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So 2010. How did that happen? 2009 swept past in a mist of music, gigs, friends, job changes and organisational challenges. Now I’m standing at the beginning of 2010 looking into the future and really I just want more of the same.
So far in 2010 I’ve done quite a few cultural things: Tim Key’s “Slutcracker” which was Edinburgh Perrier-award winning but, I’m afraid, failed to win my heart, Daniel Kitson’s new stand-up show “We are gathered here” who was heart-warmingly fabulous as always, dancing at Passing Clouds, Jon McGregor + Dan Antopolski + Francesca Beard at Book Slam (brilliant), and….ahem….”It’s Complicated” which was crap but enjoyable.
I also must make a comment on Avatar. Nothing prepared me for the seeping boredom that flowed slowly through my toes, up my legs, gripping my knees and eventually causing my neck to seize up until I literally crawling up the walls with a frustration and tiredness that threatened to make me scream. I have honestly never seen something so dull in my entire life. Since then I’ve found that most people though it was amazing. I just can’t understand it: I found it twee and lifeless and devoid of any intelligence.
In terms of new music I haven’t got much in the last couple of weeks. Most notable purchase was Peter Broderick and Machinefabriek’s “Blank Grey Canvas Sky” which is very light, beautiful and peaceful: Broderick’s composition mixed with gentle overlays of electronica. Perfect for the white winter days.
But the big news so far for 2010 is that I’ve booked for Burning Man. I’m stupidly nervously excited about the whole thing. On the one hand I think I may well hate it: leaving my cynicism at the door and spending a week in a oven-hot desert with occasional sandstorms sounds quite traumatic, but on the other I can’t wait to get there and to experience what it’s like to feel completely boundless for a week. I imagine there will be lots of ups and downs but I will leave feeling empowered. And dusty.
Next Saturday is the Shhh! Music Festival http://www.localism.org.uk/index.php?id=453 Come along. It’s a wonderful day of folk, electronica and, of course, folktronica at the Cecil Sharp House in Camden.
In the space between when I wrote last and now the nights have got markedly longer and autumn is closing in. Despite this, we’ve had some of the most glorious weather of the whole year.
The last month has mostly been taken up with helping to organise this: http://grassrootsjewishnewyearproject.wordpress.com/. It’s been intense but rewarding. It is somewhat at odds with my attitude towards prayer that I would be involved in this however in some ways I know that Judaism has existed through the religion, and adherence to the religion, and if I don’t do it then at least I can help others to.
Other things that have happened recently include the TUC boycott of Israel. Luckily I was so busy with the aforementioned project that I haven’t had a chance to get fully enraged by this. However now, in the aftermath, and reading some of the articles on Engage, Harry’s Place and in the Guardian (http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/hugo_rifkind/article6839041.ece) I realise that it’s the same old voices of reason and the same voices of stupidity. I’m glad I’m not at the LSE anymore so I don’t have to basically waste my time fighting the idiocy anymore.
This month has also seen some fantastic new music: Peter Broderick, noteable for his beautiful and powerful controlled wailing and accompanying himself with piano, violin, guitar, drums, and musical saw, The XX whose stripped-down minimalist rn’b tinged electro-rock is really one of the best new things I’ve heard for a while, and Vladislav Delay’s Tumaa – another minimalist sonic journey.
I’ve been a bit slow at reading due to passing out immediately upon arrival in bed however I have managed to start Stasiland by Anna Funder which is based on true stories from people living in GDR era East Germany, and finished Submarine by Joe Dunthorne which was a very good first novel about a highly intelligent 17 year old living in Wales and has Catcher-in-the-Rye style themes.
I’ve also seen District 9 which is noteable for the extraordinary way South Africans swear and The Time Travelers’ Wife which almost made me cry from boredom.
Apparently this is a new hip-hop dance craze that I learnt last night at Book Slam. This month’s event took place in The Tabernacle, a striking Grade II listed building in Ladbroke Grove that has recently been refurbished by the Carnival Trust. It’s much fancier than the old venue of the now quite run-down Neighbourhood on Acklam Road and I’m impressed by the fact that it’s funded by Kensington and Chelsea and seems to have a massively diverse range of events on throughout the summer from ballet to theatre to hip-hop with Book Slam thrown in between.
The room was diverse as ever and yet again proves to be one of the few places in London that I go to (including Passing Clouds in Dalston) where the audience is truly a mixture of the people that live here as opposed to the generic white middle-class plus a few token black/indian/asian people.
Patrick Neate was hosting the event because it was a launch for his new book “Jerusalem.” I wasn’t overly impressed by his readings but I really enjoyed “Twelve Bar Blues” so I may pick it up at some point after I’ve made my way through the excessive piles that have stocked up on my bookshelves.
Soweto Kinch stole the show with his beautiful smile and music. He, along with Seb Roachford, are easily my favourite UK jazz musicians. Last night’s performance was brief but perfect – warm, sunny music on a warm, sunny evening.
I spent about an hour cycling home, and was once again reminded how much I love my city. The streets were empty, only punctuated by a few pubs with later opening hours where people spilled onto the streets. Sometimes I miss New York and its endlessly continuing street-life but there are times when I really appreciate being able to have my own London, just me and my bike and the city-streets.
I haven’t really listened to any new music recently but have been to a few films – the most memorable of which was “Synecdoche, New York” which I loved aesthetically but found the endless crying somewhat tiring. I think there was something exhausting about that film – and it reminded me of that type of crying when you feel despair. I can quite clearly remember the last time I cried like that – on top of a glacier in the Himalayas where I kept slipping down and was sure I was going to die. There seemed to be no way back and no way forward but somehow I made it and then cried with exhaustion, elation, and pure release.
Finally booked for Latitude and will for the first time be seeing my first musical love – The Pet Shop Boys – live.
And Michael Jackson is dead. I now feel quite bad about the bet I had with my friend about the fact that he wouldn’t make it to the 38th concert date at the O2. So RIP Michael. I guess you won’t be getting one more chance.
Yesterday was one of those perfect London days. Beautiful sunshine, a bit of a breeze, and a chilled happy smile on everyone’s faces.
I managed a 6 mile run with only minimal pram-dodging activity before lazing around in the park and activating the freckle detonator on my face followed by a brief trip to Camden market. I also found out that Friedrich Engels used to live really close to me but now his home is occupied by a fancy dress shop which is appropriate I think.
So onto the cultural activites – FACT party at Cargo where I discovered that garage music is still as shit as it was 10 years ago followed by the re-opening of The End which apart from becoming an anagram of its original self (now The Den) is exactly the same down to the retch-inducing smell in the toilets and the slightly Euro-trash clientele. Anyway, it was a pretty good night all in all despite not hearing anything decent for the majority of the time. Excited about next weekend’s Punchdrunk peformance – Tunnel 228. It seems to be near the Shunt vaults so I guess it’s in one of the tunnels under London Bridge. www.tunnel-228.com.
Tonight to the Luminaire and tomorrow to the Invisible Dot club. Who ever invented Bank Holidays was a genius. Was it God? Probably.
I haven’t bought any new music this week (so far) but I have bought 4 books on plagues/pandemics. I’ve always found the concept of a disease-ridden apocalypse quite romantic, apart from the baked beans of course. I got Dickens’ Bleak House, Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of a Plague Year, Richard Matheson’s I am Legend (hopefully better than the crap film with the stupid Brazilian woman who hadn’t heard of Bob Marley) and Stephen King’s The Stand which I definitely read ages ago but no longer have. I’m actually going to try to review them properly.
Sometime I think why do I blog? Often I don’t but I do go through periods when it feels good to be writing. I think in the absence of me actually writing anything of substance it’s good to go through the discipline of sitting down and constructing sentences. I should probably start writing stories again. Soph reminded me last night of the bedtime stories I used to tell her when I was younger and how they would involve magical lands and mythical creatures. I’m sure there’s a frustrated fantasy novelist in me somewhere.
I just want to look into the future and know its going to be alright.
One highlight of this week has been my current reading material: The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. It’s very poignant and definitely rings some bells in my own childhood. I also finished “What I talk about when I talk about running” by Haruki Murakami. It’s an autobiographical narrative based on his experience of running and what it means to him. I also feel similarly – it’s the most peaceful activity that I can think of doing. Modifying your breath and your pace, listening to the rhythmic pounding of your shoes on the surface, and taking in the scenery slowly is about all you can do.
Okay – let’s get one thing out of the way first.
Daniel Craig. It is quite schoolgirlish to have an obsession with an actor but he really is the epitomy of man. Admittedly in this film he didn’t strip down to those little speedos from Casino Royale but there was a glimpse of golden haired arms and mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Can’t see him in a kippah though.
As for the film itself. Well. It’s definitely gripping, moving and beautifully shot however it was very much like a Hollywood action movie in quite a few points and some of the battle scenes, particularly the one where the Jews lay in wait for the Nazis, just don’t ring true. I also can’t imagine that it was that easy just to skip, Bond-like, into the ghetto and casually decant 200 or so Jews into the road. I think it’s great to show a film that portays parts of the Holocaust that aren’t well know, and especially such a unique and heroic tale as this, but it was quite overdone. I understand that it gets bums on seats but I found the chuppah vs. train explosion scene unsettling.
What it does do, however, is to show a peculiar type of resilience – physical, mental and cultural – that Jewish people seem to have. Where this comes from – faith, ritual, community – I have no idea but it’s something almost tangible to me.
It also highlights one of the paradoxes central to Jewish identity: the persecuted, the hunted, the massacred or the strong, nation-building, patriots kicking it hard to anyone who challenges us. What are we? We’re strong but not strong enough to stop another genocide. We are a rich, educated globalised people but, on the whole, we’re terrified of any attack on our mutual nation, even though many of us don’t live there and therefore tend to be overwhelmingly protective of a country who often acts in shameful ways. We have a collective persecution complex but also a superiority complex.
Okay, that’s enough Jewish stuff for now.
This week has been another Joanna Newsom week. I had a few days of not listening to her and then Sawdust & Diamonds came on my shuffle and WHAM! It’s like my soul switches on. I’ve only ever had one all-consuming love and although it’s long over, this song takes me to that feeling of highness and intensity and wonder.
This week I’ve been reading a collection of short stories by Miranda July that are simply wonderful. Utterly depressing, lonely, empty stories and so brilliantly constructed that they make you wish you had any of that skill.
Or on actually.
My most recent music discovery has been the entire folk genre which previously I had dismissed as being the domain of people wearing white aran jumpers, nestling pints of ale, and bawling into the wind on a Somerset beach. But folk has got a brand new style….
The people I’ve been listening to include Mary Hampton who has a voice to rival Joanna Newsom and the songs to match, Voices of the Wood who plays the guitar in a way I could only dream about and Vetiver - a hairy and wistful band who I just booked tickets to see at the end of February.
I’ve also bought albums by Stars of the Lid (And the Refinement of their Decline) which is very chilled and great to listen to late at night and has one of the best song titles of all time “December hunting for vegetarian fuckface” , Erik Truffaz (Arkhangelsk), and a random leftfield purchase of the Mark Ronson album because I like the cover he did of Coldplay’s “God put a smile upon your face” which is actually quite a good song despite it being by one of my more despised bands. There’s also a hilarious cover of Britney Spear’s Toxic by the ODB (RIP).
I’ve slowed down on the reading front. Finished A.M.Homes “This Book Will Save Your Life” which I enjoyed immensely. It’s about a man who finds self-enlightenment through doughnuts. Started Steve Martin’s autobiography “Born Standing Up.”
I’ve also seen two films – “Yes Man” with Jim Carrey based on the Danny Wallace book which made me laugh out loud constantly for 2 hours and at some points be in physical pain from laughing so hard (only recommended if you are a Carrey fan – I am but if you’re not I think you may hate this film) and “The Reader” which was not funny at all. The latter is interesting as a morality piece and a study of a human being who could simulatenously cry at children singing in a church whilst a few years previously stand by as hundreds of women and children burned to death in the very church she was meant to be guarding. As with all films about the Holocaust it raises loads of unanswerable questions about humankind however one line really stuck with me. The woman who Ralph Fiennes character visits at the end of the film – a camp survivor – says that nothing of value comes out of the camps. In some ways that is very true. Why try to study something that was so essentially evil – so base – and try to find reason from it? All it can say is that humans have the potential for unlimited amounts of cruelty. Something none of us want to see in ourselves but we have to recognise however painful it may be.
Golden Oldie
I made it home early, only to get
stalled in the driveway-swaying
at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune
meant for more than two hands playing.
The words were easy, crooned
by a young girl dying to feel alive, to discover
a pain majestic enough
to live by. I turned the air conditioning off,
leaned back to float on a film of sweat,
and listened to her sentiment:
Baby, where did our love go?-a lament
I greedily took in
without a clue who my lover
might be, or where to start looking.
I read the Metro on the way to Brent Cross to take my mind off the fact that I was going there – the vacuum that sucks away my soul and leaves my bones and brain aching. Actually it wasn’t that bad: there was a small stall that sold organic crystallized ginger, which is possibly my favourite snack food, so I bought a bag and it kept me happy for the duration, even as I queued behind an old woman who smelled like wee and kept asking me questions in John Lewis. Anyway, back to the horoscope: “For the third day running, the Moon is in your opposite sign of Aries, and the frustration of not being able to do much is beginning to show, even for famously laid-back Libra.” I was quite stunned as 1. I don’t believe in horoscopes and 2. It fit my last few days exactly. I was just thinking this morning that reading a lot is only fun if you have to make time to read rather than having the luxury of being able to read all the time. This morning I woke up, read some of Richard Russo’s Empire Falls, got bored, picked up Herzog by Saul Bellow, got bored again, and then tried to read a John Cheever short story. The same thing happened. I shouldn’t complain as I start work on Monday and this is probably my last guilt-free day off for…well, probably forever actually.
The last few hours have been spent experimenting with homemade hummous. I bought chickpeas, tahini, lemon juice and nice olive oil and have spent a long, messy time transferring the mixture from bowl to bowl to try and get the creamy texture you get in restaurant and shop-bought hummouses. (I now think there may not be a plural for hummous). FAIL. It’s not possible. Unless perhaps I spent another three hours taking each spoonful of hummous seperately and trying to smush it further. Or I added the entire bottle of olive oil. Anyway, it tastes good, it just has a lot more texture than the one I usually buy. Hopefully people will eat it and it won’t sit there forlornley and lonely like a sad little pot of hummous that no-one loves.
I still haven’t even begun my copy of Infinite Jest that I bought probably around 5 years ago. Maybe this will give me the impetus to start.
