London Liked

Donnie Darko: my favourite film of the last ten years

2011-10-24T13:04:00.005+01:00

Donnie Darko crept into cinemas six weeks after 9/11. Out in the real world a decade of confusion, paranoia and flat-out fear had began, so it was no surprise audiences stayed away from the strange, dark film full of unusual and occasionally unpleasant characters behaving in disturbing and nihilistic ways. It could have even been the film’s bittersweet streak, as punishing and beautiful as a night spent with the object of your unrequited love, which kept the box office receipts low. Whatever the reason, the film didn’t break even on its theatrical release, grossing little more than $4.1 million across the globe, $400,000 less than it cost to make.

Ten years on, DD is as welcome to millions as the same letters are to a breast fetishist. The film has become a cult success for a host of reasons. Like many of the best movies, it snags one’s mind first time around but rewards on each repeated watch, offering up unmissed subtleties each time.

At its core is a stunning performance from Jake Gyllenhaal, who owns the screen each time he appears as the eponymous troubled teen, even when a man in an unspeakably scary rabbit suit shares it with him. When we first see Darko he is lying asleep in the middle of the road on a hill above a town at dawn. This is a brilliant, beguiling and unorthodox way to begin the film, abetted by Stephen Poster’s stunning cinematography. Poster knows a thing or 50 about the creation of visually arresting images: he was second unit director of photography on Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Blade Runner.

Having opened with such a lucid statement of intent, Darko cycles down the hill towards home, perhaps mirroring the mental and emotional descent he is about to embark on. As he rides, the first song of an inspired soundtrack plays. It is Echo & the Bunnymen’s The Killing Moon, a midnight tale of beauty and darkness and the perfect choice to start Donnie Darko. Richard Kelly initially wanted INXS’s Never Tear Us Apart for the opening. Although the Australian band’s song is worthy of inclusion and was released in 1988, when Darko is set, it can be no match for the incredible blend of bombast and cool provided by Ian McCulloch and co.

When we meet Darko’s family, a conversation about the merits of then-presidential candidate George H.W Bush and Michael Dukakis coupled with rivalry between Donnie and older sister Elizabeth (played, in a stroke of clever casting, by Maggie Gyllenhaal) quickly escalates into unnecessary but hilarious profanity around the dinner table. The chat also contains Darko’s first mention of psychiatry and hints of the unravelling to come.

What follows is at times confusing, fantastical, and tense, but always intriguing. We’re inducted into Darko’s school life with Tears For Fears’ mellifluous Head Over Heels in our ears and are introduced to coke-sniffing school bully Seth Devlin, inspiring teacher Karen Pomeroy (played to frustrated perfection by co-producer Drew Barrymore) and a host of others.

Most scenes are either entirely captivating or contain a memorable incident, from Dr. Kenneth Monnitoff (Noah Wyle) and Darko’s conversation about time travel, to what the movie’s greatest line. Gretchen Ross (Jena Malone), Darko’s eventual love interest, askes where she should sit in her new class. Pomeroy demands that she “Sit next to the boy you think is the cutest.” Elsewhere, Patrick Swayze is a revelation as self-help guru with a secret Jim Cunningham, while Beth Grant’s Kitty Farmer is monstrous as that most dangerous of pairs: a pushy mum and an ignorant teacher.

Categories have their uses, but perhaps one of the reasons Donnie Darko failed commercially is the difficulty one has in assigning it a genre. It is a comedy, drama, high-school movie, fantasy love story with moments of extreme terror. It’s also an intelligent, discursive film. Amid the chats about Smurfs’ reproductive organs, there is a constant moral probing at work, with Darko, Pomeroy and Monnitoff loosely on the side of good and Cunningham, Farmer and Devlin rather more firmly in the camp of evil. What makes Farmer perhaps the most interesting of these is that she would never consider herself a bad person.

There is an argument that Donnie Darko is rather pretentious. By writing and directing a film so clever, beautiful and complex, Richard Kelly is perhaps showing off his intelligence and storytelling skill a bit too much. Fair comment, but so what? Usain Bolt is a show-off and he’s the fastest man in the world. It’s only when the work you produce lacks merit that your methods or temperament matter to anybody except your colleagues or loved ones. Lemmy from Motorhead collects Nazi memorabilia, but that doesn’t make Ace of Spades any less amazing. As for Kelly, he leapt up his own bottom when he went on to make Southland Tales: a mess worse than a post-party kitchen.

Donnie Darko is a film with murder, arson, flooding, teen sex, time travel, disturbing apocalyptic dreams, unconscious masturbation, school talent contests and references to Graham Greene. A decade on, it is still haunting and hilarious and should be revered like the modern classic it so clearly is.

Amy Winehouse: Meeting and remembering a truly great Londoner

2011-07-29T16:42:00.010+01:00

Amy Winehouse came out of the London suburbs to become an essential part of the city’s pop hierarchy with a voice, attitude and words all of her own. That she was born and grew up in Southgate is only worth a mention in passing. To dwell on that would be as pointless as highlighting David Bowie’s origins in Beckenham or Kate Bush’s birth in Bexleyheath. The pull of London’s centre for those born and raised on the fringes of it is inexorable. Ask anyone which place they think of when they think of Amy and “Camden” will be the only answer worth hearing.

The north London district that was a base for punk, Britpop and more became Amy’s playground. She stumbled into kebab houses, pulled pints in The Hawley Arms, spanked all comers at pool in The Good Mixer and stood waiting impatiently, cursing the Northern line, as so many Londoners have, on the platforms at Camden Town tube station.

Since she passed on up to the Pyramid stage in the sky last Saturday afternoon, 30 Camden Square has been visited by fans of all races and ages, with some receiving Amy’s clothes from her devoted dad Mitch. There has been talk of a permanent shrine memorial being built in the square, while this week police have been called to stop punters celebrating her memory too enthusiastically. There are flowers, cards, posters, scrawled slogans, bottles of vodka, cans of beer and cigarettes laid out in her memory. On Tuesday I paid my own respects and put down one of the latter, left at my house by a friend after a night of partying.

A more apt tribute than a static memorial, though, given the remarkable talent she had, would be a music school named in her honour. As the most gifted pupil to have graduated from Croydon’s BRIT School, Amy left all her alumni in the shade. Even Adele Adkins, the Tottenham-born and Tulse Hill-raised singer currently sitting at the top of the album charts on both sides of the Atlantic. Amy’s second album Back To Black, the only one she was really satisfied with, sold three million copies in the UK and 2.3m in the US before her death. But numbers ain’t everything, despite what the accountants think.

On Friday afternoon in December 2006, I was privileged to spend a couple of hours in her company. A friend and colleague of mine was filming the interview, while I kept the conversation flowing. There was no difficulty in that. Her personality was as striking as her music and her looks. Five feet three, but she might as well as been ten feet high. She was covered in confrontational tattoos and a mass of hyper-coiffured jet black hair. Full of mischief and wit, she sat there like a contemporary femme fatale, albeit with a microphone and an Oyster card instead of a gun and a Cadillac. Fittingly, halfway through the interview she had a violently angry, swear-heavy phone conversation with her future husband Blake Fielder-Civil. In a typically unafraid and honest gesture, when we suggested allowing her privacy for the call, she shook her head while we remained in the room. She told me I reminded her of a garrulous Camden pal and admitted she’d been drinking that day, but bore no tell-tale marks of the serious drug and drink problems that would ultimately contribute to her early death. She was exactly the sort of person you’d want to spend Friday afternoon with.

At the time many of the other amazing songs from Back To Black were almost impossible to avoid anywhere within the M25, much as they have been in the week since she passed away. At the time, they’d only been released two months and were still cementing themselves as modern classics. Artists had written about love, sex, heartbreak and despair before and have since, but has there been another line as enticing and as “I told you I was trouble, you know that I’m no good”? As unflinching as Back To Black’s opening, “He left no time to regret, kept his dick wet”? As defiant as any in Rehab?

She could have sung the instructions on a Toilet Duck and made men weep in the street. That she could tear out her heart and sing about the only thing that really matters – love and why it breaks you and makes you like nothing else – turned her into a superstar. The world is sadder without her.

Getting experimental in the East End

2010-05-21T16:49:00.004+01:00

Photo by Diamond Geezer

Best laid plans going awry led a long-mooted viewing of the Chris Morris terrorism comedy Four Lions to be missed on Wednesday night. Instead it was time for some experimental music at the OpenLab OpenNight at Bethnal Green Working Man’s Club.

Of the assembled acts utilising open-source software as part of their performance, many bordered on the unlistenable, but at least all showed a willingness to challenge their audience, themselves and in some cases the limits of the human pain threshold. This was not a place for melody or a casual singalong chorus.

The most engaging and traditionally musical crew were the alarmingly-named Cuntbucket, who blended synths, guitar and bass to occasionally thrilling effect, albeit with moments which needed more work. This is obviously no bad thing, though. The idea of the night is about potential and having a progressive attitude rather than producing something more fully formed.

Elsewhere, screeching violins, waves of Underworld synths and a laptop seemingly weeping binary tears after being forced into an arranged marriage with an iPhone all played a role in the evening’s musical offering.

Most intriguing was a “set” from a man named Chris who performs as Popdamage. At this point only witness accounts can be reported (at the time London Liked was deep in thought, staring out over tranquil City Road Basin from the new concrete and steel plateau and steps which lead from the north side of City Road – see photo above).

Popdamage then, comprises a man with a brain scanner and a beach ball. The beach ball is thrown around among audience members, while the brain scanner works with software to create sounds based on the connection between the movement of the beach ball and the brain scans.

Apparently, this progressive and unusual set of instruments failed to work on stage, but later worked for brave audience members who had a go themselves after.

It’s perhaps the first time an artist has tried to combine elements of Clockwork Orange headgear, Kraftwerk and beach volleyball, but must be worth a look in future.

LCD Soundsystem leave London breathless

2010-04-26T22:36:00.006+01:00

*Photo courtesy of Roman Tagoe

LCD Soundsystem frontman James Murphy famously didn’t write for Seinfeld because he preferred the NYC stoner lifestyle.

Quite what Seinfeld scribe and Curb Your Enthusiasm lynchpin Larry David would have made of the nasal-voiced DFA Records founder remains unknown, but US TV’s loss has since been funk-punk’s gain.

Aside from his work as LCD chief, Murphy has made a plethora of albums and remixes that satisfy and excite. Radio 4’s excellent Gotham LP, the staggering Daft Punk-influenced remix of Le Tigre’s Deceptacon and the remix of Sister Saviour by fellow NYC stalwarts The Rapture have all benefited from the Murphy touch. In each case Murphy was complemented by Tom Goldsworthy, Murphy’s DFA production partner.

As for LCD Soundsystem, Murphy has brought the band to a close.

They’ll no longer be touring as the main man wants to spend time scoring. No, he’s not developed some heavy skag passion, just veered into composing soundtracks. His work on Noah Baumbach’s Greenburg was released in March.

Last weekend LCD played what may well be the band’s London’s last indoor** shows at Brixton Academy.

On Friday the show (23 April) was beset by technical problems but like true pros the Big Apple gang cracked on impeccably. Few undergarments stayed dry as feverish disco guitar riffs, battered cowbell chimes and morbidly obese basslines shuddered around Brixton’s biggest venue.

Terrific set-opener Us V Them got two airings after a synth initially failed. Luckily an IT geek got let out from his basement for 30 seconds for a spot of turning-it-off-and-on-again and things improved second time round. Masterful single Tribulations and early fan favourite Yeah provided some ragged but unified chanting. Even crashing moments of garage rock/electro crossover noise like those in Movement or new shoutalong Drunk Girls went down well.

A slightly underplayed version of Daft Punk Is Playing My House seemed to confuse fans before it worked them into a frenzy worthy of the recorded version, but All My Friends received perhaps the best reworking of the evening.

On sophomore album Sound Of Silver, All My Friends is almost a night’s finale, lighters-in-the-air take on the traditional post acid-house dancefloor epic. Here, from the opening seconds, any sort of faithful take on the original had clearly been forsaken like a burnt pie crust.

The fast, banging and resolute reinvention worked. For once all the cheesy hands-in-the-air sentiments of life-affirming rave culture and people coming together over a shared love of music seemed to have a point. Even the most inebriated gig-goers in SW9 thought about their pals both present and absent. It’s hard not to when thousands of people around you are singing, “Where are your friends tonight?”

Murphy often mimicked some of Morrissey’s vocal approach during the show, even if his overall stage persona had more in common with the original arty funk-punker David Byrne.

He brought together this sense of class and cool immaculately on unexpected final tune New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down. This five boroughs lament actually did get lighters held aloft and balloons falling from the venue’s ceiling. A terrific ending but one perhaps “inspired” by Hot Chip, the Putney greats who share both a label and occasional member (Al Doyle) with LCD.

After all, Hot Chip let balloons drop at the close of their 2008 Brixton Academy show, too.

Murphy and his six stage companions tore through debut hit Losing My Edge earlier in the set.

But if, as most present agreed, the only way the performance matched that song's title was through spherical rubber plagiarism..?

Their passing will be missed more than that of childhood innocence.

**The band are due to play at Hyde Park's Wireless festival in July.

The Knowledge: How to become a London cabbie

2010-03-25T21:43:00.017Z

Like finding a joke in Flight Of The Conchords, doing The Knowledge is an arduous and utterly unforgiving task which most ordinary folk have little understanding of.

Contradictions lie at the heart of The Knowledge. It often takes as long as a degree to complete but is arguably tougher than most courses which reward students with letters after their names. It leads to a career in a distinctly working class profession where the most dedicated drivers can earn as much as solicitors or accountants. It prepares pupils for a working life which will entail a large amount of tedium caused by sitting in traffic. Yet, for the driver who picks up an interesting fare or for the fare that serendipitously picks the right driver, a London cab journey can provide a life-changing or just amusing experience.

Academics and those who only find value in what Bart Simpson would call “book smarts” may sneer at the suggestion that learning to be a black cab driver could be as demanding as a degree, but a thorough examination of what The Knowledge entails can be revealing.

The Knowledge (and how to get it)

The Knowledge comprises 320 routes which stretch across London. These routes, know in the trade as “runs” can be found in the ‘Guide to Learning the Knowledge of London’ (more commonly known as the ‘Blue Book’), which is issued to anyone who wants to become a cab driver. The runs can start or finish anywhere in a six-mile radius of Charing Cross and must be completed using the straightest route from one end to the other. Along these runs are points of interest (known as “points”) which include, but are not exclusive to: Theatres, cinemas, embassies, professional organisations, sporting venues, hotels, hospitals, places of worship, government buildings and pretty much every other place a resident of or tourist in London has ever wanted to go. The names and locations of these spots must be learnt, as must every street name on every run.

At this juncture, some readers may think, “Wow. That many routes and points would take a long time to learn, I’m happier to pay someone to do this for me.” In which case, you’ve already proved the worth of black cab drivers. Others, more confident in their observation and sense of direction may ponder the size of the task and think, “It’s a lot, but I could handle it.”

There is, of course, more.

Started out (down a dirty road)

When handed the list of runs, wannabe cab drivers tend to buy a scooter and fix a clipboard attachment on to the handlebars. This helps so they can read and memorise individual runs from the Blue Book as they ride around London learning runs, street names and points.

Regardless of their existing knowledge of London, most Knowledge boys (or girls, though these are much less common) spend at least a year, sometimes longer, reinforcing their what they think they know of London and learning the runs as well as they can before taking a mandatory written map test.

During the map test students are given start and finish points of five runs which they must write out in full exact routes of five runs in full. Additionally, a series of five blank sections of Ordnance Survey maps are also given to examinees to plot other road names and points. It is not unusual for wannabe cab drivers to fail the map test, on some occasions more than once.

What really makes the lot of the trainee London cab driver tough is the method of examination after the map test and the accompanying tough and exquisitely torturous journey from novice to expert. Rather than being asked to merely drive the runs for their examiners while naming streets, Knowledge boys have to “call” (ie read out) their routes correctly at a series of “appearances”.

Keeping up appearances

At each appearance a Knowledge student must meet an examiner at a pre-arranged time at the Public Carriage Office (PCO) at 15 Penton Street, N1*. He or she must be dressed as if for a job interview** (ie suit and tie). Once seated in the examiner’s office, the examiner will name a point to start from (eg, the Iranian Embassy) and a point of interest to finish at (eg, the Royal Astronomical Society). After correctly naming the road the starting point is on, the student must call the whole route including all correct directions and street names, taking one-way streets into consideration and always remembering to travel in as straight a line as possible. It is not enough to name a route comprising the main roads (that’s what buses are for).

At each appearance a student must call four runs correctly and score a “C” to pass to the next appearance of the stage. The inner-workings of Knowledge examiners are notoriously secretive and they will only award a “C” if they are happy with all the routes taken. It is not enough to call a route, it must be the route or at least extremely close to the route the examiners had in mind. The route may not be the same as initially learned in the Blue Book. If that sounds rather arbitrary and unfair, that is because it is.

In real life, the average cab driver will deal with thousands of fares. As anyone who has ever worked with or for the public will attest, the world is full of cretins, ignorant fools, violent imbeciles and strange, sexual deviants. Some of whom are actually quite unpleasant. Therefore examiners are keen to test how students respond to pressure by deliberately causing a distraction during exams by tapping on a desk, singing and generally cocking around. The idea is that if you snap under exam conditions, you’re certainly not ready to face the public and represent the PCO and by extension, London, every day.

This is not to say examiners don’t have a sense of humour. When Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy in September 2008 there were reports of examiners asking students, “Take me from Lehman Brothers to the nearest job centre.” In the BBC TV documnetary Modern Times: Streetwise one potential cabbie who had been in prison before attempting the Knowledge is asked to start a run at HMP Pentonville.

If a Knowledge boy has a weak spot, a PCO examiner will exploit it.

How often are appearances and how many are there?

At the first stage appearances are 56 days apart. To move on to the next stage a Knowledge student must get four Cs. Those keen on maths will immediately work out this means the quickest any student can pass the first stage is more than seven months (ie four appearances x 56 days apart).

However, the likelihood of getting four straight Cs in a row is extremely low. Getting a D at an appearance during the 56 days stage is allowed up to three times before a student has to return to the map test and start again.

Therefore the longest that can be spent on the first stage of appearances before returning to the map test is just over a year (seven x 56 days , based on a student scoring three Cs and three Ds before getting the final D which sends him back to the start).

It is not uncommon for Knowledge boys to have to return to the map test. At this point some will inevitably drop out.

After more than a year on a scooter learning runs before even starting appearances and another year learning while attending appearances, to be told to return to the map test means a minimum of another seven months before you can even move on to the next stage.

Eventually, those that haven’t given up (and plenty do) will pass the 56 day stage. This is the hardest and longest stage, because, well, trying to learn the names, locations and interconnections of thousands of streets takes a long time. The more you learn, the easier it gets.

Rather obviously, the more time Knowledge Boy puts in to studying the A-Z and driving around looking at streets and points, the quicker he can learn and the quicker he can pass each stage.

This is why, like everything else in life, the Knowledge favours the rich or at least financially secure. If you can afford to give up work and have spare time, you can spend more time on the roads and pass the Knowledge quicker.

Once four Cs have been passed at the 56-day stage, appearances are 28 days apart. Same rules as before, except now a rudimentary driving test also has to be taken. This is to test overall ability and temperament of a student. Observant readers will work out this stage can be passed in a little under four months at best (ie four Cs – four x 28 days) and a little under seven at worst (ie four x C, three x D – seven x 28 days).

Those who get four Ds again have to return to the map test, but by this point, it’s pretty unlikely a Knowledge student will get four Ds unless he drinks a bottle of absinth every night and rots his mind and memory away. Admittedly, many may consider this a sane and reasonable reaction to living in London but it won’t help you pass the Knowledge.

This stage also sees the introduction of examiners posing hypothetical routes, eg, “Take me from Trellick Tower to Camberwell Green but avoid X bridge, closed because of road works or Y street, which closed due to a bomb scare/protest/impromptu rave.” This makes a run tougher to call, but is entirely fair. London is perpetually beset by road closures and road works, so this sort of query is akin to a cab driver's real experience.

The penultimate appearance stage involves appearances 21 days apart, with the same rules as before. Four Cs here will take just under three months, with the lengthiest possible time just under four months.

Upon gaining the final C, drivers get their Requirement or “Req,” perhaps appropriately pronounced “wreck,” given the amount of time and effort it has taken to achieve and the effect such studies would have on most ordinary people.

Finally comes the suburb test. This involves calling runs as before, but on routes from central London far into the suburbs. These are generally concerned with main roads and don’t cause many problems to the now-confident and able Knowledge boy. When the suburb test is passed, a Green Badge is handed over by the examiner unceremoniously to the Knowledge boy, who has earned the right to drive a Black Cab in the world’s greatest city.

What happens next?

Aside from saying things like, “I had that Bob Holness in the back of my cab,” the lot of a cab driver is an odd mix of restriction and freedom. How many days, nights, weeks and months each year are worked are at the cabbie’s discretion. There are apocryphal stories of cab drivers who live in Spain as men of leisure for three weeks a month only to return to London for one week in four to work enough hours to earn a month’s wages. Tales also abound of those who only work three days a week. On the flipside, cabs themselves cost upwards of £20,000 or have to be rented at £250 a week, so anyone that thinks an hour a day can earn is sorely mistaken.

For most of us, who could never be bothered to undertake the Knowledge, we're just grateful the 20,000 London cab drivers have made the effort.

After all, as anyone who's ever stood freezing on a moody midnight street corner can attest - at the right time and in the right weather, cab drivers can be more sought after than choir boys in the Vatican.

*For drivers that fancy a pint or several after their appearance, The Lexington, an excellent bar formerly known as Clockwork Orange is just around the corner on busy Pentonville Road, while Islington’s Upper Street and Essex Road have perhaps the highest concentration of pubs in London. In this drinker’s opinion, Slim Jim’s Liquor Store is the greatest of these for its selection of whiskeys and jukebox.

**Note to journalists not in the financial, political sector or business sector, musicians and general media types, this means how we’d have to dress for a proper job interview.

Banksy film neither turd nor triumph

2010-03-02T00:40:00.016Z

It’s not often a film review pays attention to the actual environs of the cinema the screening has been viewed in. Yet in the case of preview showings of Banksy’s Exit Through The Gift Shop, a few words are necessary.

Press screenings have already taken place at Sundance Film Festival, Berlin Film Festival and in London, with the city hosting the former event also becoming a victim - or beneficiary - of the street artist’s prolific stencilling. Ten pieces were thrown up around Utah’s Park City while Sundance took place.

Back in London two advance screenings a day at pop-up cinema The Lambeth Palace have sold out (the last is Thursday March 4). Skim readers who read that last sentence and wondered why Banksy is showing his movie at the Archbishop of Canterbury's gaff should heed the definite article.

The Lambeth Palace is actually a network of rooms on the right-hand side of Leake Street Tunnel. The tunnel was used as a short cut by cab drivers when the Eurostar used to leave from Waterloo, back in the days before the cross-channel service left from St Pancras. In the years since, Leake Street has been covered in graffiti, much of it of a high standard if you like that sort of thing. Banksy himself has organised events down there.

At The Lambeth Palace refreshments are sold from a burnt-out ice cream van, while other Banksy pieces adorn the foyer and walls (see accompanying photos). The actual screening room is small (150 capacity), but has a certain sort of grim charm. During the screening occasional train rumbles could be felt and heard from above. A vault under the train tracks near Waterloo is an ideal spot for a guerrilla-ish event like this. For that and child abduction from the look of things.

The film itself is something of a slippery beast, as one might expect from a man who manages to evade the law and stay almost completely anonymous while simultaneously earning hundreds of thousands of pounds selling his work to patrons like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. There is obviously a question over what his work is really worth but that’s a debate for pub nights and broadsheet weekend magazine section editors. What interests London Liked is the man’s wit and audacity as much as his ideas. In many respects, once you get past the scale of his ambition and the detail in his stencilled image, he’s just like any other pleb with a marker looking for a white toilet wall.

Banksy himself would probably be the first to admit to this. The one thing the pseudo-documentary does impress upon viewers is the man’s humility and courage. Of course, any impression can be faked and any emotion manipulated in the edit, but regardless of any graffiti writer’s effrontery, it takes a special sort of nerve to paint nine separate pieces on the Israeli’s security wall and vandalise a Disneyland ride with an inflatable Guantanamo Bay detainee.

Exit Through The Gift Shop has a particularly tricky narrative. It purports to be a documentary about Thierry Guetta, an eccentric Vintage clothing store owner who lives in Los Angeles and is obsessed by documenting his life and that of everyone he meets with his video camera.

Of course, Guetta happens to be the cousin of mosaic tile-wielding street artist (Space)Invader. Guetta sees this as some sort of sign and decides to make a full-blown documentary about street art (or graffiti, to people who don’t do it, or at least don’t cock about on train hoardings at 4am doing it).

Guetta tracks down a number of venerated street artists and gets tight access through his relationship with Invader. Guetta is alleged to have met Invader in 1999 but it isn’t until 2006 he finally links up with Banksy. By this point the Bristolian is arguably the world’s biggest street art name, so the documentary has a new focus. Now Guetta follows Banksy to Disneyland, the West Bank and everywhere else worth tagging.

Eventually Banksy tells ridiculous Guetta to deliver a finished piece because Guetta has spent so much time on the film. Of course, Banksy ridicules Guetta’s finished documentary and suggests Guetta become a street artist, which he does in a matter of months, with huge success.

If this all sounds a bit thin for a feature-length documentary, even a spoof, that’s because it is. There are quite a few moments of hilarity, mostly due to Guetta’s incompetence and inarticulacy or Banksy’s wry observations. There is also impressive footage of street artists in the act.

At the end of the brilliant, high velocity pre-credit sequence one graf artist leaps up a wall and away from security guards just in time to escape. Any viewer with a pulse will want to raise a fist in appreciation and solidarity. Wherever you sit on the art/vandalism debate, it’s impossible not to watch the lengths some of these people go to and admire their efforts.

But it’s equally true, as Conservatives and cynics may suggest, that if the global mob of street artists put as much effort into, well, anything as they did scribbling on walls, they could soon come up with something worthwhile like a cure for cancer, a new version of Pet Sounds or some kind of universal torture device that only affected recruitment agents.

The film itself is worth seeing, even if it would have made a better hour-length Channel 4 documentary than a feature film. On the plus side, a knowing voiceover from Rhys Ifans throughout seems to poke more fun. It could be his Welsh accent, but Ifans does appear to be calling Thierry, “Terry,” deliberately. Ifans used to be big mates with Super Furry Animals so is no stranger to a bit of mischief. Also, while we're not really on the subject, Portishead’s Geoff Barrow and Roni Size contribute fitting work on the soundtrack.

The jury is out on Banksy’s directorial skills for now, but that’s partly because so little of what he presents here seems real. By all means give viewers a spoof or play with preconceptions but no one likes an out and out cheat unless they’re in on the joke.

It seems massively unlikely Thierry Guetta is for real. He could even be Banksy. After all, Guetta doesn't look too disimiliar to a man The Daily Mail claimed was him in 2008, while many of the other scenes in Exit Through The Gift Shop could have been faked and the smartness of that title alone gives an indication of the tone. Art, street art, multinational corporations and business in general are all ripe for parody and out and out piss-taking so Banksy obliges. Just don’t expect a revolution in cinema.

Gorillaz and Banksy make for moist March

2010-02-22T23:52:00.008Z

Just a quick fumble today. Some would say that's all I ever manage, but the imminent return of Gorillaz on their third album Plastic Beach is tremendously exciting. The first tune to surface from the album is the terrific 'Stylo'.

This sterling track has already been raved about everywhere from Tooting to Tokyo. On a personal level, I've been banging on about this track to everyone myself since it surfaced a while back. To paraphrase The White Stripes' 'Fell In Love With A Girl' - I said it once before but it bears repeating.

Even if 'Stylo' featured just the Damon Albarn vocal and the simple, minimal Danger Mouse bass and synth workout it would be a brilliant tune. However, the cunning street corner Mos Def rap and extraordinary, agitated, even frenzied Bobby Womack vocal ensure this tune is nothing less than outstanding. This can only be proper, really. The man behind Across 110th Street wouldn't just pop out of retirement after two decades to work on any old toot.

Londoners will also be salivating upon reading the latest from 'Murdoc', (Almost certainly Albarn's animated alter-ego at the heart of Gorillaz).

Murdoc/Albarn told NME: "Gorillaz were always influenced by The Clash. They were always my favourite band, I loved how they took the heart and soul of punk and reggae smeared it in London graffiti and paint and then sailed it round the world."

He added:"I don’t think that’s a million miles from what Gorillaz do now."

Rather excitingly, the title track includes former Clash guitarist Mick Jones (a hero London Liked was lucky enough to meet at a Primal Scream gig in 2006) and bassist Paul Simonon, the latter of whom worked with Albarn on The Good, The Bad and The Queen's debut (and probably only) album.

There'll be a full rundown on the Gorillaz album and any other Gorillaz news here soon.

STOP PRESS: Thurs 25/02.10: It has been announced this afternoon London station Xfm will be playing the whole of Plastic Beach on Tuesday March 2nd...

Just time to mention Banksy. The anonymous Bristolian grafitti artist has been a fascinating figure in the (street) art world for years. His pieces have been seen in locations across the world and particularly in London. One big question, perhaps the only one which really matters, is this: Can Banksy do anything more meaningful than paint clever pictures, with the odd joke in, on public walls?

The answer will be here on Monday when there'll be a review of his directorial debut, Exit Through The Gift Shop.

Plasticines throw some killer shapes

2010-02-15T23:05:00.002Z

*Photo: Plasticines @ The Borderline, February 8 - courtesy of Talia Kranes

At the beginning of an exciting week of new music for London Liked, Plasticines rocked The Borderline in stylish, punky fashion. Last Monday (February 8) Katty Besnard led the terrific young French female quartet with raw AC/DC attitude and tambourine shakes that certainly kicked the efforts of former Oasis warbler Liam Gallagher into touch.

Four women from just outside Paris sporting an unashamed swagger and who met at a Libertines gig. Can this only mean impressionable teens down the front and trying-to-pretend-they’re-not-perving men filling the rest of the small, but lively Borderline? Partly. It would be easy to write off Plasticines as Long Blondes via Ladyhawke with a Gallic twist at first listen but that is to undersell their charm. Parisians seem to be stereotyped as cold, stylish and irascible, but Besnard and her bandmates (guitarist Marine Neuilly, bassist Louise Besillien and drummer Anais Vandevyvere) charm the tough, disconcertingly quiet school night crowd effortlessly, but with the obsequiousness that makes, say, Robbie Williams or Mika such a grating live prospect.

Now on their second album Plasticines have the confidence and tightness that mostly only comes with experience, specifically experience up on stage. From the recently released About Love album, former single Bitch shines in lean, snake-hipped fashion. It’s got drive and with a title like that, sassiness is almost a given. Besnard sings like PJ Harvey, even if the riffs and rhythms recall Gossip. Saucy. *Runnaway meanwhile sounds like The Go-Gos whilr Another Kiss is extraordinarily good fun, almost as though The Ting Tings returned and decided every song they wrote would match the quality of Be The One.

A brief word about their covers to end. You’re No Good, originally performed by Betty Clark in 1963 but covered by everyone from Elvis Costello to Van Halen, has the righteous party feel of The Knack’s unassailable My Sharona. Almost as good was the mademoiselles version of These Boots Were Made For Walkin’. Not quite as seductive as the Nancy Sinatra take, but what is? And no, “Geri Halliwell’s cover,” is not an appropriate answer.
*****
By Wednesday (February 10) a change in direction was needed. So? London Liked has always kept dubstep at a distance. It’s been around in various forms for half a decade on pirate radio stations across London, sounding to casual listeners like dark garage gone dub-minimal or jungle with slower beats. Crude terminology to the afficiandos of the scene maybe, but the big question on many a ravers’ lips is simple. How do you dance to something with difficult, often slow time signatures?

With any serious consideration this question falls down like an obese man drooling in front of Greggs. Drum ‘n’ bass is hard to dance to if you don’t pick one beat to follow, say a snare a bar. With dubstep, like d ‘n’ b, is all about picking a drum sound or bassline you can follow and sticking to it. If the tune’s too slow, make like Marley and get skankin’. Easy when you know how.

****

Deviation was the dubstep destination last week and it the scene finally made sense. The brooding, minimal stuff Mercury-nominated Putney producer Burial became respected for was at a minimum in favour of basslines Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry would weep over and acid synth meltdowns electro DJs would cheerfully steal. Gramaphone in Commercial Road was as lively on a Wednesday as could be expected on a Friday night. DJ Zinc, who heard his ace Ms Dynamite-featuring single Wile Out dropped enjoyed himself, while even superstar producer Mark Ronson got his crunk on. All that speaker pressure surely made a difference from producing soul-pop classics for Amy Winehouse, at least. Deviation happens once a month, but it’s worth feeling ropey at work the next day to attend.

*****

Lowlife is another big underground name that’s been around for donkeys in The Big Smoke. Yes, it’s the name of a series of venerable underground parties rather than a sub-genre of urban music, but hey - start your own blog if you don’t like tenuous linking**. Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton, a pair known as much for their formidable DJing skills and sterling club culture books as they are for their superior knowledge of dance music, set up Lowlife in 1995. It’s a word-of-mouth event, which always sells out despite the dearth of advertising.

Anyway, again London Liked was virginal before the night.*** But in brief, the warehouse party feel, ragged but atmospheric venue, friendly punters, complete absence of bad attitude (even among security) and uniformly excellent music made Lowlife a winning night.

There’s bound to be more about the night, its two founders and the fantastic house music on here in future. Especially as the next Lowlife is the 15th anniversary…

*though the double ‘n’ is unlikely in use to distinguish it from the excellent Del Shannon song.

**Actually that’s a great name for a blog.

***OK, it’s not cool to be a Londoner and admit to never having been to a dubstep night or Lowlife, but in my defence, I have done a few cool things in my life, some would say many, considering my social, intellectual and financial handicaps. By that I obviously mean my ability to say and do idiotic things with unerring frequency, my ability to squander money stupidly and my seeming inability to regularly earn what most people would consider to be a decent income.

Soho and swearing

2010-02-07T19:24:00.007Z

Both Soho and swearing are endlessly exciting, naughty, ridiculous and often unfairly maligned.

Considering their parallels it’s quite fitting that the card above is available in a branch of Scribbler on Wardour St, the longest street in Westminster’s delightfully seedy-yet-glam party district and arguably most fun area of central London. Chain stores of any kind are rarely centres of design excellence, originality or intellectual rigour but this one, which has 10 branches in London, is something of a rarity. It’s a card shop that sells cards which make you laugh out loud and doesn't leave you full of hate the second you cross the threshold.

When asked about the absence of the harshest of all swear words the polite assistant could not offer an explanation, but could recommend wrapping paper adorned with, as he put it, the “C word”. No, not Cameron - although many use the Tory leader as a synonym for the real missing word.

Back once again to the opening par. The key is in the adjectives. Exciting, naughty, ridiculous. Apart from funny, clever and attractive, there may not be three as complimentary words in the English language to describe a place, person or thing.

As for Soho, the usually reliable Irvine Welsh wrote in his 2002 Trainspotting sequel Porno, “It’s Soho but it could be anywhere that has no character any more.” Admittedly, this line is both brilliantly bitter and depressingly empty; the kind of thing Camus or Palahniuk would get off on, regardless of the statement’s veracity. It should also be mentioned that Welsh may not hold this view, of course, as it is part of Simon “Sick Boy” Williamson’s interior monologue.

Critics of London’s central sex shop and edit suite wonderland complain that it is both childish and silly, while accepting it is a place meant for adults. This conflict of image can be applied to swearing. There’s as much joy to be had at the silly end of curse words, as there is at the dangerous, violent end. South Park’s Terrance and Philip are great but the dark, extreme profanity uttered by Malcolm Tucker could make the weak or just timid cry in real life.

A person’s love of swearing does not necessarily mean a limited vocabulary or a failure to articulate oneself with clarity. Swearing is often just a quick way to be unequivocal. What’s wrong? It’s fucked. OK. Let’s fix it. Who’s he? He’s a prick. Is he? Let’s leave. Beyond all that, swearing may be lazy and offensive, but it’s fun. Especially when trying out new or unusual expressions. Try some out today. But not around kids. They’ll get around to it soon enough and to encourage them to swear is irresponsible and could cause a lot of trouble, especially if they’re not your children.

So bollocks to that.

*At the time of publication Clinton’s do not stock the wrapping paper.

Hot Chip finally fulfil potential

2010-01-27T00:23:00.009Z

Clearly someone at Hot Chip base couldn’t hack the competition.

Since the band released patchy third album Made In The Dark early in 2008 other graduates of Putney’s Elliot School have not only peaked above the popular music parapet but leapt right over it to snag critical acclaim.

Later in 2008 Dubstep producer Will Bevan, who plies his trade with the moodier moniker Burial, saw a hefty sales increase after winning a Mercury Music Prize nomination.

Last year belonged to The xx, the young band whose stunning, elliptical debut album featured at or near the top of many album of the year lists.

To Dem Chip Mans' (as no one has ever called them or probably will again) credit, in 2010 there is little chance of another Elliot alumnus surpassing their latest offering.

From big singles like the staggering, probably career-best anthem Over And Over to awkward-funk album tracks like Keep Fallin’ and Down With Prince via the odd superb non-album single like My Piano, Hot Chip’s confident way with a sorrow-soul dancefloor definite has never been in doubt.

But across their opening trio of albums, they never delivered a consistent enough end product.

One Life Stand sees Alexis Taylor-fronted band brush off the “Great singles band” tag in convincing fashion.

Just to get the one less-than-exceptional moment out of the way first, Slush is less great than the other nine tunes here. As ballads go it chimes away pleasantly enough and unexpectedly includes some steel drums in a melancholic fashion. It just wouldn’t soundtrack Del looking wistful at the end of Rodney’s wedding reception as poignantly as Simply Red’s Holding Back The Years does.

There’s no massive need to think about Slush yet (UK residents have had quite enough of it during this winter), but it does crop up on track six, so be warned.

Back at the start Thieves In The Night begins the album well. Drums that recall the more breakbeat-influenced tracks by The Chemicals Brothers like Under The Influence slot into a song half Air-gone-dark, half Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack.

Hand Me Down Your Love sees the introduction of old-skool pianos of the kind you can hear at Back To ’92 raves and on Northern Soul records. There’s also a beat half-inched from Doves' Pounding.

Are these south-west Londoners only listening to their own record label’s back catalogue now?

String samples figure heavily here and on I feel Better, with the latter notable for an autotuned Joe Goddard vocal. It’s also another occasion steel drums are wheeled out. Twice in one album? Did Super Furry Animals even have the balls to do that?

On the title track there seems to be even more drumming of the kind Londoners usually only clock on August bank holiday in Notting Hill amid crushed Red Stripe cans and jerk chicken bones. Like an especially chilli sauce-covered kebab after seven pints of Wifebeater*, it’s a brave choice, but worth taking a chance on.

The chorus and verses on One Life Stand are both excellent, if completely different. Each verse has a dark UK garage feel, like the sort of track Zed Bias used to put out years before grime became a going concern, albeit with a beat more at home on a current funky or progressive house tune. [That means funky as in the contemporary genre you can hear on pirates rather than funky in a '70s James Brown sense.] For the chorus, it’s a different story – all euphoric Prince chords and lubricated guitar. Like 12 Monkeys, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but you can’t help but admire it.

As with the three past records there are a few ballads on this fourth, but when they come wrapped up as lovingly as Alley Cats, it’s hard to complain. It sounds like a particularly great song by The Whitest Boy Alive, but also sounds like the cab ride home in the morning after one of those nights that makes life worth living.

We Have Love will be one for the fans who got off on seeing Hot Chip perform Wearing My Rolex with Eskibeat originator and unexpected chart conqueror Wiley at Glastonbury 2008. Unquestionably influenced by that east London legend, it’ll probably go down well with the bassline crowd, too. Thunderous stuff: odd, wobbly and malevolent like someone remaking The Wicker Man in the main room at Fabric.

Towards the conclusion of OLS Keep Quiet has an expansive, haunting quality. Fever Ray and the last Portishead's 3 may have been key influences. That last album may have been made in it, but this song should certainly be listened to in the dark.

Take It In rounds things off in a smoky, mischievous Xpress 2 style. Perhaps the most banging track is saved for last and one that ostensibly made for a 4am dancefloor. This could only be expected with that wink of a title. Whether they're on about dangerous narcotics or academic learning, listening will almost certainly lead to a happier life.

As with the rest of One Life Stand, pleasure will come to those who imbibe repeatedly.

*Note to non-drinkers: This is one of many crude nicknames for strong Belgian lager Stella Artois.

Crossrail progress leaves sorry station core

2010-01-20T23:56:00.008Z

Victoria may be the busiest station on the London Underground network and serve a whopping 76 million passengers each year, but it surely loses out in the battle for Most Annoying Tube Station In London.

The true frontrunners for this dubious accolade can only be two fetid Oxford Street apertures: Oxford Circus and Tottenham Court Road.

During rush hour Ox Circ, as everyone writes in txt msgs, is a ghastly crammed hub of gawping slack-jawed tourist flotsam and hollow-eyed wageslave drones surrounded by irascible drooling religious nutters. The rest of the time it just feels like some ludicrous Orwellian joke. No matter how often or comprehensively it is refurbished Oxford Circus will always look unfinished.

Tottenham Court Road’s festering hole is even worse and is surely the lamest Tube station in London. Many weary passengers would happily fellate an entire colony of lepers rather than use it ever again.

Why?

Busking doesn’t always have to be the refuge of the musically inept and those who avoid bathing. The man who performs Abba songs in the tunnel leading to the Bakerloo line at Charing Cross may deserve to have their entire regrettable back catalogue (on vinyl, not CD), shoved up his member but some might be allowed to live, come the revolution. But not the woeful goon(s) bleating away at TCR. Come back Jedward, all is forgiven. All except your version of the Ghostbusters theme tune, that is.

At ground and subterranean levels Waterloo station is prone to more fuckwit-filled crowd bottlenecks than Topshop on a Saturday. Part of this is the sheer size of the cavernous orifice and its 23 necessary escalators. Waterloo is often horrendous, but at least two airport-style moving walkways give one stretch a pleasant feeling of unreality. Particularly if you sprint along one listening to drum ‘n’ bass and dodging fellow passengers in an attempt to make your meaningless life more amusing than it is. You can take sharp little glances behind you as you run and imagine being Jason Bourne in The Bourne Fornication or whatever it’s called, too.

But TCR frequently sees bottlenecks that make sentient beings long for death-by-something-unspeakable like happy hardcore or Jeremy Clarkson.

There are endless other reasons why the thought of using TCR is as welcome as Gary Glitter at a crèche, but enough’s enough. This is a blog not a Dostoyevsky novel.

The one thing TCR had going for it was the building above it. Aside from grotty old takeaways with less than rigorous adherence to health guidelines, this creaking edifice was home to the Astoria and Mean Fiddler, neighbouring venues which could always be relied upon for great nights out*.

Aside from hosting many world-beating bands (and as many appalling artists) the Astoria provided a home for perhaps London’s most famous gay night of the last two decades. G.A.Y ran between 1993 and 2008 (until it moved to Heaven) and regularly saw big pop acts - including Amy, Britney, Girls Aloud and, lordy, Chesney Hawkes – appear live. It was obviously a good thing, whether as a straight man you never went but only saw the queues after leaving a Friday gig, a straight woman who went to party with gay mates and avoid being chatted up by dickheads or, of course, as a member of the target audience of gay men or women. Walking up Charing Cross Road and seeing G.A.Y in big red letters could often instil a sense of pride for London’s occasionally almost palpable sense of inclusion and tolerance.

After all, as a straight, white man, it’s sometimes easy to forget that people of my colour, sex and sexuality have it far easier than, well, everyone else. Except for the rich.

Now the surface building above TCR has been whittled down to an essential core, the landscape around one of London’s most frantic junctions looks alien. Crossrail is coming, so Hackney residents can get to Chelsea games more quickly and the TNT-reading Kiwi and Aussie hordes in Shepherd’s Bush can head to Essex without trouble, should they feel the need.

Whether or not a palatial tower of Haribo, sorbet and pancakes fills the space above Tottenham Court Road or whether, more likely, some ghastly mall is built to suck more soul from this town, some of us will miss the sort of grime you just don’t get at the O2.

Coming soon: Have Hot Chip finally delivered a consistently brilliant album on the fourth attempt? Find out when London Liked gives you the skinny on one of the year’s most eagerly anticipated albums.

*On a personal note, I once drunkenly fractured my thumb falling down the stairs one night in 1999 (after Gay Dad's set but before Mansun headlined) and saw Foals perform one of the finest gigs I’ve witnessed in my life on a Monday night in 2008. A toilet attendant also sang, “Born in Lewisham,” at me while I stood at a urinal in 2004 in the Mean Fiddler, but that’s another story.

xx art show lacks Saam's spark

2010-01-14T01:08:00.012Z

The xx forged a formidable reputation in 2009 for the stunning after-midnight mood music that comprised their debut album. Voted near or at the zenith of several end-of year-polls, the Putney-educated quartet (now trio after the departure of keyboardist Baria Quresh) achieved great things with deceptively simple songs ostensibly hued from whispers and longing, tears and aching.

When it was announced that innovative music promo director Saam Farahmand was producing a video installation piece involving the album, a richly creative meeting of minds and solid collaboration was the minimum which fans of either could realistically expect.

After all, Farahmand is best known for his regularly impressive work with day-glo slackers Klaxons and has also turned in memorable videos for acts Simian Mobile Disco and New Young Pony Club.

Unfortunately, when viewing The xx installation in the basement of Vinyl Factory, in Soho's Poland Street, it was hard not to feel slightly underwhelmed.

Three individual column speakers arranged in a triangle formation were fitted with small, sunken TV screens a few metres apart in a vast empty room. The speakers played the aforementioned album, while the tv screens showed pre-recorded footage of individual band members singing and playing instruments in time with their respective recorded parts. White light dimmed and brightened to emphasise relevant basslines, guitar parts and beats in time with the music.

This may sound rudimentary in the extreme - and it was. For an audience now hardened to challenging and sophisticated art stunts and even blockbuster movies as obsequiously stunning and visually complex as Avatar 3D, it was hard not to feel somewhat undersold.

A missed opportunity this time, but given The xx's refreshing approach to creatively bankrupt endeavours like cover versions, it's impossible not to write this off as a blip at the start of an auspicious career. After all, if they can breath new life into evergreen house classic You Got The Love and Womack and Womack's life-affirming pop-soul standard Teardrops, they can surely overcome this minor setback.

As for Farahmand? If Spike Jonze is anything to go by, he'll rise again, just sharper and weirder next time.

Ten reasons why 2010 will smack it

2010-01-03T23:49:00.009Z

1 Fewer lists

Now that the execrable 2009 is over, they’ll be a lot fewer lists cluttering up every vaguely cultural magazine and website or feature section therein. Editors (not the band) and their employees will be forced into generating ideas with a hint of originality.

Lists do have their place, albeit mostly for ensuring toilet paper is not forgotten on the trip down the supermarket. They are also good for stimulating debate among the terminally workshy on important topics like “which Elbow album is the best?” or “which Will Ferrell film most wants makes you want to kick him in the balls?”.

Yes, there is something fleetingly comforting about compiling a carefully prepared group of your favourite things and listing them in one place. But similarly there can’t be many serious or even frivolous pop culture consumers not totally jaded by the endless array of top tens, hundreds and even thousands that have been seen and heard everywhere from The Guardian to Fact to XFM.

Nick Hornby and his list-happy novel High Fidelity have a lot to answer for, even if the book is essential reading for anyone with an unhealthy pop music obsession.

My Top 5 lists:

1 Guest list – any that lets you into a place with free booze
2 Schindler's List
3 Listless – how everyone feels after reading so many fucking lists
4 Jess List – an Australian girl I once took to see Asian Dub Foundation. No joy, though, if you know what I mean
5 Listeria – Foods that can cause it include hot dogs, deli meats, raw milk, cheeses (particularly soft-ripened cheeses like feta, Brie, Camembert, blue-veined, or Mexican-style “queso blanco”), raw and cooked poultry, raw meats, ice cream, raw vegetables, raw and smoked fish and the green lip mussel

2 World Cup 2010

For football fans on their way to South Africa in June, this is already the most anticipated part of the year. Even for those with weddings and babies due. Skint stay-at-homes who live and breathe the beautiful/ugly game are also tremendously excited. There’s more drama at the World Cup than you get in a series of 24. They'll be Dodgy refereeing decisions, unexpected and ostensibly dubious triumphs of teams normally considered to be second rate and moments of insanity that become iconic and as talked about as any footballing excellence on display. There are always moments of hilarity, too. Expect ridiculous and inane punditry from all the usual BBC suspects, bizarre own goals and winning celebrations even Mika would find OTT. Be sure to watch out for unnecessarily extravagant sartorial displays, silly dances and even sillier chants from drunken, semi-literate supporters of all creeds (and that’s just in London pubs. Boom boom).

Although it’s extremely unlikely this year’s tournament will end with anything as shocking as the Zinedine Zidane headbutt of 2006 , they’ll be plenty of other debate-worthy topics off the pitch. Chief among them being: is sub-Saharan Africa ready for a tournament of this scale? Although it would be a mean-spirited and possibly racist curmudgeon who wished South Africa anything but great success this summer, it’ll be interesting to see how this particular part of the world copes with an influx of spoiled millionaire footballers and the attendant media circus, in light of security and infrastructure questions. Whatever happens, June can't come soon enough.

3 Someone might kill that cunt in the Go Compare adverts.

4 DiCaprio leads movie charge

Leonardo DiCaprio turns up in two exciting releases from directors who’ve made careers out of delivering the goods in powerful, often influential fashion. The much-delayed asylum-set shocker Shutter Island looks to be Martin Scorsese’s first out and out psychological thriller since his underwhelming Caper Fear remake, though he and DiCaprio also tackled mental illness in The Aviator. Christopher Nolan directs Inception, a cerebral thriller apparently set within the mind. Imagine if The Matrix had been made with philosophy students rather than Pepsi Max drinkers in mind. But don’t expect to understand the film on first viewing. Aside from the obvious budgetary differences, Inception appears to have much more in common with contemporary brain/narrative-warping classic Memento than Nolan’s two fine Batman films.

The Expendables looks to be the year’s top unreconstructed action film. Stallone, Willis, Jet Li, Arnie. Surely it can’t fail? Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland should be, at the very least, visually astonishing, particularly as it will be screening in 3D. Regular Burton collaborators Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are on-board, as is Back To The Future weirdo Crispin Glover, while the Disney film will offer a tempting mix of live action and animation. It’s bound to be beguiling and odd but will it attain the heights achieved by Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Toy Story 3 is Pixar’s summer blockbuster. This too, will be in 3D, but will have to be amazing to have even a fraction of the emotional impact of the animation studio’s stunning last feature, Up.

Edgar Wright also returns with Scott Pilgrim Versus The World. It’s not the final part of the Cornetto Trilogy but should be pretty impressive. Ever since he shot Spaced Wright’s work has shown a knowledge of and passion for comic book culture, so fans of him and the original Scott Pilgrim stories should expect visceral action thrills and plenty of irony. If all that ain’t enough, The Rum Diary hits the silver screen. Hunter S Thompson's great lost novel is arguably one of the greatest books about what it means to be a man written in the 20th century and remains a pretty damn good take on what it is to be a journalist, too. Withnail and I's Bruce Robinson is directing and Johnny Depp is again playing Hunter S Thompson (or thereabouts)… It can’t, or at least shouldn’t, lose.

5 Loads of great acts returning with new albums

There’s plenty of ace new music kicking about (Washed Out springs immediately to mind as do many other acts that'll be mentioned here soon) but big names that have already made an impact look set to dominate in ’10. Literate New York indie poshos Vampire Weekend , Putney's melancholic ravers Hot Chip and Montreal marvels Arcade Fire are all set to release their latest albums.

Aside from solo albums from both members of Outkast and Nas, politicised Philly alt-rap crew The Roots and top Essex pair Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip have tunes ready to go. Fans of the short fat production whiz and the tall, fantastically-bearded poet/mc can but hope their second album will match stunning debut Angles. On a pop tip irrepressible antipodean pop princess Kylie is back, London’s finest R'n'B diva Estelle has new material waiting in the wings and Mercy singer Duffy is on her way back. In Unlikely Pairing News, there may even be some tunes on the way co-written by Tulse Hill’s own Adele Adkins and… Jack White. Finally, mentioned here alone because it is likely to be as uncategorisable as their two previous albums, Gorillaz will sling out their third record, Plastic Beach. With De La Soul making at least two guest appearances and Mos Def also joining the project, it could be among the most interesting releases of the year.

6 Election fever brightens recession-hit Britain

It’ll be almost inescapable in newspapers, on TV and online for months but ’10 is an election year. Policy announcements will race out of government at a frantic rate, with countless dusty initiatives forgotten while new ideas are conjured up relentlessly. For the first time in British politics, they’ll be a series of televised debates, in line with what voters have long experienced in the US. Political upheaval usually creates a fertile landscape for satirists, so big things should be expected from the better columnists, old standbys like Rory Bremner and hopefully Armando Iannucci. The Thick Of It is already the best thing on British TV, but it’ll be interesting to see how a major change of government influences the show.

Although feeble, desperate competitors with little chance of winning occasionally pull through to snatch victory from the jaws of ignominious defeat, Gordon Brown is unlikely to. He’s a dour, dull ballbag-looking man who has bumbled Britain through a recession as an unloved Prime Minister, after succeeding a massively unpopular nigh-on fundamentalist Christian warmonger at No 10. He was never going to be a success, really. It’s time for him to step aside, but I won’t be voting for the Conservatives. Regardless of how much the party has changed under Cameron, they’re still the party that represent power, money and privilege of the few over the many. That aside, even a few decades ago they were a racist, sexist, homophobic bunch of tossers and like all decent people I can’t abide that shit.

So Cameron will be the next Prime Minister. Working people will get stitched up a little bit more but not much more than normal as there’s so little between Labour and Tory in 2010. Still at least we’ll have someone to hate rather than just yawn at on TV.

7 Language keeps evolving (on and on)

Unfortunately, no end is in sight for the hideous linguistic trend of smashing two names, either forename and surname or two different people, together. Years after the terms Brangelina, Bennifer and - what was presumably the first celeb instance - J. Lo gained currency the UK reached a nadir with Jedward. It was bad enough that Irish X Factor losers John and Edward were so utterly hateful, but saying or typing “Jedward” was so utterly cretinous it instantly lowered the IQ of anyone who did it.

This may be a minor annoyance, but it is part of an overall brilliant trend, that of language evolution. Over the last decade "sick" and "ill" have finally joined bad as words that can be used as synonyms for good, while the word "standard" has been used euphemistically by Londoners for years. It can mean something which may or may not merely be up to an appropriate standard. Yet more often than not it is applied to something which is commonplace, but simultaneously excellent. For example, a friend might remark that he or she had a heavy session in the pub on a Friday night followed by a lengthy and energetic session of sex with their partner upon getting home. The reply? Standard.

In some circles “actually” became a euphemism for “fucking” in its adjectival sense (ie to mean “extremely” rather than “having sex”) two years ago. This has died down somewhat but there can be few ways more satisfying than expressing disbelief than saying, “Is he actually joking?”

Really, perhaps the latest word to get a linguistic update can mean anything between, “That seems mildly unlikely,” and, “Are you some sort of idiot or lying?”

It can’t be long before more old words wriggle away from linguistic orthodoxy and become used in fresh, interesting ways, even if "really" is getting somewhat stale.

8 We’re getting further away from 2009

Every single day that passes is a good one because we get further away from 2009. It was a stinking, festering, dog-raping, dozen months of unspeakable, unhappy bullshit that shouldn’t be wished upon anyone but your worst enemy ever again. It made 2007 look like the greatest year in existence. Whether or not you personally suffered, unemployment, flaccidity, an STD, weeping genital abscesses, heartbreak, loneliness, depression, the murder of a loved pet by an insane neighbour, the sudden inability to control your bodily fluids or an unforgiving combination of them all, chances are some of your friends or family did. Life is never an endless sunny parade of japes, but 2010 will have to usher in nothing less than the apocalypse to be worse than last year.

9 Sweet US TV still being broadcast

The Wire and The Sopranos have long finished but Family Guy is running until at least 2012, while Futurama and South Park will be knocking about until at least 2011. So they’ll always be something decent to watch for that time between getting in and getting busy.

10 East London back on the map

It’s been a lame old four years for anyone in south-east London wanting to go direct to east London but the bus replacement service finally jogs on into the sunset this summer. By June, lucky Dalston residents will be able to schlap down to Penge on one easy trip on the newly opened East London line extension. OK, so the merits of these two delightful neighbourhoods could be debated for literally minutes, but it can’t be denied that you meet some right wrong ‘uns in both. Serious jammers (and by that I mean people who regularly trot from one compass point to another across the capital) will be more excited about the further extension next year when it’ll be possible to go from south-west London (as far as Clapham Junction) to south-east without the hassle of taking the Northern Line up to London Bridge. But still, a public transport route connecting West Croydon and Hoxton in one move? Inspired.

My favourite albums of the noughties

2009-12-10T21:44:00.018Z

It was tempting to post my least favourite albums of the last decade, but for now it’s hard to summon up the necessary level of bile to truly do such a list justice.

As for the top LPs? The albums below have soundtracked ten years of becoming a man, albeit one who tries to retain a childlike silliness, enthusiasm and sense of wonder alongside his more adult charateristics. Some have sold millions, some far less. Quite simply, these are the albums released since 2000 that I’ve loved the most and listened to the most.

Ultimately, I’m just a pleb who’s been lucky enough to get paid to write about music on and off for the last eight years so this list means nothing beyond my personal taste. It's pretty commercial by some standards, but life ain't always about import-only Squarepusher rarities.

My favourite albums of the noughties

1 Funeral – Arcade Fire
2 Back To Black - Amy Winehouse
3 Pieces Of The People We Love – The Rapture
4 Angles – Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip
5 Myth Takes – !!!
6 Again – Colder
7 Demon Days – Gorillaz
8 Talkie Walkie - Air
9 Asleep In The Back – Elbow
10 Maths + English – Dizzee Rascal
11 Shine – Estelle
12 XTRMNTR – Primal Scream
13 Carried To Dust - Calexico
14 Slider: Ambient Excursions For Pedal Steel Guitar – Bruce Kaphan
15 Some Cities – Doves
16 Since I left You - The Avalanches
17 Out Of Control – Girls Aloud
18 Everything Is New – Jack Peñate
19 Manners – Passion Pit
20 Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend
21 Alpinisms – School Of Seven Bells
22 xx – The xx
23 Geogaddi - Boards Of Canada
24 Attack Decay Sustain Release - Simian Mobile Disco
25 Octopus - The Bees
26 Oblivion With Bells - Underworld
27 Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes – TV On The Radio
28 Lost Horizons - Lemon Jelly
29 Gotham! – Radio 4
30 Antidotes – Foals
31 Friendly Fires - Friendly Fires
31 Silent Alarm – Bloc Party
32 The Renaissance – Q-Tip
33 Hot Shots II - The Beta Band
34 Original Pirate Material - The Streets
35 Speakerboxxx/The Love Below – Outkast
36 White Blood Cells – The White Stripes
37 LCD Soundsytem – LCD Soundsytem
38 Stankonia – Outkast
39 American IV: The Man Comes Around – Johnny Cash
40 Hercules And Love Affair - Hercules And Love Affair

Top ten singles of 2009: Part Deux

2009-11-30T21:06:00.015Z

Just when you thought it was safe to listen to those feeble Nick Drake records, along comes London Liked to say, "NO!" You must NOT flop down on the sofa and pine for weak tea and chiming acoustic melancholy. You must not moan unless you've got some brutal hangover bustin' up-side your head like some workman drilling the bastard road at 7am. You must... just... ROCK OUT to the other five (a bit like The Other Two only three louder).

You may ask yourself, where is my beautiful wife, where is my... OK, that's a joke more feeble than an entire chorus of Belle & Sebastians.

And typo-watchers, I mean a LOT of B & S, not belonging to them, so the punctuation is correct, OK.

You may ask yourself, why put numbers 6-10 AFTER 1-5? Surely, it's better if you reveal your fave singles of the year in descending order, to create some semblance of normality and a smidgen of anticipation, perhaps?

It would, but that's what THEY would expect and just like cackling old Freddie Sykes in The Wild Bunch, I've nothing but contempt for THEY.

6 Nothing To Worry About - Peter, Bjorn and John

Those ropey Swedish mo' fos who soundtrack adverts for third-rate DIY chains - pah, as if any real life Young Folks want to do DIY*, anyway. If you're young you should just pay someone else to do it or go without - are actually pretty tasty when they get children and handclaps involved.

In fact, this is the best use of kids in music since Josef Fritzl ran that choir. I mean, best use of kids in music since Gorillaz's exemplary Dirty Harry.

*I've spent enough of my life in DIY stores already...

7 Holiday - Dizzee Rascal

For reasons too dire to comprehend many sun-loving heads found themselves stuck at home getting meaner this year, instead of going off to large it on the Med'. One thing that did make The Big Smoke a little more bearable was this brilliant single from Dylan Mills. No wonder the Bow chap dropped the real name, though, eh? Sounds like he should be in Kula Shaker with that moniker.

I'm only joking, though, Dizzle, please don't kill me.

Some say the Raskit was better when he stuck to bangers like Pussyole (Old Skool), but Dizzee has a neat way of articulating simple ideas as well as any British lyricist right now. Even at the start of the grim London winter, a quick blast of this tune is as life-affirming as Madonna's hit of the same name.

8 Thou Shalt Always Kill - Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip (De La edit) feat Posdnous (Pos Plug Won)

The original was an instant classic and a rare occasion of comedy and music actually working together and not sucking like a cheap brass on his/her last trick of the night. Unlike, say Flight Of The Conchords.

This is not necessarily better than the 2007 version, but features Plug Won from De La Soul. Let's face i - and I don't mean the inescapable pointlessness of modern life - Plug Won could rap over the fuck-awful Go Compare advert and it would still sound like Brahms or something.

9 This Must Be It - Röyksopp

Everyone's favourite Norwegian chill-out/dance monkeys get busy with awesome Swedish ice queen Karin Dreijer Andersson (aka Fever Ray/one half of The Knife) and the result can only be the most heartstopping tranced-up podium-stomping moment on Junior, itself one of the albums of the year. On a record of great vocal moments, Karin's is the most scary but vital. The trio smacked it down the Royal Festival Hall in April, too. [Note: "Mark" - see link - was actually right about the badger hat, but wrong about Karin/Anneli.]

10 She Wolf - Shakira

Far better than anything else the Colombian crooner has turned out, this funky, sweaty number is worth hearing just for the jangly guitar and panting noises alone.

More fun than seeing how many five pees you can fit in your lover's belly button.

Top ten singles of 2009: Part One

2009-11-29T23:19:00.006Z

The big Top 100 albums and singles of the decade chart is a work in progress, but here are the first five of my top ten singles of the year...

1 Fot i Hose - Casio Kids

There are no vocals in this short, sharp housey number from Norwegian indie-dance crew Casio Kids, but it's been the London Liked anthem of the year since the first listen back in January and a ringtone staple around these parts for most of the year.

Artists are often at their best when pushing themselves in new directions and here CK drop the New Order references in favour of a straight-up dancefloor sound. There's not much to Fot i Hose but supple bass, satisfying high-hats and a ridiculous synth riff, but every component part is essential.

It may be a wonder the bootlegging/mash-up crowd haven't thrown a few acapellas over the song but a much more interesting idea would be to get a top-flight MC to spit a few new bars over the top. Commercial success might beckon with a re-issue...

2 Tonight's Today - Jack Peñate

While not being utterly inauspicious, Jack Peñate's debut album Matinée suggested a future of rockabilly-tinged indie mediocrity. When Tonight's Today dropped ahead of Peñate's second album Everything Is New, jaws dropped. Was this the same fella with the check shirts and pleasant but unremarkable tunes, suddenly transformed into a shimmering tropical/Balearic love god? Had he been overdosing on the El Guincho records? Whatever the excuse, Tonight's Today is one of the best songs about partying too hard to be released in this or any other year.

3 Lost My Heart In Tokyo - Mini Viva

How could a song performed by two fun-loving girls named Frankee (Connolly) and Britt (Love) and written by Annie, Xenomania and Fred Falke ever fail? It couldn't.

4 Dem Na Like Me - The Qemists featuring Wiley

Killer Mcing, snatches of reggae, hardcore drums, spacey effects, all wrapped in a surprisingly listenable, poppy tune which troubled the singles chart about as much as Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music troubled the album chart.

5 The Reeling - Passion Pit

Manners was certainly one of the best debut albums to be released in 2009. PP also proved themselves repeatedly in the live arena. Especially when they invariably finished their set with this, perhaps the happiest song released in what has been a miserable year for many.

Watch out for Part Two here soon.

Pretty Successful Broadcasting

2009-11-22T23:53:00.008Z

Based on the above image, it's clearly time to experiment with the flash settings (and practice taking decent photos) on the tidy new camera, but at least it came out. Greyscale looks better than the original, hence my rudimentary Photoshop messing.

To The Enterprise in Camden, then for Flashforward, (see what he did there? No website, though...) an evening of up and coming acts organised by Sean Redmond.

Sean's an acoustic guitar-wielding troubadour who saw fit to kick off the evening with some touching heart-on-sleeve ditties.

Next up was one J. willgoose, esq, or if you're an interested listener or better yet, a cool alternative record label looking for a new act, Public Service Broadcasting.

J is a sound engineer by trade, so he's obviously adept at making recorded sound burst through speakers with punch, clarity and subtlety where necessary, but is also clearly a master at wiring up confusing, even bewildering, lengths of cable to complex chunks of electronic equipment.

The fact that J had a couple of technical difficulties (dealt with in amusing fashion, with a sampled public service announcement played on a loop) early in the set suggested his combination of gear was a little more complicated than a mere mic and amp. And so it proved.

A laptop, guitar, banjo, keyboard, sampler and theramin were all utilised during his set, often during the same song - pretty impressive going. Far too early to be suggesting the Tooting man is an alt/esoteric Prince, but so much instrument swapping can only impress. Especially on only his third gig.

It doesn't matter how many instruments you play or how savvy you are at recording if your tunes blow like a Dyson Airblade, but none did.

Mixergames in particular was a snappy alt-breakbeat number one could imagine Krafty Kuts dropping early doors at a party populated by cool people in Hawaiian shirts. New Dimensions In Sound, meanwhile, purred along cheerfully, a bit like Plaid and Groove Armada at their most relaxed, skipping hand in hand along a quiet coast. At least until about halfway through, where some OK Computer-era Radiohead guitar makes a welcome, if unexpected entrance. Theme from PSB was arguably the most immediate tune on offer and perhaps epitomised the PSB sound best (as you'd expect with such a title). Brief spoken word samples, nimble beats and flirtatious banjo riffs worked keenly with lightly trancey synths in a way Lemon Jelly would surely envy.

Intricate music can often be pompous and far too cool for its own good, a bit like the people who make it. PSB tunes are far from simple, but are great, unpretentious fun and work as both cheerful Sunday afternoon soundtrack and potential party starters. If and when there's a PSB album knocking about in 2010, it'll feature on the London Liked stereo...

Raving about Leigh Righton

2009-11-21T15:39:00.005Z

Inspiration comes from everywhere, but for the open-minded it's always a pleasure to have your curiosity piqued by an art form, theory or event outside of your usual area of interest or knowledge.

With this in mind, discovering the stellar photography of Leigh Righton was the highlight of my week.

One decent shot can do much more than tell a thousand words: It can confuse, amuse and excite. It is with this in mind that I post her vivid snap of Japandroids.

I've not yet asked permission to use it here, but if she asks me to remove it, I will. I'm not using it for any commercial gain, so...we'll see.

Japandroids are a scuzzy garage rock band from Vancouver, who make an envigorating, if slightly shambling racket, judging by their MySpace (linked above and I'm not repeating it like some sort of html Groundhog Day weirdo) but this is almost a moot point.

It's all about that image.

For a start, any juxtaposition or, better still, combination of fire and drums must be applauded. Both can be tremendously exciting, scary and out of control individually, but as a combination?

As ideas go setting drums on fire is almost as good the one Mars had when they first put peanuts together with chocolate in 1930.

The grimey white wall is a suggestive backdrop, too. Is it out the back of an abattoir or somewhere more mundane? Either way, one can imagine sinister goings-on just of shot.

Christ poses can look silly, but guitarist Brian King manages to look neutral and nonchalant in a steady, unconcerned, waiting-at-the-bus-stop way, almost as if he's saying, "Yeah, I always stand like this. And what?"

Drummer David Prowse's look has a touch of pugnacity and mischief to it. This is helped by his garb. There hasn't been a person born who don't look cool in a hood and he's clearly got the right brand of trainers on.

It's not fashionable to big up massive corporate companies, but if was good enough for Run DMC, it's good enough for a man sitting in south London with a laptop.

Meanwhile, whether it was intentional or not, there's also a nod to Jimi Hendrix's iconic '67 performance at Monterey Pop Festival, particularly in Prowse's pose. And why not? Destruction can be act of creation, too.

In conclusion, I'll be looking out for more pics from Righton.

Digging around on her website and clocking the top-rate work there made me want to start a band just so she could take our picture.

Top Old Skool tunes for maximum realness

2009-11-14T14:17:00.010Z

There are loads of serious and frivolous topics worth writing about today. The Guardian's story about birth defects in Falluja evokes some truly appalling images that would seem to be more at home in the body horror sub-genre of sci-fi.

A baby being born with two heads?

Aside from the unbearable moral and social strain this would cause on the parents, it's just massively sad, especially when considering how hard is for many couples to actually conceive in the first place.

The X Factor no-marks Jedward are still a pop culture obsession for many in the UK. Most sensible punters have spotted the regrettable Irish pair for what they are: a huge waste of a sperm and egg.

One could even muse on why old people clutter up the supermarkets, pavements and roads on Saturdays when they've been sitting at home DOING FUCK ALL during the week.

But when there's an Old Skool rave on at SE1, it's just best to bang down ten songs I hope to hear most tonight and get into the spirit of things...

In no particular order...

What Have You Done - One Tribe

If this tune only comprised that awesome clattering beat and ominous synth reminiscent of Angelo Badalamenti's Twin Peaks music sampled so memorably on Moby's G, it would still be mint. But the sorrow in Gem's mournful vocal and MC Nuts line, "I wanted your love not your blood, I'm not Dracula," make this One Tribe track essential.

Who Is The Bad Man? - Dee Patten

For a start, any song that samples Jimmy Cliff in the brilliant Jamaican gangster flick The Harder They Come should be given a thorough hearing. Excluding said spoken snippet, the beauty in Dee Patten's 1992 classic is its simplicity, aside from that skittery, slippery beat, it's all about a bassline so heavy it has to get in a lift on its own. There's no wonder this can still be heard on many of London's better pirate radio stations.

Sueno Latino - Sueno Latino

Big tunes in Ibiza (and by extension pretty much every other Mediterranean clubbing resort) often lose something when they eventually make their back to Blighty, partly because most of the time its so damn grim living in a state where the sun barely shines and we have to keep our flesh wrapped up all damn year. This classic from 1989 was based on Manuel Göttsching's E2-E4, an album of ambient wonder and then some.

Papua New Guinea - The Future Sound Of London

Ten out of ten for the name of the crew who made this 1991 banger, even if they do hail from Manchester. In latter years Hybrid and Welsh liquid d 'n' b star High Contrast have turned in staggering remixes that have brought the tune to new audiences, but the original rocks dancefloors with its wordless ethereal female vocal and mysterious two-note keyboard motif. And, yes, like most tunes on this list, the bass is frighteningly obese.

Chime - Orbital

Another class tune from 1989, Chime was recorded by Phihttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3419254208936534561l and Paul Hartnoll (Aka Orbital) on their dad's cassette recorder. Stick that in ya Cubase and smoke it, class of '09.

The Sound Of Eden - Shades Of Rhythm

Alas, the truncated version of this uplifting 1990 piano anthem embedded below is here as an indication only. The original gives the separate vocal sections room to breath and is structurally beyond many tunes of this era. Breathless, euphoric female crooning is just the start, there's still a smart bit of MC-ing to come and of course, that chorus. Heartbreaking but simultaneously comforting and knowing, there has probably not been a better couplet about a man's perspective of love in the history of dance music: "It's every time I see her / It's every time I see the girl."

Voodoo Ray - A Guy Called Gerald

Hacienda anthem, one of the first acid house tunes to take the UK, the sound of '88. Nuff said.

Pacific State - 808 State

Yes, yes, another Manc crew (including Gerald Simpson, aka A Guy Called Gerald). But this 1989 song is ineffably gorgeous. There's a funky d 'n'b Grooverider version, but the original is the one. Just an edit below, but you get the jist.

You Got The Love - The Source feat Candi Staton

Yes, it's just Frankie Knuckles' Your Love with a new vocal. Yes, it made No 4 upon its release in 1991 and is as well known by your mum and dad as by your mates. Yes, the Now Voyager remix was used at the end of the final Sex In The City. But. Just how damn uplifting is the Candi Staton vocal? The way she sings "Occasionally," is enough to make this solid gold tuneage.

Big Fun - Inner City

Pop techno genius from Detroit legend Kevin Sanderson. Good Life is perhaps more immediate, but this 1988 stormer is so damn cool it should have a picture of Johnny Depp on the record sleeve.

Why Halloween is the best day of the year

2009-11-01T21:22:00.007Z

Unlike the embarrassing, false and sickly Christmas season Halloween can be enjoyed by people of all religions, ages and both sexes. Although many would claim the birth of Jesus has far greater significance than an event which fundamentally is about people wearing costumes and scaring each other, there are many other reasons why Halloween rocks.

As is fitting for an evening intrinsically linked with mystery, the night itself has murky and mystic origins. It has roots in Celtic, Roman and Christian traditions but also shares characteristics with festivals of the dead that occur in global destinations from Peru to Australia to Japan.

In terms of colours, symbolism and iconography Halloween can’t be touched by any other time of year. Pumpkin orange, vampire bat black, zombie white and severed head red are all out in force inside homes and businesses. Monsters, zombies, witches and deranged killers walk the streets. Goths and emo heads show no fear as they go about their routines looking more understated than usual. Who cares about a dour man in a trench coat listening to My Chemical Romance when there’s a man dressed as death, complete with robe and scythe, walking ominously alone along the northbound Northern line platform at Moorgate tube?

Pop culture would be a duller place without Halloween. Although relatively few movies are specific to the actual date, it’s quite reasonable to claim the whole of the horror canon for October 31. Two extraordinary films where the date figures centrally are the eponymous John Carpenter masterpiece and Donnie Darko, even if the latter movie’s narrative stops on October 30.

More broadly, Scream, The Exorcist, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Nightmare on Elm St, Friday The 13th and countless others are perfect for a spooky night in and should be watched without much or preferably any lighting. A hollowed-out pumpkin with a lit candle inside is acceptable. For the real Halloween experience, the house should be creaky and empty except for the film viewers.

Since 1990 The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror episodes have been something to look forward to, generally being more twisted and violent than usual Simpsons episodes. The three-part structure grates on occasion but the content is usually as faultless as can be expected from Springfield’s fluorescent family.

Musically, Nick Cave, Bauhaus, The Cure, Echo & the Bunnymen are all great Halloween fodder, while pop would be a duller place without Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s Monster Mash or of course, Thriller.

Halloween. Dark, scary, naughty, kinky, murderous, violent, bloody, vicious, evil, filthy and painful. What’s not to love?

Griffin gets his moment...but still looks like a bell

2009-10-22T20:34:00.008+01:00

BNP leader Nick Griffin was among guests appearing on Question Time this evening.

It has been the most talked and written about TV event of the week already and it will be no surprise to find the panel show receiving a far higher audience share than usual.

Hundreds of anti-fascist campaigners protested outside Television Centre during the show's recording, while 25 protesters successfully broke police lines to enter the Wood Lane building.

The show has not yet been broadcast at the time of writing, but BBC News 24 has been trailing clips of the show. Griffin comes across as smugly repellent and laughably anachronistic as ever.

His racist views are loathsome and idiotic to anyone but committed monoculturalists, but who wants to be one of the those? OK, six per cent of people who voted during the European elections. More fool them.

But Nick (how convenient it is that your name rhymes with the slang term for a male member), you may be proud of the publicity this mainstream media appearance has won you and your party. You may win the odd seat with the support of bigots, but you will never gain power in London. After all, this city's residents number than 50 non-indigenous communities of more than 10,000 people and comprise a population which speaks 300 languages.

While I'm caning your forename out of spite, there is something interesting about your surname. A griffin is a fictional beast that guards treasure.

Maybe I'm clutching at straws but with your dedication to an imagined time of racial purity, you're a real Griffin that guards what you innacurately believe to be treasure - a nation of white people.

Confused, sad and woefully misguided. You make Boris Johnson look like a model politician.

On a lighter note. If I was in a band, we would use this as our intro music. Imagine walking on to this. Wicked.

Bloomsbury Bowled over

2009-10-11T22:10:00.006+01:00

Bowling is a relatively marginalised recreational activity in the UK. One hesitates to call it a sport because it’s possible to get drunk while doing it.

Admittedly, if practised at a hopeless, novice amateur level it would just about be possible to get laggin’ while playing football, rugby, cricket, tennis, curling, jujitsu and many others. Competing in the 110-metre hurdles or hurling a javelin while supping from a toxic tin of Super T would surely take more impressive dexterity, but you get the gist.

In the US bowling tournaments are big events, where participating Septics can win enough to keep themselves in cheeseburgers and Oreos for at least half an hour.

Not all of our transatlantic cousins take the game of frantic frames and fancy jackets seriously. The Farrelly Brothers’ ‘Kingpin’ is perhaps the most underrated of the aforementioned sibling’s films but is a minor comedy classic and arguably responsible for the artistic rehabilitation of curmudgeonly comedy icon Bill Murray. Highly arguable, given that ‘Groundhog Day' came out the year before, but I digress.

‘Kingpin’, the occasional episode of The Simpsons and the odd scene in Peep Show notwithstanding, 'The Big Lebowski' provides the most hilarious and best fictional portrayal of bowling in the States.

This latter Coen Brothers’ cult fave screens on a loop above the pins at the end of five lanes at Bloomsbury Lanes.

A knowing and playful touch of irony which helps the WC1 joint stay a step ahead of competition such as the reliable Rowan’s Bowl in Finsbury Park and the down-at-heel Lewisham AFL in the league of London’s top alleys.

Bloomsbury has long been beloved of the now-not-quite-as-cool-as-they-used-to-be Shoreditch hordes because of its karaoke lounge (replete with thousands of retro and indie tunes) and occasional new band performances and this too is a boon.

It was somewhat unsettling to bowl two yards behind an avant-rock skinsman/guitarist cranked out Battles-esque experimental sounds at John Peel Day last night (Saturday 10 October).

The alley’s website lacks full information about our unknown man’s stage name, but this will be appearing here soon. I never met Peel but listened to his consistently interesting shows occasionally and got the impression he would have enjoyed and been invigorated by the music played in his name.

Many other patrons did and were, not least the staggering casualty who could barely speak coherently or walk two steps without spilling his recklessly-nursed bottles of Asahi…

Tube-ular Bells

2009-10-04T17:29:00.016+01:00

It's not fair to generalise about the differences between north and south London but true Londoners will always specify a favourite side of the river.

Last night on the Northern Line (one of the few things Islington and Lambeth have in common) my own belief in southern superiority was reinforced by other passengers of the kind I've only ever seen or met in an N postcode.

A white, bald and drunk Scottish man with a tattoo on his ear embarked at Old Street, played a Rangers anthem out loud through his mobile phone and sung along with it in ragged fashion.

Playing music through a mobile on public transport is usually the preserve of boisterous bus-riding teens into urban music, but the Scotsman's differing genre interests and transport method made no difference. It was annoying to hear a Caledonian football song played through tinny speakers on the tube. But is it best to ignore a Saturday night pisshead's foible?

Rangers fan and his pal were about to leave the tube at Camden Town when I decided to speak up, although not in the manner of a Grumpy Old Men contributor.

"You've got better music than that in Glasgow, man."

"[Indecipherable Glasgae muttering] You must be one of them."

After a second to think about the religious and sexual connotations of being described as "one of them" by a Rangers fan, I replied: "One of them? What, person with musical taste?"

Soon another man stepped into the carriage with a tattooed face but at least he declined to inflict his dubious musical and sporting taste on the rest of the weary Underground users in the carriage.

With a face covered in ink which doesn't rub off, though, there is no need to make an audible statement. You've already shown the world exactly how you refuse to kowtow to accepted decorative body norms.

Or rather, illustrated that the only jobs you'll ever be fit for are boxer, tattoo artist or thrash metal band roadie.

Blood and bikes on Waterloo Bridge

2009-09-27T23:36:00.003+01:00

Just after seven pm last Friday (25 September) a man called Steve was riding southbound across Waterloo Bridge when he hit a bump in the road and fell of his bike.

Blood started flowing out of his right eyebrow and ear as he lay on the floor and a small crowd gathered to see if he was hurt.

I called an ambulance while a man called Phillip and a woman called Anna-Lise moved him and his bike onto the pavement. I took instruction from the emergency services phone assistant and passed on messages to Steve, while Anna-Lise and Phillip checked him out.

We waited with Steve while a paramedic came. He bled on the white barrier at the side of the bridge, the pavement and himself but rested his head on his bag while laying on the ground in good spirits.

The paramedic drove passed us and I had to call 999 again but once again a calm, professional emergency services bod straightened things out and got a message to the paramedic.

A few minutes passed and Anna-Lise, Phillip and myself waved our arms around in a line to ensure we weren't missed on the paramedic's return.

We weren't, so after performing some important checks the man in green thanked us for waiting with Steve and let us go while he and Steve waited for an ambulance.

As Philip and I walked off northbound towards Aldwych the flashing lights of an ambulance sped by going north, did a U-Turn at the traffic light junction by the strand and zoomed passed back passed us south to pick up Steve.

It felt good to get involved and help someone for once, even if all I did was make a couple of phone calls. Steve might have had a long wait in St Thomas's on Friday night and they might have had to keep him in for observation but I'm pretty sure the fella's going to be OK.

During our wait Steve told us he'd fallen off his bike badly before, albeit injuring his hip.

No serious bike rider goes through life without getting a few scrapes of varying severity, but Steve should probably think about some protective headgear when he takes to wheels.

Shortly afterwards I was walking westbound along William IV Street recounting the above story on my phone in loud, excited and extremely animated fashion. A belligerent middle-aged Irishman spouted some "feck, drink, girls," crap at me as I walked passed him, but his wife quickly chastised him.

Pah, you do one good deed in a lifetime of ill behaviour and some joker won't even let you bell your mum to tell her without sticking his unwanted nose in.

Jo Hamilton takes The Tabernacle

2009-09-26T17:08:00.007+01:00

When trying to make a name for yourself as a cool new singer-songwriter talent and tunes obviously help.

Jo Hamilton has these and fortuitously had an exquisitely chosen party venue for the launch of her debut LP Gown.

The Tabernacle is a beautiful, mysterious and spookily inviting building and just the ticket for a certain intriguing, serious but friendly gig.

Hamilton was raised in the far, isolated north of Scotland and there's definitely a delicately unhinged Celtic otherness to her music, whether or not this is deliberate.

'Pick Me Up', which began her 14-song set on Tuesday (22 September), is arguably more tender beast live than in its recorded version but still packs a hefty punch, especially when it's augmented with bowel-loosening bass.

Five songs in 'All In Adoration' proves to be a subtle but welcome diversion. Powerful but nuanced vocal artistry from Hamilton and a by turns quaint, then enigmatic blend of sounds blend to create what is arguably the best tune of the two short sets.

She ends with 'Think Of Me', a lullaby of subtlety and emotional depth, which proved as popular in Notting Hill as it did when Jo performed the song at Bromyard Folk Festival earlier this month.

Next stop for Hamilton is Union Chapel on 6 December. Another London building originally used for praising god given over to musicians in search of their own adulatory audience. On the strength of her W11 smarts, the N1 faithful should warm to her with equal enthusiasm.

Here's a Soweto Kinch-adorned version of 'Paradise'.

Unexpected lunchtime penis

2009-09-21T21:39:00.006+01:00

The unclothed body is nothing to be ashamed of or squeamish and should be celebrated.

But it was somewhat shocking to see a whacking great cock projected on a wall in the name of art today in Tate Modern.

A recent BBC London TV news report claimed the venerable South Bank institution was the world's most popular art musuem* and the former power station is certainly a great destination for weary screen addicts on a balmy September afternoon.

But US artist Paul McCarthy's Projection Room (1971 – 2006) is disconcerting if you weren't expecting it. Perhaps even accutely disturbing to the prudish.

The Tate themselves say the piece is:

An installation combining seventeen of McCarthy’s early videos produced between 1972 and 1978, as well as 170 slides documenting performances from the same period.

The selection is highly personal: most of the videos were made in the intimate settings of McCarthy’s homes and studios in Pasadena and Los Angeles. The participants are generally close friends, including Karen McCarthy, his wife of 40 years, and the artist Allan Kaprow.

And:

Paul McCarthy’s intense video, performance and installation works are rooted in taboo subjects such as sexuality, violence and repression. Since the late 1960s, McCarthy has explored Abstract Expressionism, Pop and Conceptual art, Minimalism, Body Art, and experimental film.

He combines these diverse approaches with references to television, pornography, horror films, amusement parks and fairy tales to provoke reflection on the social and psychological impact of the media. Using bodily fluids, paint, and food, McCarthy creates elaborate and grotesque explorations of family, childhood and dysfunction. His body becomes a canvas and a stage to lay bare the dark, disquieting corners of society’s subconscious and the pervasive infantilism of American mass culture.

To relate this back via my own limited appreciation and knowledge of art, I can only justifiably compare the sinister nudity, entrails and viscous fluids of McCarthy's home movies to a brilliant, if twisted satirical horror movie.



Much time has passed since I saw Society but it's one of those films which never quite leaves you.  There aren't any  scenes as brazenly full frontal as what can currently be seen in Level 3, Room 9 but fans of body horror should make their own minds up and check out both.

*no link to reinforce this yet. The heads over at White City may or may not be willing to back up their reporter's claim with hard facts such as footfall etc but I will find out the truth and post it here.

Royal Mail morons

2009-09-18T14:34:00.003+01:00

I've not been recovering in The Priory* or short of things to blog about, life just got in the way... so.. A first post in nine days should not be about a hopelessly idiotic public service but on this occasion it must be.

There should obviously be some level of difficulty in redirecting your mail from an old address to a new one in case some scallywag rips off your post and steal your identity.

But it'd be easier and more convenient to teach a badger jujitsu than redirect mail via the Royal Mail site. Verification is harder than Joe Calzaghe.

The only other way is to go to a local post office and queue up like people did in the dark ages with forms and 27 different proofs of identity. No wonder the service is hemorrhaging money. I've nothing against postmen 'cause all the ones I've met are stand-up blokes. But, to coin a phrase, this is bollocks.

*neither the infamous rehab centre nor the Stockwell boozer.

Debelle's debut snags Mercury Prize

2009-09-09T19:18:00.006+01:00

"I'm from South London, I don't normally get emotional." - Speech Debelle after winning the Mercury Music Prize last night.

Speech Debelle made a great debut album and nabbed the Mercury from under the noses of Florence Welch and Natasha Khan.

Evidently the judges decided it was time for some understated jazzy hip-hop to triumph over Kate Bush impersinations. OK, Debelle hasn't got any individual tracks as brilliant as Khan's 'Daniel' but the Crystal Palace MC's album is of a higher quality overall. Here's the best track from Speech Therapy, 'Spinnin''.

Loser lets Lewisham down

2009-09-07T20:53:00.005+01:00

Last night half a dozen men stood on the pavement outside an Algerian restaurant in Lee High Road watching Algeria V Zambia on a TV inside the restaurant. Inside three dozen men watched the game. Men inside and out enthusiastically cheered when their team attacked, jeered and laughed when attempts on goal came to nothing and enjoyed themselves as football fans do.

Near the end of the game two white teenage girls walked up to one of the men outside the restaurant. The brunette, all cheap jewellery and poor dentistry, asked a Zambian man who was playing. He told her. She asked for a pound and then a cigarette. After receiving a cigarette from the man, she moved on with her friend as far as the Indian restaurant next door. She opened the restaurant door, threw the remnants of her take-away fried chicken meal into the restaurant and half-turned, shouting, "Fucking Pakis," at the Algerian and Zambian men on the street.

There are many different responses a person could have to this, from "Sterilization is too good for some people" to "Ah, the stupidity of youth." I just shook my head, exchanged a glance with the Zambian chap and said, "Dickhead." He nodded in sage agreement before we turned back to the TV.

Dodos still alive in Shepherd's Bush

2009-09-04T20:19:00.005+01:00

Last night a man at an ATM opposite Shepherd's Bush Green (the Uxbridge Road side) gave a beggar money. But before this he forcefully told the man begging about his own experience of homelessness. He claimed to have spent time sleeping rough in Westminster. There are a few Londoners who would prefer to sleep rough in Westminster than spend any time in Shepherd's Bush, but I digress. The thrust of the change-giver's argument was that he had managed to beat the streets (in a manner of speaking) and become a chef, so there was no excuse. He even said, "I don't want to see you here still begging next time I come by."

Down Uxbridge Road at Bush Hall, US West Coast trio The Dodos were very much getting things done with little need for encouragement.

Frontman Meric Long, drumming mentalist Logan Kroeber, and vibraphone basher Keaton Snyder mate have the most unlikely names in San Francisco indie but they do make a fierce, clattering, baroque row deserving of far more fans than attended last night's show. They sold out the refined venue and cut interesting figures against a red velvet curtain background, beneath chandeliers. During 'Jodi', from 2008's Visiter album, Kroeger decided Snyder's brutal but captivating drumming could do with bolstering. He then smashed some cymbals with the kind of impressive brutality one would usually reserve for reality TV stars, people who queue at bars in single file and people who say or write any variation of the phrase, "That is/is not a good look."

2008 single 'Red And Purple' also went down like crack-laced sticky buns while 'Two Medicines' from excellent and imminent third album Time To Die (out 14 September) had a defiant, pummeling tone; psychedelic, but not in an obvious lets-just-play-the-guitar-a-bit-weird-aren't-we-kerazzzzy way. In fact, those who appreciate The Shins and Fleet Foxes may appreciate the influence of Phil Ek. Ek produced both those highly-waited bands and got his hands dirty on Time To Die.

The Dodos, just 'Dodo' when the band was Long on his Jack Jones, can be a bit wet on record but have no fear live. Fans of the excellent School Of Seven Bells, would be advised to get on the case quicker than they can change their names to something ridiculous by deed poll.

New noisy duo set for debut LP japes

2009-09-01T20:57:00.007+01:00

Giving The Kills and The White Stripes a run for their money when it comes to cool duos making dynamic, occasionally terrifying, music, The Big Pink sound like lots of other brilliant, noisy bands (particularly My Bloody Valentine and The Jesus And Mary Chain on 2008 single 'Too Young To Love').

Londoners Robbie Furze and Milo Cordell are set to wow plenty of heads with their excellent debut album A Brief History Of Love (out 14 September), regardless of how familiar their sound is, while if anyone should be given a break it's Furze. The dude used to play guitar for German techno savage Alec Empire, enough to send anyone running to the nearest exit, weeping for a soft pop world of Michael Bublé covers performed by the Care Bears.

'Dominos', below, is out next Monday (7 September) if you like that sort of thing. And you really should. Any band named after The Band's debut album can't be all bad, even if they do disobey spelling rules with their single titles.

Inevitable overreaction follows football lairiness

2009-08-26T16:42:00.012+01:00

There's only one big football story today and it's nothing to do with my own team, who were found to have the most dedicated Premiership fans in London by a Virgin Money survey published earlier this month.

Last night West Ham and Millwall met at Upton Park in a Carling Cup second round tie which predictably went sour outside and inside the ground.

Anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of football and football fans in the capital could have foreseen trouble between these two firms and it's no surprise all manner of clueless, reactionary pundits and officials from Sky, the FA, the BBC and elsewhere have been chiming in with their two cents. One game blighted by the shocking image of old fat men running on a pitch does not mean a return to the '70s. One poor stabbed fan and a dart in the head for another unlucky punter outside the ground doesn't, either. It's obviously a terrible shame anyone got hurt at a football match and doesn't set a decent example for young fans but let's get some persepctive after one heavy night in east London.

Worse tragedies happen in schools, estates and high streets every day. Some people, usually those with the pwer, just aren't happy unless they've someone to blame for anything and everything. Anyone. Anyone but themselves.

As ever Scroobius Pip talks a great deal of sense on the matter.

London Liked had its own spys present. A WHU fan said this:

"Most West Ham fans booed the pitch invaders which won’t get a mention in the papers.

The Sun this morning reported some Millwall fans surrounded a few police on horses and were trying to push them over!?!? The immediate area around Upton Park tube on the way home was like walking on a road of broken glass , which left little to the imagination. And the West Ham fans gathered outside the ground (who clearly hadn’t been to the game) certainly weren’t there to clear up the mess!

Great atmosphere after 75 minutes or so. Up until then it was pretty poor. Would certainly have turned into a fall scale riot on the pitch if the Millwall fans hadn’t stayed in their section.

Had a number of messages during the game about the violence outside so was obviously a little nervous but seems like the bulk of the fighting was in side streets up to half a mile away and planned.."

A Millwall fan who accompanied the spy above writes:

"It was a good game in which the Lions share of possession was indeed with the Lions, until the trouble started within the stadium. This in turn lifted the performance of the Irons. I didn't feel at all threatened as I've been to many games like this, all I had to do while in the west ham end was talk about them in the third person.
There were lots of muggy old bill around but didn't see any real trouble as we were stuck on the District line for half hour outside of Mile End. This was because of all the trouble at Upton Park, which resulted in both that station and East Ham stations being closed. We had to walk from Plaistow.

Funniest thing of the night was a bloke running out of the Millwall end and just piling into the chicken run*. Didn't see him after that.

But it'll be the Spammers who get in trouble as the FA set a dangerous precedent a few years ago when Victimpool were visitors down The Den. On that occasion we were charged with failure to control the crowd in our own stadium.
The goings on outside cannot be put to either club as it is a matter of civil unrest which comes down to the plod. Enjoyable evening."

*Chicken Run definition according to above Millwall fan: West Ham's old stand to the left of the away supporters, made infamous by the ICF's exploits in the 80's. Visiting fans have to walk up the side of it to gain entry to the away end.

Basement Jaxx return with fantastic fifth

2009-08-24T22:43:00.020+01:00

If the album sleeve suggests Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe have been busy concocting an intriguing, sinewy potion of funk, digital dancehall, shiny techno, psychedelic synth weirdness and dry desert calm it's certainly done the trick.

Basement Jaxx are back with a new album, then, and this time they've brought a full crew of mates with 'em.

The Brixton-based pair have always loved a collaboration or two ( Slarta John, Kele Le Roc , and Dizzee Rascal being among the best, most distinctive vocalists to have graced their tunes) but this time no less than a dozen tracks on Scars (out 21 September) include a guest. From this fifth album only lead single 'Raindrops' lacks a cameo and instead includes a Felix vocal and vocoders.

Such keen team spirit may have some believing the now-veteran house pioneers were incapable of coming up with their own ideas. After all, in 2009 it must be impossible for many followers of pop, dance or urban music to avoid sighing or rolling their eyes when they see yet another "Feat" credit under a song.

All too often those four letters mean, "I've got my more talented pal to come down and spit over a few bars to divert attention from the fact this song licks ring." Either that or, "I'm far too busy to write an entire song on my own while there are amply-jugged groupies in need of a ploughing. Get me Akon on speed dial."

So what about those guests? The inclusion of Beatles-splitting Japanese artloon Yoko Ono on 'Day Of The Sunflowers (We March On)' is inspired and provides the album's highlight.Yoko sings about “20,000 fishes coming down from the sky” before simulating being brought to climax. Well. Maybe she's simulating. Hard for a bloke to tell, sometimes. Either way it's terrific stuff, particularly as the tune has a stinging Justice bassline, elliptical Daft Punk/Kraftwerk bleeps, spaghetti western noises and warped computer game oscillations.

The Bellray's Lisa Kekaula, vocalist on 2004 single 'Good Luck', turns up on the unexpectedly sultry Prince slowjam 'Stay Close'. It's a rare calm moment on Scars and may sate the appetite of still-mourning Michael Jackson fans wanting another act to produce a new 'Man In The Mirror.' Detroit soul singer Amp Fiddler brings his Ice Cream van cool touch to 'A Possibility', the only other relaxed tune present and a winning blend of Hawaiin guitar bliss and afternoon sunshine.

Dev Hynes, aka emotive indie stalwart Lightspeed Champion, crops up for some inspired melancholy on ‘My Turn’. This being Basement Jaxx, Hynes yearning lilt and delicate acoustic guitar is accompanied by percussion which sounds like the feverish nocturnal twitching of agitated crickets and a formidably dense bassline. Elsewhere ‘Twerk’ may be named like a new, highly addictive street drug, but sounds like the perverted aunt of 1999 single ‘Jump N Shout’ with Slarta John’s MC-ing supplanted by fierce Tampa-based female rap duo Yo! Majesty’s rhyming.

Kelis's distinctive tar growl adorns the title track while Australian 'Black And Gold' hitmaker Sam Sparro gets histrionic on 'Feelings Gone', a superior chunk of charty house set to make a big splash as a single (release date TBC). This being a release from the band Armand Van Helden alleged, "Took house music and fucked it in the arse*," there is obviously tonnes more to be written about Scars, but this is a blog and not some endless navel-gazing wordspew**. For now only two things worth saying remain.

Santigold's vocal contribution to the brilliant nu-skool naughties Specials ska of 'Saga' is perhaps better than anything on her debut album of last year and the south London streets the Jaxx so love have clearly influnced their music again.

Scars couldn't be more Brixton if it tried to sell you drugs outside KFC.

*this is a very slight paraphrase for grammatical reasons.
** is there a difference?

Lobster found in Kensington Gardens

2009-08-19T22:24:00.004+01:00

The Serpentine Gallery is currently showing the Popeye series by US artist Jeff Koons (the sculpture above is his 'Acrobat' made between 2003 and 2009). It's full of aluminium lobsters and monkeys made to look like inflatable toys, oil paintings including images of Popeye, and in one striking picture, entitled 'Elvis', a topless glamour model adjacent to, yes, another lobster.

Apparently, Koons has a lot to say about consumerism, taste and sexuality. His Popeye work certainly raises as many questions as it answers and there are times when a non-professional viewer (ie me) will wonder just what Koons is driving at, but his work is on display until 13 September, so the curious should mosey on down to Kensington Gardens and have a look. The baffling and contradictorily calming mirrored pavillion is worth several glances, too.

Jamie T's tribute to 'Tease Me' man

2009-08-18T14:32:00.002+01:00

After a couple of years in the wilderness after his highly-regarded debut album Panic Prevention Wimbledon rapper and acoustic hooligan Jamie T impressed with comeback EP Sticks And Stones.

Now his new single takes the name of Pliers' forgotten '90s reggae pop partner, Chaka Demus.

Whether or not Mr Treays also wanted his new song to act as an unofficial soundtrack to Notting Hill Carnival is unclear but it is released on the West London jamboree's final day (August 31).

This aside the tune has more of a celebratory, party feel than any of his previous work, yet also retains a typically skewed Jamie T take on patriotism with references to "two world wars and one world cup" but also "an English man in every coward".

Either way, come the first Sunday in September, it'd be no surprise to see the words 'Chaka Demus' in the Top 10 for the first time since 1993.

The brand new video is below.

New Putney crew release moody debut

2009-08-17T18:50:00.009+01:00

Of this week's new albums there is only one which really competes with Simian Mobile Disco's 'Temporary Pleasure' in the excitement stakes.

Theoretical Girl may have made a great set of folkish heart-on-sleeve ditties with 'Divided' but Putney quartet The xx are moodier, tighter and utterly focused.

Even if there aren't many laughs on debut XX, there is always something mysterious to listen out for. Regardless of any sales or critical acclaim which follows, London Liked would be prepared to bet (not in any legally binding, financially liable sense, mind) The xx will appear on plenty of the cooler end of year lists come December.

Below is their single 'Crystalised' and cover of Womack and Womack's classic 'Teardrops'.

Simian Mobile Disco in synth sickness

2009-08-15T17:42:00.006+01:00

Album launch parties usually take palce at an intimate venue and entail a playback of a new record and/or a live show comprising songs from said album.

While in attendance an audience of journalists, pluggers and other industry types will typically drink as much free booze as possible as quickly as it can be consumed.

Simian Mobile Disco eschewed the standard live PA route for a much more interesting interactive experience at the launch party for second album 'Temporary Pleasure' on Friday (15 August).

This time round space-tech SMD duo James Ford and Jas Shaw made a bunch of new loops and tones for themselves (and everyone else present) to play using a "human synthesiser".

Despite the name this "instrument" is not a collection of harvested organs or severed limbs but a video installation designed by Kate Moross and produced by 3D boffins Inition. Apparently it is the "first ever-human augmented reality music and visuals mixer".

The installation is simple enough. A wall-mounted CCTV-sized video camera points towards a handful of circular foam mats (not dissimilar to slipmats) on the floor.

Each mat represents a different drum sound or synthesised tone which begins playing when it is picked up and tilted towards the camera at the correct angle. Each tone or beat gets louder or quieter in the mix as each corresponding mat is moved closer towards or further away from the camera.

If all this sounds absolutely baffling, it is. Visually it makes little sense until you actually have a go, but Timothy Cochrane's photos show SMD themselves and confused drinkers getting into the spirit of things.

In the wrong hands the result is a cacophonous din but lots of fun for anyone making it. In the right hands the result is still fun but also a throbbing, intense listen, like...well, like SMD's music.

Between Monday and Friday (21 August) from 12pm 'til 6pm anyone can walk into unit 1.12 in Kingly Court (a shopping precinct off Carnaby St, W1) and play around with the installation for themselves

Have a go. After all, it's not often you can just walk into an empty shop in central London to make live experimental techno.

As for the album? It's out Monday(17 August), has tonnes of killer colloborations on it from the likes of Beth Ditto and Super Furry Animals fella Gruff Rhys and is well worth checking out. In general SMD seem to have taken things in a more spacey and acidic direction following their excellent FabricLive 41 compilation.

For anyone brand new to SMD, 'Hustler', below, is arguably the best of their older tunes. Caveat: laptop speakers will not do it justice.

BFI uncover London street history

2009-08-10T19:38:00.009+01:00

It's not just British Pathe who have an extensive vault of ace old London footage online.

True to their impressive physical resource down on the South Bank the BFI have a wealth of material on the net worth a glance and more.

Three examples are below, but for the full range the institute's YouTube channel is a good jumping off point.

Prince Albert wins pub pun prize

2009-08-08T15:07:00.004+01:00

Only Fools And Voices is perhaps the best name for a south London karaoke night imaginable, so congratulations to The Prince Albert on Royal Hill in Greenwich.

The SE10 street is also home to three other pubs. Some 50 yards south of the the Albert Meantime Brewing Company linchpin The Greenwich Union sits next door to popular Young's hostelry Richard I, while gastropub The Hill perches on a corner a few yards north of the other three.

Even if it didn't have such a great karaoke night moniker the Albert is easily the best of the four. Aside from the selection of beer and cider, availability of full packets of cigarettes behind the counter (none of this 16/17 cigarette per packet extortion one expects from machines) and pool table, the deal is sealed with a jukebox. London and particularly south London is a something of a jukey desert in 2009 so any tune provision is not to be underestimated. It may also give drinkers a few ideas for a Only Fools And Voices slot, too.

The Invisible to reissue best song next month

2009-08-05T19:49:00.004+01:00

Jazzy post-rocking Londoners The Invisible released a staggering eponymous debut album back in March to critical acclaim but less commercial excitement than the plucky threesome deserved. A re-release of the record's brightest moment could be just the thing to excite the punters and flog a few units, so come September 30 the formidably funky and righteously beautiful 'London Girl' will be available all over town and beyond. Here's the video.

You Have Been Watching (the audience shuffle their bums)

2009-08-03T17:41:00.007+01:00

Under normal circumstances three hours is far too long to sit on arse-aching seats watching four middleweight telly heads talk about Casualty, Iron Chef America and other cathode ray nonsense.

With this in mind yesterday's filming of You Have Been Watching was worth attending if only to reinforce a few opinions and uncover a mild surprise or two.

Charlie Brooker's guests last night were 'The Office' hero and occasional film actor Martin Freeman, TV actress and presenter Liza Tarbuck and US stand-up comic and occasional Have I Got News For You pundit Reginald D Hunter.

Predictably Freeman was a thoroughly decent chap. He wore a sharp suit and natty sky blue socks, made the odd snappy comment and came across, well, just like Tim from 'The Office. Friendly, witty, but perhaps a little bland. The kind of man your Gran would like.

Liza Tarbuck made a few scurrilous comments about a famous brand of sausages and the specific parts of a pig which comprise their product. These remarks can't be repeated here and won't be mentioned in the show for legal reasons, even if every sausage eater in the UK has probably wondered about the provenance of their meaty dinners occasionally. Otherwise Jimmy's daughter was lightly sassy and had a smattering of Scouse charm. The longer the evening went on, the more I became convinced that she was made in a factory whose sole purpose was to produce annoying Loose Women presenters.

Of the three chatees it took Reginald D Hunter to enliven proceedings sufficiently. Some time before 2005 (this is vague but I've only kept a full diary since that year) the best mate and I had the enviable pleasure of seeing Hunter perform what would now be considered an intimate gig at The Porterhouse, an expensive but stylish boozer just off The Strand.

Back then his fearless tackling of race, sex and relationship taboos held an obsequious audience enthralled for his whole set. Years later, he's become a regular fixture on Have I Got News For You and won the 2006 Writers' Guild Award for Comedy with his controversial 'Pride and Prejudice... and Niggas' stand-up show. He knows it, but he is still extremely funny. Like comics as diverse as Lee Evans and Richard Pryor, Hunter is a master of timing and body language. Even when his material is simple, the oldest comedy cliché rings true, "It's the way that he tells 'em."

Anchoring the topical chat about silly British, US and Japanese TV was scruffy curmudgeon Charlie Brooker. His trainers were dirty and scuffed but his mind was its usual Kitchen Devil sharpness. For many men and women of a certain class, age and vocation (especially, but not exclusively, struggling journalists and Grauniad readers) Brooker has become something of an icon. He articulates many familiar ideas about the generally depressing nature of TV, politics and modern life, just more succinctly and hilariously than anyone else. His programmes and columns are often laugh out loud funny, all the more surprising when considering the misanthropic persona he has become famous for.

He made plenty of mistakes reading his fast, acerbic script, but this was more than compensated for by his skillful and creative manipulation of adlib conversation with his guests and frequent use of extreme profanity. On an unrelated note, it's unclear if he has any agenda against Amanda Holden, but he's evidently not a fan.

As with every weekly TV show about topical subjects, YHBW undoubtedly has a dedicated team (including producers chatting in Brooker's ear during filming, no doubt feeding occasional lines) but what impressed was the manner in which he reined in and unfurled branches of conversation with amusing ideas, at will. In short, Brooker is pretty damn funny in real life, too. The bastard.

Toilet scheme comes up trumps

2009-07-28T14:24:00.006+01:00

It can often be a frustrating and unintentionally hilarious experience trying to find a public toilet in London, so it was pleasantly surprising to see the sign above while walking past Machico Tapas Bar.

Since January businesses around Lambeth having been letting people pee for free.

That is to say, use the facilities without paying for any goods or services.

Richmond borough was praised for their CTS back in March by Mayor Boris Johnson who has evidently been keen to open up lavatory access.

He may not like us boozing on the tube, but at least if you do he's made it easier to relieve ourselves upon finishing our journeys.

Although using a commercial business without offering any financial remuneration is pretty lame (even in a recession), psychologically toilet users are surely inclined to remember the offer of free toilet use and associate it with attentive service.

Even if this is isn't the case and punters are just pleased they don't have to make like Paula Radcliffe and spend a pound in the street legions of cab drivers, couriers and weak-bladdered types will find the scheme useful.

Friendly Fires give summer 09 Kiss Of Life

2009-07-24T17:26:00.007+01:00

As first premiered at their Glasto show last month, here's the brilliant new Friendly Fires single (out August 31). If it has the same frantic carnival feel as Jack Peñate's utterly vital Everything Is New album, that's at least partly 'cause still furnace-hot producer and Kensal Rise resident Paul Epworth twiddled the knobs as he did on Blackheath chap Peñate's meisterwork.

SW10 art fun: Emin not present

2009-07-22T16:43:00.006+01:00

This Julian Murray sculpture was on display last night at Heatherley's School of Fine Art. It was the student's annual exhibition and alongside Murray's prescient piece (it certainly epitomises the mood of many people) were an array of oil paintings, prints, watercolours and Samson Kizito's metal alligator (may appear here at a later date). Everything had some merit, ranging from tasteful beachscapes fit for a living room to twisted post-Guernica torment with nudity (Jess Brass's paintings).

A good show, you might say, if you were a fan of terrible puns. If you were a fan of a terrible bunch of overpaid and underworked footballers, you may like the view from the Lots Road educational institute's roof, as it encompasses Stamford Bridge.

The London Game rediscovered

2009-07-19T23:13:00.006+01:00

Board games have a distinct whiff of geekiness about them but are at least an amusing diversion from electronic consumer goods.

Ultimately, any distraction which stops people, albeit momentarily, from tapping or scrolling feverishly and incessantly on their phones, Blackberries and MP3 players can only be a great thing.

Games publisher Condor and The Priory Arms should take equal credit in this particular case. Condor brought The London Game to the world and the Priory has been kind enough to provide drinkers with a copy.

It's not as uncompromising and hilarious as any real tube experience, but easily as frustrating.

Three improvements would make this game longer and more appropriate for lengthy drinking sessions.

Presently the game only includes tube stations as far as Zone 2. I propose a new edition which includes all 270 stations on the network and each of the 40 DLR stops. This would make the game pretty convoluted, particularly if manufacturers could implement the second improvement simultaneously.

Currently each player receives two tokens per game to close any station of their choice. This should be upped to three or four depending on the amount of players, so disruption levels are more in keeping with the real life experience.

The final improvement should be Hazard card alteration. For now Hazard cards move one or more players to alternative stations on some flimsy pretext or another. A dose of realism might work.

How about "Watch tourists get sold pony drugs before taking in a night of shit indie, watery lager and kebab vomit: Go to Camden Town", "You decide only one haircut on the same head is not enough: Get down to Old Street" or even "Time to tar and feather the recession villains: Send half the players to Westminster with lead pipes and the rest to Bank with nail-adorned spanking paddles"?

Jokes denied by admin agro

2009-07-15T17:16:00.003+01:00

This rather moody photo of Hammersmith Bridge sums up today's oppressive climate better than it did on Sunday.

Schlaping down the District Line to well-to-do West London is not this reprobate's usual MO but the aim was to watch Britain's most famous misanthrope present a new episode of his comedy panel show.

Alas the trot to Riverside Studios was a waste because of the badly organised ticketing system. The filming was heavily oversubscribed. The only option was to make like a weary production crew and sack it off with drinks at the lairy Irish pub opposite the studios.

Solid Gold serve up the goods

2009-07-11T21:10:00.004+01:00

New experiences are what makes life getting up for, so it was pleasing to see Minneapolis ravers Solid Gold get their funky Cut Copy-style skills on @ The Queen Of Hoxton last night.

There's a hefty dollop of Passion Pit wired into their pneumatic synth and guitar oeuvre, but this is obviously a good thing. Debut album Bodies Of Water (out in the States back in January but due here later in the summer) is packed full of tunes like silkily anthemic current single Bible Thumper. There weren't many in the basement of TQOH to witness SG tear it up, but they'll soon reach a larger audience.

TQOH itself has only been open a few months having been Industry in its former life. It's still pretty damn Shoreditch, but in a good way. It's dark, loud and full of the open-brickwork opulence and trash-glam clientele that often make Friday nights such a rewarding mix of sleaze and decadence.

Bo' man chooses Clash correctly

2009-07-09T14:21:00.012+01:00

Of the many fine hostelries visited in NW1, NW5 and NW3 (in order of chrono-
logical arrival rather than anything else) yesterday only one offered outdoor table tennis.

Photo is of the trusty best mate practicing on said table in the beer garden of The Old Eagle.

Despite the violent and sporadic showers beer gardens were clearly the place for a pair of jokers in north London because top telly chap Leigh Francis was supping a pint and hunched over a Mac with a writing partner out the back of The Abbey Tavern.

It would've been too predictable to quote a Bo' Selecta! catchphrase, even though Avid Merrion in particular is a brilliant creation. So instead I asked him and his pal the only question that really matters.

Like all right-thinking people they both prefer The Clash to The Pistols.

Here's top yank harmonica fiend Son Of Dave getting his Dizzee on. What would the Bow MC hero make of it..?

2009: Just say no

2009-07-08T10:56:00.004+01:00

Yesterday I took the above photo. It wasn't the final straw that sent me cackling insanely through school corridors with a heap of explosives and a rusty sawn-off, but it is one minor example of this year and how dog-rapingly shit it has been. Grey skies in July are more London than complaining about uselss public transport, but this was another depressing downpour that blew the last lightbulb of normality in my head.

If I could confidently say I was the only one hating 2009 and everything about it, OK. But surely there hasn't been a consensus like this in living memory: 2009 is the worst year in human history. Ever. You may find someone who disagrees but they're either lying, an idiot or so privilged they deserve a slap just for breathing.

This year is now over. Today is effectively New Year's Eve and tomorrow is 2010. To wax governmental, this year is not fit for purpose, so I'm boycotting the fucker. I refuse to recognise it, regardless of temporal and societal norms.

2009, you won't be missed.

Passion Pit fare better than beggar

2009-07-03T14:18:00.010+01:00

Boston synth gang Passion Pit have excited many with their fluorescent muppet-pop on record but could they translate such iridescent joy into a winning live performance?

On Wednesday night @ Heaven a take on ‘Little Secrets’ may have suggested otherwise when the brilliant album track from debut Manners was stopped after a laptop went awry.

Lead geek Michael Angelakos and Co had better luck the second time round and threw themselves into a tremendously forceful, if ragged, rendition. ‘Sleepyhead’ leant less on the Irish folk sample than the original and was better for it, while the overall set emphasis was always on the euphoric, post-house music element of the band’s sound.

‘The Reeling’ rounded off the show far more convincingly than it ended the band’s Glasto set last Saturday and the damp, satisfied PP fans sloped off into the night. Or at least as far as The Ship And Shovell next door.

For a pub near Charing Cross, it's well worth a visit. Experienced London drinkers will know about the paucity of good pubs on the manor. The nearest top-grade hostelry is The Nell Gywnne but that's a bit of a jam along The Strand if you're on Villiers Street and looking for a drink within 50 yards rather than 500.

Towards last orders a homeless fella without any authorised vendor ID tried selling outside drinkers his "last" copy of The Big Issue unsuccessfully. He was unthreatening and good-humoured but a curmudgeonly middle-aged barman in shorts and a pastel-striped shirt moved him on aggressively. The illegitimate flogging of TBI shouldn't be encouraged but sun burnt matey in the striped shirt won himself no new customers with his attitude. Anger, commerce, crime and desperation - a typical London vignette.

Alberta take Kings Cross

2009-07-01T17:21:00.009+01:00

With the exception of the first week in January there can't be a worse time for a band to play an important London gig than immediately after Glasto.

Yet New York-based rock crew Alberta Cross tore it up at a sweaty Water Rats last night a mere 48 hours after Blur closed the Somerset festival.

Much of the deep, folky longing of 2007 EP The Thief And The Heartbreaker remains but crucially frontman Peter Ericson Stakee and his lank-haired mob have added granite-hard riffs and a ballast of raw fury to the Cross sound.

Of the new songs culled from forthcoming debut album Broken Side Of Time 'ATX' is particularly fierce. The experience feels akin to watching angry Bob Dylan covering The Verve. But this comes at the end. Stakee's impressive voice and the sheer volume of these lads is inescapable from the start, when 'Ramblin Home' begins the show. It's here the My Morning Jacket similarities are most overt, but this is no bad thing considered the quality of the Kentucky band. Dust-blown country imagery is peppered throughout the set and there's a pleasing contradiction: for a band whose songs are so midnight blue and writ large with lonesome towns and sadness, Alberta Cross seem a highly personable bunch.

A more overt contradiction can be found at the group's core and it's familiar to all students of rock and pop history. Despite making music evocative of California and deserts, cowboys and cacti, Stakee grew up travelling between Sweden and the UK, while other central member and bassist Terry Wolfers is a north Londoner. To this extent the band are fakes, but hey, Jack White isn't a 1930s Delta bluesman and David Bowie was just a bod from Beckenham so maybe authenticity is as much about attitude as geography.

Punters who called for the swoonsome jangle and whiskey regret of 'Lucy Ryder' are sated when the band crank out the tune for an encore but they never did comply with my shouted mid-gig request to play Thriller.

From camp to cretins

2009-06-29T10:52:00.004+01:00

Having never seen a live musical, it was with some trepidation I joined a friend at the Playhouse to see La Cage aux Folles last Friday. Filmed musicals have always seemed appallingly tacky, overblown and full of ridiculous plot contrivances which would be dismissed in even the most outlandish Hollywood summer blockbuster. Only Oliver! truly resonated with me because it's about London street urchins and has a career-best Ollie Reed performance.

LCaF was far better than I could reasonably expect and full of great one-liners such as, "If he loved me, he'd vacuum." A story about a gay couple who run a drag club will always be camp as Glastonbury but even for unreconstructed heterosexual men like me there's plenty to think about. Themes of identity and pride are key to the story. Drag queen Albin is eventually true to himself despite the initial efforts of partner Georges to hide his same-sex partner from self-appointed moral guardian Monsieur Edouard Dindon.
On one level this is a fairytale, because being yourself can often bring its own problems, but at some stage in their lives everyone has had to deal with disapproving parents. Never mind, eh? Love always finds a way. In fiction, at least.

A completely different cultural experience last night. Terminator Salvation. The fourth in a series of gradually diminishing returns. It was great fun, but Christian Bale should drop the portentous growl. It's all very well being the most serious actor of your generation, but the throaty bark was enough in The Dark Knight. In a Terminator sequel, fans appreciate a little humour. At least when they have to sit through a subtitled version of the film without warning from box office staff. When I went to complain (thus missing the bulk of the opening death row scene) a cinema employee who looked like a down-at-heel Grandpa Munster explained it was for the deaf and tried to lay some guilt trip on me. Of course the subtitles were for the deaf, I didn't doubt that, I just wanted warning before paying to get in. Grandpa said I could speak to the manager if I wanted my money back, but only if I saw him right now, thus missing the film. After making it clear I wouldn't be returning to the cinema again, I returned to my seat. Five minutes later a security man walked in the screening and the manager came to talk to me while I watching film. I told him I didn't want my money back so he finally pissed off. How stupid can you get? It's already inconvenienced me to complain the first time, without the old vampire trying to prolong the matter, now the manager interrupts the film.

Streatham Odeon staff proved themselves incompetent but I'll return. Although I love jammin' all over town at a moment's notice (and often do), I'm far more inclined to see a film locally. The Odeon is one of three cinemas within 25 minutes walk and there will be times when neither of the other two are showing an interesting movie, so there's no alternative when the mood hits - unless I want to draw my own damn film on the kitchen wall.

Two heroes gone in one week

2009-06-26T14:45:00.008+01:00

“The thing that sometimes seems to get overlooked about Michael Jackson is what an absolutely phenomenal singer he was. He had one of the greatest gospel shouts of the 20th century, quite possibly the last of its kind. The outros of some of his songs especially, such as ‘Wanna Be Startin' Somethin’ were ecstatic, and, or, full of pain, like the one about the environment [‘Earth Song’] which Jarvis Cocker attacked him for. I like Jarvis, but I personally didn’t really understand the reason for that.”

Jerry Dammers, founder/main songwriter of The Specials

On the eve of Glastonbury word comes through that the inspirational Steven Wells has passed away. There couldn’t be any further big news for the twin worlds of music and journalism before the weekend could there?

In the end speculation counted for nothing. Michael Jackson couldn’t manage any of his 50 sold out London dates. Frail, financially uncertain and dogged by allegations of child abuse he may have been in later years, but the MJ that really mattered was a true entertainer. He could sing, write and dance better than almost any man alive.

He lived with a chimp, dangled his infant son from a window, slept in an oxygen tank, lived in a theme park of his own design and invented the moonwalk before dying at 50 years old.

Millions of fans around the world have been playing the King of Pop’s tunes since the news of his death was confirmed yesterday with some dancing and singing in the streets in Los Angeles. I sat through Off The Wall, ‘Thriller’, ‘Bad’, ‘Billie Jean’ and a handful of others.

We may never see his like again and it’s fair to say his influence on the world of pop, rock, rap and dance can’t be underestimated. You can’t have a decent house party without a few Jacko tunes, while remixes of his tracks are always surfacing in clubland.

Predictably tributes have been flying around almost too quick to even read. There's even a mass moonwalk at Liverpool St at 6pm tonight.

Can there be anyone else in the world whose death would provoke Gordon Brown, Martin Scorsese, Beyoncé, MC Hammer, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and Uri Geller to say words of thanks and loss?

View from Brockwell Park towards central London

2009-06-25T19:09:00.006+01:00

Dogs, joggers, kids playing football, stoners, sunbathers, drunks, swimmers in the park's Lido and paddling pool nearby but not in shot.

Noisettes provide homecoming delight

2009-06-24T16:41:00.007+01:00

It may lack the scuffed charm of some Camden boozers, but The Edinburgh Castle is usually my default pub to meet in NW1. Refreshingly for the manor it lacks tourists, has a decent beer garden and serves Red Stripe (God's own lager) on draft. All of which should be essential qualities for a pub, especially in the summer.

From TEC it's just a quick stroll down to Koko, undoubtedly one of London's most beautiful popular gig venues. The grade II listed building was a complete toilet when it was named Camden Palace. Club night Peach was held there every Friday night and it's fair to say most of the punters got as messy and distressed as the interior. Once a friend of mine thought he saw two men were rolling on the floor fighting. They were in fact bin bags.

Last night Koko did not see the return of over 1,000 people yelling "oi oi" during the breakdown to a banging '99 trance anthem but it did see Noisettes smack out a typically captivating set. Shingai Shoniwa is one of the most charismatic frontwomen of her generation so it's especially pleasing to see she hasn't lost any of that formidable stage presence. Back in 2005 the trio threw together punkish stormers like 'Scratch Your Name' with vulnerable quiet moments like 'Monte Christo' to create thrilling shows. On last night's evidence they still excite and soothe like they were born to it. Given their recent No 2 hit with 'Don't Upset The Rhythm', things also look commercially bright for the south Londoners, while Top marks must also go to Shingai for utilising props. At one point a rope ladder was dropped from the ceiling, which she climbed and sang from while upside down.

Doing The Knowledge and digging The Knocks

2009-06-23T15:46:00.006+01:00

Doing the knowledge is a much undervalued education. The best mate reckons it's harder than doing a degree. Although he's never embarked on one of those himself and I've never done the knowledge, I'm inclined to agree with him.

Given the extraordinary level of detail trainee cabbies are asked to recall at their appearances there can be little surprise it takes so long. There are even stories of some long-suffering cabbies taking a decade to complete what can take as little as two (it's unlikely anyone with full-time work has achieved this in recent years).

It's expected that cabbies learn roads and landmarks around town, but what if some destinations no longer exist? While waiting at the bus stop yesterday evening a baffled chap with a Polish accent asked me if I knew Dick Shepherd School, clearly marked on his map. He couldn't find it because it closed down in 1995.

Here's an infectious new-disco treat from New York production duo The Knocks. Apparently they gave themsleves the moniker because when they started recording irate neighbours would, yes, knock on their walls. Be wary of any act called The STDs.

Elton busy Furnishing new abode

2009-06-20T14:00:00.004+01:00

LL will not be turning into the Evening Standard's property section any time soon, but news of a bricks and mortar nature has filtered through about Elton John's new pad.

Apparently the writer of mint tunes like Rocket Man, Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting and my own personal fave

is moving into a meaty gaff on the corner Graham Terrace, SW1. It's no surprise to report that it's the most imposing, expensive and coveted house on the street. The Duke of Westminster owns most of the manor but clearly doesn't mind flogging part of it it on to the nation's favourite toupee-wearer.

Sources tell me the Duke himself is a personable chap and what is in little doubt is how well he treats his staff. All manner of perks are available to his employees with some enjoying knock-down mortgages on Belgravia homes and pension deals the rest of us plebs can only envy.

Sure, he's worth a bob or two, but if he can take the sort of measures which ensure a decent degree of loyalty, what's wrong with the corporate world following suit?

Is it me or are there more flies about than usual this year?

Comprehensive Sleeve Notes

2009-06-19T16:05:00.004+01:00

Actually, that could be a title for a book about the dying art of sleeve notes in the digital age. After all, when was the last time a label stuck an essay on an MP3? If music ever regularly gets released sold on USB sticks in any great volume, there could be a return to lyric sheets, essays and so forth.

As an obsessive tunehead who will always prefer the act of buying a physical product over a digital file (and more importantly the human interaction required to make such a purchase in a shop, with actual people) I take an interest in sleeve notes and any information available.

If the person who played that guitar or blew that kazoo or chopped up those samples was sitting in Hackney or Harlem or Helsinki, it may not make the tuneage any better, but knowledge is power. Even if it's just the power to triumph in the music section of the pub quiz.

One release this week with killer sleeve notes is Let It Roll - Songs By George Harrison. A decent biog from from Warren Zanes about the quiet Beatle and plenty of evocative portraits fill the CD booklet and accompany the 19 songs on the album fittingly. The music is mostly thoughtful, cheerful, fare from a man occasionally overlooked but undeniably talented.

While listening back to the album doing my ironing this morning it shocked me to hear just how influenced by Dylan George was. Perhaps this is patently obvious - after all the pair would share a stage in the Traveling Wilburys, while The Beatles were obviously big-time fans. Dylan never jammed about with Ravi Shankar, though. Perhaps that's for the best.

Most George fans I know swear by Here Comes The Sun, While My Guitar Gently Weeps and My Sweet Lord, but my personal fave is the James Ray cover, Got My Mind Set On You. It's pretty cheesy but is uncomplicated and fun in a simple, almost childlike way. It was also one of the first songs I ever owned (aged seven) and reminds me of a time far before bills, hangovers and recession. And it's impossible not to like a tune reworked by Weird Al Yankovic as (This song's only) Six Lines Long...

I want my money, man

2009-06-18T15:05:00.006+01:00

Unless someone steps to your friends or family in some heinous fashion, real-life violence is only really acceptable in the boxing ring. But in animation, even beyond cinema, all sorts of liberties can be taken. This is a scene from the Patriot Games episode of Family Guy first broadcast in January 2006 but it's still surely one of the funniest 62 seconds of TV around.

Unsettling music made by Belgians

2009-06-17T13:15:00.006+01:00

Usually people who wear masks are twisted perverts but The Hickey Underworld (from Antwerp, geography fans) are also angry and, if the video to Mystery Bruise below is anything to go by, fans of Spongebob Squarepants.

Top Aussie electro sickness hits London

2009-06-16T19:16:00.005+01:00

Grafton Primary are the latest Kangaroo-tying-down loons to try breaking London.

Just to get all the stereotypical stuff out the way quickly they don't work in shit pubs, sing Rolf Harris tunes or bang on about disgusting yeast-based spreads.

Instead they dance like chickens, play louder than the apocalypse and pretty much slap fellow top-rate Aussie dance crews including Pendulum and Cut Copy into the dust.

It helps when you dress like Mad Max's idiot nephews and rock mullets that even Billy Ray Cyrus would deem too silly, but damn this is squat-rave Oz-style and at Cargo last night, their first UK performance went down like a beaut' to the small band of expats and hopeful Londoners that bothered to attend. You dags.

, Cut Copy, Pendulum

Do Al Qaida go fishing?

2009-06-13T12:25:00.008+01:00

Because if the world's most wanted terrorist organisation aren't bang into reeling in the odd trout, why exactly are the London law getting their rods on expenses?

Shooting Stars producer Lisa Clarke tells me the hilarious new regular comedian on the show who impressed everyone at last week's recording is called Dave Skinner, who appeared in character as Angelos Epithemiou. Remember where you heard the name(s) first.

Fun times on the No 2

2009-06-12T10:39:00.005+01:00

Did Thatcher really say that any man over the age of 26 who finds himself on a bus should consider himself a failure?

No one on the top deck of the No 2 southbound from Park Lane yesterday lunchtime cared. I was busy sending my friend a photo of my amazing new pink pants, just as the bus zoomed past her office on Vauxhall Bridge Road. Her conclusion was that they were too glam for the average toilet. They may yet make an appearance here.

A cheerful and funny black Londoner of West Indian descent to my right was busy talking about Ibiza, Pro-Plus, gym membership and various drug deals he was involved in while he built a skunk spliff. Two fellas of Portuguese origins two rows in front of me listening to some firey salsa on a mobile phone. But the most interesting bloke was directly in front of me.

While rolling a joint of his own, he kicked off by telling a woman on the phone that "sixty per cent of the music industry was gay" and that there was no way he'd be making "batty boy tunes" because there was "no need for that". Then he loudly explained that when he made love (he didn't say anything stronger than that) he didn't just make girls come, he made them squirt and that if the woman on the phone had not experienced this she had not had "GD", which he explained meant "good dick".

Unsettling stuff to hear on a bus and far too much information but no one hurtling around Vauxhall Cross complained to the dude.

On South Lambeth Road an attractive young woman dressed in tiny tight shorts and a snug boob tube walking slowly past the bus stop we had stopped at. Almost immediately the man in front saw her and alerted the Portuguese lads. Soon the spliff-builder to my right and guys around him lent over so half a dozen men of different races were soon perving on the unsuspecting girl. Laughter and acknowledgement that summer had definitely began followed, even if the whole scene felt sleazy and sexist.

To Greenwich for beers with an old friend who edits three magazines about cranes. He was having difficulty deciding which shot to order in The Coach and Horses, a pub we usually avoid because of its idiotic no-smoking area enclosed by clear plastic walls.
The friendly barmaid suggested a slippery nipple. I said, "No way, that's the kind of thing they drink in Essex." She was from said county and told me to fuck off.

Stars still Shooting?

2009-06-11T15:19:00.012+01:00

It was arguably one of the funniest shows of the '90s but
the return of Shooting Stars earlier this year caused mixed feelings among its fans.

Were Vic and Bob doing yet another series for the cash or continued fame? Or had they struck a deal with the Beeb to make SS on the condition they'd be allowed to make another less commerical project? That's what they did in 2004 with Catterick.

Regardless of motive the silly, surreal but mostly hilarious pair were recording a new episode at Television Centre last night. As ever the team captains (Jack Dee and of course, longstanding stooge/all round good egg Ulrika Jonsson) played the straight men while Matt Lucas, dressed as a geisha in full-make up, retained his George Dawes persona in subversive style. After the monumental success of the much-less funny Little Britain he obviously doesn't need the money. Despite the relative calm of the recording and the slight feeling that people were taking the whole thing very seriously indeed, Lucas, Mortimer, Reeves and Jonsson all clearly have a great working relationship developed over many years of, well, pissing about in costumes with outlandish props.

Elsewhere the familiar TV parodies of old made an appearance but the two guests were slightly low-rent.

I mean. Some dappy old tart off How Clean Is your House and a bearded northener?

Incongruity has been a staple of V&B right back to their early stand-up days, so it could be deliberate. After all, what's a comedy panel show without ironic guests?

In one of the regular comedian guest slots Lee Mack said the odd good line, but most of which were vetoed by a lurking producer.

All BBC radio and TV producers have to work in an odd, oppressive self-censoring climate since the Ross/Brand incident was blown masively out of proportion by a frothing anti-broadcast print media. First time I've seen just how bad things are in a real-life situation, though. The show goes out after the watershed, so is it really not on to say "necrophilia"? It's not as though Lee defecated on Adrian Chiles during The One Show.

Undoubtedly the star of the show was Mack's opposite number, a hilarious up and coming comedian who stayed in character as a moronic and sartorially-challenged Anglo-Greek burger-van worker (not a less naive Stavros, more a rougher, London-accented take on Peter Baynham's Peter in Fist Of Fun).

Sadly the spelling of this character's name had at least five syllables so I slightly neglected the reporting duty (I'd only had an hour's sleep so failed to memorise it). A google search yields no results despite my guesses and those of two of my companions for the evening (comedian's real name wasn't revealed). But when I can get the info, it'll be here.

After the recording we strolled down Wood Lane past Westfield to find a shoplifter being arrested. As he was being thrown in a meat wagon by the Retroplitan Police it struck me this was either the dumbest or most desperate shoplifter in West London. The Australian developers spent £1.6 billion on the humungous mall. When you fork out that sort of wedge it's pretty obvious you'll install it with enough top-end CCTV cameras to keep Chuck Berry happy.

Egg-splattered BNP leader complains: "They could've separated the whites"

2009-06-10T14:30:00.009+01:00

It was hard to know what was funnier yesterday. Unite Against Facism's attempt to make a Nick Griffin omelette on College Green:

Or going on my first proper "date" in about eight years.

Borough has arguably the best selection of pubs in London and is also my favourite overall area of the city. The former probably has some bearing on the latter. On the seemingly endless bus journey there I wondered if anyone actually does "date" any more.

Most relationships I could think of, including previous ones of my own, began as friendships that moved on when they took a physical turn for the better.

This is much easier, unforced way of doing things than the whole bullshit world of dating, which is often akin to a series of ghastly job interviews.

There's also the uncomplicated fun of the one-night stand but that's another kettle of bream entirely.

Conversation with my date flowed as hilariously as it did the night we met. On that occasion she approached my mate and I in Koko to claim we looked homosexual purely on the basis of an animated discussion we were having.

This night was less confrontational but far kinkier.

Credit where it's due: Headline paraphrased from a joke emailed by the best mate.

Insomnia exacerbates erratic time-keeping

2009-06-09T12:41:00.006+01:00

No, nothing to do with one of the best dance anthems of the 1990s.

It was 5am before sleep came this morning. A kick in the cock that meant I didn't get up until 11.30. This in itself not unusual for me these days, but this morning was special because I decided to go for a jog around my rather beautiful local park.

A few weeks back I could only manage to complete a circuit of the perimeter path with three pauses. This time I got almost the entire distance before nearly collapsing. I sat down on the roots of a tree panting like Rik Waller on a treadmill. But I had to ignominiously walk the last 200 yards or so, even if I did feel better for having done some token exercise. Now where's that cake-topped lard and lager pie?

Gutted. Not only has the dog-tossing oven packed up but I can't go to some Red Bull-sponsored blag with a fellow ligger par excellence as I'll be in Norfolk. Still, how about a tune to up the mood?

What you sayin'?

2009-06-08T17:06:00.003+01:00

Today licked tramp scrotum so enthusiastically it's better to think about the weekend's entertainment.

On Friday saw Junior Boys perform live @ The Arches.

They didn't really bang it out the way you want at 2am on a Saturday. In that respect they're similar to Hot Chip in a live setting (too much boo-hoo, not enough largin' it).

Both bands do that sorrowful, soulful, deep electro thing with consummate skill, just don't make enough big tunes.

The venue was fat, though. Aside from being on the correct side of the river as so few top class London clubs are, it was your typical open-brickwork, strobe and smoke-machine cavern: A cross between Fabric and Heaven, albeit on a smaller scale.

A decent night, particularly in Room 2 where the Greco-Roman soundsystem had a few interesting heads (including Kieran Hebden aka Four Tet) laying down dark breakbeat, twisted two-step and some brilliant music that defied categorisation but had psychedelia and afrobeat influences. Sweaty, vital fun.

Saturday was all about Stella during the England game before experiencing my first ever bike race in the flesh.

Hit Smithfield to see the whooshing majesty of lycra-clad bods travelling at unnerving speed with the trusty best mate. These days he prefers cycling to football. But then he does support Millwall.

He was also the first person to tell me about Critical Mass and ghost bikes. Both are important for cycling in the capital, the former a bold celebration, the latter a sober warning.

The day didn't finish at Smithfield but kebab minutiae, furtive phone calls and a tube conversation with a drunken Irishman aren't exciting to anyone but late-night novices.