Swedish sisters Johanna and Klara Söderberg are First Aid Kit, a folk duo whose recent album The Lion's Roar won my heart instantly. For me, they combine the best aspects of Joanna Newsom without her irritating feyness (or Lisa Simpson style vocals), and their songs have an delightfully earthy quality which recalls Gram Parsons or Emmylou Harris. Which leads me nicely into introducing the video for their song 'Emmylou', one of my favourite tracks from the aforementioned album. They are young, beautiful and very talented. We should hate them. But damn, they are just too good.
May 2012
Music
April 14, 2012
January 21, 2012
December 19, 2011
Submarine - DVD review
Richard Ayoade's debut movie Submarine is most easily described as a dark comedy which documents the coming of age of Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts), a teenager living in small town-Wales during the 1980s. However, Ayoade's direction and screenplay ensure the movie is head and tails above the likes of the usual teen comedies out there (if like me, you sat through Easy-A recently, you'll have my sympathy). Ayoade doesn't give us an adult's view of adolescence, distorted over the years - he takes us back through time to experience it firsthand (if knowingly).
Oliver is navigating the tricky terrain of first love with Jordana (Yasmin Paige), a pyromaniac almost permanently attached to a red duffle coat reminiscent of that in Don't Look Now, whilst also tackling his fears about his parents' marriage (Oliver's mother appears to be dallying with former flame turned mystic Graham, played with hilarious aplomb by Paddy Considine).
Story and style blend beautifully in this movie, with a self-consciousness which though reminiscent of Wes Anderson, remains idiosyncratically British. Sophisticated visual flourishes and a corking soundtrack from the Arctic Monkey's Alex Turner maximise the 'cool' quotient considerably. But the script, sharply observed comedy and brilliant performances ensure that this is more than just a hipster movie. Anyone who grew up in the eighties, with any wherewithal at all, will adore this film. Ayoade's past TV projects, The Mighty Boosh, The IT Crowd and Garth Marenghi's Dark Place, are sure to divide opinion more harshly than Submarine - for amidst the movie's self-reflexism and irony lies a genuine tenderness. All the milestones of adolescence are here, amplified through Oliver's narrative and Ayoade's magpie approach to cinematography (think: super 8 film, cartoons, freeze frames). School bullies, first kisses, parents failing to engage with their kids about sex (Noah Taylor as Oliver's dad is stand out). It's all here. In capturing the beautiful weirdness of adolescence whilst garnering many laughs, Ayoade has set the bar high for his next project, and I can't wait.
Meanwhile, this movie has done nothing to quell our ardour to live in Wales. As I dream, enjoy the trailer for Alex Turner's soundtrack below.
December 03, 2011
November 28, 2011
Matilda: the Musical
Roald Dahl's Matilda is one of my favourite childhood books - the dog-eared, much loved copy sitting on my bookshelf evidence of the great affection in which I hold it. So last weekend, some friends and I travelled to the Big Smoke to revel in the RSC's riotously joyful musical adaptation of the classic. A couple of us were greedily wanting seconds, having seen and loved the show during its original run at Stratford a year ago. And the seconds were just as delicious - Tim Minchin and Dennis Kelly, writers of the music and lyrics respectively, have done a marvellous job of capturing the spirit of the book.
The cast are as memorable as the tunes: Bertie Carvel, dragged up as the monstrous Miss Trunchbull, bosoms like ballistic missiles, is inspired as the villain of the piece. As he spat out quintessentially Dahlian insults such as 'maggot!' and 'twerp', his performance culminating in the hilarious show tune 'Phys Ed', he seemed the very incarnation of Quentin Blake's illustrations. As indeed, did Paul Kaye as Matilda's weasly father Mr Wormwood. The child performers were also a joy to behold - the role of Matilda, shared by four girls on a rotating basis, was brilliantly performed just as it had been in Stratford (though I confess I didn't catch either girl's name), with cracking support from the other young performers playing Bruce, Lavender, et al. The energy they bought to the stage was infectious and had me smiling broadly long after the show had ended.
The stage itself was quite the sight to behold: tumbling alphabet blocks provided a colourful frame for events, with desks rising from the floor and swings dropping from the ceiling. There were some fancy flourishes added to the London production, but thankfully nothing which detracted from the the purity and simplicity of the original show. The same cunning effects were used for the infamous pigtail swinging and hair dyeing scenes - not to mention those in which Matilda uses her special powers - to the delighted gasps of children and adults alike.
Like Roald Dahl's story, the show never shies away from the darkness or cartoonish grotesquerie which kids - and lets be honest, adults- love. There are some more poignant moments, but none are too sickly and its great to watch a production in which the kids are the right side of cute. As we root for Matilda to avenge the grown up bullies around her, there are cheeky little pokes at contemporary culture: Miss Trunchbull's office is a parody of a surveillance society, with TV monitors which track her pupils scaling the walls; TV is also pilloried in the Wormwood family home (and perhaps through Mrs Wormwood's ballroom dancing, a swipe is dealt to the likes of Strictly ...? I might be overthinking this :-)). These pokes are complemented with a retro feel to the brightly coloured sets which I loved - the vaulting horses and blackboards of Crunchem School took me right back to primary school, and the C & A bag swinging from Mrs Wormwood's arm would have chimed with many a grown up in the audience.
Minchin, who could almost emerge from the pages of a Dahl book himself with his mad hair and kohl-rimmed eyes, has penned some corking uptempo numbers which capture the ebullience of youth and the right to be 'naughty' wonderfully - the closing number 'Revolting Children' is a little bit School of Rock and a little bit soul. Only the original novel can vie for supremacy as an artistic advocate for a child's right to self-expression. This production is like the best school play ever (and as one of my friends pointed out, will likely become a staple on the school circuit before long); the evident pleasure of the performers is matched by the enjoyment of the audience. And more to the point, its a validation for bookworms like me the world over.
November 07, 2011
October 16, 2011
Jarvis Cocker at Cheltenham Literary Festival
WARNING: this article contains much fawning.
Last weekend, we went to see my All-Time Hero Jarvis Cocker speak at the Cheltenham Literary Festival (what is that, reader? You didn't know of my admiration for the bespectacled wonder? Come now. You've clearly not been paying enough attention!). Saturday was a day of great anticipation, as I was transformed back to my thirteen year old self, becoming increasingly enthusiastic (and squealy) about the evening. Not even being temporarily locked out of the house could diminish my excitement, and I am afraid to say that the glass of wine I knocked back after we entered Cheltenham's baroque Town Hall did nothing to dampen my ardour. Jarvis + vino + books = a very silly Lindsey.
Books ... that's right. I should tell you what brought Jarvis to the Cheltenham Literary Festival. Jarvis's wryly observational lyrics have long been feted by critics and indie crowds alike, so it will come as no surprise to know that Faber have decided to publish a collection of his lyrics in a tome entitled 'Mother, Brother, Lover' (so called, Jarvis ironically confided, because he used these terms so often in his lyrics, the title handily suggested a degree of deliberation). It was this collection which he was there to promote, and which I was so desperately keen to hear him discuss.
Before I go on, I should declare myself as someone who, despite loving the written word, has an uncomfortable relationship with literary festivals: I find the crowds they attract to be uniformly middle class, characterised by an elitism and intellectual arrogance which I despise (and typically, lots of floaty scarves). I tend to feel deeply uncomfortable and very cross during such events, so it says something about Jarvis's cache that we travelled from the depths of South Oxfordshire all the way to Gloucestershire for his talk. I was intrigued to see what kind of crowd he would attract, and whilst there were some of the usual suspects in attendance, there was also a large number of folk who, like us, had loved Jarvis and Pulp since their teens and who clearly represented a committed Pulp fanbase.
The evening began amazingly well, following an elbow brush with Jarvis (forever forth to be known as The Elbow Brush) - he's really very tall, you know. After he strode on stage to the sort of cheers you don't normally hear at such events, he explained that he would be be giving a presentation on the significance of lyrics (his own and other people's) - taking on the role of Professor Cocker, if you will. A whimsical and interesting discussion of the frankly incomprehensible lyrics to the Kingsmen’s ‘Louie Louie', investigated by the FBI for suspected pornographic content, broke the ice perfectly. After his mini slide show, Jarvis then shared some of his early lyrical forays with us, drolly delivering the naive 'Life is a Circle' before going on to chat about the process of writing itself. When discussing the difference in writing poetry and lyrics, he treated the audience - after some prompting from interviewer John Wilson - to a recital of what are undoubtedly his most famous lyrics, 'Common People'. In doing so, he reminded us all of his unique singing style, which in many Pulp tracks fuses spoken word with song - listen to 'Wickerman', one of my favourite tracks, for a great example of this.
The discussion was genuinely fascinating - and deeply reassuring to anyone with writer's block. Jarvis spoke of his early expectation that there was some Nirvana to be accessed before he could write meaningful lyrics, followed by the realisation that there was much to be gleaned from everyday life, citing the poet Roger McGough and TV as early influences on his now familiar style. He also discussed the pitfalls of using firsthand experiences in one's work, and made a humorous confession to a hatred of opera (I couldn't help but cheekily wonder what some sections of the audience made of this!). Though the Town Hall was full to capacity, Jarvis's confidential manner gave the illusion of a conspiratorial, relaxed chat - he was erudite, witty and down to earth. A highlight for me was his tale of being picked up by joyriders in a Ford Mondeo after his Hillman Imp broke down, one of whom politely offered him a chocolate lime! His reflections on class were insightful without being polemicising, and his self-effacing but wise observations struck a real chord.
A short Q & A session after the talk, which I was far too nervous to participate in (recovering as I was from The Elbow Brush), was followed by a quick drink in town and an hour and a half car journey home. The evening was worth our Cotswolds Odyssey, to share in the company of a man who inspired me to be myself as an awkward teenager and who continues to plough his own distinctive path. An enjoyable if all too brief insight into one of the finest lyricists of our generation.
Seek out your old Pulp CDs now. And if you're hungering for something new, have a listen to this:
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