A blindness that touches perfection

The Gloucester Guildhall, in its wisdom, hosted a showing of the Ian Curtis biopic, Control last Saturday and, despite a sorry inability to locate a long bottle-green raincoat, I attended with S and A2. I suppose I know the Joy Division story well. As a young man, weight on shoulders, I embraced this remarkable combo’s dark and compelling sounds with wholehearted vim. I possess countless books about the group and, naturally, all the recordings. I even own a book of Joy Division lyrics in Italian translation format which I believe I purchased in Berlin in 1989. You can’t pick that up in ASDA. The feature film was compelling and interesting nonetheless; after all, this is a tale where you don’t need to avoid spoilers. I confess the suicide element, although tragic and worthy of a hundred ‘what if?’ conversations, takes second place to the music. I appreciated the grainy reconstruction of backroom gigs and grubby backstage environs and the portrayal of the rather haphazard manner in which a band that created some of the most searingly beautiful soundscapes of the last century was marketed and managed was fascinating too. The film highlighted the ordinariness of the Joy Division fellows cleverly: the bonhomie, laddishness, youth and unpretentious wide-eyed enthusiasm of Curtis, Hook, Morris and Sumner is clearly demonstrated. They wrote Decades though. And The Eternal. And New Dawn Fades. And Atmosphere. Here is the incredible story for me. The film was marvellous and fascinating but if you really require an insight into the art and genius of four down to earth blokes from the north-west, give yourself a spare hour or two and listen to Unknown Pleasures and Closer and the three main singles, Transmission, Love Will Tear Us Apart and Atmosphere. Joy Division make art. This is an essential group. This is an essential group.

This is the winter of your mind

Gloucester 27 – Harlequins 25

Here was the proverbial ‘game o’ two halves’. A rude awakening awaited those expecting the might of the city club to overcome a visiting Harlequin FC with ease and pomp. The first thirty minutes saw the visitors pounce four times for beautifully taken tries and, with the stylish young back Strettle seemingly cantering through a troubled defence at will, an embarrassing and shocking defeat seemed on the cards. A well-taken reply from the volcanic behemoth, Vainikolo and a brace of penalties from the assured Paterson took the Cherries in for the half-time orange segments, a flattering 25-13 down.

The second half proved an emotional event. A key substitution brought the abrasive Azam on for Titterrell and the rugged Frenchman, not for the first time, brought steel, passion and go-forward fervour to his beloved team. Terrific tidal waves of surging forward attacks brought Gloucester into key areas of the pitch and, importantly, the home players were starting to hog possession with a rare gluttony. Local lips were licked lasciviously. With the Harlequin fellows struggling to stem the tide, the penalty count rose quicker than something that rises very quickly and, unsurprisingly a brace of London types were dispatched to the bin marked ‘sin’. Pressure told and a joyous Michael ‘Mike’ Tindall and the volcanic behemoth both crossed to general delirium. Both tries were converted and, despite scares, the 27-25 scoreline remained thus for the remainder of the match

This was not a lucky win but a few newish players were assimilated into the fifteen which produced a fairly disjointed and messy first forty minutes. If this was a gamble, it was a gamble that worked. The likes of Delve, Cooper and Paterson will have benefited from the experience and the squad, as a unit, will certainly improve. The impact of Delve, a ball carrying brute, became increasingly visible as the afternoon progressed. My man o’ the match gong would probably be conceptually presented to the young full-back Morgan, safe under the high ball, defensively sure and a handful in attack with his elegant heads-up galloping keenness. I salute him.

Harold Wilson

The coveted Uprock Narratives and Unknown Pleasures album of the year award is still up for grabs. There is both a shortlist and a front runner but it could all change. A month and a half is a long time in popular music. The world’s music scene holds its breath. It’s my birthday next month and I’m requesting albums that were released this year as presents. There might just be time for one of these long players to oust Artist X from the lofty position he/she/they hold in my affections. Gosh, all this secrecy. For the record, I’m asking for, inter alia, Untrue by Burial, Runout Groove by The Lilac Time, The Bairns by Rachel Unthank and The Winterset, From Here We Go Sublime by Field and And Their Refinement Of Their Decline by Stars of the Lid. I'm naturally giddy with excitement.

Realm of Dusk

Gloucester 26 – Ospreys 18

This was a great occasion. As always, the floodlights heightened the thrills and spills and the vivid Technicolor spectacle was never less than pulsating and compelling. Two splendid teams battled for victoire. The glory boys of Ospreys looked the part, thoroughbreds galore, all fake tan and fanciness, throwing the ball about with pace and pomp and verve and commanding the opening exchanges. This punter was not alone in believing the match was slipping away from the mighty Gloucester after the first twenty minutes when a mixture of careless play and effervescent ebullience from the opposition saw the Welsh fellows take a deserved lead. Doggedness, desire and determination rather than any tangible splendour from the city kept the lead pegged back to a respectable three points at the interval. It was all to play for though and the sin-binning of a Welshman at the whistle proffered hopes to the cherry ‘n’ white hordes.

The second half proved a magnificent event. Within seconds of the restart, coltish prodigy Anthony Allen emerged from nowhere, burst through the midfield, pinned back his organs of hearing and careered with pleasing promptness under the sticks. The famed old stadium erupted. Advantage Gloucester. A further touch down from Simpson-Daniel, il principe giovane, after a tremendous leg race with the playboy Henson, gave Gloucester hope but further twists and turns kept the entranced spectators on edge until the final whistle. Gleeful back play warms the heart certainly, but the old ghosts that rattle round the historic arena will have appreciated the attritional final five minutes when the home eight fixed bayonets and contrived phase after phase of close-quarters rugby football. The crowd bayed, the clock crept towards no-side and the lads cannily and merrily frustrated their opposite numbers. Victory!

I salute the Gloucester players but, in particular, congratulate young Luke Narraway on a mature and dynamic performance with the legendary ‘8’ shirt on his back. I like the way the unselfish and uncompromising workhorses Buxton and Strokosch roll their sleeves up and graft for the outfit too. Quietly and intelligently, young Strokosch is becoming a very important member of the squad. The backs combined reasonably well last evening and took the chances keenly when they emerged. The volcanic behemoth Vainikolo enjoyed a decent home debut and was a busy and dangerous entity without really threatening the tryline. Paterson’s twenty-five minutes on the park, controlling and closing the game with intelligent kicking and nippy running and passing, was fabulous and, hopefully, a satisfactory augury for future success. Hurrah.

Bass and Drum

Bleep.com is a smart website. It used to be the place where you could purchase and download tracks and albums from Warp artists (Boards of Canada, Autechre, Broadcast etc.) but now there are scores of independent labels that you can browse and buy songs from. I love its clever design; it’s a cool place. Trunk Records is there as well as the doughty Bella Union, Domino and Rough Trade. You can play whole tracks but the sounds fade out after each thirty seconds and you have to quickly press ‘pause’ then ‘play’ in order to fade the sound up. If you have a look, you’ll see what I mean. This is a startling confession for a gentleman of my advanced years but I was lurking there seeking out a bit of Dubstep. I’m intrigued by this genre which fuses electronica, dub bass riddims and urban edge. I'm keen to investigate.

With a childlike vision leaping into view...

It was remarkable to watch the football (the rugby union code, bien sur) on Friday night via a telecast from Belfast. Incredibly, in its first Heineken Cup match of the season, the city club of Gloucester not only defeated the Ulster province – a whole province! – but contrived to play such bewitching sport that the bonus point for attaining four tries was obtained after approximately a mere fifteen and one half seconds, an amazing feat in this day and age. The tries came mainly from deep. The youthful Lamb pulled the strings well at ten and the behemoth Vainikolo, the young prince Simpson-Daniel, Michael ‘Mike’ Tindall and the elegant Balshaw all benefited from some thrilling passin’ and runnin’ and catchin’. To be fair, Ulster, despite being a whole province, were poor and a sterner test shall come next Friday when a star-studded Ospreys outfit visits Kingsholm Stadium. Ospreys are my tip to win the whole blessed tourney. My man of the match was the yeoman Buxton who was everywhere, putting in the tackles, carrying unselfishly into the heart of the opposition and generally contributing to a forward effort that gave the city club’s half backs an armchair ride. I salute this effort but exhort my heroes to refrain from relaxing yet. The Welsh warriors will be seeking a victory this coming Friday.

Cut my swaith and spread my fear

Six of the Best – The Go-Betweens

Thanks to a cassette tape (remember them?) found under the bed, I’ve been playing lots of Go-Betweens this week. The tape features the wonderful Spring Hill Fair album on one side and the sublime but slightly more orchestral (there’s strings and woodwind and stuff on it) 16 Lovers Lane. I made the tape myself from the vinyl copies I own; when I started my degree course in merry Sheffield I didn’t want to lug all my albums up north so created tons of tapes with my favourites on. A strong case could be made for the Go-Betweens being the best blinking band ever. Certainly, using the formula that multiplies a combo’s critical acclaim by its inability to trouble the mainstream, the Australian band would score massively. My favourite Go-Betweens period would probably be the sort-of mid-1980s and the uplifting hat trick of long players, Spring Hill Fair (1984), Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express (1986) and Tallulah (1987). 16 Lovers Lane came out in 1989 and, although I really like its array of marvellous songs, there is a sense that it’s a touch too polished and over-produced. The band produced two earlier albums and, after a break of several years, three more corkers. If an inquisitive punter wanted to buy a Go-Betweens album as an introduction, not one of their recordings would disappoint. However, at the moment I can’t really believe how incredible Spring Hill Fair is. As sadly documented on these pages, the great songwriting partnership of Grant McLennan and Robert Forster came to an end last year when McLennan passed away suddenly and tragically. Luckily S and I managed to catch the pair at the Birmingham Academy not long before the awful event. It was a superb evening.

Look, I’m copying A’s idea here a bit. I’ve made a little Go-Betweens compilation and you can download it by clicking here and peeking at the bottom of the page. There are only six tracks. I don’t want to put people off. The tracks are zipped so, if you haven’t already, you’ll probably need to download WinRar. You can do that here. It’s easy.

The songs are:

Part Company (Spring Hill Fair)

Apology Accepted (Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express)

Bye Bye Pride (Talullah)

Streets Of Your Town (16 Lovers Lane)

Darlinghurst Nights (Oceans Apart)

The Statue (Oceans Apart)

Part Company and Apology Accepted are, as the titles suggest, rather lovelorn numbers, full of angst and introspection. They are both evocative and lovely songs. Bye Bye Pride is possibly my favourite Go-Betweens track with some haunting cor anglais underpinning a beautiful melody and complementing some gorgeous poetic imagery. Streets Of Your Town is a slice of social realism, on first listen a lightweight pop gem but, on further spins, darker ideas lurk. Darlinghurst Nights is a nostalgic look back at youth and is full of tangible charm; I know that dear S adores this ditty. The Statue is a really sweet and tuneful Grant McLennan song from the band’s last album. Enjoy.

I'll take the tracks down if anyone is unhappy with this scheme.

Pica Pica

Like a nervous apprentice handling a heady and dangerous elixir, I have treated the new Radiohead album, In Rainbows, with utmost care, not playing it to death, choosing my moments to sample it thoughtfully and gradually getting to grips with its multi-layered, multi-textured bewitching bewilderment. I’m getting there now. The reviews have been marvellous and I am thankful to report that there is a tangible link to Kid A, the Oxfordshire beat combo’s most complex and rewarding work. House of Cards reminds this punter of Goin’ Back by The Byrds; this is a good thing. I commend this album to the house.

I admire what the affable A has done on his site. He has lovingly created a dainty compilation of some of his old favourites and rendered said selection available for download. I’m listening to it now with an earnest expression on my face. I consider myself a keen reggae fan but I admit the artist known as Scientist (not his real name I fancy) has always passed me by so I’m glad to have the chance to hear one of his creations and, lo!, it is a bass-heavy delight. Like an evil and calculating pop magpie, I’m keen to do something similar on this site and as soon as I work out how to share music files via the World Weary Web, I’ll post up some tunes and riddims of my own choice. I might call mine ‘Six of the Best’ but I’m not sure yet.

Film

I awoke, coughing and wheezing, this morning at about one of the clock and for the life of me could not return to meaningful slumber. I ventured downstairs and became hooked on a film I’d never heard of before that was a-showing on the Film 4 network. The moving picture was named The Low Down, a British feature from 2000 that tells the tale of Frank, an artist in his late 20s who lives in Bohemian semi-squalor in a London flatshare in a dodgy part of the capital. The film focuses on his relationships with a new girlfriend and his two colleagues who work with him constructing props for TV shows. To be honest, not a lot happens. The style is almost documentary and fly-on-the-wall but the dialogue, while understated, is beautifully and wittily observed. There’s a bit of tension at work between the trio and the plot examines this as well as how the young lady gently coerces Frank to subtly change his life and better his surroundings. There are no massive set pieces or dramatic denouements, no stunts or jaw-dropping action scenes and I sense that is why I enjoyed it so much. The characters were so believable and stunningly crafted that I could genuinely feel I was voyeuristically witnessing a set of interesting – but not that interesting – lives. The acting was top notch and the ensemble contained a few faces that went onto greater things since the turn of the century. Frank was superbly played by Queer As Folk’s Aiden Gillen while his two work friends were, rather quaintly, Tobias Menzies (a sublime, sublime Brutus in the remarkable Rome) and Dean Lennox Kelly (the Gallagher’s cheeky neighbour, Kev, in Shameless). Frank’s gal was ‘er out of Shaun of the Dead, Kate Ashfield. I’m tempted to get the blighter on DVD and watch it again. Hurrah. Thank goodness for that cough.

Look out kid...

Here’s a screengrab from one of my Bob Dylan styled emails I sent recently. Thanks to S2 for telling me how to produce a still from a moving image from that internet thing. He was correct; it was easy. Naturally, those gazing at the picture above will be debating who the greater genius was, Dylan or Preedy? That, comrades, is a discussion for another time.