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Heaven and Bloody Hell

The return of My Bloody Valentine has provoked all sorts of half-informed lazy myth driven guff over the last few weeks. These can be roughly summarised thus:

1) Kevin Shields is, like, a total genius.
2) It's pretty loud.
3) You get free earplugs! Score!
4) Loveless is the greatest thing since antiseptic
5) Feedback is the purifying visceral voice of God
6) My Bloody Valentine haven't played live in a while
7) There's a 20 minute section at the end called the Holocaust/the Apocalypse, this is very loud.
8) They're not very chatty are they?
9) Kevin & Belinda have, like, totally awesome guitars! Look a Fender Jaguar! Woo!
10) The fans are delighted they've reunited. The critics smile benignly and offer 3 star reviews and vaguely sour comments about no-one looking like they've aged.

After seeing MBV at the Barrowlands I can say that the above is pretty much all I heard anyone in the crowd talking about before and during the gig. I was surprised that there was so little atmosphere, everyone just standing politely around waiting to have their ears blown off (and relentlessly checking whether their earplugs were in properly or asking their neighbour whether they had their earplugs). The show was pretty good, it delivered pretty much on what you imagine My Bloody Valentine Live to be like (unremarkable early 90's indie music played at thunderous volume) with no surprises. Fantastic. Sort of. But still strangely unsatisfying despite doing everything you'd have hoped. I imagine it's like a middle-aged virgin waiting for years for "the one"and realising, after their first ride, they could have been spending the last 20 years having as much fun with different people. You Made Me Realise (that I've wasted the best years of my life waiting for safe, unspectacular congress with a similarly inhibited old codger) if you will.

Too far? Probably. But this is the problem. The fact that MBV are very loud and very mysterious seems to set them apart from some of their shoegazer alumni, although I did have a soft spot for Ride, Lush and Submarine era Whipping Boy. But there's been absolutely zero growth, no progress, no notion that anyone, fans or band alike haved moved on from 1991.
Between the old-fashioned venue, the throwback visuals and the identical setlist to 1991 the doors of the Barrowlands could actually have been a time portal in which we actually were transported back in time. For all the talk about the physicality of the MBV sound but it pales into insignificance when compared to my personal extreme noise benchmarks: Deepchord over the Berghain soundsystem, Jah Tubby's soundsystem at the Bongo Club, Pan Sonic at the Venue and Wolf Eyes at All Tomorrows Parties. I had expectations that all four of these gigs would be incredibly loud but still left surprised, giddy and blown away.

This is ultimately the problem. I don't think I could have been blown away by MBV unless we all boarded the MBV Starship and blasted off into space destroying the planet and all unbelievers with Kevin Shields' Death Ray. Now that would have been surprising. And something that exceeded my expectations. The effect of the MBV sound on the body is captivating and the noise, coupled with the strobing lights and the overpowering heat a disassociative, transcendent state is created where your mind fills in the blank canvas that the void of noise creates. Some people said they could "hear" guns and air-raid sirens throughout the "Apocalypse" section- my brain told me I could hear crowds cheering, motorbikes roaring across plains, laughter. Ultimately the best thing I can say about them is that they make everyone in the audience use their imagination. And that's a neat trick.

Before anyone gets bent out of shape, Loveless is one of my favourite albums of all time, it's been a friend to me throughout my life and hearing the songs live made me a very happy man. The gig was enjoyable and well worth attending. It's just that the scales have fallen from my eyes now.

Just a (very loud) band.

Calling all kids

Wild Combination: A portrait of Arthur Russell is a documentary by Matt Wolf about the strange magic produced by Russell throughout his too-short life. Anyone who isn't aware of him should, in my opinion anyway, drop everything and get listening. Although you may have heard his music before, in ads, in clubs but the strange thing is, for such a supremely talented avant garde disco savant to remain so slept on is nothing short of incredible. The story is unremarkable at the outset, talented but mixed up cello-playing MidWestern kid runs away to San Fran in the late 70's and joins a commune. What transpires afterwards is like a skewed version of a folk tale in which, befriended by Allan Ginsberg, Russell decamps to New York where he lives in a building with the aforementioned Ginsberg, Richard Hell and no end of pale and interesting residents. Here Russell, who was sent to the closet by his fellow communards to practice his cello, set about creating a bewildering array of music starting as from a singer songwritery to becoming an amazing bandleader through making "Instrumentals 1-5" with former Modern Lover Ernie Brooks and Saxophonist Peter Zummo and a number of other players. Russell worked in collaborations on a type of Buddhist Pop music that even now sounds bizarrely contemporary- a few years ago while on holiday i put on "First Thought: Best Thought" which contains the aforementioned Instrumentals. Difficult to describe, these instrumentals have a strange, almost ritual quality, slightly off kilter, trancelike but still rock music, reminiscent of a very breezy Tortoise. That's Tortoise, although the similarity extends to our little shell-wearing buddy too as it has a persistent unhurried charm and seems entirely self-contained. Laboured metaphors abound when dealing with Russell because his music is so unique and unfathomable that coupled with his early death earns him the unhelpful "lost genius" tag. Wolf prefers to use "Icon" which i think fits well. Russell, at this stage developed a reputation as being frustrating, difficult to work and collaborate with and obsessively perfectionist (Tom Lee, Russells lover describes how he took nearly 6 years to complete the title track That's Us/Wild Combination!)

Russell was at this stage "out" and immersed in the New York underground disco scene. Here was a new, emergent subculture that allowed him to mess with a whole lot of equipment, techniques and instruments. Ideal. Russell produced some of my favourite disco records and when Go Bang! appears I practically fainted with pleasure. There's a good treatment in the film of this period although by Wolf's own admission at the Q&A afterwards he does get feedback that it doesn't deal with disco in enough detail. For me that is the tragedy of Russells life and more broadly the disco era, AIDS and drugs decimated this subculture and this is palpable in the film by the absence of so many people. In my opinion this is a strength of the film and the absence of so many key players communicates the sense of loss that many of the contributers felt (and obviously still feel).

The film uses interviews with Russells parents, lover, collaborators along with a few others. There are reconstructions of the Loft and Iowa which put russells music into a sort of context as well as a beautifully realised recreation of Arthur listening to his own tapes on the Staten Island ferry. This evocative image was the first thing that sparked Wolf's imagination to make this affectionate portrait of Russell. His parents are funny, worldly people who loved and encouraged their strange little boy. Russells partner Tom Lee is really moving and a real sense of the love between them is exquisitely portrayed. The music Russell left behind (hours of reels of tapes, DATS, regular cassettes- all unreleased) is the real legacy- songs that never saw the light of day are now being released by Audika. Many of these songs (particularly on Another Thought and Calling Out of Context) describe togetherness, the kind of mundane spiritual wonder that you feel on a boring Tuesday evening when sat on the couch together eating crisps. Other work is entirely individual, like being alone on a pier in the middle of the night. The magic of Russells music is the way the music creates this transportative power in ordinariness, the zen of living completely in the moment, whether losing your mind on a wild dancefloor, cuddling on the couch or listening to music on the deck of a ferry.

Hannah McGill paid tribute to Optimo's DJ Twitch for introducing her and countless others to Russells music. He deserves it, Optimo have been pushing the NY Disco sound long before the haircut brigade cottoned onto it. For my own part I have Greg n' Shane to thank for introducing me to the wonky rhodes organ wonder of Loose Joints.

She got one thing wrong though, the "best club night in the world" is obviously Subculture!

Errol Morris and the Power of Nightmares.

Hannah McGill served up a massive treat when she booked Errol Morris for an In Person event to accompany the screening of Standard Operating Procedure at the Edinburgh International Film festival last Saturday. Morris is the Oscar-winning director of Fog of War, a commercial director who makes visually stunning and thought provoking nonfiction films on a "not for profit" basis. That's not to say he redistributes millions in box office green, just to say that the man doesn't seem to make money on his documentaries. This is as baffling as it is depressing; his consistently interesting, provocative work represents one of the great achievements in modern film.

Morris isn't to everyone's taste, a criticism often levelled at him is that the films are as much about Morris as they are about their subjects. This is a wilful and rather gratuitous slander in a period where popular documentary film is personified by the Ordinary Joe tendency. Morris is iconoclastic and his approach is distinctive using re-enactments to enhance the narrative but you never feel driven by his authorial voice. The interviews in Fog of War, Mr Death and Fast, Cheap and Out of Control allow their subjects to speak for themselves and generate wildly divergent opinions as to their likeability/believability. This is where Morris' genius lies, in the ability to challenge the contemporary fallacy that there is a "right answer". When asked why he decided to interview Robert McNamara for Fog of War he said that he felt that people's "first instinct with Robert McNamara is to shout at him" and that anyone who didn't do so was somehow "morally comprimised". For me, this goes to the heart of Morris' work and was the central theme in the extended conversation at the In Person event. Morris' isn't an easy raconteur, his laconic thoughtful ramblings frequently slow down and stop mid-sentence. But it was illuminating, thought-provoking stuff. Morris' films require us to think and look again at what we think we know. Mr Death, his mindbending profile of death-engineer and holocaust denier Fred Leuchter Jr is a fantastic meditation on vanity, self-destruction and delusion. It creates a humanity to this toxic self-important functionary, requires us to see the man as human, even likeable, one of us. A member of the audience picked up on the scene with Leuchter in a death chamber with a cup of coffee all his films are peppered with stunning visual ideas that enhance the story Morris is trying to tell. Morris refers to McNamara talking about his work on developing automobile safety and dropping skulls down stairwells- about the visual idea taking root in his head as McNamara described.

Fog of War is a riveting portrait of a man struggling with his own conscience, a man loathed by people of Morris' generation. Why does Morris work against prevailing orthodoxy, why pick demonised and unrepentant protagonists like Leuchter, McNamara and Lynndie England? Morris answered "because if they're not like us, where does that leave us?"

We're in a period where the "right" way of thinking has become essential to social acceptance. It is no longer socially acceptable in certain circles to dissent from conventional wisdom relating to a whole raft of topics. This, for me, represents a denial of our humanity, of our inherent flexibility. It transposes the media-fed Red/Blue state view of the world where we are Liberal/Conservative/Religous/Secular/Hungry/Thirsty/Rapidly losing the will to live and shouldn't hang out together. This isn't even a debate anymore, it's become an industry where newspapers, blogs, TV news, zines and films tout opinions as products, creating a world where a persons position on current affairs become a surrogate for thought. This is pernicious nonsense and Morris is one of the few mainstream non-fiction filmmakers attempting to challenge this. Morris' work requires the viewer to draw their own conclusions, to think about the work and come to ones own conclusion. That's not to say Morris doesn't have his own view, one which was voiced at the In Person event and the Q&A after Standard Operating Procedure- but he doesn't allow his view to be expressly stated in his films.

Standard Operating Procedure is one of the first mainstream films about Iraq to avoid editorialising as to the morality or otherwise of the misadventure/catastrophe/oil-grab in Iraq. As Morris said in the Q&A "there's plenty of other product in the market" that treat of this issue.
The film treats of the evidence that emerged from Abu Ghraib, attempts to put it into context and allows those who took the blame to articulate their sense of rage, frustration, anger and hopelessness at what transpired. This sense transmits to the audience (at least from where I was sitting) where we're all sat at the end wondering how the hell we got here and despairing at providing an answer as to what we should have done about it. The film is interesting in providing a snapshot of how unaccountability at the command level contributes to despair which in turn drives a disassociating effect from the immediate circumstances. This could apply to Lynndie England, Sabrina Harman and Roman Krol(easily the most sinister and unrepentant character in the film) or just as equally to the US/UK itself, inured the the horrors played out daily throughout the world but completely devoid of any idea of how to resolve the problems. The photographs are returned to again and again and again.

Morris said that it has been his ambition to make a film "where the audience would wish they'd never been born". In Standard Operating Procedure (the term means the lawful manner in which prisoners can be mistreated without the act being, in itself, criminal) he comes close to achieving the goal. We are forced to confront our complicity in the acts that created Abu Ghraib, a POW camp in the middle of a free fire zone, devoid of authority and accountability in which the lowest orders were punished for preparing prisoners for the undocumented and enhanced abuse at the hands of CIA and Military Intelligence interrogators.

Standard Operating Procedure refers to the lawful manner in which prisoners can be mistreated without the act being, in itself criminal. In a harrowing sequence in the film an army CID investigator differentiates between photos depicting criminal acts (those featuring sexual humiliation, threatening inmates with dogs etc) and those depicting SOP (the most famous being the Hooded Man but others including men chained to railings and left to stand for hours). This is where the film really achieved Morris' goal of a non-fiction Horror movie; we now live in a world where prisoners can be chained, standing against bunks for hours before interrogation and strictly speaking there's nothing criminally wrong. It makes you feel dirty.

And that's before you get to the substantive issue of the photos which are central to the confusing and upsetting litany of degradation and horror that follows. The film is very ambiguous about the photos, their inspiration and the content- there is clear enjoyment of the act of photographing prisoners, corpses and abuse. There are revelations in the film which are profoundly disturbing and made me unsure about my disgust at the photos given that they are the only ones surviving from a damage limitation exercise- the horror at what you see gives way to the horror at what you haven't seen. It is the limitlessness of the despair of these conclusions that we truly wake in Morris' nightmare.

There's a lot to the film and I'm still processing it. I quote Morris from memory as I (stupidly) failed to bring a notebook, any corrections, comments and gripes welcome. I'm also eager to get the book co-authored by Morris and Philip Gourevitch. Morris' site and blog are really illuminating resources and are probably far better informed, argued and written than this.

Sardinian Salve.

Just back from a week's holiday in Sardinia. Relaxing.

Myself and the missus took drive into the mountains to check out the mural art in Orgosolo.

Orgosolo is a small rural village in the mountains in the islands interior. From a distance it looks like every other sun-baked italian hill town. As you approach the town you see the "Hungry Landowner of Orgosolo" a haunting image painted on rocks which brought to mind Titan's "Saturn devouring his son".


There are hundreds of murals all around the small town. Is that Robert Burns below?





It's really inspiring, the murals were initially painted by local schoolchildren in the '70's. The first murals were actually posters stuck up throughout the town.

Early themes covered the commemoration of resistance from World War II but also local issues such as the controversial proposal of a National Park in Gennargentu which would have displaced traditional shepherding in the area.

The Shepherd is a totemic figure in Sardinian culture and is a recurring motif in many of the murals.

Other themes cover the traditional obsessions of the Italian Left over the last 30 years, the war in Vietnam, industrial dispute, workers rights, political corruption, fascism and violence among the police.



The majority of murals have been painted by Francesco Del Casino and Pasquale Buesca with help and input from local children and citizens of Orgosolo. There is a real sense of vibrancy in the murals, contemporary subjects include the attack on the World Trade Centre, Gaza, the war in Iraq as well as global poverty, AIDS, debt and profiteering.


The style isn't particularly sophisticated, Picasso and Miro seem the overwhelming influences with Guernica being the obvious and repeated touchstone. But other influences seem to intervene, TV news and even Banksy references crop up in some of the more recent murals.



It was a great trip and the variety of murals was mind boggling for somewhere so small. Street art, whether murals or graffiti, is predominantly seen as an urban art form and it was captivating to see this kind of work in an unexpected context. There's one mural outside the town where two people are pictured in an embrace under bushes. It's a touching and magical piece of work, largely because it represents an intimacy and romance that is unexpected in a form that's ostensibly propagandist.

Politically many might find the earnest declamations a bit naive but it's a geniunely engaging piece of folk art with a genuine sense of community and moral authority than an awful lot of bland impenetrable contemporary public art in more urban surroundings.


Orgosolo reminded me a little of Stokes Croft in Bristol in a way. The two environments couldn't be more different but the direct intervention of local people in forging an independent creative environment that reflects the world as it appears to them is something that's inspiring.

Sardinia itself is a really wonderful place. We stayed near Bosa in the west of the island. Ate our own body weight in superb seafood and just hung about. There was an amazing barbeque in the place we were staying so we had some great steaks and sausage! Yum!

Explored some Nuraghe and churches and sat on the beach (in my case hiding under rocks with things tied around my head reading and listening to tunes!). Read John McGahern's amazing "That they may face the rising sun" which is an absolutely stunning meditation on community, age, farming, love and the passage of time. The description of agricultural life in Leitrim amongst my grandfather's generation provided a neat echo of the serene agricultural rhythms of an island that hasn't yet lost its sense of the pulse of the seasons.

It lives...

No updates for over a month.

Naughty, lazy, feckless wastrel.

Work's been busy and I've been on holidays.

Recent Underground Solushun acquisitions:

Four Tet- Ringer EP (Domino)
SL Break- Laguna Seca 12" (Philpot)
Luke Hess- Real to Real 12" (FXHE)
James Pants- Welcome LP (Stones Throw)
Daedalus- Fair Weather Friends EP (Ninja Tune)
Terrence Dixon- Climb EP (Nightvision)
Sub Club- 20 years underground CD (Soma)

Absolutely loving the Luke Hess and Terrence Dixon 12"s.

The subculture CD on the Sub Club compilation has me happy as a clam.
The Martian, Steve Poindexter, Jimmy Bo Horne, Galaxy to Galaxy.
*Sigh*
Harri and Dominic are just dreamy.

Anyways, enough guff. It's the Leith Gala today so that means heading down the Links this afternoon for some food and cold beer in the sun listening to Stevie Messenger's good time selections. The weather's looking good so it should be a nice afternoon, at least until the local heid the baws start getting surly.

Then it's off to Techno Matt's 30th birthday party and the inevitable dawn of random.

Nooz Rekirdz

It's payday friday, the missus is off away for the weekend.

All this means an hour was spent in record shops buying new tunes!
I've was seriously broke last month but there was lots to keep up with.

Sterac- Rond Bot EP (Delsin)
Theo Parrish- That Day/How I feel (Archive)
Darkstar- Need you/Squeeze my lime (Hyperdub)
Juan McLean- Happy House (DFA)
The Clone Machine- The Clone Machine (um, Clone)
Moodymanc- The preacher (Moodymanc)

oh, and finally found a copy of Omar S- Psychotic Photosynthesis!

WOOO!