Friday, 1 June 2018 / film, review
Forgotten Film Friday: After Dark, My Sweet
Back before Jason Patric was fighting for dads’ rights, he was busy brooding in James Foley’s sun-bleached noir. A poetic and strangely hypnotic take on the classic genre, After Dark, My Sweet is a slow-boiling poker game of a film.
Patric’s drifter, Collie, hot out of the mental institute, is picked up by alcoholic widow Fay (Rachel Ward) in a bar. Allowing him to live in a trailer at the bottom of her dried up yard, the pair soon become caught up in a kidnapping plot. Orchestrating the clumsy scheme is Uncle Bud, played with creepy flair by Bruce Dern. When the trio finally manage to steal the right child, things quickly disintegrate and they begin to question their trust in each other.
Patric gives the performance of his career as the mixed up ex-boxer; the shrewdness and aptitude for violence Collie represses fights to break out from under his veil of restraint and dim-witted sensitivity. Ward, the femme fatale to his smoldering anti-hero, is as alluring and tragic as the noir heroines that precede her. The sunny colour palette and Palm Springs setting freshen up the moody, paranoid tones and taut sexual tension that pervade the narrative. A feverishly sensuous film that artfully taps into human loneliness, After Dark, My Sweet has been overlooked for too long. This is an absolute gem and a solid entry in the neo-noir genre.
Thursday, 10 May 2018 / john lennon, music
Ten Underappreciated John Lennon songs
...because there's more to the Smart Beatle than just Imagine, you know?
Steel and Glass (from Walls
and Bridges)
Probably the only song in Lennon's catalogue to
rival the better-known How Do You Sleep in nastiness, Steel
and Glass is a delightfully seething fuck-you to his former manager,
Allen Klein. With cruel lines like 'your mother left you when you were small /
but you're gonna wish you weren't born at all', John's at his best when he's
angry, and boy is he angry here.
I'm Losing You (from Double
Fantasy)
This is undoubtedly one of Lennon's best-written
songs. His fear and confusion about his relationship with Yoko Ono manifests
itself, as it so often does, as anger in this intense, paranoid gem from his
final album. The sound is so tight, so tense, that listening to it evokes
anxiety in me. Great vocals, too!
I Know (I Know) (from Mind
Games)
He dismissed this song as a 'piece of nothing',
but it's a top-five Lennon track for me. Something I find in a lot of his more
ostensibly tender songs, like Oh Yoko! and Grow Old
With Me, is an underlying sadness and pain, though it's possible I'm
allowing his eventual murder to colour my perception, of course. I hear it in
this song too, which sounds so bittersweet to me. Lennon uses simple statements
- 'no more crying, no more crying', 'today, I love you more than yesterday' -
to convey deeper themes such as forgiveness and empathy. I like the theory that
he wrote this for Paul - it wouldn't be the first time he referenced Beatles
songs (Yesterday, Getting Better) to send him a message (see: How
Do You Sleep).
Surprise, Surprise (Sweet
Bird of Paradox) (from Walls and Bridges)
No one ever talks about this song! It definitely
misses the powerful emotion that drives some of his better-received tracks
like Mother and God, but what it lacks in
intensity, it makes up for in groove and fun. Whilst distinctly
Lennon-sounding, the lyrics are almost Paul McCartney-esque ('just like a
willow tree/ a breath of spring you see). Plus it's got Elton John on backing
vocals! Definitely not his best or most powerful track, but a very entertaining
listen nonetheless.
You Are Here (from Mind
Games)
This is one of his most relaxed, pretty songs.
When I think of his post-Beatles career, I tend to think more of songs like
this and Bless You - vaguely philosophical, meandering tracks
- than rockier numbers like Cold Turkey and Remember. He
famously hated his singing voice, but the raw thinness of it works well with
this kind of song.
Remember (from John
Lennon/Plastic Ono Band)
So many of Lennon's best songs are based around
one word, almost like a mantra: Imagine, God, Love,
Isolation, Woman, Mother and this one, Remember. I always
forget how good this one is until I hear it. Perfectly placed on the album
right before the much softer Love, the juxtaposition is
beautiful and disorienting. Great drumming from Ringo on this one, too!
Nobody Told Me (from Milk
and Honey)
I love this song! It's much less vulnerable than
most of his songs, but doesn't suffer for it. Taking inspiration from classic
poetry - and his own UFO sighting! - it's a jaunty little tune that was
originally meant for Ringo Starr. Calling a top-five hit 'underrated' could be
a bit of a stretch, but the song seems to have been largely forgotten with
time.
Out The Blue (from Mind
Games)
You can probably tell I'm a big Mind
Games fan. This serene, grateful song is less emotionally searing
than most of his songs, but doesn’t suffer for it at all. This type of song is
underrated in the Lennon canon in favour of louder songs like Instant Karma, not least of all by John
himself. Lyrics such as ‘it had to be – two minds, one destiny’ and ‘I survived
long enough to make you my wife’ express the very Lennon-esque sentiment that
he was awakened or ‘saved’ by Yoko and their love for each other.
Look at Me (from Plastic Ono Band)
I love the ethereal double-tracked vocals on
this pretty song. He’s vulnerable, asking for help and begging ‘please look at
me, my love’. He’s pleading for guidance with lyrics such as ‘here I am. What
am I supposed to do?’ It’s something I find so interesting about Lennon. He was
so opinionated, so self-centred, so uninterested in what anyone else thought,
and yet it’s clear from his songs that he looks for validation from others,
particularly women.
Hold On (from Plastic Ono Band)
This could have easily made it onto The Beatles’
Let It Be album. The bass line is
fantastic, while the simple, universal message of ‘hold on, it’s going to be
all right’ is surprisingly positive for such a lyrically bleak album. People
always talk about John’s ability as a lyricist, but in many ways, I think he’s
actually underrated in that department; he has the rare gift of being able to
say so much by saying so little. Think of songs like Strawberry Fields Forever –‘no one, I think, is in my tree’ may be
my favourite line in any song.
Friday, 29 September 2017
The Babe Rainbow || Moth Club
When I first saw the short film Midnight Ramblers -
an incredible paean to the passion and glamour of rock groupies - last year, I
was instantly struck by the music. It was perfect. Breezy, retro-tinged,
dreamy, energetic - it fits exquisitely into the art film duo Wiissa's groupie
wonderland. Of course, I had to know who’d provided the soundtrack. Turns out
it was The Babe Rainbow, a groovy Aussie band boasting titles like Secret Enchanted Broccoli Forest and Peace Blossom Boogy. They sound like
drugs and sunshine, and are with Australia’s coolest indie record label,
Flightless Records, whose roster also boasts King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard.
Hearing from a colleague that they’re playing in Hackney in just a couple of
days, it seems like fate.
Moth Club has become one of my favourite venues over the past
year, with it’s Lynchian clash of dated pub furniture and gold glitter ceiling.
It’s not quite Byron Bay, but somehow it’s perfect for The Babe Rainbow. When I
arrive – early – there are pockets of young people in spangly silver jumpsuits
and gasoline faux fur congregating in corners, drinking warm beer from plastic
cups. I lean against the bar, alone, hoping one of these kids – so much cooler
than me – will be attracted to my aura and start talking to me. It doesn’t
happen, so I wait for the band.
I don’t have to hang around long. Within half an hour of my first
sip of spiced rum, lead singer and ‘troubadour of consciousness’ Angus Dowling
prances onto the tiny stage, clad in a green-and-black onesie. Following him
out are bass guitarist Dr. Elliot Love Wisdom and ‘guitarist with mystique’
(one for you, Almost Famous fans),
Kool-Breeze. They take a second to observe their audience. I’m at the front, in
an oversized Grateful Dead t-shirt tucked into a Seventies suede patchwork
mini. Next to me is a group of three excitable, long-haired boys, seventeen
perhaps, who’ve squeezed their way to the front and who seem equally as
enraptured by the hipster girls next to them as they do the band. I wonder if
we’re an appealing crowd.
The band’s first song is a new one, but it doesn’t matter. We’re already
grooving. The energy is instant, manic, and it’s emanating from the group and out
into the audience. You can feel the electricity passing through the crowd, from
the stage all the way to the stragglers in the back, like a dynamite
trail. By the time they get to Johny Says Stay Cool, six songs in,
we’re all thrusting back and forth, stamping on each other’s feet, smashing
into one another to Angus’ cries of ‘breathe in, breathe out’. The front of the
stage is a psychedelic mosh pit. BREATHE
IN – I collide exuberantly with the teenage boy next to me – BREATHE OUT – he steps on my toes – BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT! ‘You’ve got
to dance. You’ve just got to,’ the boy shouts into my ear. I nod.
Later, after the band perform a particularly trippy rendition of
Blondie’s Heart of Glass, they break
for twenty, giving me a chance to head outside for a smoke and a think. King
Gizzard, this band certainly is not. Something’s missing – they don’t seem to
have quite come into their own yet. But I’m into it. They’ve got a lot of
groove and charisma, and they’re causing everyone in there – me included – to lose
their minds a little bit. Who cares if they’re not quite polished yet? I spot
Angus, Dr Elliot and Kool-Breeze, a few feet away with some female fans. They
look like three blonde angels. Or cult leaders. Everyone’s playing it cool,
even the fans. I’m momentarily transfixed.
Back inside, I get myself another rum and cranberry. There’s a
girl next to me, shy, looking like she doesn’t want to be alone. Eye contact, earnest
smile. The bar maid’s counting my change - I ask the girl if she’s having a
good time. She nods with nervous enthusiasm. ‘I love them. There’s no one else
like The Babe Rainbow. Anywhere.’ Good soundbite. The barmaid hands me my rum
and my change, and the girl and I find an easy route to the front, next to the
trio of teenage boys again. The one in the yellow t-shirt – the foot-crusher –
smiles at us. We’re just in time. The funky intro of Love Forever swirls from the stage. Angus writhes like a snake
around the stage, perhaps a little self-consciously.
And then it’s over. The lights stay down, and I get a beer from
the bar, keen to stick around and lap up any last phantoms of psychedelia. I’m
a bit disappointed – what am I looking for? – when the room all but empties. Even
my new pal, the nervous girl, is out the door without as much as a parting
smile. To the station, then, I guess.
I wait at Hackney Wick. A flash of yellow and excitable babble –
it’s the boy and his friends. I wonder briefly how they discovered the Babe
Rainbow (poseurs?), but I don’t ask. I don’t speak to them at all. Outside of the
protective walls of the Moth Club, the normal London rules begin to apply again.
No speaking to strangers. No feelings, other than frustration. He points at me.
‘Hey, she’s got a Grateful Dead t-shirt!’
Sunday, 5 February 2017 / lists, music
Seven dreamy things about Fleetwood Mac's Rumours
Fleetwood Mac's most iconic and celebrated record turned 40 yesterday! It's not my favourite album they put out (that'd be the brilliant followup, Tusk) but it's undoubtedly an exceptional and lovely record.
After I'd given the album approximately seventeen spins and put on my most Stevie of dresses - a 1970s black mini with caped chiffon sleeves, purchased from a vintage shop called Lucy's Lounge in Dublin - I made a list of the dreamiest things about Rumours to celebrate.
1. The unique general vibe of the album - intoxicating, ethereal, immersive, natural, fun.
2. The cover. Isn't Stevie just the most ethereal, spooky thing around? I love the black ballet shoes with her iconic Rhiannon dress.
3. Dreams, the album's most successful track - and arguably the band's signature tune - plays a quiet but vital role in the novel I'm writing, which is tentatively titled Kit's People.
4. It was produced by Ken Caillat, who also worked on albums for Alice Cooper, Wilson Philips, The Beach Boys and Frank Sinatra. Quite an impressive resume by anyone's standards, but thirteen year old me would have been more impressed that his daughter is Colbie Caillat!
5. It was supposed to have Silver Springs on it, which is just about the only thing that could have made the album better!
6. Never Going Back Again - such a sweet little tune. My favourite on the record.
7. The mystical, almost primal sounds of Gold Dust Woman.
Thursday, 12 January 2017 / culture, film, writing
Film preview: Stand by Me
Last summer marked the 30th anniversary of one of my favourite films, Stand By Me. To celebrate, Liverpool arts centre FACT held a screening. I wrote a little something for their blog back in July, and completely forgot to post about it here!
Awarded the prestigious honour of being the first Stephen King adaption he didn’t try to quash, Stand By Me follows four young boys as they go on a mission to discover a dead body and get on television. Like any good coming-of-age film, however, the real story is not found in the plot but the journey.
A true ode to American boyhood, the film shines a sensitive spotlight on the crucial stage of pre-adolescence when everything seems uncertain. For the four protagonists, that’s the last weekend of summer before they enter junior high school [...read more on the FACT blog]
Friday, 6 January 2017 / travel
New Years Eve in Ireland
I've had this feeling for a while that I must go to Ireland. I'm not sure what sparked it, but I found myself reading Irish literature almost exclusively, in what I can only assume was an attempt to vicariously absorb a sort of Irishness through the pages. John Banville, Caitriona Lally and Kevin Barry all found their way to the top of my reading list, pushing in front of perfectly good authors who lacked the decency to be born on the Emerald Isle. Naturally then, when my friend Steph - who I've seen only once since she moved to Paris seven years ago - invited me on the New Years Eve trip she and her friends were taking to Dublin, I said yes instantly.
I came across an incredible vintage shop in Dublin, run by the fantastically colourful Dandelion. She was a Sixties groupie goddess, decked out in a psychedelic mini dress and huge, drawn-on eyelashes. An hour later, and I was 100€ poorer. It was definitely worth it for my new 1930s tea dress, the black caped chiffon mini of Stevie Nicks' dreams, and a 1960s green velvet mini dress (apt, no?). I like to pick up vintage whenever I travel to a new place.
I spent time not only in Dublin, but in Connemara, Galway and Cong too. The serene beauty of Connemara was startling, and almost impossible to do justice to with an iPhone. The wild landscape was like something out of Middle-earth. It's the kind of place that makes you glad to be alive.
Cong is a quaint village in the West of Ireland. It's very proud of its role in the 1952 romantic-comedy, The Quiet Man. There's a beautiful statue of the film's stars, John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, near Cong Abbey. Galway was lovely, of course. It was a beautiful day, and the town was packed for the bank holiday. There's nothing better than chips on the seafront, is there?
Our actual New Years Eve plans got scuppered. I got on so well with one of my hostelmates, Luisa, that I ended up celebrating with her instead of Steph and her friends. It was raining heavily, but we wanted to see the city firework display from the bridge. Unfortunately, it got cancelled at 23.58pm due to the weather, so we ended up limping into 2017, thoroughly sodden and drinking cheap champagne out of plastic cups with an angry Irish couple.
Happy 2017!
Monday, 19 December 2016 / music, travel
The Top Five Moments of Desert Trip*
A blanket would have been nice to offset that hard, hard ground beneath the tent. Oh, and one of those little gazebo things that campers smarter than me were utilising might have allowed me to stay in my tent after the sun started working its evil magic at around 6.30am, when it suddenly went from unbearably cold to surface-of-the-sun hot. But this post isn't about my camping mishaps - if it was, I'd mention how many times I tripped over the neon orange guylines and landed flat on my face in front of my attractive Norwegian neighbours. So, without further ado, I present to you my top five moments from the inaugural Desert Trip.
1. Neil Young performing Harvest Moon under the full moon
Of the acts I was most excited to see at Desert Trip, Neil Young fell somewhere around fourth. He's written some of the most glorious songs of the last century, but I was never mad to see him. He turned out to be an absolute lunatic, in the best possible way. A true outlaw. His performance of the classic 'Harvest Moon' ended up being the most beautiful and poetic musical experience of my life.
Picture the scene: A hundred thousand people gathered in the middle of the desert, bonded by their mutual love for music, fall silent. Neil Young has begun to sing. As the gorgeous melody of Harvest Moon starts up, an actual full moon begins to rise. In fact, many quietly acknowledge that it's the fastest they've ever seen the moon move. As he croons the lyric, 'there's a full moon rising...' and the screens switch to spectacular shots of the one rapidly ascending above us, the crowd whoops softly. When Neil strums his guitar for the final time, the moon is hanging huge and bright immediately over him. Around me, people are crying at the ethereal beauty of what they've just witnessed. Goosebumps. Incidentally, Paul McCartney was also quite excited by the moon and repeatedly led the audience in mass werewolf howls during his set.
Picture the scene: A hundred thousand people gathered in the middle of the desert, bonded by their mutual love for music, fall silent. Neil Young has begun to sing. As the gorgeous melody of Harvest Moon starts up, an actual full moon begins to rise. In fact, many quietly acknowledge that it's the fastest they've ever seen the moon move. As he croons the lyric, 'there's a full moon rising...' and the screens switch to spectacular shots of the one rapidly ascending above us, the crowd whoops softly. When Neil strums his guitar for the final time, the moon is hanging huge and bright immediately over him. Around me, people are crying at the ethereal beauty of what they've just witnessed. Goosebumps. Incidentally, Paul McCartney was also quite excited by the moon and repeatedly led the audience in mass werewolf howls during his set.
2. Waking up to the actual Roger Waters singing Shine On You Crazy Diamond
Sounds bizarre, doesn't it? Unfortunately, desert dust and contact lenses aren't exactly cosy bedfellows, and by the final day of the festival, I was basically temporarily blinded. I was in agony. I had to get my eyes flushed in the medical tent. I had no choice but to remove the lenses, which is unfortunate because I'm severely myopic. Long story (kind of) short, the fact that I made it to the venue, back to the campsite in the dark, travelled to LAX, navigated one of the world's busiest airport on a day they experienced technical issues and changed terminals, then made it through Heathrow arrivals while alone and unable to see a foot in front of my face is probably my life's greatest achievement. Only casualty: my favourite hat, accidentally abandoned in the airport bathroom post-wee.
Anyway, the point is that due to my blindness, I missed Roger Waters' set. This was really upsetting because I'd heard how incredible it was from Weekend One folks, and just about anyone who has ever seen him perform. I've seen footage since and it's stupendous. Miraculously, I managed to get back to my tent in one piece after the Who, and fell asleep feeling sorry for myself before he even came on stage. A while later, I faded into consciousness to the sound of Roger Waters performing Shine on You Crazy Diamond. Not through my earphones or my gramophone - the actual Roger Waters actually singing the actual classic Shine on You Crazy Diamond for real. Even though I didn't get to see him, lying in my tent alone in the desert and taking that in - still dazed with sleep - ended up being one of the most surreal and incredible experiences I could have hoped for.
Anyway, the point is that due to my blindness, I missed Roger Waters' set. This was really upsetting because I'd heard how incredible it was from Weekend One folks, and just about anyone who has ever seen him perform. I've seen footage since and it's stupendous. Miraculously, I managed to get back to my tent in one piece after the Who, and fell asleep feeling sorry for myself before he even came on stage. A while later, I faded into consciousness to the sound of Roger Waters performing Shine on You Crazy Diamond. Not through my earphones or my gramophone - the actual Roger Waters actually singing the actual classic Shine on You Crazy Diamond for real. Even though I didn't get to see him, lying in my tent alone in the desert and taking that in - still dazed with sleep - ended up being one of the most surreal and incredible experiences I could have hoped for.
3. Paul McCartney's entire set
I was kind of nervous seeing Paul. The Beatles have meant so much to me in my life. I have made some of my closest friends because of The Beatles, and at times The Beatles have been my closest friends. Even though John's my favourite, it was Paul who wrote the majority of the songs that have touched my life the most. My nerves came from the bad press he's received in recent years for his vocals, mainly from the scourge of humanity itself, the Daily Mail - but were these criticisms well founded? Would the pedestal I put him on be kicked down, my adoration tainted? As much as I have defended him over the years, it can't be denied that his voice hasn't aged as well as, say, Mick Jagger or Tom Jones.
It's worth saying that I was in extraordinary amounts of contact lens-related pain and had limited vision - and it was still one of the greatest nights of my life. I'm usually one of those infuriating people who doesn't move much during a concert. But I was singing, dancing, swaying, crying, yelling, clapping, screaming and generally behaving like an absolutely lunatic. I found a note in my phone recently, composed on the night of the concert, which simply read: Paul McCartney is a god amongst men. My standouts were Maybe I'm Amazed (his live version is always better than the recorded one), Helter Skelter, Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite (yeah, I know), the Abbey Road Medley, Jet (accompanied by an actual jet flying over) and A Day in the Life/Give Peace a Chance/Why Don't We Do It In The Road with Neil Young. Then again, I did miss my favourite Wings song - Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five - while trying to fix my lenses in the toilet.
It's worth saying that I was in extraordinary amounts of contact lens-related pain and had limited vision - and it was still one of the greatest nights of my life. I'm usually one of those infuriating people who doesn't move much during a concert. But I was singing, dancing, swaying, crying, yelling, clapping, screaming and generally behaving like an absolutely lunatic. I found a note in my phone recently, composed on the night of the concert, which simply read: Paul McCartney is a god amongst men. My standouts were Maybe I'm Amazed (his live version is always better than the recorded one), Helter Skelter, Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite (yeah, I know), the Abbey Road Medley, Jet (accompanied by an actual jet flying over) and A Day in the Life/Give Peace a Chance/Why Don't We Do It In The Road with Neil Young. Then again, I did miss my favourite Wings song - Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five - while trying to fix my lenses in the toilet.
4. All the cool people
I wasn't concerned about travelling alone because it makes you more approachable. I find that you tend to meet more interesting people when you're not already moving in tribes. Most of the fantastic, unusual, well-travelled people I met were considerably older than me. Minus the music, my Desert Trip experience seemed to happen in vignettes. In minutes, I'd meet and get to know people on a deeper level than I'd known anyone before and then we'd part like strangers. I'd discover what moves them, what brought them here, the parts of the world they'd travelled to, their feelings on the current political situation in the US, how they'd dressed in their youth. Small talk didn't exist for a weekend. I felt more interesting by default that these people thought I was worth conversing with. It helps that Americans are so much less reserved. I encountered such incredible generosity, from JR who sincerely offered me both money and guidance 20 minutes into our friendship after learning I was travelling with very little, to the Peruvians with the free pot, to the group of Australians who invited me to stay with them in their tent. So to everyone I met - Alex from Chile, JR from the Bronx, Bob from Northern California, the Aussies, the Peruvians, Ben, Jessica, Gabriel etc - thank you for making the experience what it was. You made Desert Trip.
5. The Photography Experience
Watching footage of Desert Trip has been weird because the energy of the show doesn't come through at all. Many people were so amazed by the festival that they walked around in a daze afterwards (though some of that was probably due to 'other' variables ;)), but on video the whole thing looked and sounded a little lacklustre. I once read an interview with famed rock photographer Bob Gruen on the subject. He said that "video hardly captured the excitement of rock and roll at all. To capture one peak moment in a still photograph that says so much about the energy and excitement, the mood of an artist - you can only do that in a photograph."
Gruen was one of the contributing photographers to the Photography Experience, which always seemed to have a large queue of people waiting to enter. Some of these people were inevitably mainly interested in gaining access to the only air conditioned building onsite, but everyone was blown away by the exhibition. It didn't matter that some of the photographs were already well-known to rock fans - nothing beats seeing over 200 of them together in an environment like this. I've never wanted to be a Stone more. Brilliant.
Honorary mentions: delicious vegan food, great vintage market, nice merch selection.
* from the POV of someone who was blind during The Who and missed Roger Waters completely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
