Midlake, John Grant, Jason Lytle.

When:
7th Nov 2010

Where:
Vickers Street, Dublin

The Gig:
What a line up! I've been a Jason Lytle (Grandaddy) fan for years and recently have been loving John Grant's King of Denmark album. These two provided stellar support for the towering Midlake.

Jason played a combination of Grandaddy songs and solo material to a half-full (but fully devoted) crowd. Ever wondered whether it's possible to base an entire oeuve on the ephemeral nature of technology as a metaphor for the decline of human relationships? No, me neither but Jason continues to plough this rich furrow beautifully. Midlake are clearly big Grandaddy fans as their excellent, if somewhat derivative, debut album Bamnan And Silvercork will evince.

Next up was John Grant, former singer with The Czars. His solo album has been a familiar soundtrack in our house so long as I'm the only one it it. I think my wife finds it a little overblown and melodramatic. I know what she means but it's redeemed utterly to my ears by Grant's mordant wit and poetic lyricism. Live, he blew the (now three quarters full) crowd away, those sublimely acerbic songs delivered in a rich baritone. If it wasn't for the fact that WORLD'S BEST BAND were up next on a tight schedule we wouldn't have let him leave.

I love Midlake. My five year old daughter goes to sleep each night listening to The Courage of Others. After a fourteen hour shift of constant activity the music seems to enchant her into slumber and she rarely makes it past Winter Dies. A powerful tool. I'm 43 years of age and I'm insanely happy to have an absolute favourite band again. They played for an hour and a half but it flew by in a heartbeat. Their orchestral, yet trippy, arrangements washed over me and the beautiful, otherworldly lyrics made my spine tingle. Time stood still and as I stood there, sipping my whiskey, a manly tear or two may have fallen (brackishly) down my face. But that's not definite.

The Audience:
Predominantly my own age group. The guy next to me had the same shirt as me. Red check. We agreed not to tell anyone how cheap they were. Soon after, he almost got into a fight with some drunk dude in front of him. No idea why. A fight at a Midlake gig! Unthinkable.

Food & Drink:
The usual fizzy keg, hangover inducing muck we get over in Ireland. I stuck with Kingsley Amis's favourite breakfast tipple. Large whiskey (Jameson's) and water.

It Made Me Think...:
About the olden times. 1891.

Anne Scott

This is singer songwriter Ann Scott. She's playing tonight in Galway's famous Roisin Dubh. She's really rather good. You can listen to her here.

You don't need to "poke" her.

Poetic Champion Composes

This week I've been listening, almost exclusively, to Villagers. Villagers are a band from Dublin but really they're just Conor O'Brien. When I first heard (let's call them) him supporting Wild Beasts in Galway I thought he was pretty good. Then I got the record and I thought it was merely decent. Someone told me it was a bit patchy so I figgered that it must be a bit patchy. Like so many others this record was destined for THE PILE. I caught the start of his set at Latitude and left, not due to ambivalence but, because the kids were hungry again. I think I have a tendency to assume that stuff, and not just music, is going to turn out average. Most stuff really does.

But I was wrong about this. A week's immersion has shown that the record isn't patchy. It's damn close to perfect. It's really got under my skin and, in the words of Elbow's Guy Garvey, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. Conor O'Brien strikes me as a very serious, poetic young man. I heard him play live on the radio last night and he's already deconstructing, simplifying the form of his songs. Letting the poetry out.

Another serious, poetic young Irishman had the supreme confidence to do this at a similar age back in the early seventies. I'm talking about Van Morrison. And that's not just by way of shoehorning a clever reference to title of this 'piece'. Honest it isn't.

Here he is on Other Voices.

Arrive'n'Jive

The main prerequisite of this dance competition, it would seem, is that you have to physically turn up. It doesn't appear that simply frolicking around your kitchen to the unparalleled, joyous soul-funk of Earth Wind and Fire whilst striking wooden spoons against various percussive surfaces will be given any special consideration by the judges this year. Harsh.

Radiohead : Amnesiac (#1)

I could easily pick The Bends or, of course, OK Computer but if I am really honest I'm on the sick side of both of these superb albums by this stage. One or two listens a year would be plenty and that wouldn't be much use if I was, quite literally, stranded on an island.

(As indeed I am for the purposes of this self indulgent exercise I've decided to bore you with).

After OK Computer came the abstract, genre-bending Kid A which just sounded plain weird. This was quickly followed by Amnesiac which, largely due to relentless exposure to Kid A, sounded only a bit weird. Now it doesn't sound any weirder than strictly necessary. It's an utterly inspiring album and it blasted joyously from Wiltshire into Somerset out the wee Citroën thing I'm driving this week.

(If it must be a ladies car then let it be a Citroën C1.)

Anyway Amnesiac is in. At a push, but not that much of a push, it would serve as my 2nd jazz choice.

Talking at Gigs

Talking during gigs is an absolute no-no. There was a fair bit of ill-mannered chit-chat during the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy gig last night. Such was the absolute splendour of the man's spellbinding performance, I abandoned my golden AVOID CONFRONTATION AT ALL COSTS rule and told the guy filibustering next to me to SHUT UP. He looked over at me angrily. I looked back. Then we both looked down at the guy in the wheelchair he'd been talking to. Quite possibly he'd been describing what was happening up on the stage. The bald, wild-eyed Tennessean poet holding the audience in the palm of his hand (not literally, he's not a giant and the audience weren't microscopic). His too short checked shirt, beer belly and horse-shoe moustache more suggestive of an Appalachian cotton field than the Galway races. I admit I felt a bit guilty. Chatty-boy clearly felt he was in the right. So, is it ok to talk to people in wheelchairs at gigs?

Eh, NOPE.

Latichood (ii)

Greenpeace

The sign outside the Greenpeace tent proclaimed:
"Best Sandwiches in Suffolk - Jamie Oliver".
"Best in Suffolk, Darlin'", he undoubtedly said when asked about the sandwiches. They were bits of white bread with butter and either cheese or vegemite in the middle.
~~~
In the queue for two coffees and two hot chocolates. Ten servers asked me, in turn, if they could help. I explained to nine of them that I was already being served. Nice people. Roughly a hundred piercings between them. When I got to the front two coffees but no hot chocolate. Consternation all the way down the line.

"He said he was being served"
"I thought you were getting them"
"I gave them to that lady"

Nice people. You just wouldn't want them in any sort of ... well, anything really.

Oxfam

Thirteen hundred hours. Already eighty quid gone today. Somehow. Juice, crisps, ice lollies, ice cream, burgers, chips. God knows what else. As we passed the Oxfam tent I asked the lady if she'd be interested in borrowing my kids for studies into childhood hunger. She solemnly declined but asked if I'd mind filling in a form. Then she asked me for money. Ninety.

Trespass

Being a strange logo to put on a tent. Asking for trouble.

Paul Heaton

He passed out a bottle of Cognac which was to be passed back to him empty 'cos he's a sound bloke and likes to give away hard liquor. I found myself taking a glug in the afternoon sun which, truth be told, went down rather well with the pear cider I was already drinking.
~~~
The guy next to me asked me to hold his pint and then used both hands to pull up his fly. "Thanks" he said, taking back his pint. "Welcome", I replied, thinking 'couldn't he have managed that with one hand?'. I felt used and vaguely soiled but any number of things could have been responsible for that!

Mustering

Before Midlake. The best band at Latitude. Or anywhere.

Latichood (i)

James Joyce
Very early start for the ferry. Dublin to Holyhead. In the interminable queue a large advert for Stenna encourages us to use the ferry. (There's an idea). The sign says that James Joyce chose to take the boat when he left Ireland (forever) [1] in 1902 over, one can only assume, some pretty stiff competition from hot air balloon and sea horse.
[1] ignoring his four return visits

RTE 1
Driving off the ferry surprised to find RTE radio 1 still tuned in. The Angelus clear as a bell. A call to prayer. More echoes of Joyce. That's part why he left I'm given to believe.

Goats
Or sheep, if you insist, but certainly seen through drink.

Vimpto
Among the weird and wonderful rock formations at Brimham, formed during and (to a lesser extent) after the Devensian glaciation there was a lot of ill-mannered litter. None more so than this pathetic bottle of Vimpto which I can only assume was discarded back in the old days when kids used to drink the vile "fruit" concoction.


The Beatles
Driving back listening to Revolver. My ongoing tolerance from WORLD'S GREATEST BAND severely tested by "Here There And Everywhere" being immediately followed by "Yellow Submarine". From the sublime to the ridiculous.

Hair cut
The phrase "false economy" springs into mind.


In Lancashire
But straddling the Yorkshire border. Very sexy.

Music for the hard of thinking

Yes, back in the good old days before all the gays stole our pop stars and made them all gay. And with that the innocence of our childhood.

Is that what they're getting at here?

NuYorican Fun

New York Fun used to be my very favourite kind of music. Then I discovered NuYorican Fun. Which is similar. But even funner.

Call to Prayer

We were in this pub listening to the "Old" De Dannan. Between tunes, I informed them that, good as they were, they weren't in the same class as the "New" De Dannan. I generally like to take things too far in these situations and this was no exception. They laughed uncomfortably at the drunken Jock.

Then this old fella came on and sang a few songs. Silence prevailed utterly and it felt like a call to prayer. He sang in the old style and he was awful or great depending on your taste. Maybe both.

I took this picture to show you what he looks like and how he sounds. He sounds exactly how he looks, you see.

4FM

And then stuck a freshly sharpened pencil deep into each ear causing catastrophic auditory impairment.

Dry Your Eyes Mate

In the car the other day with the kids. They were fighting in the back like normal. Just generally making noise and not letting me listen to the music which was The Streets, "A Grand Don't Come For Free".

Then the majestic "Dry Your Eyes Mate" came on and we had four minutes and twenty nine seconds of utter, rapt silence. The power of powerful music can be something to behold.

"Put that one on again Dad", the youngest one said. So I did, even in the knowledge that the line "I'm not gonna fuckin', just fuckin' leave it all now" was about to put their daily "fuck" level up to at least four.

Curious George For Piano

In terms of complexity this is on a par with Rachmaninov's third piano concerto.

White Flag

This is Gorillaz from last night's Later. In his understandable desire to avoid the lamentable musical tourism and cultural appropriation characterised in the work of, er, Paul Simon, Albarn, that great musical unifier, gives centre stage to rappers Mos Def, Kano & Bashy, the Syrian National Orchestra for Oriental Arabic Music and Damon only knows who else. The main man contents himself with playing nothing more than a large acoustic white flag.

BUZZ FACTOR

After 5 years of intensive research in which the tears of deceased drug-addicts were mixed with nothing more than common Chinese ear wax, scientists have discovered that Kylie Minogue is Britain's most popular celebrity. This technique, "distinct universal level latency asset reverence determination", which measures "BUZZ FACTOR", placed the petite Antipodean singer ahead of Cheryl Cole by nearly fifty thousand dullards.

Trailing behind in the dullard stakes were David Beckham, Ant & Dec and Joanna Lumley.

The whole true story here.

You're Never Coming Back

I love this song but until recently I'd blithely assumed that the fragrant Alison would also be going on the rocket.

The scene of her waving me off at the end of the video kinda knocks that on the head.

It's a Drum'n'Bass Ting

What is it?
Why it's a drum'n' bass ting, of course.
Sounds awesome. Even to me, 42.

Pub Quiz

Last night, entirely by mistake, we found ourselves in a pub where they were having a quiz.

"Who replaced Glen Matlock as the Sex Pistols bassist?".
Sid Vicious.

"Who, in 1982, described Mount Everest as being littered with rubbish from base to tip?"
No idea. Sherpa Tenzing?

Then, a very strange, opinionated question.
"Which musical genius sprung to prominence with Riverdance?"

An easy one surely. All around us people frantically whispering and scribbling down the wrong answer. To a question which literally has no answer.

Sellotape Trick

Ear phones sellotaped over her ears to stop them falling off (only a bottle of wine could have inspired such genius).

She's listening to Abba. Super Trouper. The rest of us to Leonard Cohen. Hallelujah.

Eldest daughter. "Is this Hallelujah?"
"Yes, the original".
Youngest, shouting. "It's not Hallelujah, it's Super Trouper".
"No we're listening to Hallelujah", I say.
Shouting even louder, "IT'S SUPER TROUPER"

This could easily have gone on either until the next track came on or her ear phones fell off again. Deadlock. The notion that we all weren't listening to Super Trouper just eluding her.

It's quite complex.