The Arcade Fire, Brixton Academy 2007

Somewhere behind the blurry neon lights in this picture stands one of the most hyped and lauded bands of the moment, giving it their all at Brixton Academy on the last London date of their current tour last Saturday. As a relatively recent convert to Arcade Fire, my introduction to them - from a friend's enthusiastic recommendation a few months ago, to the last minute purchase on ebay of a ticket to see them live - has been something of a whirlwind experience. The new album, Neon Bible, was released a couple of weeks ago, and I had only had a chance to listen to it once on a decent stereo before the gig, but that was sufficient to thoroughly whet my appetite. Arcade Fire is a band that really should be seen live to be fully appreciated. The sheer scale of them (8 members, including a 6'5” lead singer) made an immediate impact, as they stormed onto the stage, sporting an impressive array of instruments, and a collective attitude that seemed to infect and inflame an already excitable audience. Then comes the noise... The Independent recently described their sound as “an aural assault”, and as I can't think of an adequate summary of my own, I have decided to run with this theory. Hijacking an eclectic assortment of musical influences - then perverting, distorting and entirely reinventing them - these aggressively passionate musicians have created a unique sound that defies expectation. As a willing victim of this auditory onslaught, I was compelled to jump up and down in fevered appreciation of my re-education, so much so that my shins are still throbbing two days later.

Hooray, It's Monday!

It's Monday... Traditionally the day in which we mourn the passing of the weekend and dread the return to the office. But today I feel happy to be back at my desk after a week off sick and bored at home. It helps that it is a glorious Spring day here in Lewes, and that I am still buzzing after an invigorating cycle in the sunshine - my first two-wheeled commute since November, when it got too dark to brave the unlit cycle path between Lewes and Falmer (note to East Sussex County Council - please rectify this before next winter).

On Saturday I went to see Wicked again, this time with Damien, who has just split with his long-term partner and had a ticket going begging - well, who else would he take?! It had been six months since I first saw this 'thrillifying' new musical (see previous blog 'Green is the New Black'), and I was intrigued to see for myself how well the new Elphaba, Kerry Ellis, was doing at filling Idina Menzel's now legendary shoes in the leading role. Damien's excitement at seeing it for the first time was contagious, and we both sat breathless as the dramatic opening chords blasted out. I'm not sure if she really is any shorter than her predecessor, but what struck me first-off about Ellis was her lack of physical presence in comparison to Menzel. This compounded with an immediate irritation at her Americanised singing (she is English, and delivers her speaking lines in an English accent, so why sing with an American one, especially when none of the rest of the cast do? Argh!), meant she was off to a bad start with me. In a way, I think it's a shame that they ever brought Menzel to the West End (although I am glad I got the chance to see her), as whoever followed her was bound to feel somewhat intimidated, and tempted to immitate her rendition of the part rather than making it fully their own. Having said all that, Ellis is obvoiusly not without talent, and carried the challenging role with spirited enthusiam. Removing the iconic Menzel from the equation has also given the rest of the cast more of a chance to shine, and makes it more of an ensemble piece than a one-woman show! I particularly appreciated Helen Dallimore's performance as Glinda this time round - her transition from air-headed bimbo to forceful good fairy is wonderfully executed, and emphasised by a notable change in singing style. Overall, the production seems to have settled nicely, complete with a few tweaks here and there, and it's still a mind-blowingly good show.

As if my weekend wasn't camp enough already (West End show with GBF), on Sunday I came face-to-face with gay-icon and pop princess Kylie Minogue! I was enjoying a yummy veggie breakfast (the poached eggs were a bit over-done mind) at Bill's cafe, pondering over my disappointing lack of purchases at the vintage fashion fair I'd just been to, when there she was in all her diminuitive glory - smiling sweetly at me as she walked right past our table! OhMyGod! Of course I immediately Twittered my celeb-spot, and eagerly texted all my gay friends - including the couple who had just blown me out for lunch... that'll teach them! The rest of the weekend was spent baking, twittering and trying to stay awake whilst watching the disappointingly tedious Superman Returns.

23:23

It's 23.23 and I'm in my front room listening to the new Do Make Say Think album, You, You're a History in Rust, for the first time. I probably shouldn't have it up so loud, considering the time of night, but I feel I'm educating my neighbours, who have previously shown no reservations about "sharing" Rod Stewart and other such soft rock abhorrences at more ungodly hours than this. Besides, this is an album that deserves to be listened to at full volume - both stirring and soothing, it is proving the ideal Friday night combination.

Earlier this evening I partook of some culture by way of a trip to the theatre - to see Harold Pinter's Old Times at the Theatre Royal. It was an odd play. And disconcertingly short. I find Pinter's dialogue, whilst compellingly naturalistic in intent (awkward pauses, unfinished sentences etc.), somewhat flat in execution. This three-hander concerns a reunion after 20 years between two girlfriends, in the presence of one of their husbands, who, it transpires, has a hitherto unknown connection to his wife's old friend. Each character reminisces aloud, but also very much in their own little world, so that the backstory becomes confused and one is unable to piece together any kind of coherent picture of the past. It concludes with the husband sobbing into his wife's lap while she stares coldly into the middle distance. The impetus for his outburst remained unclear to me, but perhaps that was the point. In confusing the audience Pinter demonstrates the weakness of the human mind, how easily memories are bent according to the will or subsequent experiences of their owner, and how people have different recollections of the same event years later. An interesting concept, and commendably undertaken by an undeniably talented cast and director in this production. But overall, it left me cold. Just as well I had the superb aforementioned album waiting at home to revive and soothe me. It's now 23:58, the CD is finished, and whilst I'm tempted to listen to it all over again (ideally under the influence of a large Godfather*) my eyelids are beginning to droop and my bed is calling...

*Whiskey & Amaretto cocktail

Burlesque Magnet?

While I've been slowly emerging from the surreal and slightly sordid haze that is the Lost Vagueness experience, my life seems to have rather spookily taken a turn for the burlesque... On Wednesday, at a wake of all places, I got chatting to a girl who turned out to be a can-can dancer in her spare time. We enthused over LV, and other similar events with which her troup is involved - and promised to keep in touch. Then last night I was in my local, The Barley Mow in Kemptown, for the regular pub quiz, and found myself sat next to one of the ex-barmaids who, it transpires, is now an erotic dancer with conjuring aspirations! She practised one of her latest card-tricks on me (I was duly impressed), and regaled me with flamboyant tales of nipple-pyrotechnics and public nudity. Having swiftly dispensed with the usual tedious ice-breaking period, we ended up joining forces for the quiz, and bonded over our shared passion for corsetry, travesty and exhibitionism. It was certainly a quiz to remember, even though we only came second (I blame the charmingly distracting prescence of my new friend). I'm starting to feel as though the spirit of Lost Vagueness is following me... perhaps tonight I'll end up on the dancefloor with some fire-eating stilt-walkers? Now that would be amusing...

Links
Ministry of Burlesque
Marlborough Theatre
Les Ooh La Las

A Night of Debauchery

On Saturday I went to my first ever Lost Vagueness event up in London. A twisted, burlesque club/cabaret night, LV started as an alternative sideshow at Glastonbury festival a few years back and has evolved into one of the most esteemed outfits on the alternative entertainment scene, laying on various events and festivals throughout the year, at which literally anything goes. My LV virginity was taken at the latest of these, The Valentine's Day Massacre, held at The Coronet in Elephant & Castle. Being a fancy dress afficionado, I was especially excited at the prospect of partying with like-minded costume-loving show-offs, and I wasn't disappointed. An exotic array of apparel presented itself as we entered, with everything from cyber-goth to theatrical/vintage style outfits being worn with confidence by the eclectic crowd. There was also plenty of exposed flesh, and no shortage of ripped stockings and smudged make-up, and this was before things had even really got going! My costume comprised a slinky Victoriana-inspired ensemble, along with black wings to complete my 'kinky cupid' look.

We spent the early part of the evening getting our bearings, swigging cava and soaking up all the visual stimulation on offer. There was much excitable frolicking to observe, some of the best people-watching you could hope for. One of my favourite moments was witnessing a kinky-nun attempting to use one of the giant pink balloons on the dancefloor as a pilates ball, and ending up crashing to the floor in spectacular style as it unsurprisingly burst beneath her. The venue, a converted theatre, was spread over two floors - downstairs a dancefloor and the main stage where the bands played, then upstairs a more intimate bar area, with a small cabaret stage for the various kooky acts. These included a man dressed as a cyborg, sawing off his cyber-penis - all very surreal. After queuing for what seemed like an eternity, whilst being psyched out by two freaky ladies on the door, we were finally let into the 'Hate Booth', in which an enraged man behind bars wearing bad pants hurled abuse at us and the other two girls in our mini-audience. Unfortunately by this point I was too far-gone to come up with any witty retortes, and just sat there, stunned, as I was cursed, castigated and insulted for several minutes.

Seven hours of frivolity, feistiness and flailing later, and suddenly it was 6am and time to go home. I couldn't believe the night had gone by so quickly, and slightly regret getting so wasted that the last few hours are a bit of a blur. Now sporting an impressive array of UDIs (unidentified drinking injuries), I can only imagine whatever I got up to must have involved either falling down stairs, a wrestling match, or some impressive acrobatics. If there are any witnesses out there who can remember beating up a wasted kinky cupid, perhaps you could own up and spare me the misery of my failing memory... Not content with shedding whatever thin veneer of dignity I had in front of the fairly new friends I went with, it seems somehow fitting that, like a true fallen angel, I also lost my wings. Still feeling distinctly jaded today, I am getting vexingly hazy recollections popping into my addled mind at regular intervals, making me smile and cringe in equal measure. I guess that's what Lost Vagueness is all about... Can't wait for the next one!

Some Music that I Like

In spite of, or perhaps inspired by, my continuing penchant for regular rum-soaked social escapades, I’ve recently been swept up in a spate of unusually fervent musical discovery. It’s been ages since I felt so inspired by contemporary popular music, and my purse is positively groaning from the hammering it has received in Rounder Records as a result! So, while I'm in a sharing mood, here are just some of my current favourites:

Archie Bronson Outfit
I may have mentioned these guys in a previous post about the Green Man festival, but they certainly warrant another plug here. Possibly the most overlooked band of 2006, their latest album Derdang Derdang offers the kind of raw, rasping, urgent rock that is ideal for aiding my regular stomp up Southover Street (anyone reading who’s not from Brighton – this is one of the steepest hills in town, redeemed only by the fact that it also boasts at least six pubs), and pisses all over all those sub-britpop soundalikes who I have come to loathe - so much so that I can’t even bear to name-check them here.

Do Say Make Think
Sunday afternoon paper-reading-with-hangover music at its best (and also rather good as a still-drunk-but-not-ready-for-bed-yet early hours chill-out soundtrack). Reminiscent of Krautrock pioneers Can, DSMT have the same rambling, improvised feel, which I find strangely soothing. There is also a touch of early Low about the hypnotically repetitive, ponderous guitar motifs, which then build into a mellow frenzy of unidentifiable noises - including various wind and percussion instruments. The lack of vocals also makes it easier to 'zone out' when feeling too tired/drunk/jaded to be bothered listening to lyrics. I was irritated with myself when I discovered that they've been around for over ten years, and I've been missing out all this time.

The Long Blondes
A current favourite of BBC 6Music, these Blondie-esque hipsters are getting plenty of airplay, and deservedly so. Their fervent, upbeat, often frenzied pop tunes are punctuated by singer Kate Jackson’s unusually striking and refreshingly enunciated vocals.

Arcade Fire
OK, so I admit I was slow on the uptake here, as it seems everyone else out there is already a fan (including the eternally irritating Chris Martin from Coldplay, who can't stop gushing about them - which incidentally means they must be good, as normally I wouldn't associate myself with anything he does - the smug git). It took a friend's recommendation to turn me on to these French-Canadian indie-rockers, and I am grateful to them for it (you know who you are). Unfortunately I wasn't on the ball enough to snap up a ticket to their sell-out upcoming London dates, so I shall be impatiently awaiting the opportunity to see them live. Meanwhile, my ears will have to continue forgiving me for cranking up the volume on my mp3 player in order to fully appreciate the invigorating ensemble of sounds... Twinkling pianos and swooning strings underpin distorted guitars and emotive vocals, with occasional accordion and glockenspiel cameos, as they swing between a gentle-ballady and pulsing pop-rock vibe.

Beirut
Citing influences from Jacques Brel to The Smiths, and incorporating a diverse range of genres including klezmer, bluegrass, cabaret, jazz, Arabic, folk, bal-musette, electronica, avante-garde and pop, Beirut's unique sound is a welcome addition to the growing 'world music' section of my record collection. Whilst I'm not really sure what 'world music' actually means (surely all music is from 'the world'?), this seems the most appropriate term to distinguish certain styles of music from generic pop/rock bands. Perhaps a separate blog on the semantics of musical terminology is warranted... er, actually...no.

Further listening suggestions/recommendations from fellow music-enthusiasts are positively encouraged!

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A little bit of pixie dust...

Since dressing up as Peter Pan for Matty's 30th birthday (see picture) exactly one month ago, I seem to have absorbed something of that legendary character's traits, namely, to avoid being a grown-up. This has manifested itself largely in my rekindled party spirit following that crazy 'Magic & Mayhem' night. The fact that it was also the starting block of the festive season's inevitable social merry-go-round can't have helped either. As per my previous post, the office party took place hot on the heels of Mat's do, hangover barely subsided, for 'round two'. The absence of blogging in the ensuing weeks can largely be put down to the fact that I've been stumbling round in a semi-drunken haze ever since. Not that I'm complaining, far from it. I sincerely thank the spirit of Peter Pan for reminding me that there is more to life than mortgages and housework. While most of my friends are settling down to have kids, I'm determined to have one last stab at being one myself!