Merely a trick of the light

The Glastonbury line-up has been announced and I’m neither overwhelmed nor underwhelmed. I am simply whelmed, I guess. I’m keen to see the effervescent yet bookish Noo Yorkers, Vampire Weekend with their merry African rhythmic sounds; British Sea Power will be marvellous too, I venture. The band I’m playing as I pen these words, The National, headline the John Peel Stage on the Sunday and I’d hope to be there for their set. Edwyn Collins is probably a must-see too; I admire him greatly and would go all misty-eyed for a What Presence?! or a Salmon Fishing In New York.

Epitome

I’m tempted by a hop-hip concert. Public Enemy are performing at Bristol Academy next month, proffering the entire It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back long player to an adoring public. This is an album I own – possibly one of the first dozen compact discs I ever purchased, thinking about it – and there was a period when I played it non-stop and admired its uncompromising and hard-hitting agenda. I have read nothing to suggest that it isn’t the original line-up playing Bristol so all the big names – Flav, D, X, Griff et al. – may be involved. It should be a huge occasion and I’m rather keen to attend.

The only previous occasion I’ve stood in a hop-hip crowd was at the ATP Festival in Camber Sands back in 2004. Young Dizzee Rascal produced a raw set to a small but packed arena that was hailed in the end-of-year round-ups as ‘the’ hop-hip event of that twelve month period. I remember being mildly engaged but couldn’t help feeling bothered that I was missing The Tindersticks who were strutting their elegant stuff elsewhere. If I recall, Har Mar Superstar came on after the self-styled rascal and blew the bleeding house down with his exhilarating antics.

Nationalism

I’m somewhat aware that quite a few fine albums from the past year or two have slipped slyly under my Radio Detection and Ranging apparatus and I’m earnestly engaged in rectifying this sorry state of affairs. Boxer by The National was released almost one year ago but I have only grown to know and love this recording very recently. Here are twelve intense popular songs, richly crafted and featuring shimmering pianoforte, elegant percussion, soaring guitar soundscapes that underpin one of the most maudlin and melancholic voices in music. Here lurks introspection; hints of alienation, loneliness and urban gloom permeate the fairly subdued proceedings. The arrangements are upliftingly beautiful, the melodies take a while to appreciate but once under the skin, remain there like old 'n' loyal comrades. I’m always faintly reassured when I fail to ‘get’ an album on first hearing; Boxer proves that repeated listens really do bear fruit with recordings of quality. I recommend.

I must confess that I yearn for a new recording from the young prince of esoteric Americana, Sufjan Stevens. Almost three years have passed since the release of the mighty and soaring masterpiece, Illinois and, while the worthy outtake collection Avalanche and the at times haunting, at times kooky, Christmas boxed set have helped to sustain this punter, the appetite for a new album remains unsated. I read somewhere that the new album will have a ‘bird’ theme. There’s a lovely and delicate new song called Barn Owl, Night Killer on You Tube and I still recall most fondly the splendour of Majesty Snowbird that Stevens and his noble band performed when I saw the fellow in Amsterdam. Here’s hoping for new material and soon from this scribe’s very, very favourite recording artist.

A bit folky close-up...

Last year’s grey skies and muddy walkways have obviously been erased from the Cole memory as I have booked up to visit the Green Man Festival again this August. The dude known as ‘S’ shall be joining me. Despite the weather, Green Man proved a very special weekend and I’m hoping that bluer skies will help this summer’s event be a smashing success. The full line-up is to be announced on May Day but several acts already booked catch this eye merrily. I’m playing the three albums by The National to death at the moment and this act’s sombre yet reflective numbers continue to hit the spot. They are appearing and I rejoice. The School of Language’s off kilter avant-pop shall prove a highlight methinks while I welcome both the quirky melodic antics of Super Fury Animals and the low fidelity magnificence of Iron and Wine. The acclaimed Richard Thompson ticks the box annotated ‘Legend’ but I am sure further treats and surprises await.

Look above for a 2007 Green Man memory. The photograph is entitled ' View from my Tent'. S's back can be spotted in the distance.

Remember, concentrate on the moment. Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts.

The young prince has claimed my vote for this year’s ‘Player of the Season’ award, presented to the Gloucester player deemed most irreplaceable, irresistible and, excuse the Jamaican, irie by supporters. James Simpson-Daniel has remained fairly injury free this season and has never failed to capture this punter’s imagination game on game. His performances have never been less than wholehearted and full to the brim of commitment and dedication, while his craft, his creativity, his composure with ball in paw continue to catch the eye. I am yet to see the youthful fellow perform poorly in the famed colours and, this season, his imagination, style, pace and skill have consistently set him apart from his peers and opponents. I salute him.

Young Jack Forster’s name is fluently inked in on my voting slip as ‘Young Player of the Season’. The adolescent powerhouse has not managed too many games for the first fifteen but, when called upon, has demonstrated maturity in spades and a belligerence and fortitude in ‘the tight’ that older and more experienced players would gaze upon with a soupcon of jealousy. To paraphrase Senator Palpatine (pictured) in Star Wars Episode 1: We’ll be watching his rugby career with great interest.

Excursions

The past week was spent in Tenby, admiring blue skies and golden sands, and relaxing and chilling. Alas, although there remains plenty to report and mention, insufficient time and opportunities have meant that these pages have remained forlornly neglected. For this, I apologise.

A week and a day ago, your humble host was gallivanting in the capital, purchasing some of those new-fangled compact discs at the wondrous Fopp emporium, dining and imbibing like a lord at BBC TV Centre with D and A (my generous hosts) before trotting to the Hammersmith Apollo to witness the splendid hop-trippers Portishead in concert. The following day, I walked for England and spent many a merry hour in the British Museum encountering treasure after treasure. The London trip was a success; I have chalked up my annual London gig (2005 Yo La Tengo; 2006 Teenage Fanclub) and I salute the exquisite music served up by Beth Gibbons and company. I thought the Apollo was a fine venue; the vast sloping floor meant all hepcats enjoyed a super view of proceedings.

I had barely returned from my trip to the east when the Guildhall o' Gloucester beckoned. The monthly Acoustica evening was in session and a legend topped the bill. Former Icicle Works front man, Ian McNabb produced a cracking set full of wit, wisdom and wisecrackery. His combination of homely and dark subject matter delivered with a rich and earthy voice was a real pleasure. The support act, two members of Bristol’s Slow, proved an engaging and warming talent. Their intelligent, lyrically intense numbers built to really rather exquisite musical denouements. They were an unexpected but worthwhile treat.

Peeps

Obtaining tickets for this summer’s Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts proved relatively straightforward last Sabbath morn. The married Coles and our eldest child who shall be fourteen in the month of the festival will all be attending. I’m actually really looking forward to the weekend but, after witnessing at first hand (and foot) the mud at Green Man last August, I earnestly hope for very dry weather. Ticket sales, I note, are down and, for the first time in many a merry year, the event failed to sell out within an hour or two. I am certain that all tickets will sell though. I felt a touch underwhelmed by the headliners that were announced earlier this year and wonder if other punters have withheld their custom because of a fairly lacklustre trio of main acts for the Pyramid Stage? Of the three, I suppose Kings of Leon are the most palatable. I quite enjoy their ditties when played on the wireless, but quite enjoying a combo’s ditties on t’wireless does not equate to exuberantly anticipating a live set. I have no axe to grind wi’ the hip-hop/soul community – heaven forbid - but I can think of no conceivable reason why I am likely to want to witness Jay-Z a-rappin’ ‘n’ a-rhymin’ on the Saturday night. The Verve, a nasty little third division indie band, headline on the Sunday and I shall be avoiding them like the ruddy plague. I can imagine the cigarillo lighters held aloft during Bittersweet Symphony now. Yuk.

Anyhow, it shouldn’t be about the headline acts. I have attended the festival thrice, my visits straddling the decades known fondly as the eighties and nineties so there must have been nine headline acts available to me and I can only recall watching a couple, Elvis Costello (who was fabulous) and, sorry, Tom Jones (who was Tom Jones). Perhaps there were more and I hope that S, who would have loyally been by my side for most of these weekends, will remind me. My favourite moments took place at other stages, within and without the world of music. The comedy tent is always marvellous and just strolling around visiting the stalls and sideshows makes for a pleasant hour or so. Because of work commitments, this is the first year I’ve been able to attend since, staggeringly, 1992* so it’ll be, if nothing else, interesting to see how the festival has changed.

* I was amazed to read here who headlined Glastonbury that year: Carter USM, Shakespear’s Sister and Youssou N’Dour. I wouldn’t have guessed any of those three and can emphatically state I didn’t view any of their sets. Especially Carter USM who, in my humble-ish opinion, exist in Division Four of the indie leagues. Or maybe the Conference.

Nothing but education...

Gloucester 3 - Munster (a whole province) 16

‘Twas a great occasion at Kingsholm Stadium yesterday. The hordes of Munster supporters added vibrancy and warmth to an already electric atmosphere; with the devaluing of the knockout cup and the watering down of the importance of league fixtures, there are less ‘big games’ these days but this match was mighty and of tangible importance. It felt like the ‘old days’ before kick-off. It was a shame that the city club underperformed in key areas but, generally, the fellows in cherry played with commitment and satisfactory enterprise. A day after the disappointment of defeat, my thoughts are more rational. Criticisms have been levelled at the club’s coaches for a perceived lack of strategy but yesterday the fifteen on the park had plenty of chances to take the spoils. Several missed penalty attempts helped the cause not one iota and try-scoring chances were spurned through a dropped pass here, stern Irish defence there. Frankly, it wasn’t Gloucester’s day but, with one or two exceptions, I feel quiet pride in the players. Hopefully the squad can pull a few decent results together and qualify for next term’s Heineken Cup; the impending visit of Saracens, a buoyant club now in the last four of the major European tourney, shall prove a test and a half for the city and a top four finish (required, in these eyes, for Heineken qualification rather than any end of season domestic loot-fest) may well depend on victory.

The Munster supporters were charming and gracious, garrulous and engaging. I warmed to those that I was fortunate enough to meet both in the ground and, later, in the snugs and smoking rooms of the famous city. I wish I could salute the home supporters so heartily. I felt obliged to apologise to one Munster fellow after the game on behalf of one oaf that I noted was far from welcoming to him during the match. When gentle people travel hundreds of miles to visit our community they deserve better than to be treated with aggression and boorishness. Some folk simply have no idea how to behave. This heart sank today too when encountering an online poll seeking views whether or not Chris Paterson deserves another chance in a cherry and white jersey. With ‘supporters’ like these, who needs opponents? My opinion on the subject is ‘Yes, yes, and thrice, yes’ but I shall not be offering the pollster my vote, thereby proffering credence to a nonsensical, ignorant and rank idea. Aren’t we supposed to get behind the team?

My codename's 'Cedar Plank'

Prop forwards, like fine wine, mature with age so I’m hoping that the return to Gloucester of Christo Bezuidenhout, the mighty rugby behemoth and former Springbok, will prove a fillip to the city club’s forward prowess and general progress next season. Reports in the South African press convince me that it’s a done deal; it is just a shame the colossal figure won’t be available to face the Munster men on Saturday.