From a void to a grain of sand in your hand

I’ve been spinning Beck’s latest long player, Modern Guilt, relentlessly recently. I have been a long term admirer of the young pop prince, especially his more muted, melancholic offerings, Sea Change and Mutations, which are both fabulous. Modern Guilt is a marvellous achievement and certainly one of my favourite albums of this year. Ten immaculately produced tracks, full of swagger, grace, melody and intelligence are proffered. Danger, er, Mouse, the production wizard, has helped conjure up an elegant, breathy, neo-psychedelic ambience, a layered sonic gem that dazzles and challenges without losing a tangible sense of humanity. Funky beats permeate. Repeated plays reward.

The rugby football was exciting again yesterday. Before the start of the season I was concerned that the Northampton club would mount a challenge for honours but on yesterday’s evidence against the mighty Gloucester, a club I favour, the self-styled Saints will be lucky to avoid a close shave with relegation. The home side played with verve and energy and ambition for the second week running and deserved the five point salute for attaining a quartet of touchdowns. Gloucester kicked the ball a little more often than they did against Bristol and this disappointed me a tad. With the strong running Michael ‘Mike’ Tindall, Luke Narraway and varied cohorts banging huge holes in the visitors’ midfield, the guile and poise of numerous strike runners could been unleashed more often had ball been kept in hand. This is not a complaint, merely an observation. Things look good for the city club at the moment. Tougher challenges await but a host of players, notably the skilful and alert Balshaw, are hitting form while plenty of key personnel remain on the sidelines with points to prove on their return.

I wouldn't spend my life just wishing...

White Lies at Gloucester Guildhall Thursday 20th November

This is a derivative group. This is a derivative group. White Lies provided adequate entertainment for the sizeable collection of hepcats that gathered at the fabled Guildhall last Thursday. The black-clad and much hyped youngsters produced epic songs full of gloom and menace but succeeded mainly in inspiring comments such as, ‘This one is like Joy Division, n’est pas?’ and ‘That sounded rather like Interpol’ and ‘Blimey! Editors!’ Early in their set, the earnest, affable and, on this occasion, prescient S even hinted at a Flock of Seagullsesque sound emanating from the ‘istoric dais. White Lies created a big sound without proffering anything that sent shivers down the ol’ spine. I did enjoy, howe’er, watching quite a raw outfit who may go onto great things. The band only played for half an hour or so, after which, I would suggest they ran out of material. I could be wrong. It was just enough to satisfy this punter. File under both 'Adequate' and 'Promising'.

Fine Play

The rugby football proved an exhilarating thrill last evening. The Gloucester club – an outfit I continue to favour – produced a master class in attacking sport; tremendous running lines, snappy passin’ o’ the leather egg and wondrous sprinting skills combined to dispatch a faintly disappointing Bristol team by a decent 39-10 scoreline. The city club scored five tries and at least two were of the highest class. Thoroughbred full back, Oliver ‘Olly’ Morgan galloped home majestically in the first half, sidestepping through tackles and bamboozling many a defender before joyously reaching the tump-end whitewash. The finest touchdown was possibly the yeoman Buxton’s second of a deserved brace which was a team effort of bewitching quality as clever running lines created an overlap that the Cheltenham-born stalwart finished off with merriment. A new star was born last evening; youthful David ‘Dave’ Lewis, a teenager, wore the fabled nine shirt with expertise. He produced smashing ball for the Gloucester backs and ran and sniped with cunning and ambition. He’ll go far. All the lads played well though. Hurrah.

Butler

I’ve been too busy and distracted to visit and post on these pages this week.

It was heartening to listen to the radio commentary from Vicarage Road today (I chose, in a fairly avant-garde manner, Three Counties Radio over BBC Radio Gloucestershire) as my favoured Gloucester club rampaged to victory over the historic yet itinerant Saracens outfit. By all accounts this was the Kingsholm-based team’s finest performance of the season. D, a London media dude, sent me one or two SMS texts during and after the match and I salute his dedication to the cause. He nominates ‘the faultless Morgan’ as man of the match although Messrs. Allen and Lamb are also mentioned in dispatches.

I haven’t dwelt much about the rugby recently but Gloucester host Bristol this Friday so I’ll give ‘the lads’ some thought this week. I have a couple of gigs to look forward to. S and I are strutting to Gloucester’s Guildhall Arts Centre on Thursday evening to cast our eyes and ears over young and dark blades White Lies. I know little of this act but am promised studied gloom in the style of Editors, Interpol et al. Cor! The week after, J and I are popping over to Nailsworth, of all places, to visit Rachel Unthank and her remarkable Winterset. I mustn’t forget Joan As Policewoman. Mr and Mrs Cole will be making our debuts at Bristol’s Thekla venue in December for Ms. Wasser’s emotive crooning.

Reg Varney from On The Buses died today. He was 92 and, beautifully, made the first withdrawal ever from a British cashpoint machine back in 1967. We shall ne’er see his like again. Holiday On The Buses is one of the greatest films of all time.

Jocosity

I like it when the Gloucester Guildhall is packed to the rafters and there was not a spare seat available last evening for the visit of American stand-up comic Rich Hall. The three oldest Coles attended and guffawed merrily throughout. The first half saw the acerbic fellow provide many memorable observations about the recent US election as well as his usual offerings highlighting the fascinating differences between the British and American personalities. After the break, Hall played his popular red-neck country singer character, Otis Lee Crenshaw, and raised more exuberant chortles from the assembled throng. A visit to the London Road Supper Bar on the way home ended the evening nicely.

And the silence makes me lonely

Signs of recession, signs of the so-called credit crunch are becoming more and more unusual. I was delighted to amble around Gloucester’s large and labyrinthine Asda Store earlier this morning and discover one could enjoy a different and unexpected ‘two-for-a-fiver’ offer on, of all things, Super Furry Animals long playing albums. I did, as our American chums would say, ‘the math’ and, seconds later, Radiator and Fuzzy Logic were nestling in my ample trolley. I look forward to playing them. They are both in that new ‘compact disc’ format.

Here's another screen grab. It makes a change.

Processes

Just because I don’t ever write about politics on here (or any of that religion malarkey, come to that) doesn’t mean I don’t hold firm views. As a one-off, I’m very keen to say ‘Nice one, son’ to the Obama fellow. I watched events unfold live in the early hours of this morning and confess to feeling rather emotional as the newly elected President and, cliché alert, Leader of the Free World addressed the euphoric masses in Chicago. The election of a black U.S. President had seemed unthinkable really and I’m thrilled and heartened by the unexpected response of an electorate I had little or no faith in until yesterday. I’ll stop there.

The island of doubt, it's like the taste of medicine

I hinted yesterday at some old classics being spun here at Cole Towers. Specifically, I was referring to a brace of Talking Heads long players that exist in vinyl format ‘ome ‘ere but not, until last week, as what boffins, ICT professionals and Tomorrow’s World presenters call ‘MP3s’. My favoured albums by the aforementioned art-rock collective are Remain In Light and Fear Of Music. If held in a Half-Nelson* by someone nasty, I’d admit to the former being my favourite but both recordings are packed with sublime moments and wondrous songs. Every schoolboy will know Once in a Lifetime from Remain in Light but, lo!, there is so much more to admire here. Wi’ wizard Brian Eno at da controls, the crossover between post-punk earnestness and riddimic African bliss casts a mesmerising spell over the lucky listener. Funky beasts like the soaring Houses in Motion, Born Under Punches and Crosseyed and Painless swagger insouciantly, da riddim section of Tina Weymouth and Chris Franz underpinning gloriously clever musical mayhem. The closing track, The Overload, is the band’s homage to Joy Division, written in the style of the Mancunian four-piece before, astonishingly, any of those Talking Heads had actually heard anything by Curtis, Hook et al. It’s a remarkable track from a remarkable album. Fear Of Music was released in 1979, a year before Remain In Light. It’s a more abrasive listen, less spacious, more angular. There’s more than a hint of paranoia and disturbance in David Byrne’s lyrics and titles and the whole album is a challenging and disturbing glimpse into troubled thoughts, although the beatific Heaven is proffered as a sublime antidote to the uncompromising scratchiness that dominates proceedings. Talking Heads make art.

*Other wrestling holds are available.

I have nothing to declare except...

I’ve been listening to plenty of freshly downloaded delights over the past week or so. Several 2008 long players have been burning themselves wittily into my consciousness and I hope to report on one or two of them here soon. Some old favourites from my youth have been placed onto the welcoming and bewitching hard-drive of my information pod too. I’ve been goin’ MP3 crackers.

However, I’m keen to report and recommend a feature of iTunes that I’ve recently grown to admire greatly. The element known as ‘Genius’ allows the earnest and enterprising user to select a favoured track from which a playlist of 25 similar tracks is then created. I’ve done this a few times now and the results have pleased me mightily. I’m not sure how ‘Genius’ works to be frank, but I am convinced there has to be more than just a vague randomness involved. I sense that the preferences of countless iTunes consumers are taken into consideration so that fabulous matches are made to render each playlist an absolute treat. The phrase, ‘All killer, no thriller’, can be whispered gratefully. ‘Genius’ has offered up a few forgotten songs and allowed me to reappraise a number of artists that I had been neglecting; Neko Case and Adem, in particular, should feel appreciative as I haven’t been playing their stuff at all but ‘Genius’ has nudged their rather beautiful numbers back in my direction. I’ve created a screen-grab of the first ‘Genius’ playlist I made (based on Bonny 'Prince' Billy's sumptuous Strange Form of Life)and offer it for reference purposes above. Click on the image to make it grow magically before your eyes. Eagle-eyes readers will note that Mansion on the Hill by Sir Bruce of Springsteen was blasting out of my loyal Harman/Kardon speakers as I ‘grabbed the screen’; D would be proud of me.

Town

I’ve hardly been busy but I have strayed away from these pages for a week. There is little to report. The Coles, joined by the affable S, watched the latest Shane Meadows feature, Somers Town, last week. This is a shortish film, monochrome and atmospheric, that makes up for a lack of plot and thrills with some decently constructed character sketches and arresting London-based set pieces. There was plenty of warmth in the evocation of a wide-eyed teenage runaway from the delightful East Midlands, the Polish construction worker and his bored and restless son and the kind-hearted Parisian waitress who befriends the nippers. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour, especially in the fine Guildhall cinema, but the overall feeling was merely, ‘Hmmm’.