Showing posts with label PJ Harvey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PJ Harvey. Show all posts

Friday, 25 October 2013

My Twenty years at the 1992 Reading Festival - Nirvana, PJ Harvey, L7, Shonen Knife, Bjorn Again

My Reading festival diary from 1992, the year Nirvana played their legendary set. A victim of multiple software crashes, latest thanks to the new GMAIL chat/txt editor, and brain fades.  More recent observations notes are in square brackets, italics are from second or third draft in approx. 1995.
I have grown to appreciate Nick Cave more in the intervening years


My Twenty years at the 1992 Reading Festival

These few remaining parts of Capt. Hodgson’s journal were found by the Norwegian rescue team a few weeks after his ill fated attempt to single-handedly conquer one of the most inhospitable music festivals in the world. The slow disintegration of body and mind in the midst of arctic weather and chronic snakebite (surely frostbite - Ed) are fully in evidence here in the first part of the journal which is repeated here as it appears in scrawly black pen on the back of a "Reading Campaign Against Racism and Fascism" leaflet.

' "But its coming from that way now!" A tall blonde Antipodean is trying to manoeuvre his tents entrance away from the direction of the rain.  I feel like grabbing the sad Australian git and shouting "YES ! Welcome to English weather you tanned bastard - AND THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING"

Its just begun to rain at Reading (17.55 - Friday) and as I'm here on my own I thought I'd keep a journal. No Matter what the conditions. I think the John Pilger book I've been reading is getting to me. Vietnam, Cambodia ... Pah ! This is READING and even a gut full of snakebite and a lack of tent pegs isn't going to stop me describing the horror. God. The Horror."

Ironically a major reason for the eventual abandonment of the journal some 36 hours later is the requisitioning of all pens in the tent to hold it down during the gale and torrential rain of Sunday morning. It continues.....

"A man opposite my tent has started hitting a large piece of scrap metal with a hammer. My first impression is that he's building himself a toilet. I haven't been to the toilet yet. I think this is a bad sign."

"I am pretty pissed actually."

"(Maybe he's trying to make Reading campfire music. Is he going to be doing this all night ? At Cambridge (Puffy, fiddly, diddly etc) Festival they play Roger Whitaker songs on acoustic guitars quietly so it doesn't wake the kids up. Here they just hit pieces of scrap metal with hammers. At least it provides a use for the deck chairs."

"And I actually am quite pissed.  Exhausted by the toil of bending all my tent pegs. I realised I needed some more but found the Camp Shop (no - they weren't all dressed as Danny La Rue and I'm glad I didn't mention it) had sold out of everything but Mars bars. (WHY? Would we really be able to get obese enough on confectionary over a weekend to improve the stability of our tents ?). Beer and Programme them" ? 
Increasingly hard to make out
 "Programme cost 4 quid. I don't know where its worth it or not coz I'm still talking to you (I hate writing when I'm drunk). Beer - one thing I respected Reading for last time I went was they way they had a " "Strict" or "Shit" Oz lager tent. Fiddly diddly nearly put Chris off festival puff shithole Cambridge Folk Festival's only alive bit is its Guinness tent - very fucking.." 
unreadable
"+ woobily swelter"
Probably meant to say "Sensible and woolly sweater"

"The guy across from me has just emptied a sweater full of scrap metal into a bin bag"

"Reading Festival had a lager tent. But this year - Nothing ! I THINK - especially from the camp/site car park, that they,re trying to take over from Glastonbury. The beer is all workers beer company. £2 a pint !"

At this point his delirious mind seems to hear the voice of a colleague now sitting at home watching the weather on Ceefax saying "III tooolld yooouu soooo ...."

Gradual improvement in the scrawl would indicate the amount of blood circulating around the snakebite in the brain is on the increase.

"I made a note of the best t-shirts I've seen so far. My favourite at Glastonbury was HIPS, LIPS, TITS, POWER (Silverfish). Most of the t-shirts here are Nirvana ones worn by 15 and 16 years olds. The best of those that aren't are:-
ALTITUDE NOT ATTITUDE
READING FESTIVAL - CULTURAL CHERNOBYL (Manic Street Preachers)
FUCK WOODSTOCK (Therapy ?)
KEEP MUSIC EVIL (Fatima Mansions)

"Interesting comparison No.2- Glastnobury is surrounded by the slopes of a gorgeous West Country valley. The only scenery visible from the main stage here is a tall and quite ugly block of flats." 
A clumsy X has been scrawled after this. This block of flats became the target of much of the shouting during Public Enemy.

"Its lovely to see neckless skinheads on the Hog Roast stall- which someone how seemed to attract customers at Cambridge and Glastonbury- being treated like the KKK here." 
During Saturday night when the Ice Age descended the piles of rubbish and discarded Workers Beer Company paper pint pots were collected together by Reading Man to form primeval bonfires.
 "What da fuck is dat ? Da KKK ? Put dat shit out !" said Chuck D  (thankfully shielded from the sight of the Hog Roast boys by a speaker stack) in a very Public Enemy idiom.

"I'm writing this in my tent on bits of paper. Nowhere sells notebooks. I asked a guy at a Workers Beer Comp bar where to get paper from and he thought I meant Rizlas. No amount of talking to this man could convince him that I actually wanted a notepad. I wanted RIZLA's and I was too embarrassed or paranoid to admit it."

"I must unpack now and digest the sight of the main area about 3 hours into Day 1. When I was last at Reading it was a sunny day and the clientelle and setting reminded me of Bartertown from Mad Max 3. You just knew Tina Turner would have gone down a storm. Today under broiling black clouds (normally only seen in Spielberg films) and the occasional bright blue sky the mindless, doomed, stumbling hordes look like characters from the end of Moorcocks "Stormbringer", as the forces of law and chaos square up for the battle that will bring about Ragnarok. In essence much like Donnington (Monsters of Rock) but with more O levels and less denim and acne. PiL are on soon. Must now unpack"

The journal continues on the back of a "Youth Against Racism in Europe" leaflet. He has just entered the main site and the snakebite has been topped up with real ale. Evidence of feeling sorry for himself. The attempts at Hunter S. Thompson now seem more like Thompson Local.

"This is a moment in time. Years from now grunge metal and Nirvana will be history and I'll be at Donnington or .... "

A totally unreadable word.
He wanders over to the main stage and begins to gaze at the startlingly intelligent and clean looking brunette on stage with the guitar. Is she at the wrong festival ?

"Spooky ! I asked three times at a club this week"   (Dizneyland) Actually night before last, what a rock and roller ! "I asked about 3 times who does a song they kept playing called Sheena-na-Gig. Its the first thing I hear when I turn up ! PJ Harvey ! And its the last song of the set..."

"The PiL clientelle are arriving" Lots of mean looking bastards kicking Utah Saints fans out of the way on the way to the stage. "PiL start by doing a Led Zeppelin tune I Know they are taking the piss. Some of the crowd don't and they are swaying admiringly to the music as Johnny leers at them. "England gone soft" he shouts - the first of many jibes at the crowd. I'd like to see him at the front row of a Godfathers concert. He lives in fucking Hollywood. He pulls a moonie, showing a big middle aged bum. He's suffering from chronic Townsend Syndrome"

"The crowd if front of him are now shouting "Johnny is a Wanker".
"So I'm a wanker" he says loving the abuse "I'm proud of it. The trouble with you youngsters is you're afraid of you're own sex tools"
A couple of actually pretty good songs later he's got the crowd and me on his side. "There's aren't many good things left from this country - And I'm one of 'em" A moment later he adds "Not bad for an Irishman" as if he's having trouble taking himself seriously these days. Q says Johnny Rotten/Lydon is not so much a singer as a music hall comedian. You can see why. Just to be nice they overrun by half an hour to play EMI- an old Sex Pistols song. This is good. And funny. Because it means the Wonderstuff, who are on last, are going to have their set cut short. He he he. 1 - Nil to the oldies."

Suddenly the young trendies equalise with The Charlatans. Millions of school girls in baggy t-shirts appear out of nowhere. I feel like an alien so I leave.

Unfortunately none of the food stalls are specialising in non-terrestrial …

<no idea what I’m talking about here. I was, and am knocked out by the food at Glastonbury and it always one of the highlights>

…so he makes do with some scrumpy and oggles for a suspiciously long time at the poster stall. This fact coupled with bizarre hippy bullshit about "The setting sun making the edges of the storm clouds glow gold" could possibly indicate Capt. Hodgson had been hitting the morphine quite hard. A final admission that "Frank Sidebottom - V. Funny" would seem to confirm this.

Here our on the spot commentary ends - the remaining pages lost in the apocalypse that also ended the journal and should have been a decent English Sunday morning. Later - under hypnosis to avoid further trauma, Capt. Hodgson would recall the rest from memory

Mmmm... Saturday. I did make a mental note that whatever instruments the Smashing Pumkins were using were of excellent quality. Try as hard as they might they just could not smash them up at the end of the set. As well as John Peels Full Results Service the real highlight of the day was Shonen Knife. Cute oriental schoolgirls playing aparenlty innocent nursery rhymes in the manner of The Clash.
"This song..." said the lead singer from a mouth in which butter would not melt as if talking to a class of 4 year olds "..is about a cat" Before launching into a song more Black Sabbath than childrens tv she sneaks a cheaky "Meeoow" into the mike prompting a WAAAARRRRGHH !!! from the seething horde of salivating greebos.

Sunday morning is really beyond description. Maybe I should read some WWI poetry. Imagine waking up in a gale in a badly secured tent and realising you're sharing the Somme with 30,000 irresponsible grebos and crusties with toilet training even worse than you're own. Also the men on the Somme hadn't been drinking snakebite for days.

Hours later, about 30 minutes before the first band of Sunday was to go on the rain had stopped and we all trudged up through the ankle deep mud toward the entrance to the main sight. I didn't know weather we were going to enter it or surrender to it. It was then I met a friends who I found disgustingly chirpy and clean - who had just arrived for one day with some of his friends. "You mean.." said a girl "You've been HERE for 2 DAYS ?"

Three pints of snakebite later it was raining again but I felt much better. The day really got swinging when Bjorn Again came on. We made our way to the front and in the sweat hot crush and ankle deep mud we wished we were wearing platform shoes as we pogoed ourselves deeper into the mire. It was a wonderful atmosphere, like Tom Jones at Glastonbury. No macho crap. Mass frenzied silliness. Made all the more funny by the way everybody new the words to all the songs and sometimes our singing seemed to drown out the band. It seemed hardly out a place that a man stood next to me wearing a mud caked wedding dress. During "Take a Chance on Me" he got me to give him a leg up - something I immediately regretted as soon he began to suck his foot out of the mud. My hands after this were enough to make the girl next to me shriek.

We got very muddy. Though not as muddy as some of the other bands that day (mostly Seattle type stuff - what others would call Sub Pop grunge crap) notably L7, who turned from Girlies with an Atitood to girlies with genuine bad moods under a constant (but basically good natured) barrage of mud from the crowd.

<I distinctly remember a guy directly in front of me thowing mud at the L7 bassist who seemed to think it was me. I was quite embarrassed about it. She stormed off and then back on to throw something back before continuing. Next week found out from Select magazine that someone from L7 had thrown her tampon at people in the crowd. It’s possible general embarrassment at this incident stopped me mentioning it the first time>

Other than PJ Harvey and Shonen Knife (all girlies) the only other band who came on who weren't pretending to have an Atitood were Nirvana. Huddling in the cold around a burning pile of rubbish waiting for fucking Nick miserable twat Cave to get off the collection of bikers I was with was taking bets on whether Nirvana would turn up at all, such was the level of rumour about the lead singers state of health.

<At some point I detached myself from the others. I thought they were so fed up they were about to leave. Sentiment was generally very anti-Nirvana and response to Cobain's health rumours was “I hope he’s dead”. We were all in agreement on Nick Cave though now I would probably have enjoyed it..
…Just forward to 1997, a Stag Night at the Hogs Head in St. Albans, the news that Kurt Cobain has shot himself is the start to the evening and the general response is
“Good!”
and
 “Who?”
Only seeing a semi conscious soon to be groom in a shopping trolley travelling down the old railway line later would save that evening for me>

Then Nirvana came on. In response to rumours that the Mr Cobain was at deaths door a nurse pushed him on in a wheel chair, while Mr Novoselic made a Dr. Kildare speech thanking doctors and family for their support. They were taking the piss. They didn't play "Teen Spirit" (Bjorn Again had done their own version earlier). Asked us to say hello to the lead singers new baby, we sang happy birthday to the bassists Grandma (who thankful was safe at home in - wait for it - Bosnia), and told crap jokes while they were re-tuning guitars. I mean - obviously they smashed all their instruments up at the end - OBVIOUSLY but you got the feeling its coz they were having a laugh rather than making a statement.

Towards the end of the last song each member of the band began to do their own thing. Lead singer sat at the front showing the crowd experimental guitar, the bassist wondered off in search a fire extinguisher and the drummer began standing his drums on top of the amps. He then used a symbol as a frisbee to knock them off. Eventually the fire extinguisher arrived and the band escaped through their surreal musicscape covered by clouds of carbon dioxide that glowed bright white in the lights.

Music was pretty good too.

*** ALL THE  IMAGES ARE RIPPED OFF ***

2013 notes
  • I was a huge Nirvana fan before after and since. I played it down then as virtually everyone I knew hated the band, but at the time I placed that Sunday night in my top three live performances I'd ever seen.
  • The crowd singing is often mentioned during 'Lithium' - it reached a climax during that song but everyone around me (and I was about 20ft in front of stage) was singing loudly to everything we knew the words to right from the off! Perhaps a collective and climactic bonding experience after three days of weather misery, I've experienced similar at Glastonbury.
  • Wow those jokes were bad :-)
  • They did play Teen Spirit apparently. When I finally caught up with the Nirvana Live At Reading DVD I remembered previously unheard The Money Will Roll Right In and D7 were highlights that ended the set very strongly
  • The fact that Nirvana insisted on the insane lineup for the Sunday - Shonen Knife, L7, Bjorn Again etc - because they didn't want 'lame' British bands (this would have been Britpop) makes it one of the first ATP like events, were performers are asked to curate the festival.

Friday, 15 March 2013

At last ... The Next Day.... (David Bowie)

What you need to know - David Bowie's The Next Day really is his best since Scary Monsters and, unlike Heathen and the other albums since his classic era you'll know this immediately at first listen. It's certainly the catchiest album I've heard for ages, possibly since Yeah Yeah Yeah's It's Blitz!  Right now after third listen I've three or four tunes buzzing in my head, Stars, Valentine, Boss of Me, How Does The Grass Grow.. I've even finally appreciated the almost Vangelis Blade Runner synths in Where Are We Now


God .. The guitar on The Stars are Out sounds like the best guitar I've heard on anything in years. It helps that it comes with a brilliant Lynchian music promo.Valentine's Day could have come right off Hunky Dory, followed by If You Can See Me, which brings us right back to 2013 with a bang.

(just looking through the track list now I have another tune from The Next Day - Dancing out of Space - in my head despite listening to different stuff all of yesterday)

It's all lyrically very dark. I'd Rather Be High and How Does The Grass Grow feature anti-war  lyrics that could have come off PJ Harvey's Let England Shake

As for the help, I thought the guitar (Earl Slick?) on The Stars Are Out was Pete Townsend guesting.. and Gail Ann Dorsey.. I think I remember falling madly in love with her and her Ken Russellesque outfit at Pheonix Festival in 1996. Great to see she is still on board and I might check out some of her solo stuff (as I'm a big fan of another bassist gone solo - Melissa Auf Der Maur)

Slight suspicion Bowie has given up here trying to be groundbreaking and is rehashing rather but much as I like Heathen and Reality they did sound empty and bereft at first listen, certainly in comparison with the new one.


Full Bowie disclosure

I'm yet another Bowie nut. I was exposed at college, when Bowie was at his creative nadir in the mid-80s, by future novelist Jaine Fenn (new novel Queen of Nowhere just out) 

Jaine was desperate to stop my painful tirades about the hideously over hyped, over trendy  British pop movie Absolute Beginners, which embarrassing mid-80s mainstream pop Bowie found himself a part of. (Bowie is of course known for creating stage persona's like Ziggy Stardust and The Thin White Duke. His persona in the Absolute Beginners/Let's Dance/Tonight/Never Let Me Down era was The Shameless Douchebag)

So mid 80s I was skeptical ....but first fell for the guitars in Man Who Sold The the World and then simultaneously fell for everything in that classic era. It's a great buzz, really getting into a musical artist and realising that that have an entire decade of brilliant work, in different flavoured eras, to enjoy. Like an audio version of five Christmases at once. This culminated in a deep synchronic bond with Scary Monsters and Super Creeps just as I discovered the neo noir of William Gibson and cyberpunk. I only recently discovered that that incredible guitar howl that opens that album is courtesy of Robert Fripp. King Crimson was my old music discovery of 2009.

So in light of his current output at the time - the Bowie narrative then (in the mid-late 80s) was more tragedy, the brilliant super cool musician reduced to cringing awful mainstream music videos with a similarly bereft Mick Jagger. It was depressing but I was primed to be positive to any subsequent releases from Bowie, and, further spiked by the discovery of Iggy Pop (via the opening titles to Repo Man) I found out Bowie was making a come back with Iggy's guitar heavy backing band...

..what I'm avoiding saying is that I've been a passionate defender of the critically reviled Tin Machine for decades..  (I am a habitual defender of lost causes ... coming soon to this blog - Quantum of Solace is better than Skyfall). Tin Machine might well be awful to most ears but it is the screeching sound of an artist jamming on the brakes and trying to turn a corner before a career ending collision. Tin Machine is Bowie's Kid A, (he just left the left turn a lot later than Radiohead), and The Next Day to me completely validates his decision to throw out his day-glo pop era and temporarily start a (very good BTW) metal band.

Of his albums since I'll also defend the Brian Eno produced Outside from a slightly more secure defensive position. Songs from Outside appeared in three classic movies of that era - Se7en, Lost Highway and Starship Troopers (but such was Bowie's lack of credibility at the time the 'edge' in Outside seemed to be credited to Trent Reznor). Interestingly looked at now the scifi themes of Outside is Bowie trying to overtly jump on the cyberpunk bandwagon late, when he seemed to have helped kicked it off in the first place with Scary Monsters.

To digress, it fascinates me that William Gibson is the only author I know to rip themes visuals and moods from movies and music. As the more mature medium this usually happens in reverse, with sci-fi movies reliably 20 years behind their written inspiration. It's an incredible tribute to to the visuals in Blade Runner that they were a direct inspirations to a ground breaking classic novel that appeared AFTER (Neuromancer - the reason I work in IT)

Black Tie White Noise makes a lot more sense when you find it was written as music  for his wedding (and congrats on that BTW, obviously a smart move, Iman must be a lovely gal, though I struggle to imagine her in the kitchen). Prompted by the first single from The Next Day I revisited Heathen which I had hated on first listen but seemed to be one of my few positives in the endless winter of London 2012-13. This blog post was to have said something like "I seem to be perpetually ten years behind Bowie" but it seems the accessibility of The Next Day has broken that theory.

One thing he has very sensibly done is movie back out of the media limelight. In the hideous Absolute Beginners/Let's Dance/Tonight era you could not turn on a tv or a radio without hearing his voice and the brutally funny caricatures of him that appeared from Stella Street and The Adam and Joe Show (all fans I'm sure) are a direct result of this. Mick & Keith take note.

So David, you are back! Hurrah!... but please stay out of the limelight and keep reclusive for at least another ten years. Let the current generation of music journos continue to wank out their careers over Morrissey - they've been dancing on your grave for decades.

Sunday, 18 March 2012

The Lukins.. The Water Rats...

Damn near perfect day yesterday, bit of blogging, bit of great computer game, lots of great book (Zero History now near un-putdownable, not had that with a WG since Neuromancer)

Rounded off with a trip up the road to a pub Rich recommends called The Water Rats, which seems to be the Intrepid Fox of the 1950s interior wise. Apparently Teddy Boys used to hide razors in the rim of their hats and do people across the face You can really see that happening in there..

Anyway.. the middle band on was The Lukins, who I'm delighted to find were from Plymouth and I must look out for them (sorry about blurry photo). Generally great poppy metal I thought was more "the new Garbage" than "QOTST molested by Blondie" on their myspace page.. until their last song which opened up like vintage Paranoid era Sabbath. Aside from being generally all round competent and like able they showed off some great songs, the only dud was actually a cover, a metal version of Cliff Richards Wired For Sound which you have to give them at least balls for trying.

They actually played the audience as well, a very underrated skill in band terms.

This was highlighted by the next band, Carlito (from Kingston), who I think in terms of musicianship were way ahead of the Lukins but got into an instant sulk at the small crowd in the Water Rats and hid their mood very badly. Perhaps too much fizzy pop beforehand. Britpop in fred perry shirts turned up to 11 is never going to be my thing but they could have won me over if they'd shown half of the humility of The Lukins. This might be a consequence of playing to audiences in the South West of course..


To follow on my blog from yesterday on the way London is going, I'll refer you to two albums about London both featuring the same songwriter, one written in 1994, one in 2007, with sharply different moods.

For all the mindless excess suggested in Parklife it is a mostly fun experience, suggesting the freedom and opportunity (seemingly) available in London in the mid 90s.

In stark contrast, The Good The Bad and The Queen, released supposedly at the peak of the Naughty Noughties just before the crash, is full of Dickensian squalor and doom. I wonder it it influenced PJ Harvey's Let England Shake, both seem to draw a parallel to the Britain of a century ago.

We should probably all be in Plym with The Lukins....



Wednesday, 14 September 2011

I'LL BE YOUR MIRROR, Alexandra Palace, July 2011

See
Picasa picture album

Nearly three weeks into serious London contract I finally got a copy of Time Out .. and not for the first time was buying tickets before I fully new what I was doing, 

ILL BE YOUR MIRROR is the first of a London reflection of ALL TOMORROWS PARTIES, the alternative music version of Glastonbury Festival (remember when that was Glastonbury itself?). I've always meant to go to an ATP event but never got around to it.

I was as blown away by the venue as much as I was by the lineup. For those exposed to the coolness of Luther Arkwright, it was as if Bryan Talbot redesigned Glastonbury for a paralell Imperial Britain 2011.


I would pay 20 quid just to get this much access to Alexandra Palace, the north London counterpart to the long lost Victorian Disneyworld that was Crystal Palace. Ally Pally, (as nicknamed by Gracie Fields) was used as a BBC studio studio for first tv broadcasts (Quatermass was filmed live here) and used for crowd scenes in the movie adaptation of 1984.  I've been here before, it is used as exhibition space and is a great venue for the London Bike show inh freezing Jan-Feb every year.

We had the run of most of this, a fabulous piece of large scale Victoriana, incredible setting for a music venue and strange for summer as it could work even better in mid-winter <surely better than Minehead Butlins, the usual venue in the west for ATP>

The amount of wide open space was staggering, with the attendance probably limited by the local transport infrastruture,(the tiny nearby tube station) rather than the size of the venue itself. For those struugling with the vast penned in mobs at the major festivals this place is a very sureall dream. Drinking mojitos in a leather armchair with a vast glass and ironwork ceiling far above is not part of my usual Festival experience. In the Panorama room there is even enough room to have an area dedicated to previous music events at Alexandra Palace.

Music early on looked pretty challenging so I avoided it.
Having staggered around taking picture for the first hour or so I found myself in the cinema room, a tall anti-room of drapes and classical statutes showing the John Ford classic Western,The Searchers. ATP events are typically curated by the headline act so this would have been a Portishead choice, and a good one if you know westerns, The Searchers covers racism and the Indian war with a sophistication way beyond that of the average John  Wayne film.

The next film, Treasures of Long Gone John, was a typically eclectic art documentary by way of Bristol tastes, in that it was fascinatging and seriously lacking in the pretension you might find throughout London art subjects.

To follow the  Bryan Talbot steampunk theme, the latest PJ Harvey sound could be mistaken for a Bryan Talbot soundtrack in it's folky yet cynical steam punk. She could be playing Womad or Download with it, it's so unlike anything else I can think of. (More Peej raving can be found in my previous post).

PJ Harvey's new look is kind of the daughter of David Warner's character in The Time Bandits. She was Evil's spawn, mocking Englands military record with slicked up and out alien queen hair, cenobite dress design and playing a lyre or some other form of twisted wind (or maybe winged) instrument.
Pic ripped off from http://www.peterjbutlerphotography.co.uk/2011/07/25/photos-atp-ill-be-your-mirror-curated-by-portishead-atp/


It was a stunning setting for Let England Shake. Even late in the day light was streaming through the huge victrian iron glasswork above and through the vast stained glass window at the rear of the main hall. She did a smattering of old stuff but nothing I thought older than Stories From The City. I was a big fan of Polly's initial 'angry vagina' music, but lost interest in the mid 90s when she, as a Yeovil native, came out on the side of the Countryside Alliance in the field sports debate. The set included lots of stuff from the new album and it is very rare that new material is preferred by the audience so much over old. Her band, John Parish and co, got a massive reception and require further investigation. 

After a further explore I was able to witness Portishead materialising on stage to play their set.
To finish off my rant from previous posting (M-Shed), right now Bristol is a creative hub in the way that Manhattan was pre gentrification and London is now only in the East. Bristol a scaggy alternative mess that throws out creativity like the big bang with an amusing accent. Real art comes from edgy places not from cozy museums.

Going back to the band, likely the main reason the Festival was happening at all, I thought I'd seen Portishead in the past but I'm probably getting mixed up with Goblin, who I saw at  the Scala two years ago (Ill post that review, my return to the Scala) up here at some point.

Within about two minutes I'd realised I'd not seen Portishead before.

Even live they are like nothing else at all, broadcasting live from a phantom zone of pure damnation from where they have been banished  for millenia, since before the big bang. They have always been out there playing their live set and always will be.

When the band came on the video backdrop wasn't the direct live video feed you might see at with a normal band or music festival but but their live feed distorted with doomed black and white feedback video, producing a performance discovered by long lost members of the BBC radiophonic workshop. It was a live performance which seemingly has haunted old tv studios for the last 40 years.

Most of the material seemed to be from the third album (influenced by  80s soundtracks <hense Golbin has recently reformed>) and very roundly received by a very young crowd.

Actual highlights for me were the songs from the self titled second album. Whatever part of Hell the material from Portishead by Portishead came from, it must be a postcode that even the devil tries to avoid. Check out the amusingly skeletal wiki entry Portishead | PortisheadThe first album, Dummy, now sounds like Amy Winehouse in comparison.

Portishead | Portishead.
The title itself is a doom laden feedback loop :-)

Emphasising their cold otherworldly isolation the the video backdrop before the band came on was the BBC 70s test card. As if it wasn't wierd enough for me the girl in the vintage BBC test card always reminds me of my sister.

I left early because I didn't think Ally Pally could handle a mass festival exit. The perfection of the place as a festival venue was so total I was expecting a disaster somewhere, and I judged that would likely be in the after hours transport links, Alexandra Park tube station being barely big enough fo 30 people. I was also aware that I had to be working the next day (Sunday) on the UK Department of Energy Smart Meter specification.

To Sulveg, the Oslo archeologist, if you are ever reading this I hope I brightened up a pretty depressing Saturday...

Mojito bar sadly missed in 2013 

Thursday, 8 September 2011

History Rhymes : PJ Harvey and 9/11

At the end of my blog on the riots (Schools Out For Summer) I jokingly suggested Ghost Town by The Specials would be the hit song of the moment as it was during the 80s riots.

Now it's September, with the ten year anniversary of 9/11 approaching, and after last nights Mercury Music Prize we now know what the sound of the moment will be. It's PJ Harvey's amazing Let England Shake.

As the first artist to win the award twice, she admits she is especially proud as exactly ten years ago she was prevented from picking up the award in person for Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea as, among other things, she was staring at a burning Pentagon through a hotel window.

"History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme." said Mark Twain

Ten years ago this Sunday I was watching 9/11 from news websites slowly freezing into shock in an office in Barnstaple. Working on technical support for the newly Peter Goode-less Castlelinks Ltd we had hardly a moment to check news websites, but as the younger tech types slowly got more insistent I paid more attention.

Those buildings are going to collapse? Give over! New York, a city surrounded by about 5 busy airports, is going to have the modern skyscraper that would collapse if hit by one plane? Don't be ridiculous.
Oh.
oh.

Ten years ago next Monday I listened again to the new winner of the 2001 Mercury music prize, PJ Harvey for Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea, and was shaken to the the core at how prophetic it seemed. An album written in and about New York months before 9/11 seemed to predict events in the same city only a few months later.

Sample lyrics from Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea

"Look out ahead I see danger come
I wanna' pistol I wanna' gun
I'm scared baby I wanna' run
This world's crazy Give me the gun"
(Big Exit)

T"hrew my bad fortune Of the top of A tall building "
(Good Fortune)

"How could that happen? How could that happen again?
Where the fuck was I looking When all his horses came in?
And he built an army Of kamikaze
Ten thousand willing Pilots flying Interfacing Space and beyond
Built an army To come and find me"
(Kamikaze)

 And afterwards living in my lonely cottage in Kentisbury I caught some of the fever that would overtake the U.S. I rang my friend Mike and predicted what  would happen next. "if they finally sort out Saddam and the Taliban it can be a good thing" I said, meaning that the world could finally end up respecting he United Nations, after Rwanda, Srebrenica and the humiliation of the UN weapons inspectors in Iraq.

What I (and evidently the entire Blair government) didn't realise then was that the new Bush/Cheney Presidency would do more to undermine the UN than the Taliban or Saddam could even dream of. If the U.N. was a sad disappointment in 2000, it really is a sad joke now.

"Let me take my problem to the United Nations!"

This is a bitter and climactic lyric from PJ Harvey's latest album, Let England Shake, which last night won the Mercury Music prize exactly ten years since she won for Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea.

I'm already worried about her album for 2021.

I saw PJ Harvey live only six weeks ago at the I'll Be Your Mirror Festival in London. Report plus link to photo album will follow in next post on this blog.