Friday, 11 November 2016
2016 - This is what it stopped sounding like
Friday, 14 October 2016
In the final end
I'm not going to let Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize in Literature go without a little post.
It made me happy. Bob Dylan remains at the centre of everything for me, has been since I was 16, he's the overwhelming reason I'm so obsessive about and such a zealous advocate for popular song, that I approach it the way that I do, he's informed so much of how I think and how I process words. There can be big strong arguments for Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, the Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Prince, Bowie, James Brown, Neil Young, whoever they like, but it's always Dylan for me. And I wasn't even there.
This is also a validation for song. Lyrics are a way that we encounter words, hence its literature. There've been novelists, poets, playwrights, journalists win this prize. Quite right that a songwriter should. These people who go "most lyrics to pop music are nonsense, for example "she loves you, yeah, yeah". See, I told you." There are still a surprising number of them. They're the worst people.
If any of them, Roth or Murakami or Margaret Atwood or any other writer the green chorus suggests is "better" than him just by virtue of writing novels, could make words meet music like he could, I'd be stunned.
Plenty have tried - Simon Armitage and Salman Rushdie and others. Rushdie's not bleating about lyric writing being a lesser art form.
I've read Homer in Greek and Virgil in Latin, I've read Shakespeare and Faulkner, Frantzen and Woolf, Camus and Heaney. I think Bob Dylan's better. I don't just like him better. I think he's better. There.
And also, I bet Bob Dylan's inspired more people to be writers than pretty much anyone else in the last 50 years.
He'll probably turn it down or some stupid shit. No, actually, I don't think he will. My guess is that nothing's ever made him happier. I remember how genuinely thrilled he said he was to get good reviews for his book.
And also ... read this fabulous article about Leonard Cohen ... http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/10/17/leonard-cohen-makes-it-darker
and read Dylan's contribution halfway down to see how much he really cares about stuff that he likes.
And also, if you really want to know if Dylan winning the Nobel Prize is a good thing, compare these two articles, the first by the same author as the above, David Remnick. He thinks it's good
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/lets-celebrate-the-bob-dylan-nobel-win
And, this now, by this guy (I feel a little cruel to pick him out, but really)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/10/13/a-world-that-gives-bob-dylan-a-nobel-prize-is-a-world-that-nomin/
He doesn't think it's a good thing. But ... bless ...
It made me happy. Bob Dylan remains at the centre of everything for me, has been since I was 16, he's the overwhelming reason I'm so obsessive about and such a zealous advocate for popular song, that I approach it the way that I do, he's informed so much of how I think and how I process words. There can be big strong arguments for Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, the Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Prince, Bowie, James Brown, Neil Young, whoever they like, but it's always Dylan for me. And I wasn't even there.
This is also a validation for song. Lyrics are a way that we encounter words, hence its literature. There've been novelists, poets, playwrights, journalists win this prize. Quite right that a songwriter should. These people who go "most lyrics to pop music are nonsense, for example "she loves you, yeah, yeah". See, I told you." There are still a surprising number of them. They're the worst people.
If any of them, Roth or Murakami or Margaret Atwood or any other writer the green chorus suggests is "better" than him just by virtue of writing novels, could make words meet music like he could, I'd be stunned.
Plenty have tried - Simon Armitage and Salman Rushdie and others. Rushdie's not bleating about lyric writing being a lesser art form.
I've read Homer in Greek and Virgil in Latin, I've read Shakespeare and Faulkner, Frantzen and Woolf, Camus and Heaney. I think Bob Dylan's better. I don't just like him better. I think he's better. There.
And also, I bet Bob Dylan's inspired more people to be writers than pretty much anyone else in the last 50 years.
He'll probably turn it down or some stupid shit. No, actually, I don't think he will. My guess is that nothing's ever made him happier. I remember how genuinely thrilled he said he was to get good reviews for his book.
And also ... read this fabulous article about Leonard Cohen ... http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/10/17/leonard-cohen-makes-it-darker
and read Dylan's contribution halfway down to see how much he really cares about stuff that he likes.
And also, if you really want to know if Dylan winning the Nobel Prize is a good thing, compare these two articles, the first by the same author as the above, David Remnick. He thinks it's good
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/lets-celebrate-the-bob-dylan-nobel-win
And, this now, by this guy (I feel a little cruel to pick him out, but really)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/10/13/a-world-that-gives-bob-dylan-a-nobel-prize-is-a-world-that-nomin/
He doesn't think it's a good thing. But ... bless ...
Sunday, 11 September 2016
I was a television version ...
Perhaps a less well known one, this.
"I was a television version of a person with a broken heart"
It's from The National song, Pink Rabbits. The National are a great band, with great drumming, great arrangements, rock anthemics, and have really notable lyrics. Crafted, but also, occasionally, shocking, funny, moving etc
One that caught the attention was in the song 'Conversation 16' - "I was afraid that I'd eat your brains, 'cos I'm evil" Then there was "I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders". I love that one. That's from Mr November, a pretty deranged piece of rock desperation.
Pink Rabbits is different. It's a swoon, a ballad, more of a pop song almost. Matt Berninger sings it fairly high up in his baritone range. It's one of the three songs from their most recent album 'Trouble Will Find Me', that I really love.
What do I love about this line so much? Well, how it sounds, for starters. The play on words is obvious, the slightly-off alliterations and internal rhyme, I love the confidence of how much is packed into the line.
It falls within this
You didn't see me I was falling apart
I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park
You didn't see me I was falling apart
I was a television version of a person with a broken heart
So you can see, he's had to rush through 4 more syllables than in the comparable line, yet it all sounds perfect.
I also like the two metaphors juxtaposed. The first one doesn't, as such, work for me. Or rather, it's opaque. "I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park". Am I supposed to get how that indicates falling apart? Perhaps not, so let's make it clearer. "I was a television version of a person with a broken heart" Right, get it - a lovely, knowing, self-mocking image of a man, unshaven, drinking all day, crying and moaning and looking woebegone - a television version of a person with a broken heart.
And it's this great descending phrase, it reminds me of the themes to sad children's TV shows of my youth - perhaps that's why I find it so apt. I've only just thought of that. I can't believe that's on purpose, but maybe it is.
Also, you know, quite often, people with broken hearts are television versions, that's the weird thing, isn't it. Grief can look like a cliche, so can despair. I remember seeing this guy walking through Clapham once crying and shouting "why me? Aaah ... why me?" and one part of me thought "poor guy" and the other thought "dude, find a new scriptwriter ..."
Anyway, here's the song
Pink Rabbits
"I was a television version of a person with a broken heart"
It's from The National song, Pink Rabbits. The National are a great band, with great drumming, great arrangements, rock anthemics, and have really notable lyrics. Crafted, but also, occasionally, shocking, funny, moving etc
One that caught the attention was in the song 'Conversation 16' - "I was afraid that I'd eat your brains, 'cos I'm evil" Then there was "I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders". I love that one. That's from Mr November, a pretty deranged piece of rock desperation.
Pink Rabbits is different. It's a swoon, a ballad, more of a pop song almost. Matt Berninger sings it fairly high up in his baritone range. It's one of the three songs from their most recent album 'Trouble Will Find Me', that I really love.
What do I love about this line so much? Well, how it sounds, for starters. The play on words is obvious, the slightly-off alliterations and internal rhyme, I love the confidence of how much is packed into the line.
It falls within this
You didn't see me I was falling apart
I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park
You didn't see me I was falling apart
I was a television version of a person with a broken heart
So you can see, he's had to rush through 4 more syllables than in the comparable line, yet it all sounds perfect.
I also like the two metaphors juxtaposed. The first one doesn't, as such, work for me. Or rather, it's opaque. "I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park". Am I supposed to get how that indicates falling apart? Perhaps not, so let's make it clearer. "I was a television version of a person with a broken heart" Right, get it - a lovely, knowing, self-mocking image of a man, unshaven, drinking all day, crying and moaning and looking woebegone - a television version of a person with a broken heart.
And it's this great descending phrase, it reminds me of the themes to sad children's TV shows of my youth - perhaps that's why I find it so apt. I've only just thought of that. I can't believe that's on purpose, but maybe it is.
Also, you know, quite often, people with broken hearts are television versions, that's the weird thing, isn't it. Grief can look like a cliche, so can despair. I remember seeing this guy walking through Clapham once crying and shouting "why me? Aaah ... why me?" and one part of me thought "poor guy" and the other thought "dude, find a new scriptwriter ..."
Anyway, here's the song
Pink Rabbits
Tuesday, 6 September 2016
If it snows ...
In my opinion, this blog has been its most successful (and certainly most enjoyable to write) when I've started at a specific song, then been able to examine it at length, to venture into pop culture in general, throw in a bit of autobiographical detail, and come back to where I started. That feels like proper writing, and what a music blog should be all about.
I also note that I've made lists of countless things and written about countless things, but have never been so bold to focus, as such, on "lyrics". I've never told you my favourite lyrics. I don't really think I have favourite lyrics, as such, and I'm very cautious about ever divorcing the words from the song. The song is the whole thing, it's always unwise to remove the words from their context. We all know that the person who starts reciting you their favourite lyrics like they're the Book of Revelation is a person to avoid most strenuously.
But ... of course ... I can't avoid being the twat forever.
All I'm going to do, perhaps as an ongoing strand, perhaps not, is give a line I love from a song I love and see if I can write around it, think about it and see what it is I love so much.
I'll avoid tapping into the spirit of my student self and going too deep into literary criticism, but I'm sure words like assonance will pop up every now and then.
"And if it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain"
This is a good place to start, eh?
This line, as you probably know, comes from the second verse of 'Wichita Lineman', written by Jimmy Webb, sung by Glen Campbell. I fucking love this line. I love the way it sounds, for starters, the easy, oddly gentle alliteration, perhaps the hissing of the wire, though it doesn't have to be, the long, relatively complex unit of sense, sung just at the edge of where Campbell's glorious voice still sounds comfortable. He sings it like he means it, it sits in the verse like it's the most important thing he can think of.
But it's not, of course.
The line that follows this one, almost as a sigh, is the most famous line in the song - "And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time".
This enormously romantic and beautiful line is oft-repeated and quoted. But would it be such a wonderful, beautiful line, if, as might make sense, it had been preceded by something like ...
"Baby, I'm trying to compare how much I need you and how much I want you,
and also how long I'm going to want you for ..."
Thanks, I came up with that myself.
No, it's the juxtaposition that makes the magic.
"If it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain," the stoical, hard-working man thought to himself, focusing, for a time, on the concerns of his job. But his loneliness and longing inevitably burst through the veneer his mind had constructed. "And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time".
There are so few lines in this song, which tell so much, just the perfectly concise biography of an American man, his life, his character and all his concerns.
Wichita Lineman
There are other things I love about this song - the fact it's a country song at heart, but also a chamber-pop song - it's really one of the cornerstones of all-American music.
I haven't much else to say about it, certainly nothing autobiographical, it doesn't take me back to my days as a binman in Winchester. But it's a glorious moment in a glorious song, and if I ever have the opportunity to use the phrase "If it snows, that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain" appropriately, by golly, I will!
I also note that I've made lists of countless things and written about countless things, but have never been so bold to focus, as such, on "lyrics". I've never told you my favourite lyrics. I don't really think I have favourite lyrics, as such, and I'm very cautious about ever divorcing the words from the song. The song is the whole thing, it's always unwise to remove the words from their context. We all know that the person who starts reciting you their favourite lyrics like they're the Book of Revelation is a person to avoid most strenuously.
But ... of course ... I can't avoid being the twat forever.
All I'm going to do, perhaps as an ongoing strand, perhaps not, is give a line I love from a song I love and see if I can write around it, think about it and see what it is I love so much.
I'll avoid tapping into the spirit of my student self and going too deep into literary criticism, but I'm sure words like assonance will pop up every now and then.
"And if it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain"
This is a good place to start, eh?
This line, as you probably know, comes from the second verse of 'Wichita Lineman', written by Jimmy Webb, sung by Glen Campbell. I fucking love this line. I love the way it sounds, for starters, the easy, oddly gentle alliteration, perhaps the hissing of the wire, though it doesn't have to be, the long, relatively complex unit of sense, sung just at the edge of where Campbell's glorious voice still sounds comfortable. He sings it like he means it, it sits in the verse like it's the most important thing he can think of.
But it's not, of course.
The line that follows this one, almost as a sigh, is the most famous line in the song - "And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time".
This enormously romantic and beautiful line is oft-repeated and quoted. But would it be such a wonderful, beautiful line, if, as might make sense, it had been preceded by something like ...
"Baby, I'm trying to compare how much I need you and how much I want you,
and also how long I'm going to want you for ..."
Thanks, I came up with that myself.
No, it's the juxtaposition that makes the magic.
"If it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain," the stoical, hard-working man thought to himself, focusing, for a time, on the concerns of his job. But his loneliness and longing inevitably burst through the veneer his mind had constructed. "And I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time".
There are so few lines in this song, which tell so much, just the perfectly concise biography of an American man, his life, his character and all his concerns.
Wichita Lineman
There are other things I love about this song - the fact it's a country song at heart, but also a chamber-pop song - it's really one of the cornerstones of all-American music.
I haven't much else to say about it, certainly nothing autobiographical, it doesn't take me back to my days as a binman in Winchester. But it's a glorious moment in a glorious song, and if I ever have the opportunity to use the phrase "If it snows, that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain" appropriately, by golly, I will!
Thursday, 19 May 2016
Is it too early to say I wasn't a massive Prince fan?
The tributes are still flowing in, but a month has passed, so I thought I might, tentatively, politely, say, you know, Prince, not a massive fan, to be honest.
I know how some people felt when Bowie died. Of course, people die all the time who we're not fans of, but these two combined such universal acclaim with popularity and iconic coolness, they meant so very much, genuinely, to so very many people, that I would really have felt like a bit of a dick either saying I wasn't a massive Prince fan or pretending I did... until now ...
I thought about Prince's music a lot when he died. I wondered what my favourite song was. But, really, I had nothing. For a while, I thought I liked the early 90s single Morning Papers, but not really. Raspberry Beret is pretty ok, I like the first verse, that's for sure. "boss was Mr McGee". I like that.
But, really, that's about it. 1999, Sign of the Times, Little Red Corvette, Purple Rain etc they always left me cold. I did try. I bought his two most famous albums and a greatest hits. I knew I was missing something. Prince wasn't just popular while being someone a music snob could look down on, he was universally revered by musicians and hipsters, funk fans and rock fans. I had to be missing something.
I could see he was stunningly talented, I could see he was a star, I could see he could write a pop song with a hook, but I just didn't like those songs. I couldn't see why people said he wrote great lyrics. All those acclaimed line - "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life" "Dig, if you will, the picture ..." "a big disease with a small name" ..."I was dreaming while I wrote this, forgive me if it goes too fast ...", to me they were naff, meaningless, portentous, show-offy. Sorry.
It was probably, I suppose, the voice more than the songs. I like Nothing Compares 2 U and Manic Monday, though not that much. Again, it's the way lots of people feel about Bob Dylan.
But I was never moved by a Prince song. Never, never felt they were soul songs. I never wanted to sit and mope listening to Prince, never wanted to think, never wanted to work, to write, to run or to dance. I could take bathetic pleasure in comparing him to small-scale artists whose songs I prefer. Prince, he's ok, but he's no Bluetones, he's ok but he's no Brendan Benson, he's ok but he's no Chaka Demus and Pliers.
I'm already being meaner-spirited than I intended to be. It's just, there's no-anti Prince movement. Everyone seems to love him. Surely I'm not the only one who just doesn't think those songs set off and take flight like you hope they will? Am I really the one who's only seeing the crescent? (He's ok, but he's no Waterboys ...)
I know how some people felt when Bowie died. Of course, people die all the time who we're not fans of, but these two combined such universal acclaim with popularity and iconic coolness, they meant so very much, genuinely, to so very many people, that I would really have felt like a bit of a dick either saying I wasn't a massive Prince fan or pretending I did... until now ...
I thought about Prince's music a lot when he died. I wondered what my favourite song was. But, really, I had nothing. For a while, I thought I liked the early 90s single Morning Papers, but not really. Raspberry Beret is pretty ok, I like the first verse, that's for sure. "boss was Mr McGee". I like that.
But, really, that's about it. 1999, Sign of the Times, Little Red Corvette, Purple Rain etc they always left me cold. I did try. I bought his two most famous albums and a greatest hits. I knew I was missing something. Prince wasn't just popular while being someone a music snob could look down on, he was universally revered by musicians and hipsters, funk fans and rock fans. I had to be missing something.
I could see he was stunningly talented, I could see he was a star, I could see he could write a pop song with a hook, but I just didn't like those songs. I couldn't see why people said he wrote great lyrics. All those acclaimed line - "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life" "Dig, if you will, the picture ..." "a big disease with a small name" ..."I was dreaming while I wrote this, forgive me if it goes too fast ...", to me they were naff, meaningless, portentous, show-offy. Sorry.
It was probably, I suppose, the voice more than the songs. I like Nothing Compares 2 U and Manic Monday, though not that much. Again, it's the way lots of people feel about Bob Dylan.
But I was never moved by a Prince song. Never, never felt they were soul songs. I never wanted to sit and mope listening to Prince, never wanted to think, never wanted to work, to write, to run or to dance. I could take bathetic pleasure in comparing him to small-scale artists whose songs I prefer. Prince, he's ok, but he's no Bluetones, he's ok but he's no Brendan Benson, he's ok but he's no Chaka Demus and Pliers.
I'm already being meaner-spirited than I intended to be. It's just, there's no-anti Prince movement. Everyone seems to love him. Surely I'm not the only one who just doesn't think those songs set off and take flight like you hope they will? Am I really the one who's only seeing the crescent? (He's ok, but he's no Waterboys ...)
Tuesday, 10 May 2016
De Niro
I've been meaning to write about Robert De Niro in depth for years, but couldn't decide where to place it, what to focus on.
Alongside Bob Dylan, this other Bobby D was my main American cultural icon in my late teens and early 20s. Dylan, since the mid-90s, has had a significant late career burst of critically acclaimed work. De Niro, it goes without saying, hasn't.
He is still revered but it is taken as read that he has lost it, that his work since the very early 90s is insignificant. I'm not here to claim that is a completely false impression.
Where will I start? I have a lot of things to say about, and emotions to attach to Robert De Niro.
I think a series of vignettes are better than an attempt to form a central thesis,
I'll start with recent times.
1. On a bored Sunday afternoon, we made the mistake of watching The Intern, a wretched 2015 "comedy" starring De Niro and Anne Hathaway. Despite reasonably good credentials, I found pretty much everything about it boring and painful - the script, the story, the central idea, nearly all the acting. But De Niro is great. Unflashy, endearing, funny, utterly human. Hathaway is hard to watch, as are the main support actors. So I wonder if De Niro is now quite tricky to act opposite because he's such a legend, it's intimidating. His acting doesn't appear showy or ungenerous, far from it. He seems to leave plenty of space on screen for everyone else. But I wonder if his very presence unbalances a lot of the films he's in.
2. De Niro's not as Italian as everyone thinks. Layman's impression of him (and indeed his own) concentrate on that wiseguy schtick. But he's only a quarter-Italian, if that. His father was the child of an Italian-American father and an Irish-American mother. His mother was American, but of Irish/Dutch/German/English ancestry. And not all his greatest roles are Italian, far from it.
Jake Le Motta, Johnny Civello and Vito Corleone are
but
Travis Bickle, Michael Vronsky, Rupert Pupkin, Noodles Aaronson, Jimmy the Gent Conway, Ace Rothstein etc are not
I always find it surprising too, that both his parents were artists (his father a pretty renowned one) and bohemians. That's not really the vibe he gives off.
3. Some actors are just as good, if not better, as they get older. The ones that, to paraphrase Laurence Olivier, just act. But I suppose De Niro's greatest performances were so dependent on hard physical labour, months of preparation and exertion, that, like a great sportsman, it's inevitable that he's become capable of a little less. It would be physically impossible for him to put in a performance like in Raging Bull or Taxi Driver now. It would be like Usain Bolt still running the 100m in 10 seconds when he's 70.
4. The famous inarticulacy. How awkward he is when he's interviewed. How he struggles for words. Scorsese and others joke that it's not just a public, put-on thing. He's just not much of a talker.
Then look at some of those performances. In particular look at his first famous scene, the first time he walks into the bar in Mean Streets, probably my very favourite scene in film history, this fast-talking wise guy, this joke machine, he's making it up, improvising. You can't believe it's the same person. D'oh, that's acting.
5. The sweetness. What's my favourite De Niro performance? I love the crazies, the psychos, the oddballs, the monsters, but my favourite is the one where he plays a straight, true heroic character, in The Deer Hunter - his acting with Meryl Streep in this is fabulous. Sure he's crazy in this too, but he's so still sometimes, and so sad. There are quite a few very fine performances where he plays someone very ordinary.
6. What's wrong with comedy? OK, I'm not saying that the last 20 years are a patch on the previous 20, but why is the fact that he became a genuinely funny mainstream comedy star so sneered upon? Analyze This and Meet the Parents are actually funny. Genuinely funny. It's called range.
7. I still think that 70s run is simply the best there is. I don't like gangster films anymore, I'm tired of them. I don't necessarily like films that are complex studies of ugly masculinity, but Mean Streets, Godfather II, Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, Raging Bull, King of Comedy, Once Upon a Time in America. That's without equal as a run of film performances by an actor.
8. As he's got older, his face has become more set and I think that's a bit of a hindrance. When he was younger, it was more elasticm more surprising, now, well, it's just Robert De Niro's face, it couldn't be anything else.
9. It is still surprising to me how few good films he's in these days. Surely he could position himself to work with more top directors to pretty much guarantee a degree of acclaim. David O Russell he works with now. There's Scorsese obviously, and one more on the way from them, but Tarantino only once, no Coens, no Andersons, no Inarritu or Del Toro etc Don't they want him in their films? Doesn't he want to be in them?
10. OK, I'll finish with a list. Bypassing the obvious, here are 10 Very Decent De Niro films which aren't seen as classics, but are definitely enjoyable
Ronin
Wag the Dog
Joy
Meet the Parents
Jackie Brown
Sleepers
A Bronx Tale
Angel Heart
True Confessions
and (though almost a classic) Midnight Run
Alongside Bob Dylan, this other Bobby D was my main American cultural icon in my late teens and early 20s. Dylan, since the mid-90s, has had a significant late career burst of critically acclaimed work. De Niro, it goes without saying, hasn't.
He is still revered but it is taken as read that he has lost it, that his work since the very early 90s is insignificant. I'm not here to claim that is a completely false impression.
Where will I start? I have a lot of things to say about, and emotions to attach to Robert De Niro.
I think a series of vignettes are better than an attempt to form a central thesis,
I'll start with recent times.
1. On a bored Sunday afternoon, we made the mistake of watching The Intern, a wretched 2015 "comedy" starring De Niro and Anne Hathaway. Despite reasonably good credentials, I found pretty much everything about it boring and painful - the script, the story, the central idea, nearly all the acting. But De Niro is great. Unflashy, endearing, funny, utterly human. Hathaway is hard to watch, as are the main support actors. So I wonder if De Niro is now quite tricky to act opposite because he's such a legend, it's intimidating. His acting doesn't appear showy or ungenerous, far from it. He seems to leave plenty of space on screen for everyone else. But I wonder if his very presence unbalances a lot of the films he's in.
2. De Niro's not as Italian as everyone thinks. Layman's impression of him (and indeed his own) concentrate on that wiseguy schtick. But he's only a quarter-Italian, if that. His father was the child of an Italian-American father and an Irish-American mother. His mother was American, but of Irish/Dutch/German/English ancestry. And not all his greatest roles are Italian, far from it.
Jake Le Motta, Johnny Civello and Vito Corleone are
but
Travis Bickle, Michael Vronsky, Rupert Pupkin, Noodles Aaronson, Jimmy the Gent Conway, Ace Rothstein etc are not
I always find it surprising too, that both his parents were artists (his father a pretty renowned one) and bohemians. That's not really the vibe he gives off.
3. Some actors are just as good, if not better, as they get older. The ones that, to paraphrase Laurence Olivier, just act. But I suppose De Niro's greatest performances were so dependent on hard physical labour, months of preparation and exertion, that, like a great sportsman, it's inevitable that he's become capable of a little less. It would be physically impossible for him to put in a performance like in Raging Bull or Taxi Driver now. It would be like Usain Bolt still running the 100m in 10 seconds when he's 70.
4. The famous inarticulacy. How awkward he is when he's interviewed. How he struggles for words. Scorsese and others joke that it's not just a public, put-on thing. He's just not much of a talker.
Then look at some of those performances. In particular look at his first famous scene, the first time he walks into the bar in Mean Streets, probably my very favourite scene in film history, this fast-talking wise guy, this joke machine, he's making it up, improvising. You can't believe it's the same person. D'oh, that's acting.
5. The sweetness. What's my favourite De Niro performance? I love the crazies, the psychos, the oddballs, the monsters, but my favourite is the one where he plays a straight, true heroic character, in The Deer Hunter - his acting with Meryl Streep in this is fabulous. Sure he's crazy in this too, but he's so still sometimes, and so sad. There are quite a few very fine performances where he plays someone very ordinary.
6. What's wrong with comedy? OK, I'm not saying that the last 20 years are a patch on the previous 20, but why is the fact that he became a genuinely funny mainstream comedy star so sneered upon? Analyze This and Meet the Parents are actually funny. Genuinely funny. It's called range.
7. I still think that 70s run is simply the best there is. I don't like gangster films anymore, I'm tired of them. I don't necessarily like films that are complex studies of ugly masculinity, but Mean Streets, Godfather II, Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, Raging Bull, King of Comedy, Once Upon a Time in America. That's without equal as a run of film performances by an actor.
8. As he's got older, his face has become more set and I think that's a bit of a hindrance. When he was younger, it was more elasticm more surprising, now, well, it's just Robert De Niro's face, it couldn't be anything else.
9. It is still surprising to me how few good films he's in these days. Surely he could position himself to work with more top directors to pretty much guarantee a degree of acclaim. David O Russell he works with now. There's Scorsese obviously, and one more on the way from them, but Tarantino only once, no Coens, no Andersons, no Inarritu or Del Toro etc Don't they want him in their films? Doesn't he want to be in them?
10. OK, I'll finish with a list. Bypassing the obvious, here are 10 Very Decent De Niro films which aren't seen as classics, but are definitely enjoyable
Ronin
Wag the Dog
Joy
Meet the Parents
Jackie Brown
Sleepers
A Bronx Tale
Angel Heart
True Confessions
and (though almost a classic) Midnight Run
Friday, 29 April 2016
Five Films From ...
EASY GAME
LET'S PLAY ...
Judged on how much a film is worth watching if you are a fan of this actor (so not just "is their performance good?" or "is it a good film?" but a bit of a combination of the two ...). Glaring omissions are most likely to, of course, be films I haven't seen rather than fervent opinions.
It won't surprise you to know that when I was a teenager I went through the Halliwell's Film Guide with a pen and marked films starring lots of different actors to see a) who was in the most films and b) who was in the most highly rated films. So this is all second nature to me.
Robert De Niro
Mean Streets
Taxi Driver
Raging Bull
The Deer Hunter
Midnight Run
Julia Roberts
Pretty Woman
Charlie Wilson's War
Notting Hill
Erin Brockovich
My Best Friend's Wedding
Alec Guinness
Lavender Hill Mob
The Ladykillers
Kind Hearts and Coronets
Tunes of Glory
Star Wars
Audrey Hepburn
Roman Holiday
My Fair Lady
Breakfast at Tiffany's
Charade
Sabrina
Denzel Washington
Training Day
Flight
Cry Freedom
Crimson Tide
Unstoppable
Julie Christie
Dr Zhivago
Don't Look Now
Far From the Madding Crowd
Darling
The Go-Between
Cate Blanchett
Blue Jasmine
I'm Not There
Carol
Elizabeth
The Aviator
John Goodman
The Big Lebowski
Barton Fink
The Big Easy
Argo
Inside Llewyn Davis
Marion Cotillard
La Vie en Rose
Inception
Rust and Bone
Two Days, One Night
Midnight in Paris
Owen Wilson
The Royal Tenenbaums
Midnight in Paris
Meet the Parents
The Darjeeling Limited
Inhererent Vice
Kevin Costner
No Way Out
Bull Durham
JFK
Tin Cup
The Untouchables
Michelle Williams
Brokeback Mountain
Synecdoche, New York
Blue Valentine
My Week With Marilyn
Shutter Island
Holly Hunter
Broadcast News
Raising Arizona
The Piano
A Life Less Ordinary
O Brother, Where Art Thou
Michael Douglas
The Game
Wonder Boys
Traffic
Wall Street
Falling Down
Emma Thompson
Howard's End
The Remains of the Day
The Tall Guy
In the Name of the Father
Saving Mr Banks
Humphrey Bogart
Casablanca
The Maltese Falcon
The Big Sleep
To Have and Have Not
Key Largo
Katharine Hepburn
Bringing Up Baby
The Philadelphia Story
The African Queen
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
On Golden Pond
Sigourney Weaver
Ghostbusters
Working Girl
The Ice Storm
Avatar
Be Kind Rewind
Benicio Del Toro
The Usual Suspects
Traffic
Sin City
The Pledge
Inherent Vice
Kevin Bacon
Mystic Rover
The Woodsman
Diner
Footloose
Murder in the First
Amy Adams
The Fighter
Enchanted
The Master
American Hustle
Her
Kristin Scott Thomas
I've Loved You So Long
Gosford Park
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Tell No one
The English Patient
John Cusack
Love and Mercy
Grosse Point Blank
High Fidelity
Say Anything ...
Con Air
Joan Cusack
School of Rock
Grosse Point Blank
Working Girl
Runaway Bride
Say Anything ...
Luis Guzman
Carlito's Way
Boogie Nights
Punch Drunk Love
Traffic
Magnolia
Emily Watson
The Boxer
Red Dragon
Punch-Drunk Love
Belle
Gosford Park
Ewan McGregor
Trainspotting
Shallow Grave
Young Adam
A Life Less Ordinary
Big Fish
Jake Gyllenhaal
Donnie Darko
Nightcrawler
Zodiac
Source Code
Brokeback Mountain
Tilda Swinton
Young Adam
Broken Flowers
Burn After Reading
Michael Clayton
We Need to Talk about Kevin
Keanu Reeves
Parenthood
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
Thumbsucker
Speed
The Matrix
Whoopi Goldberg
Ghost
Sister Act
Made in America
The Color Purple
The Player
Frances McDormand
Fargo
Blood Simple
Short Cuts
Almost Famous
Moonrise Kingdom
Forest Whitaker
The Last King of Scotland
Ghost Dog
Platoon
Good Morning, Vietnam
Southpaw
Christopher Walken
Catch Me if You Can
The Deer Hunter
True Romance
A View to a Kill
Batman Returns
Sally Hawkins
Happy-Go-Lucky
Submarine
Blue Jasmine
Made in Dagenham
X+Y
Susan Sarandon
Thelma and Louise
Dead Man Walking
Bull Durham
Enchanted
Arbitrage
Christian Slater
Pump Up the Volume
Heathers
Broken Arrow
True Romance
Untamed Heart
Marlon Brando
On the Waterfront
A Streetcar Named Desire
The Godfather
Last Tango in Paris
Superman
Dianne Wiest
Hannah and Her Sisters
Parenthood
Footloose
The Purple Rose of Cairo
A Guide to Recognising Your Saints
Michael Cera
Superbad
Juno
Youth in Revolt
Scott Pilgrim vs the World
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Julianne Moore
The Kids are All Right
Short Cuts
Far From Heaven
The Hours
The Big Lebowski
Nicolas Cage
Leaving Las Vegas
Raising Arizona
Con Air
Adaptation
Wild at Heart
Naomi Watts
Mulholland Drive
Birdman
While We're Young
King Kong
Eastern Promises
Joseph Cotten
Citizen Kane
Shadow of a Doubt
The Third Man
Duel in the Sun
Gaslight
Lawrence Fishburne
Boyz N The Hood
Apocalypse Now
What's Love Got To Do With It?
The Matrix
The Color Purple
Faye Dunaway
Bonnie and Clyde
The Thomas Crown Affair
The Three Musketeers
Chinatown
The Towering Inferno
Helen Mirren
The Long Good Friday
The Queen
Excalibur
Gosford Park
State of Play
Grace Kelly
High Noon
Dial M for Murder
High Society
To Catch a Thief
Rear Window
Annette Bening
The Grifters
The Kids Are All Right
American Beauty
The American President
Regarding Henry
Emilio Estevez
The Outsiders
St Elmo's Fire
The Breakfast Club
Young Guns
Stakeout
John Wayne
Stagecoach
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon
Rio Bravo
The Searchers
True Grit
I could go on and on. I will go on and on. But I'll leave a little space for now ...
LET'S PLAY ...
Judged on how much a film is worth watching if you are a fan of this actor (so not just "is their performance good?" or "is it a good film?" but a bit of a combination of the two ...). Glaring omissions are most likely to, of course, be films I haven't seen rather than fervent opinions.
It won't surprise you to know that when I was a teenager I went through the Halliwell's Film Guide with a pen and marked films starring lots of different actors to see a) who was in the most films and b) who was in the most highly rated films. So this is all second nature to me.
Robert De Niro
Mean Streets
Taxi Driver
Raging Bull
The Deer Hunter
Midnight Run
Julia Roberts
Pretty Woman
Charlie Wilson's War
Notting Hill
Erin Brockovich
My Best Friend's Wedding
Alec Guinness
Lavender Hill Mob
The Ladykillers
Kind Hearts and Coronets
Tunes of Glory
Star Wars
Audrey Hepburn
Roman Holiday
My Fair Lady
Breakfast at Tiffany's
Charade
Sabrina
Denzel Washington
Training Day
Flight
Cry Freedom
Crimson Tide
Unstoppable
Julie Christie
Dr Zhivago
Don't Look Now
Far From the Madding Crowd
Darling
The Go-Between
Cate Blanchett
Blue Jasmine
I'm Not There
Carol
Elizabeth
The Aviator
John Goodman
The Big Lebowski
Barton Fink
The Big Easy
Argo
Inside Llewyn Davis
Marion Cotillard
La Vie en Rose
Inception
Rust and Bone
Two Days, One Night
Midnight in Paris
Owen Wilson
The Royal Tenenbaums
Midnight in Paris
Meet the Parents
The Darjeeling Limited
Inhererent Vice
Kevin Costner
No Way Out
Bull Durham
JFK
Tin Cup
The Untouchables
Michelle Williams
Brokeback Mountain
Synecdoche, New York
Blue Valentine
My Week With Marilyn
Shutter Island
Holly Hunter
Broadcast News
Raising Arizona
The Piano
A Life Less Ordinary
O Brother, Where Art Thou
Michael Douglas
The Game
Wonder Boys
Traffic
Wall Street
Falling Down
Emma Thompson
Howard's End
The Remains of the Day
The Tall Guy
In the Name of the Father
Saving Mr Banks
Humphrey Bogart
Casablanca
The Maltese Falcon
The Big Sleep
To Have and Have Not
Key Largo
Katharine Hepburn
Bringing Up Baby
The Philadelphia Story
The African Queen
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
On Golden Pond
Sigourney Weaver
Ghostbusters
Working Girl
The Ice Storm
Avatar
Be Kind Rewind
Benicio Del Toro
The Usual Suspects
Traffic
Sin City
The Pledge
Inherent Vice
Kevin Bacon
Mystic Rover
The Woodsman
Diner
Footloose
Murder in the First
Amy Adams
The Fighter
Enchanted
The Master
American Hustle
Her
Kristin Scott Thomas
I've Loved You So Long
Gosford Park
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Tell No one
The English Patient
John Cusack
Love and Mercy
Grosse Point Blank
High Fidelity
Say Anything ...
Con Air
Joan Cusack
School of Rock
Grosse Point Blank
Working Girl
Runaway Bride
Say Anything ...
Luis Guzman
Carlito's Way
Boogie Nights
Punch Drunk Love
Traffic
Magnolia
Emily Watson
The Boxer
Red Dragon
Punch-Drunk Love
Belle
Gosford Park
Ewan McGregor
Trainspotting
Shallow Grave
Young Adam
A Life Less Ordinary
Big Fish
Jake Gyllenhaal
Donnie Darko
Nightcrawler
Zodiac
Source Code
Brokeback Mountain
Tilda Swinton
Young Adam
Broken Flowers
Burn After Reading
Michael Clayton
We Need to Talk about Kevin
Keanu Reeves
Parenthood
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
Thumbsucker
Speed
The Matrix
Whoopi Goldberg
Ghost
Sister Act
Made in America
The Color Purple
The Player
Frances McDormand
Fargo
Blood Simple
Short Cuts
Almost Famous
Moonrise Kingdom
Forest Whitaker
The Last King of Scotland
Ghost Dog
Platoon
Good Morning, Vietnam
Southpaw
Christopher Walken
Catch Me if You Can
The Deer Hunter
True Romance
A View to a Kill
Batman Returns
Sally Hawkins
Happy-Go-Lucky
Submarine
Blue Jasmine
Made in Dagenham
X+Y
Susan Sarandon
Thelma and Louise
Dead Man Walking
Bull Durham
Enchanted
Arbitrage
Christian Slater
Pump Up the Volume
Heathers
Broken Arrow
True Romance
Untamed Heart
Marlon Brando
On the Waterfront
A Streetcar Named Desire
The Godfather
Last Tango in Paris
Superman
Dianne Wiest
Hannah and Her Sisters
Parenthood
Footloose
The Purple Rose of Cairo
A Guide to Recognising Your Saints
Michael Cera
Superbad
Juno
Youth in Revolt
Scott Pilgrim vs the World
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
Julianne Moore
The Kids are All Right
Short Cuts
Far From Heaven
The Hours
The Big Lebowski
Nicolas Cage
Leaving Las Vegas
Raising Arizona
Con Air
Adaptation
Wild at Heart
Naomi Watts
Mulholland Drive
Birdman
While We're Young
King Kong
Eastern Promises
Joseph Cotten
Citizen Kane
Shadow of a Doubt
The Third Man
Duel in the Sun
Gaslight
Lawrence Fishburne
Boyz N The Hood
Apocalypse Now
What's Love Got To Do With It?
The Matrix
The Color Purple
Faye Dunaway
Bonnie and Clyde
The Thomas Crown Affair
The Three Musketeers
Chinatown
The Towering Inferno
Helen Mirren
The Long Good Friday
The Queen
Excalibur
Gosford Park
State of Play
Grace Kelly
High Noon
Dial M for Murder
High Society
To Catch a Thief
Rear Window
Annette Bening
The Grifters
The Kids Are All Right
American Beauty
The American President
Regarding Henry
Emilio Estevez
The Outsiders
St Elmo's Fire
The Breakfast Club
Young Guns
Stakeout
John Wayne
Stagecoach
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon
Rio Bravo
The Searchers
True Grit
I could go on and on. I will go on and on. But I'll leave a little space for now ...
Wednesday, 27 April 2016
The Furies with their Voices
Skipping merrily from tragedy to tragedy, one of the more renowned myths of recent rock'n'roll is that which has built up about the Buckleys. But I've written enough specifically about them, I think, and will just use Jeff Buckley as a starting point to talk about one of music's undersung.
The undersung, the undercelebrated polymaths who keep on popping up on other people's tales but deserve to be championed in their own right - there are many books to be written about them, certainly several blog posts if I can concentrate on putting a list together.
Jeff Buckley's girlfriend was called Joan Wasser - as a solo artist, she's known, rather archly, as Joan As Police Woman. As well as the Buckley association, she's played violin for the likes of Antony and the Johnsons, Rufus Wainwright and Lou Reed. And various others. A session musician and a general presence.
There've been four full fledged solo records, called Real Life, To Survive, The Deep Field and The Classic. Lately, I've been making playlists of individual artists to listen to through the days, and after the usual suspects, she struck me with someone with enough good songs to make a good playlist, then it struck me that really, most of those good songs were on that first album, Real Life, then it struck me that that album was really a bit superb - a little underappreciated.
Its pace is relaxed but there are moments of celebration. It's a highly romantic album - her voice is languorous but clear and hopeful. There are no weak moments - the most well known song may be 'Eternal Flame', which may well be a tribute to, or almost a separation from, the legacy of Buckley - it even has little echoes of the song 'Grace'.
Eternal Flame
There's a great duet with Antony (now Anohni) called 'I Defy'. It's really as subtle and complete an album as you'll hear.
There are good songs on her other albums, too, but that's the one that grabbed me. I remember seeing her, late afternoon, a festival, a compelling performer - there was a song from her (then) new album called 'Furious' which I remember taking as a direct personal challenge.
Furious
She said "This song asks, Are you not furious?" It's a protest song but also an exhortation. At the time (i think it was 2007) I almost took offence. No, I'm not furious, I'm ambivalent, I'm cautious, things could be worse ... but I was wrong, that was the time to be furious and now so much impotent fury may be too late ... it's such a striking song because it's out of keeping with her repertoire. Spot on. Now I regret any time I was self-satisfied and not furious. Fury may be the only thing that can save things now.
The undersung, the undercelebrated polymaths who keep on popping up on other people's tales but deserve to be championed in their own right - there are many books to be written about them, certainly several blog posts if I can concentrate on putting a list together.
Jeff Buckley's girlfriend was called Joan Wasser - as a solo artist, she's known, rather archly, as Joan As Police Woman. As well as the Buckley association, she's played violin for the likes of Antony and the Johnsons, Rufus Wainwright and Lou Reed. And various others. A session musician and a general presence.
There've been four full fledged solo records, called Real Life, To Survive, The Deep Field and The Classic. Lately, I've been making playlists of individual artists to listen to through the days, and after the usual suspects, she struck me with someone with enough good songs to make a good playlist, then it struck me that really, most of those good songs were on that first album, Real Life, then it struck me that that album was really a bit superb - a little underappreciated.
Its pace is relaxed but there are moments of celebration. It's a highly romantic album - her voice is languorous but clear and hopeful. There are no weak moments - the most well known song may be 'Eternal Flame', which may well be a tribute to, or almost a separation from, the legacy of Buckley - it even has little echoes of the song 'Grace'.
Eternal Flame
There's a great duet with Antony (now Anohni) called 'I Defy'. It's really as subtle and complete an album as you'll hear.
There are good songs on her other albums, too, but that's the one that grabbed me. I remember seeing her, late afternoon, a festival, a compelling performer - there was a song from her (then) new album called 'Furious' which I remember taking as a direct personal challenge.
Furious
She said "This song asks, Are you not furious?" It's a protest song but also an exhortation. At the time (i think it was 2007) I almost took offence. No, I'm not furious, I'm ambivalent, I'm cautious, things could be worse ... but I was wrong, that was the time to be furious and now so much impotent fury may be too late ... it's such a striking song because it's out of keeping with her repertoire. Spot on. Now I regret any time I was self-satisfied and not furious. Fury may be the only thing that can save things now.
Sunday, 24 April 2016
Sunday Afternoon in the Dublin Castle with Amy
Having written about Tragedy in general, I realise, almost guiltily, that there's plenty of specific material for me to write about in the countless tragedies of rock'n'roll.
So, I'm going to write about Amy Winehouse, and I'm going to do so in a way which might almost be exploitative, while also containing some fairly blatant virtue-signifying. I'm turning into one of the cunts, I'm quite sure.
I watched the film, 'Amy'. I wasn't sure about watching it, for reasons that will become clear, but I watched it, and it was, naturally, a fine piece of work.
There was a lot to be uneasy about, but I'm not sure I was uneasy about what I was supposed to be uneasy about. The surrounding publicity material from the director and various interested journalists broadly suggested that the film, in harrowing detail, showed us how we were all a little complicit in this girl's tragedy, that we watched fascinated as she fell apart.
Hell, no, I said to myself, I am not complicit. Speak for yourselves.
Here's my Amy Winehouse story. It's not a great one but it serves my purpose.
Persuaded by critical gushing, I'd bought 'Frank', the debut album by someone being described as a prodigious vocal and lyrical talent. I found it not to be so. I found it one of my least favourite albums for a long time - annoying, crass, show-offy in both sound and words. Amy Winehouse would later not think too highly of it herself, of course.
My friend Alex and I, in 2006, had, I think, been to see 'The Departed' at the cinema in Camden around Sunday lunchtime, and then shuffled off to the nearest pub, which happened to be the famous Dublin Castle. We settled over our pints in the corner, a bit away from the pool table.
There were various indie tourists, looking for the scene in there, desperate in Coldplay and Razorlight t-shirts. Anyway, the scene did arrive. Or rather, a spectacularly annoying girl arrived with a dapper, somewhat bashful gent in tow, and proceeded to dominate the pub for the next couple of hours.
We sat, chest tightened, as she flounced and swore and threatened and posed and shouted, praying she wouldn't look at us, disturb us, speak to us, looking deep into our pints and trying to talk about anything else.
I knew she was Amy Winehouse, Alex didn't. He knew the name Amy Winehouse, but Amy Winehouse wasn't yet wholly known to look like this and be like this. To place this in time - 'Rehab' was already on the radio, but 'Back to Black' had not come out yet. She wasn't yet the most famous fuck-up in Britain, nor the most enormous musical success. But it was just about to happen. She had a classic single on the radio and she had the look and she had the exhibitionism.
This bashful gent, putting two and two together retrospectively, was not the notorious Blake Fielder-Civil, but the inbetween boyfriend who might have brought a bit more normality back into her life.
That's it. We left her to it after a couple of pints, I remember Alex saying "gosh, she was annoying", me going "that was Amy Winehouse", and him going "ah, right".That's my Amy Winehouse story. It serves my purpose of telling you that I was not complicit. Because I averted my eyes and wished she'd go away.
I took that attitude to her songs, too. To me, she remained the hypejob of 'Frank' and the annoying girl in the pub. So I registered that, in turn, 'Rehab', 'You Know I'm No Good', 'Back to Black', 'Tears Dry On Their Own' and 'Lose is a Losing Game' were fabulous singles. However, despite these anomalies, I remained adamant that the album 'Back to Black' would not be for me. I was not an Amy Winehouse fan. Her fame annoyed me. Her acclaim and success annoyed me.
She was unavoidable to an extent. This was the era of London Lite. Free London papers every day with Amy Winehouse on the cover, not in a good way. I couldn't stay entirely out of her tragedy, though I think I did try. I saw her singing on telly, often very badly, and told myself that I was right, that those great songs, beautifully sung, were exceptions, and that Amy Winehouse was no great talent.
Maybe, by some small chance, I'm right. Either way, that one album, which I did eventually get round to listening to in its entirety, is, by hook or by crook, obviously, a truly great album. And her death was a tragedy, a modern, hideous tragedy. It happened the same weekend as the Anders Breivik incident in Norway, as grave a weekend of horror, outrage, catastrophe and tragedy as can be.
OK, how do I round this off? By making it all about myself, of course. I find myself, these days, constantly, I mean constantly, haunted by snippets of my own verse from the long period of my life when I wrote prolifically, splenetically, badly, privately, internally. Lines, segments, couplets, burst into my brain for every occasion. Usually unwelcome. Throughout those books and books, there is almost nothing I'm wholly proud of, but the painful aspect is those half-formed ideas which sometimes hint at something that could have been something, somewhere I could have gone if I'd followed it up, some hint that I was a person with some ideas who didn't know how to implement them.
When I watched 'Amy' and saw the sections where the paparazzi surrounded her, an attack on the cinemagoer as a smidgen of the extent to which it must have been a horrific attack on her dizzied, addled senses as an everyday reality, I felt a pang of pride.
Because I wrote this in either 2005, 2006 or 2007 (it took me ages and ages to find it today - usually I can place my words fairly accurately, but in this case it could have been anywhere in a 6 or 7 year period, yet I still remembered the first four lines). I think I wrote it in reaction to some story about Britney Spears, rather than Amy Winehouse. It's a fragment of a nothing, but I felt proud of myself that I at least had this thought. And a little disgusted with myself at how I fail to live by this thought now.
Sometimes it's kinder not to care
as the cameras blare and flash
Indifference is respect -
to disregard the crash.
It's kinder not to care about
every last ebbing ideal
Not to feel a thing
if you don't know what to feel.
So, I'm going to write about Amy Winehouse, and I'm going to do so in a way which might almost be exploitative, while also containing some fairly blatant virtue-signifying. I'm turning into one of the cunts, I'm quite sure.
I watched the film, 'Amy'. I wasn't sure about watching it, for reasons that will become clear, but I watched it, and it was, naturally, a fine piece of work.
There was a lot to be uneasy about, but I'm not sure I was uneasy about what I was supposed to be uneasy about. The surrounding publicity material from the director and various interested journalists broadly suggested that the film, in harrowing detail, showed us how we were all a little complicit in this girl's tragedy, that we watched fascinated as she fell apart.
Hell, no, I said to myself, I am not complicit. Speak for yourselves.
Here's my Amy Winehouse story. It's not a great one but it serves my purpose.
Persuaded by critical gushing, I'd bought 'Frank', the debut album by someone being described as a prodigious vocal and lyrical talent. I found it not to be so. I found it one of my least favourite albums for a long time - annoying, crass, show-offy in both sound and words. Amy Winehouse would later not think too highly of it herself, of course.
My friend Alex and I, in 2006, had, I think, been to see 'The Departed' at the cinema in Camden around Sunday lunchtime, and then shuffled off to the nearest pub, which happened to be the famous Dublin Castle. We settled over our pints in the corner, a bit away from the pool table.
There were various indie tourists, looking for the scene in there, desperate in Coldplay and Razorlight t-shirts. Anyway, the scene did arrive. Or rather, a spectacularly annoying girl arrived with a dapper, somewhat bashful gent in tow, and proceeded to dominate the pub for the next couple of hours.
We sat, chest tightened, as she flounced and swore and threatened and posed and shouted, praying she wouldn't look at us, disturb us, speak to us, looking deep into our pints and trying to talk about anything else.
I knew she was Amy Winehouse, Alex didn't. He knew the name Amy Winehouse, but Amy Winehouse wasn't yet wholly known to look like this and be like this. To place this in time - 'Rehab' was already on the radio, but 'Back to Black' had not come out yet. She wasn't yet the most famous fuck-up in Britain, nor the most enormous musical success. But it was just about to happen. She had a classic single on the radio and she had the look and she had the exhibitionism.
This bashful gent, putting two and two together retrospectively, was not the notorious Blake Fielder-Civil, but the inbetween boyfriend who might have brought a bit more normality back into her life.
That's it. We left her to it after a couple of pints, I remember Alex saying "gosh, she was annoying", me going "that was Amy Winehouse", and him going "ah, right".That's my Amy Winehouse story. It serves my purpose of telling you that I was not complicit. Because I averted my eyes and wished she'd go away.
I took that attitude to her songs, too. To me, she remained the hypejob of 'Frank' and the annoying girl in the pub. So I registered that, in turn, 'Rehab', 'You Know I'm No Good', 'Back to Black', 'Tears Dry On Their Own' and 'Lose is a Losing Game' were fabulous singles. However, despite these anomalies, I remained adamant that the album 'Back to Black' would not be for me. I was not an Amy Winehouse fan. Her fame annoyed me. Her acclaim and success annoyed me.
She was unavoidable to an extent. This was the era of London Lite. Free London papers every day with Amy Winehouse on the cover, not in a good way. I couldn't stay entirely out of her tragedy, though I think I did try. I saw her singing on telly, often very badly, and told myself that I was right, that those great songs, beautifully sung, were exceptions, and that Amy Winehouse was no great talent.
Maybe, by some small chance, I'm right. Either way, that one album, which I did eventually get round to listening to in its entirety, is, by hook or by crook, obviously, a truly great album. And her death was a tragedy, a modern, hideous tragedy. It happened the same weekend as the Anders Breivik incident in Norway, as grave a weekend of horror, outrage, catastrophe and tragedy as can be.
OK, how do I round this off? By making it all about myself, of course. I find myself, these days, constantly, I mean constantly, haunted by snippets of my own verse from the long period of my life when I wrote prolifically, splenetically, badly, privately, internally. Lines, segments, couplets, burst into my brain for every occasion. Usually unwelcome. Throughout those books and books, there is almost nothing I'm wholly proud of, but the painful aspect is those half-formed ideas which sometimes hint at something that could have been something, somewhere I could have gone if I'd followed it up, some hint that I was a person with some ideas who didn't know how to implement them.
When I watched 'Amy' and saw the sections where the paparazzi surrounded her, an attack on the cinemagoer as a smidgen of the extent to which it must have been a horrific attack on her dizzied, addled senses as an everyday reality, I felt a pang of pride.
Because I wrote this in either 2005, 2006 or 2007 (it took me ages and ages to find it today - usually I can place my words fairly accurately, but in this case it could have been anywhere in a 6 or 7 year period, yet I still remembered the first four lines). I think I wrote it in reaction to some story about Britney Spears, rather than Amy Winehouse. It's a fragment of a nothing, but I felt proud of myself that I at least had this thought. And a little disgusted with myself at how I fail to live by this thought now.
Sometimes it's kinder not to care
as the cameras blare and flash
Indifference is respect -
to disregard the crash.
It's kinder not to care about
every last ebbing ideal
Not to feel a thing
if you don't know what to feel.
Saturday, 23 April 2016
Rock'n'Roll, the Theatre of Tragedy
Two of the three great megastars of the 1980s, all born in 1958, are now dead - Michael Jackson and Prince, with just Madonna surviving. Indeed, if there were four megastars of the 80s, then three are dead, if you add Whitney Houston to that. It seems unfathomable.
Rock'n'Roll is not good for the health. Everyone knows that. Here's some study from almost a decade ago, and it feels like it's got even worse since then http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2007/sep/04/musicnews.topstories3
The older it grows, and the more of its exponents move into middle or old age (or don't!), we see that it's not just the so-called Curse of 27, it's not just the very young ones who leave a beautiful corpse you have to look out for. There are so very many reasons why rock stars die young, or younger than average.
They die because they live hard and don't stop living hard, they die because they have to travel more than most people, they died because they're artists and can't cope with life, they die because mad fans or gang members shoot them, they die because everyone gives them everything and everything is too much, they die because everyone gives them everything then takes it away just as quickly. They die because they're addicted to the work and need to keep working, they die because people exploit them, they die because they think its their job to die, they die tragically because Rock'n'Roll is the modern theatre of Tragedy.
There's Tragedy and there's Death. Most deaths aren't Tragic. There's tragedy which is different from disaster, different from catastrophe, different from horror. Tragedy is the tale of an individual's life. Those other things might be "worse" if you measure death in terms of numbers and impact on the world, but they're different and they're not tragic.
Rock'n'Roll is, above all, the stuff of tragedy. Of tragic flaws, of predetermined downfalls, of people almost pulling through but giving in to their worst impulses, of pride and hubris, of families and virtual families rent asunder by jealousies, of generational sins handed on, of doom and woe, of grandstanding ludicrousness, of choruses looking on, passing judgement, of grand gestures and grand failures.
Tragedy hangs over nearly all the major players. Seriously, Elvis, the Beatles, the Stones, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochrane, the Who, Led Zeppelin, The Byrds, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, Mamas and Papas, Jimi Hendrix Experience, The Band, The Beach Boys, Bee Gees (when the feeling's gone), The Doors (and you can't go on), New York Dolls, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Joy Division, Queen, Bowie, Pink Floyd, The Clash (perhaps not strictly tragedy in this case, though it was the death that saddened me the most), Nirvana, Manics, Tupac, Amy Winehouse etc not to mentions the 100s of Nick Drakes and Jeff Buckleys, Sandy Dennys and Janis Joplins, Judee Sills and Gram Parsons, who might not be described as major players, but are still magnificent talents defined by tragedy. And Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston and, now, Prince. A tragedy it wasn't easy to see coming, like some of them are, but, when the dust settles, likely to be a tragedy nevertheless.
I read a book a while ago called I'm a Man, by Ruth Padel, about the iconography of rock'n'roll being similar to iconography of Greek myth. I read it with a certain pinch of salt but I've been persuaded over time. In 'Almost Famous', rock stars are described as "golden gods", but, more precisely, they're not Gods, they're heroes, tragic heroes who do battles with the Gods and lose. Lemmy, they said, he's made of steel, he's fearless, he's immortal ... but he's not immortal, is he? Mortality wins, it bypasses all their illusions.
Is it more prosaic? More medical? Should we take the romance and just talk about people with access to somewhat self-destructive lifestyles? Sure, but there is more to it than that, more that dooms them. Rock stars, if they want to stay rock stars, have no way out, they need to stay young, they need to keep touring, they need to prop themselves up with lies and painkillers.
Sure, there are survivors - Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, right from the start. Dylan's still going, stuck on the treadmill like Sisyphus - the shock of an early death eluded him a couple of times, though it took so many of those around him. The great rock critic Greil Marcus, has described the book Small Town Talk, by Barney Hoskyns, as the most depressing book on rock'n'roll he's every read (I've just bought it, so don't know yet), with its tales of drugs, dark doings and death seeping through the apparent idyll of Woodstock in the late 60s, 70s and beyond. Somewhere an early grave became the norm.
So, what of this concert they're announcing, this one-off festival with Dylan, McCartney, Neil Young, Roger Waters, The Stones and The Who all playing over the same weekend? Sure, a money-making exercise, but probably born of the realization that there'll never be another opportunity to bring this mythical generation together again. They should called the concert 'What's Left ...'
If you love rock'n'roll, really love it, this is hard to take. I ask myself why it is I love rock'n'roll and boxing so much, two such self-destructive industries with ugliness pulsing through them. Are there vicarious thrills at the heart of my ardour, a secret longing admiration and longing for destruction? Not really. It's not even the "rock'n'roll" aspects of rock'n'roll I love (Lemmy and Keith Moon are no heroes of mine) nor the truly brutal, barbaric side of boxing. Give me a hit-and-don't-get-hit slickster any day of the week. I'm thrilled by longevity and consistency, rare attributes in rock'n'roll.
Is it worth it? Is anything worth it for one kid who dies or is forever damaged in the ring? All the premature deaths and families ruined by rock'n'roll? I feel like saying yes, but really, who can say ... it doesn't even really matter. It's of the essence of rock'n'roll, this tragedy. It's there in Robert Johnson, Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams, its forebears. It goes deeper than the rock'n'roll cliches, deeper than bare statistics.
Of course, there are more cynical, less classical ways of looking at it. Here's one. No other business puts less importance on its talent staying alive. Death is bad for almost every business, be it film, be it sport, or any less glamorous pursuit. In rock'n'roll, if you're staying active and staying successful, then you're still worth something. If you're not doing that, well, then, death is rather a shot in the arm for your career. As a business, it's beyond reform. As a lifestyle, it's a tragedy.
Rock'n'Roll is not good for the health. Everyone knows that. Here's some study from almost a decade ago, and it feels like it's got even worse since then http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2007/sep/04/musicnews.topstories3
The older it grows, and the more of its exponents move into middle or old age (or don't!), we see that it's not just the so-called Curse of 27, it's not just the very young ones who leave a beautiful corpse you have to look out for. There are so very many reasons why rock stars die young, or younger than average.
They die because they live hard and don't stop living hard, they die because they have to travel more than most people, they died because they're artists and can't cope with life, they die because mad fans or gang members shoot them, they die because everyone gives them everything and everything is too much, they die because everyone gives them everything then takes it away just as quickly. They die because they're addicted to the work and need to keep working, they die because people exploit them, they die because they think its their job to die, they die tragically because Rock'n'Roll is the modern theatre of Tragedy.
There's Tragedy and there's Death. Most deaths aren't Tragic. There's tragedy which is different from disaster, different from catastrophe, different from horror. Tragedy is the tale of an individual's life. Those other things might be "worse" if you measure death in terms of numbers and impact on the world, but they're different and they're not tragic.
Rock'n'Roll is, above all, the stuff of tragedy. Of tragic flaws, of predetermined downfalls, of people almost pulling through but giving in to their worst impulses, of pride and hubris, of families and virtual families rent asunder by jealousies, of generational sins handed on, of doom and woe, of grandstanding ludicrousness, of choruses looking on, passing judgement, of grand gestures and grand failures.
Tragedy hangs over nearly all the major players. Seriously, Elvis, the Beatles, the Stones, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochrane, the Who, Led Zeppelin, The Byrds, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, Mamas and Papas, Jimi Hendrix Experience, The Band, The Beach Boys, Bee Gees (when the feeling's gone), The Doors (and you can't go on), New York Dolls, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Joy Division, Queen, Bowie, Pink Floyd, The Clash (perhaps not strictly tragedy in this case, though it was the death that saddened me the most), Nirvana, Manics, Tupac, Amy Winehouse etc not to mentions the 100s of Nick Drakes and Jeff Buckleys, Sandy Dennys and Janis Joplins, Judee Sills and Gram Parsons, who might not be described as major players, but are still magnificent talents defined by tragedy. And Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston and, now, Prince. A tragedy it wasn't easy to see coming, like some of them are, but, when the dust settles, likely to be a tragedy nevertheless.
I read a book a while ago called I'm a Man, by Ruth Padel, about the iconography of rock'n'roll being similar to iconography of Greek myth. I read it with a certain pinch of salt but I've been persuaded over time. In 'Almost Famous', rock stars are described as "golden gods", but, more precisely, they're not Gods, they're heroes, tragic heroes who do battles with the Gods and lose. Lemmy, they said, he's made of steel, he's fearless, he's immortal ... but he's not immortal, is he? Mortality wins, it bypasses all their illusions.
Is it more prosaic? More medical? Should we take the romance and just talk about people with access to somewhat self-destructive lifestyles? Sure, but there is more to it than that, more that dooms them. Rock stars, if they want to stay rock stars, have no way out, they need to stay young, they need to keep touring, they need to prop themselves up with lies and painkillers.
Sure, there are survivors - Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, right from the start. Dylan's still going, stuck on the treadmill like Sisyphus - the shock of an early death eluded him a couple of times, though it took so many of those around him. The great rock critic Greil Marcus, has described the book Small Town Talk, by Barney Hoskyns, as the most depressing book on rock'n'roll he's every read (I've just bought it, so don't know yet), with its tales of drugs, dark doings and death seeping through the apparent idyll of Woodstock in the late 60s, 70s and beyond. Somewhere an early grave became the norm.
So, what of this concert they're announcing, this one-off festival with Dylan, McCartney, Neil Young, Roger Waters, The Stones and The Who all playing over the same weekend? Sure, a money-making exercise, but probably born of the realization that there'll never be another opportunity to bring this mythical generation together again. They should called the concert 'What's Left ...'
If you love rock'n'roll, really love it, this is hard to take. I ask myself why it is I love rock'n'roll and boxing so much, two such self-destructive industries with ugliness pulsing through them. Are there vicarious thrills at the heart of my ardour, a secret longing admiration and longing for destruction? Not really. It's not even the "rock'n'roll" aspects of rock'n'roll I love (Lemmy and Keith Moon are no heroes of mine) nor the truly brutal, barbaric side of boxing. Give me a hit-and-don't-get-hit slickster any day of the week. I'm thrilled by longevity and consistency, rare attributes in rock'n'roll.
Is it worth it? Is anything worth it for one kid who dies or is forever damaged in the ring? All the premature deaths and families ruined by rock'n'roll? I feel like saying yes, but really, who can say ... it doesn't even really matter. It's of the essence of rock'n'roll, this tragedy. It's there in Robert Johnson, Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams, its forebears. It goes deeper than the rock'n'roll cliches, deeper than bare statistics.
Of course, there are more cynical, less classical ways of looking at it. Here's one. No other business puts less importance on its talent staying alive. Death is bad for almost every business, be it film, be it sport, or any less glamorous pursuit. In rock'n'roll, if you're staying active and staying successful, then you're still worth something. If you're not doing that, well, then, death is rather a shot in the arm for your career. As a business, it's beyond reform. As a lifestyle, it's a tragedy.
Thursday, 31 March 2016
The king and queen
I wrote this a few months ago, inspired by a ghost of a rumour of a story while parsing the nether regions of the net for tidbits.
I don't know why I loaded it so heavily with nonsense-rhyme, but once I started I couldn't stop
I don't know why I loaded it so heavily with nonsense-rhyme, but once I started I couldn't stop
AT THE BACK OF THE BUS
The fighter-writer’s laying on
a million dollar bang
and bash
in flash cache past the country clubs
Out on the wildest woody slope,
The painter-waiter fired a man
And hired a van to stack and stash
The stars whose cars some schlub
Would wash and crash for pills and soap.
The landlocked-dandy hawked his Hals
For board and bread aboard the bus
And shook his easy eyes’ surprise
To see on seats back left, mid right
The iron-siren soused with scowls
Averted from the fluff and fuss
Afforded her marauder-fraud
Folk-joker snoring in plain sight.
“Hey Moany Joany!” sneered the wisp
His beard a weird gypsy eclipse
“Hey Bitchy Mitch, how’ bout a song
To light the night bright blue, dame Joan,
A singalong, perhaps,” he rasped,
“A chorus ‘cross your bitter lips?
That ‘taxi’ track lacks class of course
But is at least, a little known.”
She stored her horde of howls and stings
For years beyond this tawdry trap.
‘He’ll have his fun, this unwashed imp
This limp-lord tramp of New York tricks,
I’ll bite back bright, my latent hate
Will staunch his aged arid tap,
For now, my frown will own this van,
This sinning stone can stick his sticks.’
The ill-matched batch of cult adults
Chugged cheerless through the towering maze
Till slowly Joni’s journey turned
To gentler greener sounds and sights.
The driver dreamer looked away
As hay was made amidst the haze
Of haves and has-been beatnik hicks
Now blinded by the city lights.
The full-up fun bus pulled up airless -
Careless careerists collapsed to ground
To see the scene of casual carnage
The great create when loose to play.
The fightwright held sure court on sport
Relating Zaire’s frightening sound
“The angry, hungry, jungle rumbled
To chants of Ali Bomaye.”
The tireless diarist shrunk back shrewdly,
Eavesdropped on the schmooze of pop kids,
Circus jerk-offs hawking showreels,
Deal sharks apt to be impressed less.
Downtown upstate upstart drop outs
Turn up tuned in, soon doubts set in,
Slick songs sicken sixties hipsters
“Turn down this cheap tin can synth mess.”
The auteur turncoats skulk and snap
The scene into a deep, dark farce
A wistful waltz time overlaid
To frame the
failures of the age,
Shaping squares round eastern faces
Wondering which west face to cast.
Thunder rolls in, wonder bails out,
Leading players vacate the stage.
The troupe regrouped relieved rolls back
To wherever they all came from.
“No fireworks” said the vagabond,
“No fireworks” she, for once, agreed.
Those were the last words that they spoke,
The one thing they agreed upon,
A shared assent no record kept
And neither would again concede.
Wednesday, 23 March 2016
Recent Rankings of Things and Things
I'm going to do something blunt and dull, but still quite fun. I'm just going to give a score out of 10 to every film of recent years and album of recent years I can remember seeing or listening to. What's more valuable than reducing two years of your own experience and several years of many people's creative endeavour to a series of arbitrary numbers?
Going back to the start of 2014 ...
FILMS
Mostly what I've seen at the cinema, a few at home. I might have missed a few of the latter ...
Going back to the start of 2014 ...
FILMS
Mostly what I've seen at the cinema, a few at home. I might have missed a few of the latter ...
The Wolf of Wall Street 7
Begin Again 7
Pompeii 3
Pride 8
Locke 7
Boyhood 9
Edge of Tomorrow 8
12 Years a Slave 8
Inside Llewyn Davis 9
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug 4
Nebraska 8
American Hustle 7
August: Osage County 4
Dallas Buyers Club 8
Her 8
The Grand Budapest Hotel 9
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes 8
20,000 Days on Earth 8
Gone Girl 5
’71 7
Nightcrawler 8
Mr Turner 6
Interstellar 6
Cold in July 6
The Drop 7
The Imitation Game 7
St Vincent 7
The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies 5
Paddington 7
The Monuments Men 5
Under the Skin 7
Birdman 8
The Theory of Everything 9
2 Days, 1 Night 9
Foxcatcher 9
Whiplash 8
Wild 8
A Most Violent Year 8
Inherent Vice 7
American Sniper 6
Selma 8
Into the Woods 6
Far from the Madding Crowd 6
Mr Holmes 6
Amy 6
While We’re Young 7
Southpaw 5
X+Y 6
Mad Max: Fury Road 7
Man Up 5
Legend 6
Sicario 9
Suffragette 6
Jurassic World 6
Spectre 5
Brooklyn 7
Black Mass 6
Carol 9
Bridge of Spies 7
Star Wars: The Force Awakens 8
Trainwreck 7
Mistress America 7
Slow West 8
Diary of a Teenage Girl 5
Love and Mercy 8
The Lobster 8
Creed 7
The Big Short 8
Spotlight 8
The Revenant 5
Hail, Caesar! 6
The Program 4
The Intern 2
Guardians of the Galaxy 7
The Lego Movie 6
The Fault in our Stars 6
Ex Machina 8
Inside Out 7
The Martian 8
Joy 6
Girlhood 7
Steve Jobs 7
Hell or High Water 8
Supersonic 6
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story 7
Paterson 7
Captain Fantastic 7
Swallows and Amazons 5
I, Daniel Blake 7
God Help the Girl 5
Four Lions 8
Room 7
La La Land 9
Everybody Wants Some!! 6
Ex Machina 8
Inside Out 7
The Martian 8
Joy 6
Girlhood 7
Steve Jobs 7
Hell or High Water 8
Supersonic 6
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story 7
Paterson 7
Captain Fantastic 7
Swallows and Amazons 5
I, Daniel Blake 7
God Help the Girl 5
Four Lions 8
Room 7
La La Land 9
Everybody Wants Some!! 6
ALBUMS
Easypeasy, this reviewing business. If in doubt, give it a 6.
Every Open Eye - Chvrches 7
Have You in My Wilderness - Julia Holter 7
What Went Down - Foals 7
Benjamin Clementine – At Least for Now 7
American Interior – Gruff Rhys 8
Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance - Belle and Sebastian 5
Shedding Skin - Ghostpoet 5
Return to the Moon - El Vy 5
Apocalypse, Girl - Jenny Hval 5
Ryan Adams - Ryan Adams 6
Sukierae - Tweedy 6
Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit - Courtney
Barnett 7
Star Wars - Wilco 7
St Vincent – St Vincent 8
From Scotland with Love – King Creosote 8
Stay Gold – First Aid Kit 7
Crush Songs – Karen O 2
Divers - Joanna Newsom 8
Burn Your Fire For No Witness – Angel Olsen 5
This is my Hand – My Brightest Diamond 5
Black Hours – Hamilton Leithauser 6
Lost in the Dream – The War on Drugs 6
If I Was - The Staves 8
Kablammo! - Ash 8
The Race for Space - Public Service Broadcasting 8
Carrie and Lowell - Sufjan Stevens 9
Into the Lime – The New Mendicants 3
Universal Themes - Sun Kil Moon 3
The Classic – Joan as Police Woman 4
Paul Weller – Saturns Pattern 7
In Colour - Jamie xx 7
Primrose Green - Ryley Walker 6
LP1 – FKA Twigs 8
Are We There – Sharon Van Etten 8
Small Town Heroes – Hurray for the Riff-Raff 8
Bleeds - Roots Manuva 7
Benji – Sun Kil Moon 8
Night Time, My Time – Sky Ferreira 6
I Love you, Honeybear - Father John Misty 7
New Basement Tapes – Costello, James, Goldsmith, Giddens,
Mumford 7
Fresh Blood - Matthew E White 6
Short Movie - Laura Marling 6
One Breath – Anna Calvi 4
Divide and Exit – Sleaford Mods 4
Rooms with Walls and Windows – Julie Byrne 4
Heigh Ho - Blake Mills 4
Natalie Prass- Natalie Prass 8
At Best Cuckold – Avi Buffalo 7
Morning Phase - Beck 6
Trouble in Paradise – La Roux 7
Divide and Exit – Sleaford Mods 4
Shadows in the Night - Bob Dylan 7
On Your Own Love Again - Jessica Pratt 7
No Cities to Love - Sleater-Kinney 8
Vulnicura - Bjork 8
Way Out Weather – Steve Gunn
4
Singles – Future Islands 4
Uptown Special - Mark Ronson 4
The Magic Whip - Blur 8
To Pimp a Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar 9
Commontime – Field Music 6
Untitled - Kendrick Lamar 7
Love Songs for Robots - Patrick Watson 7
All your Favourite Bands - Dawes 6
Currents - Tame Impala 6
Get to Heaven - Everything Everything 6
Coming Home - Leon Bridges 7
1989 - Ryan Adams 4
Second Love – Emmy the Great 7
Painting With – Animal Collective 6
Y Dadd Olaf – Gwenno 5
Pleasure Boy - Hannah Cohen 4
My Love is Cool - Wolf Alice 4
Salad Days – Mac DeMarco 5
Royal Blood – Royal Blood 5
Pom Pom - Ariel Pink 5
You Were Right – Brendan Benson 5
Total Strife Forever – East India Youth 5
Post Tropical – James Vincent McMorrow 6
Everybody Down – Kate Tempest 6
Lost Domain – Tim Wheeler 5
After the Disco – Broken Bells 5
First Mind – Nick Mulvey 6
DEAD – Young Fathers 6
Seven Dials – Roddy Frame 6
Upside Down Mountain -
Bright Eyes 5
Brill Bruisers – New Pornographers 6
Present Tense – Wild Beasts 5
Mug Museum – Cate Le Bon 7
Lazaretto – Jack White 6
Rips – Ex Hex 7
My Morning Jacket – The Waterfall 7
Bonxie - Stornoway 6
What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World - The Decemberists 6
Hollow Meadows - Richard Hawley 5
The Light in You - Mercury Rev 5
Courting the Squall - Guy Garvey 5
Modern Blues – The Waterboys
5
The Embers of Time - Josh Rouse 5
Blood - Lianne La Havas 6
Sermon on the Rocks - Josh Ritter 6
Everything Ever Written - Idlewild 6
Goon - Tobias Jesso 6
Marks to Prove It - The Maccabees 6
Poison Season - Destroyer 6
The Lake Poets - The Lake Poets 6
Sprinter - Torres 6
Black Messiah - D'Angelo 6
Wildheart - Miguel 6
The Cellardyke Recording and Wassailing Society – James Yorkston 7
I Never Learn – Lykke Li 7
Futurology – Manic Street Problems 7
Popular Problems – Leonard Cohen 7
The Take Off and Landing of Everything - Elbow 7
Eska - Eska 6
Cradle to Grave - Squeeze 6
Pray for Rain - Pure Bathing Culture 6
Grey Tickles, Black Pressure - John Grant 6
Matador - Gaz Coombes 6
Art Angels - Grimes 6
Multi-Love - Unknown Mortal Orchestra 6
Lateness of Dancers – Hiss Golden Messenger 7
Carry on the Grudge – Jamie T 7
I Can't Do Without You - Caribou 7
My Favourite Faded Fantasy – Damien Rice 7
The Voyager – Jenny Lewis 7
Everyday Robots – Damon Albarn 7
The Midwest Farmer's Daughter - Margo Price 7
Dear Satellite - Mull Historical Society 6
A Sailor's Guide to Earth - Sturgill Simpson 8
The Hope Six Demolition Project - PJ Harvey 6
Singing Saw - Kevin Morby 7
Distance Inbetween - The Coral 6
Anti - Rihanna 7
Lemonade - Beyonce 10
The Life of Pablo - Kanye West 5
Crab Day - Cate Le Bon 6
Something More than Free - Jason Isbell 8
Side Pony - Lake Street Dive 7
Moon Shaped Pool - Radiohead 7
Blackstar - David Bowie 8
The Colour in Anything - James Blake 6
Hopelessness - Anohni 6
Konnichiwa - Skepta 6
Fallen Angels - Bob Dylan 6
Let the Record Show: Dexys Do Irish and Country Soul - Dexys 6
Good Times! - The Monkees 7
Love You to Death - Tegan and Sara 7
Stranger to Stranger - Paul Simon 8
Love and Hate - Michael Kiwanuka 8
Why Are You OK - Band of Horses 6
Patience - The Invisible 6
case/lang/veirs - case/lang/veirs 8
Meet the Humans - Steve Mason 7
Nice as Fuck - Nice as Fuck 6
The Bride - Bat for Lashes 7
The Dreaming Room - Laura Mvula 8
Night Thoughts - Suede 5
Freetown Sound - Blood Orange 6
Light Upon the Lake - Whitney 7
Eyes on the Line - Steve Gunn 6
Furnaces - Ed Harcourt 7
Blonde - Frank Ocean 5
Schmilco - Wilco 7
Skeleton Tree - Nick Cave 9
No Mind No Money - Beach Baby 7
Astronaut Meets Appleman - King Creosote 6
Future Echoes - The Pictish Trail
Mangy Love - Cass McCombs
Foreverland - The Divine Comedy 5
Trick - Jamie T 6
Here - Teenage Fanclub 7
My Woman - Angel Olsen 7
We Move - James Vincent McMorrow 5
Seat at the Table - Solange 7
Joanne - Lady Gaga 6
Le Chaleur Humaine - Christine and the Queens 8
The Divine Comedy
Dawes
You Want it Darker - Leonard Cohen 7
Views - Drake
Ruminations - Conor Oberst 8
American Band - Drive-By Truckers 7
Bon Iver
Remember Us To Life - Regina Spektor 6
Sam Beam and Jesca Hoop
Leonard Cohen
Jamila Woods
Drive-by Truckers
Mark Eitzel
The Midwest Farmer's Daughter - Margo Price 7
Dear Satellite - Mull Historical Society 6
A Sailor's Guide to Earth - Sturgill Simpson 8
The Hope Six Demolition Project - PJ Harvey 6
Singing Saw - Kevin Morby 7
Distance Inbetween - The Coral 6
Anti - Rihanna 7
Lemonade - Beyonce 10
The Life of Pablo - Kanye West 5
Crab Day - Cate Le Bon 6
Something More than Free - Jason Isbell 8
Side Pony - Lake Street Dive 7
Moon Shaped Pool - Radiohead 7
Blackstar - David Bowie 8
The Colour in Anything - James Blake 6
Hopelessness - Anohni 6
Konnichiwa - Skepta 6
Fallen Angels - Bob Dylan 6
Let the Record Show: Dexys Do Irish and Country Soul - Dexys 6
Good Times! - The Monkees 7
Love You to Death - Tegan and Sara 7
Stranger to Stranger - Paul Simon 8
Love and Hate - Michael Kiwanuka 8
Why Are You OK - Band of Horses 6
Patience - The Invisible 6
case/lang/veirs - case/lang/veirs 8
Meet the Humans - Steve Mason 7
Nice as Fuck - Nice as Fuck 6
The Bride - Bat for Lashes 7
The Dreaming Room - Laura Mvula 8
Night Thoughts - Suede 5
Freetown Sound - Blood Orange 6
Light Upon the Lake - Whitney 7
Eyes on the Line - Steve Gunn 6
Furnaces - Ed Harcourt 7
Blonde - Frank Ocean 5
Schmilco - Wilco 7
Skeleton Tree - Nick Cave 9
No Mind No Money - Beach Baby 7
Astronaut Meets Appleman - King Creosote 6
Future Echoes - The Pictish Trail
Mangy Love - Cass McCombs
Foreverland - The Divine Comedy 5
Trick - Jamie T 6
Here - Teenage Fanclub 7
My Woman - Angel Olsen 7
We Move - James Vincent McMorrow 5
Seat at the Table - Solange 7
Joanne - Lady Gaga 6
Le Chaleur Humaine - Christine and the Queens 8
The Divine Comedy
Dawes
You Want it Darker - Leonard Cohen 7
Views - Drake
Ruminations - Conor Oberst 8
American Band - Drive-By Truckers 7
Bon Iver
Remember Us To Life - Regina Spektor 6
Sam Beam and Jesca Hoop
Leonard Cohen
Jamila Woods
Drive-by Truckers
Mark Eitzel
Easypeasy, this reviewing business. If in doubt, give it a 6.
Sunday, 20 March 2016
Song 65: Trellick Tower
Trellick Tower - Emmy the Great
This is not only one of my favourite songs of the last decade, but also one I consider a truly great song.
It's on Emmy the Great's second studio album, from 2011, called 'Virtue'. The album generally expanded the sonic palette from her debut album 'First Love' but this song stands out for its spare simplicity.
The melody is simple, lilting and repetitive, shifting subtly every now and then to great effect.
Though biographical knowledge shouldn't really matter and might often be deemed intrusive, in this case it was well known, and is helpful to know, that Emmy the Great wrote the song about a former fiance who had broken off the relationship in order to pursue the work of God (as a missionary, I think, though perhaps that's padding).
The song is an elegy for the relationship. If you didn't know the back story you might reasonably think it is about the death (even religion-inspired suicide) of a loved one. It mourns.
Trellick Tower, in case you don't know, is that beautifully ugly towerblock that dominates the West London skyline, the one with the lift shaft at the end attached only by occasional walkways. It was designed by Erno Goldfinger, and is a thing one is never sure whether to love or hate.
I'd guess 100s of 1000s of people have some kind of sentimental attachment to it, some tale in which its shadow looms. I think of it in terms of Sundays as a child, my father picking us up from Ealing and driving us that short stretch of the A40 into his flat off the Edgware Road. Trellick Tower is visible pretty much the length of the journey. I'd always stare at it as we drove past, measuring the journey by our angle to it. Weird and wonderful.
Trellick rhymes with Relic. That's serendipitous for this song. The song is grounded in an urban reality but also makes skilled and learned use of Christian imagery. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I love it. I sometimes think the reason I had some hope that there was something for me in Coldplay was Chris Martin's lyrics often reminding me of the Book of Common Prayer or Hymns Ancient and Modern, that beige and comforting version of Christianity which provided some succour in my teenage years.
But Emmy the Great does it 50 times better. This is a deeper, more passionate and spiritual understanding of the lure of faith. There is one line in particular which I think is a little masterpiece. Funny, as is sometimes the case, that, here 2 minutes 9 seconds through the 10th track on an album from 2011 few people bought, is a line of an insight and simple beauty I've rarely heard. She sings "I think relics ache for when the saint had breath, they miss the thing that changed them".
Perhaps the line has a particular resonance for me. I always enjoyed learning about relics when I studied Medieval History - these random items supposed imbued with holiness, the way that a place could become a site of pilgrimage, of renown, by claiming to have a spoon which was once bent by St Frodo of Ithicum.
But, also, it's just a great line in a love song.
I remembered, as well, that one of my less appalling poems in my splenetic youth was some concise albeit melodramatic relic of a relic. I was but 20, I don't know how it stands now, but I minded it less than other things for a long time. I've edited just a couple of words nevertheless.
If i took a holy relic
in these clammy palms of mine
maybe i'd use it an ashtray
or maybe i'd drink cheap white wine
out of the sacred chalice,
maybe i would be that careless
with my brittle little soul,
maybe i'd use the ancient bowl
in which Christ washed disciples' feet
to vomit out a night's deceit.
Fun guy, i was ...
This is not only one of my favourite songs of the last decade, but also one I consider a truly great song.
It's on Emmy the Great's second studio album, from 2011, called 'Virtue'. The album generally expanded the sonic palette from her debut album 'First Love' but this song stands out for its spare simplicity.
The melody is simple, lilting and repetitive, shifting subtly every now and then to great effect.
Though biographical knowledge shouldn't really matter and might often be deemed intrusive, in this case it was well known, and is helpful to know, that Emmy the Great wrote the song about a former fiance who had broken off the relationship in order to pursue the work of God (as a missionary, I think, though perhaps that's padding).
The song is an elegy for the relationship. If you didn't know the back story you might reasonably think it is about the death (even religion-inspired suicide) of a loved one. It mourns.
Trellick Tower, in case you don't know, is that beautifully ugly towerblock that dominates the West London skyline, the one with the lift shaft at the end attached only by occasional walkways. It was designed by Erno Goldfinger, and is a thing one is never sure whether to love or hate.
I'd guess 100s of 1000s of people have some kind of sentimental attachment to it, some tale in which its shadow looms. I think of it in terms of Sundays as a child, my father picking us up from Ealing and driving us that short stretch of the A40 into his flat off the Edgware Road. Trellick Tower is visible pretty much the length of the journey. I'd always stare at it as we drove past, measuring the journey by our angle to it. Weird and wonderful.
Trellick rhymes with Relic. That's serendipitous for this song. The song is grounded in an urban reality but also makes skilled and learned use of Christian imagery. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I love it. I sometimes think the reason I had some hope that there was something for me in Coldplay was Chris Martin's lyrics often reminding me of the Book of Common Prayer or Hymns Ancient and Modern, that beige and comforting version of Christianity which provided some succour in my teenage years.
But Emmy the Great does it 50 times better. This is a deeper, more passionate and spiritual understanding of the lure of faith. There is one line in particular which I think is a little masterpiece. Funny, as is sometimes the case, that, here 2 minutes 9 seconds through the 10th track on an album from 2011 few people bought, is a line of an insight and simple beauty I've rarely heard. She sings "I think relics ache for when the saint had breath, they miss the thing that changed them".
Perhaps the line has a particular resonance for me. I always enjoyed learning about relics when I studied Medieval History - these random items supposed imbued with holiness, the way that a place could become a site of pilgrimage, of renown, by claiming to have a spoon which was once bent by St Frodo of Ithicum.
But, also, it's just a great line in a love song.
I remembered, as well, that one of my less appalling poems in my splenetic youth was some concise albeit melodramatic relic of a relic. I was but 20, I don't know how it stands now, but I minded it less than other things for a long time. I've edited just a couple of words nevertheless.
If i took a holy relic
in these clammy palms of mine
maybe i'd use it an ashtray
or maybe i'd drink cheap white wine
out of the sacred chalice,
maybe i would be that careless
with my brittle little soul,
maybe i'd use the ancient bowl
in which Christ washed disciples' feet
to vomit out a night's deceit.
Fun guy, i was ...
Tuesday, 15 March 2016
March 1
There've been no posts on either blog for ages - I've been busy with work and other things, and to be honest I haven't got much interesting on my mind, nor listened to much new music or watched many new films.
But I like to keep it ticking over. I unwisely said a few months ago that I'd use the blog mainly as as vehicle for improving writing verse. Nonsense, of course. I've done neither for ages. But I have, at least, a couple of things I wrote a few months ago to keep the blog ticking over.
I had a go at writing some pessimistic polemic - there's nothing particularly new here but there is at least some ripe rage and I managed to stick closely to a slightly awkward rhyme scheme, so I'm happy enough with it.
But I like to keep it ticking over. I unwisely said a few months ago that I'd use the blog mainly as as vehicle for improving writing verse. Nonsense, of course. I've done neither for ages. But I have, at least, a couple of things I wrote a few months ago to keep the blog ticking over.
I had a go at writing some pessimistic polemic - there's nothing particularly new here but there is at least some ripe rage and I managed to stick closely to a slightly awkward rhyme scheme, so I'm happy enough with it.
Those goading right wing fight hawks, smuggened up
to rosy relish in
the puking bliss
of victory, doubled over and in bold
blue capital C condescension, kiss
their own worst features patriotically,
impatient for a victim kind enough to lay out cold
with one breathtaking sucker punch, a sleight of hand
which twists
the neck, attacks the brain and breaks the wrists.
The tricks they can resort to with no fear
Of nights disrupted by the pricks of cruel
Self-loathing range in subtlety, but serve
to spark new outrage without fail, and fool
The rump who rally round robotically
To claim the victim, rife with pride and high on nihilist
nerve,
A drain on good resources and a privileged pariah
Who has no business holding his chin higher.
The richest joke, they’ll tell us, while their knives
Carve out our eyes – 'we sold you our old traps
But you’d no clue how best to use them, nor,
Of course, the heart. You misread all our maps
And mimicked the dark trade pathetically.
There is nothing so amusing as a left-wing slack jaw
Trying to sing a hymn he can’t abide, his shoulders taut
At meekly spouting all he so long fought.'
Our tragedy is weakness as a sign
Of moral strength. The winner’s game’s employs
Such shameless disregard for history’s arc
From shadow men who leave it to the boys
To waste time speaking out prophetically
On hope and progress – luxuries for the corduroy
chattering class,
They spit, such elegantly brazen poisonous tirades
With gleeful privilege that never fades.
Saturday, 16 January 2016
101 (or so) Favourite Films
I've never (perhaps surprisingly!) made a list of my favourite films before, nor thought I'd be able to. Not being a film scholar, I don't necessarily rewatch and rewatch films, and I thought that I wouldn't be able to differentiate sufficiently between all the films I'd seen just once and enjoyed.
First of all, when it comes to films, I'm thankfully not encumbered by any notion of being to look at things objectively, as I have the misfortune to think I can with pop music and sport.
This list will simply be my favourite films. There are many of what are considered by various sources the greatest films of all time that I haven't seen, and frankly my personal favourites don't usually conform to those high up in high-end film critics' lists anyway.
But, as I said, I still thought it would be impossible to decide on my favourites. I've watched, I think, by most standards, a lot of films - I used to watch a lot on TV (all those bored university evenings ...) and now I think I go to the cinema more than most folk. And I usually enjoy the films I see, probably because I'm, by now, pretty tuned into what I'm going to like at the cinema, and, when at home, I'm too restless and there's too much good sport on TV to leave myself sitting in front of some average film I'm not really enjoying for very long.
So how to decide between so many films I enjoy but often don't revisit?
Still, I thought, this week, with something of an impasse in musical things to write about (which aren't just "what David Bowie album should I listen to now" ... favourite Bowie in film .. Bandslam or Last Temptation of Christ... though i did watch Absolute Beginners before I really knew who he was), I'd give it a go, and it actually came surprisingly easy. As I parsed the various lists of films one might find online to remind myself of everything I'd seen, my agenda was simply whether the title of the film gave me a certain glow or made me remember the thrill of it, or whether I realised I had little personal attachment.
Sometimes, the instinctive responses were surprising. The Apartment, Some Like It Hot, All About Eve, It's a Wonderful Life, The Godfather - highly acclaimed and beloved films which I definitely appreciated and enjoyed, but I just didn't feel a personal attachment too. Also, I was quite sure I was a big Woody Allen fan, but nothing made it in.
It's not even necessarily about films I've seen more often - I've seen the Godfathers a few times each, I think they're great, but, I don't think I've ever, as such, been moved by them.
Being "moved" can mean various things, of course - shocked, horrified, thrilled amongst them. If a film gave me a strong enough response of some sort, made a lasting impression from one or more viewings, it might make the list.
The list, of course, reflects the films I grew up with and corresponding memories. I'm definitely less of an active historian when it comes to film than some other things, but the other side of that is that I simply prefer modern films to older ones quite often. Powell and Pressburger may be Martin Scorsese's favourites, and I bow to him in every way, but, though I watched several of their most acclaimed films, I'd be lying if I said anything but 'A Matter of Life and Death' came near to being a favourite.
I do just prefer the way films have been made over the last 40-50 years, for the most part. I'm never one to believe in a past "golden age" when it comes to anything, be it music, sport, film, society, it's just the human condition to think there was.
I think the fact that I'm a sucker for slightly (but not too) quirky somewhat indieish films with somewhat indieish soundtracks will become fairly obvious. There are even one or two within that subgenre which are a touch drossy, but hey, I've been more honest than I might have been. I didn't have to include 'Definitely Maybe' starring Ryan Reynolds when I have also seen and enjoyed 'Citizen Kane' and 'Vertigo', but it felt like the right thing to do.
Of course, it's perfectly possible, in fact, it's definite, that I've forgotten loads. I haven't been keeping a record of all the films I've ever seen, you'll be shocked to hear (well, I did start doing that a couple of years ago actually) and through I've scanned as many lists of likely suspects as I could in the time allowed, there's no way I won't have forgotten a few films which I loved at the time and would still love now. So be it.
The numbering is arbitrary to an extent - I know 'The Big Lebowski' is my favourite film, beyond that, things are broadly in chunks.
And at the bottom, the natural cut-off was actually about 120 where I stopped thinking "I love that film and it's mine all mine", so it seemed pointless to cut it off too soon.
There's a good chance I'll look at some parts of this list with some bafflement in a few months' time. Still, a list's a list ...
First of all, when it comes to films, I'm thankfully not encumbered by any notion of being to look at things objectively, as I have the misfortune to think I can with pop music and sport.
This list will simply be my favourite films. There are many of what are considered by various sources the greatest films of all time that I haven't seen, and frankly my personal favourites don't usually conform to those high up in high-end film critics' lists anyway.
But, as I said, I still thought it would be impossible to decide on my favourites. I've watched, I think, by most standards, a lot of films - I used to watch a lot on TV (all those bored university evenings ...) and now I think I go to the cinema more than most folk. And I usually enjoy the films I see, probably because I'm, by now, pretty tuned into what I'm going to like at the cinema, and, when at home, I'm too restless and there's too much good sport on TV to leave myself sitting in front of some average film I'm not really enjoying for very long.
So how to decide between so many films I enjoy but often don't revisit?
Still, I thought, this week, with something of an impasse in musical things to write about (which aren't just "what David Bowie album should I listen to now" ... favourite Bowie in film .. Bandslam or Last Temptation of Christ... though i did watch Absolute Beginners before I really knew who he was), I'd give it a go, and it actually came surprisingly easy. As I parsed the various lists of films one might find online to remind myself of everything I'd seen, my agenda was simply whether the title of the film gave me a certain glow or made me remember the thrill of it, or whether I realised I had little personal attachment.
Sometimes, the instinctive responses were surprising. The Apartment, Some Like It Hot, All About Eve, It's a Wonderful Life, The Godfather - highly acclaimed and beloved films which I definitely appreciated and enjoyed, but I just didn't feel a personal attachment too. Also, I was quite sure I was a big Woody Allen fan, but nothing made it in.
It's not even necessarily about films I've seen more often - I've seen the Godfathers a few times each, I think they're great, but, I don't think I've ever, as such, been moved by them.
Being "moved" can mean various things, of course - shocked, horrified, thrilled amongst them. If a film gave me a strong enough response of some sort, made a lasting impression from one or more viewings, it might make the list.
The list, of course, reflects the films I grew up with and corresponding memories. I'm definitely less of an active historian when it comes to film than some other things, but the other side of that is that I simply prefer modern films to older ones quite often. Powell and Pressburger may be Martin Scorsese's favourites, and I bow to him in every way, but, though I watched several of their most acclaimed films, I'd be lying if I said anything but 'A Matter of Life and Death' came near to being a favourite.
I do just prefer the way films have been made over the last 40-50 years, for the most part. I'm never one to believe in a past "golden age" when it comes to anything, be it music, sport, film, society, it's just the human condition to think there was.
I think the fact that I'm a sucker for slightly (but not too) quirky somewhat indieish films with somewhat indieish soundtracks will become fairly obvious. There are even one or two within that subgenre which are a touch drossy, but hey, I've been more honest than I might have been. I didn't have to include 'Definitely Maybe' starring Ryan Reynolds when I have also seen and enjoyed 'Citizen Kane' and 'Vertigo', but it felt like the right thing to do.
Of course, it's perfectly possible, in fact, it's definite, that I've forgotten loads. I haven't been keeping a record of all the films I've ever seen, you'll be shocked to hear (well, I did start doing that a couple of years ago actually) and through I've scanned as many lists of likely suspects as I could in the time allowed, there's no way I won't have forgotten a few films which I loved at the time and would still love now. So be it.
The numbering is arbitrary to an extent - I know 'The Big Lebowski' is my favourite film, beyond that, things are broadly in chunks.
And at the bottom, the natural cut-off was actually about 120 where I stopped thinking "I love that film and it's mine all mine", so it seemed pointless to cut it off too soon.
There's a good chance I'll look at some parts of this list with some bafflement in a few months' time. Still, a list's a list ...
1 The
Big Lebowski
2 Mean
Streets
3 Die
Hard
4 Short
Cuts
5 Adventureland
6 Star
Wars
7 Saturday
Night Fever
8 Klute
9 The
Deer Hunter
10 The
Commitments
11 Don't
Look Back (doc)
12 Mary
Poppins
13 The
Maltese Falcon
14 Before
Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight (I'm taking it as one film if that's ok)
15 Grosse
Point Blank
16 The
Graduate
17 Local
Hero
18 Jaws
19 The
Wizard of Oz
20 United
93
21 Memento
22 The
Usual Suspects
23 Rear
Window
24 Role
Models
25 Donnie
Darko
26 Sideways
27 Trading
Places
28 The
Outlaw Josey Wales
29 Bringing
Up Baby
30 Cool
Hand Luke
31 Doctor
Zhivago
32 An
Officer and a Gentleman
33 On
the Waterfront
34 if
...
35 Taxi
Driver
36 The
Grand Budapest Hotel
37 LA
Confidential
38 Dazed
and Confused
39 Dirty
Dancing
40 Trainspotting
41 The Fellowship
of the Ring
42 Rust
and Bone
43 The
Royal Tenenbaums
44 The
Last Waltz
45 Kes
46 Pulp
Fiction
47 The
Social Network
48 Four
Weddings and a Funeral
49 The
Jungle Book
50 The
Wicker Man
51 High
Fidelity
52 Empire
of the Sun
53 Brick
54 Inside
Llewyn Davis
55 Oliver!
56 Dead
Poet's Society
57 Chariots
of Fire
58 Gone
Baby Gone
59 The
Theory of Everything
60 The
Lavender Hill Mob
61 Top
Secret
62 Con
Air
63 One
Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
64 Shadow
of a Doubt
65 Big
66 Leaving
Las Vegas
67 Austin
Powers: International Man of Mystery
68 Scott
Pilgrim vs the World
69 The White
Ribbon
70 Boyhood
71 The
Sting
72 Badlands
73 The
Terminator
74 Back
to the Future
75 The
Hustler
76 Rio
Bravo
77 Pride
78 Brokeback
Mountain
79 The
Secret in their Eyes
80 Oldboy
81 Definitely,
Maybe
82 Y
Tu Mama Tambien
83 The
Birds
84 The
Railway Children
85 Gattaca
86 Cyrano
de Bergerac
87 Cloverfield
88 Say
Anything
89 Parenthood
90 I've
Loved You So Long
91 The
Truman Show
92 Burn
After Reading
93 Hidden
94 Philomena
95 Two
Days and One Night
96 Midnight
Run
97 Adaptation
98 Jackie
Brown
99 Pan's
Labyrinth
100 Almost
Famous
101 Me
and You and Everyone We Know
102 School
of Rock
103 Raging
Bull
104 The
Remains of the Day
105 No
Way Out
106 Casablanca
107 The
Verdict
108 The
Squid and the Whale
109 Unforgiven
110 The
Prophet
111 Bull
Durham
112 The
Boxer
113 Foxcatcher
114 Boyz
n the Hood
115 The
Ice Storm
116 High
Plains Drifter
117 The
Long Good Friday
118 The
101 Dalmatians
119 Singin'
in the Rain
120 Rebecca
121 Rocky IV
122 A Life Less Ordinary
123 Ghostbusters
oh, yes, and I also loved The Force Awakens, it's the most I've enjoyed the cinema for ages, so let's have that too.
121 Rocky IV
122 A Life Less Ordinary
123 Ghostbusters
oh, yes, and I also loved The Force Awakens, it's the most I've enjoyed the cinema for ages, so let's have that too.
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