THEATRICAL REVELATIONS - United States Parts 1 - 4 by Laurie Anderson

DOMINION THEATRE - LONDON 

FEBRUARY 1983

First there had been that distinctive single- Oh Superman, quickly followed by a one off London performance at the Lyric Hammersmith in 1982. A show mainly a compilation of tracks from her debut album Big Science, interspersed with her characteristicly elliptical monologues. Laurie Anderson returned six months later to perform the whole eight hours of United States Part 1- 4, at the Dominion Theatre over two nights in February 1983. I booked early.

Laurie Anderson had unexpectedly found herself with a cross over career. As both a respected performance artist and a very unique type of arty pop star. Her interest in linguistics, storytelling, gender roles and modern forms of alienation, found a vehicle in the quirky songs and wry monologues, often phased through a vocoder to make her vocal quality more masculine or feminine depending on whatever was required.

The subject matter of her tales spanned visits to her chiropractor, an old couple getting lost on a massive inter state highway, being on a plane that it might be about to crash, returning to your flat only to discover this is not like your home any more, and many others in this ilk. If there was any linking theme this was not immediately apparent. The impression it left, however, was that she was using the title United States, literally, metaphorically, disfunctionaly - all as a paradox.

She'd collected together a whole bunch of short vignettes that imbued this sense of loss, of longing, of dislocation from normal life, simply not knowing what to make of the world, or how to operate in the world that they were now inhabiting. The expectation was that we all live culturally in a united state with each other. But increasingly we do not. Some of the stories were hence sad ones, others oddly perplexing or simply funny social observations.

A favourite monologue is the poetic - Walking and Falling. Based on an observation that as you walk forward you are always catching yourself from falling over. The staging was a single bright overhead light forming a white circle on the stage. She recites the poetic monlogue whilst walking around its edge, niether fully in nor out of the light. Just a beautifully simple idea of the fleetingness of our existence. An existential truth movingly executed.

United States had an unusual quality in its visual imagery too. The threepin plug hole that looks like a ghost. In the piece Heading Out for the Territories which closed the whole performance, Anderson wore these torch goggles. They lookef like the bright headlights of a car. She walks forward along a plank out toward the auditorium. Hands ahead of her blindly feeling their way, as the goggle headlights rake the darkened auditorium.

She plays with our expectations, both visually and in sound. The tape violin, or her whole body becoming an ampified drum kit. It is the pictures painted in sound that strike you most. The poignant songs about families, lovers, existential worries in a world going badly awry. In some ways Laurie Anderson was way ahead of the curve on documenting 

our current metacrisis. 

The effect of this performance on me, was as a huge point of inspiration. Inventive, challenging, but remaining accessible, Anderson's performance work was the start of my appreciation for performance art. Which led to thinking maybe I should be a performance artist myself, and then doing that for a few years. 

With her pioneering work crossing artistic boundaries between avant-garde culture and popular culture, she made it possible for the work of other female performance artists like Marina Abramovich to become hugely popular. 

THEATRICAL REVELATIONS - The Power of Theatrical Madness

A performance conceived by Jan Fabre, given at the ICA in 1984 & The Royal Albert Hall in 1985.

In the mid 80's I would go to the ICA in London, and take in some performance work or exhibition. Often just on hearsay alone. This prompted my first encountered with Jan Fabre's work The Power of Theatrical Madness. I guess, buoyed by Laurie Anderson's recent breakthrough into the mainstream, everyone was on the look out for who the next performance artist might be, to do a similar cross over. 

Fabre's work had shock value. It had its moment of ART charging into the rarefied halls of middle brow culture. Robert Mapplethorpe produced a book of photos of it. But these days I think its largely forgotten, quite how impactful and influential The Power of Theatrical Madness was at the time.

Jan Fabre's The Power of Theatrical Madness, was, as the title indicates, quite a bit more of a 'theatrical' than an art performance event. Large set piece dramatic happenings that evolved into these often bizarre rituals across the stage. This was a collective ensemble presentation, tightly choreographed, executed with devotion, physical stamina and passion. At over four hours in length this performance was not for sissys. Click here to see trailer -The Power of Theatrical Madness

With no particular narrative thread, The Power of Theatrical Madness, had more the air of a lunatic grand opera, with its evocatively lush background of minimalist music by Wim Merton. What the piece celebrates is the strength of grand dramatic events on stage as a window into the soul of humanity. Whilst also showing us its darker Wagnerian shadow side.

One major theme is our desire to think we are in control of our lives, relationships and reality itself. In this we always fail. By falling into habits, we are touching on an air of regret and ennui. The larger this is writ upon the stage, the more powerful it becomes as a theatrical staging. But also more dangerous, as Fabre's work points toward the use by monarchical and fascistic powers, of all our present elite forms of theatre.

This work exploits the drama inherent in  simple human movement endlessly repeated. A gesture, that might start out as banal, changes in our perception as we watch it repeated, into drudgery, irritability, exhaustion, empathy, beauty, pathos, and on occasions, transcendence.

We have a line up of men in black fatigues and shirts, forced to carry and hold up stacks of plates. At the conclusion the plates are deliberately shattered. In a crashing cascade of rebelliousness and creative carnage. There are also naked kings wearing crowns waltzing around  together. Yeah, it's a bit kinky too.

The piece was long, it tested your power of endurance to be sure. But, for me it was entirely worth it for the last plaintive element in the entire performance. This was set to the a beautiful elegiac movement by Merton, called Whisper Me. In it there is a man and woman. The man down stage moves upstage and lifts the woman into his arms, taking her down stage where he places her on the floor. The woman rises and initially with a certain playful coquettish spirit moves back to where she was at the start. 

This scenario is repeated over and over for the duration of twenty minutes. By which time the man is becoming increasingly tired and clumsy in the execution of picking her up and carrying her upstage. Whilst the woman progressively asserts her own agency with more stridency. This one section of The Power of Theatrical Madness, was worth the entrance fee. It was probably the most beautiful moving piece of theatre I've ever seen. Both poignant and profound. 

Such was its success at the ICA. A much larger venue, the Royal Albert Hall was booked. And I went along to see the same piece on much a larger stage, with larger back projections. The power of the grand gesture in a small space, did feel diminished when you placed it in a performance venue that possessed huge size and grandeur itself. Whilst I understood why they'd chosen to do this. The whole piece lost the sense of human intimacy by that transference. A long gallery in a stately home, or a smaller opera house might have worked better. Though it did strike me that it's ironic gloss of the fascistic rally, was made even more unpalatable by the vastness of the elliptical hall context. Over forty years later, it is still something I'm really glad I saw.

FEATURE - The Yellow Scream

 I owe my Husband for this one. He has put me on to the work of this guy. Its sort of self explanatory, so I'm not going to write anything about it at all. Yes, its hilarious, but I also would call it truly wonderful. This is a drastically edited version, the full video lasts forty minutes.

Now, doesn't that make your day feel a whole lot better?

FEATURE - Anton Walbrook

Powell & Pressburger's production company, The Archers, had its own informal acting company. A regular member was Anton Walbrook, who appeared in four of their films - 49th Parrallel - The Life & Death of Colonel Blimp -  The Red Shoes  - Oh Rosalinda!  In these he plays a wide range of characters from a manipulative impresario to a peasant farmer. Walbrook's work is not that widely known or appreciated these days. So who was he?

In all his film performances he appears calm, deliberated, emotionally expressive, way above the abilities of the contemporaries around him. It is significant that Walbrook was frequently given pivotal monologues, the one that gave voice to the central theme and beating heart of the movie. Pressburger, who shared a similar emigre state of mind, wrote these parts with Walbrook in mind. Often bringing in aspects of his own and Walbrooks character or experience for the parts he was to play. Knowing he would be able to make them shine.

Walbrook had this unerring capacity to humanise, to reveal the emotional truth in the words he was given. His subtle vocal range, its light and shade, was able to suggest unspoken feeling and thought, often in an almost throw away manner or gesture. He was one of the most skilled actors of his generation.

Adolf Anton Wilhelm Wohlbruck was born in Austria, the latest generation in a family of actors and performers. He studied with Max Reinhardt and had an extremely successful acting career in Austria and Germany. Handsome, suave and a bit of a dandy, he was considered a heart throb on stage and screen. 

By 1936, the Nazi regime's intentions were now crystal clear. Walbrook found himself in Hollywood doing over dubs on a German film, and decided not to return home. Sensibly he dropped Adolf as his first name, and as Anton Walbrook began his new career. The Americans at first were very suspicious, thinking he might be a spy. Asking him why it had taken him so long to come to his negative assessment of the Nazi's. The same question is asked of Theo in Life & Death of Colonel Blimp. We do not know how Walbrook himself responded. But in the speech Pressburger composed, he speaks of his love for the country of his birth, but hatred for the poisonous regime that had taken it over. He had, understandably, mixed feelings.

Apart from his work for The Archers he performed in many British films. An early version of Gaslight in 1940, and two films about Victoria & Albert playing opposite Anna Neagle, as Prince Albert. These sorts of roles, as 'the good German' or the vaguely continental Northern European foreigner, proved to be his bread and butter. Yet he frequently raised them to be considerably more substantial than that, because of his superlative acting ability.

His acting career spanned over forty years. And though he is best known for his films, he continued doing theatre work through out this period. Then, before the sixties arrived, he didn't so much retire but fade into the background. He only made appearances on German stage and TV later in life. His reasons for retreating from international fame in this way is not clear, and are as elusive to grasp as the personality of Walbrook itself is. There was a unique sophistication to him, but also an air of unknowable secrecy.  Did anyone understand who Anton Walbrook really was, even though they'd acted with him?

Moral Shearer who starred with him in The Red Shoes, said that on set he was a bit of a loner. He wore dark shades all the time and very consciously ate separately from everyone else. Which paints a picture of a quiet, reclusive, introverted man who needed time alone. Someone, perhaps, who would light up only when he performed. Maybe that legendary intensity and charisma he generated on screen, was part of a cathartic release, a mysterious alchemical element in him he needed to nurture. One that necessarily required solitude outside of that. Feeling himself to be an outsider wherever he was.

He'd chosen to leave Germany in 1936 because his family background was mixed race. His Mother, though a Catholic, was from a Jewish background and Walbrook himself was homosexual. His being distantly part Jewish might well have been overlooked, but persistent questioning about his sexuality was beginning to unsettle and frighten him. So doubly vulnerable to Nazi ideological purity he feared for his safety, and fled to settle in Britain whilst he still could.

With regards to his sexuality we are, of course, dealing with a very different era. In the 1930's - 40's being out, or even suggesting you were a gay man, just was not possible. Whether anyone who worked with him knew he was gay, few would think it proper to mention. There are stories of him regularly frequenting gay clubs in Berlin in the 20's and 30's, of affairs with a Norwegian painter, flings on set with Micheal Redgrave. were all rumoured. But none of this became public knowledge because everyone, including Walbrook himself, remained tight lipped. When he could have spilled the beans on his gay life on film sets, he chose not to. He was, either from habit or fear, an intensely private man.

Walbruck died in 1967 at the age of seventy. Though he'd mostly lived in Germany for the previous ten years, his body was returned to Hampstead Cemetery where it was interred. There had been rumours for a while, of an enduring decades long relationship with a local London florist Eugene Edwards. When Edwards died three years later, his body was interred with Walbrook's. The reason given at the time was in recognition of twenty three years of devoted secretarial service, which is a strange explanation. Perhaps this is a new euphemism. In some periods it seems, only in death, when buried three feet in the ground, could two gay men be seen together.

FEATURE - Lee Mingwei

 

This video of Lee Mingwei's work for the Tate Galleries Turbine Hall called Enter The Labrynth, I found on You Tube. It's mesmeric to watch, like a free form version of a Japanese Zen garden constantly evolving and changing in response to the relationship between the performers. 

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - The Habit of Art

The Habit of Art, in a production by Nicholas Hytner from 2010, takes place in an afternoon rehearsal of a play called Caliban's Day.  The Director's been called away to Leeds, two actors have to do a Chekov matinee, so can't be there. Nevertheless the PA  (Frances de la Tour)  decides to do a run through. The writer of the play unexpectedly turns up, ramping up the querulous tension in the cast. The play centres on WH Auden ( Richard Griffiths) when he was  professor in Oxford and a meeting he had there with his former friend Benjamin Britten ( Alex Jennings). In many ways this play within a play format, is Bennett at his most multifacted and layered. Actors step in and out of character, they question motives, there own, their characters, the playwright's, what the point of the play is, literary societies views of them and of itself, how the itself play should end. What they are going to do after rehearsal finishes.

It attempts to cover a lot of ground, sex, death, art, biography, creative muses, that it can appear a bit hit and miss in its targeting of hypocrisy or morally dubious tendencies. Auden's often savage cruelty and Britten's liking for young boys are pointed out but never stabbed directly in the heart. There is just an embarrassed silence no one knows quiet how to fill. Perhaps the point is that once someone is lauded the habit of art is to overlook, sanitise or even reprehensibly explain away a persons moral failings, because there's an individual's creative reputation to uphold - there was after all the sublime art, lets not forget that my dears, in our rush to judge the dead, and tut tut. Art survives trumps allegations of pedophile behaviour. One is seen as eternal the other as transitory. There are unasked, and therefore unanswered questions here, concerning how we respond and deal with the imperfections and unconscionable actions of people whose art, music or performances we nonetheless admire or are in awe of. Does one have to rule out the other?

Bennett as always is very consummately served by a company of actors who appear frequently in his plays. Here its Richard Griffiths, Alex Jennings and Frances de la Tour, all fluent in his style and use of language. Each chosen, even newcomers Adrian Scarborough  and Steven Wright,  because they can play to a type he requires. 

I've seen quite a few Alan Bennett plays over the years, witty, occasionally pokey, but generally good natured, like well brought up children. One often gets the feeling he is not temperamentally willing to allow his pen to fully land a punch, without cushioning the blow a bit with some whimsy infused sarcasm. One can very easily see that he gives voice through his characters to how really pissed off he is about a lot of contemporary life and views. Well, one can see it, but not often feel it. You are always greatly titilated, which makes any criticism one may wish to voice feel ungrateful or even churlish. I do love his plays, even though I frequently feel incredibly short changed by them.

CARROT REVIEW - 5/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Medea

The play opens with an oracle, Medea's maid servant. Informing you what has happened, what she forsees, that humiliation and betrayal has taken place between Medea and her husband Jason. Jason is about to marry the young daughter of King Creon. After all Medea has done for Jason, left her homeland and murdered her own brother just to be with him. The King wants her gone, she's an embarrassment, a thorn that needs to either agree to be happy with the new marriage or leave. 

Jason encourages Medea to leave with his children, even offers to give her money to live on. Worse still he attempts to convince her he is acting in good faith, he's doing all this for the future benefit of her and their children. Medea is incensed, brought to a furious rage with him. For her the die has now been cast, Jason needs to be punished. To destroy his world as he has done her's.

This production of Medea uses a version written by Ben Power. Its from 2014 and the staging is a very strange concoction. A split back stage, a curtained off woodland at the bottom, and the wedding party world of King Creon on the mezzanine above. All of it framed by a seedy 1950's interior straight out of The Shining. I didn't quite see what this period setting brought to the production, it felt an arbitrary and unrooted styling. Unless it is a sly homage to Stephen King.

What makes this play still more gripping is Helen McCrory's performance, who is a blistering presence on the stage. She has a scream and a fury that would curdle milk. Not many actors possess a cry of such authenticy, but Helen McCrory's is heart wrenching.  She does it also without losing hert great subtlety of expression and emotional tenderness. The tendency with this particular piece of Greek tragedy, is that it can easily turn into the theatrical version of a shlock horror like Carrie. Thankfully not here. 

Medea is some sort of a witch, she has powers and poisons. And though she weeps at the thought of killing her children, if that is the only thing she can do to make Jason feel what she now feels. So be it. For the gods know she has been wronged, they will help her. The result is spellbinding, a gut wrenching blood curdling denouement. McCrory's emotional restraint, makes her explosions of unhinged rage all the more impactful. She enables you to identify with why Medea feels she must do this. Worth seeing just for this performance alone, what a loss to the stage her recent death was.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - The Cherry Orchard

Madame Ranevskaya is returning home to Russia, to her estate. After many years of living abroad, of marriages, passionately inappropriate and all consuming love affairs. Her daughter Anya rescues her from another desperately humiliating situation. What has happened, is never fully explained. She has no money left, and returning home the only option left. Her debts grown so embarrassingly high the family estate is up for auction to pay them off. 

There is a sense in Chekov of people living unreal lives. Holding on to some idea or belief, because its the only scrap of hope they have left. Not wanting to see what is actually impending. Madame Ranevskaya, has a sentimental hold on the family home, symbolised for her by the Cherry Orchard. She carries on spending and giving largesse, with money she does not really have. Despite Lopakhin's repeated entreaties to carry out his plan to save the estate, she holds on to the idea everything will somehow miraculously turn out right. Even though it very clearly will not. 

When The Cherry Orchard was first performed in 1904. Russian society was at a turning point. Not seeing the early warning signs, of the revolution that was just over a decade away. The aristocracy and its feudalism were waning, a new wealthier middle class was arising, romantic idealists, such as Tolstoy, were already talking about what a better society might be like.

This production of The Cherry Orchard from 2011, is based on a new translation by Andrew Upton. English productions have normally over emphasised Chekov's nostalgia and fatalism. But here, rather than the usual heavy weight of doom hanging over them all, their is fun, humour and satire whilst all around them smoulders. The hedonism of the wilfully blind. There are quite a few anachronistic modern turns of phrase in the script. The staging over does showing you a very dilapidated estate. You never see the idyllic orchard they all talk of so rapturously and want to preserve. This was no doubt meant to underline the essential unreality of their world view. But this is not even a faded grandeur, its all ready gone to rack n ruin. This makes any love expressed for the place not grounded in either the characters, nor your experience of it.

Zoe Wanamaker as Ranveskaya, is superb. Elegant, yet emotionally a delicate wreck, she maintains this upright manner of warm hearted confidence and defiance. Flipping from frivolity to despair and back in the space of a sentence. Yepikodov, ( Pip Carter ) is played with great poignancy and feeling. A person who never quite gets anything right, yet persists with his unrequited loving pursuit of Dunyasha. Trofimov ( Mark Bonner ) conveys his ardent left wing idealism, that captures Anya's love and devotion. Lopakhin ( Conleth Hill ) emphasises all the time his humble peasant origins. He wants Madame Ranveskaya's love and respect, if not that, then revenge will do.The bragging self made entrepreneur who believes ripping out the orchard and building holiday homes for the nouveau riche is the way forward for Russian society. The ensemble acting throughout is energetic and extremely well choreographed.

This production from 2011, brought a welcome lightness of touch to Chekov's The Cherry Orchard. In the process, it tended to lose its grip on the plays heart and soul, its melancholy sense of loss. The fate of the family here, is analogous to the fate of Russia. Both are caught in circumstances out of their control. Living in a past, that if not already ceased to exist, is rapidly vanishing. Its the beginning of a world changing so rapidly as to be beyond human capacity to adapt to it. A world which we all still live in and likewise fail to fully comprehend what revolutions small changes can bring about.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Hansard

Diana Hesketh ( Lindsay Duncan ) is the wife of senior Tory politician Robin Hesketh ( Alex Jennings ). Its the 1980's and everyone is in the thrall of Thatcher. Section 28 has just passed a significant point in its contentious trawl through parliament. Robin returns home for the weekend to find his wife spoiling for an argument. She's the second Mrs Hesketh, the former mistress who triumphed over the first 'Mrs De Winter' as she sarcastically puts it. She believes she is recognising all too familiar signs in her formerly wayward husband. 

Most of the play's duration is packed full of nit picking and sparring between the two leads. Pointed political comment and analysis trip off their tongues with delicious relish. Speaking to many contemporary issues with their origins in the 1980's 'greed is good' mantra. Robin is the ardent Tory, Diana his more than left leaning opposition. These arguments are old and so well rehearsed that each can see them coming. What really lies beneath the current parlous state of play in their marriage, emerges as the play progresses. You can sort of see that coming too. The revelation when it does arrive is not a great surprise. Two and two are put together with comfortable ease.

That said, this a great two hander, originally performed in 2019, that rattles off its entertaining tropes with all the glee of a child tipping out its favourite toys across the floor. Not bad as a first successful play for Simon Woods. Even though it lacks the depth and sophistication by comparison with a David Hare play. Its quite happy to play in the muddier shallow end of political stereotypes. Lindsay Duncan and Alex Jennings are both in their element, on fine scathing form in the cutting fire of their witty, withering and lacerating repartee.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

WATCHED - Bo Burnham - Inside

I'd not come across him myself till this popped up on my radar via a Guardian review. The set up here is that he's working on a new show, as something to do whilst in lockdown. But as the lockdown goes on and on all his own personal demons come out of the woodwork, creeping into his songs, poems and monologues. 

Much of Inside captures something of the particular flavour of personal distress many have encountered during the pandemic. If you tend to deal with your problems by getting out of your head, sensory hedonism, or simply just going out. Then being forced to stay in and not meeting folk one to one can become like an unwanted meeting with the Dark Lord in a side alley. 

A lot of care is taken here over the staging, so its hard to tell how much here is genuine verite footage or carefully curated artifice.  But there are times when you sense that he is really freaking out a bit here, and not in a good way. Everyone, myself included, have had moments when you wonder quite why you are putting any of this stuff out there, what personal need is this post serving? Is this healthy self expression or just indulging in a narcissistic sense of self importance?

The song White Woman On Instagram caused a bit of controversy. Pointing fun at the superficiality of whats posted on Instagram, is in a way an easy target. Particularly for a man to take the mickey out of women. Whilst the casual sexism/rascism is certainly one way to view this, it also has the ring of truth too. Otherwise the arrow would have nowhere to land, its just not one gender or race that is necessarily prone to this. I've seen universally the type of things listed in the lyrics posted on Instagram. The carefully crafted perfect image and lifestyle that influencers, celebrities and wanna bees, put out there. It is all a bit of an unreal fantasy that is being peddled.

What you get from Inside, is an performer reflecting on his own work whilst it's in progress of being made. There is a telling segment where you view one monologue to camera, that you then see him commenting on, then another version comments on the comment until the cacophony eventually drowns out everything. Burnham's humour works best when it glancingly hits the target on the head, particularly of his own internet obsessed generation. Asking if you aren't performing online then what are you?

Currently available to stream on Netflix

WATCHED - In Fabric

 

In Fabric is written and directed by Peter Strickland and was originally released in 2018. His unique output ( Berberian Sound Studio & The Duke of Burgundy, look them out ) draws on a diverse range of influences. The trash art of auteur Daniel Argento, a 60's & 70's colour palette, shabby gothic, voluptuous characters that make you feel Fenella Fielding will just wander in at any moment. Everything in In Fabric is cranked up and heightened, including the spoken word. The soundtrack is an elegant mix of period and horror pastiche with a modern feeling and expansiveness. This film deftly moves between absurd comedy, horror gore, archly mannered to naturalistic performance. To merely describe the plot will never quite convey the sheer brilliance of this movie. You could summarise it as a horror satire on identity consumerism.

We are introduced to a department store in the January sales. Shelia is venturing to go out on a date and needs a new dress to bolster her confidence. She finds a dress she likes, dyed in 'Artery Red', she buys it. Once home the dress begins to take on a malevolent life of its own. The dress is then passed on into the hands of a washing machine repairman whose mates force him to wear it on his stag night, then on to his girlfriend. Death follows this dress.

The film script for In Fabric is bizarre and utterly wonderful. The language of the head sales lady/witch  sounds like sales talk, but is also like the incantation of a spell being cast upon the potential purchaser. Anyone whose worked in retail will find this aspect a complete hoot.  Excellently played by Fatma Mahomed the head of sales Miss Luckmoore is this weird otherworldly creation. Here are just a small sample of her divine utterances;-

'Dimensions and proportions transcend the prisms of our measurements.'

'The hesitation in your voice, soon to be an echo in the recess in the spheres of retail.'

'A provocation. For what else must one wear?'

'Darings eclipse the dark circumference of caution - Be bold!'

'Did the transaction validate your paradigm of consumerism?'

'And may I interest you in other desire supposes in our exclusive boutique?'

The washing machine repairman is only ever referred to as Reg Speaks, and indeed if you get Reg to speak about the inner workings of a washing machine everyone who listens goes into some sort of ecstatic meditative reverie. None of this is ever explained, nor does it need to be, on some level this film does have its own nightmarish logic that completely captivates you.

'A dramatic affliction has compromised our trusted department store. Get out graciously.'

That said, I suspect not everyone will get on with this movie, it is very knowing about its contrivances and artifices. But I absolutely loved it. Its available to stream on IPlayer for the next month, but also you can buy it very cheaply too.

Oh and for the Buddhists amongst my blog readers Miss Luckmoore says:-

'Desist warning attention to the askew perception of self'

WATCHED - His House

Two refugees from Africa arrive in the UK illegally and suffer the loss of their child during the journey. After detention in a camp for asylum seekers they are moved to a sink housing estate and unusually are given a whole house to live in. But something is very odd and not right about this house.

His House is a horror movie that isn't afraid to deal with real life contemporary issues head on. It captures the other worldly sense of isolation of the couple. Outside are the usual rowdy noises of an urban suburb, but we rarely see the perpetrators. The spectre of racism hangs over and around them. The estate itself is a bit of a warren of back alleys and dead ends. Their garden outside becomes a dumping ground for everyone else's waste furniture and unwanted detritus. Their life turns into a living nightmare, plagued by past actions, the loss of the child, denial and increasing mental instability. 

All around them is suspicion and the actuality of the so called 'better lifestyle' they left their homeland for, but is this just too alien, is that why they do not feel right there.? His House is a courageous, absorbing and at times shocking debut movie by Remi Weeks, that surprises you with just how brilliantly it can deal with both its themes and its horror.

INTRODUCING - Anna Von Hausswolf

Her video's having popped up unbidden onto my You Tube account, I tiptoed into the sonic landscapes of Anna Von Hausswolf. At first I wasn't sure what was going on with all this church organ stuff and dynamic band accompaniments, did I like this?. Where on earth was this coming from?  Was it just too ponderous? It felt like this ought to be pidgeon holed as Gothic but then it definitely is not. Sometimes she sings like Kate Bush and then her voice takes a chilling turn and screeches away with all the guttural power of a Swedish Diamanda Galas. Over time and repeated listens, there is a lot going on here that I find interesting, and have really come to love her work. She is uncatagorisable, though there are a rich plethora of descriptive bandwidths to fit her in - neoclassical dark wave, ambient pop, art pop, ethereal wave, experimental rock, drone. None of which are truly fit for purpose, but can be touched on for brief moments during one single track.

On her first album Singing From The Grave, there are only lyrical hints of the direction she'll later take. Quite carefully constructed songs accompanied by piano with the occasional unconventional arrangement. By Ceremony two years later she's discovered the richness of a church organ and the full Anna Von Hausswolf sound has emerged. This became her breakthrough album, it is dreamlike and suffused with complex imagery, from a world where reality and that of a foreboding folk tale meet. It displays a more diverse range of styles, from the unnerving to the frankly catchy pop tune of Mountains Crave

With each succeeding album things become more darkly sinister, the tracks longer and plunge in much deeper. Certainly by the time you get to Dark Magic's stand out track The Mysterious Vanishing of Electra you can sense an affinity with the grand guignol of Nick Cave's early work with the Bad Seeds, and the aforementioned Diamanda Galas, poking through. Its simply so out there it verges on the edges of sanity. But it is terrific stuff.

After Dark Magic the only place to go was to strip back to the basics. All Thoughts Fly is completely instrumental, no singing, just the organ and electronics. Recorded on an old organ in the sight specific acoustics of its church. The track Sacro Bosco typifies the ambitions of this album. with a brooding atmosphere, full of apprehension and dread. 

She was brought up in a creative environment. Her Father, Carl Micheal Von Hausswolf is well known in Sweden as an avant garde composer. His long layered electronic drone pieces resemble the sounds of industrial machinery as heard through several layers of concrete. At times Anna uses the organ's ability to sustain and layer notes on top of each other to create a third ringing sound that is reminiscent of this aspect in her Father's work. As on this track The Miraculous.

Her videos are often made by her sister Maria Von Hausswolf who is an award winning photographer, filmmaker and performance artist. Visually they are bleak companions that expand on her younger sisters musical psychology. These videos frequently show figures travelling through a forest, a cave or a desolate landscape populated only with overgrown ruins. Its as though we are being taken through a subterranean inner world, through someone else's dream or nightmare. Here nothing makes sense, nothing can be explained, yet it feels all too real.  Anna Von Hausswolf's work is well worth exploring.

LISTENING TO - Handsfree

Handsfree is a composition for orchestra written by Anna Meredith, that utilizes the seemingly endless possibilities of the human body to make sounds and rhythms. She freely admits her starting point was Steve Reich's - Clapping Music but it soon veers off  taking us on a fascinating journey pulling in all sorts of references from beat-box, gospel to tribal dance. Its engaging and thrilling simultaneously. In this video from the Proms 2012, Handsfree is performed by the National Youth Orchestra for whom it was originally commissioned.

LISTENING TO - Wonderful Electric

I recently discovered this BBC live version from Glastonbury 2014 of Goldfrapp's Strict Machine which has a magnificence that is simultaneously triumphant and mystical. Starting, as many Goldfrapp's  tunes from a certain era do, with a direct steal of its central riff, in this case from Chicory Tip's - Son of my Father.  It transcends these cheap mock glam origins to be taken somewhere with much greater grandeur.  I imagine this was, and still is, a bit of a showstopper. Wonderful electric indeed.

200 WORDS ON - Thoughtless Consumption

'the time for thoughtless design, for thoughtless consumption is over'

I came across this quote from Dieter Rams recently. I'd been looking through Netflix for any film not already seen or wasn't a piss poor duplicate of a more famous film, finding nothing. The genre lists appeared to hold the same roster of films but in different order. I became quite frustrated at the empty-headed distractions offered. I wanted something that could offer a more thoughtful level of engagement.

It's clear the film industry loves thoughtless movies, they produce a good return. Lots of fast moving action, dramas and high tech Science-Fiction films which, enjoyable though they are, are basically hollow entertainments. Easily half watched on the sofa whilst eating food, making out, checking what else that actor has been in or film gossip about its production, all from the comfort of your I Pad.

These films put minds and emotions on pause, to be mildly entertained by experiences that leave no trace upon us afterwards. They leave little in the form of substantive meaning, depth of emotional response or mark upon our human imagination. Once the consumption is over we are still left hungry for a richer form of sustenance.

LISTENING TO - Some Favourite Tracks from 2019

Billie Eilish - Bad Guy
Late to the party yet again, I saw her on TV at Glastonbury this year and thought she was something awesome. You hear this everywhere these days, and she will spawn her imitators and no doubt her own creative demise at some point. But for now Bad Guy is street savvy, catchy and an insolent delight from start to finish.


Nick Cave - Ghosteen
I thought Skeleton Tree was something of a career high until this. Over an hour in length it communicates the ordinariness of personal grief, through references to a search for peace that will not come. Cave bears his soul here like only he can, with storytelling and the use of telling oft repeated phrases. I continue to find it so moving I can never listen to it in the background I have to give it the full attention it deserves.


Dave - Psycho
Deservedly winning this years Mercury Price, this track Psycho offers up an honest presentation of one man's world, his mental struggles with himself and with the racism directed towards him. Not a comfortable listen but important none the less.



 
FKA Twigs - Mary Magdalene
Hard to sum up what this woman does but she has the ability to be utterly mesmerising. Her music has echoes of so many disparate influences. The music seems to exist in a time and tempo all its own elegantly slow and steady world, similar to the balladry of James Blake.




James Blake - Don't Miss It
Another sublime bit of songwriting from James Blake. Who always surprises you musically with his arrangements whilst at the same time remaining recognisably the same. Don't Miss It is quite soul bearing at times and reveals aspects of his difficulties with his internal world.



Rain Tree Crow - Rain Tree Crow
A re-release from 1991 of an album by reformed Japan members which manages to sound like one of the best David Sylvian albums. It was quite addictively on my turntable for quite a few weeks.



Rosalia - Malamente
Everyone wants a taste of this woman these days, and you can understand why. Effortlessly blending flamenco and street stylings into something all her own.


Anna Calvi - Hunter
Oh boy, her third album kicks some ass. My favourite track is Wish which I just love and can never have enough of.

FEATURE 142 - Four Moments When I Loved The Fall

Say what you may about the late Mark E Smith he was something of a one off.  Repeated reputation has it that he was a bit of a git, but a genius, which makes being a git synonymous with genius, which simply cannot be always so. Mark E Smith was, however, one of a bunch of single minded poetic northerners along with John Copper Clarke, Morrissey and Ian Curtis, who were sparked into creative life by punk arriving in Manchester in the mid 70's. What marks out Smith as different is that he resolutely continued to maintain his independence and pursue his own muse, even when that led him close to penury. You have to admire someone for sticking unflinchingly to his guns for thirty years of creative output, and sixty band members!

On one day I could find The Fall's jangly amateurism, delightful, with Smith's traditional mode of vocal delivery; half mangling vowels and half one spit away from derision, emitting a rebellious charm. On another day I could find The Fall abrasive and whingeing, with Smith's writing and delivery sounding like an incomprehensible mess, all of which made for uneasy listening. As he got older, the drink and drugs did take their toll. Smith became the sort of person you'd avoid in a pub, sitting glowering in a corner, occasionally shouting out an addled obscenity. So, though you could like and often feel admiration, even a sort of vicarious pride in the fact that Mark E Smith ever existed, rarely was he or The Fall lovable. But even I have had my moments where I succumbed, and here are four of them.

THE FIRST MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Rowche Rumble  ~ 1979
The Fall in their naive earliest incarnation had a ramshackle spirit, declaring 'fuck 'em if they don't like this,we don't care.'  There are musical moments here to treasure that achieve greatness, by sheer accident. I heard Rowche Rumble first, unsurprisingly, on the John Peel Show, and I was so taken with it I went out and bought it. More than likely recorded in one take, it has this zestful burst of enthusiastic but inept instrument playing that sounds thin and tinny, but it catches your attention from the marching drum beat of its opening bars. Then come the jangly guitars only just on the beat. Its all basic and embellished with the puny sound of a child's organ tinkling tunelessly over the top. This is a joyful few minutes of earnestly left field pop, about chemical addiction! Prophetically Smith sings 'now I've tried crazy things, abusing my body to a great end, but I'll never never never do it again.' , except of course the latter never did happen.




THE SECOND MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~  Lie Dream Of A Casino Soul ~ 1981
An almost traditional rock drum opening, quickly becomes perverted into a fast paced demented hand jive. Smith's more confident vocalising is now going at full tilt, his lyrics depicting a grim picture of the seedier run down aspects of urban life, and the northern casino soul scene is painted as a fantasy escapade  ~ ' went home to my slum canyon, on my way I looked up, I saw turrets of Victorian wealth, I saw John the ex-fox, sleeping in some outside bogs, there's a silent rumble, in the buildings of the night council'. Going on behind this rather cracking little number, are off key guitars and keyboards fighting like cats for dominance with those relentless drums.




THE THIRD MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Living Too Late ~ 1986
I first heard this at Sadlers Wells, when it was played behind a lewdly extravagant performance by The Micheal Clark Dance Company. There is something about that plodding bass line with its downtrodden air, as a jarring keyboard stabs repeatedly into it like a knife, that I love. Over the top Smith intones 'Crows feet are on my face, and I'm living too late, try to wash the black off my face, and I'm living too late'  He's writing about a universal melancholic feeling of being out of sync with your life and  times. Though Smith is often characterised as dour, he's never been averse to a bit of lyrical dry humour, something he's rarely credited with ' Sometimes life is like a bar, plastic seats, beer below par, food with no taste, music grates, I'm living too late'  For me this is The Fall's finest moment.




THE FORTH MOMENT I LOVED THE FALL ~ Hit The North ~ 1987
We are still in the Brix Smith era of The Fall, where the band is, lets say, more professional and on the case. They also sound distinctly poppy with an accessible danceable edge to it. However, one look at the cryptic lyrics I think you'd be hard put to find one iota of sense in them. they are more like a series of dissociated abstracted images that paint a picture, albeit a very out of focus one ~ ' In the reflected mirror of delirium, Eastender and Victorian lager, the induced call, mysterious, come forth ~ Hit the North!  
Still, its a great rallying cry, with a very addictive sax riff.




After this, though I've probably missed out on some great music, I lost interest as they seemed to be becoming part of the familiar well worn furniture.  I fell out of love, with The Fall, you might say.

1970's German Experimental Rock ~ Kraftwerk ( Their Early Years )

The boys from Dusseldorf, Ralf Hutter and Florian Schnieder were both in a group called Organisation before they formed Kraftwerk in 1969. But the electronic pioneers that we now know and love were quite a different beast in the early 1970's, and its not just in their haircuts and choice of clothes. Hutter appears now to acknowledges this difference by refusing to allow the re-release of their first three albums, or even include them in Kraftwerk's discography. So if you want to hear their early work it can only be found in bootleg versions and the ubiquitous You Tube videos.

What you find if you venture your ears into these albums is a treasure trove of  exploratory music struggling to find its true form. Kraftwerk in 1970 fit into a style of progressive rock performance common in the twilight of the hippie era. A loose collective of individuals hang out and play long semi-improvised pieces, probably in abandoned buildings taken over for the event. However, there is also something out of the musical ordinary going on here. First, its purely instrumental no vocals, no lyrics, no musical warmth to embrace. They play real instruments:flutes, Hammond Organs and guitars, but these are electronically adjusted and phase sounds and drones weave into the overall sound they make. Kraftwerk appear to never have been too concerned with returning back to nature or averse to technological advances, they've always idealised, embraced and celebrated the modern world as it is, or as it could be re-imagined

Here's a live performance recorded in 1970 of Ruck Zuck the opening track of Kraftwerk's first album. Schnieder plays a  muti-tracked flute which lends it a folky air of 'Jethro Tull' . Every now and then you'll recognise a particular music cadence or rising tone sequence on the flute that you realise gets re-used in later Kraftwerk. The band also features Klaus Dinger on drums who is the originator of  German 'motorik' drum beat.

On first hearing they are hard to define This isn't really trad rock but neither is it avante garde modernism. The final track on Kraftwerk 1 is Vom Himmel Hoch its an altogether darker doom laden affair that bears comparison with the bleak industrial sound of early Cluster.

By the time Kraftwerk 2 (1971) arrived the band personel had been through seismic change. For some reason Ralf Hutter leaves the band. Schnieder and Klaus Dinger remain and are joined by Micheal Rother on guitar. You Tube videos are all that's left to record this short lived triumvirate. Before Kraftwerk 2 was recorded, Dinger and Rother leave Kraftwerk to form Neu! Whether this is what prompts Hutter to return is unknown. but all this joining, leaving and returning perhaps indicates there may have been some sort of conflicts over personality or musical direction. However, Kraftwerk is re-conceived and will never be quite the same again. Hutter, so myth reports, had seen an exhibition of Gilbert & George and something about these two identically besuited gentleman with their working premise of making peoples art accessible to all, lodges in his mind. For the next two albums it will be just the dynamic duo of Hutter and Schneider playing everything.

As a second album it is admittedly a strange one.  It opens with the track KingKlang ( later to be the name of their studio) which starts with an oblique percussive overture of ringing bell noises similar to a Stockhausen piece, which then it settles into a groove that has hints of the future Kraftwerk, but its sparser and often veers closer to minimalism than a piece of pure pop music.



The album comes across as though its a series of exercises in paring down musical structures. Its all getting rather arid and conceptual, even down to re-referencing the Warhol inspired road cone on the cover, this time in green. They use no pure synthesiser sound, every sound continues to be generated from actual instruments electronically treated. No rhythms from conventional drums and still no vocals.  On this album Hutter & Schnieder sound like two men in search of a fresh direction, but not finding it.

But then comes their third album Ralf & Florian (1973) and from the cover you can sense something of the Kraftwerk visual and musical style is beginning to click into place.  Here they are photographed like people from the 1950's. Schnieder in a suit, tie and slicked back hair. Hutter, still with long hair, but parted and pulled back, and wearing a strange half repaired pair of spectacles. In a way it provides a visual metaphor for a band that can almost, but not quite, see its way forward yet. There are still a few more indiosyncrasies to iron out. Like the Kraftwerk road cone that still remains, though  much smaller, on the record cover.

The album is though full of rather delightful informal gems, and with these they begin to catch the attention and influencing of other musicians. David Bowie citied R & F as one of the influences he drew on for his Berlin trilogy. Brian Eno borrows ideas from it, on Discreet Music, made two years later, he uses a very similar taped looped tonal sequenc as Heimatklange the fourth track on the album. They remain just Hutter & Schnieder, they still don't have a drummer and often settle for flicking the rhythm switch of an electric organ on. However, the album does feature on Ananas Symphonie their first use of a proto-type voice vocoder.  It is with the fifth track Tanzmusik that you get the first appearance of a piece of music that can be considered the genuine progenitor of the future classic Kraftwerk sound. Slightly sloppier in its rhythm section, with wobbly ethereal backing vocals, but a real charmer nonetheless.



Its unusual in popular music for a band to find their signature sound so late. A third album is usually where they achieve their most fully realised and polished version of it, which they struggle thereafter to quite match or exceed. Kraftwerk seemed to have to get all their hippie and arty pretensions out of their system before they were able to create that definitive album. Autobahn (1974) is a record that is really worthy of being called groundbreaking and proved to be the starting gun for a whole new chapter in popular music.

So what happened to resolve all those conflicting ideas and bring this accelerated rate of change about? No one really knows except Hutter & Schnieder I guess, and they're not saying much that is enlightening about this period. Hutter does appear to be in control of everything now, the past and future of Kraftwerk, and everyone else are just 'music workers'. If, however, you're looking for external influences I'll point you in the direction of the track Hallogallo from 1971 by Neu! who are Klaus Dinger & Micheal Rother remember, both ex-Kraftwerk collaborators. that's been featured on a previous post.

Even on Autobahn there is still the odd bit of fluffy flute around, but the direction was now set. Here is a music with a distinct individual vision behind it. Gone are most of their self-indulgent exercises in arty farty notions. Kraftwerk's sound becomes more and more stylistically and electronically pure, with its simple, almost Bach like, melodies gliding over a backing track that is crystal clear with not one single note out of place. Plus vocals ' Wir fahr'n fahr'n fahr'n auf der autobahn' with lyrics. But then words were never their strong point.

1970's German Experimental Rock ~ Faust

Faust emerged from the late sixties Hamburg music scene and consisted of Werner "Zappi" Diermaier, Hans Joachim Irmler, Arnulf Meifert, Jean-Hervé Péron, Rudolf Sosna and Gunther Wüsthoff, This lineup lasted from its founding in 1971 to 1975. After a period of being disbanded, Diermaier & Peron reformed Faust with a fluctuating collective of musicians from 1996 onwards.

If any band existed to scotch the notion of 'krautrock' as a cohesive genre of music it is Faust. Though the idea of non-musicians who nevertheless make music is often found to be the working premise of many bands as stylistically distant from Faust as Kraftwerk. The sound world that Faust inhabited was filled with a relentless search for new sounds by mangling conventional instruments or innovating cruder instruments out of salvaged machinery, pipes and industrial tools.

Though often called a rock band, these early albums rarely fully or consistently conform to any tradition without consistently veering wildly and chaotically away from its cliches or standard form. Theirs is an anarchic rag bag of influences from Syd Barrett, Velvet Underground to Stockhausen as if  processed through a cement mixer.  Hippie without being trippy or dippy, but not beyond being whimsical whilst being hard core deadly ernest experimenters, they defy categorisation, subvert styles and expectations more than any other band of this or any period. They're the very epitome of what an indie underground band was at that time.

Their first two albums  Faust and So Far were released on Polydor and these laid down the template for the Faust musical approach. Here's a distinctly abrasive track from So Far called Mamie Is Blue.



Eager to ride the wave of new bands emerging from Germany a fledgling Virgin Records signed Faust in 1973. They attempted to open up a market for this distinctly non-conformist music, by releasing a budget album The Faust Tapes, renowned for being sold for the price of a single at 48p. The album though essentially a series of experiments and outtakes roughly edited together, probably  captures the spirit of the Faust musical zeitgeist better than their more considerd albums. Having failed with their sales strategy, Virgin dropped them two years later.

This is one of the most famous tracks from The Faust Tapes , J'ai Mai Aux Dents. Just when you think you've understood the groove they inexplicably take a jazz break before returning to it. The vocals and style are reminiscent of the Velvet Underground's Sister Ray though with substantially more avant-garde slabs of noise and meaningless lyrics, there being no room for laconic streetwise sasseyness in Faust world

Nevertheless they did produce Faust IV in 1973 whilst signed to Virgin. Now recognised as a classic 'must hear' album of the period it showcases an admittedly more refined version of their trademark mash up of styles. On the album's opening track Faust fully embrace the cliche of the by then recognisable new German sound as espoused by the likes of Neu!,taking it and leaving it somewhere it doesn't normally go, a track they've called rather toungue in cheek - Krautrock.

Faust IV proved divisive, whilst it attracted new fans, older ones thought they'd lost their edge and sold out by producing,what was for Faust, a relatively accessible album. The original band that was Faust parted ways in 1975, Whilst the reformed band carries on in the spirit of what the first Faust band stood for, their early work still stands head and shoulders above their subsequent albums.