A slightly extended version of my review from the Nottingham Post, with a snippet of Martyn Boston’s photo. When The Pop Group split up 33 years ago, they had unfinished business. The band were at the avant-garde end of post-punk, performing a chunky, visceral sound which displays elements of free jazz. In 2014, they’ve said in interviews, their articulate howl of protest is needed more than ever. Tonight’s gig is in association with Campaign Against Arms Trade. It’s a brave band that follows Sleaford Mods, the UK’s coolest band, who are as intense and entertaining as ever. They do an eight song, ‘best of’ set including TISWAS, Tied Up In Nottz and, of course, Jolly Fucker. The Pop Group’s Nottingham debut brings out an…
As ever at this time of year, a bit of a reading blog. Quiz for you: look at the pile above and guess which one I didn’t finish and which one I dumped in Croatia, or, to be more precise, left in the small select library in our apartment on the island of Hvar. I left the first book I read, a chunky ex-library copy of Sue Grafton’s last but one novel, at our hotel in Split (fantastic city, visit highly recommended). Having enjoyed its predecessor so much, earlier this year, I was really looking forward to this one so – you guessed it – I was a bit disappointed. It was up to her usual standard and thoroughly readable, but not as intricately…
The line-up convinced me. My younger siblings have been going to Green Man for years, not doing Glastonbury since I last went, in 2009 (full diary here), but I’d never investigated going. Then I saw that the two current bands I most want to see were playing (War On Drugs and their former member, Kurt Vile), not to mention Bill Callahan, Beirut and Sharon Von Etten, none of whom I’ve managed to see, and Mercury Rev, who I haven’t seen for years. I was in. Now I’m back and I can see why, if the above is your kind of music, you’d never bother with Glasto again either. For a start, it’s smaller and nearer, set in the one of the most beautiful parts of…
When I got to Rock City last night, I realised I’d dropped my pen, so had to write the review from memory, hence lack of detailed setlist or report on the artiste’s mid-set quips. Maybe the review’s the better for it. What follows is as it appears in The Nottingham Post, whose photographer was ill, so didn’t make it. But @sheldonmiller on Twitter happened to bump into the band in Wagamama, round the corner from Rock City, just before the show, so I’ve nicked his shot. That’s him in the middle. Dunno who the guy on the left is. De La Soul’s hip-hop masterpiece Three Feet High And Rising is, astonishingly, 25 years old, and still sounds fresher than most new releases. Subsequent albums sold progressively less…
My friend, the poet and novelist, Barry Cole, died at the end of last month and I wrote an obituary for The Independent. It was only in the paper this week or I’d have posted earlier. Those of you with long memories may recall that I spent a day with Barry five years ago, culminating in a visit to the BFI where there was a showing of rare films by BS Johnson, Barry’s close friend, including one that Barry appeared in. The photo above is of Barry at home, signing a first edition of his finest novel, Joseph Winter’s Patronage, which he gave to me that day (I’d just read the new Shoestring edition, which is still available). Although he was very ill for the…