Poe Selecta!

“All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.”
- Edgar Allan Poe

Tonight I'll be going to this:


Dream Within a Dream is a special closing party in collaboration with Ikon Gallery to bid farewell to Ikon Eastside until 2008. Taking place on Halloween, Ikon and 7inch invite all restless spirits into the warehouse for a night of gothic thrills. Diversions for the evening include live scores by Broadcast and Black Galaxy, guest DJ Julian House from the Focus Group and a specially-created installation by filmficciones. Please feel free to dress appropriately…

I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

GDFAF: Jeffrey Lewis & The Jitters, Hare & Hounds, Birmingham 20th October 2007

For the uninitiated, Jeffrey Lewis is an anti-folk singer-songwriter from New York's Lower East Side who writes quirky, intelligent and painfully catchy songs delivered in a fast-talking, sotto voce style. His website says his material "mixes 60s acoustic psychedelia like Pearls Before Swine with the experimental art-punk of the Fall and the urban lyricism of Lou Reed, sounding a bit like if Woody Guthrie fronted Sonic Youth." I'd prefer to describe it as sunny nihilism, but that's just me trying to be succinct. It's my new hobby.

He also moonlight's as a comic-book artist - and a rather gifted one at that - and his songs are often accompanied by 'hand-made music videos' delivered via flip-chart. Here's an example, his pant-wettingly hilarious saga of Mark E. Smith, 'The Legend of The Fall':


Anyhow, this was the third time I'd seen him play live. I guess that makes me a fan. The last two occasions were acoustic affairs consisting of Jeffrey Lewis, a flip-chart and a battered looking guitar that seemed to be held together with stickers. This this time around the guitar looked even more battered and bestickered, but he also brought along his band. The flip chart stayed at home, replaced now by some nifty back projection featuring a new batch of home-made music videos. Personally, I missed the flip-chart, but - as Rupert Murdoch once told the print unions - you have to move with the times.

Having been used to his quirky acoustic performances, I wasn't quite prepared for full audio onslaught of the Jitters. To spare me a wearisome trudge through a music thesaurus, I'll cut to the chase, resort to cliche and simply say They Rocked.

Here's a clip of them playing 'Don't Let The Record Company Take You Out To Lunch' at one of my favourite music venues in the world, King Tut's Wah-Wah Hut in Glasgow:


Supporting Jeffrey Lewis was his uncle, Professor Louie. The Professor, it seems, is a veteran performance poet who hails from that time-honoured political movement the corporate media try so hard to ignore: the Goddamned American Left [and no, kids, I'm not talking about the Democrats]. Here's a biog from his MySpace page:

"Professor Louie (a.k.a. Victor Lewis) is a spoken-word performer/political rapper who's been putting out underground albums in New York since 1985. Along with percussionist Eddie "Fast Eddie" Hernandez, Professor Louie has been entertaining and enlightening audiences for decades. Called a genius by Pete Seeger on many occasions, the phenomenon known as Professor Louie grew out of the 1960's radical theater group The Pageant Players and evolved via guerrilla solo performances in the streets and parks of New York City in the early 80's. Eschewing the music industry entirely, Professor Louie releases albums on the completely independent FREE BROOKLYN NOW imprint."

I thought he was fecking awesome, and his material reminded me of the Golden Age of Rap and Hip Hop - when the likes of Chuck D and Public Enemy would talk about more compelling things than conspicuous consumption and finely-toned abs. It gave me something of an insight into the pathos and social conscience that informs so much of his nephew's work. Here's what I mean:



All in all, then, a great end to my somewhat meagre contribution to Going Deaf For a Fortnight. Still, three gigs in six days ain't bad....

Interlude

I've been away for a while partly because I had a bit of a challenging week. Hearing bad news sort of compromises my fondness for low humour and knob gags. As Kurt Vonnegut used to say, "So it goes."

The other reason why I've been somewhat, um, prolifically-challenged is because my ISP SNAFU'd and cut-off my broadband connection. I won't name names, but this isn't out of some misguided sense of discretion. Hell, no. I've read the stories and heard the urban myths: I know that if you bad mouth these people they'll hunt you down like a dog.

Resolving the situation involved making numerous premium-rate phone calls to various discount-rate people, some of whom claimed I didn't exist. Maybe they're right. In case, in a few days I've somehow managed to circumnavigate the globe through the medium of call centre.

And I used to think that travel broadened the mind.

GDFAF: Jim White, Birmingham Barfly, 18th October 2007

Go to a gig, read a book or watch a film it’s difficult to escape the conclusion that true Characters are few and far between. Where once there were performers, writers and actors who went to the trouble of living a little before they went to the trouble of becoming famous, we now live in a world that seems to impatiently skip that intermediate step. You only have to compare a 1970s Parkinson interview with its modern-day equivalent to see it in action. For actors like Robert Mitchum or Cary Grant, “Before They Were Famous” meant something more than an early appearance in a toe-curling breakfast cereal ad. In the case of Mitchum, he could talk about criss-crossing America as a box-car vagrant without a cent to his name; in the case of Grant, he could talk about how young Archie Leach escaped from hopeless poverty in Bristol by going to America and reinventing himself as a fictional persona.

In music it’s the same. How many contemporary performers have biographies that can compare to, say, Johnny Cash, John Lee Hooker, Hank Williams, Leadbelly or Woody Guthrie? These are all artists who lived full, rich and sometimes dangerous lives before they became famous. What all these people have in common is that their experiences, their hardships and often their demons shaped their art.

Which brings me to Jim White.

Alt.country maverick Jim White is an old school Character with a capital ‘C’ who lived a full, rich and often dangerous life before he recorded his first song. A glance through his biographical details can be a surreal experience. He spent ten years as a New York taxi driver at the height of the city’s crack wars, during which time – and on more than one occasion - he nearly got a bullet in the back of his head [“I started doing it to pay my way through college,” he told the crowd on Thursday. “Bargain! Two educations for the price of one.”]. During another stage of his life he was an Fundamentalist Christian Evangelist [what is it about edgy, uncompromising artists and their close shaves with a religious life? Martin Scorsese, Johnny Cash and Bill Hicks pop into mind]. Oh, and he’s also worked as a boxer and an international fashion model. Yes, you read that right.

I mentioned in a previous post how the absence in between-song banter compromised my enjoyment of a gig. Well, Jim White more than made up or this. As a raconteur, he’s in the same league as Tom Waits [and that’s damned high praise indeed coming from lifelong Tom Waits fan]. The gig was interwoven with often painfully hilarious tales that included a theological arms-race that escalated to an Existential stand-off with the head of the Amsterdam branch of The Church of Scientology, as well as a harrowing account of the second time someone tried to kidnap him [it involved a late-night bedroom confrontation, an impromptu Bible reading and a hare-brained suicide mission to Mount Ararat].

He started the set with the menacing Static on the Radio and struck a nice balance between fast stuff and the slow stuff [A Perfect Day To Chase Tornados], between the old stuff that people wanted to hear [If Jesus Drove a Motor Home] and the newer stuff that he wanted to play, and between the “dark little songs” and a daft but lovely ode to the colour turquoise [Turquoise House]. Despite only playing with what he described as “3/4 of a band” [two guitarists and a midget Japanese drummer who later turned out to be fictional], they played tight and mean, and there was plenty of effortless on-stage banter between the guys [and some mock-redneck exchanges with the support act, Jenny Owen Youngs, who was invited up as a guest vocalist].

Anyhow, I’ve got to cut this short – it’s 8.30pm and I’m supposed to be going to a Jeffrey Lewis gig tonight. Must dash…

This can't be right...

So there I am, minding my own business and hammering out a blog post on my steam-powered laptop with the TV on in the background. Then I hear it.

A Nick Drake song being used for a cough medicine commercial.

The letter-writing campaign starts NOW!

GDFAF: Jenny Owen Youngs

I went to see the mighty Jim White at the Birmingham Barfly last night and a mighty damn fine gig it was, too. I'll do a full write-up tomorrow. Promise.

The support act was Jenny Owen Youngs. I'd never heard of her before and missed the beginning of her set due to a pizza oversight that involved my younger brother [AKA Brother Younger]. Well, that was my loss. A feisty angel from New Jersey, she performed a beautiful acoustic set and effortlessly charmed the pants off a large segment of the audience, mine included.

Her MySpace profile says that "her songs straddle the heart-wrenching and the tongue-in-cheek and say giddyup." Well, that combination works for me, and I couldn't put it better myself. This wasn't just your one of your run-of-the-mill oversensitive singer-songwriter types emoting by numbers. This girl had grit, attitude and an infectious sense of mischief. She ended her set with a blistering cover of Nelly's "Hot in Herre" that actually worked, fer Chrissakes. If I had a bit more money in my wallet at the end of the night I would have snapped up one of her CDs.

The fact I was somewhat smitten by her had no influence on my judgment, of course. Of course.

Jim White

My GDFAF catch-up continues...

Tonight I'm off to see Jim White at The Barfly in Birmingham. He's a bit of an off-beat alt.country maverick [aren't they all?] who also worked as a comedian, a fashion model, a boxer, a preacher, a professional surfer and a New York cab driver. He also appeared in the rather splendid BBC documentary film Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus in which he embarked on a road trip through the American Deep South.

So now you know who Jim White is. My work here is done.

GDFAF: Shady Bard, The Modified Toy Orchestra & Pram

By way of a recap: last week, Birmingham’s Town Hall reopened it’s doors after more than a decade of sitting derelict at the top end of New Street looking like a jilted bride’s abandoned wedding cake. A week-long festival of events are currently being held to celebrate its reopening, which on Monday featured an evening dedicated to the city’s experimental music scene.

The former home of the CBSO, Birmingham Town Hall dates back to 1834 and over the years has played host to legendary bands like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones. It’s a fine example of neo-classical civic architecture and its design was based on the ancient Roman temple of Castor and Pollux, which also played host to legendary bands like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones.

I used to go to gigs at the Town Hall in my teens and would love to sit back now, stroke my goatee and reminisce about catching some rock legends before they hit the big time and/or imploded due to musical differences and substances beyond their control. I’d like to, but I can’t. Here and now most of the acts I saw there and then cause me nothing but shame and indigestion. Let’s just say ‘Hue & Cry’ and leave it at that.

Monday night, by contrast, filled me with pride and joy. It also helped settle my stomach.

SHADY BARD

I’d heard of Shady Bard but hadn’t listened to them before. The lead singer was a slim chap whose trembling basso profundo voice seemed to contradict his body mass index. That’s a compliment, by the way. I’m a slim chap myself and I’d love to have a voice that contradicts my body mass index.

Anyhow, maybe it was the deep voice or the fact he started the set perched at his piano, but I was put in mind of a Boatman’s Song era Nick Cave. As anyone who knows anything about my taste in music will tell you, this immediately put the band straight into my file marked “Good shit wot I like.”

As the set progressed I was reminded of a lot of other things, too. With what - to my ears at least – sounded like an effortless stew of brooding melancholy seasoned with some good old-fashioned sardonic wit, I thought of the brilliant New York based band The National. My good friend and erstwhile gig pimp Pete Ashton apparently believes its bad form to compare unfamiliar bands to one’s that are more familiar.

This one’s for you, Pete.

THE MODIFIED TOY ORCHESTRA

The Modified Toy Orchestra is more than just the name for a band, it’s a bold statement of intent. They’re a five piece outfit that make sophisticated music using modified toys that make beepy, burpy noises. It really is that straightforward, and maybe the world would be a far less confusing place if more bands adopted this honest approach to branding. Or maybe it wouldn’t. I’m not sure I want to live in a same world as ‘The Generic Oasis-Inspired Guitar Combo’ or ‘The Blandly-Anodyne Conspicuously-Consuming Production-Line R&B Artiste’ or ‘McFly.’ Sadly, I already do.

But there’s more to The Modified Toy Orchestra than just a clear labelling policy that would put most major supermarket chains to shame. I’d seen two of them perform before - collaborating with Krautrock legend Damo Suzuki at the Hare & Hounds in August - but even that sublime and buggier-than-batshit night could not prepare me for a full-frontal assault by the MTO. The things these guys can do with a Texas Instruments’ Speak & Spell, a toy plastic guitar and a weird looking Barbie doll with red glowing eyes will blow your hat through a ceiling tile. They’re fun without being a novelty act, brilliantly innovative without being alienating, and they kick the arse of other genre-breaking electonica acts so hard that they’ll end up farting out of their nostrils.

PRAM

Local ambient avant-pop pioneers Pram were the headliners, and of the three acts that played they were probably the most experimental. Mind you, I’m not sure how you can measure how ‘experimental’ a band is. Maybe it has to be done under lab conditions.

I’d never seen them before, but I was looking forward to their set. For one thing, I’d been reliably informed that it would feature a marimba. As I explained to Jez, Pete & the delightful Jo, the sound of a marimba invokes in me images of sun-kissed beaches, of palm fronds rustling in a soft breeze and of soft white sand compressing beneath my bare feet. Pete – however – took exception to this, and questioned my right to indulge in such marimba-induced tropical fantasies based on the fact that I live in land-locked Birmingham.

“Ah, but I was raised in an Irish coastal town,” was supposed to be my swift retort. Unfortunately, I said “postal” instead of “coastal”. Being raised in an Irish postal town is a piss-poor retort in any context.

Pram’s music had a dreamlike, oceanic quality and the lead singer’s voice was beautiful and haunting. At various times they reminded me of Lambchop, Angelo Badalamenti, Stereolab and The Penguin Café Orchestra. At other various times I reminded myself that I should stop comparing new sounds to things I’d already heard. At least by reminding myself I’d save Pete the trouble. I think my friend Jez put it best when he described them as “a less-accessible Portishead.” Jez is much more succinct than me.

There wasn’t much in the way of between-song banter. In fact, there wasn’t any at all. At one stage I discretely whispered to Jez: “What this band needs is a fucking raconteur.” With hindsight, though, that was harsh. It’s a bit unfair to expect them to “Do a Springsteen”. They are, after all, local ambient avant-pop pioneers: lengthy pathos-soaked tales of growing up in New Jersey would have seemed a tad out of place. They did come across as very serious people, however. I get the impression that if you saw them at a party they’d be huddled in a corner earnestly discussing Jean-Paul Satre and Existentialism. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – I’ve been known to indulge in the occasional Sartre-themed corner-huddle myself - but I tend to break things up a bit by interjecting the occasional knob gag.

That aside, the music was beautiful and meticulously crafted. After the endorphin rush that accompanied The Modified Toy Orchestra, Pram eased me into a tranquil mid-theta state. The change in gear was a bit of a shock to my system, and my ankle ached the next morning. It seems I can’t handle polarity changes like I used to.

All in all, it was a very special night. Kudos to Capsule – the event’s organisers – for putting together something so special and unique, and let’s hope they get the chance to do something similar in the Town Hall again. I might not have managed to get to a “You had to be there” concert at the Town Hall in my teens, but on Monday night Shady Bard, Pram and The Modified Toy Orchestra more than made up for it.

About last night...

Last night's Pram & The Modified Toy Orchestra concert was wonderful and sublime. Definitely one of those "You had to be there" nights, and I'm very glad I was. I'll be doing a full write-up tomorrow [I started it this evening, but it's spiralled out of control as these things do].

Tonight I'll be going to this...

...I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

No Hearing Aid Required

In my last post I mentioned how eager I was to get involved with GDFAF - or 'Going Deaf For A Fortnight' - my friend Pete's hard-core gig-going initiative that seamlessly combines muso evangelism with the anti-lethargy ethos of the classic TV show 'Why Don't You'. That was on Wednesday, already midway through the first week of the fortnight. I haven't posted anything on here since then, so you might assume that I've spent the last few days doing it large and moshing like an eejit in a variety of salubrious sticky-floored local venues.

Well, you'd be mistaken.

Do you want to know how many gigs I've been to in the last four days? Probably not, but that's never stopped me before. I'll tell you how many gigs I've been to in the past four days. I've been to the grand sum total of fuck all.

Well, that's not strictly true.

On Friday night I saw the legendary local comics artist Hunt Emerson performing with his band The Black Country Hats. They were very good, but I can't really get away with claiming it was a gig. No, it wasn't a gig. It was the launch party for the Birmingham Comics Show.

Long ago and far away - when I was a card-carrying fanboy/cartoonist/writer trying to break into the comics industry - I used to go to events like this all the time. But it's been a while, and I had somehow managed to forget how deranged these things get. For the uninitiated, comics events, festivals or even shows are a feeble excuse for people who happen to have a fondness for a somewhat despised medium to get together and drink enough booze to tranquilize a horse.

And - needless to say - it can get quite surreal, too. At one point I interrupted a drunken but somewhat theatrical exchange of insults between two people I'd never met before by saying: "Oi, enough of the Reed Richards/Doc Doom shite."

This will probably mean nothing to non-comics aficionados, I know, but right there and then I knew instinctively that this was perhaps the only place in the world where it would make Perfect Sense. My gut instinct was validated when one of the faux combatants suddenly adopted a ridiculous vaudevillian-esque pose and scowled: "Curse you, Richards!" If I tried that stunt anywhere else I'd probably be typing this with broken fingers.


Anyhow, Pete's blog features a far more lucid and considered account of the evening's shenanigans. You can find it here.

Going Deaf For a Fortnight

My good friend and erstwhile gig-pimp Pete Ashton is currently on Day 4 of his mammoth Going Deaf For a Fortnight extravaganza. To those unfamiliar with GDFAF, the concept is simple: over a two-week period you go out and visit as many local music venues as possible. Preferably while a band is playing, and preferably one a night [although a night off is permitted].

It's Pete's brain-child. He first did it in 2005 as some sort of masochistic-social-breaching -experiment-type thing and over 14 consecutive nights he went 13 gigs. I met him shortly afterwards and it wasn't a pretty sight. He was a shivering wreck - part Rock & Roll casuality and part Vietnam Vet - and it was like looking at a cross between Keith Richards and Ron Kovic. Needless to say, I was jealous. It definitely made him a better man.

Anyhow, his friend Russ took up the mantle in 2006, and this time around it's open to everyone [Pete's a public-spirited chap]. That includes me [I'll be joining in later in the week], and that includes you.

Yes, you. Don't try looking the other way. That won't work.

Gordon Brown to unleash Chuck Norris on voters

From Here

In a move that has shocked political and media pundits alike, Prime Minister Gordon Brown today announced that the Labour Party’s next Party Political Broadcast will be a “high-octane, adrenaline-fuelled epic” featuring the cult 1980s action movie icon Chuck Norris.

Bearded black-belt Norris – who shot to fame in a string of straight-to-video classics like ‘Delta Force’, ‘Lone Wolf McQuade’ and ‘Delta Force 2’ – will play the role of a maverick Labour Party activist canvassing the mean, suburban streets of Kanye East, a troubled but fictional marginal constituency. In the 5 minute film Norris will be seen to overcome grassroots issues, voter apathy and ant-war sentiment through a winning combination of classical political oratory, snappy soundbites and Korean martial arts.

This is regarded as something of a radical departure in style for the Party Political Broadcast. Traditionally, the PPB sought to influence voting behaviour through a combination of earnest political leaders, RADA-trained members of the public and inoffensively uplifting music by the likes of Gustav Holst, Edward Elgar & D:ream. By contrast, Labour’s new PPB is said to include a ticking ballot box bomb, several shoot-outs and a climactic sword fight on top of a speeding campaign battle bus.

Government critics claim that this is just a reaction to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s recent appearance at the Tory Conference in Blackpool. Schwarzenegger – the Republican Governor of California – energised the conference delegates when he urged Tory leader David Cameron to go back in time and assassinate the Cabinet’s ancestors.

The Prime Minister, though, strongly denies that this is a cheap publicity stunt. “During the early 90s – long before our landslide 1997 election win – Tony Blair, Peter Mandelson and myself would lock ourselves away in our old Walworth Road HQ as we set about modernising the Labour Party. We wanted to rebuild it, make it better than it was before. Better, stronger, more electable. It was hard work. It was tiring work. Occasionally we’d feel the need to take a well-earned break. So we’d order in a curry, crack open a few cans of lager and stay up late watching straight-to-video action classics.”

In fact, following Labour’s 1997 election win, Brown invited a number of straight-to-video action stars to a special victory party at 11 Downing Street. “They were all there,” he recalls wistfully. “Chuck [‘Missing in Action’] Norris, Cynthia [‘China O’Brian’] Rodrock and even Christopher [‘Fortress 2’] Lambert. While Tony was shaking hands with rock stars next door, Chuck Norris was teaching me how to disarm an opponent with a cocktail stick. Well, I know which party I’d rather be at!”

“Yeah, that was one helluva night,” says Norris with a chuckle. “Me and Gordon, we stayed in contact over the years. We’d talk about regular guy stuff like roundhouse kicks and monetary policy, and we always planned on working together sometime. In fact, I once asked him to do a special guest appearance on my long-running syndicated TV show, ‘Walker, Texas Ranger.’ He was going to play the ghost of a Mayflower Pilgrim who helps me solve a tricky case. He couldn’t do it, though. He was already booked up to do the Dimbleby show.”

Brown remains resolute in his loyalty to this widely despised genre: “I firmly believe that those video nights gave us hope and inspiration during those long, dark years in opposition. They gave us a moral compass. They are the reason many of us are now in politics. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that 80s straight-to-video action classics directly influenced the whole New Labour agenda. You remember that manifesto pledge about us being ‘Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime’? Well, we nicked that line from ‘Lone Wolf McQuade.”

Strewth!

After yesterday's bout of creative frustration/online sulkduggery, I now discover that three of my NewsBiscuit submissions are in their Top 10 ['No More Sister Nice Guy' at 10, 'Musical Discord as Bank of England offer lifeline to Northern Soul' at 8 and 'Burmese Troops attacking Buddhist Monks accused of "Zenophobia"' at 5]. After a gruesome day at work, I am now the proverbial happy camper.

My sincere thanks to anyone who voted for me. I owe you a pint.

Better get back to my next offering, which goes under the tentative title of Labour's next Party Political Broadcast to feature 80s Action Hero Chuck Norris.


Somebody stop me.

The Scores on the Doors

I've been rather busy in my new role as wannabe satirist, so I thought I'd take a moment to take stock and reflect on my first week's attempts at hard-hitting social commentary. So far, so discouraging. As previously mentioned I've been submitting items to the fake news website NewsBiscuit. The way it works is that you post something onto their submissions board and "regular NewsBiscuit readers can read and rate the stories for inclusion on the main pages." Well, so far three of my efforts made it into the Top 10 but sadly didn't stay there for too long. Submissions are rated on a scale of 1-to-10 and the overall scoring system works out an average score. Here's Tom Lennon's current Top Ten in descending order:

[And I mean descending in every sense of the word.]

1. Musical Discord as Bank of England offers lifeline to Northern Soul [7.99]
2. Burmese Troops attacking Buddhist Monks accused of "Zenophobia" [7.99]
3. No More Sister Nice Guy. [7.94]
4. TV's Captain Kirk unveils new ShatNav [7.74]
5. Zap! Pow! You broke my nose! [5.23]
6. Following complaints, Sir Elton removes his Back-Catalogue from Record Stores [5.18]
7. Boris Johnson insists: "I am NOT Warhol's Love-Child." [4.82]
8. Language experts claim that "There's a fine line between II and H" [4.56]
9. Brown to Unveil 'Cabinet of the Namesakes', claims Chief Vet Debby Reynolds [4.15]

And last [but in every sense] least:

10. Lara Croft, Solid Snake and Pac-Man deny PS3-some claims [3.98]

To be fair, not all of the above are full submissions; some are just catchy headlines [at least I like to think they're catchy headlines]. I'm not that prolific.

Now I wouldn't dream of encouraging any of you to click on any of the above links and give me a high score. That would probably be unethical, of course. Of course.

Besides, we all know in our heart-of-hearts that vote-rigging never pays.

Outside of Florida, that is.