Paul Schiernecker

Author: Paul

Macbeth.

Last night I went to see ‘the Scottish play’ at Trafalgar Studios.
I’m not the biggest Shakespeare fan. I respect his body of work, and his creation of words, and his wordplay therein, and I like the amount of death that seems inherent in his tragedies. That’s quite a lot of things. Maybe I do like Shakespeare.
The reason I was so keen to see this production was the same reason the majority of the audience were drawn in to see this production, James McAvoy.
I don’t know what it says about me, that I was pulled along on a string by the possibility of a Hollywood star spitting on me, maybe I could get Dominic Cooper to watch.

I have been lucky to have seen productions of Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing (thanks Adam) at The Globe but last night was a different creature entirely.
I’m going to assume everyone is aware of the story of Macbeth to a passing degree so will avoid the opening gambit.
The whole thing was established as though it were taking place in a grim post-apocalyptic Scotland, or it might have just been Scotland. The three witches carried workmen’s torches and wore masks, everything was broken and rusting and dripping and decrepit and then in came McAvoy, sliding about on his knees like a child at a wedding, and I was hooked.
In the past I have struggled to ‘get’ McAvoy as a brutal leading man, his performance in Wanted left something to be admired, and I always assumed him to be somewhat foppish. This could be the fault of his excellent portrayal of Brian in Starter For Ten.
As Macbeth however, he was stunning. Bearded and pacing and cut and heaving, he held dominion in the ways Macbeth should. The venom and aggression with which he delivered were incredible. You could have heard a grenade pin drop in the theatre, people were utterly spellbound.

Given how the aim of the Monday night showings in the tiny theatre is to open people to the power of Shakespeare and the theatre, they did a fantastic job. The crowd were full of the kind of people you wouldn’t usually associate with enjoying the work of the great bard.

While I don’t want to just write a piece about how beautiful James McAvoy’s beautiful eyes are (they are beautiful), it was the main draw and the main attraction. The supporting cast were equally spellbinding but people, myself included, love the cult of celebrity.
Jamie Ballard really came into his own in the second act as Macduff and Claire Foy was suitably manipulative and enticing as Lady Macbeth.
Props go to Jamie Lloyd for his production of the play which was visually and audibly one of the greatest things I have seen committed to the stage. The horrorshow violence was fitting to the bleak world created and the minimalist set helped to hone the attention.

I would say go see it, but I know it has completely sold out, and for good reason.

April 23, 2013
To the marathon.

I am shattered. I just walked a mile to catch the train to London.
I am going to watch the marathon today, and I am obviously being satirical, although I did have to pace it because I spent far too long lost in my own reflection this morning.
Two very good friends are running today and I’m off to offer my own brand of enthusiastic support.
I’m reminded of when one of them, L, asked me, two other friends and his brother in law, to come with him to the site of a skydive he was doing for the same charity he is running for today, Little Havens. We mercilessly bullied him for two hours, and his parting words were “just fuck off”. If he had died it would have made a fitting epitaph.

As it turns out, both L and my other friend D are running for Little Havens. I wonder if they have met, I wonder if they have worked each other out yet. I wonder if they know they both know me. I assume so.
Little Havens is a great charity. I did some work with them last summer, and wish I could do more. I always wish I could do more. For those who don’t know, they offer a hospice service for terminally ill children and an incredible support network for the families involved. Just describing it that far forms a lump in my throat.

I had every intention of being with them today, although I did have vague hopes of running as well. I applied for a place last October but didn’t make the cut. In hindsight it could be a blessing because to date the furthest I have run is six miles, maybe I’ll be in a better state by next April. I know I’ll apply again later this year.
There is also the issue of splitting my charity donations. This year I am trekking across the Sahara and raising money for The Prince’s Trust. People are reluctant enough to donate money they would otherwise be wasting to one worthwhile cause, let alone two. Next year I’ll have another crack at the marathon thing, and support a different charity. It’s hard to focus on any one when there is so much hardship.

In terms of today though I am already so proud of L and D. They both applied under the assumption I would get a place and we could train and support one another. I’m there to support them, and to show them I am a man of my word. Far too many people I know have flaked today. TAW and I will be there though, screaming and waving like a right pair of cotton-headed ninny muggins.

I went with L to register for the marathon on Thursday evening when I finished work. Registration was held at the Excel centre (“BACK ON THE DLR!” as I like to scream to the tune of Back In The USSR). There was a real buzz to the place as proper athletes sauntered about with the kind of prowess only superheroes should be able to exhibit when dressed solely in Lycra. There were stalls for specialist clothing, stalls for specialist dietary requirements, stalls for supplements, stalls for footwear. We stood about like a couple of comfy airsoles!

As soon as registration was complete and we got outside, L asked me if I fancied a beer. I wondered ever so briefly if he should be drinking three days before the marathon. As soon as we got inside he asked the barmaid if they had a cigarette machine. He thinks he is the Sid Vicious of the marathon. I just don’t want him to become a statistic.

I hope I get a good look at them today, and I hope they’ve vaseline’d every square inch of their bodies, and they should know everyone is supporting them.
It’ll be like the end of Return Of The Jedi when Obi Wan, Yoda and Anakin/Darth are stood grinning at Luke.
I’m talking Guinness Obi Wan and Shaw Anakin, I’m not buying all this CGI booster pack addition. Leave it be Lucas, leave it be.

Good luck today guys, and to everyone else taking part, and may the force be with you!

April 21, 2013
Project 333.

Last night I went through my wardrobe and chest of drawers, packed up two thirds of their contents into two suitcases and put them in the loft.
Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. It’s an experiment in the minimalist lifestyle.

For the last couple of months I have been harping on at people about the benefits of clearing out the junk and clutter which make up our lives. I haven’t done anything entirely foolish, I’ve stuck to an ethos to help me work out what to keep, and what to discard.
It’s in part thanks to reading about The Minimalists. I haven’t reached the zen levels they continue to aspire to, but I do feel better without quite so much junk around.

I have noticed it helps if I keep my work space free of items when I’m writing. They serve not only to distract me from what I should be doing but as a reminder that there are other things going on beside the world I am typing out.
There are some things I still can’t let go of. My shelves are full of books and DVDS, despite having made several attempts to clear out stuff I don’t read or watch.

My rule is, if I use it or I derive enjoyment from it, it can stay.

So what is Project 333 and what has it got to do with the fresh luggage in the loft?
The best description can be found on their website. As I said, it is an experiment. From my own point of view I have noticed there are items I don’t wear but don’t seem capable of throwing away like I have with everything else which adds nothing to my life.
I read about Project 333 on Wednesday and knew straight away it was something I needed to do.
The idea is you reduce your clothing (including shoes, jewellery and outerwear but not including sleepwear/loungewear or gym clothes) down to just 33 items, and use only those for 3 months.

When I first read about it, I wasn’t sure how 33 items of clothing would look, and whether people would notice I always seemed to be in the same thing but having spoken to my brother about it last night he described it as being ‘ten outfits’ which makes sense, and is probably essentially what I wear anyway. Within that there are a number of combinations. The point is to take the things you like wearing, and only wear those items.
It has the potential to be beneficial.
If you buy any new clothes during the period you have to wait until the time is up to wear them so you weigh up whether it is worth the money and the wait. If anything gets damaged you can replace it but the aim is to be imaginative and work with what you have got.

I mentioned the concept to my Sahara buddy Terri and she didn’t seem keen on the idea of limiting things off in such a way although she concluded she probably only wore 33 items in her wardrobe (not including jewellery, shoes or outerwear).
To be honest I can appreciate the whole idea may be easier for men than it would be for woman. There isn’t quite as much focus on men’s fashion, or it doesn’t seem to hit me anyway. I think it is entirely doable for anyone if you think through your choices.
This is Terri’s wardrobe:

I had to think about what would be happening in the next three months and what needs I would have, clothing wise, between now and then. I am fortunate in that I can wear what I like to ‘the office’ so I don’t have to worry about Burton suits and comedy ties and smart shoes and fake Barbour jackets and whatever else people who work in offices seem to wear.
The only thing I have extensively planned for the next three months is when I go to Glastonbury in June. I will probably be wearing t-shirts and jeans, and surprise, surprise, that’s what my 33 are composed of.

So here’s what I have to work with for the next 91 days.
7 t-shirts
4 jumpers
4 cardigans
7 shirts
2 pairs of jeans
1 pair of shorts (because I’m hoping for a summer at some point this year)
2 coats
1 jacket
1 blazer
1 necklace
1 earring
2 pairs of shoes

Unless I have made a massive oversight I think this is all I ever wear, and all I should need for the time being.
If the combination doesn’t work after a month I may jiggle a couple of items, but try to keep on the magic 33.

I’ll keep you updated on my progress and if you are interested I recommend you visit Project 333 for more information and support.

April 12, 2013
‘David Bowie Is…’ Exhibition – V&A Museum.

The three albums which define my early childhood are REM’s Monster, David Bowie’s Hunky Dory and Jason Donavan’s Ten Good Reasons. Luckily for all concerned I became disenfranchised with the latter before I was ever asked what my favourite albums were.
The first two, meanwhile, are entirely down to my parents, who would permeate bathtime with glam rock hits by The Sweet, T-Rex and David Bowie.
They saw Bowie on his Glass Spiders tour. Being that I was busy being a baby they didn’t take me with them, a gripe I have kicked up with them ever since. The reason I mention all this is to show how deep the lightening bolt runs, how indebted I am to David Robert Jones, and how much it meant to me when my own Lady Stardust managed to get us tickets for the exhibition of his extensive work and wardrobe at the Victoria & Albert Museum in South Kensington.

The first two things to be aware of about the exhibit are as follows; the audio guide was put together by Tony Visconti and is like aural sex, and you aren’t allowed to take photos. If you were then it would have taken us five hours to get around rather than the two and a half hour lap time we managed.

The exhibition covers Bowie’s career from his fledgling performances as Davie Jones and the King Bees right the way through to The Next Day. Along the way the provided headphones pick up sensors linked to particular events, videos or interviews and play them through. It’s amazing to think it is all the product of one man’s imagination and the literary depths he pulled from. Beforehand I was unaware Diamond Dogs was Bowie’s attempt to create his own dystopian landscape after being refused the rights to make a musical based on Orwell’s 1984.

There are so many aspects to Bowie both as a performer and as a man. It’s incredible to see it all collated, and to wonder where it has been hiding for all of these years. Why the cocaine spoon he used during his Ziggy phase isn’t on a revolving plinth in the British Museum is beyond me.
I think one of the nicest things to see was the range of people drawn in, admiring his work, his art, his prowess. It’s not something many are able to do. Everything the man has ever done has been with nothing but self respect and grace, he’s never said to much, he’s never been in it for the money and it shows because a decade on from Reality, people were ripping each other apart to get hold of the new Bowie album.
I read a review in The Guardian which claimed the exhibit was in some ways a way of cashing in or was just a promotional tool for the album but if the exhibition were to open anywhere and at any time it would receive exactly the same reaction. The same could be said for the album.

One of my favourite pieces was the room dedicated to Bowie in film. There’s a small cinema area screening scenes from his various on screen appearances; as Tesla, as Warhol, as Jareth. There’s a handwritten note from Jim Henson which accompanied the first draft of Labyrinth, for which Bowie was always in mind for, plus his crystal ball.

The exhibition is one of the most startling and encompassing things I have experienced and it was made all the more powerful by the fact it felt so exclusive within my own headphone world.
Within us all are those separate parts, the characters who want to glam up, and those who want to shy away. Bowie managed to cross back and forth between the two, teaching people it was okay to dress up, to want to look and feel and be different. It’s in part inspired a movement and a realisation and I’m so glad to have felt the bolt strike me.
It seems a million miles from BBC reports of the time addressing Bowie as some kind of (space) oddity and questioning his popularity, sexuality and performance.

We all need those small acts of rebellion and Bowie helped a lot of people to accept theirs.
Today I am wearing my girlfriend’s earring. It will mostly go unnoticed but to me, I’m a rebel rebel.

April 8, 2013
The Life And Loves Of Jet Tea – a review

Jet Tea is a man plagued by the twenty-first century. Stuck in a series of jobs which don’t really do justice to the years of ability he has built up, and dumped by the first real love of his adult life, he bounces from pillar to post, and pub to pub, trying to find love and answers at the bottom of a pint glass.

The joy of The Life and Loves of Jet Tea is in how English it is, therefore how relatable. There is an element of Douglas Adams to the prose, the awkward nature of not really being completely comfortable with the way we feel about our surroundings. Set against a backdrop of West London it’s a literary A-Z of the places to head if you want to face the arseholes you spend so long avoiding and confront everything which disenfranchises you from the world you are unfortunately a part of.

Accompanying Jet Tea on his voyage of self-discovery are his two sole friends, Maurice and Hayden, who for the most part are the cooler sect of the tripod. While they are all able to make a mischief of themselves, there is the image that Jet Tea isn’t able to deal with these things in the way his friends do. His dyslexia and distance from the world make him a target on top of his outwardly expressed ‘geeky’ appearance, and there is the concern he will never come out on top. Faced with rejection at every turn he continues unabated for the things we all want in our mid-twenties.

The book is comforting, thought-provoking and hilarious throughout, displaying the kind of aforethought only someone who has been there could have achieved. It’s a must read, and can be picked up through Amazon.

March 30, 2013
It’s all happening.

I am pleased to announce things seem to be storming forwards on the short stories front. I have found an amazing designer to put together something, and I am really impressed with how well he has read the vibe of the book and come up with something unassuming which should make people turn back to it and go ‘Ohh, that makes a whole lot more sense’.
I finished redrafting at about half three this morning and instantly sent the book to as many people as I could find in my inbox who might be interested. This morning even more people on Facebook and Twitter have expressed an interest so I’m hoping I will have something to show for all these restless nights.

I think when it’s all finalised I might take a little break before starting in on the next thing. I have so many plans and so many things to do but I can’t keep going like this. I’ll take Easter to relax, and think about how my lot killed your Lord and then I will start in on the next phase of operation Schiernecker.

My thanks to everyone who now has a copy of Where Did All The Money Go? in their inbox.
I look forward to your thoughts, tips, reviews, whatever.

Peace&love.

March 24, 2013
How to solve a problem like the Goth Detectives

Last night I was lucky enough to visit the Royal Albert Hall for one of the Teenage Cancer Trust gigs curated by bumbling, coarse hero of the north, Noel Gallagher. The night in question was one of comedy, notably pegged as a show by the Goth Detectives; the collective term for Russell Brand and Noel Fielding.
The name came as a result of the pair appearing on a team together on Big Fat Quiz Of The Year a few years ago and they have quite literally run with it.

I had never been to the Albert Hall before. It still holds an air of grandeur even when Brand referred to it as a mausoleum.

The show opened with a plasticine stop-motion animation by Fielding where the pair searched for the cure for cancer before being given a lift to the gig by “golden fleece haired” mod hero Roger Daltrey who then bounded out onto the stage to introduce the pair.

Brand and Fielding work well together in that they both crave chaos and attention. Their show seemed to have some kind of script or plan or intention behind it but that quickly gave way to Russell trying to impregnate everything and Noel saying silly things just to be quirky.
After a brilliant rambling opening gambit they introduced Sean Walsh to the stage.

I first saw Walsh perform at a tiny warm up gig on a boat approximately two years ago. He was a stand out performer then, and has only got better I am pleased to report. His observational comedy is not as stilted and predictable as the likes of McIntyre or Evans, the things he comments on are the awkward ways of the English nature and trying to maintain a modicum of masculinity in today’s society. His physical comedy is parallel to his spoken word, equal parts the mime and the joker.

Russell returned to the stage to carry out a bit of solo stand up which was a clear highlight. It’s good to see despite his recent Hollywood dalliances and bus surfing Olympic appearance his life is still a series of embarrassing events linked together by telling people about those embarrassing events.
I’ve been a fan since his drug addled days on MTV and it’s good to see the lack of opiates in his system has made him wilder and smarter.

This was followed by Noel performing his character Roy Circles from Luxury Comedy. Roy is a chocolate finger PE teacher who I believe was in the army, it was hard to work out.
I tried really hard to enjoy Luxury Comedy but it just wasn’t the Boosh. Maybe that was the point. Maybe I’m too much of a square to get it.
Following a brief eulogy of Neil Armstrong by the moon the first half ended.

The second half of the show began with a short film about the Teenage Cancer Trust and the excellent work they do. They are the only charity who solely work with young people with cancer.
Noel Gallagher then took to the stage accompanied by one of the girls aided by the support of TCT. That has just reminded me to donate actually.

Russell and Noel returned to attempt to solve a goth mystery, as they are after all supposed to be detectives. The suggestion box they placed at the front of the stage before the break was just full of witchy woman witterings and attempts to be funny.
When that failed they pulled a skinhead from the audience and decided to call his stepdad live on stage. Russell joked he was yet to learn his lesson about calling up someone’s relatives for a joke.

Tony Law was the notable highlight of the second half. The vikrate/piking has been on the peripheries for far too long and Fielding’s admiration of his act helped in getting him the slot. As a comedian he is incredible to watch. You never know exactly where his jokes are heading in the best possible way.
His ‘Two elephants in a bar’ skit had me in pieces and despite the scowls of people who obviously wanted something a little more obvious and vacuous he went across well.

This was followed by the return of the Goth Detectives as they gave a student a goth makeover, cutting his ginger bob and forcing him into black leggings. The act would have been slightly more successful if they weren’t faced with a brick wall as a model. The kid just looked miserable, and this was before they spray painted his hair and face.

It was a great evening and excellent for the Teenage Cancer Trust which doesn’t get enough respect or support. The work done to put on these events and raise awareness is incredible. Those involved deserve every kind of accolade.

Personally I would like to thank James for sorting me a ticket, to Jack for finding such a supreme steakhouse and to Sandy for getting the beers.

Picture courtesy of @rustyrockets

March 21, 2013
Little privileged us.

It’s hard to think of yourself as being privileged. We are raised to want, to crave, to keep up with the Jones’s.
if you were to be placed in a line of privilege however, against everyone else in the world, I think you would be surprised.
There are so many people in the world who spend every day trying to make it through, just trying to survive that day. Making sure they can get enough food to get by. Trying to ensure they have somewhere to sleep.
The fact we don’t need to worry about those things means we are privileged.
It should be a right for every person to have shelter and fresh water but unfortunately that isn’t the world we live in yet.

When you think about it, the tenner you donated to Comic Relief because Harry Styles crying and holding a baby with malaria made you cry is the tip of the iceberg of what you could afford to give.
There are so many occasions where I look through my bank statement and can’t work out why I needed to withdraw yet more funds. If we all just took a moment to think about how wasteful we are, and how lucky we are then maybe it would push us all to give a little more to people who can’t order in a Domino’s when they ‘can’t be bothered to cook’ or buy a new shirt or dress for each weekend so they don’t look the same in their Facebook photos.

We are selfish. We could do so much more. Why don’t we?

March 18, 2013
Good things come to those who….

Tick followed tock followed tick followed tock.
Black and white footage of horses on the incoming surf.
A pint of the black stuff.
There’s a lot to be made of it.
As a nation, and especially as a generation we are far too impatient for our own good. I look around and see people buying things on credit because they couldn’t possibly wait until they actually had the money themselves. I see people paying over the odds for a product they won’t use before it drops into the sale. I see girls who can’t wait for their hair to grow so pay out ridiculous sums of money for real hair extensions. I wonder if we wouldn’t all be a bit better off if we didn’t jump in to our decisions as quickly as possible.

Of course there’s a time for action, I’m not saying every choice in your life needs to be sat upon but the majority of the money we spend is wasted, and a lot of that I believe is down to an inability to wait. Tired of wasting too much money in the weekend immediately proceeding my monthly payday I decided whenever I wanted something I would add it to a wish list instead of buying it straight off. A month later I could decide if it was something I still wanted or whether it had just been a passing fancy. The fact of the matter is by the time you reach your mid-twenties you are pretty set for the things you need, and everything else is simply something you want.
I want more books. I have shelves full of them but I want more.
I want a new car, but until I can afford one and until my current ride (Pancetta) is no longer fit for purpose that simply won’t happen.
I want a house, but until I have the money I am entirely stuck.

Another example is the kind of benign platitudes that fill Facebook of a Monday morning.
‘Want to stay in bed’
‘Why isn’t it the weekend’
‘Sometimes I wish I could gun down everyone in my office like the Boomtown Rats song’.
Without the week you are so dreading you cannot get to a weekend. Without getting up and facing that Monday morning you claim to be dreading there will be no Saturday or Sunday. Without going to work there will be no money for you to waste on that weekend.
The ugly truth is most people spend the week griping about how it isn’t the weekend yet and then fill their bodies with drink and drugs to a point they forget the majority of the weekend anyway.

When you strip all of the wants away, there is really only a very limited amount you actually need to keep going.
Stop just taking. Start waiting.

March 10, 2013
Abbey Road Studios.

I am not a religious man. Tonight I had the closest thing I can compare to what I imagine a religious experience to be. There were no choirs of angels. There were no pearly gates or elephant gods or laughing golden buddhas. There was just a converted house in North London with a zebra crossing outside.
In a stroke of luck so wide it could only have been made with an industrial roller I was asked if I wanted to attend one of a series of speeches given by Kevin Ryan and Brian Kehew who wrote the critically acclaimed book Recording The Beatles.
At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. For a boy who grew up listening to Magical Mystery Tour and Sgt Peppers rather than nursery rhymes, who learnt With A Little Help From My Friends on piano while everyone else was off playing football, who once said anyone who doesn’t like The Beatles is inherently evil, it is basically the dream assignment. After standing about drooling for five to ten minutes I accepted the challenge and attended the talk.

The lecture covered the full history of the studio, from its days under EMI as His Master’s Voice, Columbia and Parlophone right through to it’s liberation and status as a listed building. A lot of the talk was focused on The Beatles, and rightly so, their music is Abbey Road’s most famous export. It would be like giving a talk on Amsterdam that didn’t cover prostitution, relaxed drug laws and tulips.
The amazing thing about the studio is you can hear The Beatles in it. When Brian Kehew gave a demonstration of how the last note of A Day In The Life was recorded (by the four Beatles each hitting a chord on a different piano) the acoustics of the room gave it exactly the same rich quality it has on the recording.
To create the claustrophobic blues club vibe for Yer Blues the four of them clambered into a tiny tape room above the studio itself.
The place has an incredible ambience and an incredible history. It’s a hard thing to describe or explain. It feels as though you have been transported back, that the studio techs in lab coats could wander in at any second to set up. It’s been kept so well, preserved like a memory.

It’s a rare treat to be granted access to the studio. As an audience we were told they are not usually accessible to the public. That didn’t stop me wanting more though. Regardless of the fact I was sat in the same room The Beatles had recorded, I wanted to see it all. It felt as though things were being kept back. On every corner between the front door and Studio Two a security guard had been placed to ensure nobody wandered off and saw something they weren’t supposed to. I was reminded of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. It wasn’t enough I had a golden ticket, I wanted to go swimming in the chocolate river. At one point while everyone else was gumming themselves over archaic pieces of recording equipment I feigned needing to visit the little Beatles room and started off down a corridor. I found a bar. For a second I thought about going in and pretending I belonged there. Then I remembered I had an assignment to do. Disobeying orders made me need the toilet. I think I used George’s one.

The studio had been converted into a lecture theatre by a small stage being constructed for Brian and Kevin, and their projections and videos. The rest of the room was lines of red leather chairs with metal legs. During the lecture we were told the chairs had been brought in during the 60’s as it was discovered the squeak caused by the old wooden chairs often ruined recordings and an American studio had started using ones similar. The chairs have been in the studio since then. By the end of the talk I had convinced myself I was in John Lennon’s favourite chair.

I’ve already written two articles on the studios, and they’re a lot more professional and focused than this but I need time to geek out and freak out over being invited into my own personal Mecca

March 9, 2013