Faust: A Love Story @ BAM December 15th, 2012

 

A sardonic nurse leads a line of five wheelchair-bound men in dance to Wham!’s “Last Christmas”. Fairy lights illuminate the pink interiors of the old folks home. A pretty female nurse draws what attention there is. Demonic figures in pants and pigeon’s wings flit, suspended on a trampoline above the audience. Meanwhile, at his fellow residents’ behest, a decrepit, once-famous actor plays the role he never got to play.

Mephisto’s string vest = secret to his sexiness? Image from http://www.backstagemedia.com

Iceland’s Vesturport Theatre’s reinvention of Faust brought acrobatic and satanic revelry to Brooklyn Academy of Music last December, as part of the 30^th Next Wave Festival. Set to straining and distorted music by long-time collaborators Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, the performance delighted in the macabre.

Thorsteinn Gunnarsson is brilliant as Johann: Faust’s modern avatar. At the end of his tether (literally), Johann is offered a deal by the devil Mephisto, losing himself to his lust for the pretty nurse. And as devils tumble and wheelchairs cascade above you, you are drawn to the play’s absurdity.

Faust: A Love Story is as much comedy as tragedy, bringing holiday season panic – What have we accomplished? achieved? – to bear upon the stage. Johann wants one last night to remember, and this production certainly delivered one to its audience.

 

Alan Cumming’s Macbeth @ The Tramway Theatre, 21/06/12

Macbeth: the Scottish play that sends shivers up the spine of any seasoned Edinburgh Fringe goer. Overdone and often badly done at that, Macbeth has the perennial appeal for theatre companies searching for something “new” to bring to Shakespeare. With all male casts, all female casts, modern and Ye Olde version abound, the play has been reworked, rewritten and reproduced in many forms, but with few stand-out performances.

Despite its ill-treatment at the hands of many, Macbeth is amongst the greatest of Shakespeare’s plays: an examination of the human ability to override our reason through the power of reason and logical persuasion, it is a gripping and chilling drama of one man’s drive to fulfil his destiny at whatever cost. Infinitely quotable, the drama is as compelling and terrible today as it would have appeared to the Jacobean audience it was written to entertain. Capturing the sheer human brutality of the play’s characters is a difficult task for a full cast, and yet Alan Cumming, alone and near-naked on the stage, does just that.

Set within a dystopian mental institution cell, Cumming takes the audience deep within the play’s theme of psychological ruin. Taking on all the major roles of the play, Cumming is at once a wretching and perverted hag, the torn and exhausted soldier Macbeth, and his sensual and poisonous Lady. Swiftly switching between each character’s unique personality and mannerism, Cumming brings a life and phsyciality to the action that is often lacking from a full ensemble cast performance. Each line and action had purpose and significance, lending the performance a depth that is rare in such a popular Shakespearean production.

Courtesy of alancumming.com.

Terrifying and strangely sensuous at times, Cumming’s physical presence on stage is captivating and compelling. Demonstrating his brilliant ability as an actor, the audience is drawn to Cumming’s lone figure on the stage, giving the performance an intensity that only adds to the terror of the play itself. As the audience views the mental breakdown playing out in gory and graphic detail in front of them, you are moved to pity the poor blood-stained figure of Macbeth, bringing the play’s redemptive conclusion a unique sense of catharsis.

An unnerving and beautiful production, Alan Cumming’s Macbeth brings the play’s physical and brutal reality to life. Soon to begin a run at the Lincoln Centre Fesitval, the performance is a veritable tour de force. I have never seen an audience stand so quickly to give a standing ovation to a performance of this kind: do not dismiss this as yet anothyer version of a classic drama: Cumming’s performance will challenge the audience as much as it will captivate the heart.

Feist @ Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, 26/03/2012

Fusing an innovative and anthemic blues rock sound with her tongue-in-cheek, almost whimsical lyrics, Feist gave an explosive final performance last night at Glasgow’s Royal Concert Hall.

Courtesy of last.fm

Bringing the house down and her UK tour to a cataclysmic close, Feist’s performance was as energising and inspiring as it was hypnotic. Her subtle blend of complex and ranging melodies work together to intrigue and capture the audience’s attention, creating an almost euphoric  and intoxicating sound.

Opening with a re-worked version of the IndieKid’s favourite,  ‘Mushaboom’, Feist immediately confirmed her own song-writing talent as well as her music’s evolving nature. Paring the music back to a bare and almost primitive rhythmic lament, the song lost all remnants of whimsy, gaining a sense of power and strength that set the tone of the evening.

It takes considerable persuasion to coax hot and tired Glasgwegians out of their seats, but within twenty mintues of her set, Feist’s energy had spread through the crowd like wildfire. Whooping and hollering, the audience were captivated by the performance, giving the experience a uniquely dynamic quality.

Alongside the singer herself, the band also surpassed all expectation. Deserving special mention were backing singer group Mountain Man, three tiny American women whose demeanor belied the startling and profund quality of their voices. Heart breaking and beautiful, they gave Feist’s own voice a cut-glass edge that transformed her lyrics and brought them a strangely realised quality.

Feist has come a long way from the days of twee indie pop numbers such as the now reviled ‘1, 2, 3, 4’. Her maturity as an artist has brought her the confidence to explore the limits of her capabilities as a song writer, and as she continues to challenge herself, so she continues to engage her listeners to the fullest extent. Finally, after twenty years producing music, Feist is producing music that is a testament to her extensive creative talent. Her music has a freshness that translates well beyond her recordings. Exciting and always evolving, Feist looks set to retain her place at the forefront of the indie scene.

Admiral Fallow @ O2 ABC Glasgow 27/01/12

Leading the charge of the lastest generation of Scottish vernacular rock, Glasgow-based band Admiral Fallow have gone from strength to strength in the past year. Picking up where Mumford and Sons left off, the group combines classic indie guitar rock with a striking, melancholic lyrical quality befitting of any worthy successor to the folk-indie crown.

Admiral Fallow, Boots Met My Face

But what sets Admiral Fallow apart from the plethora of bands all apparently trying their damnedest to replicate Arcade Fire is the startling musical talent of clarinet player Kevin Brolly. His ability to improvise sweeping blues clarinet solos without losing touch with the overarching indie rock sound is admirable. Often supported on the flute by singer Sarah Hayes, his interludes provide the music with a greater depth of sound. The rich quality of their music is complimented well by the clever and wry deprecation of Louis Abbott’s lyrics. Admiral Fallow may be treading on the same ground as other ‘ScotRock’ groups, but their obvious talent and wide-spread appeal should see them move far beyond their rivals.

Having seen Admiral Fallow for the first time at Glastonbury last year, I had some idea of what to expect from this performance. However, I was struck by the growing professionalism within the band, and the new-found confidence apparent in their sound. No doubt being on home turf helps to steady the nerves, but in comparison to seven months ago, it is obvious how well Admiral Fallow are taking to their recent success.

Highlights of the gig were the rollicking ‘Squealing Pigs’, a deceptively jangly tune masking the sharp melancholia of the lyrics, and last year’s single ‘Subbuteo’. Both songs have a disconcertingly catchy beat over-laid with violent and aggressive lyrics describing the deterioration of family relationships and the worst effects of childhood bullying. The juxtaposition of such disturbing and revealingly personal lines with a relatively up-beat sound adds to the overall sense of the melancholic and the macabre running throughout the music.

The performance culminated with an encore of the stark all-group chant ‘Four Bulbs’. Previously played only in small venues without microphones, the paired back and minimal quality of the song provided a dramatic finale to a raucous performance.

Despite mainly playing crowd-pleasing tracks from their first album, Boots Met My Face, the band did premier a number of new tracks that will feature on their soon-to-be-released second album later this year.  The rapturously enthusiastic reception from the crowd was well deserved – the new album looks set to capitalise on the success of last year as Admiral Fallow take their place at centre stage of the UK indie music scene.

There are still some conflicting issues in their music: despite their musical talents, there are occasions during songs where the musical ability of a band member overtakes the overall coherency of the music. Judging by the vast improvement between last June and Friday night’s gig, these small issues should soon be ironed out. This is a band to watch in 2012, and I will not be surprised if with a new album in spring comes a hit single on the scale of Mumford’s ‘Lion Man’. Now that Mumford et al have dropped further out of the public eye, Admiral Fallow have a real chance to make the scene their own.

Admiral Fallow will be returning to Glasgow on December 8th at the infamous Barrowland Ballroom.

Wild Beasts @ The Liquid Rooms 14/11/11

It is really quite difficult to describe Wild Beasts’ sound to any one who hasn’t heard a few of their tracks. They are Indie and you

Wild Beasts, courtesy of The Guardian

can dance to their music like a crazy person, but they aren’t pop, and they aren’t very rock’n’roll either. There are keyboards involved, but it would be wrong to say synth, and electronica is a little too far out on the left field. Both lead singer and guitarist Hayden Thorpe and singer and bassist Tom Fleming are more than able to carry a tune. Thorpe’s whining tenor cuts over and above the deep throb of the music like a knife, while Fleming’s powerful and passionate baritone creates a dark undercurrent running through the music. However, their style is as much a contradiction as a compliment to the other. They shouldn’t work as a band: Thorpe sounds like he has maybe just been kicked and slightly petulant, while Fleming’s gravelly operatic tones could be mistaken for Antony Hegarty from a distance. And yet, there is that shared sleazy sexiness that marries the two together so well.

That sleaze laced through with dangerous sex appeal oozes throughout their music. Each song has a prominent bass line, adding to the feeling of sensuality and vulnerability. With lyrics ranging from “I take you in my mouth like a lion takes it’s game” (‘Lion’s Share’), to the even more disturbing lyrics of ‘She Purred, While I Grred’, Wild Beasts seem unafraid to push the boundaries of normal masculine sexuality. The lyrics continually reference violent and often unsettling encounters with women, and yet the music is strangely exciting, and incredibly infectious. Their innocuous hipster boy look belies the skill and depth of their musicianship and the provocative quality of their lyricism.

Having seen Wild Beasts once before at Glastonbury this year, I was looking forward to a more intimate performance, although I hadn’t quite appreciated the full extent of ‘intimate’ in this context. On a smaller stage the band excelled themselves, galvanising the crowd into a frenzy of dancing feet and pumping fists. An excellent act to see live, you can’t help but feel energised and excited by their music. Every single member of the band looks thrilled to be playing for you, and there is little more that an audience can ask than to feel wanted.

Wild Beasts have the potential to take their sound much further, and if they continue to push the boundaries of a normal masculine sexuality identity then they will certainly attract a lot of attention. I urge you to take a chance on Wild Beasts: don’t just write them off as another Indie rock act aping the Eighties. This band might be the best you have never heard of.

Patrick Wolf’s Lupercalia @ The Liquid Rooms 22/10/2011

There is something indescribably sensual about Patrick Wolf. The sloping glide across the stage, the spray-on skinny jeans, the sequins, the coy and triumphant smile playing on his eternally boyish features. He possesses that great innate quality of all great front-men: the ability to captivate an audience with so little as a flick of the hair or a twist of the hand. Having already seen Wolf at Glastonbury (the second best performance of my festival weekend, and I went to about 35), I was excited by the idea of Wolf in such a small and contained venue. A chance to get a little more up close and personal, shall we say. But how would he react to the sheer proximity of the audience packed into this tiny little venue? He is, after-all, an internationally renowned musician able to command a far larger space in his hometown of London. Would he play as if he just didn’t care enough?

Lupercalia cover, courtesy of http://www.patrickwolf.com

Wolf did not disappoint. The concert was a dedicated performance of his latest album, Lupercalia, a slightly more mainstream offering from this prolific musician. The album is an homage to disco-pop, with a sound that is reminiscent of The Cure’s old forays into the pop music market with songs such as ‘Friday I’m In Love’ and ‘Mint Car’. Despite the seeming departure from his earlier more melancholic style, Wolf has managed to make the transition to a happier and more positive sound without losing any of the power of his lyrics or the infectious quality of his songs.

On stage, Wolf threw himself into the performance with an energy and enthusiasm that was dazzling to watch. With three costume changes – all featuring progressively larger amounts of taxidermy accessories – he is a theatrical and confident performer. Proving his talent as a musician, throughout the performance Wolf went between a piano, viola, harp and, briefly, a dulcimer, never allowing his look of cool and dramatic composure to slip. Vocally, he is a highly original singer, with an unusually deep and powerful voice that belies his slight frame. The power behind his voice lends the music something quite special, enhancing its qualities and making the performance just that little bit more thrilling.

The only low point of the night for me was ‘The Gypsy King’, a song written when Wolf was 18 and on the train back to London having played his first ever gig in Edinburgh. The song features on Wolf’s second album, Wind in the Wires, which, though an excellent album as a whole, has a remarkably different sound in comparison to Lupercalia. The song was a little out of place then, but what it really made me realise was how far Wolf’s song writing abilities have progressed since his early days as a musician. The lyrics seemed immature and childish next to the sleek and polished finesse of Lupercalia’s ‘Time of My Life’, or ‘This City’.

Highlights of the performance were ‘Magic Position’ and ‘This City’, both guaranteed crowd pleasers and two of the few songs that the crowd actually knew and therefore could belt out at the top of their voices. The atmosphere in the venue was buzzing with excitement and an infectious energy, everyone proclaiming Wolf’s genius despite having only just listened to more than a few songs of his music. When most of the audience have come on the back of a few songs heard on the radio, it is a testament to an artist’s ability to not only satisfy the craving for these few songs, but to also fully convert them to the music and have them leave brimming with the excitement of their new discovery.

It is always a slight surprise to me that hardly anyone north of the border, or indeed, north of London, has heard of Patrick Wolf. One of the UK music scene’s best kept-secrets, Wolf has been covertly recording albums for nearly ten years, earning him a coterie of dedicated followers and little popular recognition. Whatever mainstream success Lupercalia brings him is well-deserved. His tireless and often largely unnoticed effort into developing his singular style has hopefully paid off, and I can’t wait to see what direction he decides to throw himself at next.

PJ Harvey @ The Glasgow Royal Concert Hall

With a voice of crystal clear melancholia, slicing through the still air of the auditorium like so much cut glass, PJ Harvey is

A completely captivating statue, but a statue nonetheless

undoubtedly one of the most talented singers in the UK. The sheer clarity and haunting tone is unique in its ability to send a shiver up your spine and raise the hairs on the back of your neck, captivating the audience in spellbound wonder. It is a voice that only truly reveals itself in a live performance; a recording just can’t capture the delicate and brittle quality of it. Just to sit and listen to PJ Harvey sing even while blind folded is more than enough reason to see her in concert.

However, I did not have a blind fold, and I did expect to see something of a performance. Sadly, I may as well have been staring at a photograph. Polly Jean Harvey is renowned for her aloof and theatrical stage performances. Wearing a black draped dress held together by a loose leather corset, complete with a black feathered head dress, the audience was prepared for an outstanding performance from this unusual and strange woman. As she fixed her rose printed autoharp to her chest and stepped into the pool of white light to sing, she was the picture of baroque macabre. And then, quite suddenly, and surprisingly I felt, all the life seemed to go out of her. She stood, and she played, and she sang her beautiful songs of death and war that could have moved the audience to tears, but she just wasn’t present as a performer. She hardly moved throughout the entire set, and as captivating as she is, I did find my eyes wandering to the one lively member of her band: drummer Jen-Marc Butty. Further, each song was divided not by small talk, or a visible change, but by the lights going out, plunging the stage in darkness only to be raised once more as the first chords were struck. It was almost as if the concert was in fact a recitation, performed by exquisite clockwork figures that needed that minute long pause in darkness to be wound up once more.

Perhaps I am merely too familiar with the wants of a Glasgow crowd: we expect some banter, some life. We heckle, and we aren’t afraid to speak our mind. The devoted in the crowd yelled out their love and appreciation, and were rewarded with silence and stillness. At moments it appeared that PJ was slowly loosening up, breaking down some of the invisible wall shielding her from the crowd, but the momentary twitching dances would never go beyond the final thirty seconds of a song, ending as they all did: in total darkness.

PJ Harvey gave a perfect and exquisite recitation of her latest album, Let England Shake; she did not give a performance of it. Her conduct on stage irritated me only because I know that this concert had the potential to be one of the most outstanding and memorable concerts I have ever had the privilege to witness. And yet it didn’t quite make it. Excellent, yes. Outstanding, not especially. I might seem nit-picking, but it really does raise one concert above another if the artist appears to be enjoying themselves as they play. And Pj should have been enjoying herself: Let England Shake is a masterpiece, as proven by her recent acceptance of a second Mercury Prize, making her the first artist ever to be awarded the prestigious accolade twice. The first was in 2001 for her seminal indie rock album Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. It too was a major departure from her previous post-punk style work, as Let England Shake is also a serious break from the blues rock style she has become famous for. Dealing in the horror of war, and the passions which drive men to murder, Let England Shake is a terrific expression of grief for those who have fought, forcing the listener to sit up and pay attention to the mass murder being sanctioned in the name of  victory.

Musically, this concert was one of the most enjoyable to listen to I have been to in a long time. The sound was pitch perfect, and I was blown away by the strength and supple nature of PJ Harvey’s voice. Was it one of the best I have ever been to? Sadly, no, though I really wish it had been.

Amanda Fucking Palmer @ The HMV Picture House

Swathed in silver sashes, corseted to the nines and with bra on full display (all chosen by her Twitter groupies), Amanda Fucking Palmer opens with a few big licks on the keyboard before launching into a set that surpassed all expectations.

A denizen of the Edinburgh Fringe, AFP blew her devoted audience away.

The last time I witnessed Amanda on stage was when I was about 14 years old, painted in white make up and wearing ill-fitting bondage gear, in the Cathouse in Glasgow. Sweaty teen fan girls and freshly out gay boys jostled for position in front of The Dresden Dolls, screaming out the angsty lyrics together because, they like, MEANT something to all us precocious misfits. This performance, now, seven years down the line and all pretensions of becoming Queen of the Night abandoned, was a stark contrast to those earlier days. Fizzing with energy and adrenalin, Amanda and her make shift band brought the house down, and this time I don’t mean into a pit of self-pity.

The atmosphere in the Picture House was near electric with anticipation for the night’s performance, and no one could have been disappointed. With a heady mixture of Dresden Dolls classics and her solo material, the music was given a new lease of life with a distinctly Eighties-style rewrite, creating a sense of energy and vitality that was not only invigorating but also brilliant to dance to. There cannot have been a single person in that audience who wasn’t moving to the music blasting out from the stage. Amanda herself performed with a depth of spirit that almost bordered on ferocity, demonstrating her true and contagious passion for her unique music.

Amanda Palmer has a knack of sourcing excellent temporary backing bands, and her support tonight consisted of an excellent drummer and guitarist kitted out in incredible sequined shirts and made up to look like Adam Ant. Alongside this pair, was a highly talented violinist purloined from the Shakira tour, a belly dancer who led the crowd in a mass aerobics routine (as if the night couldn’t get more 80s…), an Edinburgh based horn band called The Horn Dogs, and, last but by no means least, her husband Neil Gaiman. The author of the cult classic graphic novel, The Sandman, Gaiman and Amanda together is like a goth geek’s dream come true. To have both on stage, singing about Joan of Arc’s megalomaniac tendencies getting in the way of a good friendship, was both a privilege to witness and an incredible performance. Gaiman’s gravelly voice lends itself well to the tongue-in-cheek song, reminiscent of a younger Leonard Cohen perhaps. It is possible I am being a little romantic in my description here, but I was pleasantly surprised about Gaiman’s hidden talent for laconic singing.

Aside from Gaiman’s surprise guest performance, other highlights of the set included a rendition of Radiohead on the ukele from the recent release of an album of Radiohead covers, and the bold and brassy ‘Leeds United’. Part of an uproarious encore, the crowd went into a frenzy of yelling and whooping with what can only be described as joy.

Although Amanda is not set to release any new material for some time as a solo musician, I believe she is releasing some of the songs recorded by herself, Jason Webley and Neil Gaiman in the near future. AFP is one of these fabulous dark horse musicians: only recently has the world sat up and listened to her ever-changing, always innovative and edgy music. The progression she has made as a musician in the past few years as a solo artist is phenomenal, and I cannot wait to see what she does next. All I can guarantee is that it will surprise you and bring a massive grin to your face. A highly recommended artist, and an incredible and charismatic performer.

Steve Bell: Playing Politics With a Keen Eye

Infamous for his wild-eyed depictions of Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair, Steve Bell has created some of the most iconic political

David Cameron a la Steve Bell

caricatures of the past thirty years. Coinciding with the launch of his retrospective, If…Bursts Out, Bell guides the audience through the challenges of the cartoonist as he developed his designs while dodging angry and confused politicians and worried editors. A man of erudite wit and sharp observation, Bell’s cartoons have documented some of the most turbulent events in world history providing an alternative view with the tongue firmly in cheek. It becomes very quickly apparent for the audience that Bell is of a left-wing persuasion, and his general distaste for government no matter the party in power, has allowed him a measure of equanimity when tackling the prime ministers and movers and shakers of the time, portraying all as senseless, mad, scheming, and sometimes ridiculous. The presentation took the audience through some of the most iconic drawings featured in Bell’s new book from the staring left eye of Thatcher to Dubya the war-hungry chimp, from Tony the bat-eared madman to Cameron the rubber-faced toff. Bell explains the features he looks for in politicians and the way his sketches develop from odd and over-exaggerated faces to the hilarious and oddly accurate caricatures we see in the paper every day. Bell’s cartoons have been the visualisation of the angry left-wing for decades, and with this new retrospective the legacy of these cartoons in the way we approach politics is set to be confirmed.

A small add-on to this review and an example of Bell’s excellent humour:

When approached out of the blue by David Cameron at a Tory party conference:

David: “So Steve, what’s with the condom thing?”

Steve: “It is your rubbery and youthful complexion Prime Minister. And it is easier to draw than a jellyfish.”

*David Cameron walks away looking confused*

Steve: “Well, it wasn’t like I could say, ‘Well Prime Minister, it is because you are a massive dick.'”

Mosaico Flamenco: Fringe Review | Informed Edinburgh

Mosaico Flamenco: Fringe Review | Informed Edinburgh.

 

The Mosaico Flamenco review as it appears. Just to reiterate: please go and see these guys – they are excellent musicians and deserve a little more support.