Brighton White Night 2010

Brightonians don't exactly take much persuading to dress up and stay out all night at the best of times, but for the last few years White Night has given us an offical excuse to celebrate the art of noctural recreation. A free festival that takes place across the city, White Night marks the clocks going back and celebrates the extra hour we get, by encouraging people to stay up and participate in all sorts of activities throughout the night.

I've been away for White Night the last few years and so this year's was my first one. The city was buzzing anyway with Halloween antics, and the massive Beach of the Dead walk that also happens every year got everyone into the spirit early in the day. By nightfall there was an amusing mix of ordinary punters, gruesome zombies and other ghoulish Halloweenites lining the streets. My first glimpse of White Night activity was as I turned into the North Laine to spy an opera singer belting out from the balcony above the betting shop on the corner of Bond Street. Unfortunately I missed a later performance in that same spot, reported by SessionLeopard on Twitter: "Brighton... where else can you watch a black drag queen dressed as a cloud singing barbara streisand above a betting shop?". Shame, but there was so much else to do.

My first proper stop-off was at the Brighton museum, which involved wending my way through the Pavilion Gardens, where little pockets of action were afoot all over the place. Inside the museum it was pretty much business as usual, apart from a few crafty making sessions and the presence of some willowy ladies in period clothing draped about the place. It did make me giggle to see zombies wandering about soaking up culture, but I drew the line at a man dressed as a spiderman clown and escaped to go and meet Steve and Linda at the Pavilion garden gates.

From there we decided to head for the Sealife centre, where I was utterly enchanted by the huge turtles and tiny seashorses. Not so endearing were the drunken youths flagrantly ignoring the 'please don't touch the fish' signs and whose behaviour was later reported to have started a riot. Things were altogether more civilised at the Library and though outside on Jubilee Square was heaving, the live spray paint artists there were well worth a stop. Inside, we had a play on a big dance mat that was wired up to a percussion loop programme, and enjoyed the relative calm before heading back out into the throng.

Kensington Street was another hive of activity, with both the Lighthouse and the Basement open for business and a  multimedia installation called the Epiphany Dome outside. After a heavy dose of art, we were ready for some music, but not before swinging by Infinity cafe to re-fuel with soup hearty soup in a roll. At the Corn Exchange, a French music showcase was in full swing, but surprisingly there were no queues for the venue. Amiens in France also has a White Night (or Nuit Blanche as they call it) and our towns do a musical exchange for the night. When we arrived, a band called Oregone were playing. I had a little dance around and then spotted Ewan (aka Euzie) at the bar.  It transpired that he and Linda both grew up in Wolverhampton and used to hang out in the same pub. Much disbelief and delighted cries of "you know so-and-so? No way!" ensued.

Next door in the Dome there was nothing much happening other than some pumping dance music and a couple of interactive installations. The night was flying by already and by the time we got down to the beach, the Bandstand happenings were dying down, with only a few half marathon runners straggling about. Walking back along the prom, we gained another cohort in the shape of Rob, who accompanied us up through the Lanes and eventually up to the Phoenix Gallery, which was one of the only places still going. By then the clocks had officially gone back, we'd gained our extra hour and I had completely lost track of what time it actually was.

A quick hot chocolate at the buzzy Cafe Moksha - where live music was still going  on - made a very civilised end to the evening (or should I say, morning). My first White Night had been a riot (though thankfully not in the Sealife centre sense), but it was time for bed.

Jane Birkin at Hay Festival (and a Yurt!)

Ever since my days of PR-ing at the Edinburgh Book Festival, I've been pining after a yurt. These magnificent Mongolian tents were then used (possibly still are) as the green room area for authors and their entourage in the pretty setting of Charlotte Square gardens. I remember most fondly lounging back on the cushions and rugs, chatting away to all manner of verbose and vivacious scribes, and enjoying the free Glenmorangie and Danish pastries. Certain local authors, who weren't even appearing (you know who you are), would pop in to avail themselves on a regular basis; and who can blame them, because it was a really funky and irresistible little sanctuary.

So when I saw that boutique camping company Tangerine Fields was setting up at Hay Festival this year, I quickly booked a mini-yurt for me and Mr M. It's impossible to get a hotel in Hay unless you book months ahead, and we'd only decided to go when we discovered quite recently that Jane Birkin was appearing, so the yurt was the perfect solution. It was also suitably romantic to fit the bill for our fifth wedding anniversary.

I hadn't been to Hay Festival since 2004 (the year we got married), and never purely as a punter - so it was a totally different experience this time around, with no authors to look after. Also, the site had moved from the school in the centre of town to a field a mile or so down the road, which meant less time mooching around secondhand bookshops and more time people-watching on the grass between talks. After checking into our splendid little yurt - which was carpeted and everything - we hopped on the shuttle bus down to the site just in time for Jane Birkin's packed-out talk. Sometime squeeze of the late French pop legend (and hero of mine) Serge Gainsbourg, Birkin is perhaps most famous (or should that be 'infamous') for her contribution to the risque late 60s classic 'Je T'aime... Moi Non Plus'. She's also appeared in a number ofcult films
and is these days a tireless activist for various causes.

For an OAP with a genuinely Rock 'n Roll history, Jane Birkin is in amazingly good shape, and still sparkles with childlike wonderment when recounting her mis-spent youth. Philippe Sands acted as interviewer, but in reality little prompting was needed to get Birkin to open up, and even if you weren't remotely interested in French music or the Swinging Sixties, you couldn't help but be charmed by her stories.

With a twinkle in her eye, she told of the night she first went out with Gainsbourg - how he took her to all sorts of wacky Parisian clubs and eventually back to his hotel. Fearing she had been too quick to accept his advances, she stalled for time in the bathroom and was relieved upon re-emerging to discover Gainsbourg passed out on the bed. He was so drunk that he didn't hear her sneak out of the room and back in again with a 7" single of 'Yummy Yummy Yummy I've Got Love in My Tummy' - which she tucked between his toes before creeping out again, virtue and dignity in tact. This was apparently the first of many such romantic gestures between the two as love blossomed into a 13 year relationship and creative partnership that also produced a daughter - the acclaimed French actress Charlotte Gainsbourg.

Later the same evening, after a pub dinner at the Three Tuns, we returned to the festival site to see Jane Birkin perform. Although she has written and recorded a significant catalogue of her own music over the last forty-odd years, this particular show was largely dedicated to former lover Serge - who clearly still holds a special place in her heart. The same ingenuous allure shone from the ever-smiling starlet as she lent her own distinct husky charm to many a Gainsbourg classic. The set also had its more serious moments - with a movingly heartfelt call to action over the Burma situation, in particular the imprisonment of Aung San Suu Kyi, against which Birkin is a high-profile campaigner. This earnest outpouring only made the audience love her more, and even though we all knew we'd miss the last bus back to town, an encore was demanded. There followed a chilly, starry walk back to Tangerine Fields and the yurt, where some of the neighbouring Tipis were quietly buzzing with young literary buffs discussing the day's offerings.

As a special anniversary treat for Ant, the next morning I'd booked us tickets to a lecture by the Astronomer Royal, Martin Rees, which I actually enjoyed a great deal too. He talked in a most accessible and often humorous way about the possibility of life on other planets, and answered some of the more painfully nerdy questions with surprising grace. I had wanted to ask him who or what had first prompted his interest in the stars, but the microphone never came my way. After a picnic lunch from the festival foodhall, and a final round of people-watching, we said goodbye to Hay and our lovely yurt (which sadly was too big to sneak into the boot) and took the scenic route down to Bristol. But if you want to know what happened in Bristol, you'll have to come back another day because I'm saving that adventure for its own post...

Sebastien Tellier Live at Concorde 2

Last year I coined a brand new genre, 'Chansonica', to encompass that certain stable of contemporary electro music with one foot in the French Chanson tradition. Some of my current favourite music, much of which I have talked about here, falls into this category. A recent addition to my ever-expanding Chansonica collection is Sebastien Tellier, whose retro synthpop ballads strike just the right balance between sophistication and cheese, nostalgia and now. His latest album, Sexuality, has remained poised on top of the stereo ever since it was purchased, ready for those spontaneous post-pub gatherings, to which it has proved the ideal accompaniment.

Taking the tradition of Gallic insoucience its nonchalant extreme, Tellier finally appeared in Brighton last night, three months (and two postponements) after he was originally scheduled to play the Concorde2. Shuffling onto stage 30 minutes late in a swirl of photography-defying smoke and relentlessly flashing lights, France's far-too-cool 2008 Eurovision entrant delivered a pleasing if not exactly electrifying hour or so set. 

This was my first gig of 2009, and I was still riding high from the final one of last year - Camille's storming show at Den Atelier in Luxembourg. It would have been hard for anyone to match Camille's energy, polish and passion on that occasion, though I had heard similarly rave reviews about Sebastien Tellier's live performances. Standing all alone (Ant had gone home sick) at the edge of the audience last night, I couldn't help feeling that the epic euphoric keyboard riffs and Gainsbourg-inspired flowery sentiments would have been better experienced in the fuzzier context of a festival field, and was doubly gutted that I failed to catch his Latitude gig.

Everyone seemed in subdued Sunday night mode, no doubt hungover from the night before and preoccupied with having to get up for work in the morning - which may have partly accounted for the general lack of vavavavoom. Apart from a few over-excited French students, the reaction was unusually low-key for a Concorde gig, and even the encore-request felt half-hearted. It was difficult to determine whether Tellier's barely intelligible Franglais banter between songs was the result of intoxication, nerves or pretension, but his kooky attempts at humour resulted in little but awkward forced laughter and bemused eyebrow raising among the punters. 

I fear I am being unduly negative, and it's not that I didn't enjoy the gig - I did. It's just that after such a long wait it felt disappointingly flat. Having just listened again to two Sebastien Tellier albums back to back, I am determined to try and see him live again at some point, preferably with a warm Mediterranean breeze on my face and springy grass under my shoes next time.

Related posts

Inventing Chansonica

More Mud, Nah Let's Go to France

Music to My Ears

Photo of Sebastien Tellier at Flow Festival, by Vilhelm Sjostrom on Flickr (creative commons licence)

Une Aventure Musicale Supérieure: Camille at Den Atelier, Luxembourg

Driving from Brighton to Luxembourg in an aged Nissan Micra to go to a gig might seem like madness to you, but if you'd ever seen Camillelive, you'd understand why the 800 mile round trip was totally worth it. Even in the throes of a stinking cold, I had a brilliant night at what turned out to be the most mind-blowing gig of the year (and I've been to quite a few).

Fellow Francophile Brian introduced me to Camille a couple of years ago when he was staying with us over the summer. Her second album, Le Fil, had just come out and fitted nicely into my budding Chansonica collection. Then when the latest album, Music Hole, was released earlier this year, it quickly became my most listened to album of the summer.

I'd heard great things about Camille's live performances and when Brian suggested going to see her at the Roundhouse in London, I was keen. Except that it was in Camden on a Sunday night, and ever since a bad experience after a Bonzo Dog gig a couple of years ago, I had vowed to avoid rail replacement buses at all costs. The only other UK date was in Glasgow on a week night, so I idly flicked through the European tour schedule to see if there was anything else within striking distance. Luxembourg on a Saturday seemed extravagant but feasible, and Brian was game.

So two weekends ago, Brian, Ant and I piled into our little jalopy and hit the road to the world's only remaining sovereign Grand Duchy. Poor Ant was stuck with all the driving, while I slept in the back for most of the way, dosed up on Benylin. But after a glass or two of restorative Vin Chaud from the Luxembourg Christmas market, I had perked up considerably, and we rocked up at Den Atelier - an intimate warehouse venue near the city's main station. It was already packed with excitable Luxemburgers, and we found ourselves a spot at the fringes of the action, but close to the bar. Normally I'd head straight for the mosh pit, but wasn't feeling 100%, and the no-photography policy made it seem less crucial to be close to the stage.

Unusually, there was no support band, but the main act was more than sufficient. At first I couldn't work out what was going on - it sounded like a synthesised backing track accompanying the French singer, but when I caught a glimpse of the stage, I saw only seven instrument-free people (pictured above) and a grand piano (with pianist) generating the convincingly electronica sound. A human beat-box duo and a pair of body-percussionists provided the rhythm and bass, while two backing singers and a pianist skillfully embellished Camille's own powerfully dextrous vocals. The effect was mesmerising; I have never heard anything like it in my life.

Performed with astonishing panache, Camille's epic set was a mixture of French language songs from the first two albums, a couple of quirky cover versions and most of the more catchy material from the current (largely English) release. A genius hip-hop reinvention of Camille's notorious Nouvelle Vague collaboration, Too Drunk to Fuck, had the crowd giddily shouting along, but everyone was really hanging on the inevitable encore choice, Money Note - a tongue-in-cheek pastiche of those irritating female crooners (Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston etc). Personally, I would have been happy for it to end there, but the punters were less sated, demanding a further three reappearances from the obliging starlet and her quirky ensemble. Seeing as we'd come all that way, it would have felt churlish to bail before the end, and it was worth it to witness an gentle acousitc finale which seemed to calm the crowd into submission.

We rounded off the evening with a nightcap in the bar next door, where everyone was chattering animatedly (in French) about the gig. I resolved to not see any more bands in 2008, wanting to conclude a prodigious 12 months of live music on what was easily the best show of the year.


Photo of Camille live at AB Ancienne Brussels from kmeron on Flickr

Inventing Chansonica

Without a doubt my favourite and most listened-to album of the moment is kooky French artist Camille's second album, Music Hole. Most middle class 30-somethings will have come across Camille on Nouvelle Vague's first album, on which she totally stole the show with her sexy rendition of 'Too Drunk to Fuck'. Playful and experimental, Camille's latest solo venture strikes a compelling balance between avant-garde electronica and tongue-in-cheek Vaudeville. Catchy numbers like 'Katie's Tea' - an ode to tea-drinking with which I can certainly identify, and 'Cats and Dogs', which cheekily suggests that "cats and dogs are not our friends, they just pretend, they just pretend" are interspersed with sweeping anthems such as the seductively soulful 'Kfir' and passionately secular 'Gospel with No Lord'. Unlike her previous album, Le Fil, Music Hole is sung mostly in English, with just the occasional sprinkling of French.

I was trying to describe Camille to a friend who had never heard her stuff, and came up with a whole new genre - Chansonica - which I'm pretty sure noone else has coined before. This freshly invented portmanteau can be used to refer to those artists who follow the classic French 'Chanson' tradition in terms of lyrics and singing style, but incorporate a more contemporary, electronic approach to their arrangements - Charlotte Gainsbourg, Emilie Simon, and even some later Serge Gainsbourg would all qualify. Thanks to the wonders of Last.fm tagging, I am currently introducing this wondrous musical concept to the wider world, hoping that it will catch on and lead to some more new discoveries for my budding Chansonica collection. Maybe I'll even make a mix-tape!

Camille is currently touring, with two UK dates coming up in October (London - 19th and Glasgow - 20th). I'm planning to catch her in Luxembourg in December during our usual pre-Christmas continental jaunt.

Photograph of Camille by *maya* on Flickr

More Mud? Nah, Let's Go to France...

Green Man was expected to be the pinnacle of my epic summer festival circuit, the cherry on the musical exploration cake of 2008. I was really looking forward to it. And then it rained - some would say an unseasonable amount. Reports of flooding in the Brecon Beacons started appearing on festival message boards. My giddy spirits sank. Still jaded by our recent experience in Kendal, neither Ant or I could face another weekend of wading through mud and roughing it under canvas in extreme conditions, however great the musical offerings. And the forecast was getting worse by the day. Our first instinct was to look for alternative accommodation, so that at least we'd have somewhere warm and dry to escape to; but after extensive online investigation and countless disheartening phonecalls, it transpired that all the cottages, B&Bs and apartments within 20 miles of the festival site were fully booked. By this point it was late on Wednesday night, and we were due to leave the next morning. We went to bed feeling frustrated and miserably resigning ourselves to the original plan. It was either that or spend a long weekend in Brighton and waste our precious holiday time mooching about at home.

The next morning the weather was still grim, prompting us to briefly resume our search for somewhere to sleep in Wales other than a tent, but to no avail. A few years ago, we probably would have said "f**k it" and booked a last minute flight to somewhere exotic instead, but in a commitment to a 'greener' travel ethos we recently agreed not to fly anywhere we could get to in a day by rail and/or ferry. We've taken the Eurotunnel a few times now to get across to the continent, but strangely - since we live so close to a cross-channel port - never used the ferry. Doing some speculative research, I was surprised to discover how reasonable a return ticket with the car was from Newhaven to Dieppe (£99). Newly inspired by this knowledge, we set about looking for somewhere to stay in Normandy or Brittany, only to be confronted with a similar "no room at the inn" scenario. Finally, when we had all but given up hope, I tried one last place - a B&B near Saint Lo - and succeeded in booking us in for three nights. To celebrate, and make the most of our day off in Brighton, we treated ourselves to an indulgent lunch at the ever splendid Terre à Terre.

After a smooth crossing the following morning, we were in Rouen by lunchtime. The whole city was practically deserted due to a public holiday, so it was great for strolling about, but not so good for shopping. I'd like to go back some time and check out the nightlife, it felt like a pretty cool city. From Rouen we carried on to Saint Lo, and after a couple of minor palavers (bits of the car falling off, and getting slightly lost), arrived at our B&B by early evening, to be greeted by the landlady and her handsome ginger cat, Raoul (so named because of his distinctive vocalisations). The cottage was stunning and in a very tranquil spot; we both breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed firmly into holiday mode. On Saturday we braved the weather and tourist hoards to check out Mont St Michel before heading over to St Malo for lunch. Whilst dining at Borgnefesse - a rather nice, tastefully pirate-themed restaurant (if you are thinking inflatable parrots and staff in tricorns, stop) - we discussed the possibility of going to La Route du Rock festival (which I'd seen was taking place up the road) for the evening. Ant's always easier to goad when being well-fed, so this was the ideal opportunity for me to secure a little compensation for missing out on Green Man. Anyone would think I planned it this way (I didn't, as it happens).

La Route du Rock Festival, St Malo

The weather still looked touch and go at this point, but it turned into quite a nice evening eventually, with even a bit of blue sky appearing during the first band - the excellent Menomena. The festival itself was small and amazingly tidy, but best of all, despite the weather there was NO MUD. None. We also saw French Cowboy, Girls in Hawaii (both of whom were entertaining enough) and stayed for the first few songs of The Ting Tings' set - enough to persuade us that they are very much a studio band. Sunday's cultural activities were altogether gentler, with a visit to the impressive Bayeaux Tapestry followed by the beautifully presented Caen Memorial - a deeply moving WW2 museum, and finally an abortive tour around a country Chateaux - about which more later. For me, no holiday would be complete without a trip to the seaside - and a sandy beach at sunset was the perfect spot to round off our mini-holiday. Throw in a slap up meal at a chic waterfront restaurant and one could not ask for more. On Monday we just had time to stock up with the obligatory wine, cheese and interestingly-packaged groceries at the hypermarket before catching our ferry home.

Looking at other people's photos of Green Man on Flickr this morning, I am reassured that we made the right decision not to go (though I'm still gutted about all the brilliant bands I missed). I'm only sorry that we hadn't made use of the easy ferry connection from Newhaven to explore Normandy and Brittany sooner. But now that we've had a little taster of the many delights that those regions have to offer, I'm pretty sure we'll be making up for it in future.

La Vie En Lis

Last week I watched La Vie En Rose, a biopic about the troubled life of legendary French singer Edith Piaf (left). Despite the relentlessly gloomy plot and a sometimes confusingly random timeline, I really enjoyed the film. Not least because of the musical element. Piaf was the original French popstar, and an unquestionably massive influence on the distinctive canon of artists that followed - right up to contemporary French starlets, and current favourites of mine, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Camille.

Seeing the film got me thinking again about the whole Chanson tradition, which I have touched on here before. Literally translated, 'Chanson' means simply 'song', but it has come to be associated with a certain style of singing, characterised by passionate performers such as Piaf. The songs tend to be lyric-driven, often recounting a story or a moment in time, rather than being just a general exclamation of emotion. They also tend to be rhythmically determined by the lilt of the language, rather than a prescribed time-signature.

There's little that can be compared with this style of singing in the English-language musical tradition, especially not these days. Let's face it, most of our songs - even the good ones - are repetitive, trite and shallow. Long before I became aware of Chanson, I'd always loved a song that tells a story, and have been compiling a mental list of them over the years, with the intention of eventually making a mixtape. So far the list includes 'Fancy' by Bobbie Gentry, 'Pinball Wizard' by The Who, 'Paperback Writer' by The Beatles, 'Parklife' by Blur and something, as yet to be decided, by Joni Mitchell (there are quite a few options in her case).

Another great example of storytelling songwriters are Squeeze frontmen Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford, whose cheeky slice-of-life pop songs nearly all had some kind of narrative hook. I happened to see Chris Difford live this week, as he was doing a joint set with Boo Hewerdine (pictured here) at Komedia . I never miss a chance to catch Boo if he's in town, and although I had no idea what to expect from Mr Difford's solo material, I've always enjoyed a bit of Squeeze. Difford's new album is co-written and produced by Boo, and it's an interesting pairing. As well as the new stuff, he played lots of old favourites, including 'Cool for Cats' and 'Up the Junction', both of which are contenders for the ever-evolving song-as-story playlist. Hearing these old classics again also made me realise how much Lily Allen (and other lesser wannabes) owes to Squeeze. Then I found this YouTube video of Allen covering 'Up the Junction', which seems to confirm my theory:

I think I prefer the original, but I'm not averse to Lily Allen in her own right. In fact I applaud her for bringing this type of anecdotal ditty back into fashion. Now, how on earth did I get from Edith Piaf to Lily Allen in five paragraphs? That's what happens when you embark on a musical rant without really knowing where you're going with it. Still, I'm nothing if not eclectic.

Music to My Ears

I'm currently using a little 1GB music player while waiting for a refund (long story, which I'll save for another time) on my faulty 20GB Archos beast. This means that I'm listening to a smaller selection of tunes at any one time, and am consequently more particular about what goes onto it. It's almost like going back to the days of the tape walkman, when you'd have two or three mix tapes on rotation at any one time, and get heavily into whatever was on them, rather than being able to carry an entire music collection around with you, as technology now allows. So, I'm finding that there are certain albums that can stand up to, and indeed in some cases improve upon, repeated listenings - and these are the ones currently gracing my handy pocket-sized player. I know that I talk about music and individual bands a lot, and you need only hop over to my Last.FM page to find out what I've been listening to, but that won't tell you what is on my headphones wherever I go, so as of today, here is the contents of my personal stereo revealed...

If you've seen the wonderful film Little Miss Sunshine (pictured here), then you will have heard DeVotchKa, albeit perhaps unknowingly. They performed and co-wrote (with Michael Danna) most of the music for the grammy-nominated soundtrack for the film, which was rather elegantly described by Jonathan Jarry (Soundtrack.net) as "...an American polka for dysfunctional families and the malaise of life." It's one of those soundtracks that works well as an album in its own right, and seems to evoke the magic of the film even when heard out of context. DeVotchKa's last actual album, How It Ends, came out in 2004, and was then re-released after the success of Little Miss Sunshine in 2006, which is when I first discovered them. An intriguing mix of Eastern European folk and American punk rock, sometimes described as Gypsy Punk, this Denver four piece employ a rich variety of instruments, including theremin, guitar, bouzouki, piano, trumpet, violin, accordion, sousaphone, double bass and percussion. Currently on a world tour to promote their latest album, DeVotchKa play London on 9th April.

I discovered Italian/French model turned singer-songwriter Carla Bruni, now also First Lady of France, via eclectic French radio station Fip, which I regularly tune into via the internet at work. Her husky, sultry vocals beautifully complement the laid-back jazzy ballads, making perfect Sunday afternoon hangover listening. The latest album, No Promises, is sung in English, but Bruni has also recorded in French in the past - also the native language of roughly half the other singers on my music player at the moment. These esteemed chansonniers include Edith Piaf, Jacques Brel, Serge Gainsbourg, his daughter Charlotte Gainsbourg (though she sings mostly in English, more's the pity), Brigitte Bardot, Jane Birkin and current belle de jour of the French music scene, Camille. There's something extremely soothing about listening to music sung in another language, and although I can pick up the general gist of the lyrics with my rusty GCSE French, it's the downright unambiguous sexiness of the delivery, which all these artists have in common, that really floats my boat.

Having waited eagerly a whole month since I was blown away by his live gig at Bush Hall, Scott Matthew's (self-titled) debut solo album was finally released last week; although I had to order it from Germany, as Amazon don't seem to be stocking it (philistines!). When it arrived through the post on Saturday, I was home alone, still sat in my dressing gown and wallowing in the self-indulgent sedentary bliss that only weekends can bring (holidays don't count, as I always feel like I should be fitting as much in as possible, and not just wasting time sitting around). I'd strongly recommend cosseting oneself in such a comfort zone in order to listen to this album for the first time. Quietly unsettling and deeply affecting, this clearly very personal collection of songs reaches into the soul and tugs at that purposefully buried disquiet within. Matthew's distinctive voice defies comparison, although suggested similarities to Antony Hegarty are not entirely unjustified. Both share a tremulous quality that can be disarmingly evocative; and an ability to inject intense emotion into their lyrics. Although tending towards the pensive, the album is far from gloomy - a wry humour and occasional jaunty jazz moment balance out the melancholy to beautiful effect, like a much-needed hug in the middle of a big sob. Like the first time I heard Jeff Buckley's Grace, I can't imagine easily becoming tired of it, and am actually looking forward to repeated listenings in a variety of settings, thanks to the wonder of portable music. Next stop, I think, the sea.

Also on my player are several new albums I bought at the weekend (see above), which are too new to comment on, and a few old favourites including Boo Hewerdine, Bonzo Dog Doo-dah Band and the White Queen of Soul herself, Dusty Springfield.

Vive La Différence!

Vive La Fip, Komedia, 23rd Feb 08

One of the things I love most about living in Brighton is the sheer volume and variety of activities on offer. You could, if you wanted, go out every weekend of the year and do something completely different - whether you're into live music, theatre, clubbing, eating, comedy, sport, drinking, or all of the above - there is no excuse for ever exclaiming "I'm bored!" in this town. As someone who feels largely indifferent towards conventional 'club' music, but does love to dance, I have particularly benefitted from the rise in alternative club nights in the last few years, especially since the relaxed licensing laws paved the way for non-traditional club venues to host such affairs. This means that I no longer have to brave the chav-infested seafront club strip in order to have a boogie on a Saturday night, and what's more, I get to dance to music that I would actually listen to at home. Many of these new club nights also give us vintage clothing lovers a chance to don our retro frocks without feeling out of place. Notable examples of such events include girly jive-fest Born Bad, cheesetastic We Luv Pop, oldie but goodie Dynamite Boogaloo, Brighton's answer to Lost Vagueness Boutique Theatre and sleazy electro disco It Came From the Sea, to name but a few. On Saturday, I took some friends along to Vive La Fip, one of several club nights now on offer at Brighton's premier arts centre Komedia.

A celebration of cult French radio station Fip, Vive La Fip is possibly the only place (other than my flat) where you could dance to ska, samba, disco, chanson, jazz, soul and rock in one evening. And it's not only the music that's eclectic - the elegantly clad punters range in age from 20-something to 50-something, happily intermingling on the dancefloor - united by a collective enthusiasm for the outstanding music. First heard in Brighton over ten years ago, many people presumed that they were picking up Fip's signal from across the channel, when in fact it was being illegally re-broadcast by a local resident, allegedly from somewhere in the Hanover area. The station's ever-growing army of listeners were left distraught when the pirate operation was finally discovered and thwarted by industry regulators Ofcom. But Fip lives on in Brighton - for those, like me, who listen via the internet - and once a month at Vive La Fip. Hosted in the intimate Studio Bar, with a comfortable balance of seating and dancefloor space, my only gripe about the night is the enforcement of plastic glasses, which seems ridiculous given the unusually refined and relaxed air of the proceedings. I do object to being made to drink from a plastic cup (especially when enjoying a rather fine pint of Dark Star ale) at my age, and it does diminish the otherwise sophisticated milieu somewhat. Let's hope that Komedia come to their senses and allow proper glassware in future, or I shall be tempted to bring my own tankard next time, I'm not joking!

Listen to Fip Online