Breakfast in Bed is the everyday adventures of Rowan, aka @Rowstar, writing about adoptive parenthood, outdoor adventures, food, live music and other favourite pursuits.
More than photos, diary entries or spoken anecdotes, music is the most dependable keeper of memories; a song has the power to conjure a lost moment from the dusty archives of the heart and brain, bringing it into vivid life once more. For the last few years I have made an annual compilation of the music that has punctuated the year, to share with friends and for my own posterity. Looking back at each mix, I can tell a lot about the happenings of any particular year and the sort of mood I was in.
On the first day of 2011, here are my favourite and most poignant songs from last year - each holds a memory or moment and all were released in 2010. There seems to be a prevalence of ethereal female artists, muddled with a generous helping of proggy post-rock and the occasional splash of cheesy electro. I don't know what this says about my mood, but it was certainly a year of ups and downs. As I sit here in my new house (house!) suffering the after effects of too many prosecco and mead cocktails last night, it feels like a fitting soundtrack.
I hope you'll enjoy my playlist and perhaps treat yourself to one or two of the most excellent albums from which these songs come. I heartily welcome your own recommendations of 2010 musical discoveries and favourites, too.
I go to a lot of gigs, mostly in seedy pub function rooms or muddy fields at festivals and that's the way I like it. The last time I went to a genuine pop concert was back in 2008, when Neel persuaded me to go and see Kylie at the O2. It was certainly an experience and a brilliant night out with one of my favourite people, but I can't imagine ever wanting to go back to that particular venue. I do really like a fix of uncomplicated, energetic electro-pop, though, so when I saw that Swedish popstrel Robyn was coming to the Concorde 2 (and not the awful Brighton Centre), I was quick to snap up tickets.
I've heard Robyn described as Sweden's answer to Britney before now, presumably because she too was a child star. Certainly both share a history of catchy pop tunes and a massive gay following, but somehow Robyn's Swedishness makes her quirkier and more interesting by default. In the flesh she is less kooky and more unabashedly Euro-pop than you might expect, which endeared her to us even more. It made a pleasant change to be at the Concorde amongst a bouncy crowd of excitable gaylords and giggly girls, as opposed to the usual hipster chin-stroking contingent - although interestingly there were a few of those around too.
There's nothing surprising or challenging about Robyn's material, but it is bloody good pop music. I like to think of it as a cleansing of the musical palette - a sort of sorbet gig, if you will. And she puts on a great show: energetic, enthusiastic and emotive. I couldn't help but dance. Lots. Particular highlights were 'Dancing on my Own' (my favourite track from Body Talk Pt.1) and 'Hang with Me', a more stripped back almost-ballad which showed off her true vocal abilities. The best thing was being so up close and personal with such a big personality and an even bigger sound in an intimate venue. It could only have been better if dear Neel had been here to enjoy it with me instead of thousands of miles away in Melbourne.
You know autumn's arrived when Apple Festival rolls around. It always seems to be the event for which everyone finally relents and digs out their winter coats and hats and sturdy boots for a stomp around Middle Farm. And even though the sun does tend to shine on Firle for the weekend, the temperature has definitely taken a dive since those last days of summer just a few weeks ago, at the end of September. This year was no exception, with a definite nip in the air and even the faintest hint of dragon breath on Apple Festival revellers. I wished I'd worn more layers, but thankfully inside the tents it was cosy, and a dance around to some of the energetic bands soon got the blood circulating.
This year Apple Festival was extra special because it was my nephew Nat's first festival and a delight to introduce him to the joys of dancing along to live music amongst a rosy cheeked, gently cider fuelled crowd. He seemed to love it - as you can see from the above video - and I'm hoping this will have been the first of many festival outings we'll have together. The grown ups had fun too, especially appreciating the extra food stalls and hot spicy apple juice for those of us who were driving. I went home armed with cheese and biscuits from the food hall and numb fingers from holding my dandelion and burdock ice cream float; what a silly idea on a cold autumn day. But oh, so tasty.
Ever since I arrived back from last year's End of the Road Festival, I have been trying to persuade Ant that he would have enjoyed it, despite his professed hatred of festivals in general. It's unfortunate that to date his only festival experiences have involved excessive rain and mud (Green Man, Fleadh, Roskilde) or boring mainstream music (Isle of Wight), which meant that it was a bit of an effort to convince him that End of the Road is brilliantly different and much more up his street. I couldn't promise no mud, but based on 2009's experience, it seemed there'd be a fair chance of sunshine and I could confidently promise great music and a charming atmosphere. When I also mentioned the on-site therapies, real ale and abundant use of camping chairs, he agreed to give it a try.
Arriving on site on Thursday evening, there was a definite feeling of trepidation on my part as I sensed his misgivings about the whole proceedings. But by Sunday evening, wine-fuelled, music-soaked and massaged to within an inch of his life, a grinning Ant gracefully admitted that End of the Road had restored his jaded faith in festivals. Phew. I'd had a wonderful time too - there were so many good bands it'd be impossible to review them all, but highlights included Wolf People, Mountain Goats, Three Trapped Tigers, Citay, Ben Ottewell and Mountain Man. Aside from much musical enjoyment, we indulged in plenty of people watching, dancing, bantering, cake eating, curry eating, pizza eating, pie eating, chilli eating, tea drinking, stargazing and laid back bimbling. Once again, the sparkly woods provided much magic, especially the spontaneous late night jams and secret acoustic gigs on the woodland stage.
A game of Kubb on Sunday was a new experience for us both and something we'll definitely be looking to make or purchase for our own back garden. A Swedish skittles-chess hybrid, Kubb involves throwing large blocks of wood to knock out an opposing team's pieces; shins beware. The things that have grated at previous festivals - shouty teens, grotty toilets, epic walks between stages and back to camp, conspicuous security and bag searching, the sound of nitrous oxdide balloons emptying every few seconds - didn't really factor at End of the Road. The only thing I wanted for was a shower (there is only one block on site), but apart from that it really was a very very lovely festival and I shall definitely be going back next year. Based on his reaction, hopefully so will Ant.
Here's a little video I made of some of the bands we saw and the other activities in between. The sound quality is a bit rubbish on a few of the clips, but hopefully it gives you a flavour for the event.
Lately I've been working my butt off (hence the lack of blog posts) and though most of the time it's fun, every now and then I need a break from the constant demands and responsibilities that my job now entails. So when a business meeting down in Devon found its way into my diary, I seized the opportunity to combine it with a picobreak, staying with the lovely Harriet (who I miss terribly) in Slapton. It so happened that she had arranged a shindig that night at the local pub with her Morris dancing side, Beltane Border. And yes, they are those scary looking blacked-up variety - though it's not a racist thing I'm told.
As I arrived at Harry's, the sun was shining and I was feeling blissfully detached from the office, being so many miles away from Brighton on the beautiful South Devon coast. As Harry and Linda donned their costumery and prepared for the dancing, I sat soaking up the sunset and drinking cider, my brow swiftly un-furrowing as I watched the world go by. The pub was buzzing with tourists and locals, all intrigued by the gathering swarm of imposing black-clad figures. The sound of a lone fiddle and accompanying Celtic drums signalled the start of the show and everyone nodded and bobbed along as the various energetic dances unfolded, each introduced with an anecdote, myth or theme to add a splash of colour.
Fuelled with cider and pagan magic, I helped Harry get a fire on the beach started and kicked back with her fellow dancers and other assembled groupies for a classic evening of bonfire bantering, ale swigging and moonlit swimming. I hadn't felt so relaxed since our holiday in France and was sad when the night came to a natural conclusion just before dawn and it was time to say goodbye to new found friends and start thinking about the long drive back in the morning. A final swig of chai and a quick didgeridoo jam in the back of a campervan (thanks Amy, Jon & Lee), followed by toast and marmite back at Harriet's and it was time to place my happy head on the pillow and dream of future adventures.
This little video has some highlights of Beltane's dances (plus a bonus feature at the end) and you can see some of our beach antics via this Flickr set of mine. Fellow camera geek (and excellent chap) Jon, who I met on the night, also has this brilliant set of pics on Facebook which is well worth a look.
Last weekend I was dog-sitting in Eastbourne while my mother escaped to her annual spiritual retreat at Walsingham cathedral; I was glad of a change of scenery after what had been a gruelling and emotional week and am always happy to spend time with the lovely Pascha. It so happened that some friends of mine were off to the De La Warr Pavilion - just up the road from Eastbourne in Bexhill - for a gig on Saturday night and suggested that Ant and I should come along, since we were in the neighbourhood. I didn't know much about the band that was playing, though Ant seemed excited when I mentioned it to him, so we booked tickets and tagged along.
The band was UNKLE, aka James Lavelle and Pablo Clements, who were being accompanied by the De La Warr's own Heritage Orchestra for a special performance as part of their current album tour. What had been a scorchingly sunny day turned into a beautiful evening on Bexhill seafront and as always, the DLWP crowd was buzzing with arty types from all across Sussex. I bumped into several old childhood friends from Eastbourne and spotted mates from Brighton including the couple who used to live upstairs from us. It was a great convivial atmosphere in which to soak up what turned out to be a magical gig.
UNKLE's dreamy, symphonic trip-hop sounds were beautifully interpreted by the 30 piece classical orchestra and two vocalists, and for the first half of the set I was totally swept away. After a good start, it all got a bit self indulgent towards the end when Lavelle took to the mic and started gushing and that combined with the sweltering temperatures up on the balcony was enough to make me lose my appetite for an encore. Even so, it was a fantastic evening, topped off nicely with a nightcap on the refreshingly breezy balcony of the De La Warr, chatting to friends old and new.
If you want to hear more about the gig itself, there's an excellent write-up on XYZ magazine's blog, and this YouTube video from a recent gig at the Union Chapel will also give you a flavour. For a bit more background on UNKLE in general and the Heritage Orchestra collaboration in particular, pick up a copy of the latest East magazine, where you'll find an interview with James Lavelle on page 35. For details of other upcoming performances at the De La Warr Pavilion, have a read of their Live Music Blog or the Events & Performances page of the website.
Back in January I wrote about a rather peculiar Sunday at the end of the Christmas holidays when Ant,James and I were involved in a zombie music video shoot with Thomas Truax at the Under Ground Theatre in Eastbourne. I've been eagerly awaiting the outcome ever since and was thrilled when last week, the video was finally released onto YouTube. Unfortunately Ant's sterling zombie performance didn't make it into the final cut, but I am clearly visible as one of the dancing magpies and you can spot James in a blink-or-you'll-miss-it moment around 3:10.
The video was timed to coincide with the release of Truax's new album, Sonic Dreamer, described in this Drowned in Sound review as "different...knowingly funny, and...very very special". I have yet to get hold of a copy myself, but am very much looking forward to giving it a spin and wish the lovely Thomas all the best with his current album tour and promotional junket - do catch him at one of these live dates if you can.
Ever since I discovered him at a Freebutt gig around this time last year, I've been raving about Thomas Truax, the eccentric one-man band with a penchant for weird homemade instruments. If you read my Great Escape 2009 write up or a recent post on the zombie music video shoot, you might be forgiven for thinking I was stalking him. You might even be right. He's one of those performers who taps right into my own personal madness and throws something even stranger back. Here's a little taster:
What better way to relieve the end of holiday blues than by being a zombie in a music video? That's exactly what we felt last weekend when the call went out on Twitter for extras to appear in Thomas Truax's latest video shoot on Sunday. Best of all the shoot was happening just down the road from us in Eastbourne, at a venue close to my heart - the Under Ground theatre. Once just the plain old Library Theatre, the Under Ground was the setting for many amdram adventures of my youth, most notably Godspell and the Pajama Game which both hold extremely happy memories. The place hasn't changed a bit and walking in there was like walking straight back into my mis-spent youth.
Since discovering him at the Freebutt last year along with all his wacky homemade instruments, Thomas Truax has fast become one of my favourite artists (so much so that he made it into my new blog header) and I was delighted to have the chance to star alongside him. Despite all the dressing up over the years, I've never been a zombie before, and thought it would be a fun experience. As it turned out, I still haven't been a zombie because I unwittingly volunteered myself to be a magpie instead. This involved wearing a big magpie head, out of which I could see very little, and dancing in step (not very easy with a big magpie head on) with a fellow magpie called Robin (was I the only one to see the humour there?) who had been 'volunteered' by his girlfriend for the part. Ant and James enjoyed being the tallest zombies on stage and milking their roles - as you can see from this snap of them barbecuing a (fake) human heart. Everyone involved was jolly nice and we even went for a pint with some other zombies in the Dewdrop afterwards.
The video won't be ready for another couple of months, but in the meantime I strongly recommend that you have a look at one of Thomas Truax's previous (and also very brilliantly odd) videos here on YouTube, or even better, buy one of his excellent albums. You can see more photos of the zombie video shoot on my Flickr page.
With the end of every year comes a string of essential rituals - some imposed by religious and historical tradition, some of our own making. For me one of the best year-end ceremonies is to sit down between Christmas and New Year's Eve to go through all our photographs from the year and put the best ones into an album - something we've been doing as a couple almost since the beginning.
Another rather more self-indulgent custom is the making of the annual 'Ant & Ro' CD - a compilation of our favourite and significant music from the year, usually dominated by bands we've seen live. These are distributed to friends and family who visit over the festive period and sometimes posted to other musically minded comrades.
As our tastes have grown more and more eclectic over the years, it's become trickier to compile a fluent mixtape of accessible music. Whilst my motivation is to share cool new discoveries and inspire musical exploration, I appreciate that not everyone cares as much as I do for the more esoteric Freakzone-ish end of the listening spectrum.
A couple of days ago I started thinking about this year's mix and jotting down some ideas for what might go into it. The hardest part has been whittling it down to just one CD's worth of tunes, from what has been an outstanding twelve months of musical enlightenment; what with four festivals and plenty of local gigs in between, my musical cup literally floweth over with bands that I want to shout about.
The other difficulty is actually tracking down recorded versions of unsigned material, which usually involves various emails to band members and ordering homemade CDs recorded in bedrooms and sold from dubious looking websites, hoping that they'll materialise. But this is all part of the ritual, and gradually the mixtape has started to take shape. It's not 100% finished yet, but what with the impending festive frivolities, I may not get another chance to share my annual compilation here.
The above YouTube playlist contains all the tracks that I could find in a reasonable format, but by the nature of the platform is of varying quality. Below is a complete tracklisting with download links and an Amazon preview widget that lets you listen to snippets from each song (if you want to hear more, go to the band website). The only one missing from the widget (because it's not available from Amazon) is Quack Quack, which I strongly recommend you listen to here (but only if you are into rambling energetic contemporary prog).
Last week Ant and I went one of our rare midweek semi-spontaneous date nights, to go and see Kings of Convenience at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill. Unless you have seen the De La Warr, you may wonder why on earth any band would choose to perform in Bexhill of all places, but even before you step inside this striking Art Deco building, you start to appreciate the draw. Ever since its refurbishment in the early noughties, the De La Warr has been attracting illustrious artists from Goldfrapp to the Penguin Cafe Orchestra and is well worth the 45 minunte trip from Brighton.
Kings of Convenience may not be the most challenging of bands, but they win the prize in my eyes as the most soothing; their dulcet harmonies and expert intricate guitar playing are the musical equivalent of morphine. Way back when Ant and I were first living in Brighton we would often kick back with a glass of red and wind down from the trials of London commuting to their 2001 debut album, Quiet is the New Loud. It's up there with Ben & Jason's Emoticons (just available on Spotify by the way) as a sentimental classic of our 'early years' together.
It felt very special to finally see Kings of Convenience live and in such an atmospheric - and acoustically blessed - venue. The band were in good spirits all evening, playfully bantering between songs and telling us tales of their early days and first ever gig in East Sussex. With their permission I captured the above video snippet which - even though it is only recorded on a basic point and shoot - reveals something of their musical artistry. For the full experience, you will have to go and see them for yourselves.
All I could ever find, though, was a downbeat version by Snow Patrol which you'd never want to play at a party (unless you wanted people to leave). I managed to determine that the original was by Ricki Wilde (younger brother of Kim) and was originally recorded in the 70s - but never actually found anywhere to download or buy it.
When we decided to throw a space themed party for my birthday this year, I knew I had to include the song in my DJ set, and renewed my quest in earnest. With a little more online know-how and some purposeful determination, I eventually found it.
The 'Spaced Out' theme inspired some of the best costume efforts I've ever seen amongst my friends, and with the addition of a robot dancing competition, a superb Clangers cake (made by my talented sister), a screening of the legendary Turkish Star Wars and some out of this world live music from St Anthony's Fire, it truly was a night to remember.
Finally spinning the tune I've been dreaming about for the last two years, I watched affectionately from behind the decks as my drunken amigos stumbled around in a cloud of glitter, hugging each other in that end of the night "you're brilliant, no you're brilliant" way. I like birthdays.
It's not often you leave a music festival feeling perkier than when you arrive, but that's exactly what happened to me at the End of the Road festival last weekend. Unfortunately, this wasn't anything to do with the reviving qualities of the festival, but more due to the fact that I'd only had three hours sleep the night before it started. I'd had a brilliant evening on Thursday at Brightwest II, playing 'Murder She Twote', chatting to the assembled Twitterati and knocking back a pint or five of ale at the Black Lion. How on earth we went from this relatively civilised gathering to a seedy all-nighter in the Bulldog (I know!) is anyone's guess . It must have seemed like a good idea at the time; not so much when the alarm went off at 7am the next morning.
"How much muesli does one man need?" Steve, upon arriving at the End of the Road Festival armed with a mountain of cereal
But the End of the Road was calling (in so many ways) and I had other people relying on me to get them there too. I'd planned on having a disco nap when we arrived in Dorset, but as it turned out, it was all far too exciting. Set in the picturesque Larmer Tree Gardens, the End of the Road Festival is now in its fourth year, and fast gaining a reputation as the serious music lover's festival. Some would call the line-up alternative, I'd say fundamental. Much to my own personal delight, End of the Road is largely a festival for chin-stroking, album-buying, real ale-drinking DINKYS and empty nesters, with only the occasional obligatory festy crusty and over-excited tween.
"Do you consider yourself worthy of a poetic license?" Paul, to me, sometime in the early hours of Saturday morning.
There were so many highlights during the weekend that it would be hard to boil them down into a single readable blog post, but a few bands stood out in terms of atmosphere and sheer accomplishment. The one I'd been most excited about was the Low Anthem, who I'd discovered back in May at the Great Escape Festival and have been raving about to anyone who'll listen ever since. I was extra thrilled when it turned out they were playing not one but two sets during the weekend.
"Unless it's cake, it can f**k off" Matty, on my aversion to brandy other than in pudding
The first Low Anthem gig was in the smallest venue - the Tipi tent - which looked cute from the outside, but turned out to be a terrible space for live music. Despite persistent sound problems and noise pollution from the neighbouring tent, Low Anthem appeared composed as they delivered an intimate set, mostly of their more obscure material. But it wasn't until their second gig on Saturday that the band really shone, bringing a packed out audience at the Garden Stage to its metaphorical knees. I've never heard a quieter field of festival goers as in between songs during the Low Anthem's End of the Road performance. Rapturous applause gave way to mesmerised silence after each song as we all eagerly awaited the next. So many other bands get by on catchy tunes and adequate musicianship, that it's impossible not to be affected by the sheer arresting intensity of the Low Anthem's immense talent and potent delivery.
"In the light, I can tell when people's eyes are glazing over" Nick, on our general inability as a group to pay attention
Efterklang came in a close second as most enjoyable set of the weekend with their uplifting New Wave tinged Post Rock. Not many of the bands I went to see were particularly danceable, though I did have a silly strut about to Herman Dune and hurt my neck moshing to The Heavy. With a choice of four different stages, plus the odd spontaneous gig in the woods, it was sometimes difficult to choose where to park yourself. I tended to wander round until something caught my ear and then stick with it. Out of all the festival's venues, The Local (curated by esteemed promoter Howard Monk) yielded the most exciting new discoveries, including my final band of the weekend, Quack Quack, who succeeded in fulfilling my (quite vocal) craving for a prog fix.
"Behave, or you'll get turned into sausages" Linda, getting all teacherly on us
I was also really taken with Wildbirds & Peacedrums, who can only be described as 'Drum n Blues' - the set up being a female bluesy singer accompanied only by drums and various percussion noises. Her powerfully husky voice was enough to carry the lack of any other instrumentation, and I have not seen such fervent drumming since the Muppets. A namecheck must also go to Faceometer and his friend the Dapper Swindler, whose unofficial woodland jamming kept us all enthralled, and distracted me from the disappointment of being told not to climb trees by security. To be fair to security, they were pretty laid back in their fun-spoiling, even in the face of my loud protestation: "I climb trees all the time when you're not here. There's no law against climbing trees." All power to Nick for beautifully diffusing the situation, and winning a bet at the same time, when he offered the guy in question £50 to dance the Can-Can for him.
"You're my best sparkly forest band I've ever seen" Michael, to Faceometer and the Dapper Swindler
It was exactly this kind of jovial, conspiratorial atmosphere that kept everyone smiling at the End of the Road and made it so easy to make new friends along the way. The lack of Hippy Shit and abundance of excellent food and ale also helped a lot. I sincerely hope the organisers are never tempted to increase the capacity, because it felt nicely intimate at the 5,000 mark. I came away feeling as though I'd shared a special moment with a chosen few, and I like that feeling very much. More of the same next year, please.
This was going to be one of those scathing posts about yet another disappointing cabaret that I went to see last week. The cabaret in question was undeniably shambolic, but I had a hilarious evening anyway, and it seemed a shame to tarnish the memory with a disparaging tirade. So I decided for a change to let the offending performers off the hook and write something positive instead.
So in a more upbeat spirit, and in the absence of anything else to write about this week, I offer you my Summer playlist - a video 'mix tape' of music that I've been listening to repeatedly these past few weeks as the sun has been gracing us with its presense. It's a fantasy festival line-up of spirit-warming tunes, all of which go extremely well with a glass of Pimm's and a cucumber sandwich.
The highlight, and my top Summer listening for 2009, is the first track, from Tim and Sam's Tim and the Sam Band with Tim and Sam, whose invigoratingly euphoric post-folk lights up the room and everyone in it. Whenever I have played the 'Put Your Slippers On' EP in the company of friends, they have invariably asked "what's this? It's lovely." without any prompting. I hope you'll feel the same. I'm also particularly fond of track two - Charlie Darwin by The Low Anthem - which is so hauntingly harmonious it makes me cry (but in a good way).
I could easily go on, because they are all lovely - but the proof is in the pudding as they say. So tune in, kick back, grab that Pimm's and enjoy...
After our fleeting but fun-filled trip to Hay-on-Wye, the bank holiday adventures continued with a visit to Bristol and yet more cultural exploits. The last time we'd visited Bristol was to catch up with a friend who was working in the Revolution bar, and we spent most of our time hanging out there with her. I don't think we saw the best of the city from that perspective, so it was nice to go back and get the tour from some other friends who recently moved there (though are thankfully not working in bars).
Our very picturesque and sunny drive took us down through the Welsh mountains, and we arrived with our hosts mid afternoon. After the obligatory cup-of-tea-and-catch-up, we wandered down to the waterfront for a drink and some people-watching. By early evening it was still scorching hot, and the world and his wife were lining the streets and bar terraces.
Apart from catching up with friends, the other main purpose of the Bristol visit was to see Antony & the Johnsons live at Colston Hall. Tickets for the Brighton show had sold out before I’d heard about it, and Bristol was the next nearest - so I’d suggested it to Shaun and Morwenna and they’d been game.
I’m not used to sit-down gigs, and this was in a proper theatre, with proper seats. We had an excellent view from one of the side galleries, which when I tell you about the support act, you will realise was both a blessing and a curse. Rather than get an up-and-coming band to warm up for him, Antony had chosen instead to employ the talents - and I use that word derisively - of a ‘contemporary dancer’.
This ‘dancer’ appeared on stage in a disturbing mutated animal costume and proceeded to flap her arms around to grinding industrial music. There was no ‘dancing’ of any sort, and this bizarre and entirely unmoving spectacle went on for what seemed like hours. It was in reality about 15 minutes. Which is actually a long time to sit and watch someone flapping their arms. Ant whispered to me that he was going to his ‘happy place’ while I continued to gape open-mouthed, recoiling in horror when the rest of the audience actually applauded, presumably out of relief rather than appreciation.
Finally the band appeared on stage, at least we presumed it was them - the lack of lighting meant we couldn’t be sure. But when that unmistakable voice soared out of the darkness, we knew it was Antony’s, and the horror of the travesty to which we had just been subjected began to melt away. By the end of the first song, darkness still prevailed. Someone wailed from the audience “when do we get to see you?”, to which a shy voice replied “just a minute”. Gradually the lights did come up a bit, but it still felt more like a dingy basement than a 2000 seater concert hall. Presumably this was intentional, and it certainly didn’t detract from the power of the performance.
I think I must have been the only person in the audience to have actually listened to the new album (it’s good), because everyone else seemed totally fixated on the material from the (ahem, Mercury winning) I Am a Bird Now, clapping at the start of songs whose opening chords they recognised. I found this odd, and rather rude behaviour. It’s like saying “I don’t care about your new material, I only want the ones that were on TV”. But a forbearing Antony took it on the chin, gracefully indulging their mainstream appetites.
Occasionally he would talk between songs, revealing a little of the man behind the voice. A quirky, droll and somewhat sheepish individual, he is clearly more comfortable singing or spinning fanciful stories than engaging in the sort of idle banter employed by most musicians. I found this trait utterly endearing and it made the music even more affecting. The singing voice itself - at once tender and powerful - is a strange and beautiful thing which I have grown to love dearly over the years. To hear it full-blast and up-close was truly magical - and I think all four of us were unexpectedly moved by the occasion.
The next day we went for a hearty breakfast at The Boston Tea Party, followed by the grand tour of the city - including a boat trip and a walk along the famous Clifton Suspension Bridge. Still buzzing from the gig, and enjoying the good company of friends, it was the perfect end to a lovely anniversary weekend.
If you've never been to The Great Escape, you'd be forgiven for dismissing it as a purely 'young and trendy' festival, full of the sort of bands loved by hipsters in skinny jeans and Wayfarers. You may also be aware that it's a music industry festival, organised as a showcase for new and emerging artists and attended by hundreds of journalists and music 'people'. Personally I think it's pitched as a hipster festival because they are perceived as having the most clout in the rise or fall of pop music. But beneath those layers of industry spin and round-the-corner queues for the Maccabees, there is almost a separate festival going on, if only you know where to look.
My Great Escape motto this year was "If they wouldn't play it on Freakzone, I'm not going", and I pretty much managed to stick by this philosophy throughout. There were a few more mainstream bands on the agenda, but even those were at the alternative end of the spectrum, and more likely to be played by Radcliffe & Maconie than Jo Whiley. I also have a strict policy against queuing at the Great Escape. I can't see the point in standing in line for ages to possibly see the last ten minutes of a set when there's so much else on offer. If I really really want to see a particular band, I'll book tickets to one of their tour dates rather than hold out for them at a festival.
For me, Great Escape is all about expanding my music collection, not worshipping bands that I already love. Apart from Thomas Truax, who I had seen only recently (and wanted to introduce to Ant, who hadn't), all the bands that we saw this year were totally new to us. About half of them were good enough for me to want to go out and buy their CD, some were sufficiently amusing to stay and watch for a couple of songs, and one or two made us run for the hills. But all in all, it was a good festival, and we hardly had to negotiate any hipsters (although I did laugh at plenty in the street) along the way.
The first band we saw on Thursday night was Gablé, whose billing as a 'lo-fi avante-garde experimental trio from Paris', seemed to fit nicely with the Freakzone-ish prerequisite and also appealed to my Francophile leanings. Feeling terribly self conscious as the only ones waiting outside the venue, we almost didn't go in, but I'm so glad we did - I cannot tell you how much I loved this band. Their strange and sometimes unnerving tales - told with amusing relish and furnished with all manner of lo-fi accompaniments - revealed a deep appreciation of the weirder side of life, and made us laugh out loud.
A few more stragglers turned up during the set and eventually there were enough of us to make some well-deserved appreciative noises between songs. Despite the poor turnout, the band members - two guys and a girl - all continued to smile in a strangely contented manner that seemed to suggest they were in possession of a delicious secret. I went away feeling as though I had acquired a brilliant secret of my own in having discovered them, and thinking that it would be hard for any other band at the festival to live up to their bonkers brilliance.
After Gablé, we stayed on at the Unitarian church to watch Soap& Skin, who I'd listened to and liked during my pre-festival Spotify/Last.fm/MySpace research. I'd been intrigued by the sweeping piano arrangements and melancholic Sigur Ros style vocals, and was hoping for a tingly, intimate experience in this atmospheric little venue. What actually happened was an unfortunately discordant conflict between grand piano, laptop and unsteady vocals - and a swift exit by us. After this less than pleasing experience, we hopped across the road to the Pavilion to see The Acorn - a much more agreeable Canadian alt-country band with a touch of the Paul Simon about them. I had a little dance around, my first and last bop of the festival.
It has become something of a Great Escape tradition to end the day in a civilised fashion at the Duke of York's, which is where we discovered the next big delight of this year's festival, The Miserable Rich - a Brighton band who had somehow escaped my notice until now. Essentially a string quintet with a singer, these five hugely talented blokes bring a touch of classical elegance to their affectingly contemplative folky repertoire. So swept away was I by their performance, that I have failed to remember anything much about the band that followed - Teitur - although I think I enjoyed it.
Friday began at the Prince Albert with a disappointing set from Hanne Hukkelberg - who, Like Soap&Skin, had sounded promising on Spotify, but failed to pass the live performance test. After that we heard about five muffled minutes of Obijou from behind a huge pillar at the Arc, and decided that although they sounded interesting, the venue was just too crap to endure. Unlike in previous years, there didn't seem to be much of anything going on in the daytime, so after accidentally wandering into a (distinctly underwhelming) Charlatans rehearsal, we acted our age and went home for a quick disco nap.
The Naive New Beaters shook us well and truly awake again with their giddily ironic French hip-hop, but we were distinctly unimpressed with Django Django, who came on next at Above Audio. A quick skip down to the end of the pier to catch the end of an intense set by Norwegian rockers Harrys Gym was worth the windswept trip, then it was back into town for The Phantom Band at the Pavilion. But the day's real revelations didn't commence until we went entirely on spec to see Elizabeth at the Basement. Both venue and band were brand new to us, and both were equally impressive. The Basement is a cosy underground spot in the North Laine, with unusual stepped sides, where you can lay back on cushions to watch the band, and the perfect place to enjoy the eerie offerings of electro-opera-marvel Elizabeth.
Once again, we concluded our evening with tea and cake and a comfy seat (yes, we are old) at the Duke of York's, where Friday night was Nordic night. Jolly Icelandic band Hjaltalin kept us awake with bassoons and violins and some kooky between-songs banter, then Norwegian Thomas Dybdahl soothed us off to sleep (almost) with his surprisingly authentic-sounding alt-country Americana.
On Saturday we were joined by my 18 year old cousin Barnaby, and I was a little nervous that he might not be into the more alternative stuff on mine and Ant's gig wishlist. But thankfully he's not a typical teenager, and was quite open-mindedly up for some more esoteric musical exploration. After a couple of lame daytime gigs that do not even warrant a mention, we decided to abandon the Great Escape for a couple of hours and do some Open Houses instead. Things rebooted in the evening with Mechanical Bride at the Sallis Benney where the combination of a refreshingly decent PA and the band's tight, experimental Celtic-tinged folk was a good kick-off. But nothing could have prepared us for what came next.
In the less than salubrious setting of the dingy Ocean Rooms basement, I lost my heart, soul and all sense of reality to The Low Anthem. Even the usual clique of chatty bints behind me were swiftly silenced when singer Ben Miller opened his mouth; such a haunting and utterly disarming voice I have never heard. My legs turned to jelly as I stood breathless and in awe throughout their mind-blowing set. The other two band members, Jeff Prystowsky and Jocie Adams, proved just as jaw-droppingly skillful, switching with ease between all kinds of instruments and providing spine-tingling vocal harmonies. Just as you found yourself bestilled and bewitched by a delicately sorrowful ballad, they'd shake things up with a rugged, whisky-swigging country rock-out. It was all totally unexpected and beautifully accomplished, knocking spots off anything else we'd heard so far.
It would have been difficult for even the finest of acts to match such a deeply affecting performance, but I doubt whether Mothlite would have impressed me in any context. Now I'm all for noodling electro post-rock, but this was the most humourless, self-indulgent tosh I have heard in a long time. It was like watching four guys having their own personal bedroom stoner sessions, oblivious to each other and their audience. Ant seemed to be enjoying it though, so we stayed to the end, trying to see the funny side. Things picked up back at the Albert, with Woodpigeon, who sounded nice - but the room was so hot that we had to leave after one song. Kate Rogers Band at the more temperate Unitarian church was pleasant enough, but felt so pedestrian after The Low Anthem, so we left that and hung out until the grand finale of the festival, Thomas Truax.
Isn't it nice to see a brother and sister getting along? It's especially touching to witness a creative collaboration between siblings that doesn't descend into the realms of the gimmicky or twee. The hotly-tipped brother-sister act Joe Gideon and the Shark played an electric set at Brighton's Freebutt last Wednesday night (apparently their first ever headline gig), proving that it is possible for a band to be talented, hip and related. A definite familial chemistry crackled off the pair as they rocked out the intimate dive venue with their haunting anecdotal country-tinged post-rock epics.
Blessed with the sonorous vocal chords of Johnny Cash and the wistful delivery of Leonard Cohen, Joe's half-sung, half-uttered renditions are toe-curlingly cool. Younger sister Viva, aka "The Shark" (pictured) excels on both percussion and keys (sometimes both at the same time), whilst also twiddling various looping/fx trickery knobs and providing backing vocals. Plying their talents with equal parts precision and abandon, the dramatic duo held the small but appreciative Brighton audience in thrall throughout the set.
A youthfully enthusiastic support band, Ice Black Birds, had got us going with some Jon Spencer Blues Explosion-inspired high-energy blues-rock. Good value photographically, their exuberant stage moves reminded me of that other (excellent) arseless boyish ensemble, Foals. Natural successors to the Brel/Beefheart/Cave tradition of brooding cabaret art-rock, Joe Gideon and the Shark's darker, subtler offering proved the perfect contrast, though no less energetic in its own way. Comparisons with The White Stripes are inevitable, and not entirely unfounded; both bands exude a certain kindred cliqueyness that shines through in their music, both use lo-fi techniques to make big brash rock 'n roll noises. The stand-out track of the night for me was Kathy Ray, the (allegedly) true story of an ageing backing singer, dripping with the sultry deep-South sentiments of Tony Joe White's High Sheriff Of Calhoun Parrishor Bobbie Gentry's Fancy, but with an unexpected psychedelic twist. Spangly, stirring, inspirational stuff.
Joe Gideon and The Shark's Debut Album, Harum Scarumis just released. They'll be back in Brighton for the Great Escape Festival in May - don't miss it!
"I always shit myself at hometown gigs" confessed a cheeky Emiliana Torrini to a packed out audience at last night's Kemp Town live show - part of an epic worldwide tour to promote the new album, Me and Armini. The Icelandic singer-songwriter has lived in Brighton for the last five years and judging by the reaction of the crowd, has endeared herself greatly to the locals in that time. It seemed half of those present were either her personal friends or (as in my case) friends of friends - making for an affectionately generous atmosphere to which she rose with equal warmth and gratitude.
I first discovered Emiliana from reading a review of her 2005 album, Fisherman's Woman, which became one of my most listened to of that year. Since then I've delved eagerly back into her career to Love in the Time of Science, Crouçie d'Où La and Merman, as well as other rarities from her early days in Iceland, but this was the first time I'd seen her play live. It was a treat to do so in the familiar surrounds of my favourite Brighton venue, St George's, inside whose walls I have seen such luminaries as Low, Iron and Wine and Lambchop perform, as well as belting my own lungs out there at Midnight Mass for the past few Christmases. It was the perfect choice for Torrini's raw-silk vocals and poetically intimate lyrics to shine, and shine she most certainly did.
Despite fighting a nasty chest infection, which could occasionally be detected in her speaking voice, Emiliana's hauntingly honeyed vocals remained on top form. A tight backing band propelled her through a compelling hour or so of mostly more recent material from the last two albums, moving easily between an eclectic mix of influences and styles. From the ska-inspired title track of the new album to the more trademark folky ballads like Sunny Road - each song was delivered with polish and conviction. The sweetly bashful between-songs banter revealed an approachable, refreshingly un-starry personality, which was further observed during an uproarious karaoke session at the after show party later that night.
Having been gently unravelled throughout the evening's offerings, I was eventually reduced to sobs by the parting number, Beggar's Prayer - a melancholy ballad which ends: "Mamma said, lift your head from the sieve of your hands. Mamma said eventually this hurting will end." I can distinctly recall my own mother offering such comforting words in times of heartache, and from the number of sleeves being used as tissues on the way out of the venue, it seems I wasn't the only one with whom the song struck a chord.
, the (allegedly) true story of an ageing backing singer, dripping with the sultry deep-South sentiments of Tony Joe White's 
or Bobbie Gentry's 
, but with an unexpected psychedelic twist. Spangly, stirring, inspirational stuff.
is just released. They'll be back in Brighton for the 
. The Icelandic singer-songwriter has lived in Brighton for the last five years and judging by the reaction of the crowd, has endeared herself greatly to the locals in that time. It seemed half of those present were either her personal friends or (as in my case) friends of friends - making for an affectionately generous atmosphere to which she rose with equal warmth and gratitude.
, which became one of my most listened to of that year. Since then I've delved eagerly back into her career to 
, 