tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51418396657563979932024-03-19T03:15:13.158+00:00Broon's Tunes (and other stories)Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-82458444815575902102012-11-09T09:00:00.000+00:002013-02-16T03:11:32.924+00:00Up, Up and Away - Hot Air Ballooning in CappadociaI went to Turkey and went hot air ballooning over the magical landscape of Cappadocia. You can read about it, and see the pictures, at <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/travel/features/303375-up_up_away_hot_air_ballooning_in_cappadocia">The Skinny</a>.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-17522136059902609772012-08-06T16:30:00.000+01:002013-02-16T03:09:36.708+00:00The Skinny on... ColombiaAfter travelling to Colombia, I wrote a broad overview of the country as a backpackers' destination. You can read it, as always, at <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/travel/features/302333-the_skinny_colombia">The Skinny</a>.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-67764226587711406962012-04-09T10:00:00.000+01:002013-02-16T03:07:39.561+00:00Kayaking in FiordlandI wrote an article about kayaking in the Fiordland area of of the South Island of New Zealand, you can read it at <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/travel/features/301566-kayaking_in_fiordland">The Skinny</a>. <br />
<br />
<br />Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-22179760992176995942011-12-03T04:01:00.000+00:002011-12-03T04:01:00.831+00:00A Missive from Thailand: Everything's Going Swimmingly!I wrote about learning how to swim in Chiang Mai, Thailand. You can read it <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/travel/features/300793-a_missive_from_thailand_everythings_going_swimmingly">here</a>.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-73658580111321419192011-12-02T03:41:00.004+00:002011-12-02T03:46:54.767+00:00The Very, Very Big MatchRacism at the highest level, countless corruption allegations, match-fixing enquiries worldwide, disrespect for our sacred poppy, the never-ending demands for video technology; FIFA is under pressure from every angle and now faces a new controversy following last Sunday's big Blues v Purples match in Surin, eastern Thailand. The Purples' tricky No.7 was both the star of the show and the centre of the controversy - let's call him, for no special reason, Luis - for three times he raced through the heavy footed Blues' defence with the ball tucked under his trunk. Twice Luis uncurled shots at goal from close range only for them to be blocked by the Blues' massive No.2, and the other time he was foiled by his own last-minute miscontrol, but the Purples' goal was scored with a similar maneuvre by the gigantic No.9 who was clearly inspired by Luis's display. Oh, this was an elephant football match, by the way. The players were all elephants. Literally elephants, Jamie. Elephants.<br /><br /><iframe width="425" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DPQSPTobezE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br />I made a 22 hour round trip from Bangkok to watch this match, and it was barely worth it, for it's not often you get to see a match featuring players of such phenomenal natural strength, grey leathery skin and big flappy ears; neither is it common (at least in the SPL; I don't watch English football) to see a defender caught out by a through ball because he is too busy defecating on the pitch. Fortunately for the huge centre-back, this piece of sloppy defending went unpunished.<br /><br />The match finished 1-1 after a sclaffed goal-kick by the Purples' goalkeeper landed right at the toes of the Blues' really very large No.9 who, showing good feet for a five tonne septegenarian, turned and sclaffed a shot straight back to the goalkeeper, who in turn sclaffed the ball backwards and between his own posts. The goalscorer - who we'll call Zlatan, in preference to Peter, so as to not confuse readers of my next giraffe match report - celebrated by reaching his nose-arm into the crotch of a surprised team-mate, who was then lucky not to see red for a Rooney-like kick out at the offender. Direct nasal-genital groping or not, provocation is not an excuse.<br /><br />At full-time the match went to penalties, which were won 1-0 by the Blues, who thereby displayed more accuracy from the spot than the Brazil national human male squad did at the Copa America. Despite their triumph, the Blues trudged off the pitch as if they had no idea what their victory truly meant. I'm glad I'm not a fan.<br /><br />Back to the main controversy: does the definition of handball include the trunk-dribble? Elephants already have four limbs which are uncontroversially feet, because they are required for the elephant to stand, walk and run. The trunk is like a nose on the end of an arm, it's not very much like a foot at all. Let's ditch the legal mumbo-jumbo ("definition" etc.): it looks like handball. In fact, an elephant running at a line of other elephants with a ball wrapped in its trunk looks near-identical to a game of rugby, which would certainly not be worth travelling halfway across the world to report on. Elephant rugby? That's just stupid.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-69552113362515524882011-10-14T12:24:00.003+01:002011-10-14T12:27:01.798+01:0010 of the best pubs in EdinburghI wrote an article for Guardian Travel about Edinburgh. It's pretty self-explanatory.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2011/oct/12/top-10-pubs-bars-edinburgh">10 of the best pubs in Edinburgh</a>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-39101824484493566402011-10-14T12:13:00.002+01:002011-10-14T12:24:26.902+01:00Detour presents: Meursault / Happy Particles @ Glasgow Science Centre (Planetarium)<span style="font-weight: bold;">Meursault / Happy Particles at Glasgow Science Centre Planetarium (****)</span><br />Sunday October 9<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">live review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/music/live_reviews/300479-detour_presents_meursault_happy_particles_glasgow_science_centre_9_october">the skinny</a></span><br /><br />The planetarium isn't just a novel location for the sake of gimmickry, since a certain brand of rock music routinely provokes descriptions like "star-gazing" or "cosmic" and can feel emotionally profound in the same vague, mindclutter-emptying way as staring at the stars. <p>Sunday's first band <strong>Happy Particles</strong> fit the bill perfectly: even without a domed ceiling of stars and planets above them, they might fairly be described as a space-rock band. Before they start, the seated crowd is treated to a brief introduction to astronomy by planetarium staff member Simon, who amusingly talks to all us trendy music types like we're six years old again. "Look out for Geoff the Whale!" he tells us, before the stars above start to orbit the room, and Happy Particles slowly shift between chords.</p> <p>Theirs is not a clean or intricate game, preferring to play in the mud of indistinct guitar noise and heavily processed vocals, but it’s perfect for right now, gazing at flickering stars, what looks like Mars, and some dubiously drawn constellations (how can you get a dog from two dots?). Happy Particles should never perform in a wee bar again; please, talk to Simon about a residency.<br /><br /><strong>Meursault</strong>, perennial kings of Edinburgh’s gentle acoustic scene, could be a less appropriate choice for a setting that encourages us to consider infinite size, and the closer, a sparse take on ‘...Fields’ familiar to any fan, is somewhat swallowed by the "endless canopy" above it. But the new songs that dominate tonight's set reveal a heavier sound than ever before, which fills the room, if not the universe. Neil Pennycook’s songwriting has taken an angry turn, so his bandmates wallop the drums and strangle the guitars, but Pennycook’s voice is still a versatile emotional tool, and some of the new piano melodies are startlingly pretty. Meursault may benefit from more intimate venues, but Detour deserve a lot of credit for thinking outside the pub.</p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-54945693528826345242011-07-02T12:19:00.000+01:002011-07-02T12:19:00.302+01:00TV On The Radio @ ABC, Glasgow, 28 June<p>When TV On The Radio last played at the ABC, they were cheered by a packed and passionate crowd still enthralled with <em>Dear Science</em>, the band’s hugely successful third album which had come out two months prior. Almost three years on their return to this venue is met by a half-full hall, and the suspicion that new record <em>Nine Types Of Light</em> has underwhelmed fans, despite more glowing praise from critics, seems confirmed as the gig struggles to get going.</p> Six of the first seven songs, all new, elicit little more than polite applause; the oldie, an exuberant performance of <em>Return To Cookie Mountain</em>’s Blues From Down Here, also flounders, such is the crowd's skepticism. Somehow, the band turn it round: Province and Red Dress set up a loose and lively Staring At The Sun, and then Repetition – a <em>Nine Types</em> album track – is a sensation, Tunde Adebimpe’s fiery rambling vocals juxtaposing with Kyp Malone’s falsetto, while the band rushes headfirst into a cacophonous climax. However the dust settles on <em>Nine Types</em>, in Repetition they've an instant fillip for any awkward moment.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bb3XzHP9pAs" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-57244858550075771792011-06-30T15:18:00.006+01:002011-06-30T15:32:45.688+01:00Hard Up Down Under<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_v8sKGbM3BOUaPfcr2WkNTi3HNpHY8XCTR7Ts_qcWI-_JTNB-aHfhk2gYqmMQ0CdTQap22SfSb9iLybTKWuCAWt6PejE0NT7jvKJA1GfRCxsAKGxG92MvZ9kOX8Mv-PhgG_9qOIrioV4/s1600/IMG_0343.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_v8sKGbM3BOUaPfcr2WkNTi3HNpHY8XCTR7Ts_qcWI-_JTNB-aHfhk2gYqmMQ0CdTQap22SfSb9iLybTKWuCAWt6PejE0NT7jvKJA1GfRCxsAKGxG92MvZ9kOX8Mv-PhgG_9qOIrioV4/s320/IMG_0343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624020025269871266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Travel feature for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/102315-hard-up-down-under">The Skinny</a></span><br /><br />My bags are packed, I’m ready to leave. Australia, I’m done. You’re turning me into a Scottish stereotype. Friends warned me that 23 days here – 10 in Melbourne and Sydney, and 13 backpacking on the east coast above – would be woefully insufficient. It was plenty. Backpacking isn’t really possible here at the moment. Let me clarify – it’s entirely possible to trudge about with an overstuffed backpack on, sleep in fusty dorms of twelve and live off a relentless diet of pasta with tomato sauce every night. But it’s futile. You may be living like a tramp, but you’ll be spending like a king. <p>“The economy’s too bloody strong,” was the frustrated explanation of Roger, a hostel owner who was taking me and only me to his empty accommodation one night. Well, it was low season, and other hostels were busier, but it’s true to observe that Australia has never been more expensive for a visitor than it is now. A pound used to buy two-and-a-half Australian dollars, now only one-and-a-half. So a low-range hostel dorm bed, $30, used to be a reasonable £12, but is now £20. That’s only the start. If you like to travel with a guidebook, bring one with you and guard it like a second passport: they’re $40 to $75 here. A sandwich, wee bottle of coke and pack of crisps will cost $15 (£10). It’s the same for a pack of cigarettes, and if you can find a pint for less than five quid, you’ve chanced upon happy hour. Prepare to go hungry, sober, or insolvent.</p> <p>It’s fine if you work here. Many of the travellers I’ve met here have been working, too. The minimum wage is $15 (£10), but bar staff can expect at least $20, and one former barman told me he earned $57 per hour on Easter Sunday. That’s forty bloody quid!</p> <p>The main attractions on Australia’s east coast are, I should say, free. Beaches are free. Swimming is free. Surfing is free (if you have a board). I saw a lot of beaches. I lay under the sun. The sun is free. Queensland is “The Sunshine State” (disclaimer: sunshine may also be received or distributed in other states). Also free and occasionally available: rain. One tourist brochure gave me inspiration for how to enjoy Queensland’s beaches: “Build an old-fashioned sand castle, creating priceless memories to share with loved ones”. So I’ll build a castle with turrets and a moat, I thought, and take pictures and post them to Facebook or something? But I didn’t want to shell out for a bucket and spade. I wavered, and chose lunch instead.</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEacxxCxTm_qxj2c4s4YsXrifZQqO0ZTMleSNZ_zlK7KQhZYE0jHeZKLp3aeduIzvmIkoG9mjR8A3IBX6XPkXwF7CR_D3sC8-cUDuHGN2Zwv39B_iHNRPUD7BnS-rI8y_J2tM5EucQQ0C/s1600/IMG_0329.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEacxxCxTm_qxj2c4s4YsXrifZQqO0ZTMleSNZ_zlK7KQhZYE0jHeZKLp3aeduIzvmIkoG9mjR8A3IBX6XPkXwF7CR_D3sC8-cUDuHGN2Zwv39B_iHNRPUD7BnS-rI8y_J2tM5EucQQ0C/s320/IMG_0329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624018327642488898" border="0" /></a></p><p>I spent money to see other beaches. I paid over $300 – that’s the going rate – for two days and a night on Fraser Island <span style="font-style: italic;">(coastline, above)</span>, the world’s biggest sand island. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site – like the Grand Canyon and Angkor and Stonehenge and central Edinburgh – which means the UN guarantees it’s cool. I won’t disagree with the UN. The main highway on Fraser Island is 75 Mile Highway; it’s also called 75 Mile Beach. It runs the entire length of the island. Depending on the Pacific tide, 75 Mile Beach is up to 100m deep (or “wide”, if you’re driving along it) with another 100m of chaotic, shark-infested surf, and a 20-50m wide mirror in-between, constantly shrinking and being refreshed by the sea, reflecting the sky and clouds above. I called it 75 Mile Mirror. Contrary to bible advice, some wise men have built hotels upon the sand; they’re perfectly stable. Three buffet meals were included in the deal, so my new friends and I stocked up on nutrients, eager to improve our calories-to-dollars ratios. At night, groaning, we trundled back to 75 Mile Beach. Twenty miles away from the nearest settlement, the sky was as clear as I’d ever seen. While on the lookout for wild dingoes, we stood on the highway and watched shooting stars slice the Southern Cross. Stars are free. Meteors are free.</p> <p>75 Mile Beach is not the best beach on Fraser Island, certainly. For a start, it’s a highway: all the tourist traffic uses it to get anywhere. One destination requiring most of its length is the Champagne Pools, a gathering of smooth rocks which form four or five perfect little swimming pools of frothy sea water, not champagne. While most tourists were distracted by the pools, repeatedly topped-up by the gracious sea, there were two idyllic golden sand beaches just metres away, uninhabited even while tour buses were parked nearby. Inland, a hundred metres high and through miles of rainforest, is Lake McKenzie <span style="font-style: italic;">(below)</span>, a freshwater lake of deep blue with immaculately white sand verges. Such a beautiful spot could never be a secret, so there were dozens of other people around, even in low season. But it’s easy to walk a little and find space. We were there for about an hour.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uxijZ-lk7IsKqRqRgJ2BaDMezpl1aDpq_cwKZ9NiDDUVGwrr19FR9r-LDgZe993lV1N2EiRbK1aJSXCaCARSfc0ghbMgLKTKOVbulkGpZAWeAF7JH8G1eUPCtKcbHUi_5yHVBHk1aWQO/s1600/IMG_0266.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uxijZ-lk7IsKqRqRgJ2BaDMezpl1aDpq_cwKZ9NiDDUVGwrr19FR9r-LDgZe993lV1N2EiRbK1aJSXCaCARSfc0ghbMgLKTKOVbulkGpZAWeAF7JH8G1eUPCtKcbHUi_5yHVBHk1aWQO/s320/IMG_0266.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624018795635108882" border="0" /></a></p> <p>I paid to visit another beach too, for about an hour. Among the Whitsunday Islands, a thousand bus minutes up the coast, is Whitehaven Beach <span style="font-style: italic;">(below)</span>, famous for having 99% silica sand. Every travel agent in town referred to it as one of the top five or ten or three beaches in the world. CNN voted it the No.1 eco-friendly beach in the world. OK, let’s disagree with CNN. Every day, dozens of ferries make four-hour round trips shuttling tourists to this beach, bypassing many other lovely-looking and empty beaches on the way. In what way is that eco-friendly? Being a practiced skinflint by now, I bought the cheapest ticket to the island I could find. I paid sixty quid ($89) for a choppy two-hour ferry ride, on which a young boy was thrown against a bannister and lost a tooth, and lots of people vomited, to spend one hour on this beach. It was indeed a very beautiful beach, impossibly fine white sand and gently turquoise waters. I was just dozing, when a boat landed not twenty feet in front of me. “Right guys, everybody off, here it is, the number one beach in the world! I’ve got footies and frisbees, who wants one?" But Whitehaven cannot be the number one, ten or fifty beach in the world, because it is publicised as such. It is immodest. The best beaches don’t gloat about themselves. The best beaches keep mum. And the best beaches don’t eject you back onto a ferry after a quid-a-minute stay. Whitehaven isn’t even the best beach in Queensland – I may, or may not, have already referred to that already; not telling.</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjv2BWMhtvFiZ8XMfWOtSVijXCNIDhfiifWf2Up3gFKqja14TZpdEelSlzaDMNjKErEpoK9mK-RqT9vg37CedyZsDyePAYGdc7anUrZ1dBLFtqnGXF4kvWSW0TsmBwJKpsIv2H5SX0cn1/s1600/IMG_0193.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjv2BWMhtvFiZ8XMfWOtSVijXCNIDhfiifWf2Up3gFKqja14TZpdEelSlzaDMNjKErEpoK9mK-RqT9vg37CedyZsDyePAYGdc7anUrZ1dBLFtqnGXF4kvWSW0TsmBwJKpsIv2H5SX0cn1/s320/IMG_0193.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624019272583822162" border="0" /></a></p><p>Millions of beaches, beaches for free. What else is there to the east coast of Australia? The Great Barrier Reef – which also has the UN’s stamp of approval – is a huge attraction for scuba divers. I can’t dive, so I can’t comment. It’s probably amazing. You can snorkel too, and kayak with dolphins, and skydive. You can eat steak pies or fish and chips or pasta. You can watch the royal wedding in a pub among Union flag-waving oi-boys and tiara’d daddy’s princesses from the home counties. You can watch a bloke with a guitar setting up and predict, correctly, that he’ll kick off with Wonderwall. I am aware which Queen’s land this is and so on; but it’s still a little disappointing to be 10,000 miles from home and have days which could have been had in Margate. Sydney’s exciting. Melbourne’s really cool. I hear the west coast is wonderful.</p> <p>Best of all? New Zealand is only a thousand miles away.</p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-4104879311675861412011-06-13T17:54:00.008+01:002011-06-13T18:06:55.036+01:00Trainhopping In Japan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifT1sFZ3IlIQ-rvWzKWed6_LZIRN50FeI8nOUezGYQ4lbzNCOw5gvFl8plPU48mws_3xPCa9hIwSQTSNQyTP9MNRLx0BwzhEg7QE-SxDiufA6fxdnpF98aWN3a6Aon7Dj9S-CXkLCiVfcC/s1600/shinkansen.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifT1sFZ3IlIQ-rvWzKWed6_LZIRN50FeI8nOUezGYQ4lbzNCOw5gvFl8plPU48mws_3xPCa9hIwSQTSNQyTP9MNRLx0BwzhEg7QE-SxDiufA6fxdnpF98aWN3a6Aon7Dj9S-CXkLCiVfcC/s320/shinkansen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617750343366829074" border="0" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Travel feature for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101951-trainhopping-in-japan">The Skinny</a></span><br /></p><p>I could wait tables on this train, I thought. I could serve drinks, heavy drinks in tall glasses, on a tray held on one hand, using only one leg, while drunk, I thought. It’s so smooth! Sitting on a British train is like hatching a nest of pneumatic drills, I thought, compared to the flat-bottomed glide of this gleaming white <em>shinkansen</em>. How can I ever go back? And it’s going so fast, according to the blur of scenery in the window. I stood up, holding my water bottle in my left hand, and scouted. No-one was looking: one suit was transfixed by his laptop, a suit in front was concentrating hard on his <em>bento </em>lunchbox, and the suit at the back was asleep. I lifted my left leg off the ground, crouched, and hopped across a river, three kayaks and a houseboat, without spilling a drop. Take that Jonathan Edwards – you, actually, very nice man – take that jump and stick it!</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidWJwVUmAqytDO72zlKiGVwoVCWz-6L7F_a0XLkmyeqCIakzXVFrdmj_U5524IgZPgslSkYR78pPmj-FLgS4Milc7PhsOIMKNaIhNRZ6-Sr3JqOnfWBmorgcJz8cXJmth9lJ_Gb66Xgze/s1600/miyajima+torii.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidWJwVUmAqytDO72zlKiGVwoVCWz-6L7F_a0XLkmyeqCIakzXVFrdmj_U5524IgZPgslSkYR78pPmj-FLgS4Milc7PhsOIMKNaIhNRZ6-Sr3JqOnfWBmorgcJz8cXJmth9lJ_Gb66Xgze/s320/miyajima+torii.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617751212625544914" border="0" /></a></p> <p>I exaggerate a little: British trains are okay; what really feels like you're hatching a nest of pneumatic drills is when you're sitting on the bog when a massive earthquake strikes 450 miles away. First thought: am I ill? I can’t sit still, my head is spinning; how much did I drink last night? Then: maybe this is what a faraway earthquake feels like. It wasn't my gut or my head, it was <em>exactly</em> what a faraway earthquake feels like.</p> <p>Although the calamities in the north-eastern part of Honshu have knocked it off any tourist’s schedule for the foreseeable future, most of Japan is continuing with life as normal. The Japanese are legendarily stoic and hard-working – Hiroshima’s tram system was up-and-running just three days after the city was wiped flat by the A-bomb – they’ll bounce back as quickly as is humanly possible. Japan itself is a beautiful country with a singular culture, more resistant to globalisation than most, and so endlessly fascinating to Western eyes. Ordinarily, this is where I'd say, "There's never a bad time to visit Japan", but the Foreign Office might disagree, so check online for the latest advice.</p><p>If you want to get the most out of a trip to Japan, you have to get a Japan Rail Pass. It’s a piece of folded card you show to barrier staff to get on any JR train – including most bullet trains and all local trains – whenever you want. So you can wake up anywhere in Japan and go anywhere in Japan that day, on a whim if you prefer, for the duration of your pass. Presently, the pass unfortunately features on its cover a cartoon representation of a tsunami, towering over Mount Fuji – two images iconic of Japan; one with a painful new association.</p> <p>On my first morning in Tokyo, I handed my JR Pass receipt to Aika at Ueno station, to receive the pass itself. “Oh no!” she said, her face pained with regret. “Your train will be a <em>Kodama</em>, it’s the slow one.” Sadly, I would not be breaking any land speed records on my first day in her country. The sluggish <em>Kodama</em> is the most common <em>shinkansen</em> between Tokyo and Kansai (Kyoto, Osaka and Kobe). It took 50 minutes to carry me 70 miles to Mishima, where I was to base myself at a friend’s for ten days; that’s 19 miles further than the Glasgow-Edinburgh train travels in the same time. The <em>Hikari </em>stops less, so is faster: it takes 44 minutes to cover 70 miles. But even the <em>Hikari </em>is an apathetic snail compared to the <em>Nozomi </em>(32 minutes), or the brand new <em>Hayabusa </em>(30 minutes), neither of which are covered by the JR pass.</p> <p>But merely rattling off numbers can’t effectively convey the speed at which a <em>shinkansen </em>travels. Only one word bullets to mind to perfectly describe the bulleting speed of the Japanese bullet trains: “projectilish”.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJ2TMJDZ-NQHFWcajljOSFdqiqJ502d28MFAIANks5UhBIFyi1JyoiPpwTuo1P961t7KF0Cc6Y_BYwsn25oLIBMLeq3ibrtG13xAE9FHymOZlin_TceQzMaeAzAs9KSiKGp_tVKjRUuK8/s1600/tokyo+at+night.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJ2TMJDZ-NQHFWcajljOSFdqiqJ502d28MFAIANks5UhBIFyi1JyoiPpwTuo1P961t7KF0Cc6Y_BYwsn25oLIBMLeq3ibrtG13xAE9FHymOZlin_TceQzMaeAzAs9KSiKGp_tVKjRUuK8/s320/tokyo+at+night.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617750743195263106" border="0" /></a></p> <p>Tokyo is the biggest and quite possibly best city in the world. There are 35 million people in Greater Tokyo: that’s seven times the population of Scotland; about the same population as Canada, the word’s second largest country; and almost half the number of Celtic fans who say they were in Seville. But it suffers none of the problems that too-many-people seems to cause other megacities: it’s incredibly clean, tidy and ordered, there’s no air pollution, it’s shockingly safe, and public transport is efficient and usually comfortable. It could so easily be overwhelming, but it feels less crowded than London, which has a quarter Tokyo’s people. I went to Shinjuku station, the busiest in the world, to catch an evening rush hour train to Tokyo station, expecting to see the famous pusher-oners – employees whose task it is to push as many commuters on to each train as possible – and perhaps be pushed on by a pusher-oner. Instead, I got a seat.</p> <p>While Tokyo functions impeccably, its character remains eccentric. I took a stroll through Yoyogi Park on a Sunday and saw normal park activities – badminton, frisbee, picnics, couples hand-in-hand – and less expected sights: an old woman practising keepie-uppies; young girls dressed as Manga characters; groups of competitive rock’n’roll dancers, all dressed like Happy Days characters (mostly The Fonz); an old man with live fish in goldfish bowls hanging from each ear; red-favouring goths; apocalyptic preachers; karate bouts. Around every other corner in central Tokyo is a bewildering and delightful variety of bars, shops and blazing nighttime lights, using inscrutable symbols to make unknown promises. All you can do is wander, wide-eyed, and wonder; and wish to be able to sample it all. But you could live in Tokyo all your life and never sample it all.</p> <p>With a rail pass in hand, you’re discouraged from trying: it’s time to move on. There are plenty of getaways outside of Tokyo, mostly in the surrounding Japanese Alps. Pelting snow greeted me at the mountainous area of Hakone, so I stripped to the nip and walked outside, into an <em>onsen</em>, a hot bath filled with volcanic water. Back inside the traditional B&B, known as a <em>ryokan</em>, I dressed in a <em>yukata </em>gown, drank green tea, ate a pack of delicious convenience store <span style="font-style: italic;">sushi</span>, and slept on a <em>tatami </em>mat. You could say I spent that evening turning Japanese. Further north – but not within range of the tsunami – is Nikko, another wondrous mountain retreat with beautiful lakes and waterfalls, <em>onsens</em> and elaborate old shrines. Some people use a JR pass to cover as much ground in Japan as possible, but I wanted the pass to serve my holiday, not the other way around. I spent ten days in and around Tokyo, never further north than Nikko, before hopping on a <em>shinkansen </em>to Kyoto.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4qZa5R-YqqttTCtHv_rmDAM_CPbHeZo0PLNqY1T-t-TWbtD16cNZqbiiIT2todEwlosUpy5eHbpD8j50Az0Acdd3fDk9tfb0JgfiSTfFRaYFqif5_pzULLaLAXopUvXHzrrOqB4bZH9J/s1600/sunset.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4qZa5R-YqqttTCtHv_rmDAM_CPbHeZo0PLNqY1T-t-TWbtD16cNZqbiiIT2todEwlosUpy5eHbpD8j50Az0Acdd3fDk9tfb0JgfiSTfFRaYFqif5_pzULLaLAXopUvXHzrrOqB4bZH9J/s320/sunset.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617751810935808370" border="0" /></a></p> <p>Kyoto is very different from Tokyo: it’s not a ridiculous size, so it’s less intense, unless you’re a serious scholar of Japanese history, in which case you’d have to spend every waking minute exploring its 2,000 (two thousand) temples and shrines. For the rest of us, we fit in what we can: a golden Buddhist temple here, a zen rock garden there, torii gates and geisha girls almost everywhere. Downtown Kyoto is as clean and modern as any Japanese city, but down its side-streets and alleys you can find flashes of old Japan, as evocative of the area’s history as the Old Town is of Edinburgh’s. Osaka, a convenient half-an-hour westward, is conveniently comparable to Glasgow: twice the size of its ancient neighbour, more commercial and industrial, and with better nightlife. This area, Kansai, also boasts the beautiful former capital of Nara, and Kobe, which you can hop between as you please with a JR pass.</p> <p>In the days following the disaster, I continued trainhopping around Japan as planned. On the ground, nothing was different; it's odd to see life continuing as normal when the television shows such devastation to fellow citizens; but continue it does. Despite what some media outlets portrayed, Japan wasn't on its knees, and it isn't on its knees now. Don't write Japan off: the <span style="font-style: italic;">shinkansen</span> must go on.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVad_pBnvx74kmDBZhmuJizYw2jXuxV_ERw_F1x4C5j43UmZhGpfyLuRg56-LTOaV3dg0qOgIi1WM6kntD-Wjc0SZgXXa2TWv_Yud6F30Z_eH4c60ufAmazW2LWCpJulh226ixOz8IycS/s1600/japan+poster.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVad_pBnvx74kmDBZhmuJizYw2jXuxV_ERw_F1x4C5j43UmZhGpfyLuRg56-LTOaV3dg0qOgIi1WM6kntD-Wjc0SZgXXa2TWv_Yud6F30Z_eH4c60ufAmazW2LWCpJulh226ixOz8IycS/s400/japan+poster.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617751562665815026" border="0" /></a></p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-6455629992362066152011-01-11T13:33:00.003+00:002011-01-11T14:11:10.563+00:00Cheerio!In 90 minutes I'm going to Glasgow Airport to fly to London Heathrow and then on to Hong Kong. I won't be back in Scotland until June.<br /><br />I'm not doing any more music writing, because I'm travelling the world. In fact, I'm quite looking forward to not feeling the pressure to listen to new music for the next few months.<br /><br />I will hopefully write a couple of travel articles, probably for The Skinny, probably about Japan and Australia. I also might update this blog with what I'm doing. Maybe might perhaps.<br /><br />Right, I guess I better start packing...Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-15620420799371384772010-12-03T14:16:00.001+00:002010-12-03T14:16:00.211+00:00The Skinny's Favourite LP of 2010: Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnAJXXN2jop8Ba0zUhqmhiBWNpfTBTJrKUtY_DuQXL6p1yhCCITm8hug0Tz3aGbccl7maR06Z_HPEt8wtAqnMaJ0ocnSbtKSeZCPTxtA3LBU2WV71O-NOfpnd6z1d0OfH0B5cR-UwZdbWy/s1600/have+one+on+me.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnAJXXN2jop8Ba0zUhqmhiBWNpfTBTJrKUtY_DuQXL6p1yhCCITm8hug0Tz3aGbccl7maR06Z_HPEt8wtAqnMaJ0ocnSbtKSeZCPTxtA3LBU2WV71O-NOfpnd6z1d0OfH0B5cR-UwZdbWy/s320/have+one+on+me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546191867062313794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Top 10 of 2010</span><br />No.1 <span style="font-weight: bold;">Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">feature for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101083-10-of-2010-1-joanna-newsom-have-one-on-me">the skinny</a></span><br /><br /><p>Pay attention: it's hard – when there are photos, graphics, animations, videos and flashing coloured boxes, links to definitions and further reading and green cards and prizes, pages left and right and a billion others nearby, comments to make and songs to hear, hot new bands and unknown cult heroes and trends and friends and not enough time – to focus.</p> <p>On one thing.</p> <p>Until its end.</p> <p>Without jumping away.</p> <p>We apparently have to hand more information about the last eight years than about the preceding fourteen billion, because every new second spawns gigabytes of data: every sparing thought is a status, comment or tweet, every idea a blog post, every sight a photo, every sound a song, every song a dozen videos and on it goes. It's impossible to keep up with all this... everything, but we try. Multi-tasking is the new relaxing. We’re over-stimulated by unlimited content from an over-populated planet. Nothing sustains; it’s next, next, next, next.</p> <p>At no point in the history of recorded music has a triple-album been a good idea, but especially not this point in history. It's just too long. Less is more, Joanna. Doubles are already pushing the limits. It just shows you don't know how to edit yourself, Joanna. To an iPod shuffler, filler is the biggest crime of all, and triple albums are serial offenders. To a multi-tasker, patience is an anachronism and subtlety a hindrance. A triple album by Joanna Newsom!? Next!</p> <p><em>Have One On Me</em>, astonishingly, wouldn’t be improved by editing. It's truly a first: a triple album that justifies its entire length. With Joanna Newsom, more is more.</p> <p>After the elaborate fantasia of <em>Ys</em>, <em>Have One On Me</em> is comparatively straight-forward: instead of sinister pacts between runaway animals, here we have songs about the familiar twenty-something concerns of love and relationships, beginning with a blissful announcement of new love and ending with a sorrowful admittance of loves failure. But it's not an easy listen: her voice, modified after a throat injury, is still to newcomers thin and affected; her arrangements are sparse and delicate, her melodies subtle to tease out; her lyrics, more direct than before, are still shrouded by erudite poetry. And – did I mention? – it's more than two hours long. <em>Have One On Me</em> is not casual listening. It pays to pay attention to it.</p><br /><p>Joanna Newsom is a dazzling lyricist, in both the positive and negative senses of "dazzling", but now almost wholly in the positive. On her first album, she sang "never get so attached to a poem you forget the truth lacks lyricism" and duly remained so attached. <em>The Milk-Eyed Mender</em> and <em>Ys</em> were full of beautiful lines, but lots of them were impossible to parse; <em>Have One On Me</em> is full of beautiful lines, but few are pure show, and many more lay their truths bare. In Good Intentions Paving Company she develops the story with wonderful phrases like “It had a nice a ring to it, when the old opera house rang, so with a solemn Auld Lang Syne, sealed, delivered I sang"; then she delivers a sucker punch at the end with the plain appeal “I only want for you to pull over and hold me 'til I can’t remember my own name.” Those moments hit right in the gut, because they're a reminder that emotions don't wait for the mind to articulate them. Joanna Newsom is meticulous, but her heart is not.</p> <p>As carefully as she places each syllable, she places each note. There's not a gramme of fat on <em>Have One On Me</em>. Esme, 81 and On A Good Day are entirely solo, just Newsom and her harp. Baby Birch and Go Long feel just as sparse, every slow string twang allowed to live its full life to create an incredible intimacy. Then jaggedy guitar slaps burst through the former, a heavenly kora rains down in the latter, and they both very gradually build to stirring conclusions. In California, one of the album’s most beautifully frail songs, has 14 credited performers, unbelievably, as does the title track, which develops over its eleven minutes with quite staggering dexterity. Some players shuffle in for a brief flourish and then vanish; it's sufficient. No silence is filled without reason, no solo supported without cause.</p> <p><em>Have One On Me</em> stands out in 2010 because it's stimulating art, not just stimulation. Music and technology are moving towards convenience as a common goal, but <em>Have One On Me</em> is not convenient, it’s a challenge. The vast availability of music to the modern listener promotes a box-of-chocolates approach – many flavours, tasted briefly – but <em>Have One On Me</em> defies brief sampling, requiring many listens to reveal all its charms. Scenes and fashions can often be relied upon to flesh out a musician’s image or ideas, but there's no scene or fashion supporting <em>Have One On Me</em>. It’s a unique and uncompromising album, and in the age of tl;dr, that makes it a totem for the independent artistic ideal.</p><p><br /></p><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ORmjdiATbFs?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ORmjdiATbFs?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-39059509525224781292010-12-02T20:47:00.004+00:002010-12-02T20:53:18.048+00:00The Skinny's 3rd Favourite LP of 2010: Caribou - Swim<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAn9BHpPTStVC2F6uVp5QCjdnGicpiXTDoIYxcThOgLfiLczKCeihmkDdgRBdyxJoA7UlVWPs0C94kWVIs-jWUU5nplueESv2nY4rtUn_J5ZNMQgM47n5AktC99fhuYHDuxzZFQoF-8EO/s1600/Swim.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAn9BHpPTStVC2F6uVp5QCjdnGicpiXTDoIYxcThOgLfiLczKCeihmkDdgRBdyxJoA7UlVWPs0C94kWVIs-jWUU5nplueESv2nY4rtUn_J5ZNMQgM47n5AktC99fhuYHDuxzZFQoF-8EO/s320/Swim.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546190088697491730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 10 of 2010</span></span><br />No.3 <span style="font-weight: bold;">Caribou - Swim</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">interview <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101069-10-of-2010-3-caribou-swim">for the skinny</a></span><br /><br /><p>Canadian Dan Snaith has been making good records for over a decade now, but in 2010 he made a great one. After years of dipping his toes into dance music, for <em>Swim </em>he dived right in. The Skinny met Caribou backstage at Glasgow’s ABC to talk about his greatest album yet and the year that surrounded its release.</p> <p>“I've been pretty lucky generally. I’ve had some bad reviews but the majority of them have been nice. I actually like reading negative reviews, I have agreed with people who've criticised certain aspects of my music. With <em>Andorra</em>, everyone was like: ‘here's this guy who really likes 60s psychedelia, he's a retro kinda guy’, and I was like: ‘fuck, that wasn't the point!’”</p> <p><em>Andorra </em>won the Polaris Prize in 2008 – Canada’s Mercury Prize-equivalent – but Snaith was determined to move on to new things. He’s open about the inspiration for the direction he took: it’s one of the guys sitting in the next room, preparing to play before him tonight.</p> <p>“The last track on <em>Andorra </em>was me trying to figure out how James [Holden] makes music” he says. “The last track, Niobe, was me trying to figure out how to get that dynamic of his, of something growing and falling apart simultaneously. And even though there was over a year in-between making the records, that was the starting point for this record. I went back to it and thought: ‘there's just so many different ways this track could go.’</p> <p>“I was so happy with [<em>Swim</em>] when I finished it, but I also thought it might confuse people. It seemed to me that <em>Andorra </em>was a much more straightforward record, it was more concise pop songs. It really stuns me that <em>Swim </em>seems to have captured people's imaginations in some way that previous albums I've made haven't. I’m so happy because this is my favourite one, but I really didn't think it was going to be everybody else’s favourite one.</p> <p>“Thinking about the situation in which it was made and then fast-forwarding to now, it's totally mind-boggling. I'd love to say I make music because I want to share it with people, but I make music for entirely selfish reasons, I just love doing it so much, and the thrill of when things go right in the studio or at home, that's the most amazing thing. But then this is just... we've always had good shows, but it's never been the party atmosphere it is now.</p> <p>“<em>Swim </em>feels like the beginning of something rather than the end, even though the end of <em>Andorra </em>was kinda the beginning of this one, it was also the end of making psychedelic poppy records, I feel like I've done what I wanted to do with that. I don’t want to make the same record again, but it feels like there's lots of points I can shoot off from on <em>Swim</em>.”</p><br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/euS2SlC68q8?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/euS2SlC68q8?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-68477385733339801822010-11-30T21:42:00.004+00:002010-11-30T21:51:11.890+00:00The Skinny's 6th Favourite LP of 2010: Beach House - Teen Dream<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DVHrmJuF4i94iaI7PJR8XTtUNituLzKFtLX_DYhoHNRzC8NXgZ6iYKIv1n39O801QtuDkXX4fKLjtip5LHAosWCiJJISSsh4T53DiCpiGHjGNbw2CT6P8lOL5fUhKcngb9ABdM8aKR3n/s1600/teen+dream.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DVHrmJuF4i94iaI7PJR8XTtUNituLzKFtLX_DYhoHNRzC8NXgZ6iYKIv1n39O801QtuDkXX4fKLjtip5LHAosWCiJJISSsh4T53DiCpiGHjGNbw2CT6P8lOL5fUhKcngb9ABdM8aKR3n/s320/teen+dream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545462320815717218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 10 of 2010:</span></span><br />No. 6<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beach House - Teen Dream</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">interview for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101070-10-of-2010-6-beach-house-teen-dream">the skinny</a></span><br /><p>Beach House were fully aware of the majesty of third album <em>Teen Dream</em> as they were preparing it this time last year. “At one point I was more excited about every single song [on <em>Teen Dream</em>] that I had ever been before,” guitarist Alex Scally tells The Skinny, “even songs where I don’t really do anything, like Real Love. There was a recording of that we made and I was trying to figure out how to make this thing hold and I probably listened to it fifty times, every time enjoying every single second of it.”</p> <p><em>Teen Dream</em> has been a breakthrough for Beach House, who are now touring with some of the biggest bands in indie music, but they say nothing’s changed since their self-titled debut and its acclaimed follow-up <em>Devotion</em>. “Every record is a different world,” singer Victoria Legrand says, “but the attention on us now I feel is the result of our steady and persistent working. It doesn’t feel that different from what we were doing before but people are now noticing more.”</p> <p>It’s not glamorous, they insist, and work it certainly is: “I think we’re at the 150 [shows] mark right now for the year, which is pretty crazy”, Alex says. But now that they’ve got here, he doesn’t see the band getting any bigger.</p> <p>“We make music that’s all about intimacy, I don’t think that would translate to an arena. We played at a 1,500 person place and that blew our mind, it felt great, but I think that might be the limit. We just did a tour with Vampire Weekend and 14,000 people were at the Hollywood Bowl, I think it really taught us where we think the upper extent of our music is. Even if we could sell a show of 2,000 people, it might not work.” Such music-over-money ideals are admirable, and they’re surely about to be tested.<br /></p><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PHbtR8uO81M?fs=1&hl=en_GB"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PHbtR8uO81M?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-53216656281176299782010-11-25T21:51:00.003+00:002010-11-25T21:57:48.201+00:00Caribou @ ABC, Glasgow<span style="font-weight: bold;">Caribou, Four Tet, James Holden @ ABC, Glasgow, November 21</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">live review for </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101072-caribou-four-tet-james-holden-o2-abc-21-nov">the skinny</a><br /><br /><p>With a line-up of James Holden, Rocketnumbernine, Nathan Fake, Holden again and Four Tet before Caribou, Sunday evening’s ABC lineup has a mini-festival feel to it. <strong>James Holden</strong>'s mercurial dinner time techno slot tricks this sell-out crowd into thinking it’s 2am Saturday night, partly because we've been dancing for a couple hours already. He slides between bass-heavy bangers, slivery grooves and laser-driven mechanical shuffles until we’re all just about ready to spill out home to bed.</p><p><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cfzIgFoFivI?fs=1&hl=en_GB"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cfzIgFoFivI?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object><br /></p> <p>But it’s still only 10:15, and time for <strong>Four Tet</strong> to take over. Despite his albums’ more delicate style, now is definitely not the time for Kieran Hebden to slow down. So Holden's huge 4/4 kick drum remains, but louder now, so that its low frequencies grind all over the more fragile sounds of his new album. Everyone keeps dancing, of course, but there’s a feeling that Hebden might’ve been able to exercise a little more subtlety had he played earlier in the night.</p> <p>After five hours of continuous beats, the 15 minute break for <strong>Caribou</strong> to set up as a four-piece band is a bit of a mood-killer. For their first few songs the crowd seems tired, and faced with Caribou’s more complex rhythms it takes some cajoling to get everyone moving again. That we would could never have been in doubt: a spectacular Niobe, propelled by clattering cymbal fills on every eighth bar, sets it up; more terrific drumming and scintillating noise for Melody Day ratchets the energy levels up again, and we’re not even on to the <em>Swim </em>stand-outs yet.</p><p><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aiSa7THgxrI?fs=1&hl=en_GB"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aiSa7THgxrI?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object><br /></p><p>Jamelia, sung well by an unwell bass player in the absence of Born Ruffians’ singer Luke, swings cutely over a clickety woodblock rhythm before exploding in shimmering squall; Odessa's deep parping bassline and clattering rhythms sound profoundly weird and utterly compelling on this huge scale; and trippy encore Sun is stretched and pulled and pressed and dropped and revived til it’s mesmerised us all three times over. It’s a huge end to a night that seemed to have peaked too early, before Caribou proved it had never peaked at all.<br /></p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-83260873613145513082010-11-25T21:46:00.003+00:002010-11-25T21:50:01.868+00:00Beach House @ Oran Mor, Glasgow<span style="font-weight: bold;">Beach House @ Oran Mor, Glasgow, November 20 (****)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">live review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/101073-beach-house-ran-mr-20-nov">the skinny</a></span><br /><br /><p>Dream pop duo Beach House are a band whose live reputation is always going to be closely tethered to that of their albums; they’re perfectionists in the studio, so there isn’t much space for reinterpretation, and they’re permanently bereft, so they’re not much in a mood for energy. But in the darkness of Òran Mór, with a golden light fading in and out with singer Victoria Legrand’s breathy intros, fairy lights behind them twinkling like stars, and the aural haze enveloping each lovelorn song, they create a dramatic and intimate atmosphere.</p> There’s a stream of highlights from 2008s <em>Devotion </em>and this year’s <em>Teen Dream</em>, but the biggest moments come towards the end of the set. Heart of Chambers allows Legrand to really open up, roaring the melancholic chorus like it still hurts two years later, and mighty kick drums lend encore pair Real Love and Ten Mile Stereo an explosive edge. At the end of an evening of melancholy, the mimicking of Alex Scally’s skyscraping guitar line by the shimmering stars behind him makes for a stunning finale.<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yK_IyLEo6o4?fs=1&hl=en_GB"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yK_IyLEo6o4?fs=1&hl=en_GB" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-44516769239160514802010-11-09T14:16:00.000+00:002010-11-09T14:16:00.446+00:00The Last Battle - Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lu14Kzl4V8r08wAE2TovjVY-Dt6DMO9ygkVgs2RgMlU7E2oZKbZ2qnTY2Po2qQw0bc2pP_VBRw_imImB0J6TbZqABPDIGV0rC7u44b80JhHfagYMfzyAcn2COiBiQedGBhXu9MZNmA7G/s1600/last+battle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lu14Kzl4V8r08wAE2TovjVY-Dt6DMO9ygkVgs2RgMlU7E2oZKbZ2qnTY2Po2qQw0bc2pP_VBRw_imImB0J6TbZqABPDIGV0rC7u44b80JhHfagYMfzyAcn2COiBiQedGBhXu9MZNmA7G/s320/last+battle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537292570939351842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Last Battle - Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea (**)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/100621-the-last-battle-heart-of-the-land-soul-of-the-sea">the skinny</a></span><br /><br /><p>For a band of six, Edinburgh’s The Last Battle sport a frail, minimal sound on debut album <em>Heart of the Land, Soul of the Sea</em>, based almost entirely on singer Scott Longmuir’s acoustic guitar. Tasteful cello flourishes and wispy female backing vocals don’t do much to fill out the palette, so The Last Battle ensure there’s some variation by, for example, splitting the short record with a monologue from a deep-voiced bandmate, and introducing a shuffling squeezebox to Cutlass.</p> Despite the stylistic difference, it’s that monologue, Photographic Memory, which encapsulates the album’s main problems: it’s sorely earnest and full of lyrical clichés. <em>Heart of the Land</em>'s relentless sincerity becomes difficult to stomach if you’re not in a teary mood, and lines like "I'd like to sail away with you forever in a heartbeat" would surely earn derision were they to come from a soppy pop star, however melodiously they're delivered.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-18278531935421946322010-11-08T21:11:00.002+00:002010-11-08T21:15:29.533+00:00Brian Eno - Small Craft On A Milk Sea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6_XRwpwjZEPTh6iTKfFf_SprUM2Gd2gGqJD_rIGE6y6RrFJlYfxiBtirGj_WcBVQcOCwvOgHjsoQVz7jT2l5gG864q4RHbtb1eMlf5KvBwhNC94YiZ32rXrxtHoVmW0_PtwZFh3rDTBd/s1600/brian+eno.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6_XRwpwjZEPTh6iTKfFf_SprUM2Gd2gGqJD_rIGE6y6RrFJlYfxiBtirGj_WcBVQcOCwvOgHjsoQVz7jT2l5gG864q4RHbtb1eMlf5KvBwhNC94YiZ32rXrxtHoVmW0_PtwZFh3rDTBd/s320/brian+eno.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537290074686240466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Brian Eno - Small Craft on a Milk Sea</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">(**)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/100811-brian-eno-small-craft-on-a-milk-sea">the skinny</a></span><br /><br />Warp’s signing of Brian Eno was a symbolic coup for the label, the spiritual homecoming of a common ancestor to their entire roster’s two-decade output. But <em>Small Craft On A Milk Sea</em> does not indicate a return to the cutting-edge for Eno, who’s been wallowing in abstract ambient sound design for longer than Warp’s lifetime.<br /><br />When <em>Small Craft</em> summons some energy, as in early tracks Horse and 2 Forms of Anger, racing drums, buzzing insects and squawking mechanical birds form a frightening scene, before the latter track’s guitars explode and enflame for a full minute.<br /><br />But for the most part, <em>Small Craft</em> drifts aimlessly in featureless ambience. For all that he achieved in his first decade-or-so as a musician and producer – and his legacy of innovation in rock and electronic music is peerless – it’s difficult to detect anything of genius or inspiration in his 2010 output.Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-66531390562358300222010-10-05T21:36:00.003+01:002010-10-05T21:40:39.700+01:00John Legend & The Roots - Wake Up!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PRQUtE1IkXwhgPs7aERCY9dqv1v13wRAMfXiV0V-q0jX-TfjtjV0XOV1WXExqT4VNU9Cr1Cl4H7Evq1zmLfJVcemxMEKhddAQYl0kME_nSF0l_rVdK6AgT9G0Y4rJL2EspfXhPcgSwh7/s1600/legendroots.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PRQUtE1IkXwhgPs7aERCY9dqv1v13wRAMfXiV0V-q0jX-TfjtjV0XOV1WXExqT4VNU9Cr1Cl4H7Evq1zmLfJVcemxMEKhddAQYl0kME_nSF0l_rVdK6AgT9G0Y4rJL2EspfXhPcgSwh7/s320/legendroots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524663752814729186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">John Legend & The Roots - Wake Up! (****)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/100622-john-legend-the-roots-wake-up">the skinny</a></span><br /><br />Few musicians seem to make overtly political records these days: the Iraq war moved few songwriters to sing out, and despite its catastrophic effects, there’s not much rhymes with “credit crunch”. John Legend and The Roots’ <em>Wake Up!</em> is a covers record featuring new versions of old soul classics like Donny Hathaway’s Little Ghetto Boy and Mike James Kirkland’s Hang On In There, among others, updated with Black Thought verses, though these songs’ themes of faraway wars and local poverty need no updating. It’s beautifully produced, so when those two songs and sole original Shine develop into galas of piano, organ, strings and bass, it’s like listening to peak-era Stevie or Curtis. A lethargic Wholy Holy can't compare to Marvin Gaye's original, and a 12-minute take of Bill Withers' I Can't Write Left-Handed is a good three minutes over-wrought; but <em>Wake Up!</em>’s lush recordings make it a treat for any soul fan.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RrPZFXG8fDo?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RrPZFXG8fDo?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-7799918997180659962010-09-28T20:37:00.004+01:002010-09-28T20:46:48.434+01:00Belle & Sebastian - Write About Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv0LMaaM61V34Wd794HFKRkV_EOO_rS1lHM0ZJKpzv0ZazRYazDwiOEWnsL-U33nIlaAG182tlrjEcheipNlLPoBFv-d3_wG5VUQH1qFNyrJz00a8TAYFu_8XEhECbJNTonjpl5aMK5MH/s1600/belle+and+seb.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv0LMaaM61V34Wd794HFKRkV_EOO_rS1lHM0ZJKpzv0ZazRYazDwiOEWnsL-U33nIlaAG182tlrjEcheipNlLPoBFv-d3_wG5VUQH1qFNyrJz00a8TAYFu_8XEhECbJNTonjpl5aMK5MH/s320/belle+and+seb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522051204337794274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Belle and Sebastian - Write About Love (****)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/100626-belle-sebastian-write-about-love">the skinny</a></span><br /><br />If the near-five year wait since <span style="font-style: italic;">The Life Pursuit</span> and last year’s brilliant brace of albums from Camera Obscura and Butcher Boy led you to question Belle & Sebastian’s standing as indie-pop kings of Glasgow, wait until you hear <span style="font-style: italic;">Write About Love</span>.<br /><br />While arguably not as consistent as either of those disciples’ recent triumphs, there are parts of Belle & Seb’s eighth studio album as great as anything they’ve done before: When the light and lilting I Didn’t See It Coming is resurrected, after dissolving into space, by the late arrival of starry synths and Stuart pleading “make me dance, I want to surrender!”; when a fragile, metallic shimmer subtly emerges from Come On Sister, and ecstatic male backing vocals less subtly burst from it later; pretty much the entirety of Northern Soul stomper I Want The World To Stop, and the surreally hilarious I’m Not Living In The Real World, a coming-of-age caper inspired by early The Who and Beach Boys.<br /><br />But perhaps the best moment of all is the final line of closer Sunday's Pretty Icons: a simple, undramatic remark of devastating kindness that’ll leave you choking over the glistening organ outro. Wonderful.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/snailu0RnLg?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/snailu0RnLg?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />This song really reminded me of Frankie Valli's The Night, even before it got to the "the night, the night!" bit. So, for comparison's sake (and because this is an amazing song that you should listen to right now anyway):<br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XsSoDsxB7Yo?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XsSoDsxB7Yo?fs=1&hl=en_GB&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-64668506671724057502010-09-02T21:30:00.004+01:002010-09-02T21:52:37.534+01:00Andrew O'Neill @ The Tron<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vUZLS_NbOluo0eNhaCQBQtdowKUyC5tljjOjjKSxMagCAEocQIEdDLgmJIgx1yRCKHXw5yprcZkW0h8PGmXTF24ELG3CKoWGPf6usIMAi7AXH3gHKNsw9meoTXyVf-mZl9hEVMulaLZK/s1600/andrewoneill.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vUZLS_NbOluo0eNhaCQBQtdowKUyC5tljjOjjKSxMagCAEocQIEdDLgmJIgx1yRCKHXw5yprcZkW0h8PGmXTF24ELG3CKoWGPf6usIMAi7AXH3gHKNsw9meoTXyVf-mZl9hEVMulaLZK/s320/andrewoneill.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512420526038562354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Andrew O'Neill (***)</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span><h2 class="summary"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">comedy review for <a href="http://edinburghfestival.list.co.uk/article/28790-andrew-oneill/">the list</a></span></span><br /></h2> <p>If Andrew O'Neill's poster description "occult comedian" suggests an evening of witty witchcraft, that's not what he's serving at this year's Fringe. He's a metalhead, and wears all black clothing (and owns a black beach towel), but he's a long way from turning any unfortunate front-row volunteer into a newt.</p><p>He's actually very normal, towel tastes aside. In mocking religion, racism and homophobia he wrings laughs out of well-worn and worthy comedic subjects, and a long story about his first ever fight provides an impressive variety of angles. Metal music and culture is another deep well for comedy, one which O'Neill could probably explore further.</p><p>Unfortunately almost all of O'Neill's short scripted skits fall flat, both punctuating and puncturing his set. Surely every good David Dickinson joke has long ago been told, so there's not much to gain from two more attempts; and providing a melodramatic power ballad with a mundane answer is a schoolboy's game.</p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-65963142228034026612010-07-26T22:16:00.005+01:002010-07-26T22:37:22.006+01:00Saturday @ T in the Park 2010<span style="font-weight: bold;">blurbs on bands at T in the Park on Saturday</span><p><span style="font-style: italic;">for </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/99802-t-in-the-park-2010-saturday">the skinny</a></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPr0JyzDXTJpuklyK_Ap23b-4zQQs3Oc6UidLoF-msef8tnQuK9nrQAOnUnd4pHQ8xWsd9lYpfqpcAIXcmOLCoDzwZH6a5W24ejrcm-AsZjYYzhGBfF92UrEU3_490znm2MCgPYNHKaNw/s1600/astral+planes.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPr0JyzDXTJpuklyK_Ap23b-4zQQs3Oc6UidLoF-msef8tnQuK9nrQAOnUnd4pHQ8xWsd9lYpfqpcAIXcmOLCoDzwZH6a5W24ejrcm-AsZjYYzhGBfF92UrEU3_490znm2MCgPYNHKaNw/s320/astral+planes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498331063319163666" border="0" /></a><br />Saturday lunchtime’s persistent drizzle sends most casual fans under canvas, so bands like the T Break tent-bound <strong>Astral Planes</strong> can benefit from a larger audience. But beyond the friends in the front row, the casual outliers never really take to them. Doris Day’s (the song, obvs) weighty riffs momentarily stop the crowd chatting and even inspire a little air guitar; but the Glasgow band’s similarities to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Blondie suggest a personality received, not conceived.<br /><p> “The new Frightened Rabbit?” a friend jokes as we head to the BBC Introducing stage for <strong>Admiral Fallow</strong>, formerly Brother Louis Collective. A reductive, throwaway comment; sadly impossible to shrug off. In a 20 minute set, three songs feel like shadows of specific FRabbit tunes. Their best moment comes when they step out of that shadow: an emotional clarinet burst at the end of final song Subbuteo provides a welcome Roxy Music-style release.</p><p>Unfortunately for the newly Guardian-profiled <strong>Kid Adrift</strong>, the rain has stopped before he takes the stage, and fans seem determined to enjoy the skies while they’re dry. So only a wee group is present to gawp at his bombastic synth-rock, and despite the volume and scope, somehow even they don’t seem to be paying attention. He’s not helped by poor sound, specifically an underpowered mic that leaves his vocals clouded out by the bass and drums, but predictable quiet/loud shifts in his music don’t help either.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1e0u11rgd9Q&hl=en_GB&fs=1?rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1e0u11rgd9Q&hl=en_GB&fs=1?rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="385"></embed></object><br /></p><p><strong>Vampire Weekend</strong> are astonishingly popular. For a group with only two Top 40 hits to attract a miles-deep crowd at the Main Stage is remarkable, and for miles around we can see fans dancing, not just to those minor hits, but to album tracks too. “Cousins” is the highlight, the off-kilter scratch guitar intro immediately drawing waves of cheers from the crowd, before Ezra Koenig draws laughs by asking for “anger and ecstasy” from the crowd during “One (Blake’s Got A New Face)”. Perhaps he touched on the real secret to all this dancing?</p><p>After We Are Scientists pack the King Tuts tent out, <strong>The Coral</strong>’s crowd is sparse. It’s a minor mystery why they have such a good slot at all, and they don’t offer any clues from the stage. They start with breakthrough single Goodbye, before a dreary In The Rain and a new song with a stultifying chorus of “oh oh, waiting for a thousand years, oh oh, sailing on a thousand tears”. We don’t wait a thousand milliseconds more.</p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:#999999;"><br /><a href="http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=103672372" style="">Rambling Man</a><br /><object width="425px" height="360px"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><param name="movie" value="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=103672372,t=1,mt=video"><embed src="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=103672372,t=1,mt=video" allowfullscreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="360"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=47912874" style="">Laura Marling</a> | <a href="http://music.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=videos" style="">MySpace Music Videos</a></span><br /></p><p>In the Futures tent, we’d earlier seen the quiet, folky Middle East suffer because watchers were too drunk to listen. But now the same tent is packed and wholly attentive for 20 year old <strong>Laura Marling</strong>, the new star of English folk thanks to her beautiful second album <em>I Speak Because I Can</em>. There’s a dramatic pause in Rambling Man that’s perfectly held by the rapt crowd, emphasising the effect of the return; before a sizable core of fans sing along to every word of Ghosts. Wonderful.</p><p>The BBC’s Vic Galloway introduces <strong>Young Fathers</strong> as “the best three-piece electro hip-hop group Edinburgh’s ever produced!”, which might sound a soft compliment but it’s pretty accurate: while their lyrics are hard to make out in the melee, there’s no hating their style. Before the crowd knows it, we're jumping around and flapping our arms like birds, all because of their infectious onstage energy and charm.</p><p>Seven years since he last played in Scotland, it’s an honour and a thrill to see <strong>Eminem</strong> performing again, even if we do have to wait an additional forty minutes past showtime for him to arrive. In some ways it’s like he’s never been away: his performance is full of energy, he doesn’t miss a beat and he’s clearly enjoying himself. Unfortunately his wireless mic isn’t quite so wide awake, meaning whole verses are occasionally inaudible as he patrols the stage, and his set includes a few recent stinkers: Beautiful and Not Afraid are particularly galling. Luckily, a late run including My Name Is, Without Me and Lose Yourself is clearly audible and full of fire. Anytime, Mister Mathers.</p><p>----</p><p>No way in hell was I missing the next day's World Cup Final, even for Jay-Z.<br /></p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-58551122018703572542010-07-15T14:03:00.003+01:002010-07-15T14:11:54.211+01:00Eminem @ T in the Park, 10 Jul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/media/images/25187/25187_medium.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 376px;" src="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/media/images/25187/25187_medium.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eminem @ T in the Park, Balado near Kinross, Scotland, 10/07/2010 (***)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">live review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/99818-eminem-t-in-the-park-10-jul">The Skinny</a><br /><br /></span><span>Five years after his last scheduled UK gig -- and seven years since he last actually performed in Scotland -- it's teasing to have to wait 40 minutes past showtime for Eminem to finally take the stage to close Saturday's Main Stage lineup. But when Marshall Mathers arrives, it's a relief to see him still youthful and full of fight; considering the drug problems and the rare public appearances, my subconscious feared he’d turn up in a string vest and pyjama bottoms, or unshaven and greying at least. But seven years away haven’t aged him at all, physically; artistically, it’s a different story. Growing up is a difficult subject to navigate, for any person or any artist, but it’s extra hard for artists who have a stage persona and a real personality as messily intertwined as Eminem’s. So, just as a new greatest hits release from Em would sound strangely incoherent, tonight's set contained songs as if written by a few different Slim Shadys.<br /><br />His earliest persona -- the funny one -- is who everyone’s here to see, but he leaves most of that for the end. The first half of the show is almost entirely <span style="font-style: italic;">Recovery </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Relapse </span>tracks, plus a three-song set with D12, and it’s underwhelming for all but the Stans on the barrier, frequently shown on the giant screens reciting every word. Presumably the cause of the delayed start was technical, and technical problems with Em’s wireless mic persist - entire verses are lost while his sidekick MC is fully audible. When it comes to Stan -- the song -- Em’s mic problems frustratingly remain: after the crowd sings along to Dido’s intro, the first verse is a washout.<br /><br />The mic is working by the time Em wants to talk to the crowd, pitting all the boys and girls against each other in a noise-making contest, and encouraging all the boys to turn to the nearest girl and say “fuck you bitch!”. That’s Slim Shady talking, but then comes the real head-fucking sequence of the evening: he asks the girls “how many of you ladies feel beautiful tonight?”, dedicates the next song to every girl in the crowd, and sings “don’t let them say you ain’t beautiful”. Minutes later, the girls are singing along to Rihanna’s Love The Way You Lie hook, as Eminem threatens to tie her to a bed and set the house on fire.<br /><br />Beautiful is on Eminem’s 2009 comeback album <span style="font-style: italic;">Relapse</span>, but who is it by? Is it by a fake Slim Shady? Who was Kim, by? Is Beautiful by the real Marshall Mathers? Is Beautiful by the same artist as Kim? Is Beautiful by the same artist as Not Afraid?<br /><br />Well yes, those two seem to go together: they’re both morose, self-pitying ballads that look for strength and hope but find cliche instead. Not Afraid, tonight’s second-last song, is a power ballad that sets Eminem up like an inspirational moral guide: “Everybody come take my hand, we'll walk this road together through the storm” and so on. What happened to “you can suck my dick if you don't like my shit”? That was only 20 minutes ago.<br /><br />He created a monster, but it was a fully formed and living monster: as writer Jeff Weiss <a href="http://www.thestylusdecade.com/albums2001.html">put it</a>, he was “the id of every 16-year old boy in America”. Now what is he? A hotchpotch of moods, attitudes and beliefs: a normal adult? It’s hard to believe.<br /><br />Eminem closed his T set with a furious Lose Yourself, but it was the other song to sandwich Not Afraid, Without Me, that was most revealing. 18 months after Stan, his comeback single declared an intention to be provocative: “...we need a little controversy, cos it feels so empty without me”. Now on another comeback, Eminem provoked boos from the T crowd whenever he addressed it as “Edinburgh”. It’s a reasonable mistake to make -- we’re well within a Ryanair definition of Edinburgh, at least -- but some fans weren’t happy. “Oi Eminem!” a little lass behind me yelled. “I’m fae Glenrothes!”.<br /><br />Remember when Eminem was intentionally provocative?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-62537255773970153912010-07-13T21:01:00.002+01:002010-07-13T21:32:00.647+01:00M.I.A. - Maya<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEg6ezbP3hLMZMtJ-CcILSnNVLp2NAm3LB-w6EwvGABo16MTS14yb28dSG1hQPXt7oY5MZPZFbIXbC5Q-xBf9BXzkyUjD41XRRyAYDj0yonlz9UwCbkBWn2wixlXfzVAuW9mDaycfEIWOj/s1600/MAYA.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEg6ezbP3hLMZMtJ-CcILSnNVLp2NAm3LB-w6EwvGABo16MTS14yb28dSG1hQPXt7oY5MZPZFbIXbC5Q-xBf9BXzkyUjD41XRRyAYDj0yonlz9UwCbkBWn2wixlXfzVAuW9mDaycfEIWOj/s320/MAYA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493484060709673826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">M.I.A. - Maya</span> (***)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for <a href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/99808-mia-maya">the skinny</a></span><br /><br /><p>When M.I.A. released a song attacking journalists just days after a scathing recent <em>New York Times</em> <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/30/magazine/30mia-t.html?_r=1">article</a>, it either demonstrated a remarkable speed of execution, or that she had lots of room in her personal protesting schedule. That article exposed some of the half-truths in the M.I.A. mythos, including the discomforting leak that – having broken through as a pop artist with Paper Planes two years ago, and since got engaged to a multi-millionaire boyfriend – she's now very rich and famous. That's common for pop stars, but it leaves M.I.A. vulnerable: her rebel shtick could make her look like a trustafarian in a Che Guevara t-shirt if she isn’t careful with her words.</p> <p>On new single Born Free she acknowledges that problem, singing “I don’t wanna talk about money, cos I got it”. She’s been forced to rein in the rhetoric, and thankfully she doesn’t say anything stupid on <span style="font-style: italic;">Maya</span> about terrorism or truffles. But the problem with <span style="font-style: italic;">Maya</span> is rooted in a far more mundane circumstance than the disorientating effect of celebrity: it’s that contentedness cools creativity. The <em>NYT</em> piece gave her a cause to fight for – her own reputation – hence the quick turnaround. But everything’s gone right for M.I.A. in the three years since second album <em>Kala</em>, so it’s no surprise that <em>Maya </em>is missing the spikiness so central to her personality.</p> <p>Born Free is the stand-out, though – blowing through a four minute declaration of freedom in a frenzy, using an amped-up Suicide sample for its irresistible momentum. Story To Be Told combines heavily processed wailing Bollywood vocals and a low-flying jet with a cutting, juddering synth bassline, while Tell Me Why takes the Panda Bear route to psychedelia by endlessly looping and echoing choral samples. XXXO is probably the closest thing <span style="font-style: italic;">Maya</span> will have to a hit, with a great shimmering synthline and a cloying hook: “you want me [to] be somebody who I’m really not”.</p> <p>But it’s hard to take anything from, for example, Steppin’ Up, except the conclusion that the use of chainsaws for percussion is nowhere near as cool as it should be; or Teqkilla, which somehow stretches the dubious idea to pun on various drinks brands over six minutes of stuttering noise. If the politics of rebellion are now off-limits for M.I.A., then she’ll have to find something else to get angry about; we know what she thinks of journalists, so her fourth album is bound to be better.</p>Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5141839665756397993.post-63292608226240849462010-07-13T20:58:00.004+01:002010-07-13T21:01:23.105+01:00Dirty Projectors + Bjork - Mount Wittenberg Orca<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc0xnKDHVzW3dlP8E1395kcxHoGLEXRJNGqHm4uFtXKXsVGEuxZD3SW-k-m31VugHYYheRdg4wOMzcPmSrXDtxB_erzm2sqtb_8lLHbGdSr6Gbl9pCTO58KIyqMwxStZY0_LIS7jVgVdH/s1600/mount+wittenberg.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc0xnKDHVzW3dlP8E1395kcxHoGLEXRJNGqHm4uFtXKXsVGEuxZD3SW-k-m31VugHYYheRdg4wOMzcPmSrXDtxB_erzm2sqtb_8lLHbGdSr6Gbl9pCTO58KIyqMwxStZY0_LIS7jVgVdH/s320/mount+wittenberg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493483131493214706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Dirty Projectors + Bj</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ö</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">rk - Mount Wittenberg Orca</span> (***)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">album review for </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.theskinny.co.uk/article/99731-dirty-projectors-bjrk-mount-wittenberg-orca">the skinny</a><br /><br />Dave Longstreth is a man with great ideas: his breakthrough album as leader of Dirty Projectors, <em>Rise Above</em>, was an attempt to reinterpret Black Flag’s <em>Damaged</em> despite not having heard it in 15 years. By the sounds of it, <em>Mount Wittenberg Orca</em> could be a similar attempt at a from-memory version of Björk’s <em>Medúlla</em>, only with Björk on hand, and not enough time to finish. <p>In fact it’s a 21 minute suite, available to download in exchange for a charitable donation, about a family of frolicking whales spotted by vocalist Amber Coffman last year. As with <em>Medúlla</em>, it’s almost entirely vocal, with Coffman, Angel Deradoorian and Haley Dekle providing percussive chanting and precise harmonising to support the gymnastic lead roles of Longstreth and Björk. On And Ever Onward is the keeper, featuring Björk as the mommy whale celebrating the pleasures of a lifetime in the sea, with her calves cutely singing the title back to her.</p>[www.mountwittenbergorca.com]Ally Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04780008599840992097noreply@blogger.com0