age of five and the emotional turmoil inherent in that situation, as well as the budding musical career he got off the ground between various hooliganish larks. Initially the film's release was overshadowed by director Taylor-Wood's relationship with her much younger lead actor, Aaron Johnson -- a disparity and relationship that would raise few eyebrows if the genders were reversed. The film has a brilliant cast all around (and not too terrible with the Liverpudlian accents for the most part) and definite emotional hooks, but the script doesn't really hang together well. Despite its basis in fact, it's not always compellingly believable, but I did enjoy it on the whole. There are plenty of little tidbits for the fans, like the drawings hanging on the wall that later show up on Lennon's Walls and Bridges LP. The visual accuracy of recreating existing photos through careful wardrobe choices: a pity the same care is seldom applied to crafting the script (cf. Sid & Nancy where the "My Way" sequence mimics the video precisely, but the filmmakers can't be bothered to find out how many siblings Nancy has).

Laurie Anderson is always an interesting performer. I had seen her talk about developing this piece at MassMOCA months ago, so I was already curious to see what had come. It was a much more visual show than some of the others I'd seen in recent years, with images and words projected on the giant screen behind her, on a sofa as well as two uniquely shaped screens on either side of the stage. The show, "a meditation on life and language", ranged widely across a wide variety of subjects in a dialogue between her own voice and the "male voice" she's been using for years that now has the name of Fenway Bergamot. Many of the themes had great resonance for me particularly her thoughts on the impact of silence and her descriptions of her travels in Iceland and how they sparked revelations about her own family. She rode Icelandic ponies at Halldór Laxness' farm (I only rode them at the farm across the way) and met a man who had a brilliant idea to turn a decrepit barn into dance club. Looking around the bleak landscape, Anderson realised at last who this man reminded her of: her own father and his enthusiasm for completely impractical notions.

In one of the most moving -- and difficult -- parts of the evening, she spoke of her mother's death and her difficulty in dealing with the loss of someone she "did not love". A priest she talked to suggested that she simply say that she had always cared about her, but she never got the chance to say those words. Anderson described her mother's delusions at the end of her life, animals she could see on the ceiling, and her gratitude, thanking everyone for coming, for all they had done. It was a really naked moment. She described a dream in which she gave birth to her dog, but also caught herself out in the dream because she had engineered the experience.

There was enthusiastic applause at the end, which continued even after she had come out for another bow, and I had just thought, "well, it's not as if she could do an encore..." when she stepped out again and did just that, picking up the electric violin and stepping to the edge of the stage where we could see her without the lighting (we were in the second row) and played a plaintive tune that held the audience spellbound.

Wonderful.

Reminder: WLoAD needs women!

Call for Submissions

"Passion. Vision. Daring. Humour. Any alone will be intriguing--but to have them all is to be sublime."

That is the mandate of the new journal for the Women's League of Ale Drinkers, for which I am editor. We seek only work that meets these criteria, the output of creative women who may feel that their vision and passion has been overlooked elsewhere, that their daring has brought only disapproving stares, that their humour has met with stony silence. We delight in work that crosses traditional genres. We do not ask for your credentials, awards or publications. We ask for your heartfelt work.

The inaugural issue will be out for Halloween. The full colour PDF format will be a showcase of talented women.


DEADLINE
September 21, 2010

FORMAT

Writing: fiction, drama, humour or non-fiction up to 5k; poems up to 100 lines total; submit as RTFs (or paste into an email).

Images: scans of paintings, drawings, multimedia, etc. or photos of handicrafts, sculptures, etc. or original digital designs in JPGs (resolution of 300dpi).

Music, Sound and Video: via links to your site or host site (e.g. YouTube, Vimeo, etc.)

And if we select your work for WLoAD, we ask that you wear the badge proudly -- link to our site and your fellow artists, promote the journal assiduously and celebrate this forum (i.e. comment on the issue and your colleagues).

Submissions should be sent to VICTORIASQUID@GMAIL.COM

Be sure to include links to your website, blog, Twitter, Facebook, etc., in the email with your submission. Thank you!