Woodstock for the Mind
It's June, it's 2009, and the Hay Festival has kicked off once more in South Wales for a fortnight of lectures, events, and book signings that are, as Bill Clinton described it, the 'Woodstock for the Mind'.
Our tent, hired on a campsite outside the village, was in England. The festival site, half a mile away, was in Wales. Passing the border sign, I encountered the usual crowds of people coming out and going into lectures, happening with a density that is sometimes dizzying to keep up with. It was last Friday night, and we managed to catch the author David Pearce, who wrote the book about Brian Clough's time at Leeds, 'The Damned United', and a breakneck stand up routine from Dara O'Briain.
6 more lectures followed on the Saturday. We heard Richard Madeley recount the traumas in his family; a philosopher philosophise about the modern workplace; the historian Anthony Beevor talk about D Day in detail; the comedian Arthur Smith crack jokes and read from his autobiography; Jeremy Paxman present the Victorians as they really were, through art; and the writer of 'The Wire', David Simon, explain how shadowing homicide cases as a journalist in Baltimore created the TV series.
The whole thing is unashamedly middle class. A copy of the The Sun stands out; the latest book from a politician doesn't. Food and drink is overpriced, and everybody laughed when a man stood up to ask a question to Arthur Smith, and asked what the FA cup final result was.
Otherwise it is an examination of writers: why they write, who they write for, and whether it provokes debate.
That debate raged thoughout the festival. The current MPs expenses scandal veered into every question and answer session; people lost opportunities to quizz Jeremy Paxman on this. The Pimms may be £4.50 a glass; it all may be a sophisticated hard sell, but words are free, and the answers numerous. . . .
Published Date:
02/06/2009
Modified Date:
02/06/2009
London 2009
Can a city still feel the same after 15 years? As I stepped off the train at Euston last Saturday, I expected not to recognise my old 'stamping ground' - all traces of the 1990s erased along with my teenage footsteps. . . .
But of course this wasn't the case: everything was just where I remembered it; from the nightmares of Oxford Street on a Saturday, to the greenery and carbon monoxide of Hyde Park, it all sprang back into memory and on foot the distances from A to B are, as ever, much longer than you think.
The G20 summit was due in town on Monday, and the first of the protests thudded the pavements before we did, congregating before a modest soundstage at Speakers Corner by mid-afternoon. As I stood a distance back with members of my family, I thought of marches I'd attended in '94, when the Criminal Justice Bill threatened the individual right to have fun - a step into the sacriligious for my age-group by the then Conservative government.
And has much changed? Have I changed? Along with the old buildings and newer modes of transport, there are mobile phones, internet cafes, and droves of tourists with digital cameras and camcorders. More of life is recorded than ever before, while all that exists of my past are a few photos and the odd piece of videotaped footage. I almost wished, as the rain fell on us in Convent Garden, that I could send what I now know to myself back then: it would be the ultimate text message.
Published Date:
02/04/2009
Modified Date:
02/04/2009
Unfamiliar REM
Is it the mark of a great band that they can play virtually none of their hits at a gig and still blow you away?
On August 24th REM played the Old Trafford Cricket Ground in Manchester, and that's just what they did. To the afficionado, every song belonged to a past album, placed somewhere. To me, most songs were obscure, but they rocked. Michael Stipe's voice sounded almost better live than on CD, a man able to make lyrics comprehensible above all that amplified noise.
Anthems such as 'Losing my Religion', 'What's the Frequency Kenneth' and 'Man on the Moon' rose the crowd to a frenzy, but the rest of the set - songs in the canon that you really had to have been a die-hard fan to recognise, were still given a rapturous reception. A friend of mine jumped insanely to every track, placing it firmly in the band's history.
That's longevity. That someone who only switched on to REM in the early 90s then dropped out again can have as good a time as someone who rated this their 'best gig out of seven ever' surely means that this band is delivering interest in a market saturated by 'greatest hits gigs'. . . .
The luxury of not having to rely on your greatest hits. . . .
Published Date:
06/09/2008
Modified Date:
06/09/2008
Another Place
Crosby beach, on Merseyside, is a beach with a very big difference. With swimming and sailing prohibited on calm mornings, you may wonder what is attracting all the visitors to this extensive stretch of sand and surf. That is, until a quick glimpse from the sand dunes confirms that the artist Antony Gormley, of 'The Angel of the North' fame, has chosen the site for his installation, 'Another Place'.
100 cast iron figures, modelled on his own body, stand at intervals across 3km of sand, facing the waves a kilometre out to sea. To approach one, as myself and my partner did on Monday, is to meet the outline of a man of fairly average height, with a blank expression, articulating themes of loss; sadness; emigration. . .
. . . .or has been suggested. . . .I don't know. I never have 'got' the interpretations of artists and art critics of their work. Ignorance I guess. But what I do get is a feeling of stillness in these figures; a feeling that the constant interchange of weather and landscape at this location is being, well, looked at!
Time is always pushing us on - we had lunch to get, then the shopping, then home for a Chinese. But those figures are going nowhere, except towards a gradual rusting away to the elements. Controversial when first unveiled, the installation has been such a big hit with local and visitors to the Sefton area, that a planned relocation to New York has been cancelled and permanant planning permission granted.
Perhaps 'Another Place' is in the gaze of those figures? Somewhere we never have time to look at?
Published Date:
16/07/2008
Modified Date:
16/07/2008
Welcome Aboard
'Cruise' is the new, and hyped, recently opened nightspot in Chester, occupying a grand, 3 story building in St John's Street. There are 2 large dancefloors and 4 bars, making for an expansive, adult adventure playground open 7 days a week.
Last Friday night I stood outside with 2 friends, debating about the £7 admission price. We could see through the doors and windows the 'whiteness' of the decor: literally the floors, the walls and ceilings are a cool, sheer white! Up to the minute fittings reinforce the high-concept feel, and thumping house beats echoed out into the street.
Approaching the bouncers, we were told tonight's DJ used to play at the Hacienda. I was sold. My friends were also willing to give it a go, and we went in and paid. The ground floor bars, 'Cool Britannia' and 'Puerto Banus' both were serving the full range of drinks but without sticky carpets, low ceilings and the usual crush of people. I felt like I'd entered a Stanley Kubrick movie set. He would have appreciated the space age feel to things.
Searching for a dancefloor, we climbed one of several staircases and entered 'Svenska', the main clubbing space. It is white on white. Revolving lights are fixed to the ceiling. In true Hacienda style the DJs work from behind a glass booth, and the crowd was eclectic, relaxed, with an 'anything goes' attitude to style and behaviour.
This last thing is important.
No one wants to go out and feel out of place. A lot of water has gone under the bridge of the fashion world in recent decades and it's hard to sense what's really hot and what's really not anymore. As if to emphasise this, we left 'Svenska' and climbed up the stairs to the second dancefloor, 'Manhattan', a full-on Seventies disco, with glitter balls, square-lit dancefloor and all ages, nostalgic or not.
Somehow the history of British clubbing, from the discos of the Seventies and Eighties, to the urban New York venues that inspired the Hacienda, are all under one roof here. Intrigued, we ended up in 'Moskva', a quieter bar with acoustic musicians playing The Beatles, for the last drink of the night.
You can be anybody, as long as you can prove you're over 21, and join in the fantasy. . . .
Published Date:
23/06/2008
Modified Date:
23/06/2008
Liverpool 08
This weekend my partner and I had been together 10 years. So we celebrated with a night in Liverpool seeing a performance from the city's Capital of Culture Comedy Festival, and a few drinks afterwards.
Just getting in and around the city was an experience. Once settled in the hotel, we could see long queues to visit HMS Ark Royal, sitting in the docks. Crossing that one off the itinerary for that reason, we walked along towards the Albert Dock in search of 'Liverpool 1', the new shopping complex somewhere in the city.
It wasn't down by the docks or near the new Echo Arena. It didn't appear logically as we walked up towards the main shopping areas. The Lord Mayor's Parade, with spectacular floats, music and dance, stuffed the streets with people, or rather pushed them to the sides. Ever felt the frustration of shuffling past those who want to stand still?
'Liverpool 1' turned out to be unfinished. A tiered mecca has been created from street plans previously ignored. Shops have been moved around. Some have yet to arrive. But we left behind the overwhelming mass of people and made our way up the back streets and found a pub for something to eat.
A few hours later we were drinking beer in the auditorium of The Royal Court theatre, and Frankie Boyle was walking on stage. An ascerbic comic from who no one is safe, he jumped from topic to topic for 90 minutes and demolished the faces in the audience within striking distance. That's why they sit there, after all.
After that?
A Chinese restaurant open til 4; a drink in the Cavern Club watching hens in pink net skirts live up to their t-shirts; sitting on a stool in the Lennon Bar trying to talk to complete strangers over the music. . . .
We walked back to the hotel impressed with this Capital of Culture. It may have awesome contrasts of wealth and affluence within a few streets, but it's one big party city.
Published Date:
09/06/2008
Modified Date:
09/06/2008
Thursday Night at The Wine Vaults
For many years, as local residents well know, Holywell has been a declining small town with not much to do in the evenings except drink in the pubs or eat at one or two restaurants.
This is changing.
There is some kind of regeneration happening. The new Tescos is a success. The new community hospital is an impressive bonus on the way out of town. There is an internet cafe in the old town hall. An information shop for young people at the top of the High Street.
The encouraging thing is all these places are busy. Expectations are being confounded - the High Street isn't, as predicted, dying on its feet. There is a buzz. . .
To add to the mix, there is some kind of creativity bubbling under; a desire for people of all ages to watch and engage in what has to be the no.1 expression people have.
Music.
Nowhere is this more apparent than on a Thursday night at The Wine Vaults at the bottom of town. Local band 'The Spirals' perform a cracking set before handing over the mic to any up-for-it singers, musicians and enthusiasts in the house. In this jam session, traditional arrangements of band and audience have been overturned in favour of a more interactive night, and it has paid off judging by repeat turn-outs from people who, just through enjoyment, create a music scene.
Doesn't every town and city deserve to give its residents something alive, contemporary and relevant to come to?
Is this the start of a new phase for Holywell?
Published Date:
23/05/2008
Modified Date:
23/05/2008
Making it Happen
Last Thursday, planned well in advance, me and a friend saw Nizlopi, of 'JCB' fame, play at Wrexham Central Station.
The original single, about lead singer Luke Concannon's 5 year old self enjoying a ride in a JCB with his dad, won the band a huge following, slots at Glastonbury, and 2 albums' worth of hotly anticipated material.
The venue didn't disappoint. The band totally thrilled me. Thrilled me when Luke began the set in the audience, moving with his guitar from table to table, making eye contact with his audience. His other half, the electric rhythms of John Parker on double bass, got us up from our tables and down the front, jigging from side to side to each song.
I did have an idea of why this gig was so intimate. Why Luke ricoched off every shout from the audience. Why, in a highlight of the evening, the duo moved into the centre of the floor, circled us round them, and played without amplification in what was for us, an extraordinary link to the source of the music.
It's the band's roots in Healthy Concerts, a project based in Brighton, where artists perform in houses, front rooms, intimate venues. . .
Nizlopi performed in many of these gigs, and the ideas of Paul Chi, who runs them, have surely come to fruition. But Nizlopi look set to excel their own wildest dreams, if the immediacy and fluency of their performance is anything to go by.
Fantastic support was given by Andy Hickie, North Wales singer-songwriter. We went out into the night planning the next gig to go to.
Who says art is only ground-breaking in the cities?
Published Date:
23/05/2008
Modified Date:
23/05/2008