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  • Between the rock and a hard place.

    A while ago I wrote a massive article on music, and the current state of it. As part of this article I interviewed a number of people about their tastes, and what they think is on the horizon. I think we’ve started to see the turning of the tide. 

    The article was never published despite promises. The joy of having my own website is I can write what I want. Here it is:

     

     

    In the last five years the volume on amplifiers seems to have been turned down. Overdrive has fallen out of favour and instead we are faced with a wave of electronica, of synth beds and computer-based production of music. This is not to say there are not incredible bands making incredible music out there, more that we appear to be at a low point for the rock guitarist.

     

    These things come in waves. As part of the research into this article I spoke to a number of people about what they make of the current trends in music, their thoughts on what will happen this year and whether live music still prevails in a world where venues are closing left, right and centre and charging bands to perform. One of the key pieces of information I was given was these things come in cycles or in waves, which makes perfect sense, even on a grander scale than the music scene. We are experiencing a massive 80’s resurgence.

    Yuppies are trotting about in their patent leather shoes with no socks, spunk in their quiffs, body warmers, outrageously big mobile phones and wraps of cocaine lining their pockets. Teenage girls are donning washed out denim cut-offs, making collages of androgynous boys they fancy and drinking garish alcoholic concoctions. Music is more image than substance. Teenage boys are pawning their Fenders for Korgs. The more you think about it, the more parallels there seem to be and the more depressing it all becomes. To quote Tame Impala, one of the few bands of the last couple of years still flying the flag, ‘it feels like we only go backwards’.

    Is there really that much difference between Duran Duran crooning and swaying on a yacht in the video for Rio (boats and hoes) and A$AP Rocky bragging about his bank account figures? Is Rihanna glamorising sex any more than Madonna ever did?

     

    A decade ago there was a resurgence of British guitar bands. It felt like a scene, and while it was quite short lived and was never really given a tabloid-friendly title beyond ‘new Brit-Pop’ it was an exciting time for British music. Radios and charts were full of clever lyrics, battling guitars and skinny white boy attitude. There are still bands of that wave riding along and they are to be applauded for it. Suck It And See was arguably Arctic Monkey’s best album to date while In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull saw The Cribs return to lo-fi form, yet there is no real collective nature to what is going on.

     

    The worry when I took this article on was the fact I am invested in the last wave. I wanted to be a part of it. They were my formative years. I was in school, in college, at university and beyond when The Libertines, The Strokes, Franz Ferdinand and the like were pummelling pop with a righteous uppercut. I decided to open my inbox to others to see if I was taking the whole issue far too personally.
    James claimed “Miles Kane is single-handedly keeping guitar going at the moment” saying he expected it all to “pick back up this year, whatever that means”. Whilst interviewing him he mentioned a number of different artists due to release new albums this year. Amongst those listed were Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Atoms For Peace and Kings Of Leon “but that’s just wishful thinking” he added of the latter. The thing I took from speaking to him is we are reliant on pre-existing and established bands to keep the whole operation on the road. There are not many up and coming guitar bands.

     

    During the period of my research I was amazed by the amount of people who commented on the state of ‘manufactured’ music, especially the attempts by shows like X Factor to branch out with ‘winners’ like Matt Cardles and James Arthur who can hold a guitar. It’s hard however to maintain respect for anyone when you can see the price they were bought for.

    The joy of listening to a band or musician is to hear the progression they make form the first album where they don’t get the full works in terms of production, when they are seen as a risk. The songs they produce for the first album are the hard work, them honing their craft and finding their way in the world. The ones who make it to a second or third album and indeed beyond are those who have a gift for songwriting. The stories you have to tell once you have ‘made it’ are seemingly not as exciting and involving as the freshman effort, and that is where many meet their maker. With manufactured artists everything is thrown at them, a team of songwriters, top producers, radio play, total exposure, and you don’t get to enjoy the journey of it all. Seeing them break down over the loss of a childhood pet who always believed in their talent is just not the same thing.

     

    In terms of the way music is now being produced there were a mixture of opinions from people. Ariel, who works for New Jersey radio station The Core said it “doesn’t make any difference to her” how an album was recorded as long as it is bearable to listen to. “I don’t mind if it is in a fancy recording studio or in someone’s garage”.

    Meanwhile Lottie said “the best records in my mind are often (but not always) those that are simply recorded, and are always those that are not overproduced… if a band aren’t honest with how they sound then it almost defeats the object”.

     

    Ariel also said she had noticed there was a blurring of the lines between alternative stations and pop stations. While this can be seen as a positive as it gets a greater listenership and the opportunity to influence more young people to pick up instruments and try and make something meaningful, it also taints the music and the artists for those who sought it out and for who it was made special. While investigating the matter I received some flack for trying to drum up a redundant argument. I was told to seek out great music rather than accept what is offered to me. I try to do both, but it feels there is very little powerful music being created at the moment. I am open to being corrected, open to recommendations and a severe telling off.

    Janelle said she was simply too lazy to “Dig through the horseshit” to find new music. She complained it had got “terribly bleepy-bloopy”.

     

    Singer-songwriter Sam Sexton said some of the blame lies with the music venues themselves. “Good new bands find it hard to come through. 20 years ago live music clubs were ubiquitous, now they take a backseat and there is no good outlet unless you have the ability to market yourself”.

    This brings out another interesting discussion. It seems bands need to be able to package and develop themselves over the Internet in order to reach the people, rather than building a fan base in the traditional way of gigging as often as they possibly can.

    Florence & The Machine and Two Door Cinema Club were given radioplay following their BBC Introducing pages. Lily Allen was considered to be a MySpace star. Arctic Monkeys first EP was ripped and shared over the Internet to gain buzz. It seems increasingly if you want to get ahead as a band you have to put the hard work in yourself in terms of social networking. The problem is everything is trying to do this. In the same way all bands start out trying to emulate a hero’s sound, all bands try to emulate the success of YouTube or BandCamp sensations. In many way we are saturated with music. Before Internet downloads there were only the CDs you could afford to buy or burn copies of from friends. Before that there were only the tapes you could copy songs from the radio with or buy. Before that there were only vinyl.

    I spoke to my own father on the subject, who brought me up on a steady diet of T-Rex, David Bowie and Led Zeppelin. He plays in a 60’s and 70’s cover band. He said when he was a teenager he could only afford to buy one record a month and he would listen to it non stop and know every lyric and every guitar part through. That’s something we have lost.

    In a world where you can carry 8,000 songs around in your pocket, and have access to Spotify, YouTube and however else you choose to listen to music there is a big wall for artists, and the money is spreading thinner each time.

    Danielle commented “the likes of EMI, Sony BMG and so on need to start listening with their ears and not with their bank accounts”. This is all well and good in theory, but so is Communism.  In practice we are looking at a business, and the aim is obviously try and make as much money as possible.

     

    I asked a lot of people if rock was dead. It is possibly the most cliché question I have asked anyone in two years but that is often the best way to get a response from people sometimes. I believe for the most part it is dormant. It is rare to hear a recognisable riff in music today. Those that spring to mind come from the likes of Band Of Skulls, St Vincent, Jack White and The Black Keys, bands who are known, are established and are keeping the flame burning.

    There seems to be an essence of laziness to music today. It seems anyone can sit at a computer and throw something down, and I state that whilst spanking myself with a paddle for committing exactly that sin.

    We should be more concerned about the callouses on our fingers than the squareness of our eyes.

     

    A part of the problem is education. Music isn’t seen by the government as being important, despite David Cameron’s insistence that he loves The Smiths. A statement which moved Johnny Marr to ban him from listening to his music.

    I gained a lot more from music between the ages of eleven to sixteen than I ever did from maths. It’s a wider problem as well. The worlds of art and drama are sidelined for what are considered to be the core subjects. I don’t know why any school child would need to learn German unless they wanted to translate the complete works of Rammstein but I’m not in government and therefore obviously aren’t as savvy to the world as they are, from their ivory towers, with their two homes and fraudulent claims and benefits. 

     

    To return to the idea of cycles, in theory the next phase we repeat should therefore be the early nineties. Freelance writer Rob Thomas said “people will get fed up of bumf dink weeble weeble music and want more guitar based music… I think music has a cycle of about 25 to 30 years”. As far as I can see this will only be a good thing. Imagine if the ‘soft grunge’ fashions of the last year give rise to a resurgence of grunge music. The kids who tire of the current scene will dip back to Sonic Youth, Husker Du, Pixies and Nirvana. At the time it was a complete sub-culture and a complete fuck you to record companies and prancing about to backing tracks. It was gritty and it was real.

    It won’t be anything new in the immediate sense of the word but as Ariel commented “new music must always be compared to already existing music in order to fit into a category or several. Any new music will inevitably be stuffed into a genre, keeping a genre ‘alive’ in a sense… it seems critics and listeners are much more likely to smash twenty genres together to create an artist, rather than creating a new genre’.

     

    I’m reminded of a quote in Chbosky’s Perks. It was said no band could ever be as big as The Beatles because they gave the whole thing a context. Anybody following from that point is just emulating and that’s how sub-categories begin. Arguably Helter Skelter was the start of metal.

    There is always the hope something will come through and completely change music. As Kate said ‘rock never dies, it just goes underground it’s off the coke and ready for a comeback’. I read recent dub-step was the music of our generation, but if that’s the case I think I’ll sit this one out.

     

    I can’t predict the future. If I could I wouldn’t have included quite so many maybes in this article. What I will say is the floor is wide open for a new scene or culture or sub-genre of rock bands to come forth. It has been long enough. You may be reading this article with a guitar cradled in your lap. You may be planning on meeting up in a practice room or a garage with some friends, but there is no reason you couldn’t take what you are doing and blow an awful lot of turgid driftwood and shit clean out of the water.

  • 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.

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  • 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.

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

  • 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.

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    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:

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    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.

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  • ‘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.

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    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.

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  • 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.

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  • 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.

  • 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.

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    Picture courtesy of @rustyrockets

  • 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?

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Paul Schiernecker

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