Tuesday 28 April 2009

Jeffrey Lewis and The Junkyard @ Thekla 27/04/2009



The warming up of guitars accompanied by the humming sounds of Fletcher, the only female member, was a sweet introduction to a swaying, stomping boat ride at the Thekla. Jeffrey started the set with 'Sea Song', my particular, most repeated tune. 'Sea Song' is a ride on the open seas and a submerging into the depths of the fishy, murky bottom, as the fish are made anthropomorphic, and you sail in a clear submarine. It takes you away from the mundane you may be experiencing. His voice was a little crackly at the start, with its strong American drawl tearing out the lyrics. I imagine that his voice has been used all day and night, discussing his observations, views and musings. His scratchy voice soon heated up however, whilst retaining his rusty raw sound, and the tunes flowed up, round and very central. The band speckled the slower songs with a smack of punky, which Jeffrey and his brother Jack seemed to enjoy chaotically. The other two members looked on, as the brothers delved head first into their punk love. A sibling thing, that happened to make a seriously inspiring sound. Jeffrey (and the band)is very likeable. His comments between songs are like those made by your friends, 'one' can imagine sitting around on robust logs with him. Punctuated by words like ‘gosh!’ and 'darn!', love it. Towards the end, Jeffrey transformed the audience into a class and gave a lesson with a song and a comic book on the troubles in Korea. An unexpected education, illustrated through the powers of music and art. His new album tracks:'Upside down Cross', and 'Broken, Broken, Broken Heart'...along with the rest of the album. Excellentile. Let the tunes speak. Jeffrey has the poetic lyrics, the mind, the hope and the belief in people to make some of the best music around. And live, he is even more than just a performer. He truly is a poet, a thought provoker, an educator and an instiller of faith in the goodness of people and yourself, as you trundle through life.

Sunday 26 April 2009

MOVIE: Let The Right One In - 04/2009



A vampire movie created in Sweden. A fairytale. Young and innocent love mixed with brutal necessity set within the ethereal, icy climes of Winter season Svenska. The light is white. Or it is murky black. The jumpers are thick, the boots heavy, and the silences long. They are cold and fearful or simple and tingling. The mood is set with angular looks, internal breathing and a carrying soundtrack.

Let The Right One In centres around a boy, Oskar, and a vampire girl named Eli, set in 1982. The two meet outside their housing block, on the climbing frame covered in snow, and from that moment they embark on a relationship. It is both delicate, as the film shows them throw themselves into the pit of love, and treacherous. Oskar is an endearing, touching and humorous lead. Bullied at school, his parents live separately and he yearns for a deeper sense of belonging, and has a vision of crushing his bullies. Eli provides for him, a friend, an accomplice, a companion, and an emblem of strength. Eli herself is controlling. Being a vampire, she has that capability. But yet, she is still soft and gentle, even with blood forming red lines from her mouth.

There are no other characters that are given this voyeuristic camera time. This may be the reason why you become so incorporated in the presence, and the silence surrounding the two leads. Set off further by the crisp freshness, it’s a beautifully brutal tale of purity, love, and blood.

Not a People Carrier - The Italian Motor Show, Bristol 25/04/2009

In my new home dwelling of Bristol, I was ambling through the concrete, my mind redundant, my vision filled with City shaped stimuli. The yellow sun was reflecting off home glazing and glinting in speckles through the urban trees and the liberated for the weekend office buildings, forming angular and flowery shapes on my passage. I could say that right then I was contented as pie. Quiet in sprawl. Then, as if in a 1930s red lipstick pouting, bowler hat and quick tapper tap of getaway shoes, there was a BANG! (written in a bubble). This was no kid with a plastic sheriff badge, this BANG! shook the revolving doors. ‘What the...’, I thought. Darn and Blast!!

I quickened my pace considering my recent move to City sirens, a good point fairy on one shoulder and a bad on the other. This doesn’t happen in Kernow! As my frowning walk took me down an ally, I came across a collection of men all clutching polishing cloths. I’ve walked into the eye of the BANG! storm I thought, considering putting my hands in the air. But what kind of gang is this? Polishing cloths? They were surrounded by a crowd of milling people from a confusingly wide demographic. Clearly not actually scary, this was like a family gathering. I looked beyond them, and saw, quietly shining in the sun, a series of vintage 1980s cars. One had her bonnet up, as a man of about 60 sat on its leather quarters and revved her up, BANG! Ahhh. Sense made. These were motors with perms. Maintenance required, creating fearful shootings in the sound waves. People fascinated by the wheeled metal.

I walked further on (to what I discovered was the Bristol Vintage Motor show), and found the ‘Bristol Mod Squad’, clad in ‘The’ fur lined parkas and straight trousers. Their hands stuffed heavily in parka pockets, their posture leaning back with self-assurance. Faces occupied by an expression still holding and resonating from the passionate sense of belonging and comradeship from 40 years past. I looked at the line of scooters they stood behind. The multitude of wing mirrors and lights upon them clearly labelling, and making their group statement from within their sphere of youth. Transported now to 2009 with nostalgia and continued belief in unity, the scooters continue to be an emblem of the internal workings of the squad.

I continued, and found whole spectrums of vintage. Low down cars with eyelid lights, that the ‘Avengers’ and ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ definitely chased around in. ‘James Bond’s’ smooth lined, grey ice, alluringly dangerous Aston Martin. I stroked some beautifully kept 1950s cars that I have seen in photos with my young Grandparents inside, enjoying the realms of the beginning of a love affair. I smiled at a collection of cheeky, pastel coloured Fiat bubbles, waiting to float off on riotous trips, with headscarves and fairy cake picnics. I chuckled at the famous Morris Minor, and lusted with a vampires want at the Fiat Spider sports cars. I actually KNOW one would be perfect for my regular trips to windy French mountainous roads. In powder blue. I also walked past many young men next to sports cars, engrossed in admiration and questions with their proud owners. Owners they passed on the street the day before this day.

The show of motors, (and the power of the vintage auto) bought out the nostalgic, rose tinted memories of the older, the stories from associations of the youth, the fantasies of the desiring and the affections of the belonged. To have a vintage car is to have a dream, a bubble of a fairyland. It allows the imagination to become a reality, and the characters, passions, excitements and feelings of the past to be carried to the morning suns and starry nights.

I REALLY WANT ONE

Tuesday 7 April 2009

Phantom Limb 03/04/2009


The upper floor of the Louisana trembled in the sound waves of the penetrating voice. The crowd moved in small swaying circles, the truly dedicated fans losing their thoughts into the padded bed of reverberations. Phantom Limb are a band that have a song writing skill and a leading vocalist that you want to take with you wherever you may go. From Bristol to the Philippines, they have an ability to communicate, to transcend confines and travel to the nether reaches of Timbuktu. The majority of the crowd tonight came with a log book of past gigs and a mind set to Limb. Their barriers were locked down, and Phantom Limb delivered their set on a diamond plate.

I was told after listening to Phantom Limb on someone else’s i pod at work, that you only can truly achieve that overwhelming shattering of boundaries and eardrums when you see them live. They didn’t blow my categorised cobwebs when I listened to them at my dull as polishing coal job. However, there was one song that melted into my numbed soul, Good Fortune. Incidentally it was the first song that they played in the Louisiana rectangle. And live it affected me in a way that was unexpected, having only hearing it in my own little zone, this was a far more powerful track with a face. The elongated notes stretched out to the seas, and took me up a tree to a fantasy land with silvery blue sparkling waters and dark jade forestry. Of course, Yolanda Quartey works with Bristol’s Massive Attack, singing live with them. One of the most escapingly beautiful bands I’ve ever heard live/at all. So I was expecting some sort of fluttering, but this was more of a gliding through the blue sky as opposed to a flowering butterfly thing. Really nice.

Now Yolanda; Combining country, soul and gospel, Yolanda’s voice is a weapon of such incredible force, it literally floors you. And it is just so LOUD! I think that the sound genies could have twisted those volume dials down a tad. I’ve since been told that normally she is EVEN louder. She is such an expressive and confident woman, she is probably more comfortable on the pyramid stage that in a little pub. That voice could fill nine fields, and make the sheep pass out. Able to really unleash, she would have no trouble with filling that stage. And blimey, did her confidence gIve me a little kick up the feminist ass. Shoulders back, head high and appreciate that body of yours. Yolanda is definitely aware that confidence will take you anywhere you want to go. And with that confidence she in turn takes her crowd, those utterly adoring fans, and her dedicated and talented band where she wants.

Their last song was true testament to the band’s skills, electrifying the audience and working harmoniously with Yolanda, they produced a dancing jam session. It riled up the crowd, and left an after dinner minty freshness that produced a desire for more, and an energy for an everlasting evening. Boom!!

I popped into the ladies before leaving the pub, and was immediately talking LOUDly to four besotted, affected women. They were visibly thrown by the performance, and were clearly riding high on their triggered emotions. What a power Phantom Limb clearly has.

I would say, if you see the Limb advertised, you should, SHOULD see them. Marvel at the resonating voice, the lyrics, the power of sound, and the working of an ass. I am very doubtful you will be disappointed.

Wednesday 1 April 2009

Crimes of Passion - Street Art in Bristol RWA 03 - 05 2009


Rebellion and resistance integrated into the mainstream (well, into Clifton. Darling). So a prestigious gallery space in a massive, beautiful building full of all the history of Bristol, a pillar of it, a symbol, an emblem, a STARK MASSIVE BENTLEY for the small man... of Bristol. Basically, if I was a Clifton thoroughbred, I would be all over this gallery. Oh the raaa dee raaa raaaa of Clifton high society. But! What is this?! Is Clifton like gettin’ well street? Well yes, it is. Kind of...

So, the giant phallic symbol of Clifton has allowed 50 of Bristol’s ‘celebrated street artists to invade the city’s grandest gallery for six weeks this Spring’. And aint it grand. I muse as the GIANT contradiction walks around. The pearly adorned, Babour jacket wearing people of high society project their artistic knowledge onto this criminal (?) exhibition with purposeful voices. They are on unknown territory, the horse has jumped the fence into the caravan field. But they are willing to have a cup of tea bag tea. Now, now, these are the VERY people who do NOT approve of resistance, of anything against the grain of smooth living. Especially Mr Spray Can.

‘Actually, you are ruining the smooth flow of my wine down my gullet, you’re a scratch on the Merc, a nuisance, a pain and you remind me that I didn’t necessarily want a life like this. Once I may have rebelled a tad myself. Or thought about it. Conformity and the dream; the wealth, the house, the walls with not a speck of riff and certainly no raff! Plain walls please, safe. And you know, actually ,I’ve put a lot of effort into getting my walls like this. Don’t make me choke on my wine, with a reminder of something else.'

I would say that in many eyes, graffiti is definitely wrong. But on the walls of a gallery, it is...OK? I am confused. I muse.

Perhaps it is the more youthful people in Clifton. Maybe all those 500,000 Audi driving, North Face kids are remembering their youth raving or something. But then when I went there, I saw many an older customer pondering over the works of Sickboy, Inkie and 3D. But I am left wondering, now, when they see a piece of street art are they going to discuss its merits with vigour, or tut in disdain?

Now, as far as the exhibition itself goes, it is most impressive. The artists have been allowed to paint on the walls of the gallery itself, which makes the whole over the borders thing clear, but more than that, it looks very effective on the carefully maintained, historic walls. Within the confines of a frame would be against the format. There are some little unexpected gems, such as two stuffed seagulls, one dressed as a hobo seagull and the other as a gangster. Also some huge curvaceous female figures carved out, a dinosaur ‘made into’ Bristol, and some obviously marvellous graffiti that you will have to see, as I am not sure how to write about some of it. Regardless though, these guys have the potential to cash in. Most pieces were priced at 1-2 thousand pounds. Nice, nice. But are the Cliftoners going to really have their sprays over the mantelpiece? I don’t think many of these people have seen that much graffiti, I definitely can’t imagine them around Stokes Croft et al. In this respect it is good. They are able to see it properly, stand there and really look, without their acquaintances guffawing or feeling intimidated. It is quite amusing too, that they are essentially being made to appreciate it by the very conformity that dictates them. AND, there are some tamer pieces that are just plain beautiful, such as the mirror pond. Also, the squirrel with an alligators head. Like twisted hunting.

However, is all this selling the resistance of graffiti? Are these unlikely appreciators really seeing the graffiti ‘properly’? Is the statement graffiti makes muted hideously by hanging it on capitalism’s wall? Surely it is better to view graffiti where it is intended to be? The very fact that it is sprayed over grey, dull walls is so that is says, ‘this frikkin sucks! Ahh, but look how much more interesting this is?’ Art. They are asking for you to be out of your comfort zone, it is more than artistically interesting/brilliant. So I don't know, is it stripped of its depth of meaning by being put on the walls of Clifton’s giant phallus? Or is it really just laughing at them? Making copious money from the very people that opposed them?

I personally am hoping that the people of Clifton, by going to this exhibition, are getting a little pulse of rebellion in their souls. That it is reminding them that there is ‘other’, not just completely mainstreaming something. Banksy is already now appreciated throughout his Bristol homeland. Perhaps now all graffiti will stay?! Whatever, I do hope that the graffiti artists retain their fighting, creative spirit, they don’t just wallow in their glory. Many of the best artists have been appreciated posthumously, dying with a yearning, it never left their art. A deeply contented graffiti artist.... hmm would they spray with such vigour? Now, I don’t think these guys should die and then everyone go, ‘ahhhh wasn’t he great!’, I just don’t want them to be all chummy with the wall proposers/builders. And I do think that these guys have the ability to see beyond monetary successes. They have passion and that is their appeal for me. And oh... it's the title of the exhibition. In the meantime, in this ‘current economic climate’ (HATE WORDS) kudos for selling to the rich, for modern appreciation and for providing a very interesting exhibition.