Friday, February 9, 2018

Labour's forgotten the 100th anniversary of working class men getting the vote

The Labour Party has forgotten that it's also the 100th anniversary of working class men getting the vote, all of them. In 2018 Labour is saying that the fight for women's equality still goes on, but has a problem saying that the fight for class equality must continue too. 

Yet ironically today's Labour Party, under a pro-Brexit, left-wing leadership, has no problem getting liberal middle class support. It's the (white) working class (who are often pro-Brexit) that Labour is still struggling to reconnect with. Without them Labour won't win the next General Election. 

Unless Labour can somehow rediscover its class credentials throughout Britain without alienating the metropolitan middle class, the Tories will win again. This requires being progressive on tax and social justice, tough on getting British workers into employment and reducing immigration, and asserting a UK identity that’s inclusive in terms of class as well as gender, sexuality and ethnicity. 

Building a broad class base is good democratic politics. For most of its history Labour has understood that this, rather than narrow sectarian interests, are what brings it power. It can’t, and shouldn’t be expected to, propose class war. However Labour didn’t lose elections because it talked about and tackled class inequality. 

Addressing this subject now could bring back some of the badly needed white working class voters who didn’t back Labour at the 2017 General Election, despite Jeremy Corbyn having long been a Brexiteer.

Monday, October 2, 2017

Dubai déjà vu all over again

I took the Dubai Metro for the first time, past hundreds of towers, many familiar, some not, standing proud like brazen priapic shrines to pure power. When I last visited here three years ago, the Metro was still under construction. It is better than I thought it would be, and would be a thrilling ride, I thought, at night when the megalopolis is all lit up and passengers can cheaply gawp at the utter presumption of it all.

I was messaging my oldest friend about the changes and trying to convey the wonder of it all, although she’s been back more recently than me. We lived here for a couple of years about a decade ago (when I began this blog), and so the Metro seemed to me like progress indeed. Yet inside I still felt a certain dread. I couldn’t really believe that just getting to the nearest metro stop to the hotel would make life that much easier, not when it’s 100 degrees in the shade and I have a long track record of getting directions or locations wrong. I was also busy reliving some of the worst moments from when I lived here, and not just transportational ones.

I was a long term resident of Deira’s Hotel California, from where I frequently checked out and, after many false starts over three to four months, did finally leave. The visceral feeling I was getting now was about powerlessness, and this goes very deep and has been the product of some therapy in recent years. This time round though the transport hassle at least would be different, no? 

I mean, just outside the new metro stop is a taxi rank. After waiting in the blazing sun with many other people and with few taxis passing by, I think let’s at least get the bus part of the way. Warned by other passengers of the full force of the authorities’ power to give on the spot hefty fines for those lacking a pre-paid ticket, I get off the bus at the next stop, despite being weighed down with luggage. This must surely have helped get me closer to a hotel located, Google tells me, somewhere in al-Mankool near Bur Dubai. The latter was the area that my friend and I eventually ended up living in when the work visa finally came through via a circuitous route that involved frequent buses to Abu Dhabi’s National Media Council. Laysh? Don’t ask.

I got off and walked on in the direction of Satwa, breezing, well by this stage stumbling, past Mankool before eventually realising I had gone too far and that was why Google Maps was telling me the distance was in fact getting greater. A taxi driver pulls up after I reverse direction. I am literally dripping. He is a pleasant guy, Iranian...but no can do, he’s finished his shift and he’s heading home, well not quite, but back to his accommodation, in the other direction, the one that I was previously heading in. He gives me exact, and believable, directions for the hotel. No distance at all in most international cities, but out here, even in early October, it ain’t easy. 

Arriving at the desk I am embarrassingly making the counter very wet, periodically mopping up after myself in between sips of the smallest complimentary glass of fruit juice I have ever been given. Turns out I am at the wrong hotel. Right name but not quite the right location. I am actually meant to be staying in the one in Bur Dubai. Oh yes. I remember now. I mean I didn’t book it, but the conversation about the area that we knew well comes back to me. I then remembered leaving the metro stop, al-Faheedi, and seeing the sign for Bank Street (Khaled bin Waleed St that is) outside the once (and still probably) notorious York Hotel, whose bar was the location of the most brazen female whores I have ever seen, anywhere in the world. I remember thinking ...hmmm, Bank St…..then the faint memory connection was gone...the wires fizzled out.... Google Maps was telling me "no"…and I didn’t seemingly have the ability to focus on the instincts. I am told that it’s a mark of victims of abuse that they’re often in a constant and very heightened sense of alert. Sadly this doesn’t seem to apply when they’re broiling and getting instinctive messaging about their location.

So the receptionist in the wrong hotel gets a guy out front to hail a taxi and we head off back to the metro stop and take a right opposite the York Hotel, and a short way down, walkable, even in this heat, if I’d checked with the hotel before arriving. As the taxi cruises past, in order to do a U-ee (how do you spell that?) I wanted to cry, not for the first time today. Ten years ago I used to just get angry, usually with taxi drivers who couldn’t fight back. Now I just turn on myself. Perhaps quite rightly. I mean I did fuck up, didn't I.

Before Mohammed and I have completed our tour of the numerous facilities of my compact but actually very pleasant room, I fess up to him (having furtively checked my wallet before we got in the lift) that I have no (small) notes. He really doesn’t care. I’ll remember to find you, I said, after shaking his hand for the second time before he'd finished his routine. And I will, and maybe he really isn’t that bothered. Not everyone does everything just for the money. He takes pride in his job, as does the “boy”, for that is what they call them in these parts, who later came and brought a sheet, changing it for the thick duvet that all 4 and 5* hotels all over the fuggin’ world give u, even when the AC isn’t necessarily turned up to polar. He too takes pride in his work. When I complete mine, I tear it apart. Another classic symptom, they say.


Monday, August 14, 2017

Folkstack Lightnin' fire up The Rodmill

Folkstack Lightnin’ are a newly-formed electric folk and blues trio, specialising, as their name suggests, in English folk and American blues music. That in 2017 you can walk in to The Rodmill (Flaming Grill) pub in Eastbourne on a late Saturday afternoon, stumble down the opposite end from the football, and find singer Vanessa Grove, guitarist Kelvin Message and guitarist/singer Neil Grove performing songs as varied as ‘Hoochie Coochie Man’, ‘Dream A Little Dream’ and ‘The Lowlands of Holland’ is nothing short of incredible. These three are dedicated to their craft, preserving the best of what the British music scene has long discarded, affirming these songs’ value for the initiated, and, they hope, converting a few along the way. 
Kelvin gets it on
While the electric guitar-led RnB standards they perform were once the standard fair of aspiring white boy blues-rock bands in Britain, these days they’re rarely heard in pubs that put on live music. Their interpretation of ‘Dust My Broom’ fell somewhere between the Robert Johnson original and the more renowned Elmore James' cover. On many of the blues numbers a great interplay often ensued between the old pro Kelvin on rhythm and the solo pyrotechnics of young guitar gunslinger Neil.

Neil’s vocal delivery is maturing too, even if the salaciousness of some of the old bluesmen’s lyrical preoccupations can jar a little. An up-tempo song like Muddy Waters’ ‘Satisfied’ totally cut through though, especially when it allowed the dueling boys to get almost funky on the instrumental parts.

Neil 'Blues Boy' Grove

Vanessa: folk diva

Folkstack Lightnin’ also dusted off a few, more contemporary, folk-rock numbers: Jethro Tull’s ‘Mother Goose’, Horslips’ ‘Trouble with a Capital T’, and Fairport Convention’s sublime ‘Crazy Man Michael’. An unexpected, and impressive, jazz-inflected vocal detour occurred when they performed the 1920s song later covered by The Mamas and Papas, ‘Dream a Little Dream’. An inspired idea was to fuse Blind Willie McTell’s folk-blues take on ‘St James Infirmary’ with the jazz song, ‘Summertime’, performing the latter in a blues vein and with vocal duties passing from Neil to his Mum, Vanessa.  

The traditional folk songs the trio performed are hardly ever heard outside of the few folk clubs left in the UK, and even there it is unlikely that you would find them sung with such passion. On these numbers Vanessa essentially takes over the show, with the boys providing a relatively gentle accompaniment to her stellar vocals. Among the performances that especially stood out were ‘All Things are Quite Silent’, ‘Sheep Dog, Black Crook’; ‘Ramblin’ Sailor’, ‘The Shearin’s Not For You’, and, the performance that nearly took my breath away, ‘The Lowlands of Holland’. This song has an illustrious pedigree, interpreted by Sandy Denny and Steeleye Span among others. Vanessa sung it with force and no less feeling. Its popular folk theme of being forever wedded to a lover killed in their prime was somehow injected with fresh vigour, before Vanessa militantly ripped into playing the spoons as the boys played the song out. The penultimate number, this could have ended the show. It certainly got the strongest response of the set, with some clapping even discernible from among those who’d only come in for the footie.

They finished their performance with ‘(What shall we do with a) Drunken Sailor’ in an effort to reach those parts of the pub that other, less familiar, songs cannot reach. Now, if they were closing their set at midnight with such a rousing number, just imagine the audience response then.

For my profile of musician and guitar tech Kelvin Message, click on this link 

Monday, June 26, 2017

Lessons from Death Row

“The most precious thing you have is what you cannot hold in your hand” is a paraphrase of something Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara) wrote about the power of mind over circumstance. Philosopher, poet and resident of Death Row, San Quentin, Steve is one of the contributors to an exhibition of art and words at Sun Pier House in Chatham, Kent. In fact all the contributors are awaiting execution at the infamous Californian state prison.

I went along because my partner is curating an art and text online project on the subject of death and related matters. These guys though are trying to transcend the apparent horror of solitary confinement under a regime where every day could be your last – and many of them have been living this life for 20 plus years. Through art, poetry and philosophical observation they are finding calm, meaning, even redemption, to use one of Steve’s words about a fellow ex-Cripps gang member whose life was terminated ten years ago.

Some have found that an overt spiritual relationship with Christ has helped them come to terms with their daily struggle. Others, like Steve, have a looser, philosophical connection with Christianity, seeing themselves as on a journey of personal transformation that the emotional denial of their life on the outside made impossible but that solitary confinement makes necessary. This doesn’t mean that he thinks we need to junk all our past experiences. The things that cause us shame are part of who we are and we would not be the person we are without them. This resonated with me. It wasn’t saying that we shouldn’t feel that to have murdered someone is wrong – self-evidently part of his redemption was very much about accepting that. It does mean that if we have been wronged, been a victim, as many who go on to wrong others are, then this will have shaped us. For the most part the impact may be negative, perhaps, but we may also have found what he calls an inner light to illuminate our darkness (see below). I was moved by this, even if the light sometimes shines less than brightly. A wisdom engendered as a survival mechanism perhaps, but not less wise for that. 

Some haven’t lost their sense of humour either. Gallows humour abounds in the available San Quentin cookbook, subtitled “Your Last Meal?”, the result of how inmates dreamt up ideas to “re-cook” or “re-present” the appalling food they are served up.

Some of the art seems to reflect the past lives of some of the inmates, voluptuous female figures are a repeated image. In part this is inevitable among isolated men, but there seemed to be more going on than that. 
Luis Maciel's artwork

Some of the art is highly skilled, like Keith Loker’s incredibly precise use of the stippling technique (millions of pencil dots) to evoke an American dream car. Another of his drawings, ‘A Mother’s Thoughts’, had the accomplishment of a professional illustrator. Perhaps he is the boy, depicted in the mind of this elderly looking woman, running on a beach. Another part of the depiction is a grave, her own maybe, or most likely his. Another Death Row inhabitant, Jerry Frye, wrote of his pride that his paintings were seen by his parents before they died. He presumably wasn’t.

A painting by Anthony Oliver
I recommend seeing this show. If you can’t, then check out the website set up by the charity ArtReach, which was founded by the artist Nicola White to promote the work of the inmates. It’s a beautiful space, Sun Pier House. The work and wisdom of these men is glimpsed either side of large windows affording views of swans swimming amidst the old dockyards. 

Sun Pier House cafe
Perhaps it’s fitting that the artists in residence on Death Row, San Quentin haven’t yet made it to the community centre’s official gallery, currently showing impressionistic slices of nature by Medway artists. The inmates’ work is positioned on walls next to dining tables and behind seating in the café. This is in keeping with self-taught artists whose work is from the heart, but it also sometimes made it difficult to fully appreciate the work amidst the mundane chatter of locals enjoying tuna sandwiches. This was also a very English problem of public displays of emotion (engendered by some of what you see and read), and wondering how others might judge you for it. 

In San Quentin, wrote Steve Champion, you daren't question somebody's "phantom face" (see his typed text below) because prisoner code tells you not to compromise another inmate's emotional space. We, however, are free to do so, but perhaps we don't dare either.

Steve Champion

Monday, April 24, 2017

Searching for Kelvin Message

My "Searching for the Old Folk Rebels" project has its own blog page, kicking off with a profile of Kelvin Message, musician, guitar engineer and tutor.

Friday, April 7, 2017

Jesus & Mary Chain psych out Bexhill

The Jesus & Mary Chain played Bexhill more than three decades after they launched their career  by provoking a riot in a London squat. Last night the De La Warr Pavilion was taking no chances. The sedate Sussex town’s premier entertainment venue was awash with bulky bloke security operatives. Gauleiters confiscated plastic bottles from unsuspecting punters, unless, like me, they were armed with a fictitious “medical condition”.  Otherwise they were instructed to present a lottery ticket after the show in order to win back their offending pre-bought soft drinks or home-bottled tap water. You have to pay for water inside, one of the many walkie-talkied heavies informed me, as if the explanation made this particular practice of coercive capitalism any more acceptable, or legal given that bars and clubs are obliged to give customers tap water for free.  

Before the sonic escapades of the JMC, a privileged-sounding, floppy haired young rock god by the name of Willow Robinson bored everyone shitless with his stupefyingly soulless appropriation of Free and country rock clichés. For once I understood why most gig-goers stay in the bar for the support act. Willow was accompanied by a Silent Bob-lookalike on bass, replete with sun-glasses and idiot hat, while an extra from the gym thumped the drums. I like the JMC, but if they signed-off on this public school, poodle-haired, ponce and his cod-rock posturing, not to mention a goon squad more suited to a UKIP rally, then they, and the DLWP, deserve a slap.

Jim and William Reid did their thing, backed by three other musicians and occasionally a female singer. Jim was typically, I guess, hard to see amidst a lighting arrangement suited to mystique and mind-bending. 

Their performance was at times as rocky as they actually became in the 1990s, but at others it almost reached the psych-goth transcendence of their early work. By definition this included excellent takes on ‘Some Candy Talking’ and ‘Just Like Honey’. In their second set – JMC don’t do encores – they totally kicked out the jams and took both new and old material to another level. They closed with what Jim said was a new song. Initially fairly normal by JMC standards, half-way through though they suddenly dropped down a few gears and the song morphed into a warped, feedback-heavy, slow-mo wig-out that decreased my heart rate by half. Amidst often intense red light and, I think, unintended, shadow projections (see pictures), the JMC had taken this punter on a trip, aided only by a plastic cup of Guinness.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

The Circle of Trust - Hastings Friendship Group’s second CD launched at Relax

“Will the Circle be Unbroken?” was the song of solidarity that folkies from another time and another place used to sing. This Hastings musical circle remains tight, thanks to the efforts of Councillors Trevor Webb and Nigel Sinden and many supporting performers. 

“The Circle of Trust” is the name of Hastings Friendship Group’s second CD. (The first, "One Hastings Many Voices", was released earlier this year, and was reviewed on this blog). Showcasing a lot of local talent, "The Circle of Trust" has just been released and is dedicated to Maria Grazia, a sadly departed singer and songwriter who performed at HFG events. The new CD is raising money for Sudanese charities under “The Circle of Trust” moniker. Maria gets a heartfelt tribute at the close of the CD: “Goodnight Maria” is one of the best things I have heard Paul Crimin do. It’s his own song too.

The launch event was at the excellent (if a little pricey) "Relax" restaurant and bar at Marine Parade, on St Leonard's seafront on Sunday October 23. Listening to the CD, and reflecting on the live performances of many of those featuring on the album, there are some whose star inevitably shines brighter than others. There are also those who came across much better at the launch gig than on the CD, and vice versa. The most important thing about the CD though, aside from the good cause and giving a different platform to local artists, is that all the performers are playing original material that was either written by, or for them.

The CD’s producer (and writer of several of its songs) Nelson King (who also produced the first HFG CD) closed the evening. (I had to make my excuses before Nelson hit the stage, sadly). He and Wendy White’s number, “Follow Me” is a good cut on the CD, well produced by Nelson, albeit ending abruptly. His entirely self-penned song, “I Don’t Believe a Thing,” is also a strong feature on the disc.

Preceding him was a young woman who is fairly new to HFG events, Georgia Faye Steele. Georgia played electric piano and belted, and I mean belted, out some classics. Note to the organisers: this woman can sing…loud. Turn down the PA (a bit), or get her on earlier to wake up the bar (and the neighbourhood).

Her own song “Something New Just For Now” came across much more authentically than covering the folk (and very male) song, “House of the Rising Sun” (best known by The Animals), or, even more bizarrely, singing the Eagles’ “Hotel California”. Georgia is probably going places though.

Nick Warren is no stranger to HFG gigs. Unfortunately for him he had the graveyard slot as the closing acts beckoned. Nick had to make it fairly snappy at the end and barely got time for a well- deserved round of applause. Nick sings his own songs (as far as I can tell) and plays acoustic guitar with feeling. “Riptide” especially stood out. “Be My Baby One More Time” is the self-penned song he plays on the CD.

Tania Pieri was accompanied by Juliette on electric piano and backing vocals. Juliette told me afterwards that she hadn’t performed in public for 30 years. This gig was one of Tania’s first too. They did an excellent gospel cover, and another number had some tantalising lyrics including one that went along the lines of “it’s a good day, put away the pills” (unless my hearing problem is worse than I realise).

Tania’s own composition “Fire and Light” come across well live. On the CD Tania’s strength, like some other HFG performers, doesn’t register in the same way. However, live on a Sunday afternoon at Relax she and Juliette were probably the best act.

Katie Wren is just 16. She performed confidently and her own song, “Fairy Tales”, comes over well on CD too. (She also covered Train’s “Hey Soul Sister”, which has a riff that to my ears sounds a lot like Tracey Chapman’s song “Fast Car”.

It was a shame that Craig Devlin wasn’t there on the Sunday. His “Carry You Home” opens the CD and is one of its strongest cuts. Trevor told me before I had had a chance to check the CD out that Craig is the most authentically rock artist HFG currently have on their roster. He has an earthy, lived in voice to be sure. Yet another HFG person who either is or should be destined for greater things.
Mike Guy’s “Little Town Blues” is sadly under-produced on the CD, or just recorded at a lower volume than the rest of the tracks. It’s a shame because it grows on you, well it has on me. I had originally taken the lyrics for a non-ironic channeling of John Major appropriating George Orwell’s famous misty-eyed vision of England. "Little Town Blues" is in fact based on the lyrics of the "Dorset Gypsy Poet", Raymond A Wills. The clever and evocative lyrics work well with Mike's gently affecting tune. Mike also sung "Mr Bobby" by Manu Chao (a Bob Marley tribute) and his own, localised, take on Route 66, "A259".

Dave Williams’ “Dare I Believe” CD contribution is both professionally performed and produced. Live, Dave (see pic below) has matured as a performer. No longer, on this showing at least, tackling the rock behemoths. Aside from the above song given to him by Payen Bingley, he covered lower key numbers that suited his range and style.

Pete Williams (no relative, see pic below) performed a blinding version of the Nelson King song "The River". This was great live and is equally great on CD. No small feat. It has that feel of an old folk/acoustic rock classic, as if it was a huge hit back in the day. Pete teamed up with his old musical sparring partner in Harry's Brother, Steve Avery, for a version of "The Weight" that (for me) was the best performance of the night. It was also the third best version of the song that I have ever heard (after The Band and the Staple Singers, naturally).

Sadly, Tom Cole was finishing his self-penned, and very catchy, CD contribution, “Long Way Home”, when I arrived. His voice is sounding more mid-Atlantic these days (as almost every English singer invariably does).

Tom Cole with Flashboy in the foreground (and Trevor and Nigel in the background)
John Busbridge’s “Summer of 67” is certainly a whole lot better than the better known “Summer of 69”, and evokes that fabled time nicely. After the first summer we had Devaluation and, during the second, British troops went into Northern Ireland. “Sgt Pepper” versus “The Ballad of John n’ Yoko”. False dichotomy I know, and I digress. John’s tune is reminiscent of Robin Sarstead's “Where Do You Go to My Lovely” fused with Dylan's “My Back Pages”. Musically appropriate I guess. He also covered "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan". I hadn't realised it was originally performed by Dr Hook. To my mind it shall forever be Marianne Faithful's song. "At the age of 37, she realised she would never drive through Paris, in an open car, with the warm wind in her hair.." Oh yes.

On the CD, Maman Jay performs a number under the “Kids from 7 Streets” title. The 7 Streets project was launched by Trevor to bring help to homeless children. The song has a moving intro by one of Maman Jay’s grandchilden. It was written and, unlike all the other tracks, was produced by Abye Abdullah. Trevor tells me that Abye, like Maman Jay, originates from one of the French Indian Ocean islands.

Exclusive to the CD, Indian Dave is no Indian but he does a nice line in ethereal flute playing. Jazzi B (Jasmine Bollen) makes a solid contribution with  “Life”, a song written by Nelson King. Dan Wahnon tells us of trying to make it up in the smoke ("Hard Road Home") in a surprising foray into new wave circa 1977 (with Dan Duke providing electric guitar accompaniment). Oksana Kirjuskina is an HFG regular. Her impressive larynx does a nice turn on “Your Smile”, a song familiar to HFG regulars.

A word for the performers who didn’t make it to the CD this time and who played early on at the gig. Flashboy, otherwise known as Andy Ives, had the difficult task of singing while Kevin Sloan held his Tablet aloft as a lyric sheet. Flashboy's numbers included a cover of "Wasteland" (which I think is the song originally performed by 10 Years).

Kevin then sung good covers of a couple of Creedence Clearwater Revival songs, "Fortunate Son" and "Bad Moon Rising".

The Circle remains unbroken. Here’s to Trevor, Nigel and all the HFG crew. Buy the CD at Relax, Gecko’s and other reputable outlets.