Confused

Straight after getting back from being away this evening, I went out with some friends for a curry.

This is a photo I took of the door. Somehow, we made it in.

Dave Gorman

I am winging my way to Edinburgh this very early morning (the joys of the 0646), after a fun night at the Ironworks taking in the latest leg of Dave Gorman’s stand-up tour.

He’s cycling from the most southerly point of the British mainland to the most northerly, via the western and easternmost points, doing gigs in a variety of weird and wonderful locations along the way. He’s blogging as he goes. I am blogging this via my iPhone so excuse the absence of hyperlinks – I am sure you can find his site for yourselves.

His show was hugely entertaining and well-thought out. He’s a great deliverer and manages to be funny, thought-provoking and creative without being cheap or offensive.

Having seen the tv shows and read the books, it was great to see him live for the first time. I hope he returns this far north…

As for me, work takes me south – Edinburgh today, Dunblane tomorrow.

Photos around Inverness

Now that the nights are fair drawing in, the well-lit buildings around town are looking good at night.  I was out the other night taking a few photos.  I was particularly pleased with this one above of the Town House, but also a few others.

Up The Creek Without a Mullet

I’ve been a bit quiet on the book front in this ‘ere blog since revealing that I have a book forthcoming via Sandstone Press.

Things, frankly, have been really busy lately. My wedding’s two months away, I have a hectic work schedule this term, and having a book coming out is probably not something I have given sufficient prominence to, either on this blog or in real life.

However, today is one of the first Mondays in ages that I’ve been free to get on with what I took Mondays off for, and I am spending some time catching up on a couple of book-related things.  One is my website, which a friend is shortly going to give a bit of a vacuum and dust-down for me.  The other is the (hopefully) final text which I have been working on with my editors at Sandstone – it’s a long, meticulous process, but I think we’re just about there.

And in the run-up to Sandstone going properly public about the book, perhaps I can give you an exclusive preview of the title – “Up The Creek Without a Mullet”.

It’s a snappy title, and I like it a lot, but I cannot take credit for it. It’s actually the headline from an article in Australian newspaper the Illawarra Mercury, upon my visit to Mullet Creek, Dapto.

I think it nicely sums up the somewhat disorganised approach I took in the early days of mullet-hunting, not least in Australia, where much of the story in “Up The Creek Without a Mullet” takes place.

In a wee while, I’ll share the book cover with you – which I also think is excellent. Then, in a few weeks, Sandstone themselves will be going public, meaning it’ll all be totally official.

Quite where I’ll get the time to deal with any resultant publicity, I have absolutely no idea…

Mad Jack Churchill

I really do love Futility Closet – it’s full of the most astonishing stories.  The other day, it drew my attention to British soldier Mad Jack Churchill.

Either totally insane or hugely brave, and most probably both, he was quite a character – fighting in WW2 with a bow, arrow and claymore.  And bagpipes.

Quite why he seems so little-heard of, I have no idea.

Jay-play photos

I am back – at the end of my third working week in a row spent away from home – and shattered.

I’ve just been uploading photos, and of the 150 or so I took at Jay-play last night, there’s a handful or so which are half-decent, at least in my own opinion.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely gripped by the music at the gig, which allowed me to focus a bit more on taking photos.  Though lacking a proper tripod, you’d struggle to notice much in the way of focus in my shots.

The first band on was White Lies, who, while entirely competent at what they did, played a sound that was highly unoriginal.  They seemed to be a mix of the Killers, the Smiths and various other punky/post-punk type bands, and the most fun that could be had during their set was attempting to sing the lyrics of the more famous songs each track sounded like.

Next up, apparently the greatest rapper in the world, hip-hop diva Jay-Z.  I am not a fan of hip-hop in the slightest, but Jay-Z came over with humour, respect for his audience, and a nice personality.  While it was not my scene it was definitely a solid performance, and he did what he does very well.  It was an energetic performance with great visuals, and he got the crowd going.

Coldplay themselves were very good.  Much as I am a fan, I like their gentler songs and am probably one of the few folk to think their best stuff was at the beginning and they’ve not entirely got better as they’ve gone.  So their thumping, lively show with outstanding visuals, fireworks, massive balloons (they were all yellow) and millions of paper butterflies, all somewhat over-egged the pudding in my view.   The show was colourful, spectacular, energetic and explosive.  Their best music isn’t (which is no criticism), and so it didn’t all fit in my view.

In fact, some of the best music of the evening was during the breaks, when the excellent sound system put out a great sequence of ambient music, including Sigur Ros, Jon Hopkins, Ulrich Schnauss and others.  Clearly they’d had a bit of a raid of my music collection, which was nice.

So it was all was fun, and I was glad I went, but just a week after Explosions in the Sky in Sheffield, Jay-play always had a lot to live up to.  Poor folk.

Oh, and since I first used the phrase “Jay-play”, I’ve not heard anyone else call any Coldplay/Jay-Z gig by that name.

I believe that makes me a cutting edge trend-setter in the world of music, yes?

Jay-play

Hello from Edinburgh, nearly at the end of a long week away.

The Coldplay gig was last night, at Hampden.

I meant to blog last night about it – and actually wrote a blog while the gig was happening, but the signal was poor and I ended up losing the draft somehow.

It serves me right for not paying attention, I suppose.

I think I managed to get a few good photos, so will upload some when I get home. I’ll write a bit more about the concert, as well as a few other bits and pieces, over the weekend.

“Eagle-eyed detective”

I find the Highland News, Inverness’s answer to a cross between the Sunday Post and the News of the World, endlessly amusing.

A few weeks ago I read an article appealing for information from some folk who had found an old photo of a house among the possessions of a deceased friend.

They believed the house to be in Inverness, though it (strangely, for an area with minimal Jewish heritage) appeared to have a star of David carved into the stonework.

Nicole pointed it out some time afterwards while out for a walk, and I remembered the article. I took a photo on my iPhone and wrote to the paper.

Apparently this mundane action makes me a “detective” and “eagle-eyed” according to the recent follow-up article. All I did, however, was send a quick email, and in any case it was Nicole who first noticed the unusual masonry.

The Highland News would have included my address and age had I supplied it to them, but I didn’t as I saw them as irrelevant details and frankly rather cheeky questions to ask.

You can always trust the HN to hype a story up beyond the facts, especially where – as in this case – it was a somewhat boring story to start with.

London

It’s maybe appropriate that as I head down to Scotland’s biggest city, Glasgow, on the train, that I publish a blog on England’s. Following Sheffield last week, I headed down to London for a couple of days for work.

As always seems to be the case when I visit, London was oppressively summery – especially when I was in a suit and carrying large-ish bags through the hot, sticky (but otherwise excellent) Tube.

Besides catching up with several friends, I spent one free afternoon “doing” the Victoria and Albert Museum.

It’s a beautiful building, typical of many of London’s fine Victorian-era specimens of architecture.

Inside, it’s packed to the rafters with the most amazing pieces of art from all over the world – sculpture, paintings, clothing, furniture and all sorts of exhibits that tell the story of various periods in British history and indeed of many civilisations throughout the world (some of which, no doubt, were nicked during the years of Empire).

Not that I was overwhelmed with a sense of history and wonder – by about a third of the way through, I was rather bored. It’s all amazing, but the sheer volume of stuff somewhat dilutes the impact of each exhibit.

The great museums – the few I’ve been in – all suffer from the fact that they’re just too good.

Back in 2001, I recall visiting the National Museum of Egypt in Cairo, which was – understandably – heavily focussed on ancient Egypt and the era of the Pharaohs. When we went in, the first example of perfectly preserved artwork, masonry or religious iconography was truly mindblowing and awe-inspiring. The second one similarly so. By the tenth one, however, I’d forgotten what the first one was, and come the umpteenth room of exhibits, I was entirely ambivalent by the idea I was within touching distance of fragile links to one of the world’s greatest ancient civilisations.

The previous year in New York, I was in the Museum of Modern Art. Could I tell you what I saw and was impressed by without reminding myself via Google? Probably not. I think there was a Jackson Pollock or two. Some Andy Warhols, possibly.

They might have had that deep blue swirly picture of a German village (or is it Austrian?) at night with the brilliant yellow stars by Hans Christian Andersen. Actually no, maybe it was Machiavelli, or the Brothers Grimm…

The problem is, I just don’t know. I’d have remembered if it was the only exhibit. It could even be I’m just recalling a poster on a friend’s wall at uni, or something.

You see, one great thing catches the eyes, the headlines and imagination, and draws the visitor. Twenty such things don’t achieve twenty times the impact. Think of the Kelvingrove with its spitfire or famous Dali painting of Jesus. They’re famous exhibits not only because they are outstanding in themselves, but because they are not surrounded by things of comparable significance, originality, beauty and worth.

Of course, I should have known better than to visit the V&A. When I was in London in December and a group of friends and I “did” the Natural History Museum, I found the building – inside and out – infinitely more interesting than the contents.

Indeed, with the V&A itself, the most interesting room was a pile of plaster casts (see the photo above) of various famous cathedral archways, tombs, statues and some huge column thing that stands (or stood) in Rome.

I was drawn by its sense of clutter and the way it felt like a scene from an Indiana Jones film. But the exhibits were all copies – fakes, even – and they made more of an impression on me than the dozens of other roomfuls of genuine centuries-older nicknacks.

I guess all this sort of stuff – art, to use a technical term – is subjective. I was unimpressed with the V&A’s bland hypermarket of culture, while others will love it, and good on them.

But to avoid further cynicism on my part, or insult on others’, I’d probably best avoid massive museums and art galleries from now on.

You could call me a cultural phillistine. But that would be subjective, too…

Explosions in the Sky

Tuesday’s Explosions in the Sky gig was excellent, thanks for asking.

It wasn’t entirely what I was expecting, however, although quite what I was expecting from a band I’d never before seen live but had been waiting to do so for a long time, I am not sure.

For a start, the gig was packed. It was a big venue and the queue outside even before the doors had opened was huge.

Donald and I got talking to a couple of Aberdonians behind us in the queue, who were disappointed we’d nicked their probable crown of longest journey when they discovered where we were from.

They said that they (each other) were the other only people they knew who were into EITS, and it was much the same with us.

Although they celebrated their tenth anniversary this summer and are one of the defining bands of the post-rock genre, Explosions in the Sky have never seemed a particularly high-profile and widely successful band, so it was something of a surprise to discover that the Leadmill was a pretty big venue and two or three hundred other people had turned up early to see them.

While it was good to know there are plenty fans out there, it did mean our not-early-enough arrival led to us being stuck near the back, meaning my photos were somewhat blurry.

Support was in the form of Glasgow/Edinburgh band North Atlantic Oscillation (MySpace | my photos), who played a thoroughly competent set.

Their sound is very original – although I’d heard of them I’d never heard their music, so will definitely have another listen online.

Explosions’ own set, when they came on, was really, really good. For a band whose sound is at times so intense, intimate and precise (not to mention lyricless), it was thoroughly refreshing to see them live and in person. The sound was so much more raw, alive and energetic in the venue, and the way they beautifully and powerfully brought to life some songs I’ve generally regarded as among their weaker tracks, has made me reassess my favourites.

Indeed, one or two of my very favourite tracks didn’t materialise in their set list.

However, their tracks generally last around ten minutes, so their hour-and-a-bit set probably only involved about eight or nine songs, all nevertheless played with great energy, care and emotion.

The demands of playing such tracks was evident towards the end, the sweat pouring off the band members as they threw themselves into the performance.

Perhaps what might be the biggest criticism of their set, the fact there was no encore, was therefore pretty much understandable when one of the band, Munaf Rayani, returned to answer the crowd’s chants of “one more tune!”, saying they were all exhausted, they’d given everything they could, and they’d absolutely loved playing for us.

Rayani’s words were well-chosen – appropriately enough, for a band who use none in their songs, instead letting their guitars and drums to the talking.

It was a great gig, on reflection. They probably remain my favourite band, and I’d see them again in an instant. Even if it meant another twelve hour train journey…