Art opening - The music photography of Jim Simpson

This week I was lucky enough to be invited to the opening of a fabulous photography exhibition, that I would encourage anyone to drop in on if they get a chance.

Havill & Travis is a new art gallery opened on Lonsdale road in Harborne, run by music promoter Dave Travis and fine art printer Gerv Havill.  The light and pleasant space is home this November to some spectacular photography from Jim Simpson, who was a musician himself, and later manager of the legendary Black Sabbath (represented here, photographed in Simpson's garden).

The black and white images, all captured in the 60s, show true global rock royalty on trips to the West Midlands.  There are hugely striking photos of Little Richard, at his most impish and mischievous, as well as unshowy portraits of Brian Jones, Mick Jagger, Chuck Berry, The Move and an frankly stunning picture of the wonderful Nina Simone.

What is great in this small collection is not just that it adds to the iconic images we already have of these greats, but that there are also more intimate, candid shots of the musicians in full flow.  The late Jack Bruce grinning with a silly hat, or his drummer in Cream, Ginger Baker, lost in solo.  Also powerful is the inclusion of the audience in a number of the pictures, close to the performers, not always the flower-children we associate with the period, but ordinary Brummies, enjoying a show after a hard day (one imagines) on the shop floor.  One picture especially stuck me, of the Moody Blues performing in a club in Erdington, with the slightly dangerous-looking 60s lighting display stripping away the rock and roll legend and reminding us that these venues and people were real and despite seeming it, perhaps not that far removed from us today.

A Streetcar Named Desire - National Theatre Live @ The Electric Cinema

OK, so it wasn't live, live as I couldn't get tickets for that, but this was an "encore performance" of a live transmission of show, which was seen at over 1000 cinemas worldwide, live as it was performed in front of an audience at the New Vic, London.

Now I know what we have great theatre productions here in Brum, but let's not be too precious here, anything that extends access to these shows has to be a good thing, right?

The Electric is just perfect for this sort of thing too, such a wonderful building, and anywhere you can get served beer and olives whilst at your seat can't really do anything wrong in my eyes.


So, what's it like going to see a play at a cinema?  Surprisingly good, I felt.  My main worry was whether the sound was going to be poor, echoing unnaturally and detracting from the nuance of the performance.  I needn't have worried, the sound, and visuals, were captured well, whilst not trying to pretend that this wasn't live theatre - the audience were visible throughout, bringing the viewer into the experience.

As for the production?  A really electrifying performance all around, with Gillian Anderson especially powerful as the doomed Blanche, all self-delusion and fluttering movement.  It's not an easy watch, dealing as it does with some pretty grim subject matter, but leavened with moments of humour that just about make it bearable.

I imagine an actually live performance (as opposed to pre-recorded) would add an extra frisson to proceedings, really bringing the cinema viewer into the audience as much as those in the theatre itself, a feeling perhaps slightly distanced from those watching a recorded performance.  However, whether live or recorded, this is a format which has a lot of potential, and kudos to the Electric for embracing it.

The Society of Authors - Awards

 

 

Recently I was fortunate enough to be invited to the prize giving bash of the Society of Authors, an organisation that exists to serve the interests of writers.  As an avid reader but many miles from being a professional writer, I did feel slightly like an interloper, but I am very glad I went.

As well as having the opportunity to see giants such as A.L. Kennedy and Philip Pullman in the flesh, the evening was a great chance to see writers in a kind of "home fixture".  The awards are presented for fiction, non-fiction and poetry and have categories by age of the writer, but what really separated them from the myriad other literary gongs was, for me, a sense of them being for writers, by writers.

 

I am sure that any recognition is welcome and rewarding for writers, but there must be something especially thrilling in being lauded by one's peers - others who really know what a tough job it is to actually get a whole damn book written down and out there.  A.L Kennedy, who presented the awards and gave an electrifying speech summed it up much better than I could hope to, and I won't attempt to paraphrase her, other than to say that she emphasised just how vital a job it is, to be able to evoke strong emotions in people you will never meet.  If you have spent years alone in a room forcing your ideas onto recalcitrant pages, I suspect you could never be told too often that you have made this connection.


I once saw a famous writer whose work I loved, sitting in a café, and agonised as to whether I should approach her and say how much her recent book had moved me, and made me see the world in a different way.  Would this seem creepy?  Intrusive?  Why on earth should she care what I think?  In the end I did so, and apologised for approaching her - she looked quizzical and asked why I would think she wouldn't want to hear such a positive reaction from a reader.  She may have just been being polite, of course, but I like to think that it was a good thing to do, to let them know that their work has really left a mark somewhere, in the heart of a total stranger.


Oh, and I also was alerted to "Idiopathy" by Sam Byers, an electric debut novel about thirty-something life that has had me actually laughing out loud, something that comic novels rarely do...

Where to get your coffee from

Guests at my house are often diplomatic about our choice of furniture, and turn a blind eye to the state of the garden, but one thing I do get compliments about is the coffee we brew.  I claim no credit for this, as it is a blend my partner puts together.  I won't tell you exactly how she does it (I couldn't - even if I knew, but it's an alchemical mystery to me.)  However, I can reveal where we source our raw materials from, and if anyone knows anywhere better in the region, I would love to hear of it. 

It's called "ARCO - all about coffee" and is in central Lichfield.  It's a little place, pleasingly traditional (to the extent of not having a website, at least, one I can find) with a good spread of roasts and tastes. 

Lichfield can be a bit of a trek from Birmingham, I know, but if you are thinking of heading out there, make a day of it, it's a beautiful place - the garden of the Erasmus Darwin house being a favourite of mine.

The return of the King

"To read"

Not necessarily in this order

There was an article on the Guardian website this weekend wondering how many books there is time left to read in your life, and the oppressive shudder of realising that it isn't really all that many. (At my rate I reckon I get through 40

a year these days, a figure that falls year on year as more and more technological delights vie for my time.  Which is not a complaint, by the way).

I feel fairly confident in saying that I am not the only one with a pile of books to read that never seems to get smaller, with additions coming to it at roughly twice the rate that they are cleared.  I've been thinking about whether this is a good thing - is the pile an enticing incentive to keep reading and a reminder of pleasures to come, or is it actually an oppressive reminder that you are never finished?

Morbid chap that I sometimes am, I have wondered what my pile will look like when I die - what books will I intend to read, pick out and order, and then never get to read.  What will be the final book too far? 

All in all I think the "to read pile" is a positive thing - the sight of the tottering tower usually gives me a tiny thrill - a shiver of anticipation that at least one of these books, probably more, are going to grab me my the throat, occupy my imagination completely and keep me up into the small hours day after day.


And whilst that is happening, the pile will keep growing...

In praise of...portion control

Not what we used to call moderation....

 

 

As someone devoted to baking, coffee shops and sitting down with a book, I am perhaps not the shining exemplar of healthy living and moderation, but I have recently come to think of (another) reason to prefer the indies of Brum over their corporate counterparts - portion size.

 

 

Since the first Starbucks opened in the UK in 1998, the world of the café has changed hugely, and you won't be hearing complaints from me that ordering a coffee leads one to expect more than some value-range instant granules and a splash of tepid water in a polystyrene cup.  We now have shabby-chic rather than just shabby, and a latte is generally understood as not being the same as "hot milky coffee".  However, as has been well commented on, we have also somehow managed to accept the "bucket" as an acceptable volume for a cuppa (with a correspondingly enormous price tag).  Capacious mugs, augmented with whipped cream, flavoured syrups (shudder) and chocolate sprinkles abound, and like the sheep we are, we "treat ourselves" again and again.  [Of course, this could be just me, but I don't want to think about this being a personal weakness, so will continue to spread the blame here...]

 

BUT - when one enters an independent café, this is often not the case.  Order a large cappuccino, and that it precisely what you get - a very large cup of whatever blend you wish for, but nonetheless something your grandmother would recognise as a "big cup", not as something comically outsize.  Whist this can sometimes feel stingy when you are used to the huge mugs the chains have, but once you take a reality check, you realise that feeling bloated on pint after pint of frothy milk and sugary additions is not the reason we loved coffee in the first place.

So, make mine a small!

Harborne Food School - UPDATED!

Can't tell you how excited I am to see that the food school in the Harborne Clocktower development is coming together.

There are hoping to open in November, I am reliably informed by whoever the nice person tweeting for them, and the space looks fabulous.

As soon as I can get me on one of their courses, I will let you know what I learn!

UPDATE:

Well, that was serendipitous - just after tweeting about this I was approached by the people behind this venture, and was offered the opportunity to look around the space that will become the school.  I can confirm  -in a fully impartial capacity- that it's going to be fantastic.

The building -as anyone who knows the area already knows- is an airy, delightful Grade II listed former Victorian school which, after some political grumblings, is now being restored on a commercial basis.  It is a perfect location for a food school - gorgeous vaulted ceilings, imposing, church-style windows and the original wooden panelling.  There is space for an deli area which will sell items related to the demonstrations in the main schoolroom, which will host lessons and  masterclasses.

The owners are clearly enthusiastic and passionate about the project, and I left the place with the prickle of excitement one feels when in the presence of a genuine labour of love.


Must dash, but I'll be keeping an eye out and will let you know when things change.

Sunny Afternoon – The Hampstead Theatre, London

I know the cup's an odd colour, but it keeps my coffee warm...

OK, so I know that Birmingham is meant to be my focus on this blog – it’s long been a frustration that our city has such cultural vibrancy, and yet as with so many things this gets forgotten in London-centric media coverage.

BUT, I have to make an exception here, and will try to explain why.

When I was 15 I somehow wound up with a tape left behind after a party.  It was a compilation of the Kinks’ singles, and I was utterly mesmerised.  I hadn’t heard anything like it before – chirpy, vibrant tunes married perfectly to beautifully-crafted pen portraits and vignettes of working class life in 60s London.  Pop music, which up until then meant little to me, suddenly became vital and educational.  I know that people use the term “life changing” with tedious frequency, but that is the best way to describe the experience for me – music became a huge part of my life, and has remained so for the decades that followed.

So, there was never going to be a question of not going to see the new musical based on the Kinks’ rise to fame, scripted by Joe Penhall and featuring a raft of Kinks songs.  I trekked down to London with expectations not as high as you might expect – in later years Ray Davies (the Kinks’ leader) has made some unusual artistic choices, some of which (an “Unauthorised Autobiography”) work better than others (the choral reworkings of Kinks classics, some of the collaborations on his recent “see my friends” album).  Would this be purely an exercise in nostalgia, or will Davies and Penhall have produced something worthy of the story of this seminal band?

In short – yes, absolutely yes.  The play covers the period from the early sixties to the start of the 70s, where the Kinks enjoyed their first rush of success, with all its euphoria, fame and wealth alongside the financial wrangles, excess and the damaging experience of being effectively banned from performing in the US.

Performances are strong throughout, although my biggest plaudits go to Adam Sopp as a marvellously sardonic and prickly Mick Avory, the band's drummer and George Maguire as Dave, Ray’s hedonistic younger brother.  Maguire played every mannerism of the more exuberant Davies brother to perfection, and cuts a hugely charismatic figure, attracting the eye whenever he is on the stage, much as the real Dave did during the Kinks’ high-energy performances.

As well as the acting performances, the musical side is expertly played – each cast member playing live (as far as I could tell) with some support from a couple of other musicians at the side of the stage.  This way of performing the songs worked organically with the action on stage (they were a band, after all) and landed a greater sense of authenticity to proceedings that at times felt more like a gig than a theatrical production.

One flaw for me was perhaps the inevitable result of this being Ray’s story, told on his terms – whilst his brother was well-drawn and sympathetic, I would have loved to have heard his best-known songs, Death of a Clown and Susannah’s Still Alive, but perhaps I am being too precious demanding my favourite songs.

Rumours of a Kinks reunion abound in this, their 50^th anniversary year, and whilst one must always be cautious about whether great bands reforming are a good idea, I certainly hope that this production will kickstart greater interest in what was undoubtedly one of the greatest bands of the 60s. 

I would say one of the greatest of all time, but then I am biased.

Saffron Rolls

More an exercise in food photography than anything else.  More work needed!




When I moved in with my partner, she didn't have much in the way of furniture or homewares to add to the party, but she did have the most enormous box of saffron I have ever seen, and all things considered I think it makes it even.  It's such a warming and delicate addition to bakes in particular, I find it really elevates bread.

These are a simple white bread roll with a pinch of saffron soaked in the water for a bit before adding, to augment some of these I also added a few cumin seeds to the top, but I have found these to be a bit overwhelming on occasion, so I would suggest less is more when it comes to cumin.

These rolls are batched, which (as I understand the term in any case) means that they join up when baked together, meaning that the leave a lovely soft side when separated.  It's also a good way to get more onto a smaller baking tray...

Next on the agenda - sweet saffron buns.  Watch this space.

Stuart Maconie - The People's Songs, Birmingham Town Hall - 16th October 2013

An Americano before setting off

Stuart Maconie, for those not familiar with his work on radio and print, is warm, witty and erudite, and an unapologetic champion of pop music.  Through his radio 2 series “The People’s Songs” (and accompanying book) he has explored the role of music in shaping and reflecting the realities of modern Britain.

Birmingham Town Hall is an iconic venue marking the edge of Victoria square, and will be familiar to many Brummies.  The hall opened in 1834, with one of the architects being Joseph Hansom, later the inventor of the Hansom cab.   The Town Hall project actually bankrupted Hansom, the experience of which may have led to him later becoming a radical socialist.

I mention this as the Town Hall is therefore an appropriate venue for Maconie’s discussion of music, politics and everything in between, with particular focus on ‘ordinary’ people, as the building has served in the past as a forum for political debate and a meeting place for local government.  During his talk, Maconie drily noted he felt the pressure, knowing that Charles Dickens gave readings at the Hall (apparently, the first public reading of a Christmas Carol).  The venue symbolises the grandeur and optimism of the city in the 19^th century, and we should remain proud of it today.

Maconie is an engaging speaker, and his talk this evening is fairly fluid, structured loosely around some of the themes from The People’s Songs radio programme, a good format for a raconteur used to performing on live radio. As well as The People’s Songs, the talk includes excerpts from Maconie’s amusing and insightful books on music, food and The North, all of which he links well to his personal stories – his tale of being taken to see The Beatles as a small child is particularly hilarious.  In the hands of a less likable host, some of the tales could have descended into grating “here’s a story about my famous mates” anecdotes, but Maconie is unpretentious and grounded and these instead become fascinating insights.

The only downside of the evening, ironically, is the venue itself.  Despite being a spectacular building, both outside and in, the Town Hall is too large and “showy” for Maconie’s warm and inclusive manner.  The hall was less than full and this did give rise to a slight sense of being present at a sparsely-attended political gathering.  Overall, this reviewer felt that the event would have felt better in a more intimate setting.

This is, however, not a criticism of either the Town Hall, or of Maconie himself – both  are things to be treasured.

 

During the evening, Maconie noted with glee that The People’s Songs programmes are on the iplayer for 800 years (I’ve checked, and it seems he was getting ahead of himself – the latest episode is due to expire in 2099…).  Let’s hope that the heirs to this warm chronicler of the modern world are appearing at the Town Hall then.

 

[This post first appeared on www.birminghamfavourites.co.uk



The Raid (dir: Gareth Evans)

A cup of green tea to calm down.

Is it me, or are there more interesting DVDs in charity shops than ever before? Are they going the way of the video tape, with people getting shot of things they think of as clunky remnants of a pre-cloud world?

Whatever the reason, I am finding that I can pick up something worth taking a look at most weeks, and this week was no exception. With the Raid 2 about to hit cinema screens, I noticed the original film in the PDSA shop for £1.99, and thought I'd give it a try.

The film (which I think was released in 2012) was widely reviewed as being a benchmark movie in the action genre, which is not something I know much about.  My philosophy is usually that if you going to explore something new, whether food, music, books or film then to start with the classics and work out from there. So this seemed a good opportunity to see if I should explore further.

Set in a Jakarta tower block taken over by a brutal criminal gang, essentially this film is a 90-minute long fight, with a few moments of calm to allow the viewer to catch their breath before the next protracted period of ultra violence. Guns, knives, machetes, and kicks, kicks, kicks are the order of the day with no punches pulled on showing the gore on screen either. This film is not for the squeamish.

So, what did I think? Certainly is was fabulously put together, the production design, acting, music and sound all working well in the service of the film, but the star was clearly the direction, perhaps better described as choreography. The battles are absurdly over the top, with the flurries of punches, kicks and leaps sometimes feeling never-ending, and the superhuman protagonists surviving damage which no human surely could, then getting up to do it again and again.

For me, it is this cartoonist element that makes the violence tolerable, removing it from all sense of reality, an experience I last had watching Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Brutal and bloody, it wasn't something I would normally give the time of day to, but the time flew by, and the ending had a emotional punch I wasn't expecting.

So, will I be off to the cinema to see The Raid 2? Probably not, but I'll definitely be keeping an eye out in Brum's fine charity shops.