gin soaked girl

This blog is about me and my adventures in the land of gin. Yes, gin is a country and I've visited it often. In fact I've conducted a passionate love affair with the place. Bought the t-shirt and definitely been to the duty-free. Along the way, I've been to a few gigs and undergone a bit of a personal renaissance. This blog celebrates the art of growing old disgracefully. Roll up. Roll up. Come join the fayre!

Sunday, May 28, 2006

That way madness...

The Devil and Daniel Johnston at the Prince Charles, 28th June 2006

Sometimes we all think that we’re a little mad, (well actually I have been mad as a hatter a couple of times; when I got dumped, when I got bullied, when I nearly went bankrupt), but watching this film, you realise just how different some people’s perception of reality is to the vast majority of the general public. Basically there’s madness, and then there’s a bunch of girlie romantic meditations on madness. Daniel Johnston is the thing itself, without any kind of pretension or affectation. Creativity oozes from the very pores of his childlike, altar-boy visage (even now when his medication has bloated his body out of all natural proportions), and his imagination and mood swings govern his every waking moment. He is 100% genuine in the sense that he doesn’t censor himself in the way other people do or try to manipulate others. His sensitivity means that the religious upbringing he experienced in his childhood (dispensed by well-meaning but unworldly parents) had a profound effect on him and the mythology of the Christian church, including angels and demons, God and Satan, heaven and hell, are real to him in a very physical way. Because of his illness, he sees angels and demons everywhere. He falls passionately in love with the first pretty girl that’s nice to him (a college student) and idolizes her for the rest of his life as both angel and muse (she knows nothing of his obsession at first, although she obviously must know now). He also turns down a record contract because Metallica are signed to the same label and, as a Christian, he believes they will try to kill him.

Another aspect that the film draws out is the way that the people around Daniel respond to his illness, in particular the outbreaks of mania (trying to baptise people, walking into stranger’s houses, crashing his father’s plane with both of them inside it, nearly killing them). His first agent has him sectioned and taken away to the nearest institution because he can’t deal with the reality of a creative genius who is out of control. Whilst in the institution he meets his second agent who becomes totally devoted to him for the rest of his life in an old school, Colonel Tom Parker, svengali kind of way, even after he refuses to sign the record deal which has taken him seven years to prepare (the most memorable quote in the film is when he describe the first meeting of the parties involved stating that it was ‘as normal as any meeting between a major record label and an aspiring artist can be when the meeting is taking place in a mental institution’). Daniel’s parents, despite initial conflicts and misunderstandings, also stand by him, and support him with real, solid love and compassion. His father’s devotion in particular is extremely affecting and the progress of the illness has obviously been a learning curve for everyone involved.

The film is intensely moving and informative about bipolar disorder, how it develops and reveals itself gradually over time until the first crisis comes. The two phases are both brilliantly conveyed: the charisma and charm of the manic when they’re in the first hyperbolic/ecstatic, ‘I can conquer the world’ phase, thinking they can do everything and know everything, that they’re unstoppable and they will be the most famous person that ever lived…followed by the disappointment and confusion of depression when that other personality seems to be hidden or concealed and the medication gradually dulls the creativity.

Finally I should say that the film is not all dark and depressing. It also has a lot of visual humour in it, especially when The Nightmares, the band that Daniel plays with now, first appear on scream wearing their trademark ‘fuck Satan’ t-shirts. Subtle.

It’s a classy documentary which I’d strongly recommend.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Pugilists and puny-legged peddlers of popular music

The Kooks at the Astoria, 19th May 2006

I still can’t make up my mind about the Kooks. What are they? An indie version of a manufactured boy band (Backstreet Beatniks?); a Razorlight tribute band (already?); a smart and sassy band of puny-legged protégés, with a shot at the big-time crossover market? One thing is sure though, and that is that front man Luke Pritchard is the spitting image of Johnny Borrell when he first appeared on the scene- all curly-haired boisterousness and vigorous self-aggrandizing rhetoric. Some commentators have imbued him with Dylanesque resonance but to me he's definately more Borrell than Bob. So are the Kooks the genuine article? Personally I’m a bit peeved by the presumptiveness of the name. They don’t seem that kooky to me...the Mystery Jets, Larriken Love, The Holloways, now they're real eccentrics. Plus the alliterative similarity with the Kinks is a bit of a lazy marketing gimmick- at least the Arctic Monkeys, another indie teen sensation, managed to come up with a totally original name that helped mark them out as something a bit different, something to be remembered and watched out for.

Despite my reservations, I do actually enjoy myself at the Astoria this evening. Myself and redwineaddict install ourselves on the balcony, spying like the voyeurs we are, on the crowd of pasty-faced detention-dodgers and fledgling fashionistas below. The support act, Dan Sartain, entertains greatly in a rough-hewn, hillbilly, spit and sawdust kinda of way (the words Buddy Holly tribute band will absolutely NOT pass my lips, oh no). The crowd at this point seem quite pleasant and lacking in any pugilistic intent, although retrospectively I think perhaps it was laced with an element of danger. The young crowd of girly polka-doted fans are complimented by a similar number of slightly older lager-drinking student types and the whole of the area beneath us is swaying to and fro in the manner of a rotten, leaking boat. Entertaining as this is, the end result is bound to be ungentlemanly, and sure thing, as the Kooks come out to rapturous applause, a fight breaks out, proper fisticuffs, and Luke himself makes a plangent plea to the crowd (heartfelt and oh so articulate): “ Could you fu**ers please stop fighting now?”.

Once the fracas has blown over, everything settles down, and the skinny-legged one is actually more likable than his nasal songsmithery and reputation as a silver spoon in the mouth, stage school engineered charlatan, has lead me to suspect. He's friendly and chatty in a minimalistic way eg "This song is called Seaside and was inspired by a trip to the seaside". Plus they have got good tunes. You Don’t Love Me, Sofa Song, and Naive are great singalong songs to be sure (although the over the top nasal quality of Naive repels me slightly). So I don't know what it is that continues to annoy me about the Kooks; they have promise but it feels as if they haven't quite got it together yet and have had way too much exposure, way too soon. They need to work on their persona and their musical sense of direction a lot more that's for certain. I don't want to knock them too much, honest I don't, just as I wouldn't kick a sick puppy who I accidentally stumbled over in the street. They're way too cute for that.

Poor Kooks, I really am going to have to shut up now. GSG.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

I wish I could/turn into you

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the Kentish Town Forum, 16th May 2006

Could I please? If it could be arranged…maybe some kind of metamorphosis of the Greek mythological variety, or a more vaguely plausible ugly duckling= swan transformation? It sounds as if we’re entering some kind of X-men territory here, but if it was in any way possible, I would love to turn into Karen O in this or any other lifetime.

Have I lost my mind? Maybe, but the atmosphere in the Kentish Town Forum this evening is magical. I’m mesmerized by the flamboyant spectacle taking place on stage and feel totally at home in the equally transfixed and enthusiastic crowd of fellow devotees, who surprisingly are not at all snooty or pretentious as you would expect at this type of gig (me and my gin feel totally at home).

Karen O and the rest of the YYYs are fabulous in a totally unfussy way- her totally eccentric and brilliantly ‘home-made’ fashion sense and her ‘almost too shrill but not quite’ Kate Bush-esque vocal performance is totally different to anything else around. Musically I guess the band have been compared to the Strokes as they have a similar genealogy and pedigree but the presence of a female lead singer with the on-stage charisma and glamour of Karen O, transports them to another sphere of influence altogether.

If Karen O (what DOES the O stand for? I think it must be ostentatious) was a dancer she’d be more of your Martha Graham than your Margot Fonteyn and that’s meant as a compliment. Arty and avant garde, the woman gives young girl rock groups something to aim for, and rock chicks something to be proud of. In the last century there was Siouxsie Sioux, Chrissie Hynde, Debbie Harry and Annie Lennox, but who do we have now? Anna Matronic from The Scissor Sisters? Kate Jackson from The Long Blondes? Karen O wins hands down.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

An off-colour prophet

Mozza at the London Palladium, 14th May 2006.

So this is where I have to come clean and confess to being a Mozza fan, for oh, say the last twenty years. It began when I first started working full-time and met up with someone who knew SO much more about the music scene than I had ever imagined- well, they had worked in HMV as a Saturday girl for a couple of years. I know that lots of people don’t get it and will ‘never be convinced he’s any cop’ (yes that’s you vodkaslut), and I totally understand their point of view, but to me he was a hero and always will be. He/They offered complex lyrical and narrative structures, and a poetic anti-establishment sensibility at a time of my life when all around me was nothing but frilly shirted dullards and popinjays. Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet were SO not my thing.

So after all that build up, it comes as a bit of a shock to find myself (even thinking of) using words like lacklustre, disappointing, and sluggish, to describe Mozza’s performance at the London Palladium on Sunday night. But sluggish he was.

It all started fairly well with the thunderous vibrating chords of How soon is now? shaking the rafters, and continued with the last single You have Killed me and I Will See You In Far Off Places (love that Turkish bazaar vibe), both from the latest album Ringleader of the Tormentors, plus a couple more newies. By the time we got to the classic Smiths song Girlfriend in a Coma I was getting rather excited, despite being about half a mile from the stage and having to peer through old fashioned theatre goggles like a street urchin who’s crept in from the cold to see some shady musical hall shindig. But then it all seemed to fall apart.

To be honest, I don’t think it was all his fault, I probably would have been a bit disappointed whatever, as I had worked it up in my mind to be more than it was- I spent the afternoon before looking at my old records and reminded myself of the lyrics of favourite Smiths songs (Shyness is nice, and/ shyness can stop you/ from doing all the things in life/ that you want to Were ever truer words spoken?). The main problem is I think that I really wanted to see The Smiths in their heyday and not an aged, slightly potbellied Morrissey.

I WAS greatly entertained when the great man started moaning about Radio 1 not playing his new single The Youngest Was The Most Loved and spent quite a bit of time complaining about it in the vein of "what do you f***ing have to do to get a single played on the radio in this country" and "you really shouldn't applaud that kind of song- it's too depressing, APPARENTLY". He later apologised for swearing, if I remember rightly, because he didn’t’ want to offend the ghost of Danny La Rue and other ‘Saturday night at the London Palladium’ luminaries. Ah bless.

The man really is a mess of contradictions and I think that’s what makes him so intriguing too so many people. In him they see someone who even more confused and mixed up than they are, and that makes them feel better, or marginally less alone, in a gauche naïve kind of way (I hold my hands up to having felt this way myself). I do still love him I have to say, once a hero always a hero, but maybe I have outgrown the worst of my own melancholic excesses, and therefore can’t quite identify with him the way I used to.

Taking everything into consideration, I’m glad I shelled out to see the man of misery, would have been down the front trying to touch the hem of the prophet if I could, and Morrissey’s voice I can report is just as poignant as ever, but £35 to perch like a limpet on a mountain rock is no joke, and I really think he could have made a bit more attentive to the troops. Despite earlier football terraces chanting of Morrissey, Morrissey, Morrissey etc, there was actually some desperate ‘it can’t be true’ style booing when Morrissey walked off stage without so much as a goodbye and the expected encore failed to arrive. Now that just seemed rude.
 

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