Poor, sad, beautiful boys

C.R.A.Z.Y at Barbican Cinema 1, 28th April 2006

Oh the heartache, the gender confusion, the tears, the family dysfunction, the bad bad fashion choices, and the groovy soundtrack!

Zac, the main protagonist of the piece is a somewhat sensitive soul (wets his bed, wants a pram for his birthday) who possesses prodigious gifts of healing (according to his ultra-religious mother) and a tendency to ‘act like a fairy’ (according to his father). Growing up in a family of five boys, his brothers are either geekish, jocks, or brain-addled, drug-taking morons, and so it’s up to him to take on the role of outsider in the family- the cultured one into music and dressing up like David Bowie (as he gets older).

The film follows Zac through his youth and adolescence and has a sweeping episodic structure which feels a bit shallow at times; in my view they’re seems to be enough material for far more than just one film, maybe a whole miniseries in the ilk of The Thornbirds; Quebec-style. Zac's relationship with his childhood sweetheart is treated pretty superficially and there are other characters around the periphery, like the eccentric psychic who befriends him and tells him he is gifted, that we never get to know properly either.

What’s good about the film is that the character’s ambiguous sexuality is treated without a hint of sensationalism, and the general tone is warm and cautiously optimistic; representing the full spectrum of family life. The character’s relationship with his father is particularly interesting based as it is on an almost obsessive love of music- Patsy Cline on the father’s part, and David Bowie on the son's. It’s music that causes the father to feel proud of his son's achievements almost against his will, and music which helps heal the rift between them towards the end of the film.

Finally, the actor that played Zac reminded me of that other poor, sad, beautiful boy River Phoenix, and it made me wonder: is it ever possible to look like that and NOT be confused about your sexuality?

A tale of two club nights

Insomniacs Ball at SeOne, London Bridge, 13th April 2006 and the Mighty Boosh aftershow party featuring Robots in Disguise at Plan B, Brixton, 19th April 2006


There are good clubnights and bad clubnights and downright disastrous ones. Well I guess you could say that these two experiences spanned all three variaties, and neither confirmed me in my club hating aversion, or opened my eyes to a whole new world of excitement and adventure which I will follow fervantly for the rest of my life.

To give you some background to this post, about ten years ago I composed the following poem;

I never thought much of clubbing
It's a pastime I've never enjoyed
All that pushing and groping and shoving
Just made me annoyed

Since then I may have changed quite a bit but never really gotten over my phobia (I think it began when I was molested outside the Square Club in Cardiff circa 1989). But this year I determined to overcome the past and give it another go.

Unfortunately for me the Insomniacs Ball was not the best place to start as the club environs (under the arches Eastenders style) were way beyond grimy/skanky whilst the overcrowding inside was of epic proportions (almost Hillsborough in its dimensions). GSG was quite scared at one point as myself and cidertramp made our way through the Art Brut inspired throng, only to be forced to abandon our attempts to get within a stone's throw of our indie artrock idols and stumble, CS Lewis like, into the adjoining chamber. There were good performance by a number of bands, including Art Brut, Dogs, Black Wire, and The Holloways, but the tempestuousness of the crowd was a bit too primeval for me (although it would have been ok at a festival in the great outdoors). The whole event seemed rather badly organised and the security seemed REALLY over the top (was it absolutely necessary to have five bouncers on the stage during The Holloways set- come on like, it's The Holloways not Oasis or Robbie Williams, for goodness sake).

In any case, I did like getting the first tube home- that was very serendipitous.

So anyway, the Mighty Boosh aftershow party at Plan B. V. different to the above, goes without saying. Indeed. Smaller, which was good. Shorter in duration (also good). More intimate. You're getting the picture. I really don't work well in large venues. I'm just not combative enough.

The Robots in Disguise were absolutely fabulous in a glam-rock, big boots, silver caped, besequinned way, and I enjoyed that muchly. Would like to see them again. The appearence of Noel Fielding of Mighty Boosh fame added to the revelry but it would have been just as good without his comedic presence as the girls, Sue Denim and Dee Plume, are of a rare and exotic genus and give great value, even inviting audience members on stage to join in the fun. My companions, cidertramp and vodkaslut, were ready to go by 2am as they had to work the next day, but I could gladly have gone on dancing for a few hours more. How ironic is that?

The night of the geek

We Are Scientists at the Shepherds Bush Empire, 13th April 2006

Never before has geekdom been so cool or so appealing as it was last night at the Shepherds Bush emporium (excepting maybe Jarvis Cocker at his zenith).

Images of silent film stars Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd kept running through my mind during the course of the set and the dynamic threesome's loquacious banter reminded me somewhat of that typically British double act Morcambe and Wise (with added Californian sex appeal). But despite echoes of comedy acts past, the evening was continuously entertaining with the infectious personalities on stage winning about a zillion brownie points with the amorous, intoxicated crowd (two people behind us were particularly enamoured; they never came up for air all evening).

Songs from the debut album With Love and Squalor were supplemented by a rendition of the Ronettes' Be My Baby which was a bit too cheesy for me, but all in all the gig left me with a definate case of the warm fuzzies which was very welcome indeed.

8.5/10

Time to excel yourself or Long live the Scream!

Astoria, Tottenham Court Road, 6th April 2006

In the deep mid-winter/early spring (who can tell the difference?), in the heart of old London town, inebriated already on a half bottle of (medicinal) red wine, supped at the Phoenix theatre bar, myself and Vodkaslut amble our merry way down to the Astoria to witness the latest venture of the great revivalists and reinventors, Primal Scream.

Much to our delight, the Scream belt out their era-defining anthem Rocks not once but twice during the course of the evening, sandwiching in the dancy dancy psychedelic Screamadelica hits, and the anti-globalisation call to arms Swastika eyes to rapturous applause from the REALLY QUITE HAPPY INDEED audience (a couple of guys near us in the pit were well immersed in their own private universe).

Complaints? Not many. It was so good to be at a gig by a band that has a proper back catalogue and physically remembers the eighties and nineties, rather than just referencing them guilelessly (I'm in too good a mood to name names on that score) .

A rendition of ongoing favourite (I'm gonna) cry myself blind would have been nice, but I wasn’t too heartbroken over its absence and perhaps it would have ruined the upbeat vibe that dominated the evening. Instead we got new song Country girl which prompted the only intelligible intro of the evening from Glaswegian Bobby Gillespie (not that it was that inspired, basically it was ‘This is from our new album’).

All in all it was the best evening I’ve had at the Astoria since the Kaisers in 2005, and the best gig so far this year apart from The Strokes at the Hammersmith Apollo.

Purveyors of intergalactic cool. Long live the Scream!