Thursday, 6 September 2018 / lists, music

Four Albums That Make Me Smile

When I conceived the idea for this post, I had a long list of albums by the likes of The Rolling Stones and Neil Young. David Bowie, The Slits, Hole and Whitney were on there too. But as I started to write, I realised I wanted to share albums with a story attached, a memory, and not just my favourites (which is a tie between Revolver and Abbey Road, by the way). Records that pull you out of the here-and-now and snap you right back into a different phase of your life, the way catching a whiff of a certain perfume on a passing stranger does. So out went Exile on Main Street and Harvest - that last one hurt a lot - and in came this nostalgia-inducing quartet. Look, no Beatles!

1. Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook - Ella Fitzgerald
I'm a night writer, for sure. I used to spend a lot of my nights in the library - not for the books, of which there were surprisingly few, but for a quiet place to write without distraction. I'd usually sleep all day, and then walk to the library, a few streets away from my grubby flat, at about 10pm. It was almost always raining, and so I'd turn up with a tangle of black curls on top of my head and eyeliner dripping down my cheeks. I probably looked like a ghost from a Japanese horror movie.

My routine was always the same: I'd grab myself some coffee from the Starbucks machine in the corner, then find the most secluded desk, preferably a booth. I liked the first floor best because you could eat and drink there. The rules became stricter on each floor - you couldn't eat on the second, but you could drink as long as it was from a bottle with a lid. Absolutely no food or drink permitted on the third. As long as the first floor had coffee machines and a vending machine stocked with toffee cookies, I was all good. Unfortunately, the rules on noise also increased by floor, and so I was on the loudest and most unregulated. No matter, that's why earphones were invented.

As soon as the dinosaur of a computer had turned on, I'd pop on some music. If I needed to get into a certain mood to write, I'd pick something more specific (The Shining soundtrack is excellent for horror and dread) but otherwise I'd set up Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook on Youtube, and get to work. To this day, the album still reminds me of those rainy, carefree nights.

2. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey
I remember hearing this and thinking, here is a future classic. I'm 85% sure Ultraviolence will come to be regarded as a masterpiece of modern times, and it makes me feel pretty damn smug to have called it. I hadn't expected much. I wasn't a Born to Die fan, and Paradise was merely good (though I loved Ride, and Gods & Monsters and American were decent). I didn't even like Ultraviolence when I first heard it. It was slow and boring and all the songs sounded the same. And then one day, I just got it. It's an incredible throwback to the Sixties and Seventies, when albums were a thirty five minute experience and not just a collection of singles. Not that Ultraviolence is without its standout tracks; Shades of Cool is the greatest, weirdest Bond song that never was, and West Coast was the best single of 2014.

With this album, Lana has proven not only her fantastic voice, but her ability to use it to manipulate the listener, evoking any damn feeling or mood she wants. At times she is whispery and vulnerable, purring with affected sensuality, at others slow and dripping with braggadocio. To me, this is what makes a great singer - it has nothing to do with vocal range or hitting the high notes. Her vocal delivery tells as much of the story as her lyrics. And I love characters in pop music. From Prince to Gaga to Bowie, they just make an overplayed game more interesting.

3. LA Woman - The Doors

Liverpool isn't much like Los Angeles. God knows why this album brings me back to wandering the streets of Scouseland at night. I listened to it on my midnight wanders, sure, but I also listened to the I Love You, Beth Cooper soundtrack and Drake Bell. So why does LA Woman yank up memories of traipsing to the Tesco Express round the corner for pizza, red wine and cans of Monster, before spending the night locked in my shitty room, alternating writing and staring at the walls I'd turned into huge mood boards? (Not mentioned: paranoid Google searches of 'can you OD on energy drinks?' at 3am.)

Something about hearing Jim Morrison growling DRIVING DOWN YOUR FREEWAY and Ray Manzarek hitting those keys livens me up from the inside. My brain associates The Doors with nervous, rampant energy and manic creativity. They sort of induce a caffeine-like effect on my system. That's the kind of focus their music gives me; it increases productivity, enhances concentration and energises my soul. To be honest, I probably could have left the Monster on the shelf at Tesco and saved myself a couple of quid and a few hours worth of anxiety. Oh, and yes, energy drinks can kill you. And yes, I'd consumed a potentially fatal amount of caffeine. RISIN', RISIN'.

4. In Utero - Nirvana
The ugly, elitist side of me considered skipping this one from the list. It seemed too obvious, and there are so many fake fans out there. You know who I mean: the ones who buy smiley-faced Nirvana t-shirts at Forever 21, tie a flannel shirt around their waists and call themselves a 'huge fan'. The ones who think it's super-cool Kurt killed himself. I really don't want to be lumped in with these people. But you know what's lamer than pretending to like a band for the cool points? Pretending not to for the cool points. And so In Utero enters the list.

I was always a casual Nirvana fan, but it wasn't until my first year of university I really began to listen. I'd spend my days either sleeping or exploring the city after lectures (or during - my attendance record wasn't the best), and by night I'd either write or get out on the streets to listen to music and people watch. I like the vibe of night better. People are different. I was living just off Hope Street, and opposite my flat was the Metropolitan Cathedral. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd climb up the stairs in front of the cathedral and sit at the top. You could see the whole city from up there. I'd drink 45p cans of knockoff Vimto and watch the night fall over Liverpool. Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle came on shuffle, and for the first time, I really heard the lyric 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. and yet it was exactly how I'd been feeling for years, ever since I 'trained' myself not to be depressed. This might seem a strange reason for inclusion on a list of albums that make me smile. But in that moment, high up above Liverpool and as physically alone as you can be in the city, I felt that someone else knew how I feel.

People talk about pain and depression as if it will make you some great artist. As if your work will be infected with originality and a special rawness. As if depression is okay because it has an up side, too. But how can art ever be raw when depression dulls the depth of feeling until I'm no longer capable of expressing myself at all, artistically or otherwise? I think that's why I latched on to Nirvana so hard after that night at the Met. Kurt was singing these things and expressing everything for me, because I was unable to do it myself.

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

Happy birthday, 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!