Confessions of a Britpop Obsessive | Blur at IMMA 2013

Blur at IMMA - 1st August 2013

Going to see Blur at IMMA, Kilmainham three weeks ago was not a snap-decision.  Having heard the news of their upcoming concert as far back as March, I procrastinated wildly about buying a ticket for months. This was partly because other priorities [work] were taking precedence, but also because I was somewhat concerned that my fond memories of the band in their 90's prime would not be matched by their reunited, current version.

You see, Blur occupy a very special place in my heart - for, like so many others in attendance on the 1st of August - they were the band of my youth.  Having grown up in a house which force-fed its inhabitants with a strong grounding in all things musical [and depending on your taste, some pretty good rudiments - from Cohen and Morrison, to Cream and Fleetwood Mac, Bowie and everything in between] - Blur were the first band I felt were my band.

I didn't buy the frenzy of Britpop in its [sometime] teeny-bopper form, but instead marvelled at the burgeoning success of one of its key players - having discovered them when 'Modern Life is Rubbish' was their most recent offering, and 'Parklife' was waiting in the wings.  Being now at an age where I reckoned I'd last seen the band live, oh, twelve-or-something years so - I was somewhat shocked to realise, that, in fact, it was seventeen years since the last live experience.

Imagine, the excitement, then when I landed at IMMA, and to the Blur | 21 Exhibition, which charted the band over the course of their career in pictorial form. Those of us wandering around the Royal Hospital to a background soundtrack of B-sides, nodded deferentially to one another - all clearly remembering the NME, Melody Maker or Q Magazine we first saw an image in.  There were endearing vignettes to be enjoyed, including artwork with notations for various changes - the fodder of true fandom.  It all provided a marvellous entrée to the main event, which, I'm pleased to say was definitely on a par [dare I say, perhaps even better... though that might be tainted by age] with the last performance I had seen... some years earlier.

Though I've heard different reports since the concert - my own experience of the venue was very good - and it definitely provided a conducive environment for a [mainly] relatively mature audience.  An eclectic choice of support acts [The Strypes and Bat for Lashes] provided ample warm-up and I suspect there may well be quite a few converted fans as a result of their individual sets.  However, the fizzing nervous energy around the front of the pit was palpable as Blur's logo beamed onto the screens, and for what seemed like an eternity, intro music buzzed in the background and groups of fans chanted their personal favourites [I was just beside a large group of Italian fans, mauling 'Tender' and several other songs].  Thankfully, the arrival of the band onstage silenced all karaoke efforts with 'Girls and Boys' and well-and-truly, Blur were back, with serious gusto.

They seemed to be enjoying it too, as though the 'are-they-aren't-they' question abounds continually, Blur as a renewed collective just appear to be doing what feels right to them.  There was no stressed or laboured efforts with any of the songs, no inane chatter about being back on the road, rather a genuine sense that something's working well for them.  There were smiles and guffaws of laughter onstage, and plenty of water sprayed at the expectant crowd - the buzz was incredible.

Moving apace through a setlist which contained a 'favourite song' for everyone - whether your preference was mainly their early-days, Parklife or late-nineties / noughties - their energy was spectacular.  For this fan, I couldn't fault their choices - but was very glad 'For Tomorrow' and 'To The End' made the cut.  Having 'Tender' and its refrain sung, robustly, back to you must be quite a wonderful feeling - and as has happened at other recent concerts, this audience kept the chorus going.  A guest appearance from Phil Daniels for 'Parklife' brought us all rattling back to 1994 in three minutes, as well as trying to keep up with Phil's speedy delivery of 'Vorsprung Durch Technik' - and towards the encore which spliced last years' 'Under the Westway', with 'For Tomorrow', and 'The Universal'.

Of course, those wishing to pogo got another opportunity to do so - 'Song 2' ended the night - and left us reeling, hoping for more, and definitely, definitely wishing they'll be back.

Wilde at Heart

Photo Link - The Guardian

I'm having somewhat of a Wilde 'feast' at the moment.

Having developed a serious fondness for his plays over the years, as well as a genuine fascination for the man, and his foibles - I have garnered a hat-trick of Wilde this Autumn / Winter.

Starting with the London Classic Theatre production of 'Earnest' - a robust, charming and hugely entertaining version - followed by 'Judas Kiss' - and culminating in 'Windermere's Fan' at the end of next month.  This will be a Bruiser Theatre Company production, and, having enjoyed their Bertolt Brecht offering two years ago, I have every confidence it will be a star-turn.

However this post must be dedicated to the extraordinary experience that was 'Judas'... which I am still digesting.  Having petitioned family and friends to attend the David Hare play last night, I was more than mildly excited to see Rupert Everett [who I had loved as Algie and Lord Arthur Goring] - and I can say, without hesitation, I was not disappointed.  I was, in fact, welded to my seat.

There are many great performances, however the night belongs to Everett's Wilde and Freddie Fox, who played Bosie with fervour and dedication.  To encapsulate the chief machinations of the play in a blog is to serve it an injustice.  Those of you with any interest in Wilde or simply a tendency towards wishing to see this play - just do it.

Though the ultimate story is Wilde's final betrayal, it is its gradual depiction that unfolds before the audience, amid trademark Wilde wit and stunning dialogue.

The excess and unreality of Wilde's existence at a time when it was becoming increasingly clear that he was almost certainly sealing his own fate, is illuminated in the first act.  Bosie's duplicitous, narcissistic, nature is superbly acted alongside a blinkered but resilient and unflinching Wilde.  It's a heady concoction.

Suffice to say that the darkness of Wilde's existence in Naples could not be illustrated more clearly - its bleakness is devastating - and Everett's precise execution of this shambling, resigned man is heartbreaking.

Reading the programme note after the play last night, a question his grandson, Merlin Holland says he wishes he could ask of  his grandfather is, simply,  "why?".  "Judas Kiss" perhaps doesn't elucidate the answer, but it certainly provides an exquisitely rich depiction of the backdrop to the decision.

"Control"... Beyond Biopic

This photo is a direct link to: Wikipedia

I have to admit to being a bit of a novice when it comes to Joy Division, however anyone with any semblance of interest in music would need to have been living under a rock not to know of this preeminent band, and the tragic, premature demise of their front-man, Ian Curtis.

"Control", released in late 2007, was a film I had planned to see, but for whatever reason, didn't - until Friday night.  It's an extraordinary movie, not least because of the story it tells, and how that story unfolds.  Back-lit by Ian's immense talent, complexity and darkness, "Control" leads you through a series of events - the defining highs and catastrophic lows - resulting in Ian's decision to take his own life.  At times, the viewer finds themselves uplifted by Ian's youthful adoration of Deborah, his wife and the intensity with which he pursues success for Joy Division - but at all times, you're cognisant of the fact that this man was utterly different to his surroundings and those occupying them.  His descent from the brave [betimes, brashly-so], intensely intelligent, poetic and witty man, to the frightened, isolated, addled individual he leaves us as, is a stark and heart-wrenching portrait of his sense of the world and what little choice it had left him.

Corbijn's dexterity as Director is well-illustrated in his ability to transpose Curtis's emotional terror and turbulence through lighting, colour and imagery - the result of which is a penetrating and emotionally rich depiction.  The music [played live by the cast, an admirable and just decision] provides a robust centre-piece, around which the story revolves.  An impeccable ensemble of actors adds boundless weight to the film - particularly actors Sam Riley and Samantha Morton, playing Ian and Deborah Curtis.  At times, you can find yourself second-guessing whether it is Curtis you're watching during performance scenes, such is Riley's ferocious embodiment of the singer.

This modern tale of a man - talented beyond his own comprehension or management, battling reality, decisions and circumstances beyond his control - despite the darkness of its content, is exquisitely depicted.

Curtis's inevitable death is shocking, despite your awareness of its impending arrival; and the delicate orchestration of what, in essence, is such a brutal end of life, adds more weight to this sentiment.  Having lost a friend many years ago to the same end [at the exact same age as Ian Curtis] those closing scenes regenerated some old feelings, particularly that gut-wrenching finality of suicide.

All that can be said is this: Curtis was definitely unique in his extraordinary talent, but like many before him and some contemporary examples, he became a victim of circumstance.  The man's sensitivity and ability, and the decisions he made lead him toward a minefield from which he could see no return.  As the credits roll, you find yourself thinking: twenty-three. It was just the start of things. But he couldn't see that.  All that was left was darkness.

"All You Need Is Love"

All You Need Is Love - Tony Palmer
Image: Wikipedia

... and I'm not referring to the eponymous Beatles' tune.  A must-see for those of you who relish a little reverie in musical history now and again.  I'm currently making my way through this box-set, having chosen "Go Down, Moses" for my first viewing.  This particular episode brings the viewer through musical history in the context of protest and war, featuring many of my own particular favourites - Cohen, Dylan etc - against a backdrop of social and cultural activity.

It's truly compulsive viewing, and the educational journey you're brought on in the process is part of the enjoyment.  Palmer collects a wonderful, colourful collage; there are interviews with individuals such as Phil Spector [renowned for, amongst other things, being inaccessible for interview], interspersed with shots of live performance, and moments of nudity [Mr. Leonard Cohen, in a swimming pool].

There's a broad but deft usage of all varieties of media, including photography, interviews, performance and excerpts of contemporary historic reference.  The overall impact is something of great relevance - musically, culturally and historically.  Go forth and view, folks!

The Trouble with Amy

Photo Copyright: AmyWinehouse.Com

I remember, vividly, first seeing Amy Winehouse circa 2003; she was appearing on a particularly staid, wooden weekend Irish chat-show.  The stark juxtaposition between Amy's radiating, beyond-her-years talent and those drab TV surroundings was comedic - and I found myself sitting back and wondering what I'd just seen.  There was a sass, an assured composure to her - but not in a brash or lippy way.  And a definite sense that she had an otherworldly talent which harked back to her many influences -  from Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan to Frank Sinatra and the Shangri-Las.  


This was the start of a fond fascination with Amy and her music for me, and I'm guessing, many others.  


"Frank" provided an adept, acerbic-witted and musically-informed insight to Amy's talent, but "Back to Black" really was her epic moment.  It was, and is, an illuminating rumination on love, loss, hurt and turmoil to a wonderfully arranged musical backdrop.  Though Amy almost definitely polarised opinion, she also spanned generations in her following - "Back to Black" provided a soundtrack to heartbreak, discovery, redemption... filling floors and becoming a staple of Karaoke machines in the process.

Having tried, unsuccessfully, to catch one of her elusive concerts over the years, I maintained a level of intrigue, intertwined with a level of terror, in Amy Winehouse. This woman - two years younger than me - had appeared to enter a zone of deconstruction from which few ever return.  The songs weren't important any more - the ceaseless coverage in trashy magazines and red-tops took precedence - and Amy became a media rag-doll, tossed about on headlines of drug-abuse, blood-stained ballet pumps and shambolic concerts.

This time last year, I woke from a post-wedding recovery nap to hear Reuters reports of Amy's death.  It may sound naive, but I couldn't believe it - however unsurpising it was. Though her seemingly chaotic private life had eclipsed her enormous talent, I somehow felt [or at least, hoped] she would battle on and reconnect with her musicality.  Reading the recent Q Magazine article, it seemed Amy's "before her time" resonance was reflected in many ways.  The world became a threatening place for her, and she sought refuge in things and places which didn't nurture her, but instead drove her into self-loathing and darkness.  I cannot put into words just how tragic it is; that she died in a haze of alcoholic poisoning when, as all reportage has inferred, her life appeared to be turning a corner, for the better.

There is then, immense poignancy to a statement [roughly paraphrased] from an interview with Amy following "Frank"'s release - when answering a question related to what she wanted to achieve with her music career, she spoke of her frustration at the thought that she might die, and leave no musical legacy.  To not have touched anyone with her music.  I've often wondered if Amy had a sixth-sense, that she knew, somehow that she would burn bright, but burn fast? Whether she could tell that her music would leave an indelible imprint on many, but in the process - she would deconstruct.

The only certainty is the reality - we'll never know.

We'll never know what might have been if Amy could have hung on a bit longer; if she'd reignited that genius writing talent, and that sultry, magnificent vocal range, so reminiscent of the blues and jazz singers she loved. The aforementioned Q article talked, very aptly, of Amy's ability to inhabit a song... and there's no clearer an example of this than her duet with Paul Weller for "Don't Go To Strangers".

A year has passed, and still, I find myself listening to her songs, cognisant of a sense that she isn't gone at all. I can't explain it.  Perhaps it's the fact that Amy decided, without realising, there was one thing she couldn't do, and some things she didn't know how not to.  One thing's for sure, there are many of us touched by her musical legacy... and we always will be.

"I tread a troubled track/my odds are stacked/I'll go back to black"
Back to Black, 2006

Westport's "Classtonbury" Returns for Year Two...

Photo Copyright: Westport Festival of Music and Performing Arts

If this was a tweet, it would read something like this "I'm-ever-so-'appy! Classtonbury is back for yr two".  Well done, Westport Festival of Music and Performing Arts, you played a blinder.  

Obviously, I wasn't the happiest woman in Ireland more recently, having experienced the Phoenix Park in all its glory.  However, as I mentioned, I had been somewhat spoiled.  The Westport Festival of Music and Performing Arts, or Classtonbury as I have chosen to rename it, is a joy to behold.  Situated on the wondrous grounds of Westport House, the festival really is a classy gig... not simply because, unlike many other festivals, it has tailored its style to a less "let's pack the place out" business stance, but also its offering, which is less of a festival, and more of an experience.  One which attracts folk spanning at least three generations, all seeking the same thing - music - but not at any cost.

Y'see, music festivals are an experience: one to be enjoyed, not tolerated or suffered.  On the basis of that statement, I may be accused of being a "young fogie" and maybe I am, but why would you selectively subject yourself to torturous, disorganised, cramped madness when you could enjoy food, beer [or wine] and an array of wonderful artists in harmonious circumstances?

Indeed.  What about the delightful Irish weather conditions, I hear you ask? Well, you can't legislate for them, but you can almost certainly provide an atmosphere which allows people to enjoy music despite the weather.  I'll never forget the "stair-rod"-like rain which fell during the Waterboys set...  at a certain point, I had to concede defeat, and retreat.  However, there was a vehemency in my need to soldier on for Ray Davies.  And I did.  

I wasn't concerned that it'd take about five hours [yes, I'm exaggerating] to get back to the stage, or make my way to a decent standpoint... I could ramble over, and without having to ram my way through, get a good spot just far enough up to feel like I could see something of the man himself.  And not on a screen two hundred feet away.

I'm in business, and I know well that scalability is mandatory for sustainability and growth... but equally, being "niche" and catering for specific audiences is key.  There may be selfish reasons underpinning this next statement, however, I am resolute in my belief that this festival will grow and develop its following on the basis of maintaining what made it so damn special the first time around.  And that is the classy, boutique, warm, and downright welcoming vibe that enveloped people wandering through the gates of the great house just a few weeks ago.

So, please, Classtonbury, don't lose what made you so special in year one! Oh... and I can't wait to see who'll be making an appearance in the line-up for 2013.

Martha: A Pretty Spectacular Piaf Concert... Sans Fusils, Ni Souliers, A Paris

Copyright: Martha Wainwright

I'm certainly not a Piaf afficionado... but this is a pretty remarkable concert to catch a glimpse of.  Stumbling across the film a few weeks back, I was completely consumed by the atmosphere apparent in this extraordinarily brave, tangibly warm and tactile experience of Edith Piaf's musical history.

Martha Wainwright is demonstrably elegant in her rendition of Piaf's songs, and though there is a slight sense of nervousness at the enormity of the task at hand  - her delicate and intelligent carriage of these extraordinary songs, amidst the guttural rumble of the music, is indisputable.

Wainwright captures in a well-managed, but careful manner, the qualities of the songs - their implied thematic emblems, sadness and equally, occasional joyfulness. A good reference to this - the stomping, reverential "Non, La Vie, N'est Pas Triste", alongside the beatific, melodic "Marie Troitroir" and "C'est a Hambourg".

It's also quite wonderful for music nerds to behold Garth Hudson of the Band making an appearance,  for "Hudsonia", as well as Martha's mother, the late Kate McGarrigle [a voice I grew up with thanks to my Mum's love of the McGarrigle sisters] providing support vocally and musically.


"Sans Fusils, Ni Souliers, A Paris" is something you should get lost in - because you can.  Amidst rolling piano, smokey vocals, string section and gutter-y guitar, there is a wonderful gift to immerse yourself in. Enjoy.