John Foxx and the Maths, XOYO, 27th October 2011

I’ll try to write this blog entry without mentioning the following -
1) Dystopian Urban Decay
2) JG Ballard (This one is easy, I’ve never read any of his work, but clever people often cite him as one of John Foxx’s influences)
3) Underpants! (That’s what some silly kids used to sing instead of “Underpass” – but it was a mark of affection of course as it’s a darkly cool synth-pop classic)
Was so looking forward to this gig, loved the Midge Ure incarnation of Ultravox when I was at school, they were in their pomp then, but it was when I discovered the three Ultravox albums fronted by John Foxx that I was really blown away. It was like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Making the most of the emerging technology of synthesisers, but still underpinned by rock / punk with spiky guitars and a undercurrent of melancholy and detachment, they sounded so decadent and poetic to me.
I wanted to stand still, hands by my side, against a wall, looking stark and enigmatic, backlit by neon, in a PVC jacket, just like on the cover of the first Ultravox! album (before the exclamation mark left the band). But I didn’t as it would look silly and I’m not elegant and willowy like those boys and no one else I knew liked them… I mean, when I was at school, I remember there being a massive debate between my (male) classmates as to who was the hottest, Chaka Khan or Kim Wilde…purlease! When I suggested Siouxsie Sioux be considered I was told to shut up and vote for one of the official candidates. I abstained.

Not sure about PVC trousers lads, a tad revealing perhaps? It doesn’t need Gok Wan to suggest they aren’t particularly flattering, but everything else is grand. (Apart from blue cowboy boots and a sleeveless vest which shows off your belly button)
And so it was – me and my mate John from work, rolled up to Old Street tube to visit a venue we’d never visited before (XOYO). It was like stepping into the early eighties, it was brill! There was a dude in the audience actually wearing a PVC jacket, now PVC is like heroin, it is a banned substance in some industries, not sure if clothing is one, but there are several united nations resolutions against it. Burning it causes massive poison emissions, so I was hoping no one would set him alight during the gig. He didn’t combust. It was cool.
We caught the tail end of one of the support acts, Xeno and Oaklander, have to say they were really great! So will be following their progress and perhaps turn up to check them out if they headline a gig in the future.
After they finished, the DJ played some old new romantic tunes, there was a brief interlude whilst the priceless relics (the original analogue synths and drum machine) were reverently assembled on stage, fired up and sound checked.
After what seemed like an age… the band. John Foxx and the Maths!

From left to right, Hannah Peel, John Foxx, the synth genius and shy and retiring Benge (he’s behind John -I could see him bouncing around and whacking his kit, but was difficult to get pics of him, he has the reflexes of an olympian squirrel, so managed to avoid my camera effortlessly) and last but not least Serafina Steer.
They opened with Shatterproof, which is the opening track of their 2011 album Interplay, playing these songs live gave them more depth for me, already loved the album. Hearing old synths is really nostalgic, takes me make, those soaring sounds, warm sounding, not clinical in any way. And all this was added to through violin accompaniment by Hannah and bass playing by Serafina. Both Hannah and Serafina are accomplished singer songwriters and musicians in their own right, with big futures ahead, so the Maths are essentially a super group.


Fantastic stuff. Evergreen was also played early in the set, probably my favourite song on Interplay. And interspersing these new numbers were some songs from John Foxx’s early solo material. 
John turns his silhouette to gold during Hiroshima Mon Amour, my favourite ever John Foxx/Ultravox tune. What a beautiful song. The lyrics are just haunting. I’m so pleased to have had the privilege to hear this live.

Absolutely loved the gig, the new tracks, the old classics. It was wonderful. And the band look fantastic together and have a real vibe, they all look like they are enjoying themselves and that makes a huge difference for me. Like I said on twitter (and Ms Peel kindly retweeted), I want *all* of their hairstyles, not at the same time of course. As in the future, we will be able to buy hairstyles and keep them on shelves. Like shoes. Or baked bean tins. John, the archetypal Silver Foxx. Benge, his beautifully styled playmobil hair, barely moving as he energetically works his magic in the background, Hannah, all sculpted elegance and Serafina, a vibrant mass, almost prehensile and sentient, I’m sure her hair played three of her seven keyboards.
Here is a moody dark shot, teasingly hinting at the hair magnificence going on in the room.



Burning Car was the most enthusiastically delivered for me, best song of the night, it seems like a band favourite, all four of them were getting right into it and even my left leg twitched rhythmically in what can only be described as a dystopian dance, evoking urban decay… *failed task no 1.

John invoking the synth spirits.

Encore! Encore! Moooore!

And final pic, after the last track of the night, Underpass (which was brilliantly and tightly blasted out) : if you look up “Jump for Joy” in the dictionary, there is no description, just this picture. :)

It was sad to hear John cut his head on the night of the gig and it meant some cancelled gigs, glad he’s ok that’s the main thing. I loved the pic Hannah Peel posted on twitter, the sinister use of CSI body tape a great touch.
http://img.ly/9R2H
It led me to think was it really a table that caused the injury? I think not, John just doesn’t what to let on he cut his head on his own cheekbones, the man is sharp, a spark of electroflesh… and geared for synchromesh. I am somewhat younger than Mr Foxx, but already my jowls sag pitifully in comparison to the cut crystal that is the face of John Foxx.
What a top gig. Thank you John Foxx & the Maths. And get well soon John!
And so, back to St Pancras and a train home on the shitsville stopper, took ages, the train full of drunks, or youths trying their dreadful one liners (one worders in one case “spiceeeeyyy!” whilst gyrating hips in the general direction of some girls). But I blocked it all out, till I got home.
Love living in the country, as I opened my front door, I could hear the distant hoot of a tawny owl, faintly rolling over the moors. Four hours sleep, then back to work! Wouldn’t have missed it though, great fun. Tomorrow, PJ Harvey at the Royal Albert Hall.

Jane’s Addiction, KOKO, 30th August 2011

What a gig! So pleased the Bossman let me know that they were playing.

I’ve always been aware of Jane’s Addiction, but like many bands they passed me by. Never too late to catch up! So glad we were there.

We got out pitch near the front, a band of youthful lads, and I mean they looked sixteen or so were the support. They were cool, they were appreciative of who was following them, people wanted to adopt them or put them on their keyrings, they went away and we waited for the main event.

They dropped a big curtain in front of the stage and for some reason played almost all of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon before the curtain raised and there was Perry and the boys.

He was dressed in the manner of a dandy Mississippi card shark, semi resident on the steam boat chugging up river. After he hustles you for your bucks, he’ll smoke a fashionably small cigar whilst checking his pocket watch and saying “yessiree, I’m gonna buy me some grits when I get off this old lady”.

Here’s his attire, a most presentable swamp gent (even though he’s from nowhere near that part of America)

As the gig progressed, he shed layers. Here he admires the lack of layers of his dancing troupe.

Shaking his maracas (the maracas are off screen here!)

Is he posing for me? I think he is.

A romance explosion near the end of this amazing gig.

Encore with wine and no top, the svelte bastard

Our feet at the end of the gig, it’s usually traditional we take a photo of ourselves at a gig. So we kept this tradition going.

Cheers Bossman! Haven’t enjoyed a gig so much in ages!

Mauritshuis, Den Haag (No 1 in a series)

This will be the first in a series of blogs specific to art, as I go to galleries, I will pick but one work from within it and write about it, it will be based on what interests me and I will explain why. I’m conscious this is all rather pretentious, so feel free to ignore :)

Part 1 : Mauritshuis, The Hague.

We visited some old friends in Holland last week, was lovely to see Chris, Charlina, their twins Nils and Sophia and their one year old Elano. On the Saturday we visited the Mauritshuis in the Hague, a compact little gallery full of Dutch/Flemish masters.

It is here the famous “Girl with a Pearl Earring” by Vermeer is housed. It is a beautiful painting and it was hard to get a good look as people were congregated round it. But this is not the subject of my blog.

The work of art I’ve chosen is “Christ descending into limbo” by Jan Brueghel the Elder with Hans Rottenhammer (1597). It’s only a small piece of work but it contains a lot of power. Seeing as I seem to be be in morbid blog mode at the moment, this painting fascinates me.

In the bottom left of this painting a group of people are desperate to be saved by a seemingly untouchable radiant Jesus, all around him however is chaos, men and women tortured by various monstrous beasts, people fall from great heights, a little horned imp burns a brazier as leering creatures abduct and drag off screaming women, furnaces rage and buildings burn as tiny figures run into the water to drown, soldiers with stunted animal bodies in arms and armour terrorise the naked people, it’s hideous. Religious art, especially scenes of hell (or in this case limbo), even for one with a secular viewpoint is hard hitting. I always imagine how terrifying this would be for someone in the 16th century. Would it have made them turn their back against “sin”? Probably not, but it would have sure scared the crap out of them. I like to think that the artists had fun painting this, trying to make their beasts and monsters as scary as possible, testing it out on their students and friends for its shock value.

From personal experience, drawing beasts is fun, cathartic and mirth inducing. For example, here is my drawing of Booglog (I claim credit for many beasts, but not this one I’m afraid, Paul created this one). His catchphrase is “Throw them in Fire!” so he would have been perfectly placed in this painting. Utterly in keeping with the standard of art too.

Hmm… an idea, in the spirit of the Chapman Brothers (see this blog) I’ve added Booglog into the painting. I think it works.

Well, this blog started off vaguely serious, but it couldn’t last.

Anyway, I don’t know much about the artist (as usual) but a glance at available online resources shows the whole family (father and brother, children) were all accomplished artists. It seems this Brueghel wasn’t known for his hellish paintings but was more famous for flowers and more genteel religious scenes. His father and brother worked more in that space however.

On Rottenhammer (great name) I know even less (surprise!), other than when they worked together, he did the figures and Brueghel did the landscapes. Anyway, it’s an interesting collaboration. That’s it!

Arsenal’s Curse

I am concerned by the bad luck that has befallen Arsenal, since the Carling Cup Final, we’ve been in freefall, relegation form, as aptly shown here.

So today I will cast a spell to remove the bad luck. Is it conceivable that our players have brain freezes at such critical moments or are they possessed by some malevolent force? ;) Are officials influenced by a sinister power, suggesting they ignore offsides or blatant fouls? And look at Wenger, every week he seems to wither on the vine, like he is a puppet of some monstrous entity from another plane? He reminds me of King Theoden in Lord of the Rings, all covered in dust and talking bollocks.

Someone has hexed us. There is no doubt. I'm not sure what I will do as I am not an adept in sorcery, but I will invoke the spirit of Sir Henry Norris, possibly the most Machiavellian chairman we've ever had. He'll know what we should do.

<<PAUSE>>

Ok, I’ve had a vision and I was instructed to incant with my hands over the Autobiographies of Tony Adams, Bob Wilson, Liam Brady, Eddie Hapgood, Joe Mercer and Frank McLintock (I also have Perry Groves’ autobio, but wasn’t asked to touch his tome – sorry El Pel). I am also to burn my Carling Cup Final Ticket as this is when the curse brought new heights of pain upon us.  Here is the offending artefact, bringing plague upon our football house.

Here is the ticket, reduced to Ashes. Burn Burn Burn! The hex is reversed, pain in triplicate will be thrust upon the football teams of the invoker.

Chin up Gooners. We’re going to win a trophy this season. Expect a long unbeaten run. I know it. Henry Norris told me.

The Chapman Brothers, Jake or Dinos, White Cube

I don’t know much about the Chapman Brothers, Jake and Dinos, in fact, much as a lot of my blogs are about art, I don’t know much about art at all, beyond some rudimentary knowledge and the occasional blag. So, you are very welcome to join me on this journey of discovery as I apply my own (no doubt hideous) interpretations of peoples work as I explore this wonderful subject over the coming blogs.
What I lack in knowledge, I will make up for in enthusiasm however. When I win the lottery, I’ll sign up to an art history degree and be an earthy grounded gor-blimey mature student, doing some Dick Van Dyke tap dancing shit, whilst my posh course mates steer well clear.
So anyway, the Chapman Brothers. I knew the following prior to attending the exhibition-
1) They are of Cypriot heritage (like me)
2) Therefore they are bald (I checked, they are)
3) They are controversial, I vaguely remember their plastic dolls fused together, quite horrific images, which appealed to me at the time, but I probably went back to playing Football Manager and didn’t go to see the exhibition
4) Something about a scary fairy tale based (and let’s be clear – proper fairy tales are horrific and bloody) childrens colouring in book (subsequently found out it’s a dot to dot, but the colouring in book may also exist)
5) That’s it
So, on a whim I decided to visit the White Cube gallery today, as well as the National Portrait Gallery, which will be the subject of another blog.
There are two White Cube galleries, one in Mason’s Yard near Green Park in London and one in Hoxton. I only visited the Mason’s Yard one today, but I’ve included pics from both, mainly drawn from the Guardian, but also from another website, I would credit, but I can’t find the link now, all I will say is, they aren’t mine and if this blog ever extends beyond seven followers, then I apologise to whoever took the photo!
The “shock factor” from the exhibition involved Nazi imagery, but it was pushed to extreme boundaries of ridiculousness, it made the imagery farcical. Not sure if that was the point, the shock, combined with a vague slapstick amusement, but that’s what I got from this exhibition.
Yes. The Nazi Zombies and I use this term lazily as equally they might be hideously burnt, disfigured or mutated Nazis, are creepy, the first thing that greets you as you walk down the stairs into the basement gallery is one of them staring at you, in his Hugo Boss Waffen SS uniform. Really, it did shock me. I stopped dead in my tracks. Bang! It was instantly unsettling. An art smack down. This was the only photo I took, as photos aren’t allowed.

However, the poses they are in (two are in the process of having sex), the insignia (a smiley face armband instead of a swastika) and the scenarios they are put in (one nazi is sitting under a stuffed pigeon which occasionally “shits” on him) balances things out.
The following video summarises things nicely -

Dinos - “If they say it’s wonderfully offensive then that’s good, if they say it’s horribly offensive then..” (shrug)
Jake - “We’re not bothered by what people think… apart from our mother” (both laugh)
I also like they are belligerent socialists at heart, who want art to be available to all students, whatever their background, not just for the privileged few.
All pics courtesy of the guardian I think, if not…my bad!

Yes, they are getting it on in this pic (tee hee)

Round the corner from the Nazi’s, in a darkened room, is another man sized figure of the same material/ilk, this time in a big KKK hood. He was quite scary. In front of him was a painting, a hellish image of the crucifixion, Christ and the two criminals on their crosses with a crowd under them. Initially I thought, this looks like a Brueghel or Bosch, as the figures were all vaguely distorted or utterly warped in animalistic forms. But I though, oh, it can’t be, Christ himself has tentacles coming out of his face for instance, someone was trying to climb out of a horses bum and someone else was smoking a fag in the painting! The animalistic forms of the people was not a surprise for those two artists, but they’d have never messed with the image of Jesus. I assumed one of the Chapman brothers had painted an original in that style.
As you have to lean forward to examine it as the light is poor, the KKK man is looming behind you. What I didn’t realise is he had a massive hardon bulging his trousers outward, so whilst you are leaning over to look at the painting, you are faintly aware of a large cock hovering by your butt. It amused me greatly when I finally saw it! So again, unsettling imagery / comedy. It’s shocking but great too. His “bulge” is not visible in this photo but it gives you an idea of the space you have to squeeze into and lean over to look at the painting.

Anyway, a bit of research and I found out that Brueghel, or rather one of his followers *had* painted it and one of the brothers had then proceeded to add to it. Some would say this is defacement, but considering this has now sold for £750k (KKK hardon man thrown in) compared to the €220k they originally paid for it… it challenges perceptions and the value of art. Full story as relayed by the Telegraph here (and remember it is the Telegraph so it does have a sober disappointment running through the article and the comments are just typical Telegraph…..)
What I missed had I gone to the Hoxton White Cube, the other half of the exhibition.
You are fucking kidding me!

No, there’s more of them.

And finally.

It finishes tomorrow, next time I’ll pay more attention and definitely go to a Chapman brothers exhibition early!

British Masters

Last year I was fortunate enough to attend Lucian Freud’s last major exhibition at the Pompidou in Paris. There’s a blog about it in the depths of my timeline (here).
So it was with some sadness that I heard he died. He was our greatest living artist in my honest opinion.
The enthusiastic art historian Dr James Fox recently hosted a programme on the BBC called British Masters, he spoke with authority but not any pomposity about the period of British Art History 1910 – 1975. Assuming we don’t rip each other to shreds by then, he believes that in centuries to come, this will be seen as a defining period in Art, on a par with the renaissance, so his passionate delivery was a breath of fresh air.
Freud was old school, he knew, fraternised or fell out with most of his artistic peer group as well as his family. Sixty years ago he was getting drunk with Francis Bacon in some Soho dive. Within the last few years he was dancing with Kate Moss in some west London club. Even shortly before his death he was, on most nights, dining with one of his daughters in the Wolesley. As an aside the waiters laid his regular table in his honour with a black tablecloth and single candle when they heard he died – however some diners felt he had a scowl that could curdle milk should you annoy him. Next day, Dale Winton had his table, it is alleged…
Although intensely private, turning down interviews, writing shitty letters (which became so popular he stopped sending them as journalists would frame them) he led an active social life. On his own terms. It seems duty was not high on his agenda which meant he didn’t attend his mothers funeral, but that didn’t stop him being generous to those he loved. And it sounds like he loved a lot, with thirteen official children, and probably up to forty in total.
He worked almost to his dying day, a realist painter, his art recognisable from the flesh. He mostly painted from, and in, his studio. Apart from some very early works, he rarely painted an outside scene. Which is why this particular painting interested me. It’s from his garden, I can’t find the reference, so I may have imagined it, but I believe this is where he buried one of his dogs. It seems intensely sad to me. A pet’s love is unconditional, the tragic (and extremely simple) romantic in me thinks this some expression of love for a creature that has simple needs, he couldn’t handle or be bothered with the complexity of human relationships perhaps, breaking his habit of only painting indoors for old Fido or whatever his pooches name was. This is a photo of the work, by David Dawson his long time assistant.

It’s called “Painters Garden with Eli, 2006” – Eli being his last dog.
Tate Britain is currently exhibiting a few items from their Freud collection. This one particularly captivated me, it is of Harry Redknapp Francis Bacon, an unfinished piece. But getting right up close to it, you can see the incredible brushwork, Freud truly was a master.

As well as this Freud work, there is a small gallery dedicated to an artist I’d never heard of before John Craxton who died in 2009. His early work was very fluid and technically brilliant, his later work being more free. “Neo Romantic” was the term the Tate used, citing William Blake as an influence.
I really liked his work, especially the early stuff. Such as :
Hare in Larder 1943

Llanthony Abbey 1942

Now Craxton, he roomed with Freud when they were studying. Craxton showed the greater promise as a youth, but Freud kicked on, whearas Craxton, although brilliant, lived the good life in Crete where he settled. Freud came to visit him and they would, as was the tradition in their friendship, exchange each others sketches and paintings at the end of the visit.
Now, Freud gambled, a lot. He generated huge debts. So much so that he sold Craxton’s painting to pay off some of these debts, with a “you don’t mind do you?” to Craxton, who was probably rightly slighted.
In later years, when the money wasn’t coming in for Craxton, he himself decided to sell a few Freud’s, they were worth a lot more money then, to raise some cash. After all, his old friend sold some of his paintings didn’t he?
The agent tasked with selling them, took the original works to Lucian Freud to verify their authenticity. Freud was not best pleased. But he verified them all right. On each, he wrote :
“John Craxton is a cunt. Lucian Freud”
RIP Lucian Freud and John Craxton.

Japanese Post Rock

Been a while, but thought I’d post a catch up blog. Back in June I saw two Japanese post rock bands live. The first, Mono, I’ve liked for a while, so it was great to hear they were performing in London.
My favourite album of theirs, One Step More and You Die, has a great track called Com(?) on it. Sixteen minutes of heaven and hell, mostly hell. Must be played ear bleedingly loud.  Listen Here :)
So me and the Bossman went to Koko in Camden, interestingly, he hadn’t really got into their studio stuff so wasn’t sure what to expect, whearas for me I was expecting a torrent of white noise to lift the whole studio sound.
Bizarrely, I was disappointed and he was lifted. I wanted them to be louder, more engaging, more animated. I wanted more lank haired Japanese “Grudge” style hairstyles flying in a blur as they went mental on their instruments, but they were too busy playing tunes, no edgy improvisation, no spraying the crowd with silver paint, no instrument smashing. They were note perfect, cannot take that away from them, but they seemed too clean and clinical. Whearas for Rob, he switched on to their incredible depth of sound. It was probably me though as I had the hump from work.
Here is a short clip (as my photos turned out rubbish)

A few days later I saw Boris at ULU, as oft stated one of my favourite venues. The support act were Russian Circles who played at the Metal end of the Post Rock spectrum. They were mental. Loved them. Although my mate Sal felt they were guff, so he wandered back from the aural bombardment.
Here they are, you cannot see their heads because they didn’t have any.

Then onto Boris. Again, at the harder end of the post rock spectrum. They aren’t quiet-quiet-loud, they are more Loud-Loud-Loud-Quiet if I am to label them. They did deliver the animated crazy Japanese madness I so enjoy. Great band! In a small venue too. And the drummer had a gong, which is messed up.

Loving this pic, they look like cast members of a particularly gruesome japanese horror movie. Especially the drummer who is floating in mid air (but more likely needing to stand up to fart)

She was tiny, but could fret wank as well as any Japanese male guitarist.

Raaarrrrr smash the gong!