Monthly Archives: July 2009

Thank you for Purchasing this – Of Montreal Hissing Fauna you are the destroyer

I really love this group ever since Adam told me that the main singer appeared on a horse at a gig. 

The album is fun and has enough lyrics that strike a chord with the inner need for depth.

“I’m in a crisis, I need help, come on mood shift back to good again,come on mood shift back to good again,come on be a friend.”

“Together, let’s go together, let’s do it together, let’s go together”

 “Eva, I’m sorry, but you will never have me, to me you’re just some faggy girl, and I need a lover with soul power, no you ain’t got no soul power.”

Ok I’m being lazy you do the work, listen to the album, I’ve got dark beer to drink


Severe lack of inspiration

I hate it when people say this, but I think I’ve forgotten how to write.

I’ve tried to start a short story, so that I have something to read out at the writer’s group I’m going to go to on Tuesday next week and I just don’t seem to be able to think of a single idea in the world.

 I have gone back to two old pieces with the first few lines started, and have failed. Closing both and saying no to do you want to save your changes?

I feel miserable, where is the world of words?

 I have to write about this here because I signed up for nablopomo, which isn’t as my friend Kei thought access to a porn website, but is a blog a day incentive.

I need an idea if you have any give them me for free – please.


Wednesday Round Up

 The Last Week of joys from Wednesday 22nd to today

                

Gigs : Marni Stern at Islington Mill, great night, ace venue and Tartufi were a real treat

 

Films: Moon, hmmn a little disappointing, but the score was it’s saving grace by Clint Mansell “Requiem for a Dream and Solaris”and also Sam Rockwell was no rehashed Zaphod Beeblebrox this time         

                                                                                                                                                                                        

Books: Complete Maus by Art Spiegelman, an amazing graphic novel recounting Spiegelman’s father’s experience as a holocaust survivor, it won the Pulitzer prize in 1992. I had never heard of it up until a week ago and I rattled my way through it.

Also finished another Jewish life story The Colour of Water by James McBride. Now onto Malcolm X

Theatre: As We Forgive Them

Readings: Central Library, Geoff Ryman, entertaining reader

Purchases I can recall:  a new laptop, a demon lamp, a breast pump, a lion ziefer, at least 8 frappucinos, 10 americanos, 4 large Sharon fruits, coconut water, gurana can, Brew dog Dogma and Chaos Theory, a solero ice lolly, a chicken Shaslick from the Gurkha grill, the guardian on Saturday, 1 bottle of Belgium finest wheat beer and 1 Leffe Brun for £5

Sold items I remember:  Kickers, Ravel snake skin boots, Inside I’m Dancing DVD, Denim jacket, moto jeans

Drunk: more than I care to remember, and my bank won’t let me forget

Memorable things I’ve heard:This might be the book to change your life,” response “maybe I’m happy with my life as it is”           

Stupid things I’ve done:  Fallen off my bike in my Gran’s car park, accused Joe Sims of murder, read a sign saying tortoiseshell cat lost and told my mum to look out for a micro chipped tortoise, thought the moon was made of cheese reading NASA’s announcement made on April 1st in You Magazine of all things


As We Forgive Them

24/7 Theatre hosts As We Forgive Them by Richard Vergette from Pure Nightclub in The Printworks.

I have to say that my vision felt clouded at the start because of the venue being a trashy nightclub and the condom machine in the women’s toilet’s bleeping out of order, I decided to let go of that and judge the play based on it’s own merit, and after all at least in this nightclub they use condoms.

A teacher arrives at a state penitentiary to give lessons to, Lee Fenton, a convicted murderer classed as retarded. As the play unravels, we learn that the teacher, played by Vergette himself, is Congressman John Daniels and it was his daughter who was murdered by Lee.

All of the action takes place inside the prison’s interview room where the 3 scenes move from 2008 to 2016. We see the relationship between Daniels and Lee shifting, from an uninterested Lee with a focused Daniels, to the education of Lee in mid flow.

Lee reads a passage from One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest beautifully illustrating the irony of role reversal, reflecting what we can see happening within Daniels and Lee’s relationship. At this point I realise I am unsure as to either of their motives, but I start to empathise with Lee and see that boundaries are blurring.  At first I am convinced that forgiveness is taking place.

As the play moves through various subtleties, confusion as to what the real truth is behind either of the characters becomes more obscure. Daniels bounces between the role of a passionate educator to a media hungry states congressman who is desperately trying to further his career and reputation. Lee emerges from a simpleton to a real thinker, who can read Daniels, whether he reads him correctly or not is something I’m still not sure about.

It left me as all good art should with plenty of thoughts especially about the nature of broadening the mind and if that was the ultimate punishment one who does something without thought could face.

I’m still thinking about it.


Demon Lamps and Lion Zeifer’s

Went to Knutsford auction last week, £30 budget –  spent £45.

Here is what I got.

First an ancient Indian instrument – a lion zeifer. Can I play it? No, Can I sell it? No, Do I now want it? Probably Not, but I’ll try and make a musical debut.

Next £15 for a random selection of Superman, Superboy, Adventure Heroes and Lois Lane (Superman’s girlfriend) comics. They are in pretty good nick and come from the 60’s so it might turn out to be a worthwhile purchase, fingers crossed.

The last was admittedly a panic purchase, a mixed lot, including a selection of old world pensof the Parker variety, a boval Victorian breast pumpthat comes in a cardboard box and complete with a lump of coal inside. Truly authentic.

The weirdest thing was the demon lamp, which at first I was scared to open. It came in a red box with handwritten scrawl explaining how to use the object. I opened it up to reveal a red plastic bulb shaped design with a piece of rope hanging out of the side. I have no idea!

I love auctions.


Today and Thinking too much with a headache especially about childhood self inflicted trauma

I’m not normally a headache sufferer, but I am today. I’m drinking beer of the wheat and dark varieties to try and ease it. This agrees with me better than paracetamol, but less so than sleep with an eye mask.

Woke up this morning to drive home, collect breakfast, and shower. I listened to the radio, no mention of the station, as it is really not very good, plays a lot of The Killers and Kasabian, and that stupid fucking song about a monster.

Well I was listening to this station (XFM) and DJ was saying about scary childhood memories, and the guy mentioned Jaws. Now fuck me I was terrified by that film was shown to me by my horrifically gleeful father, and still to this day I cannot embrace the line, “we’re gonna need a bigger boat,” with any sense of iconic status that it has warranted.

But scared as a child here it is, add yours to comments.

  * Jaws – I saw it and thought the shark was going to come up out of my bed if I thought about it for too long.                       

 – I thought if I was in the bath and the water turned to muggy then Jaws was going to appear out of the plug hole.

What the hell was my fear doing there? as if a plug hole sized shark cannot possibly gobble ten year old Becks.

(Oh the good old days of bathing in bubbles with Ames where we used to run a bar with the biggest heads on beers this town has to offer.)

Still to this day I cannot swim over the black lines at the swimming pool or cracks in the floor without the idea popping up that a shark could attack me at any moment.

My predictive thinking, which is not a fear per Se but more of a thing that has led to fear, is thinking that I have power just by enacting a situation in my head that it will become real.

I used to think if my mum loves me the bus will come round the corner in 54321.

If I say Candyman three times in my head then he will appear, and if  I don’t check my wardrobe then the killer from Scream will be hiding in there. (do the maths – I was old)

More tomorrow . . . maybe


Marina Abramovic presents . . .

Luckily I got allocated two tickets for this performance at the Whitworth Gallery. I had no idea what to expect when I booked the tickets, it was from my sister’s mention that I ended up going, and then all I got people saying was, “good luck, it’s 4 hours long you know?”

The only work that I thought I knew Marina for was, The House with the ocean view, from Sex and the City,  who Carrie and the Russian arrange a date to catch out in the gallery. Looking up this episode I have now been informed by artnet.com that this wasn’t Marina but a replica and a replica gallery. I think I like this better. I think?

So the lowdown of my paces through the performance. Go in get donned in a white lab coat, locate an espresso paper cup in the right hand pocket, locate a fold up chair and let the drill begin.

 It’s not scary, it’s what we should expect she is de-probing the audience, allowing barriers to be broken and it’s relatively safe as we are supposed to be here to do just that. I can’t imagine I am going to be slapped around the face for staring at someone for a minute and not blinking, or laughed at for drinking a teeny weeny cup of water for ten. We are all doing it, albeit with different levels of giggling, spirituality, and heat, (God it was warm)

She spoke of a recent young artist who had killed himself, and my mouth went tight as I thought she was about to ruin the moment with how much of a shame it is that such talented individuals cannot deal with the world, but she saved my jaw and her message, by denouncing suffering as the opposite of what makes a good artist.

We left the room with leeft, point, step, mooooove, leeft, point, step, moooove and our free roaming begins.

To be continued, Jess is distracting me.

With the twinkly sounds coming from Adam on the floor, I’ll continue . . .

The gallery was stripped of it’s usual wall paper display and Walter Crane and opened up for a new kind of art, that you could explore relatively freely.

The first room I saw Asian Punk Boy, and I didn’t really give this piece enough time. There was an i pod and the boy lying head down, this is all I really saw. Terence Koh.

NextNikhil Chopra,who I thought was my friend Kei stripped down to his boxers. This was a great piece where the artist runs around, swirls, climbs, crawls his way around the floor and walls creating an epic charcoal drawing of a landscape. He was so energetic at first and ran round the room drawing huge barrels of hay, as the three hours went on he progressed to getting fully clothed and lying on the floor sleeping.

I got distracted by the sound of Clockwork Orange style opera being sung and a woman screaming. There she was, this half naked buxom woman jumping from the staircase into a giant foam bed. I must admit I read this performance wrong, as I thought she was Kira O Reilly who falls naked and slowly down the stairs, with all her strength showing through her muscular face. But no, I was mistaken and Amanda Coogan is the woman flying to her perch.

Onwards, I was going to write march but my pace had slowed down so much, I revived myself with dried pear slices and strawberries which I put in my pocket as a little snack to have while I walked, not allowed!

The drumming from the basement was incredible Nico Vascellari, who was a singer for the Italian Punk band With Love, pounds away for three hours with a metal drum ringing through the pipes of the Whitworth Gallery, apparently he doesn’t stop there according to Marina, who says he carries on way after the audience have gone home.

There is no doubt that these performance artists are going to new realms within their selves throughout the sixteen days they are journeying.

One of the most fun pieces was the temple where I approached Fedor Palov-Andreevich and fed him pistachio nuts, whilst he spat the bits at me and I stared at his grey tongue. This is a re-enactment of a a Soviet engineer who survived for 20 days having an artificial body attached to his head. Fedor’s mouth appears through a hole in the temple known as the glory hole,and we the willing participants can feed him nuts, avocado, brush his teeth and give him soya milk. I’m not convinced the engineer would have received quite the same diet, it was a weird experience.

Two pieces downstairs Eunhye Hwang dancing and interacting with static from the radio and I think she threw green jelly about.

 An impressive Scottish guy Alastair MacLennan, who looks truly Alastairian, sat with two pairs of specs on his head for the 3 hours whilst holding a giant log with babies odd shoes on the end. There is a long mound of soil and pigs ears and heads surrounded by shoes. For some reason when I was there I never interpreted this piece as a graveyard and I only clicked when Terry Christian said on the Culture Show that he found this piece especially moving for that reason.

Another naked lady,Yingmei Duan, grimaces, stoops and brushes her pubic hair against whoever’s sat in her route, all in the name of exploring human instincts.

I Love You through glass moved me. Melati Suryodarmo, was the first piece I sat down to and saw that in order to appreciate the experience of the performances you had to slow down and really look.

I’ll mention Ivan Civic, though this was the piece that did the least for me. He climbs a projection video of his return to Sarajevo. It was like a club chill out space later on in the show and attracted quite a lot of people sitting on the stairs. I wasn’t too sure that they just didn’t want to watch the naked lady without getting her pubes brushed in their face.

I think I’ve nearly mentioned all, except one piece that really grew on me. Marie Cool Fabio Balducci, who is a sculptress who explore making shapes and exhibits out of simple things such as paper, fire and sand. She looked like a Icelandic folk singer, but she is French and silent.

End



Fever Ray Manchester Academy Tuesday 14th June

fever-rayWow, an amazing performance.

I only found out two weeks ago that the project is Fever Ray, the album is Fever Ray, but the lady behind all this has another name (namely Karin Dreijer Anderson for any of you who may have fallen victim to the same mistake.)

Branching off from her half as The Knife, who I find awesome with their gothically modern sound inter cut with weird and wonderful lyrics. Karin goes on her own route from her brother and leads what is an incredible album.

Her lyrics drift into streams of consciousness, with the emphasis shifting from drama to the everyday delicacies of life. All  show I was looking out  for the most memorable lyrics to my mind, from “Seven” the fourth track on the album.

“if we have time, if it’s the right time, accompany me
by the kitchen sink, we talk about love, we talk about dishwater tablets
and we dream about heaven.”

The whole album was played in it’s entirety with an amazing light show to boot tribal ritualistic dancing. It’s one of the few gigs I’ve been to for a long time where I’ve been taken on a journey, I think Animal Collective was probably the last real experiential gig I saw.

The show is eclectically mixed, with African sounds, psychedelia, Romanian gypsy music, smoke and a laser show. The whole group does the trick, and I was going to add credits to the drumming lady and the guys who do the other business, but I looked on myspace to give them a thumbs up and the only band member to be listed is Karin, so I guess it’s probably not usual to credit them, but I tell you they were all amazingly “curated” might be the right word to use.

You have to excuse any haphazard writing as I am in the library with the desperate urge to write something meaningful, and some 14 year old knobs have made the weary looking librarian call the police by chasing another 14 year old called “Nathan” by threatening to kill, they are all drinking cans of coca cola.

Thank God you don’t get these sort of idiots at Fever Ray, the most harmful you’d see is some pilled up 30 year old poking someone in the eye as they point at the spaceship above.

Such an awesome gig, if you’re a fan and you can go to see them/her, do.

A word on what the next venture is apparently according to The Guide (my oracle), Karin and her brother Olaf are writing an opera based on the man Charles Darwin, it’s sure to be a journey. It’s no surprise that they are choosing to focus on the figure of Darwin himself, as their music always explores identity in some warp or another. Can’t wait to see what we get given.

I like the way that listening to her own stuff makes me want to return to The Knife, it filters through and does both of the projects a great justice.


My first Blog

106Hello,

is that how you even start a blog?

I can’t deny that I am childishly excited about my first blogging experience, although technically I have set up a blog before by default, when I tried to post a comment. 

I am hoping I learn more about this probably uncomplicated, but made over complicated, method of writing thoughts down.

I have been so out of the loop with my own need to write, that I thought why not try.

It’s even going to inspire me to purchase a new laptop and upgrade from my already obsolete in the 90’s style laptop and move on. Though don’t be fooled, I won’t be getting anything near techno hip, but an acer or a £300 deal will suit me, at least it shouldn’t have what even the olden generation know as clitorus mouse.

So there’s my reason. I was always on the scathing side of the My Space sites, Facebook, Blogging, and what I have recently come to discover is not a type of pi minster pie, twitter. But like the conversations about swine flu that I comment on as ridiculous only by talking and adding weight to the topic itself, making me a participant in what I am ridiculing. So yes I fall hypocrite, but of the damage limitation genre I am hoping and striving for.

I think I might quite enjoy this blogging malarkey, it does feel a bit self indulgent, as I guess the idea is that you write so that others can read it. But if it does what I’m asking for and it says on the tin, if it gets me back to accessing a point of connection through writing down thoughts, hell I’m all for the hokey techniques.

Next I’ll be quoting Susan Jeffers!! Do not worry I’ll stay clear of The Secret, unless anyone has the mantra as a fix hold “I love money and money loves me,” bollocks, but I guess it worked for Rhonda Byrne (didn’t know her name by heart by the way, checked her out on ebay and capitalism.com.)

I’m quite excited by the fact that writing reviews and thoughts that I have it might help my memory as I have been suffering the effects of having a head filled with day to day belongings and seem to have missed the capacity to restore valuable information, so hey my blog may just work, it’s cheaper than the 52 step memory improvement book anyhow.

Here’s to the start of a new revolution for myself, if only I could access the Internet on my dilapidated laptop whilst another person uses the wireless, surely that’s not too much to ask! roll on my new technological purchase.


%d bloggers like this: