SWEETHEART/THOSE SYCOPHANTS AIN'T FAR...

Off on travels for a bit, so: an assortment of old and even older goodies. Unashamedly navel-gazing, this is more stuff I love beyond all reason. Oh, picture is Caspar David Friedrich's wonderful Cross In The Mountains. Friedrich's an artist I have a distinct fondness for- he's probably best known for that rather (in?)famous represntation of the romantic movement Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog, but it's his religious works that are of greater interest to me. Strange really, but there we go. A post on his work will most likely appear at some point in the future. Anyway. Onwards to the music!

First: The Stokes- Someday. I really don't care what people say about this band- Is This It? remains for me a benchmark of early-teen cool; no one is as insouciant as they were to me then. It just has that perfect swagger to it- and (as p4k rightly say) they'll never, ever better that record. This has to be my favourite track- a weird kind of old-before-their-time youthful nostalgia later strip-mined by bands like Japandroids (their latest single Younger Us being a prime example...) but done absolutely perfectly.

Next: Parenthetical Girls- Evelyn McHale. An absolutely sumptuously shot video accompanies probably my favourite single of the past year- and the tale behind the track was/is the rather beguiling picture that also heads this blog, of a certain... Ms. Evelyn McHale. Look her up- the story makes for a fascinating read, and the full picture (known, somewhat tellingly, as "The Most Beautiful Suicide", and the inspiration for an Andy Warhol print) is oddly hypnotic.



The opening track from the irresistably charming Johnny Flynn's first album, A Larum. The song's called The Box, and this video was made for an excellent series of which you may or may not be aware: the takeaway shows by La Blogotheque. Originally (I believe they've branched out...) all shot in and around Paris, placing musicians in odd and unusual performance spaces, I could happily post a whole series of them (and have, on facebook... much to my later embarrasment re: the effusive praise I gave) but this is a favourite. Equally worth your while are: Architecture In Helsinki, Yeasayer, Grizzly Bear, Beirut and The Tallest Man On Earth's sessions... It's an endless succesion of brilliance, and any list just scrapes the surface. More than worth wasting an afternoon on.

Finally, we have an excerpt from William Basinski's Disintegration Loops. It'd be difficult to give a quick and easy precis of the loops' genesis here, but if you're interested, the wikipedia page (or, indeed, the notes accompanying this video on youtube) explains. Stunningly beautiful stuff, and sososo much more than the 'ambient music' tag it seems to get hit with. This is what forward-thinking music ought to be: evocative, interesting and ultimately deeply moving.



Finally, if you're interested, my holiday reading currently stands at:
-Two books on the philosophy of law;
-Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness Of Being;
-Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair;
-Ginsberg's Howl, Kaddish and other poems;
-Joyce's Dubliners;
-A book on the Nuremberg war crimes trials;
-The Odyssey;
-A collection of Will Self's essays, Feeding Frenzy;
-A book about young British artists and the Great War, entitled A Crisis of Brilliance;
-and although not strictly reading, I have a a shitload of letters I've promised to write to friends...

Piece o' piss. Take care, o irregular reader, and I'll be returning in two weeks, or thereabouts- unless I decide to go native and never return to civilisation or the wuh wuh wuh. Which isn't massively likely.

RECENT ENTHUSIASM// 3. metafiction, innit!

BOOKS.

Some swift reading meant three further volumes have been demolished since the last post. (Well, four, but one was sixty-odd pages and had pictures, so doesn't really count...) Of these, one I don't particularly want to discuss- Graham Greene's Brighton Rock- because, although a very good novel, I haven't really got much to say about it. A murder-mystery with pretty obvious (and occasionally overpowering) discussions of Catholic mor-al-i-tee. Engrossing, but somewhat insubstantial. Insert the appropriate food similie here.

Anyway. The other two (Douglas Coupland's Generation X (1991) and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005) by Jonathan Safran Foer) were more interesting- especially the way in which the two are kind of linked, and how that link goes some way to explaining the way I feel about each book. Let me explain, because at least prima facie there doesn't seem to be much connection there- Gen. X is about three jaded twenty somethings telling each other stories in the desert, and Extremely Loud... details (at least in part) a boy named Oskar's search for a lock. But trust me.

Generation X, as far as I can see, sets out the problem: the corrosive, debilitating effects of marketing and advertising upon the young ('I am not a target market'); the weird kind of anomie amongst a specific substrata of middle-class ex-students, characterised by 'terminal wanderlust'; and the general difficulty of being alive and aware in an information overloaded post-postmodern age. Coupland certainly isn't alone in attempting to tackle or even outline this problem (see below for others) but he does have a lightness of touch that makes Gen. X a compelling read. It's his partial solution to the aforementioned problem- specifically, the crushing lack of sincerity inherent in modern teenage/twentysomething living that's the most interesting, though: the three have a rule that none can criticise or interrupt the others' tale, (apparently) in a similar manner to those of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings*. This, neatly, circumvents the listeners' (and possibly our?) ability to sarcastically respond. It is, in essence, fiction dealing squarely with the issues of fiction: the fallout from modernism and postmodernism, and thence the world.

How it links to Extremely Close... is the interesting part: Foer, rather than attempting to address the sameissue head on (as Coupland, DFW, Barthelme** et al have) or even really at all, instead uses all the tropes and techniques of so-called recherché postmodernism to create a story that is intensely moving. It seems that the way out of the maze is not to ignore these oft-derided devices- but instead to utilise them to one's own ends: similarly to Foer's first work (2002's equally brilliant Everything Is Illuminated) the novel has (at least) three different narrators intertwining, employs pictures, 'found' passages, rapid changes of register etc. etc. And rather than being the impressive but ultimately empty exercise some have derided the genre as becoming (see here for probably the best exposition of the opposition's argument) it's... well, it's heartbreaking. This novel has a soul.

And somewhere therein lies the difference between the two novels: whilst Gen. X is good, (even great) I can't help but feel a sense of emptiness reading it. Extremely Loud, on the other hand, through avoiding the often navel-gazing aspect that can become apparent when fiction discusses itself, is beautiful. They both come thoroughly recommended, but (obviously) it's Jonathan Safran Foer's novel that gets my nod.

*Interestingly, visiting AA meetings and halfway houses was a big inspiration for David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, and DFW's solution to the above problems is largely the same: unflinching honesty; "sharing"- albeit hidden underneath reams of information and a wonderfully sharp sense of the absurd. And I think DFW does what Coupland did a great deal better- but that's a whole 'nother can of worms we'd best keep closed for now, but expect an Infinite Jest post at some point in the future...

**If you can find it online, Barthelme's short story The Balloon is a brilliant skewering of (some elements of) contemporary lit-crit.
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MUSIC.

If I believed in God (I don't) and the Biblical creation story (ditto) then I'd be pretty convinced Steve Reich's Music For 18 Musicians would've been playing at the moment of creation. It's beyond beautiful. The whole piece (and the equally, if not more brilliant, Different Trains) is on spotify, but here's a sample...



This week's other listening has been Patrick Wolf's fantastic Wind In The Wires. Go forth! Get it!

WHEN YOUR GRAVITY FAILS...

Abortive attempts at reviews are... Well, not going anywhere fast. Hence, instead, two songs that've caught my attention recently:

First up, Guitar Slim's The Things That I Used To Do. I don't wanna heap ridiculous praise on this'n, or ruin the song for you by jabbering on about how it makes me feel, but just know that as far as I'm concerned it's pretty much perfect. (If you're up for a laugh, however, SRV's hilariously overblown version will provide.)

...And Lisa Hannigan's fantastic cover of Dylan's Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues. Again, understated and perfect. Reworking Dylan is a pretty finicky art, but I think Ms. Hannigan just about nails it. And she has a gorgeous voice.

Enjoy.

LATE EDIT:

This is fucking BOSS. A remix that totally twists Foals' Spanish Sahara out of all recognition, and yet is still imbued with awesome. All cut up and funky and with a lovely little bassline, like. Czech it out:

Foals - Spanish Sahara (George Lenton Remix) by Dewse

RECENT ENTHUSIASM// 2. Walkin' Blues.

BOOKS.

During a (tiny) break from the internet, I took some time to finish Rebecca Solnit's fantastic meander on walking Wanderlust (subtitled, appropriately enough, A History of Walking). It'd be incredibly easy to pad this out with words synonymous with the general idea of strolling (this, obviously, being a book entirely about walking...) but it's actually pretty accurate: Solnit's prose is gorgeous, and gentle detours cease being digressions as such and instead become the point, much as an actual walk can evolve; original destinations are replaced in favour of something more interesting. This deceptively simple conceit, when paired with the perfect ambling companion- Solnit has a wickedly understated sense of humour- means the book is an absolute joy to read. From the simple biological strangeness of human motion when compared with most other animals, through the Romantics' walking tours and the beginnings of pedestrianism for pleasure, to the concept of the flâneur, psychogeography and the manifold perils of walking in modern cities (and so, so much more) nearly every conceivable aspect of walking is considered: other works are drawn in, digested, and ultimately feed Solnit's celebration of putting one foot in front of the other, and rejection of the easy travel inherent in consumerist culture.

The only complaint I can reasonably raise is the weird non-inclusion of Will Self- as a self-proclaimed modern-day flâneur and acerbic critic of architectural strangeness and hideousness (in his magnificient psychogeography columns, which I believe are sadly deceased- or, at any rate, I can't find them...) he seemed the perfect addition- but sadly nary a peep about ol' Will. Can't have it all, I suppose. Anyway, Wanderlust comes highly recommended, as do any of Rebecca Solnit's books. A most interesting woman, and well worth your time.

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ART

The other enthusiasm has been, after a visit to the Tate Modern with a dear friend, the perennially interesting Yves Klein. Seen above is his Leap Into The Void, but Klein is probably best known for patenting a colour, the deep, striking International Klein Blue (IKB). He was something of a lovely trickster, really: selling identical canvases of IKB for prices ranging from one franc to several hundred thousand at the same exhibition; throwing bags of gold into rivers; writing a symphony of one continous note held for twenty minutes, followed by silence for a further twenty; and seeming to defy gravity itself in the picture above... Klein kinda prefigured and outclassed much of the art of the later 20th Century. An enigmatic, wonderful man. And yes, I now have a postcard which is, as someone bluntly described it, "just blue". But what a lovely blue it is.

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MUSIC.

Today's pickings: well, picking, is a rather good garage-y/dubstep-y mix assembled by Jamie XX for a fashion boutique in Paris... I stumbled back across this on my iTunes (alphabetically, it's after the marvelous Jamie Vex'd. Obviously). Expectations were low, but this rather blew me away. Again. Say what you will about The XX, but one must grant that the man has taste. Enjoy!

01 Jamie XX mix for Colette 10 by abeano

RECENT ENTHUSIASM// 1. Post-nothings.

MUSIC.

It must be awful to get hit with the post-[genre] tag. Post-rock, post-dubstep, post-jazz... For me, at least, it often has these awful, obfuscating overtones: pretension, primarily- of a similar order to 'prog' experimentalism; 'artiness' of the very worst kind (plus: postmodernism, anyone?!). Having said that, I think it's basically harmless- a helpful shorthand for disparate musicians (c.f. all the interesting things going on at Hotflush, Hyperdub et al., that're under the post-dubstep moniker) but excessive focus upon genre, and tiny distinctions therein, just seem to distract from the music itself. It's tricky, sure- in saying this, I know I'm open to the charge that, as I said, genre tags exist to help, to group- and rejecting them kind of misses their point, etc. etc. It's a battlefield, and I still don't know where I stand.

This all might seem irrelevant, but stay with me- because this conflict is kind of played out within a group I've recently gotten rather interested in: the quintet Polar Bear, who played Marlborough jazz festival last weekend. Comprised of two alto saxes, double bass, a guy playing guitar, "electronics" and balloons, and one absolute powerhouse of a drummer (in the form of the impressively-haired Seb Rochford) they made for an electrifying live show: straight-up jazz soloing mixed with looped sax drones, elements of ambient music and passages closer to minimalism. And since looking them up I've discovered they, along with contempories Portico Quartet (also fantastic, by the way, and well worth your time- recent album Isla especially) have been labeled as 'post-jazz'.

So, you see the first paragraph did have a point. And in Polar Bear's case (and that of sister group, Acoustic Ladyland, and most likely for many others) the 'post-' tag can be a blanket form of derogation, a way of dismissing their music. (See: this interview with Portico Quartet, fourth paragraph from the end.) It's a shame, really- because Polar Bear, especially live, is invigorating. They're exciting, unashamedly cerebral and just joyous, and most definitely not tied to a specific genre- which makes John Fordham's comments all the more puzzling. Inevitably, it seems to come down to a matter of perspective: Fordham holds "free assosciative playing" (and by extension, some kind of "pure", or perhaps "freely expressive" jazz) sacrosanct, whereas I suppose I'm less keen to build up musical barriers. I mean, the exciting thing about these groups is that they do take influence from bands like Deerhoof or, say, Faust. Cross-pollination is good: to keep plowing away in one's own niche (as it were...) whilst avoiding all else seems short-sighted. And it's not like their music isn't capable of evoking emotion, which Fordham seems to be implying. Happy For You, for instance, is as the title suggests: saxes tumble over each other (calling to mind, weirdly, barely-knowns Sweep the Leg Johnny, but I digress) Rochford's drums alternately skitter and pound, and it's (just) held together by Leafcutter John's guitar and the stellar double-bass work of Tom Herbert. And this is just one representative track among many. Seriously, check them out. Rochford himself sums up rather neatly: "[M]y main aim is to make music that sounds new and has feeling." (Emphasis mine.)

So, there you have it. In with newness, in with emotion, and out with genre tags. Mostly...

One further treat: a mixtape made by the aforeloved Seb Rochford. If the first four minutes annoy, just stick with it- there's some great tracks in there, especially a Cooly G tune I hadn't previously heard, and Madlib-produced Revelations, from Mos Def's excellent The Ecstatic.

Seb Rochford (Polar Bear) mixtape by theleaflabel
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BOOKS.

So, in an only-just-almost-not-quite segue, the night before last's reading was Henry James' The Turn Of The Screw, which was... interesting. I say almost related, because James's twist on the ghost tale apparently still divides critics- some say she imagines the ghosts, others say they're really there, blah blah etcetera- you get the general idea. James apparently presaged the 20th Century's passion for more psychology-based horror, so you could say it's post-trad-ghost stories! Oh what a link... Anyway, this is all well and good, except his prose can occasionally be ornate to the point of silliness: I don't want or need four words intensifying and qualifying the heroine's state of mind. It just... distracts. It's so short it isn't really a problem, and it's probably a contextual, everyone-did-it thing, but still- concision is the key, and so ends this review.

I'M NOTHING IF I'M NOT A PRAGMATIST...

Who'd have thought a ukulele-only cover of Los Campesinos! could be quite so wonderful? Stripping back the (sometimes excessive) instrumentation, as it turns out, kinda works. It helps that she has a lovely, idiosyncratic voice. Anyway: You'll Need Those Fingers For Crossing, as reworked by Madeline. (Or "Madelstein", apparently.)

In other (and handily rather related) LC! news, they're shortly to release a four track EP of acoustic covers. Hoorah!

Los Campesinos!- Romance Is Boring (Princess Version)

RECORD REVIEW// Allo Darlin'- self-titled.

(A little while after release, but forgivably so, I hope.)

Allo Darlin'- Allo Darlin' (Fortuna Pop!)

It's undeniable: by and large, the individual songs on Allo Darlin's début work brilliantly. The London-based band variously marry Elizabeth Morris' dry, understated wit with sprightly, ukulele-led tunes, or work her wonderfully sharp lyrics into slower, more expansive tracks. As an album, however, Allo Darlin' feels oddly... incomplete. It's puzzling: lead single and album opener Dreaming, for example, occasions favourable comparison to Heavenly's venerable classic C Is The Heavenly Option; Allo Darlin' evoke twee history whilst avoiding the cutesy aspect that can often be cloying- instead choosing to sing about broken hearts, lonely dancefloors and... the night bus. Elsewhere, Morris manages to be uniquely affecting without openly tugging the heartstrings: the way she sings "But I just wanna hold you/ when the music ends/that's all" on If Loneliness Were Art is perfectly judged, as is Let's Go Swimming's tale of Scandinavian lakes and picnics.

The issue is one of pacing: the only true misfire, cooking-as-romance trudge Heartbeat Chilli, kills the momentum gained from the excellent first four tracks, sapping energy from the preceding Kiss Your Lips and impinging upon the following one-two brilliance of If Loneliness Were Art/Woody Allen. Later, the enigmatic, engaging My Heart Is A Drummer loses much of its impact when placed between the sedate Let's Go Swimming and sombre What Will Be Will Be. It's a shame, really: the songs are downright lovely, with frequent enough deviations from the general, upbeat formula to retain one's interest, but the tracklisting hamstrings its potential to be a great album, instead rendering this a merely good collection of songs, rather haphazardly put together.

So: dip in and out, sure- but beware. Allo Darlin' haven't quite arrived just yet. What I don't doubt, however, is that they will- sooner or later.

MISSION STATEMENT

I realise it takes a weird kind of hubris to want to write a blog. And I'm acutely conscious that in starting- and (hopefully) continuing- writing online I've ensnared myself in something of a contradiction: complaints made in the not-too-distant past about the navel-gazing nature of massive tranches of the internet (and, of course, blogs in particular) are now haunting me. This, as I'm sure you can imagine, is rather worrying: hypocrisy is never a pleasant thing, whether seen in oneself or another, and it's compounded by the fact that I-now still pretty much agree with me-then. But. There are a few things I think I should clarify, or at least try to clarify in my own mind. Hence the lofty 'mission statement' of the title.

In writing this, as infrequently as it'll probably be, a concerted attempt will be made to avoid minutiae and mundanity; I hereby promise to refrain from broadcasting my precise choice of breakfast.^1,2 Instead, I want this to be a space... Well, if I wasn't so hobbled by self-awareness, I'd naively say "for the finer things in life" without quotation marks undermining my point. In short: books, music, film, art, and most likely philosophy, too. I'm not aiming towards untempered, insufferable 'pure art', or the like- it's more a collection of things that I think are interesting, and why they might be worth your time.³ And that those things just happen to cover a lot of different areas is just how it is, because interest isn't something bound by genre or medium- it just is...

So: a collection of pithy and not-so-pithy things. I'll attempt to be as illuminating and insightful as I can- and if you disagree, excellent. I expect this blog will be riddled with contradictions and inconsistencies, but that's how things are. Henceforth, onwards...⁴



1. I realise, of course, the huge temptation to do that kind of stuff- the internet often feels like shouting into a vacuum, and I'm not denying it can be the perfect space to vent. And I'm also not saying I don't often announce the trifling details of my daily routine, either- I'm as guilty as everyone else, but that doesn't make it right.

2. But I suppose one can take solace in the fact that this isn't A) the horrendously reductive twitter or B) the murky world of facebook statuses. Ever seen a really nuanced tweet? Q.E.D.

3. Or, conversely, things that aren't interesting though they ought to be, and why not. This is, of course, a tad simplistic, but I hope you get the general gist.

4. And if you were wondering, the name is a pretty shameless reference to a wonderful album. Look it up.