The good, the bad and the ugly in books, exhibitions, cinema, TV, dance, music, podcasts and theatre.
Amidst the coruscating party conference commentary might I just slip in a small musical note akin to that so enjoyed by Matthew Parris in his terrific article in this week’s Spec? He was entranced by a single phrase played on the violin, cutting through the artificial flurry and tension before the transmission of a live
Have you Herd? If you haven’t already done so, buy a copy of Mark Earl’s Herd: How to Change Mass Behaviour By Harnessing Our True Nature It sounds sinister, but there’s not much harnessing in it and lots of exciting ideas about what it is to be human. Mark’s thesis is that we’re basically group
There’s more to folk these days than dodgy beards and cable-knit sweaters and it’s clear why Bellowhead, instigators of an outbreak of frenzied folkish foot-stomping at Shepherd’s Bush Empire on Wednesday, picked up Best Live Act in this year’s BBC Radio Two Folk Awards. Fronted by the charismatic Jon Boden, and underpinned by a riotous
Researchers confirm that rock’n’roll stars lead unhealthy lives and die young. Shockerooni!
I have a piece in today’s Independent on the downfall of Amy Winehouse, an extended version of my post earlier this week. Which just goes to show that where Coffee House leads, the press follows.
There is something more than usually grotesque about the slow-motion downfall of Amy Winehouse being played out daily in the media. As the singer and her appalling husband holiday in St Lucia, their respective parents are fighting a shameful proxy battle at home, with her father-in-law, Giles, calling on Amy’s fans to boycott her records
This Tim Luckhurst piece for (who else?) The Guardian may be the dumbest thing even this professional contrarian has ever written. Apparently Elvis made “dull music for duller people” and “affection for Elvis is a workable predictor of anti-intellectual attitude”. Mr Luckhurst concludes that: The only credible claim that can be made on Elvis Presley’s
Stuart Reid suggests that if we really want to pay a fitting tribute to Elvis thirty years on from his untimely demise we should put up Lawdy Miss Clawdy. So here it is:
I do not know whether, as was so often claimed, Tony Wilson, who has died aged 57, was a genius. But, as music mogul, club entrepreneur, loudmouth and zealous Mancunian, he was certainly one of the most important and remorseless figures in British popular culture of the past 30 years. Immortalised by Steve Coogan’s performance
“Can you believe it?” Every time Barbra Streisand remembered how long it was since she had first sung a song, visited a town, tried a local delicacy – “1961!” – 23,000 adoring fans agreed that, no, it was quite unbelievable. Most of the audience at the 02 arena last night could not quite believe they
Read Matthew d’Ancona’s Live Earth reports: Live from Live Earth, Rocking for the Planet, Gore’s message is confusing, can Geri be clearer?, Let’s save this funny old world, Nan-archy in the UK, The Excellence of Tree Stock, Turning it up to 11 and Nobody does it better.
There are few sights in Western civilisation to compare with Spinal Tap performing ‘Stonehenge’ and it is at least arguable that the risk of impending apocalypse caused by climate change was worth it to get Nigel, the boys and the dancing dwarves back on stage. Two billion people watching around the world are surely happier
Teatime has come and gone here at Tree-Stock, and we have yawned our way through tepid sets by Corinne Bailey Rae and the insufferably wimpy Keane. Don’t send a bunch of boys to play a man’s stadium. Thank God for Metallica who are presently restoring some sinew and cojones to proceedings. Front man James Hetfield
Call it ‘nan-archy’: the anarchy of rock’n’roll grafted onto the spirit of the nanny state. The Red Hot Chili Peppers bounce and rave pleasingly in front of a huge rolling message board which instructs us to recycle our old mobiles, not to wash our towels too often, and to ‘rethink’ how we bring our shopping
Almost exactly 24 years ago, in July 1983, the IRA planned to kill Charles and Diana by bombing a Duran Duran concert at the Dominion, Tottenham Court Road. I was at that gig, aged 15, and here I am again, aged 39, watching the same band and trying to work out whether Simon Le Bon
After a jurassic start, the joint is jumping now: Razorlight were as sharp as their name, and Dundee’s finest, Snow Patrol, turned in a stunning set, the highlight of which was Open Your Eyes. Although lead singer Gary Lightbody should think twice about the golf jumper. Kasabian up soon. I feel I am doing my
So farewell, George Melly. There isn’t much fun left in jazz any more; it takes itself so seriously. George didn’t — always having fun, listening to his favourite Bessie Smith records. He was one of the last generation of jazz musicians to enjoy his work and to convey that feeling to his audience; he
Amid the acres of coverage devoted to the 40th anniversary of Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the most celebrated record in pop history, one irony has been overlooked. The album was considered as ephemeral as any other when it came out, but has grown mightier and mightier; the company that made it, on the
Where better to spend the last night of the Blair era than in the company of ageing rockers? These days, The Who smash their tambourines rather than their guitars. But, other than that, they are still as sharp as the sharpest Carnaby Street winkle pickers and as taut as the tires on a brand new
If you think Glastonbury is silly, click on the BBC News website and watch the clip of 2,000 heavy metal fans playing Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” in Stuttgart. This, as any fule kno, is one of the most over-rated songs in the history of pop music, plodding and portentous, opening with a mindless
One of the many things which makes me love Edward Elgar is that both the man and his music are so tremendously unfashionable. No wonder tax-funded quangos set up to ‘promote culture’, and run by New Labour bureaucrats, are refusing to mark his 150th birthday. He does not correspond with their criteria of approval at
Reading James Delingpole’s fine piece about ‘the best music festival in the universe’ brought it all flooding back. Twenty years ago, buoyed by rave reviews such as James’s, I headed for Glastonbury full of starry-eyed hope and excitement. What followed were three days of unremitting misery, memories of which haunt me to this day. Torrential rain,
Sergeant Pepper always cheers me up because – aside from its musical brilliance – it is slightly older than I am. Today’s papers are full of readable celebrations of the album’s anniversary, including a Guardian leader and a “where is she now?” piece in The Times on the Lucy of “Lucy in the Sky with
One of the guests at our third Elgar concert at The Spectator’s offices in Old Queen Street last night shrewdly pointed out the oddity that the great composer does not seem to travel as well as, say, Vaughan Williams. Listening to Madeleine Mitchell (violin) and Nigel Clayton (piano) perform the sublime Violin Sonata (Op. 82)
I’ve heard the Iraq war blamed for many things but this one takes the biscuit. According to an analyst on the Today Programme, our abject failure in the Eurovision Song Contest is a consequence of the ill-feeling created by the invasion of Iraq. Have a listen here, the clip starts at 7.48am.
There’s an article in The Guardian today on Sir Simon Rattle, conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, that’s well worth reading. The thesis of the piece is: “What Rattle is attempting is a musical form of multiculturalism, in which the orchestra’s brilliance lies not so much in their competence in one repertoire, but how the musicians
What is the peculiar magic of string quartets? Ian McEwan posed this question when I interviewed him recently. It came to mind again during an enchanting evening at the Spectator’s Westminster offices last night, as the Bridge Quartet gave a sublime performance of Elgar’s music, including the String Quartet in E minor. The event renewed
Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess is a masterpiece, whatever other category one finds for it. It is bursting with vitality, it has a larger number of memorable, indeed unforgettable tunes than any work of comparable length in the 20th century, whether opera or musical. And what counts still more for its stature is that the great
The sixtysomething Mick Jagger is currently bringing tears of nostalgia to all eyes as he relives his glory days of 40 years ago, singing pop songs. In one respect, at any rate, Cicero would have applauded him, as he explains in his essay On Old Age (44 bc). De senectute is an imaginary conversation staged