Shooting Kodak Portra 160 at 400 ISO

It was the night of my band performing a banishing ritual on a cold October night a few years back. My wife couldn't attend, and then some other people dropped out, so in the end, it was just our friend Amy who braved the cold and joined me for a pre-gig pint at a pub near the venue.

Amy - cold, but happy.

I'd driven to the photo shop the other side of town just before soundcheck, just before they closed, to pick up a roll of Portra 400, and the chap or lady behind the counter (I can't remember who it was now, though I've since got to know them a bit) took a roll out, loose in its canister, and charged me about £8 or whatever it was. I was excited to try it, as it was the first time I'd ever used Portra, having read so much online about it, and it was also the first time using my new camera, a Konica C35 AF2 I'd purchased off eBay, again after reading a few positive reviews of it online. 

So as I was waiting for Amy to arrive, I quickly took the film out from the canister to shove it in the camera, when what did I find but a roll of Portra 160 instead. Oh no!, I thought, oh well, I'll have to remember to set the ISO on the camera back down to 100 (it didn't have a 160 option), but just at that moment Amy arrived, and in the distraction of the moment, I finished loading the film and forgot to change the ISO. 

Well, anyway, these things happen. The gig went ahead, we banished the Brexit demon (fingers crossed) at the gig, and then headed down to Brighton beach to burn an effigy of Mr Punch with some lighter fuel in a metal bucket. It's a long story, but not relevant to this. 

Here's Amy, spitting red wine onto the fire, as a confused child looks on.

It was only a day or two after that I noticed my mishap, as I was walking my dog in the autumnal park near my home. I decided to ring the camera shop immediately and ask their advice, and they said it would probably be fine, you know, don't shoot a wedding or anything, but they'd probably just send it to be pushed a stop or so, and it would probably turn out fine. 

Autumnal park.

In the ensuing days, I took one of my kids to a pub, sat him on a throne-like chair there, and took this picture of him with my beer.

Mmm, beer. (He doesn't drink. Yet.)

Then, at some point soon after, my wife got a phone call to say her terminally-ill father was on his last legs, and she should fly out to Texas to be with him immediately. So we scrambled some money together and flew her out there. While she was gone, it was my good friend's wife's 40th birthday at our local pub. I went, Konica in tow, telling them I'd be official photographer for the occasion.

 It was "go as your favourite musician" fancy dress. This is Janis and... Neil Young?

 Bjork and Fatboy Slim.

This would have been such a great photo of Asian Kurt Cobain if it wasn't the end of the night and I wasn't drunk and holding the camera strap in the way.

Soon after that night, a weird thing happened. The sky went all yellowy-orange. Saharan sandstorm mixed with something or other and anyway, the whole of England lost its mind as an eerie tinge transformed the atmosphere.

 Me, confuddled by the sky.

No flash sky. This was the middle of the day.

Anyway, I drove my wife to the airport and said goodbye by some autumnal trees in Windsor on the way.

A short-lived farewell.

A temporarily single dad, I took my kids and dog for a walk. But I think the very next day, my wife rang me from Texas, to say I needed to come out ASAP too, and to bring a suit. There wasn't long left.

That haircut is my handy work.

So after some more hastily arranged money, I found myself flying solo to Dallas Fort Worth. So I drank some whiskey, and the light through the plane window on it looked lovely.

Though the camera didn't want to focus on that.

And then I found myself unexpectedly in Texas, in a staggeringly hot November, with just eight shots left on that roll of Portra 160 being shot at 400.

My wife and her step-nephew Trevor welcoming me.

We waited for the inevitable, which took ages, actually, and we felt guilty to enjoy ourselves too much.

 A walk in downtown Winnsboro, TX.

My step-mother-in-law, in the midst of a tragi-comedic moment.

And then we went out to stay at a lakehouse out of town to give them some space, and I took this, my favourite film photo I think I've ever taken.

My actual mother-in-law, fishing at sunset on Lake Winnsboro.

I love the colour of the sky, the sun illuminating her auburn hair and her smile, the detail of the fishing line through the eyelets on the fishing rod. I wish that thing top left wasn't there though. A lesson in framing, though I didn't know it was going to come out so well, of course.

And then on the day he passed away, we went out to a rose garden. It was blisteringly hot.

My mother-in-law and sister-in-law in the Tyler rose garden.

And then my father-in-law passed away, and there were no more photos to be taken.

I've never experimented with pushing Portra 160 since this, and the Konica C35 AF2 died during a ski trip the following year, when I took a turn too fast and landed on top of it on the piste in Samoens, France.

But there was something special about this roll. I think it's the favourite I've ever had developed. I don't know if it has to do with the pushing, or the camera I used, or a combination of the two. 

I still remember the feeling when I got the photos back from the camera shop, and showed the fishing at sunset one to my son. That's what I love about film photography, those moments of surprise and revelation, that some things do turn out pretty good. 

The Cat Empire - 'Steal The Light' album review

Back to 'Cities'/'Two Shoes'-era wonderfunk for 'the Aussie Beatles'.

I saw The Cat Empire last October at the Shepherds Bush Empire in London. They were wonderful, as ever, and debuted several of these new songs from 'Steal The Light', and I noted at the time that they sounded like something a bit special. I remember 'Brighter Than Gold' and 'Still Young', that they sounded great.

7 months later, and the new CD has winged its way over from Melbourne, Australia, together with the Special Edition giant-sized poster of the wonderful Graeme Base album art, with the names of everyone who has ever signed up to their mailing list printed on it over both sides (including my wife's and mine!), and a lovely note from the band thanking me, and a cute little Microsoft Outlook email to the authorities, confirming all taxes had been paid up in full Mr Chancellor. I was excited.

As with 'Cinema', the album arrived the morning after I finished a night shift, and my wife only got me downstairs at all that day by threatening to put it on without me. I thought, "I'm not having that again", and set the CD spinning as I made my afternoon's breakfast, and did the dishwasher.

'Brighter Than Gold' I had heard before of course, not only live, but also accompanying the brilliant video on YouTube, but it was great to hear it thumping out of my stereo for the first time. Having heard it driving home late last night, for the first time after dark, I've come to realise it's definitely a night time, after hours kind of song, best appreciated long after the sun's gone down. Some songs just are, you know?

Sometimes I think of TCE as being like Rage Against The Machine on 'Evil Empire', desperately finding new ways of getting killer riffs out of the blues scale, and 'Brighter Than Gold' finds another killer trumpet hook in the breakdown that signals a real return to form for the band. They just feel like they like each other again.

'Prophets In The Sky' is a Harry-sung number, credited to all of the band (and it's interesting to see the credits for each song; lots of different inter-band collaborations, and different band members getting credited in different orders, McCartney/Lennon-style). 'Prophets...' is where the album starts to feel very nicely South American, and 'Two Shoes' reminiscent, with the slightly behind-the-beat shuffle, and the slipping into Spanish, with mentions of 'coraźon' (Spanish for 'heart'). Their South American fans are some of their most ardent and passionate followers, as seen by the numerous Facebook and Twitter comments begging the band to return to S.A., and the band seemed to have embraced the love once again, even filming a video down there, I believe.

I was initially a bit put out by Harry's use of the word 'hipsters' for some reason, I really don't like the term, or the people it refers to, in England anyway, and see it as a bit of a fad-ish word (it's rad, but is it a bit rad-dy?) that might date in a few years, but after a few days' heavy rotation it's safe to say I was wrong, and this album's faultless, and even the songs I thought I was going to struggle with listening to regularly have become stuck in my head, so what do I know, and I love finding albums that can do that, so all power to The Empire Ship!

'Steal The Light' comes next, and at this point, almost arbitrarily because it's so good throughout the album, I must mention Ryan Monro's bass playing here. Always a bit of an unsung hero, the man is rock steady and funky as, all the way through this, and the rapport between his bass and the mighty sound of Will Hull-Brown's drums has evolved into a thing of pure wonder and joy. It's the simple things he gets right, so right, and I could just listen to this track as an instrumental and it would be glorious. As the chorus is about to come in, The Empire Horns erupt in a waterfall cascade of rushes to the head, just one of many moments on the album of hornish delight.

DJ Jumps gets a rare songwriting credit on the next tune, 'Am I Wrong', together with Harry and Felix, with its standout staccato drum part, as the two singers share vocal duties, with a verse/chorus split. Harry sings, "Am I wrong, Mother Theresa?" in the chorus, not his only spiritual moment on the album. 

He takes centre stage again on 'Wild Animals' up next, which was a standout lyrical moment for me on first listen, and is a further continuation of his wonderful personal songwriting style that has evolved since his first solo album was released, 'Little Stories'. He sings that Man (or Woman) wasn't born to be sat down behind desks all day, staring at screens or their phones, and not to forget that we are actually wild animals, as wild and free as any other, or else we should be. "Don't let them kill the wild animals inside of you". The music features great work from Jumps, and gives a kind of Jungle Book/Dr Doolittle semi-comedic vibe somehow, and I also get a feel of Weather Report style fusion type stuff, which comes back again later on in the album. 

So far, so amazing, and such a diverse mix of all the styles that make the band what they are, seemingly at the height of their powers, and not taking themselves too seriously again. It's worth pointing out that this is the first album the band have released on their own, presumably having fulfilled their contract with Virgin Records, which served them well for sure, especially in the early days, but now the music biz has changed, and I gather it's much more desirable in all ways for bands to release things by themselves these days, and the whole album has a lightness of touch, and a feeling of being at ease with itself that may have come from being freed of whatever shackles they may have been tied to in the past. Who knows, I'm just speculating. Literally making this stuff up.

Back to the music, dude. 'Still Young' comes in at a relentless pace, lapses into dub in the middle, then throws in a little Spanish, and we could be back on 'Cities', the lesser-known album in between their debut and 'Two Shoes', of songs written for the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne way back when, I believe. The band seem to just be enjoying jamming together again, and some of the best moments on the album are just extended instrumental bits that seem to have been written from jams, rather than worrying too much about song structure, which is what made TCE so special in the first place. You don't play over a thousand shows without becoming expert musical genii, you know. Just ask those four lads from Liverpool.

'Like A Drum' is another Jumps collaboration, with Felix and Ryan this time, and features lyrics sung almost entirely in Spanish. This was another song I thought I wasn't going to like long-term on first listen (so much for first listens), but it's been stuck in my head all day, and the clever linking of lyrics and drum beat and Ollie McGill's delicious 'piano montuno' deliver a fantastic, authentic South American vibe, with some nice minor key resolving too.

'Open Up Your Face' is perhaps the strangest song on the album, credited just to Harry. It sidles up to you and grooves like a sunset wave on St Kilda beach. Seriously, that just came to me, but it's true. Further evidence of an increasingly spiritual Harry, God knows what it's about, but then I think maybe I do...maybe I do. 

Next up, 'Go', a straight-up Harry and Jan Skubiszewski collaboration (the guy who is the other of half of (one of) Harry's side projects, Jackson Jackson (presumably, he's Jackson)), and who produced the whole of this album. Hard to see too many similarities between this and Jackson Jackson stuff, the first album of which I own, and is amazing, although thinking about it now, there is a similar sort of 'Ring Of Fire'-style Mariachi type trumpet thing going on here that reminds me of the excellent 'Flicker and the Spark' from that album. The band is cooking again, and Harry really gets into the vocals, again decrying modern technology, a theme he's touched on before, and a pretty damn relevant one I'd say, as I sit and type this on my ipad, having not spoken to any living human about this album I love at all and am instead choosing to post my thoughts up on the Internet for the pleasure of strangers I will never meet.

"...every now and then someone starts to sing...but you're just standing there and staring at your omnipresent phone, you're so goddamn materialistic, man you've got to let it GO!"

Quite. 

'Sleep Won't Sleep' comes in next, and took me by surprise after a few listens; was this some kind of 'Two Shoes' type sunshine and cocktails, glorious, for large parts instrumental, song of old I was hearing before my very ears? Yes it was, and definite evidence of what had been promised by the band in interviews before 'Steal The Light' was released, a return to that laid-back, easy vibe that made us all fall in love with them in the first place. Oh the horns! Oh the piano! Oh the bass! Oh the percussion! Oh the scratching! Oh the drums! Oh the smile in Felix's voice!

'Don't Throw Your Hands Up' continues in this happy place, with another beautiful Monro bassline, and some African type feel, again reminiscent of 'Black Market'-era Weather Report for me (to be fair, that's the only Weather Report album I've got), and there even seems to be a little subtle echo of one of the melodies from, I think, the title track of that album, but don't quote me on that, as I don't have it to hand and can't be bothered to look it up on YouTube. It seems to be a song of positivity from Mr Angus, to not focus on the negative side of life and instead look to the future as a bright place of possibilities. As it jolly well is.

The album ends with 'All Night Loud', credited just to Felix, and recalling his lovely solo album, 'Into The Rain'. It's a beautiful unassuming, quiet number, and a grower, and it feels good that the band now seem to be acknowledging that it's OK that they've gone off and done separate things, but actually they can bring those things together under one TCE album, and it's great, and it can still be greater than the sum of their funky parts.

If I was a professional writer, I'd now link this ending to something I said in the opening paragraph, but I'm so tired of reading every article and review written in that way that I'm just not gonna do it. Besides, I can't remember how I started, and I'm tired now. It's nearly 1 a.m. and I have to be up for work soon enough. Suffice it to say the album's great. If you were thinking about whether to buy it, you should I'd say. And to the band, I'm much obliged. I'm much obliged. I think I paid you about £20 to have the Special Edition shipped over from Melbourne to England, and to have the music transported from your fingers and hearts and souls and into mine. I think I still owe you all a beer at least.

Adios, funkmeisters. Until next time.

Thoughts on the PCC Elections, November 2012

When I voted at about 2.20 pm yesterday afternoon in my little village in West Sussex, there were about 5 other voters in there at the time, with more coming in as I left, which was more than I expected to see after lunchtime on a weekday. 

I managed to seek out the Sussex TV debates online, through the BBC South East facebook site, and formed my opinion on whom to vote for that way. I also read the excellent topofthecops.com website, which confirmed, as had been my thoughts initially, that we should not be blindly voting for political parties, but should instead choose a candidate based on their personality, integrity, and incorruptability. 

I voted for a candidate who was linked with a party I would never normally consider voting for, because the candidate, in those TV debates, seemed the least politician-like, the most embarrassed to be there, and therefore I judged the candidate to be the most likely to carry out the role without influence, subterfuge, or crowd-pleasing tendencies. 

Sadly, inevitably it seems, this candidate did not make it through the first round of counting, but  I wonder how many people might have voted differently if they had actually heard the candidates speak, rather than only having read their manifestos (in most cases in Sussex, written by other people for them), or worse still, only voting based on the parties who had supported their campaigns?

Also, I could not find out anywhere online any information as to what the links with the political parties had to do with each candidate, and how much it might affect their impartiality in the role. Can anyone help answer this?

However, I feel, when given the right to vote, one must carry out that right as a duty, and was dismayed to learn that many of my friends had not bothered, claiming ignorance, and spouting commonly misinformed views that this sort of thing was "all right for America, but we're not America" (whereas in America the similar roles they refer to are not voted for by the public), and that it was going to cost a lot more money in these austere times etc., when actually it will not cost any more than the existing police authorities. 

So it seems that public opinion was wafted in this direction, by whom, for whom, and to what end, who knows?

Gillian Welch at the Brighton Dome, Saturday night, 12th November 2011, 8pm til about quarter past 11

I saw this tour advertised in the Guardian Guide, a couple of months ago. Damn, I thought, that means it'll be sold out by now. I was reading it on a Saturday afternoon. I'd heard the album was great, but haven't been spending much money on music in recent times, due to the hard times.

My next nightshift at work, my mind, as it often will, turned to thoughts of escape. I looked at the Dome's website, all tickets sold out, except for a couple of restricted view seats, not together. It was important my wife and I went together. I checked ebay. Two tickets going, centre circle, right in the middle, three rows from the front, £25 for two, being sold because they had been bought as a gift, but whoever was selling was double booked that night. Hope they had a good time.

I clicked to watch item, expecting prices to go through the roof. Thankfully, this was still about a month before the gig, the buzz hadn't got out to ebay yet, I was the only bidder. £12.50 each, just like the olden days.

The week of the gig came. My wife and I had a blazing argument, about the hard times. Reconciled, but still wounded, we discussed selling the tickets. They were now going for at least £50 on ebay. I started the listing, but, sagely, we changed our minds, and downloaded "The Harrow and the Harvest" (now I really wish we'd bought the CD - look at this video, great to see real artists taking pride in their art:)

But this was Monday night, and the gig was on Saturday. Postage would take too long to get properly acquainted. So I checked tunechecker. As usual, tunetribe was cheapest. The album was with me straight away. I wanted to listen to it as we went to sleep, but we couldn't find the requisite cable (modern life is rubbish), so we went to bed, feeling drained, confused, and defeated. 

Then I was back at work, the earliest of early morning trains, leaving the house in the cold and dark, reading "The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter", listening to the album. Perfect start to the day, quiet, intimate, I felt like I was in on some wonderful secret, that only, me, Gillian, Dave, and Carson and Mr Stringer knew about.

Wednesday and Thursday, I listened to the album once each way there and back on the trains. By Friday, I had songs stuck in my head, and needed to hear them singly, taking a walk round PC World in my break, with my headphones on, "no, I'm just looking, thanks". Don't interrupt. 'Down Along The Dixie Line', often, but most of all 'Hard Times'. Friday morning, I listened to the album twice on the train to work, starting it again as soon as it had finished, and once more on the journey back. The trains were screwed, but my shift was over, my wife and boys came to pick me up from a neighbouring station. I was healed. 

The night of the gig, the house was just about tidied for the babysitter, I rushed through (half a) chapter of snozzcumbers, Bloodbottlers, and whizzpoppers, and we dashed out the door. The tickets were dropped on the floor, the dog escaped, the babysitter dashed out to tell us, she got locked out, we had to let her back in, and we missed our train. Which turned out to be a bus replacement service anyway, (or should that be train replacement service?), so we hopped in the car, and followed that bus. 

We were 20 minutes late, the gig having started promptly at 8 o'clock, and arrived at the end of 'Scarlet Town', taking our places during the applause, so it looked like just one row was giving a (fully deserved) standing ovation. The tickets were dead central, I really hope those ebayers were having a good evening elsewhere. Amid an aroma of Habit Rouge and some of that real sticky-icky, we took our seats. 

"This one's a real bummer..." drawled Gillian, to much laughter, loping into "The Way It Will Be", singing in unison with Dave, at such a perfectly slow tempo, I slipped into a meditative trance, seeing things in the purple and red lit dry ice, auras around the performers. Bloody hell, I said to my wife at the end of it, and squeezed her hand. 'Down Along The Dixie Line' was next, thank God we hadn't missed it, and we were blown away. Dave's solos were impossibly brilliant, we were in the presence of a true master, jazz-like improvisation in that country style, proof that only hard work, dedication and practice can get you the kind of life where you get to stand on stage every night and sing beautiful harmonies with Gillian Welch, while the audience drools over your guitar playing. Bloody hell, I said again.

The capos were being moved up to the eighth fret, which could mean only one thing: 'Elvis Presley Blues'. The cheers went up, Gillian announced "The amazing this is we ain't tired of playing this song yet!", and they launched into a sublime version. When Dave entered with his harmonies on "I was thinking that night about Elvis" for the third verse, he gave his guitar one long strum, and let it ring out, and rapped a few times hard on its body, he was into it so much, and so was I. 

'Time (The Revelator)' followed, and Dave's solo was sublime, sounding like a drunkard in parts, a madman in others, sticking on one note for ages, working out the miniscule difference between the fourth fret on his G string and his open B string.

Gillian promised she would be chattier in the second half, though she had been plenty chatty already, I thought. Then the interval, and we clambered out again, looking longingly at others' chocolate ice creams and pints of beer and cider. My wife offered me her last mint, and we shared it. A great cross-section of ages, young student sorts, middle-aged hipsters, and those approaching advanced age, and then also whatever age I am (secretly I am 12).

We went back inside, waiting to see if the spell could be unbroken. Gillian had her banjo on. It was 'Hard Times'. Predictably, I wept, resting my head on my wife's shoulder. This is the song that made me realise that whatever happens to us, whatever this government throws at us, however bad the media tries to make us feel, I'm not going to lose sight of the important things in life, I'm not going to give in. "Hard times ain't gonna rule my mind, anymore". 

During this song, it occurred to me that Gillian was actually also telling me to get out there and get on with my music career, so I will. 

A beautiful 'Tennessee' followed, I could only laugh at the end at how good it was, and then the unexpected delight of 'Six White Horses', Gillian announcing that "Even though this was a very serious show, sometimes we like to have some fun. (LAUGHTER) This was the result of a late, late night in the studio". 

Cue Dave on banjo, Gillian harmonising with him while tapping out and clapping a complex rhythm on her legs, before hitching up her skirt, and dancing a slow circle, tap-dancing in her cowboy boots, stomping. It was absolutely beautiful to watch, she was just like a little girl performing in front of her family after Christmas dinner. 

"Now that we've gotten to know each other a little better...", she said afterwards, to more laughter, introducing a Dave solo effort. Dave started off playing, and then decided he wanted to switch guitars, giving Gillian his famous Epiphone Olympic, which Gillian strummed a few times and then said "See, this is what it sounds like when someone other than Dave plays Dave's guitar...". They launched into what seemed to be an instrumental number, which lasted all of one minute, before breaking down into laughter, switching back guitars, and Dave changing capo positions a few times, as if undecided on what to play, Gillian struggling to keep up with his capo changes, and then finally settling on the beautiful 'Sweet Tooth', which, having now read the lyrics, I still don't fully understand, but would like to get better acquainted with. Indeed, the girl sitting next to us insisted we seek out his solo records. 

'Silver Dagger' was played, and then began a series of encores, starting with Bob Dylan's 'Billy', Dave announcing afterwards, "Just in case the bodycount wasn't high enough in this show, here's some more killin' for ya", in reference to Sam Peckinpah and "Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid", where the song is from, before going into another moody song I didn't recognise. Another encore, 'No One Knows My Name', and a wonderful stomping singalong to 'Fly Away', Dave making us singing all "one more time" three more times, it was a wonderful communal atmosphere, and I just wished we were up standing, able to dance around. 

Then the final encore, and Gillian said "They told us y'all have trains and buses to catch, so if you gotta go, you know, head on out into the night, and we'll play you out", before starting a staggeringly sedate and gorgeous 'The Way The Whole Thing Ends'. This was followed by the very last song, Jefferson Airplane's 'White Rabbit'. Incredibly intense, atmospheric, and different to anything they had played all night, Dave's guitar and Gillian's voice were reverbed, and it was wonderful. I thought they were singing "Free your head!" at the end, and that's what I intend to do.

The only thing that would have made it perfect would have been "I Wanna Sing That Rock And Roll". My wife and I have been practising that one together. Little gives me more pleasure than singing in harmony, and when I hit those notes with my wife, it's the greatest feeling in the world. Who knows, maybe we missed it at the beginning. As they said in that Making of the album cover video, it's the imperfections that make it perfect. 

We'll just have to go see them again. 

If you need some healing in your life, do buy "The Harrow & The Harvest" (on CD), and do try to check them out on tour before they disappear back to Dixie. And thanks guys, that was amazing!

Things About Train Travel

Friday 30th September 2011, lines written on my first week of train journeys to and from work, after becoming a rail commuter (again). 


Why not listen to some music as you read? This song was in my head on my walk to the train station this morning. It contains the lines: "The little man who gets the train, got a mortgage hanging over his head, But he's too scared to complain, 'cos he's conditioned that way..." - thanks, Ray.

Bad things about train travel:

• The battle with clothing. Running for trains in a coat, getting too hot, getting on the train, red-faced and panting, having to take coat and other layers off, with strangers eyes seemingly glaring at you. Getting caught out by the weather, nowhere near the safe haven of your house, where an umbrella might be quickly grabbed, or a jumper, or a coat discarded.

• The problem of what you can carry with you. A holdall is too big, and too uncomfortable to carry. A rucksack too small, and what if you have shopping, or running shoes?

• The overcrowdedness, for which you yourself are equally to blame. Nowhere to sit when you're exhausted first thing in the morning, while one or two unflustered, cool-shirted types are lavishly strewn about an otherwise empty first class, making you want to "do a riot".

• Late trains, cancelled trains, having to call work, getting home late.

• The endless temptation of places to buy refreshments, which are over-priced and deeply dissatisfying. Being hungry or thirsty when there are no such establishments nearby or open.

• Never being sure whether to offer a seat, whether you will offend someone who doesn't want to be thought of as old, pregnant, female, etc. Some days just being in such a foul mood as to not want to give up your seat in any circumstances, even if your own grandmother is wheeled through the sliding doors, from beyond the grave.

• Jealousy of other people's gadgets. Wishing you had your own laptop to play Champ Man on.

• Jealousy of other people's lives in general, that they look better, dress better, smell better, and evidently have a better job than you. But are they happy!

• The look on people's faces as they near the end of their homeward journey, the end of their days, seemingly the end of their lives, their sallow faces, drooping eyelids, and not one of them is smiling.

Good things about train travel:

• Overhearing people's conversations, realising they're just like you, different to you, slightly different to you, slightly the same as you. Overhearing some great, inspiring humanity to set you off on a good day.

• Seeing and getting up close and personal with an infinite number of new and different people each day; people to fantasise over, admire,  imagine what their lives are like, imagine whole lives with, vaguely flirt with, chase through tunnels under platforms, only for them to veer off to a different platform, gone, perhaps, forever.

• The excitement that comes with the knowledge you could innocently chance upon a companion from the past; an old school friend, an ex-lover, an ex-wannabe lover, thinking you saw someone you knew, was that her? You'd like to think it was, and it sets you thinking...

• The romance of stations, this is where lovers meet for debut kisses, spies outspy each other, criminals may lurk among the everyday folk, and everyone is going somewhere, everyone has a story. Like airports, but not as good, and more full of commuters. Like in this great song, by the fella who sang about Vegemite sandwiches and where men chunder:

• Hearing foreign tongues, seeing foreign smiles, gestures, laughs, and realising there's a world out there, and it's big and it's WILD.

• Time for yourself, to sit, ponder, people-watch, time to read, time to write, time to imagine a life for yourself, to not have to concentrate, to allow the mind to wander, but not too far...doh! Missed my stop!

Here's some more Kinks, about choo-choo trains:

The Cat Empire - 'Cinema' album review

The Australian funkmeisters have put together their most complex and mature album to date.

Firstly, I must admit that I am, of course, biased. Let me tell you how. In the summer of 2005, I first started going out with the girl who is now my wife. That summer, we fell in love to a lot of music, 'Clouds' by Joni Mitchell was one (my CD), 'The Cat Empire' (the band's debut proper) was another (hers). 


The girlfriend who is now my wife, Australian of course, kept playing me this CD, and I thought it at first a little cheesy, if I'm honest. Sure, the trumpet hooks were bouncy, fresh, and, well, hooky, and the record positively bounced out of the speakers, but on the first few casual listens the whole thing just sounded a bit 5ive-sy to my brought up in grey old England ears. A bit boyband pop, with seemingly arbitrarily placed scratching on it, as if Bradley from S Club 7 had been given licence to explore his 'urban' side by a sympathetic record company executive.


But then something happened. I started listening to the lyrics. And all of a sudden I realised, this was not some happy happy joy joy Aussie S Club Party, this was The Real Thing. And it's a magical moment when you find The Real Thing in music. It's like...well, it's like falling in love. 


I can recall the exact moment it happened. I was cooking in our kitchen, listening to the album for the umpteenth time that summer, and the track "Nothing" came on, and for the first time I heard, I really HEARD Harry singing, "A moment just to float/ To ponder and to dote/ To dry and to soak/ And to take a little toke of that Nothing/ Oh, sweet Nothing! mm-mmm/ Today we're doing Nothing at all!" - and I realised this was not a record, this was a call to arms.

Five years down the line, and we've got three kids (Ryan, Felix and...Dylan - sorry Harry and the other guys, other obsessions of mine took priority there), and TCE have released their fourth official studio album, Cinema. And again I'm in love.


The first I heard of the album, I was laying sick in bed, and could only just make out the bass coming up through the floorboards, a terrible way to first hear such a long-anticipated album. It had arrived in the post that morning, and my wife had put it on in the kitchen while I lay trapped, clutching my groaning guts upstairs. The bass sounded good, but. 


I came down at dinner time, and tried to listen to the whole thing properly, but the cacophony of my four-year-old twins' tantrums drowned it out, Dylan in particular howling banshee-style, recalling Harry on "Bring The Rain", from his fantastic limited release live solo album, 'Live from the Famous Spiegeltent'.


This was no good. Finally, I was back at work. Finally, a bit of quiet time. My 5.30am drive into London. I pushed the disc into my car's CD player, and proceeded to be blown away. Not in the same way I fell in love all those years ago, not in the same way as hearing the phenomenal 'Two Shoes' on my first trip to Oz, nor in the same way as when we went there again on honeymoon a couple of years later, with 'So Many Nights' on constant rotation. No, this was something different.


'Cinema' will no doubt confuse and perhaps even disappoint some Cat Empire fans. It's their moodiest record yet, full of brooding, clipped staccato trumpet lines, minor key melodies, and mournful lyrics. Yet I think it could be their most rewarding. Of course, many Cat Empire fans won't want to hear about a 'rewarding' new album. All many will want to know is where is that next catchy trumpet riff? And where are the songs about having fun all the time? Thankfully, the band have succeeded thus far into their career by not listening to their fans, nor presumably their record company, who no doubt would have loved ten more albums of "Hello Hello" style chirpiness, and instead rightfully chose to plough their own phunky phurrow.


The first thing that struck me about 'Cinema' was the quality of the musicianship. Anyone who has seen this band live will know "you're not talking to Ricky and the Red Streaks, y'know", as John Lennon once quipped about his little ol' band. "Lugubrious" is the word I would use to describe the sound of this band flexing its buff musical muscle. I'm not quite sure what "lugubrious" means, but it seems to fit. OK, have googled it now, that's not what I thought it meant, but that actual definition fits, too. If you don't know what "lugubrious" means, just make up your own definition, simply going on the sound of the word, perhaps say "lugubriousness" a few times to yourself, roll the word around your mouth, and you'll get the idea. Lugubrious, yeah, definitely.


Fellow Melbournite Steve Schram's production put an emphasis on getting a live take, and he reputedly offered them a total of three takes to get each song done, a challenge a band of this musical calibre and live playing experience took to with relish. Each song feels vital, literally bursting with life, as a result. 


The album begins like we've come in late, the band were ready to play and just had to get started, or like someone just hit record in time to capture it all. We're thrust right into the action with "Waiting", a bluesy Felix special (though the songwriting credit would point to a more collaborative effort, as with nearly all of the tracks here), and he's not happy (sorry debut album fans). The band rip into life, announcing their intentions for the album, with a fast-paced, p*ssed off rant of a song, before some studio banter leads us into a somewhat more upbeat number, still in the minor key, with "Falling". With Jumps to the fore at the start of this tune, a funky paean to life on the road perhaps, with wonderful Mariachi-style horn from the Empire Horns, and a wonderful singalong chorus, which you just know is going to sound incredible live.


Straight into "Feeling's Gone", those three overdriven, pounded out opening chords a feature of this marvellous song, providing much of its power and ferocity. I needed this song after a hectic ending to a hectic week at work, and put it on as I drove out of the car-park at 5 o'clock, windows down like some teenage hoon, pounding along on the steering wheel to the half-time drums in the chorus. Will's playing on this album is phenomenal, understated, rock-steady, and packing plenty of oomph. "Feeling's Gone" for me recalls the best of that Lennon/McCartney duality of songwriting, not in any musical similarity necessarily, but it served to remind me of something like "We Can Work It Out", with strong verse/chorus sections provided by each songwriting partner, contrasting and blending beautifully all at the same time. A ferocious tour de force performance is captured on this song about finding hope where you thought there was none, and just getting on with it.


Harry's "Only Light" comes next, a moody, soulful love song, recalling a sort of midway point perhaps between some of his efforts on 'So Many Nights', like "Lonely Moon" and "Voodoo Cowboy", and some of the Jackson Jackson stuff, like "Eliza", but that much more mature and refined, and with killer harmonies to boot. The take that's been included here is beautiful, at times you can't quite make out what he's singing, which makes it all the more magical, and forces you to listen all the more intently.


The next tune, "All Hell", announces itself with a cacophony of piano, culminating in a beautiful and thunderous chord sequence, all minor sevenths and reverbed piano to the max, sounding bouncy and apocalyptic at the same time, to a lyric which I first assumed to be about a failed relationship. And perhaps there are elements of that still, but on closer listen here we have Felix with a rallying call to arms against the "I'm all right, Jack" attitude of global disasters all happening elsewhere, so we don't need to worry, when of course the next one could be right on our doorstep, so we better help out now, in the hope that others might step in at our time of need. 


To my mind, there could also be another angle in the lyric of not taking the same stance in our personal relationships, not thinking everything's fine here, until it all falls apart and it's too late. A wonderfully complex lyric, with many a memorable phrase to pop into your head when you're least expecting it. If we are to take the Lennon/McCartney analogy further, and assume whoever's singing a particular section wrote that part, and that this is therefore Felix's lyric (the credit goes to him and Harry), then his lyric writing is growing more with every album. There have always been fine turns of phrase to admire from the very start ("All That Talking" - "Those words coming out/ Like froth on a stout", to the more recent "No Longer There" - "Now close your eyes and stare"), and here the lyric pours out with confidence and passion.


When I first heard "Shoulders", I thought, 'wow, that's an overly complicated rhythm, that'll never work'. Now it's become one of my favourites on the album. The band's musical muscle is really rippling and flexing with this one, a song about an old mate who's gone off the rails a few too many times, offering a hand of support if he's ever ready for it. When it slips into the chorus, the whole thing just grooves into life, with fantastic vocal harmonies and fantastic dub-style bassline from Ryan. The song has an actual separate real dub coda, with echoey piano, and an even more outrageous bassline from Mr Monro, who steals the show at the end. Before I'd got familiar with the lyric, I swore the song was called "Shoulders" 'cos that's the way it had to be danced to, and if you listen to it while shrugging yours up and down, you'll know what I mean. One of the many fantastic highlights on this album, and it's swiftly followed by another. 


Keyboard chords and Harry's lilting voice lift us straight into his 'Cinema' tour de force, "The Heart Is A Cannibal". Such a beautiful melody, with such evocative lyrics. Again, a complex rhythmic structure explodes into what I can only lazily describe as an "Afrobeat"-style chorus, having not listened to nearly as much of that kind of music as I should have. Basically, this song has me dancing round the kitchen like a complete t*t every time, completely illogically to anyone who's watching, but I just can't get the rhythm out of my body quick enough, so there's a lot of hip-twisting, sort of tap-dancing, knee-slapping, and the occasional triple fist punch in the chorus, that has my wife, children and dog all howling with laughter on the floor, but I don't care. Thank you, Harry. A beautiful Mariachi-style trumpet harmony solo by Harry and the Horns rides the song to its climax in a head rush cacophony. And, yes, I do seem to spend a lot of time in my kitchen, don't I?


Next up is what we might see as a precursor to Felix's 2011 solo project (see www.felixriebl.com to sign up for info), a beautiful little reflective tune called "Reasonably Fine", about a couple who have split up, still love each other, and hoping that in the end they might be able to get along. It's a beautiful melody, with really honestly written lyrics, and the band comes into play really well, especially Will on the drums keeping it rock steady in sync with the lyrics, and a beautiful outro with he and Olly jamming out on drums and keys. 


"Call Me Home" is another Felix call to arms, an upbeat, minor key song, trying to find order from the chaos, and togetherness from the loneliness. The uplifting chorus I can already imagine is a live favourite, and I can't wait to see what they do with it when I see them at Brixton in a couple of weeks' time. Apologies in advance to anyone I may inadvertently injure in the mosh.


Another upbeat number, "On My Way", again with Felix to the fore, leads us to the album's climax. Seemingly obtuse lyrics perhaps pointing to a justification of life on the road, and of living a life you want to lead, perhaps being the message here. The whole thing rips along at a pace, with a forceful musical steam train gathering pace not heard since The Kinks' "Last of the Steam-Powered Trains", whipping the chorus up into a frenzy.


This leads us to the final track, "Beyond All", which brings with it a completely new sound for the band famed for having an indescribable sound. A barrage of heavy chords, heavy bass, blips, squeaks, and reverby drums brings us into this musical thunder storm, where Harry's voice finally emerges, re-imagining the opening lyrics from his solo song from '...Spiegeltent', "Suburbia", into this neon nightmare depiction of life on god knows what planet. The repeated bassline, and droning two-chord pattern brings to mind "Tomorrow Never Knows" at the end of you-know-who's 'Revolver' album, and there is something of a lyrical similarity of searching for the unfindable that links the songs, too: "Break me/ Up until I'm pieces of sand/ Blow me up/ And scatter me across the land..."

The song, and the album, finishes with a single extended piano note, which if you're listening on a CD player or iPod on repeat, is the very same note that we are launched into at the start of the album, so it kind of begs to be listened to again straight away, and can almost be heard as a circular piece with no beginning or no end, fitting somehow, in this age of iPod uber-shuffling. 

And yet I hope people buy this on CD, 'cos it sounds so much better than from a tinny iTunes I promise you, and the songs should be played in the order the band intended, I feel. 'Cinema' is a beautiful album that rewards repeated listening. 

If this is this their 'Revolver' album, I can only wait in anticipation for their Sgt Pepper, their Abbey Road, White Album, disappointing break-up album and the inevitable impending legal battles. 'Cos for me, The Cat Empire are the Australian Beatles, not in the main through any musical comparative sense, though certainly there are some links, but only in that they are the best band to ever emerge from their country so far.

Modern Times

I actually wrote this on Wednesday, 16th June 2010 in my diary, fact fans...

There's a little cafe near me, everything in it's for sale, from the organic oaty flapjacks, to the antique (but very temptingly-priced) chair you're sitting on, to the original 1684 hand-coloured map of northern Spain laying framed up against a wall, not to mention all the clothes, hats and jewellery arranged on that dresser over there, and the very books lining the shelves. A lovely middle-aged couple run the cafe, and there is such an old-time feel and cosy ambience to the place that you forgive them the ever-so-slightly burnt coffee, and find yourself drawn in to the cakes counter every time you pop in.

Today, my beautiful wife and I stopped by after a quick pub lunch down the road, just for a cappuccino before heading on our way. I always love the music they play in the cafe, and I always wondered who selected it. The very first time I went in, The Kinks were playing, and not as a background droning underneath, but loud enough so you could hear the lyrics over the mild hub-hub of the largely retired, well-to-do clientele, and I fancied the young girl serving us may have picked it herself, coming up on random on her iPod, I supposed, it being very much an album track, something off "Something Else...", if I rightly recall.

Today as we entered, some up-tempo jazzy type music was playing, though barely had I time to register it and order my coffee before the music had stopped, and a somewhat awkward silence fell over the place. Whenever a CD finishes, or an iPod chooses a random silent song or something at a party I'm hosting, the silence announces itself to me like an alarm, and I must immediately jump to the rescue. Similarly, if the same happens at a bar or cafe when I'm there, I'm always inwardly praying that somebody else will feel the same as me and immediately stick on something appropriate, though they rarely do of course, and I'm left bemoaning the silence, in silence.

However, no sooner had the thought entered my mind today than I heard the gentleman owner opening up a drawer near his cash register with haste (the drawer itself antique, and most probably for sale), and clacketing his way through a number of CDs, before, somewhat uncertainly, deciding on one and quickly slipping it into his player, and hitting play. Between that instant, I was inwardly wishing I'd had the courage to ask if I could have a look, and perhaps choose something, just one of those idle, daydreams. This all happened so fast after I had first looked up to see what that noise was (even in such an antiquated little place, I somehow still expected an iPod, rather than the long-unheard sound of fingers rifling through CD cases), that the owner and mine eyes met as the opening chords of "Thunder On The Mountain" from Bob Dylan's "Modern Times" crashed in through the void, and a beaming smile of instant recognition rose upon my face, one which he soon shared, in recognition of my recognition. I began tapping along to the rhythm on the table, and, after a few moments of daydreaming, my wife instantly spotted that I hadn't in fact been listening to what she had been saying since the music had started, she being rather well-versed in my zoning-out-to-the-music face, and pointed this out to me with mock-injury. 

We soon began talking about the music instead, I told her of my daydream of asking the man if I could choose the CD, and how if that had happened, I would have looked no further than this album. It was a perfectly warm early June early afternoon, the cafe was all but empty save for an elderly couple in the corner, and sitting there with my cappuccino I could think of nothing better to do with my day than to order another one, perhaps with a large slice of double chocolate cake, and to sit there with my companion listening to this wonderful album, so appropriate in so many ways to that little cafe. "Modern Times", a reference to the Chaplin film of the same name, where modern technology fails, the very use of the title by Dylan an irony, considering the old-style blues, antiquated lyrical references and themes contained in the album. My companion told me I should mention to the owner how pleased I was with his choice, but of course I didn't, though I know I should have. Sadly, we had to get on with our day, so before the end of "Spirit On The Water", we paid our bill, said our goodbyes, left a nice tip, and stepped out into the bright white sunshine, clear skies smiling down on us. A rush of joy fell down on me as we walked along on our way. It's 00:36...