Hearty congratulations to Rowena Edlin-White, whose five years working on this splendid anthology (originally intended to come out before our UNESCO bid went in) was time well spent. Over 200 writers are discussed in this book, from David Herbert Lawrence to David Lawrence Belbin (no relation), with the living writers doing their own entry (some from beyond the grave, like Derrick Buttress, who sadly died this year). It’s a bargain, at £12.99 (or £25 for the signed, limited edition hardback pictured) and also includes several essays, on comics, the Forest Folk, Dickens in Nottingham (by Derrick) and Graham Greene in Nottingham (one of mine). I wish I had time to say more, and maybe I will, once I’ve read it all. Meantime, read this…
Billy Bragg wants us to know he hasn’t joined the ‘Christmas Kitsch’ market. ‘I see Bananarama have got in early’. But he’s here to do his big numbers. A mass singalong of Sexuality starts the show, and a packed Rock City doesn’t just do the chorus, it knows every word and fills in the back harmonies. Billy is visibly impressed, gushing about Rock City Saturday nights and the best singing on the tour. He’s brought ‘the green monster’ on which he wrote many of the songs, reminding us of his first Nottingham visit, 33 years ago, to a packed basement club called The Garage, especially when he plays ‘The Milkman of Human Kindness’. The guitar’s doing his back in but it’s worth it. It’s a…
‘It’s been a while since we passed through these parts,’ Kid Creole points out. ‘How many of you were here in 82? Your age is showing.’ Two of the Coconuts weren’t born when he played Rock City. August Darnell, 67, looks ten years younger, and still sports a natty purple zoot suit, with frequent change of hat. The band take the stage at full throttle, pumping through a strong Stoolpigeon, a terrific I’m A Wonderful Thing, Baby (‘this is from my egotistical years’) among others. The brilliant Annie, I’m Not Your Daddy (which does a bit of crucial foreshadowing in my most recent novel) is the highlight. The Coconuts, in their Hawaiian skirts, are as flirtatiously entertaining as the 82 incarnation. The six piece…
Public Service Broadcasting hardly sound like the quintessential live act. Their albums could double as the soundtrack to an installation or documentary. 2015’s impressive album The Race for Space was recently followed by an album with a less commercial but no less worthy concept. Every Valley charts the rise and fall of the Welsh coal mining industry between the 1950’s and 1980’s. Founder J. Willgoose, Esq. on guitar, is joined by Wrigglesworth on drums and newest member J F Abraham on bass. Each also plays sundry other instruments. They could be three bespectacled secondary school teachers. Willgoose, from the back of the crowded floor, resembles newsman Robert Peston, giving enthusiastic, polite introductions. Illness forced me to miss them last year, but I was determined to…
An extended version of my review for the Nottingham Post. Lambchop are a melancholy, mesmerising band. The Nashville group rarely tour, even in tonight’s stripped down trio version. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person there who’d waited over twenty years to see them. Indeed, they’re my main reason for buying a ticket for Green Man this year (not that I needed much encouragement), before this tour was announced. Frontman Kurt Wagner sets up the laptop which will supply synths and drums. ‘I’ll be checking my email throughout the performance.’ Before opening with Writer, he tells the crowd, ‘It’s just us now, we can’t rely on governments’. The set mixes songs from delicious recent album – possibly their best – Flotus, with its mild Krautrock…