I'm a great admirer of the American writer Daniel Woodrell and his books about rednecks and criminals in the Ozark mountains. His best book by far and my personal fav is Winter's Bone. It's the story of Ree Dolly, a tough teenager who has to find her missing father, a crystal meth cook, before her family house is repossessed. The language is gnarly poetry and old testament in that American tradition of Faulkner and Cormac McCarty. The characters are vivid and menacing (Uncle Teardrop, is a particularly scary creation) and Ree herself is a perfectly drawn amalgamation of teenage fury and headstrong responsibility. It holds you firmly, like an evangelical preacher's gaze and makes you listen till the sermons through.
I read recently that it has been made into a film , and that the girl playing Ree, ( Jennifer Lawrence) has been getting rave reviews and the film itself won the grand jury prize at the Sundance Film festival last month.
Let's hope that the filmakers win a decent distribution deal over here and we actually get to see it . These US Indies tend to vanish somewhere over the Atlantic before hitting out screens... And hopefully it's as good as they say, so that more people buy the books and appreciate this underrated writer of poetic and gripping modern fiction. Winter's Bone is a great place to start and if you feel like you want more, then go back to Tomato Red, Give Us a Kiss and Woe To Live On ( which was also made in to a great film called Ride With The Devil, hence the different title on Amazon)
Come on, what you waiting for?
Monday, 8 February 2010
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Dans Paris
First of all, I have to say that you can now leave comments on all of my posts now, even if you aren't a fellow Blogger. Thank you Fiona!
Over Christmas BBC 4 showed a film called "Dans Paris" I caught it on the I-Player in January and I was really bowled over by it
It's the story of a love lorn photographer who has split up with his girlfriend and comes back to his Parisian family apartment to live with his dad and brother. It's clearly a homage to the Nouvelle Vague and it works brilliantly-owing a huge dept to films like "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg", with hints of Truffaut's playfullness and Godard's surrealism. It is unashamedly and wonderfully French. All the characters smoke, they discuss their sexual and romantic problems with fierce clarity and fervor and they aren't afraid to dance around to dark indie tunes like their lives depend on it.
We Brits could never make a film that is this serious, that has moments of slapstick and has the main characters sing to their ex on the phone ( one of the most moving parts of the film actually) . I think it would be a pretty embarrassing thing if we did. Like the French trying to make a comedy...
It appealed to the teenage francophile in me, the one that watched a Channel Four season of New Wave films one summer in the nineties. The film looks like it was made by someone who, like me was captivated by the freedom and exuberance of those movies, something that just wasn't around in films back then or even now. You can't imagine Godard being asked what his demographic was or if he thought a Chinese granny who lived in London , who then moved to Wigan , would like Weekend? They showed you that you can dream, be pretentious , silly and serious all at once -break rules , anything to get your story across. And smoke alot. Naked.
Watch it. Free your mind, and your derriere will follow.
Over Christmas BBC 4 showed a film called "Dans Paris" I caught it on the I-Player in January and I was really bowled over by it
It's the story of a love lorn photographer who has split up with his girlfriend and comes back to his Parisian family apartment to live with his dad and brother. It's clearly a homage to the Nouvelle Vague and it works brilliantly-owing a huge dept to films like "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg", with hints of Truffaut's playfullness and Godard's surrealism. It is unashamedly and wonderfully French. All the characters smoke, they discuss their sexual and romantic problems with fierce clarity and fervor and they aren't afraid to dance around to dark indie tunes like their lives depend on it.
We Brits could never make a film that is this serious, that has moments of slapstick and has the main characters sing to their ex on the phone ( one of the most moving parts of the film actually) . I think it would be a pretty embarrassing thing if we did. Like the French trying to make a comedy...
It appealed to the teenage francophile in me, the one that watched a Channel Four season of New Wave films one summer in the nineties. The film looks like it was made by someone who, like me was captivated by the freedom and exuberance of those movies, something that just wasn't around in films back then or even now. You can't imagine Godard being asked what his demographic was or if he thought a Chinese granny who lived in London , who then moved to Wigan , would like Weekend? They showed you that you can dream, be pretentious , silly and serious all at once -break rules , anything to get your story across. And smoke alot. Naked.
Watch it. Free your mind, and your derriere will follow.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Has anybody here seen my old friend...genius?
If I could sing, (I can kinda get by, in an indie white boy way, but...) and sing well ,I always thought I would want to be able to sing like Marvin Gaye. He had a voice that rippled, roared and purred with emotion. It was an instrument of pure expression that floors me every time I hear it.
Scanning YouTube for live footage of him recently I came across this clip of Marvin playing piano in a empty auditorium in the late seventies for a Belgian documentary about his days living and working in Europe.
What strikes you instantly is the ease with which he can perform. The crew roll in a piano and Marvin can't wait to play it, riffing on jazzy trills and bluesy chords. Someone slides on a chair and Marv is away, starting with a bluesy version of "Come get to this " soft on the verse and driving it home on the refrain with a gravely croon that is leaking want and desire - crying out for his lover to fulfill his need. Then seamlessly, the mood changes, the chords switch from major to embellished minors, and we are lowered gently into a softer plea, Marvin , still not satisfied, yearns for his distant lover.
After many broken relationships, alimony, problems with the record company and a crippling heroin habit, Marvin was broke. He also owed the tax man a fair bit too and the only way he could claw his way back was to go to Europe and tour. What we are seeing is a broken man. His eyes closed , the voice true and the embodiment of Marvin's soul flows out.
Then it became clear - Marvin is singing this for himself. Quite literally , in the footage, actually.
We are watching a man who's life has crashed down around his ears. But. What he still does possess, and what no one can take away is his genius. At this point it was all he had. You could say that he was lucky - to have a voice, a talent to express all of those strained emotions and manipulate them so that, in some way, they became manageable .
To be an outstanding singer it seems that you need a couple of things - the first is to have a good set of lungs. Second- make sure those vocal cords are gilded in gold. Third- great ears- know ya notes and maybe part of that is having good taste, too. This is all the obvious stuff. But , if you want to be the best, -like Piaf, Gaye, Cobain, Buckley, Etta James, the list is endless, you can't just have a good voice, make sure you have a dreadful personal life- an absent father usually and overbearing mother who thinks that you are the best thing to happen to the world since, her. And preferably be an only child. These ingredients, when mixed together, help create someone that looks like they have all the confidence in the world , but at their centre is a quivering mass of indecision and neuroses, burning and fuelling that need to be understood and loved.
I realised, frankly , that the misery is available to everyone, but you have to start with those essentials (the right set vocal chords etc) and I'll never have them. You could say, that the greater the misery, the greater the need for the the singer to want people to like them, honing their voice to perfection . It's not God given, its evolution. This was Marvin's way of surviving, although not for much longer...he was shot dead by his alcoholic , cross dressing Dad a few years later.
What a voice though...
Scanning YouTube for live footage of him recently I came across this clip of Marvin playing piano in a empty auditorium in the late seventies for a Belgian documentary about his days living and working in Europe.
What strikes you instantly is the ease with which he can perform. The crew roll in a piano and Marvin can't wait to play it, riffing on jazzy trills and bluesy chords. Someone slides on a chair and Marv is away, starting with a bluesy version of "Come get to this " soft on the verse and driving it home on the refrain with a gravely croon that is leaking want and desire - crying out for his lover to fulfill his need. Then seamlessly, the mood changes, the chords switch from major to embellished minors, and we are lowered gently into a softer plea, Marvin , still not satisfied, yearns for his distant lover.
After many broken relationships, alimony, problems with the record company and a crippling heroin habit, Marvin was broke. He also owed the tax man a fair bit too and the only way he could claw his way back was to go to Europe and tour. What we are seeing is a broken man. His eyes closed , the voice true and the embodiment of Marvin's soul flows out.
Then it became clear - Marvin is singing this for himself. Quite literally , in the footage, actually.
We are watching a man who's life has crashed down around his ears. But. What he still does possess, and what no one can take away is his genius. At this point it was all he had. You could say that he was lucky - to have a voice, a talent to express all of those strained emotions and manipulate them so that, in some way, they became manageable .
To be an outstanding singer it seems that you need a couple of things - the first is to have a good set of lungs. Second- make sure those vocal cords are gilded in gold. Third- great ears- know ya notes and maybe part of that is having good taste, too. This is all the obvious stuff. But , if you want to be the best, -like Piaf, Gaye, Cobain, Buckley, Etta James, the list is endless, you can't just have a good voice, make sure you have a dreadful personal life- an absent father usually and overbearing mother who thinks that you are the best thing to happen to the world since, her. And preferably be an only child. These ingredients, when mixed together, help create someone that looks like they have all the confidence in the world , but at their centre is a quivering mass of indecision and neuroses, burning and fuelling that need to be understood and loved.
I realised, frankly , that the misery is available to everyone, but you have to start with those essentials (the right set vocal chords etc) and I'll never have them. You could say, that the greater the misery, the greater the need for the the singer to want people to like them, honing their voice to perfection . It's not God given, its evolution. This was Marvin's way of surviving, although not for much longer...he was shot dead by his alcoholic , cross dressing Dad a few years later.
What a voice though...
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Happy New Year Amigos!
Hello!
Sorry, its been a while. I apologise to those of you who have been e-mailing to see if I'm still alive. Well, just about, after the Bacchanalia that was Christmas and New Years 2009. I'm drinking nothing but Evian and eating only fruit from now until...well probably next week, but you have to at least start the year with good intentions.
2009 was a funny old year and one that I probably won't forget too quickly. A few horrible things happened that I've written about in previous posts, but also one large and very significant thing-
I wrote a novel. A messy, first time , dyslexic, crime-y, rock and roll ramble of a novel, that made my head hurt. And that has since changed into a well ordered , crime-y, rock and roll story of doomed youth and thwarted ambition, that was, I realise now, my baptism of fire into the world of novel writing. It was a thrilling, frustrating , enlightening, scary and rewarding experience and one that I want to encounter again, sooner rather than later with a new group of characters and a new set of questions. Although , I suppose I do have to finish this one first...
Ooh, and what terrible weather we're having...thought I better mention that. Here's a nice poem about it by Robert Frost , called "Dust of Snow".
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Sorry, its been a while. I apologise to those of you who have been e-mailing to see if I'm still alive. Well, just about, after the Bacchanalia that was Christmas and New Years 2009. I'm drinking nothing but Evian and eating only fruit from now until...well probably next week, but you have to at least start the year with good intentions.
2009 was a funny old year and one that I probably won't forget too quickly. A few horrible things happened that I've written about in previous posts, but also one large and very significant thing-
I wrote a novel. A messy, first time , dyslexic, crime-y, rock and roll ramble of a novel, that made my head hurt. And that has since changed into a well ordered , crime-y, rock and roll story of doomed youth and thwarted ambition, that was, I realise now, my baptism of fire into the world of novel writing. It was a thrilling, frustrating , enlightening, scary and rewarding experience and one that I want to encounter again, sooner rather than later with a new group of characters and a new set of questions. Although , I suppose I do have to finish this one first...
Ooh, and what terrible weather we're having...thought I better mention that. Here's a nice poem about it by Robert Frost , called "Dust of Snow".
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Jon Eydmann- one of the good guys...
I found out on Wednesday that a good friend of mine (and former manager of my band) Jon Eydmann, died whilst on holiday in Italy with his girlfriend and her son. Jon managed my band Adventure Club for two productive years and helped steer us through the murky and treacherous waters of the record industry.
I was introduced to Jon through a music publisher friend Jonny Kyte (Kyto). We'd been sending him down demo's of our album and he reckoned it was time to move forward and get the songs released on a proper label - but only if we had a manager. Well, six months down the line we were still manager-less, then , one rainy November day I got a call from Kyto.
"I've sent your stuff to this manager I know. I think it he may like it."
At this point after several failed attempts to click with or secure a trusty manager, I was a little jaded about the whole thing.
"Oh, right,OK...Has he managed any one before?" I said.
"Remember Suede?"
"He managed Suede?"
"Yep"
"Er, OK...send away."
The next day I'm staring at my computer at work, thinking about what the hell I am doing with my life trying to release an album. It was ridiculous. Everyone we'd sent it to , apart from Kyto, just didn't get us, we were destined to be another band that never got a deal... and then my phone buzzes on my desk.
"Hi it's Jon Eydmann. Kyto sent me your album? I think its really, really great. When you playing next?"
"We don't really have a band at the moment, it's just me the singer and a drum machine."
"Like The Pet Shop Boys?" he said dead pan.
"Erm, no.More like Erasure..."
"That's alright then. " he said and chuckled.
After that gig we spoke on the phone nearly every day for about two years. Apart from reassuring us again and again that we were actually good, and we would eventually get a deal, he was full of great stories about the industry and the crazy things that pop stars get up to.
Jon's management style reflected his personality - calm , considered and patient. Everyone who had worked with him , or the many bands he'd helped along the way, I'm sure would agree that he was a rare thing in the industry- a nice bloke who actually liked music. He helped a lot of people achieve or get closer to their dreams and that is a quality which is rare and should be applauded.
Cheers Jon. You will be missed.
I was introduced to Jon through a music publisher friend Jonny Kyte (Kyto). We'd been sending him down demo's of our album and he reckoned it was time to move forward and get the songs released on a proper label - but only if we had a manager. Well, six months down the line we were still manager-less, then , one rainy November day I got a call from Kyto.
"I've sent your stuff to this manager I know. I think it he may like it."
At this point after several failed attempts to click with or secure a trusty manager, I was a little jaded about the whole thing.
"Oh, right,OK...Has he managed any one before?" I said.
"Remember Suede?"
"He managed Suede?"
"Yep"
"Er, OK...send away."
The next day I'm staring at my computer at work, thinking about what the hell I am doing with my life trying to release an album. It was ridiculous. Everyone we'd sent it to , apart from Kyto, just didn't get us, we were destined to be another band that never got a deal... and then my phone buzzes on my desk.
"Hi it's Jon Eydmann. Kyto sent me your album? I think its really, really great. When you playing next?"
"We don't really have a band at the moment, it's just me the singer and a drum machine."
"Like The Pet Shop Boys?" he said dead pan.
"Erm, no.More like Erasure..."
"That's alright then. " he said and chuckled.
After that gig we spoke on the phone nearly every day for about two years. Apart from reassuring us again and again that we were actually good, and we would eventually get a deal, he was full of great stories about the industry and the crazy things that pop stars get up to.
Jon's management style reflected his personality - calm , considered and patient. Everyone who had worked with him , or the many bands he'd helped along the way, I'm sure would agree that he was a rare thing in the industry- a nice bloke who actually liked music. He helped a lot of people achieve or get closer to their dreams and that is a quality which is rare and should be applauded.
Cheers Jon. You will be missed.
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Oh Happy- 4
Black Books- Dylan Moran being tremendously witty. Always brings a smile to my boat race.
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
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