Charity is not about your face. Nor is it about your nipples, or your lack of makeup, or a bucket of bloody ice.
*
I unfollowed Jemima Khan on Twitter this week, which made me kind of sad, because I like jemima khan. I'm sure it didn't make jemima sad. A longshot perhaps, but I'm pretty fucking certain she didn't notice. Imagine that. The reason I unfollowed jemima was because of a new campaign called wakeupcall, one that veers so close to satire, you'd think it WAS satire if not for the fact that even satirists seem to get coy when it comes to the kind of thing that benefits a cause.
For those who don't know (and I know you all know but I'm pretending I'm writing a proper article here), wakeupcall features celebrities and other such genetically improbable people taking selfies first thing, to raise money for people in Syria. It was spearheaded by jemima Khan, and is basically that obnoxious Beyoncé line from Flawless except, y'know, it makes money for people in Syria. So it's, uh, different.
Now I don't live in Syria, and besides reading the odd guardian article and watching a harrowing vice video I'd urge anyone to see, I haven't followed the crisis as closely as I maybe I could have. As a result, I'm totally open to being told I'm wrong about it. All of it. Infact, I would actively welcome being told I'm wrong when I say that I fail to see the link between hot celebs showing us just how hot they are, just like, naturally, and uh, vice's footage of infants with their insides spilling out.
Im not a total shit; I know it's bad form to knock things that raise money. When there's so many people being so terrible in the world, why fight something that tries to do good? I mean, these things raise money for charity - and a lot of it, too, if my Facebook friends are to be believed (and generally they're not but for the sake of argument and all that). I accept these points and I can't argue with them. I just think it would be nice if we could do it more, I don't know, discretely.
Its not to say I hate social networks, either. in my secretly optimistic way, I think social media is fucking great. Sure, it's bred a culture of narcissism but as a classic self-loather, I'm for anything that makes you feel better about yourself. Triple-filters, deleted tweets-retweeted tweets-deleted retweets, whatever, so be it. Recently I was thinking about why I couldn't ever do stand up comedy and it boiled down to the fact I can write stuff I think is funny but I can't deliver it. It's exactly the kind of discrepancy social media was made for. With Twitter and Instagram and, to a lesser extent. Facebook, the infrastructure is in place to fucking own it, whoever you are, so own it, own it some more and own it to fuck when the haters come out (and they will).
The other argument would be that I'm "jealous". The stupidity of that argument is fuel for a blog post of its own, and yet it's not totally unfounded; when Alexa Chung slaps an earlybird on an already gorgeous IG, I definitely feel a thing. But it isn't really jealousy; more a mix of awe and bafflement, with a hint of the horn. Besides, in a totally non-Alexa way, I scrub up alright with the help of expensive makeup and a generous filter, just like everyone else that isn't jemima khan (whose 4am, naked cheekbones could plausibly slice through a CCTV camera all by themselves) For me personally, it's just I'm lazy as fuck and all the people I fancy are at their best when then they're dishevelled as hell, so I figure why bother. It's the kind of thing I convince myself everyone feels, until I realise I'm probably the only person on the subway who's not sure if they own a comb or not.
My point is that these campaigns amount to narcissism disguised as altruism. A cynic would argue that it's the logical progression of activism in the Facebook age. A cynic might be right. Wakeupcall is not actively damaging; infact it's ultimately helpful. It's just there's something kind of off about it. Perhaps it's an issue of taste. Call me a traditionalist, but charity just ain't charity when it gets more likes than donations.
Monday, 13 October 2014
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
Youkoso, etc
BIG NEWS. The thing I've been harping on about for years is finally happening and I've moved to Japan! I now reside in the city of Kamagaya where I'm being paid to make my awful accent/grammar/existence a thing. Accordingly, I'm turning Little Charmer into a kind of ESL blog, except with no real information and more typos than are really acceptable for a teach.
As I only got here Saturday there's little to report, though I've been making lots of trips to my local supermarket, ostensibly for earthquake supplies but really because I love a) confusion b) tempura. On another note, I've already decided on a running feature for my blog: the imaginatively titled Kit Kat Challenge*, in which I'll be pursuing, eating and reviewing every one of Japan's 98 varieties of Kit Kat for your reading pleasure. You're welcome.
For now, I rest (it's night here), but in the meantime you guys-plural are welcome to submit suggestions for an Google-friendly blog title, as I'm all out of ideas that aren't horribly appropriative, and I want fame.
Sayonara.
*unsponsored, though I'm open to offers (really).
As I only got here Saturday there's little to report, though I've been making lots of trips to my local supermarket, ostensibly for earthquake supplies but really because I love a) confusion b) tempura. On another note, I've already decided on a running feature for my blog: the imaginatively titled Kit Kat Challenge*, in which I'll be pursuing, eating and reviewing every one of Japan's 98 varieties of Kit Kat for your reading pleasure. You're welcome.
For now, I rest (it's night here), but in the meantime you guys-plural are welcome to submit suggestions for an Google-friendly blog title, as I'm all out of ideas that aren't horribly appropriative, and I want fame.
Sayonara.
*unsponsored, though I'm open to offers (really).
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
ATP round up
So I went to ATP this weekend and while I may say this every time, I really do mean it when I say it was probably my favourite festival ever (maybe even edging out Primavera 1 at the moment), and probably the best singular weekend of my life. Here's some crappy rambles which won't do it justice, but hopefully will dim my fears of forgetting anything.
I guess first of all, I've come to the conclusion that Bradford Cox is just about the most inspiring person there is. Everything about him - his beautiful music and great fucking attitude down to silly things like the way he dresses is brilliant. There is no-one more charismatic; no-one who I'd rather make my friend, no-one cooler or smarter or better. My friend Martin wrote the following about him and it's beautiful, eloquent and true:
On a similar note, not since my first Green Man have I experienced something to make me realise how genuinely precious and life-affirming music can be. It sounds kind of silly but I'm inspired anew and still, several days later, absolutely fucking euphoric. Time of my life. I mean it.
Onto things that happened -
- Deerhunter happened. Three nights in a row with a set with Tom Tom Club. Was at the barrier exactly opposite Bradford for Cryptograms/Flourescent Grey and it destroyed my knees and delighted everything else. Then at Microcastle I met my soul sister (by which I mean a hilarious and smiley girl who kept yelling at Lockett to take his shirt off etc. note: I did not do this though I did describe Desire Lines as "classic Lockett action" in a somewhat partridge-esque manner) and they all fucking leapt into the crowd in an act of solidarity with fans and played Calvary Scars II/Aux Out and some songs off Rainwater Cassette Exchange and a version of Nothing Ever Happened that would loop infinitely if there was a heaven. And then Halcyon Digest, for which I was opposite Lockett but also heinously drunk but with one of my favourite people, Hannah, so it all evened out into the most beautiful ending to the weekend I could have asked for. Having now seen them five times in about four weeks (spoilt/broke), I've realised that they're the best band both on record and live, and I love them painful amounts.
edit: read this back and it just does not do it justice. Find a really nice review of it, or recall your own memories. It was Magic.
- Bradford Cox shook my hand and complimented my shirt. The idea that Bradford Cox and I would exchange any kind of conversation where I was on the RECEIVING end of niceness makes my head spin. I kind of wanted to talk to him properly but he quickly moved up the row to talk to some guy about sucking his dick. Oh Brad. After that, every other time I saw him I was too starstruck to summon any words, so I just kept gawping and turning to a considerably cooler Martin or Eddy and going "he'stherehe'stheredidyouseehim". Oh.
- I had better luck meeting Laetitia Sadler. I think she must be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and she was lovely. Her set was equally moving and passionate, and she was just so elegant and funny and her singing voice is utterly hypnotic. She may even have temporarily replaced Lockett in my affections. On the basis of this weekend I'm pretty sure I love all things related to Stereolab (who only bloody reunited and played Blue Milk with Brad!) so they're going to be at the base of my next auditory adventure, I've decided.
- decorating a bench. The less I say about this the better but yeah. The bench looks amazing now.
- going to the beach with 10 or so strangers after Cryptograms, randomly finding myself in the sea because it was so dark, and then realising that not one of the 10 people there could find the way back.
- scratching a guy at Black Lips. Everyone I've told this story to seems to find it quite funny but I still feel like I've broken some cardinal rule of gig-going. To be fair, he accidentally elbowed me in the mouth and made it bleed later on in the show so...
- best dancing to Cavern of Anti Matter, B53s and Black Dice. At Black Dice I was getting onto my bloody knees to dance at one point. Someone tapped me to say they liked my dancing but I'm not convinced of their sincerity.
- Hollow Stars. I really loved them and I danced but Thee Pundt was standing behind me for the set so my dancing was somewhat inhibited by the considerable lack of oxygen I was able to ingest. A dream of a man. The night before he walked past me with his wife and he had a smirk and she did not and I had three suspicions:
- they've seen the Twitter (0.1 percent chance of being true)
- he thought I was dressed up as Bradford (black messy hair + leopard print shirt of compliments and happiness) and found it amusing (2.9 percent chance of being true)
- something else altogether not remotely related to me (97%). Sigh.
- Martin. If I could have all my gig experiences in Martin's company, my life would be richer for it. What a fantastic, generous and wonderfully impassioned man.
- Finding a wonderful new pal in Eddy. Seldom have I hit it off with someone so quickly. Matty is one of the few other examples I can think of. This has led me to think all boys who like good music and live in the North are my favourite people.
*After Bradford, obvs
- meeting cool new people like Andy and Jonathan who I watched Laetitia with. We all went to a cafe together (inc. Martin and Eddy) on the beach on the last day and this tiny little boy walked up to me and just stared and walked off. Taste of my own medicine, given my general behaviour around certain people this weekend (Bradford, Lockett).
- having a dance to the Slits and such after bands on the Friday. I only went back into the room because I'd noticed Lockett and Bradford sitting at the back and then I saw Bradford and some fans trying to have their picture taken and I just stood there finding it really hilarious and then I got my friends and good songs were played and Fun was Had.
- Martin, Eddy and me being big kids in the playground. We were meant to go to Bradford's DJ set but we got distracted and hysterical.
- meeting Martin's brother from another mother and his pal.
- being the lone voice yelling "woo!" when Bradford briefly acknowledged "your Birmingham" when talking about Birmingham, Alabama.
- Taking an ATP poster that had fallen off the main site back to our chalet and decorating it. It now rests in peace on Martin's car, having overseen all manner of joys over the weekend.
- doing the most middle class thing of my life (stopping in Oxford at a Waitrose to buy a sandwich and Kettle Chips) when looking like a highly disoriented scruff, on the way back from Camber.
- Moses playing Smiths and the Cure back to back. I wasn't there for it but I am informed that it happened and temporarily my affections were transferred from Laetitia to Moses. Obviously they all went back to Lockett within 5 minutes.
- Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks. Maybe my favourite non-Deerhunter set. Maybe. And better than any time I've seen Animal Collective. He was electric; I was elevated; he is divine.
- falling onto my back at the end of every night, in absolute ecstacy. First night I got my picture taken (WHERE IS IT); second night some guys tried to guess which drug I was on (JUST VIBES, BABY); third, Eddy and Martin found me, tried to get me up but I just sat down again and felt joy. That blissful.
- talking to this very handsome but ridiculously cool guy who was feeding crackers to a really hilarious bird for like an hour. I know this doesn't sound much like highlight material but oh it was.
- finally seeing Panda Bear (first hipster crush) and experiencing most of the set with my eyes closed. HOW. his set was divisive but I really loved it. He came on stage and said he was only gonna play new stuff then "if you're not into that then maybe this isn't the place" then launched into a couple of minutes samples of people violently screaming. I think he did it on purpose and it worked; the set got very, very, very good indeed, really enveloping and transcendent. I can't think of many times when I've been so deeply immersed in a show. He's faultless.
- Consuming 5 pot noodles, some grapes, some haribo, a big buddha bowl with halloumi and considerably more than a litre of gin in 3 days. you do the maths. Didn't sober up til Wednesday. Went back to work on Tuesday.
BAG WOES:
I brought two bags to ATP. These are the things that happened to them:
BAG 1 - drank a lot of gin. went to kids park. had the best time in the kids park. possibly drank a bit more gin. martin and eddy exited the kids park. martin saw I was about to do something silly. advised against it. loudly. no. jumped over fence, landed in a pile, bag snapped on way down. decided to roll around in the bark, and made Martin miss part of Dan Deacon's set while we went back to the chalet so he could pick bark out of my cardigan and I could replace Bag 1 with...
BAG 2
a tote bag. took it to robyn hitchcock (who was great and looked RIGHT AT ME with his kind of intense but silvery foxy eyes and was very funny and articulate and full of great songs). saw hannah. experienced elation. said a lot of shit to hannah I don't remember, but apparently it revolved around bar stools, work pals and my love of Thee Pundt. then Thee Pundt emerged before mine eyes looking typically dreamy. had finished my 1l supply of bombay sapphire so started on the gordons. instantly felt an ominous rumble in my tummy then my throat but didn't want to leave barrier. had a mouth. had a tote bag. you guess.
I'm pretty certain neither Hannah nor Lockett nor the lovely Japanese girl next to me who Bradford gave a setlist to nor a bouncer saw any of this but yeah.
- a bunch of other, probably very obvious stuff I can't remember because it's shrouded in the fog of joy.
TBC?
I guess first of all, I've come to the conclusion that Bradford Cox is just about the most inspiring person there is. Everything about him - his beautiful music and great fucking attitude down to silly things like the way he dresses is brilliant. There is no-one more charismatic; no-one who I'd rather make my friend, no-one cooler or smarter or better. My friend Martin wrote the following about him and it's beautiful, eloquent and true:
Bradford
is a warm, honest, great guy, and no mean genius. Whether as a
performer, writer, curator or agent provocateur he leads and we will
follow. I cannot say how much I admire him.
On a similar note, not since my first Green Man have I experienced something to make me realise how genuinely precious and life-affirming music can be. It sounds kind of silly but I'm inspired anew and still, several days later, absolutely fucking euphoric. Time of my life. I mean it.
Onto things that happened -
- Deerhunter happened. Three nights in a row with a set with Tom Tom Club. Was at the barrier exactly opposite Bradford for Cryptograms/Flourescent Grey and it destroyed my knees and delighted everything else. Then at Microcastle I met my soul sister (by which I mean a hilarious and smiley girl who kept yelling at Lockett to take his shirt off etc. note: I did not do this though I did describe Desire Lines as "classic Lockett action" in a somewhat partridge-esque manner) and they all fucking leapt into the crowd in an act of solidarity with fans and played Calvary Scars II/Aux Out and some songs off Rainwater Cassette Exchange and a version of Nothing Ever Happened that would loop infinitely if there was a heaven. And then Halcyon Digest, for which I was opposite Lockett but also heinously drunk but with one of my favourite people, Hannah, so it all evened out into the most beautiful ending to the weekend I could have asked for. Having now seen them five times in about four weeks (spoilt/broke), I've realised that they're the best band both on record and live, and I love them painful amounts.
edit: read this back and it just does not do it justice. Find a really nice review of it, or recall your own memories. It was Magic.
- Bradford Cox shook my hand and complimented my shirt. The idea that Bradford Cox and I would exchange any kind of conversation where I was on the RECEIVING end of niceness makes my head spin. I kind of wanted to talk to him properly but he quickly moved up the row to talk to some guy about sucking his dick. Oh Brad. After that, every other time I saw him I was too starstruck to summon any words, so I just kept gawping and turning to a considerably cooler Martin or Eddy and going "he'stherehe'stheredidyouseehim". Oh.
- I had better luck meeting Laetitia Sadler. I think she must be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and she was lovely. Her set was equally moving and passionate, and she was just so elegant and funny and her singing voice is utterly hypnotic. She may even have temporarily replaced Lockett in my affections. On the basis of this weekend I'm pretty sure I love all things related to Stereolab (who only bloody reunited and played Blue Milk with Brad!) so they're going to be at the base of my next auditory adventure, I've decided.
- decorating a bench. The less I say about this the better but yeah. The bench looks amazing now.
- going to the beach with 10 or so strangers after Cryptograms, randomly finding myself in the sea because it was so dark, and then realising that not one of the 10 people there could find the way back.
- scratching a guy at Black Lips. Everyone I've told this story to seems to find it quite funny but I still feel like I've broken some cardinal rule of gig-going. To be fair, he accidentally elbowed me in the mouth and made it bleed later on in the show so...
- best dancing to Cavern of Anti Matter, B53s and Black Dice. At Black Dice I was getting onto my bloody knees to dance at one point. Someone tapped me to say they liked my dancing but I'm not convinced of their sincerity.
- Hollow Stars. I really loved them and I danced but Thee Pundt was standing behind me for the set so my dancing was somewhat inhibited by the considerable lack of oxygen I was able to ingest. A dream of a man. The night before he walked past me with his wife and he had a smirk and she did not and I had three suspicions:
- they've seen the Twitter (0.1 percent chance of being true)
- he thought I was dressed up as Bradford (black messy hair + leopard print shirt of compliments and happiness) and found it amusing (2.9 percent chance of being true)
- something else altogether not remotely related to me (97%). Sigh.
- Martin. If I could have all my gig experiences in Martin's company, my life would be richer for it. What a fantastic, generous and wonderfully impassioned man.
- Finding a wonderful new pal in Eddy. Seldom have I hit it off with someone so quickly. Matty is one of the few other examples I can think of. This has led me to think all boys who like good music and live in the North are my favourite people.
*After Bradford, obvs
- meeting cool new people like Andy and Jonathan who I watched Laetitia with. We all went to a cafe together (inc. Martin and Eddy) on the beach on the last day and this tiny little boy walked up to me and just stared and walked off. Taste of my own medicine, given my general behaviour around certain people this weekend (Bradford, Lockett).
- having a dance to the Slits and such after bands on the Friday. I only went back into the room because I'd noticed Lockett and Bradford sitting at the back and then I saw Bradford and some fans trying to have their picture taken and I just stood there finding it really hilarious and then I got my friends and good songs were played and Fun was Had.
- Martin, Eddy and me being big kids in the playground. We were meant to go to Bradford's DJ set but we got distracted and hysterical.
- meeting Martin's brother from another mother and his pal.
- being the lone voice yelling "woo!" when Bradford briefly acknowledged "your Birmingham" when talking about Birmingham, Alabama.
- Taking an ATP poster that had fallen off the main site back to our chalet and decorating it. It now rests in peace on Martin's car, having overseen all manner of joys over the weekend.
- doing the most middle class thing of my life (stopping in Oxford at a Waitrose to buy a sandwich and Kettle Chips) when looking like a highly disoriented scruff, on the way back from Camber.
- Moses playing Smiths and the Cure back to back. I wasn't there for it but I am informed that it happened and temporarily my affections were transferred from Laetitia to Moses. Obviously they all went back to Lockett within 5 minutes.
- Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks. Maybe my favourite non-Deerhunter set. Maybe. And better than any time I've seen Animal Collective. He was electric; I was elevated; he is divine.
- falling onto my back at the end of every night, in absolute ecstacy. First night I got my picture taken (WHERE IS IT); second night some guys tried to guess which drug I was on (JUST VIBES, BABY); third, Eddy and Martin found me, tried to get me up but I just sat down again and felt joy. That blissful.
- talking to this very handsome but ridiculously cool guy who was feeding crackers to a really hilarious bird for like an hour. I know this doesn't sound much like highlight material but oh it was.
- finally seeing Panda Bear (first hipster crush) and experiencing most of the set with my eyes closed. HOW. his set was divisive but I really loved it. He came on stage and said he was only gonna play new stuff then "if you're not into that then maybe this isn't the place" then launched into a couple of minutes samples of people violently screaming. I think he did it on purpose and it worked; the set got very, very, very good indeed, really enveloping and transcendent. I can't think of many times when I've been so deeply immersed in a show. He's faultless.
- Consuming 5 pot noodles, some grapes, some haribo, a big buddha bowl with halloumi and considerably more than a litre of gin in 3 days. you do the maths. Didn't sober up til Wednesday. Went back to work on Tuesday.
BAG WOES:
I brought two bags to ATP. These are the things that happened to them:
BAG 1 - drank a lot of gin. went to kids park. had the best time in the kids park. possibly drank a bit more gin. martin and eddy exited the kids park. martin saw I was about to do something silly. advised against it. loudly. no. jumped over fence, landed in a pile, bag snapped on way down. decided to roll around in the bark, and made Martin miss part of Dan Deacon's set while we went back to the chalet so he could pick bark out of my cardigan and I could replace Bag 1 with...
BAG 2
a tote bag. took it to robyn hitchcock (who was great and looked RIGHT AT ME with his kind of intense but silvery foxy eyes and was very funny and articulate and full of great songs). saw hannah. experienced elation. said a lot of shit to hannah I don't remember, but apparently it revolved around bar stools, work pals and my love of Thee Pundt. then Thee Pundt emerged before mine eyes looking typically dreamy. had finished my 1l supply of bombay sapphire so started on the gordons. instantly felt an ominous rumble in my tummy then my throat but didn't want to leave barrier. had a mouth. had a tote bag. you guess.
I'm pretty certain neither Hannah nor Lockett nor the lovely Japanese girl next to me who Bradford gave a setlist to nor a bouncer saw any of this but yeah.
- a bunch of other, probably very obvious stuff I can't remember because it's shrouded in the fog of joy.
TBC?
Friday, 31 May 2013
Various Things That Happened At PS13
Last week I went to Primavera Sound; now I'm back and too lazy and tired and blissed out to blog properly. I did, however, manage to write a bunch of notes in my phone while on my way back, and I've dutifully reproduced these for you here. I like how they sort of make sense, but also don't remotely. That's kind of how it was.
Enjoy.
*
JAMC head butt then apologising to her boyfriend
Stoned at MBV
Saturday spanish friends <3
Accidental Menomena
Nick Cave dance and girl who took more photos of me than of him
Parquet stage invasion
John Dwyer being a fucking dude
Brad Cox being a fucking dude
Lockett being Lockett
Deerhunter techno
No subtlety with drug dealers
Mexican guy who compared me to his gran
Hot and Crusty! Foc. Playground. Beach at night.
Purple Bottle.
Lovely guy at front of Deerhunter.
Vibrating piss.
Stealthy piss.
Gira spit/Spanish friend at Swans who left :( Gira Spanish.
Cute Daphni blogger guy "I DON'T SPEAK SPANISH". Awkward dance.
5am McDonalds hunt w/ Brian
Hammered cycling.
THM. "That was for Rebecca".
Thinking muesli was drugs.
Inconsolable at Mount Eerie.
Aaaa Oh Sees noise.
Girls at Deerhunter mk 2 - cape bonding.
"Band of Horses 2: the Reckoning".
Bradford Var joke?
Strategic standing opposite Lockett <3
Desire fucking Lines
Best falafel
Gin and skidding from Deerhunter to Thee Oh Sees
FULL OF FIRE, my friend. Also One Hit, Silent Shout.
Free whisky at Nick Cave. Stagger Lee sass, amused guy. HUSSAIN, our hug, phone background, Hussain's love of Stagger Lee, literal dancing to every NC song
Solange! American woman and me "She's so good" "She's so good"
TWIN PEAKS TAXI
Stickets Warren Ellis
Lost taxi
Everyone thinking I was Spanish
My let's talk about gender baby portaloo joke
Guy who slept on me at Veronica Falls
Minotaur x
Auditori stoner girls, best weed
Daughn Gibson yell :/
Pretending Lockett was looking at me
I love you / ok - JAMC
Cup skirt nurse with wound
Weird Heineken road
Giving Spanish people directions
"Si" at White Fence
Simian endless drops and need of wee
Caesar Segall dance before Godflesh
Protest
Manc meet up - angry at Aaron because from San Fran and doesn't like Oh Sees
Security guard convo with random Arabic!
Sapnish people's adorable pronounciation of "Becca"
Complimentary drug dealer at end
Enjoy.
*
JAMC head butt then apologising to her boyfriend
Stoned at MBV
Saturday spanish friends <3
Accidental Menomena
Nick Cave dance and girl who took more photos of me than of him
Parquet stage invasion
John Dwyer being a fucking dude
Brad Cox being a fucking dude
Lockett being Lockett
Deerhunter techno
No subtlety with drug dealers
Mexican guy who compared me to his gran
Hot and Crusty! Foc. Playground. Beach at night.
Purple Bottle.
Lovely guy at front of Deerhunter.
Vibrating piss.
Stealthy piss.
Gira spit/Spanish friend at Swans who left :( Gira Spanish.
Cute Daphni blogger guy "I DON'T SPEAK SPANISH". Awkward dance.
5am McDonalds hunt w/ Brian
Hammered cycling.
THM. "That was for Rebecca".
Thinking muesli was drugs.
Inconsolable at Mount Eerie.
Aaaa Oh Sees noise.
Girls at Deerhunter mk 2 - cape bonding.
"Band of Horses 2: the Reckoning".
Bradford Var joke?
Strategic standing opposite Lockett <3
Desire fucking Lines
Best falafel
Gin and skidding from Deerhunter to Thee Oh Sees
FULL OF FIRE, my friend. Also One Hit, Silent Shout.
Free whisky at Nick Cave. Stagger Lee sass, amused guy. HUSSAIN, our hug, phone background, Hussain's love of Stagger Lee, literal dancing to every NC song
Solange! American woman and me "She's so good" "She's so good"
TWIN PEAKS TAXI
Stickets Warren Ellis
Lost taxi
Everyone thinking I was Spanish
My let's talk about gender baby portaloo joke
Guy who slept on me at Veronica Falls
Minotaur x
Auditori stoner girls, best weed
Daughn Gibson yell :/
Pretending Lockett was looking at me
I love you / ok - JAMC
Cup skirt nurse with wound
Weird Heineken road
Giving Spanish people directions
"Si" at White Fence
Simian endless drops and need of wee
Caesar Segall dance before Godflesh
Protest
Manc meet up - angry at Aaron because from San Fran and doesn't like Oh Sees
Security guard convo with random Arabic!
Sapnish people's adorable pronounciation of "Becca"
Complimentary drug dealer at end
Friday, 8 June 2012
Primavera Dreaming
Back from nine days of sun, sea and psychedelia in the city of dreams: Barcelona. Because I currently have no voice, here's the lowdown in wordy form.
As a sidenote, I'm currently on my comedown which consists almost entirely of
i) me being socially terrible
ii) me battling narcolepsy
iii) everyone suffering
which is essentially my lifestyle all year round, but now with added tinnitus.
HIGHLIGHTS:
* Katie. My favourite chica in the world. Anyone who brings you falafel in bed, comes to watch every band you mention and puts up with your idiocy for nine whole days is worth an asterik.
* Barcelona on two wheels. What an beautiful city. Possibly my favourite bit was when a little old lady sat on the back of Katie's bike when we were at a crossing. Also in some kind of mystically stealthy move, I didn't get told off once for eschewing the bike lanes while Katie was lambasted. Bitchface strikes again!
* Parc Guell aka potentially the most enchanting place in the world. I could've stayed there forever but Katie's feet hurt (a recurring theme). There's musicians in the caves too! Paid for music for the first time in a while when I gave several Euros to the guys playing the most incongruously jolly version of Eleanor Rigby I've ever heard. The psychedelic didgeridoo guy was even better. Psychedelic. didgeridoo. Imagine. There's a video I made somewhere but unfortunately it lingers on some woman's arse too long so you really will just have to imagine.
* dance off during Numbers Showcase! Not that I remember it at all but apparently I had an hour-long dance off with some Spanish guy during. See also: Obits, where I unknowingly challenged a Spanish chica with my ass-shaking sass. I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I WAS HAVING A DANCE OFF. Anyway, I hope I served the homeland well. Gibraltar could depend on this.
* Benga! Disclaimer: Benga is fucking terrible and I would never listen to him on CD ever BUT when it's 4am and you're merry with mirth and you're dancing at the top of the hill while some guy as ridiculous as Benga storms the stage he becomes your favourite person in the world. I love Benga. and Marlene. and trying to go "higher higher" (Benga's only lyric) when you're already at the top of a hill (a challenge).
* Aeroplane. I don't really know what he did but I was having the best time to it.
* Singing Hero on the beach, in the taxi, between bands. Singing our homemade Katie song. Singing Hero. Hero. Celine Dion. Some Jackson 5 when the mood hit. Hero.
* I Break Horses aka the loudest dream I ever had. They were perfect. Suggestion: let's see them in an indoor venue and dance 'til our ears break.
* Taking a cable car to a fairground on top of a mountain only to find... it was closed. Except it wasn't. It was full of people, but if you wanted to go on a ride you had a selection of three and you had to go and get a person to operate it (fraught not least because nobody speaks English). It was kind of eerie, kind of charming but it did offer lovely views of Barcelona so...
* the castle. We went to the castle by accident. It was a good castle. Not really sure what else I can say about a castle.
* getting our picture taken for TWO fashion blogs. That they would choose Katie makes perfect sense but ME?! Convinced the "blog" is actually called Shit English Fashion and is just a slideshow of my Facebook pictures (confession: it's my Facebook and I took them myself).
* eating tapas for two on the regular. No regrets.
* beach chatter!
* sleepovers <3
* On a more general note, the food in Spain is predictably delicious. Pan con tomate, mushroom toast, chorizo, gazpacho, as much olive oil as you can gurgle. There was an excellent falafel place where we lived too. For a consummate carnivore, I really do rate falafel.
* bonding with Mancunians over the ONE TIME I went to Manchester. Can't quite believe I managed to squeeze so many conversations out of it but that'll be my verbal diahrrea doing its thing. Also managed to end up grooving right next to someone who'd been at the tiny Japandroids gig in Manchester before - at the Japandroids show. Kismet.
* the time where we lost our hostel.
* Matty aka the one. Poor guy thought he'd sit next to us for a bit to have a look at our program and quite literally did not leave our side til around 48 hours later. And now we might not see him again. So it goes. EVERY TIME.
* Thee Oh Sees! I spent most of the set narrowly eschewing brain damage, just as planned. They ended so I left but then Sleep cancelled so they returned and I essentially turned into the cheerleader for all the people on the bleachers.
* The Cure. Oh sweet fuzzy Jesus, the Cure. I had this ridiculous moment at the beginning where I cried, open-mouthed, through all of Plainsong and most of Pictures of You and I wasn't even in the crowd at that point, so it was basically me having a breakdown while everyone around me chats in a language I don't understand (English) and gets stoned. STORY OF MY LIFE. Anyway, like a trooper I pulled through, disappeared into the crowd and went on to intermittently mope and groove for the following 3 hours. Seriously, it was like a musical equivalent of Return of the King: kept you wanting more despite the odd duff bit and (joyously) endless endings. I spent the set following some old guys around because they knew the words. It probably did creep them out but that's what I do. Then I paid 10 euros for a portable beer while they were playing Let's Go To Bed.
The good: Bananafishbones! They played it. Infact, they played lots off the Top which was a pleasant surprise. Also, Wrong Number. Robert: "lime green / lime green and tangerine" *green and orange lights*. I was probably just being deliriously delighted or something, but it was hilarious to me at the time.
The bad: No Fascination Street or Killing an Arab!
The ugly: They played Fight. Fight! The worst song. Robert introduced it by saying they hadn't played it since 1987. Yeah Rob, I think you should have left it there.
* The Big Book of Sex Scandals. What else can I say.
* falling in love with Dirty Beaches, the sleazy psycho. HOT DAMN. Katie and I never agree on guys (she likes preppy guys with bad shoes; I like slightly hairy metrosexuals) but whoa.We're already working on our characteristically juvenile banner for Bestival.
* the children's playground at Parc del Forum. Trying to fit my arse into a baby swing was a highlight. Katie liked the slide.
* Chromatics and their excellent decision to open with an abridged Tick of the Clock. Alas, no Ryan Gosling.
* Unintentional holiday soundtrack. I didn't take my iPod so this consisted of Katie and I's heartbreaking renedition of Hero and Spanish radio. Spanish DJs really love Gold by Spandau Ballet and Adele. The taxi back was the best though. I'm convinced we weren't listening to the radio but a mix designed to sound like the radio to pre-empt our departure lounge melancholy. 'Don't Stop Me Now' followed by 'Yesterday' was far too felicitous.
* people's attempts to guess where we were from. Katie got Arab, Spanish. I got (deep breath): Russian, Polish, Icelandic, Chinese (!), Swedish, Finnish. Secret: we're actually just sexy nomads.
* playing shag marry kill with the Primavera program. I married Grimes. Every time.
* the Weeknd's cover of Dirty Diana. Perfect in so many ways it's unreal. We spent about 10 minutes trying to make a video before we realised he was on to a different song.
* possessing the mystical (in?)ability to be able to find the beach from any spot in Barcelona, yet never find our way back.
* The disappearing bar we called "hot man bar", despite the conspicuous absense of any hot men whatsoever.
* The time we lost our hostel.
* The time we thought someone's garden was Parc Guell.
* Grooving to Grimes in the sun. Oblivion was like Gang Gang Dance doing First Communion at Green Man a few years ago: just mad euphoria. She had loads of sound problems at the start but she was so bloody adorable about it and ack, she's my favourite. Really would marry.
* Watching Katie watch Iceage.
* Mad Italians! They were Katie's best friends and I only got to meet them once but they were hilarious and all the words in the world won't do them justice.
THE HMMS
* Saki! Saki is a 26 year old "promoter" who "owns" a bar where he doesn't know any of the drinks they sell. Things Saki likes: Celine Dion, trying to marry Katie. Things Saki dislikes: Becca's face, Becca's arms, men, when Becca walks two feet away to ring Katie to get her away from Saki in the least stealthy of all the actions. And it started so well. Oh dear. Saki is the personification of hmm.
* Being the drunkest I've ever been - as in, I don't know when day happened - and subsequently attempting to kip on a bench, on the street, by some policemen. Was finally dragged on to the Metro where I passed out standing up and then resorted to mildly pikey-like behaviour. I've put it in the hmms but it's probably a nadir.
* finding a bottle of Absolut on the beach and actually concluding that it would be a good idea to drink it later on in the week. Bears no relation to the point above. None at all.
* The Spanish and their love of PDAs. As someone who struggles with mere DAs, it's most disconcerting to watch people make out on the metro, at a crossing, RIGHT INFRONT OF YOU WHILE THE CURE PLAY 'TRUST'. I mean, whatever works and all, but personally odes to gut eating despair don't do much for me.
* Mean (if exquisitely chiselled) Spanish bar staff. It only happened twice, but really, standing at the front of a bar for entire sets is not what I envisaged when I booked my ticket.
* The juicy revelation that the beach beer sellers hide their beer in the sewage system! Katie embarked on a righteous mission to inform our fellow tourists, which basically consisted of yelling "SEWAGE" every time the beer guys walked past. In the week's least surprising news, they fucking despised us.
* The questionable pick-up artistry of Spanish guys. Genuinely wish to conduct a study into how many times standing in a girl's way, going "sexy! sexy!" has resulted in intercourse. Or even a response.
* buying 7.6% "beer" which turned out to be (disgusting) lemon shandy that was simply named 7.6. At least it was cheap.
* being in the portaloo for It's Real and Wonder Years during Real Estate's set! I was in the crowd for a blissful renedition of Municipality though. Big mercies.
THE LOWS
* Gargantuan nationalist douchebag who went on some massive fuck-off rant about how we should be at Sonar and how the Chameleons are the only band worth seeing at Primavera. Right. He had a really cool Scottish friend though so I just chatted to him while Katie and Matty battled it out. Ever the pacifist, me.
* the bit where the Men didn't play Animal.
* not buying the amazing Japandroids t-shirt.
This isn't even the half of it. Gah. Not that I expect anyone will read this but I plan to carry on rambling regardless from tomorrow. Until then, adios amigos! (and te amo xxxxx if you actually read this)
As a sidenote, I'm currently on my comedown which consists almost entirely of
i) me being socially terrible
ii) me battling narcolepsy
iii) everyone suffering
which is essentially my lifestyle all year round, but now with added tinnitus.
HIGHLIGHTS:
* Katie. My favourite chica in the world. Anyone who brings you falafel in bed, comes to watch every band you mention and puts up with your idiocy for nine whole days is worth an asterik.
Gratuitous picture of Katie and I by the portaloos. Hello boys.
* Parc Guell aka potentially the most enchanting place in the world. I could've stayed there forever but Katie's feet hurt (a recurring theme). There's musicians in the caves too! Paid for music for the first time in a while when I gave several Euros to the guys playing the most incongruously jolly version of Eleanor Rigby I've ever heard. The psychedelic didgeridoo guy was even better. Psychedelic. didgeridoo. Imagine. There's a video I made somewhere but unfortunately it lingers on some woman's arse too long so you really will just have to imagine.
* dance off during Numbers Showcase! Not that I remember it at all but apparently I had an hour-long dance off with some Spanish guy during. See also: Obits, where I unknowingly challenged a Spanish chica with my ass-shaking sass. I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I WAS HAVING A DANCE OFF. Anyway, I hope I served the homeland well. Gibraltar could depend on this.
* Benga! Disclaimer: Benga is fucking terrible and I would never listen to him on CD ever BUT when it's 4am and you're merry with mirth and you're dancing at the top of the hill while some guy as ridiculous as Benga storms the stage he becomes your favourite person in the world. I love Benga. and Marlene. and trying to go "higher higher" (Benga's only lyric) when you're already at the top of a hill (a challenge).
* Aeroplane. I don't really know what he did but I was having the best time to it.
* Singing Hero on the beach, in the taxi, between bands. Singing our homemade Katie song. Singing Hero. Hero. Celine Dion. Some Jackson 5 when the mood hit. Hero.
* I Break Horses aka the loudest dream I ever had. They were perfect. Suggestion: let's see them in an indoor venue and dance 'til our ears break.
* Taking a cable car to a fairground on top of a mountain only to find... it was closed. Except it wasn't. It was full of people, but if you wanted to go on a ride you had a selection of three and you had to go and get a person to operate it (fraught not least because nobody speaks English). It was kind of eerie, kind of charming but it did offer lovely views of Barcelona so...
* the castle. We went to the castle by accident. It was a good castle. Not really sure what else I can say about a castle.
* getting our picture taken for TWO fashion blogs. That they would choose Katie makes perfect sense but ME?! Convinced the "blog" is actually called Shit English Fashion and is just a slideshow of my Facebook pictures (confession: it's my Facebook and I took them myself).
* eating tapas for two on the regular. No regrets.
* beach chatter!
* sleepovers <3
* On a more general note, the food in Spain is predictably delicious. Pan con tomate, mushroom toast, chorizo, gazpacho, as much olive oil as you can gurgle. There was an excellent falafel place where we lived too. For a consummate carnivore, I really do rate falafel.
* bonding with Mancunians over the ONE TIME I went to Manchester. Can't quite believe I managed to squeeze so many conversations out of it but that'll be my verbal diahrrea doing its thing. Also managed to end up grooving right next to someone who'd been at the tiny Japandroids gig in Manchester before - at the Japandroids show. Kismet.
* the time where we lost our hostel.
Speaking of the hostel. No really, this was actually it.
* Matty aka the one. Poor guy thought he'd sit next to us for a bit to have a look at our program and quite literally did not leave our side til around 48 hours later. And now we might not see him again. So it goes. EVERY TIME.
* Thee Oh Sees! I spent most of the set narrowly eschewing brain damage, just as planned. They ended so I left but then Sleep cancelled so they returned and I essentially turned into the cheerleader for all the people on the bleachers.
* The Cure. Oh sweet fuzzy Jesus, the Cure. I had this ridiculous moment at the beginning where I cried, open-mouthed, through all of Plainsong and most of Pictures of You and I wasn't even in the crowd at that point, so it was basically me having a breakdown while everyone around me chats in a language I don't understand (English) and gets stoned. STORY OF MY LIFE. Anyway, like a trooper I pulled through, disappeared into the crowd and went on to intermittently mope and groove for the following 3 hours. Seriously, it was like a musical equivalent of Return of the King: kept you wanting more despite the odd duff bit and (joyously) endless endings. I spent the set following some old guys around because they knew the words. It probably did creep them out but that's what I do. Then I paid 10 euros for a portable beer while they were playing Let's Go To Bed.
The good: Bananafishbones! They played it. Infact, they played lots off the Top which was a pleasant surprise. Also, Wrong Number. Robert: "lime green / lime green and tangerine" *green and orange lights*. I was probably just being deliriously delighted or something, but it was hilarious to me at the time.
The bad: No Fascination Street or Killing an Arab!
The ugly: They played Fight. Fight! The worst song. Robert introduced it by saying they hadn't played it since 1987. Yeah Rob, I think you should have left it there.
* The Big Book of Sex Scandals. What else can I say.
* falling in love with Dirty Beaches, the sleazy psycho. HOT DAMN. Katie and I never agree on guys (she likes preppy guys with bad shoes; I like slightly hairy metrosexuals) but whoa.We're already working on our characteristically juvenile banner for Bestival.
* the children's playground at Parc del Forum. Trying to fit my arse into a baby swing was a highlight. Katie liked the slide.
* Chromatics and their excellent decision to open with an abridged Tick of the Clock. Alas, no Ryan Gosling.
* Unintentional holiday soundtrack. I didn't take my iPod so this consisted of Katie and I's heartbreaking renedition of Hero and Spanish radio. Spanish DJs really love Gold by Spandau Ballet and Adele. The taxi back was the best though. I'm convinced we weren't listening to the radio but a mix designed to sound like the radio to pre-empt our departure lounge melancholy. 'Don't Stop Me Now' followed by 'Yesterday' was far too felicitous.
* people's attempts to guess where we were from. Katie got Arab, Spanish. I got (deep breath): Russian, Polish, Icelandic, Chinese (!), Swedish, Finnish. Secret: we're actually just sexy nomads.
* playing shag marry kill with the Primavera program. I married Grimes. Every time.
* the Weeknd's cover of Dirty Diana. Perfect in so many ways it's unreal. We spent about 10 minutes trying to make a video before we realised he was on to a different song.
* possessing the mystical (in?)ability to be able to find the beach from any spot in Barcelona, yet never find our way back.
* The disappearing bar we called "hot man bar", despite the conspicuous absense of any hot men whatsoever.
* The time we lost our hostel.
* The time we thought someone's garden was Parc Guell.
* Grooving to Grimes in the sun. Oblivion was like Gang Gang Dance doing First Communion at Green Man a few years ago: just mad euphoria. She had loads of sound problems at the start but she was so bloody adorable about it and ack, she's my favourite. Really would marry.
* Watching Katie watch Iceage.
* Mad Italians! They were Katie's best friends and I only got to meet them once but they were hilarious and all the words in the world won't do them justice.
This. YO BITCH AND STUFF.
THE HMMS
* Saki! Saki is a 26 year old "promoter" who "owns" a bar where he doesn't know any of the drinks they sell. Things Saki likes: Celine Dion, trying to marry Katie. Things Saki dislikes: Becca's face, Becca's arms, men, when Becca walks two feet away to ring Katie to get her away from Saki in the least stealthy of all the actions. And it started so well. Oh dear. Saki is the personification of hmm.
* Being the drunkest I've ever been - as in, I don't know when day happened - and subsequently attempting to kip on a bench, on the street, by some policemen. Was finally dragged on to the Metro where I passed out standing up and then resorted to mildly pikey-like behaviour. I've put it in the hmms but it's probably a nadir.
* finding a bottle of Absolut on the beach and actually concluding that it would be a good idea to drink it later on in the week. Bears no relation to the point above. None at all.
* The Spanish and their love of PDAs. As someone who struggles with mere DAs, it's most disconcerting to watch people make out on the metro, at a crossing, RIGHT INFRONT OF YOU WHILE THE CURE PLAY 'TRUST'. I mean, whatever works and all, but personally odes to gut eating despair don't do much for me.
* Mean (if exquisitely chiselled) Spanish bar staff. It only happened twice, but really, standing at the front of a bar for entire sets is not what I envisaged when I booked my ticket.
* The juicy revelation that the beach beer sellers hide their beer in the sewage system! Katie embarked on a righteous mission to inform our fellow tourists, which basically consisted of yelling "SEWAGE" every time the beer guys walked past. In the week's least surprising news, they fucking despised us.
* The questionable pick-up artistry of Spanish guys. Genuinely wish to conduct a study into how many times standing in a girl's way, going "sexy! sexy!" has resulted in intercourse. Or even a response.
* buying 7.6% "beer" which turned out to be (disgusting) lemon shandy that was simply named 7.6. At least it was cheap.
* being in the portaloo for It's Real and Wonder Years during Real Estate's set! I was in the crowd for a blissful renedition of Municipality though. Big mercies.
THE LOWS
* Gargantuan nationalist douchebag who went on some massive fuck-off rant about how we should be at Sonar and how the Chameleons are the only band worth seeing at Primavera. Right. He had a really cool Scottish friend though so I just chatted to him while Katie and Matty battled it out. Ever the pacifist, me.
* the bit where the Men didn't play Animal.
* not buying the amazing Japandroids t-shirt.
This isn't even the half of it. Gah. Not that I expect anyone will read this but I plan to carry on rambling regardless from tomorrow. Until then, adios amigos! (and te amo xxxxx if you actually read this)
Saturday, 31 December 2011
2011: an abridged list of highlights
* waking up on New Year's Day in Tokyo replete with heavy head and happy heart. Tom, Finch and I spent the first week of the year hopping on and off the shinkansen, supping our Kahlua Milks and biking it around Hiroshima. We also went to the Ghibli Museum! I'll never find another country as perfect as Japan, and that's fine by me.
* wheezing my way to the top of Kilimanjaro. It wasn't easy but I always feel like a fraud when I say it was hard. I mean it was quite hard but perfectly doable so long as you're i) lucky, ii) stubborn and iii) mobile. Thankfully on this occasion I was armed with the lot and, for my trouble, rewarded with an onslaught of otherworldliness and the most laboriously lovely experience of my life. We stayed in Africa afterwards but while Tanzania's a very interesting country I confess I didn't do a whole lot. Lobster is nice, though. A bit salty.
* graduating. I don't actually consider graduation a highlight so much as a necessary evil. I guess it was quite a nice day though and my family enjoyed it and the list probably wouldn't be complete without it, so er, yeah.
* the last six months of Uni, which were spent almost entirely in the Lansdowne. That's not even an exaggeration. Stepping down from Film Soc presidency was a low, but Preet has done such an ace job as my, uh, successor, I can't stay sad. I think one of my New Year's Resolutions is to stop being so precious about something I no longer have anything to do with, but there is still a part of me that's desperate to vet out the douchebags, like some deluded overthrown dictator.
I probably shouldn't admit that.
* ATP. Oh God, ATP. If there's a formula for a perfect weekend then Barry Hogan knows it and this is what he's done with it. Animal Collective curated but the real stars were Gang Gang, Black Dice, real ale, Group Doueh, new friends, old bands, dancing, breakfast buns and Ariel Pink's 3-second Burger King gig. I would gurgle glass for the opportunity to do it all again.
* Saturday Reading was fun. The festival itself is not cool - I didn't realise it was possible for something that's theoretically quite arty to be so blandly corporate - but the bands made up for it. And by bands, I mostly just mean Pulp, who were and remain the bees knees. Incidentally, my new New Years Resolution is to find and marry Jarvis Cocker.
* the London "holiday", which consisted of seeing Katie, eating Nandos, pub times and wandering around Shoreditch, Soho and places I'm not cool enough for. It doesn't sound like much but it was actually one of the loveliest things I've done all year, though this could just be my unyielding boner for London talking.
* Gigs. I didn't go to as many as I'd have liked, but there were two which would have stuck out any year: Les Savy Fav at the Sound Bar and (deep breath) Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paraiso UFO at the Hare and Hounds. LSF were stunning; I don't know if Tim Harrington putting something on my head and giving me his Corona legitimately constitues a claim-to-fame, but it's certainly a claim-to-, er, ace. AMT were also ridiculously great: loud and crazy and holy shit, THE GUITAR'S ON FIIIIRE!
Aw man.
* while we're on the subject of music, it's been a good year! I was supposed to do a proper top 10 (as in I've spent the year thinking about it) but I left it too late and now I have no time to write it up, though it does exist. If you're interested (and I'm sure you are), you can just message me for it or something. My Gmail account should be able to handle the 12,000 emails I expect to receive.
* Getting some words in the Guardian! I know two people who've managed to write entire articles for the Graun, crushing my woefully inordinate ego somewhat, but I'm still a pleased little pea. Read my stupid pretentious waffle here.
* finally getting a job. I mean, work is not a highlight in anybody's life (unless they go by the name of Taka Imamura) but it's nice that there are people out there who can see that I am capable of doing stuff. Also good: having money again. So much wine.
Ultimately I think I'd describe 2011 as bittersweet. I've had some of the best experiences of my life - absolutely - but, contrary to the above, I've also dealt with what were easily some of the worst. On balance, I guess it's been a learning curve but time will only tell whether I retain anything (unlikely).
My only real resolutions for 2012 are to do "more": have more fun, see more films, hear more music, buy more dresses (wut), write more, smile more, do more, etc.
Oh, and to be living, er, more abroad by this time next year.
Happy 2012, guys!
* wheezing my way to the top of Kilimanjaro. It wasn't easy but I always feel like a fraud when I say it was hard. I mean it was quite hard but perfectly doable so long as you're i) lucky, ii) stubborn and iii) mobile. Thankfully on this occasion I was armed with the lot and, for my trouble, rewarded with an onslaught of otherworldliness and the most laboriously lovely experience of my life. We stayed in Africa afterwards but while Tanzania's a very interesting country I confess I didn't do a whole lot. Lobster is nice, though. A bit salty.
* graduating. I don't actually consider graduation a highlight so much as a necessary evil. I guess it was quite a nice day though and my family enjoyed it and the list probably wouldn't be complete without it, so er, yeah.
* the last six months of Uni, which were spent almost entirely in the Lansdowne. That's not even an exaggeration. Stepping down from Film Soc presidency was a low, but Preet has done such an ace job as my, uh, successor, I can't stay sad. I think one of my New Year's Resolutions is to stop being so precious about something I no longer have anything to do with, but there is still a part of me that's desperate to vet out the douchebags, like some deluded overthrown dictator.
I probably shouldn't admit that.
* ATP. Oh God, ATP. If there's a formula for a perfect weekend then Barry Hogan knows it and this is what he's done with it. Animal Collective curated but the real stars were Gang Gang, Black Dice, real ale, Group Doueh, new friends, old bands, dancing, breakfast buns and Ariel Pink's 3-second Burger King gig. I would gurgle glass for the opportunity to do it all again.
* Saturday Reading was fun. The festival itself is not cool - I didn't realise it was possible for something that's theoretically quite arty to be so blandly corporate - but the bands made up for it. And by bands, I mostly just mean Pulp, who were and remain the bees knees. Incidentally, my new New Years Resolution is to find and marry Jarvis Cocker.
* the London "holiday", which consisted of seeing Katie, eating Nandos, pub times and wandering around Shoreditch, Soho and places I'm not cool enough for. It doesn't sound like much but it was actually one of the loveliest things I've done all year, though this could just be my unyielding boner for London talking.
* Gigs. I didn't go to as many as I'd have liked, but there were two which would have stuck out any year: Les Savy Fav at the Sound Bar and (deep breath) Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paraiso UFO at the Hare and Hounds. LSF were stunning; I don't know if Tim Harrington putting something on my head and giving me his Corona legitimately constitues a claim-to-fame, but it's certainly a claim-to-, er, ace. AMT were also ridiculously great: loud and crazy and holy shit, THE GUITAR'S ON FIIIIRE!
Aw man.
* while we're on the subject of music, it's been a good year! I was supposed to do a proper top 10 (as in I've spent the year thinking about it) but I left it too late and now I have no time to write it up, though it does exist. If you're interested (and I'm sure you are), you can just message me for it or something. My Gmail account should be able to handle the 12,000 emails I expect to receive.
* Getting some words in the Guardian! I know two people who've managed to write entire articles for the Graun, crushing my woefully inordinate ego somewhat, but I'm still a pleased little pea. Read my stupid pretentious waffle here.
* finally getting a job. I mean, work is not a highlight in anybody's life (unless they go by the name of Taka Imamura) but it's nice that there are people out there who can see that I am capable of doing stuff. Also good: having money again. So much wine.
Ultimately I think I'd describe 2011 as bittersweet. I've had some of the best experiences of my life - absolutely - but, contrary to the above, I've also dealt with what were easily some of the worst. On balance, I guess it's been a learning curve but time will only tell whether I retain anything (unlikely).
My only real resolutions for 2012 are to do "more": have more fun, see more films, hear more music, buy more dresses (wut), write more, smile more, do more, etc.
Oh, and to be living, er, more abroad by this time next year.
Happy 2012, guys!
Films of the Year
Wankiness will ensue. Consider yourself warned.
5
I'll say one thing for Lars von Trier: he's never dull. His musing on the world's end is typically atypical, dotty and daft, but it's also genuinely heartfelt. A film of two halves, Melancholia is both a grim comedy of errors and a surreal exploration of misery and muliebrity. Inevitably it all occurs against the backdrop of, uh, Melancholia, a sinister sister planet-cum-aching great metaphor for human suffering. What's surprising is how real it all feels: after the grand-guignol theatricality of Antichrist, the honesty here is startling. The second hour is defined entirely by a sense of quiet resignation: the realisation that when it all ends, we won't be braving explosions, battling flames or shouting down suits at the bloody Pentagon; we'll be dealing with the relatives. It won't be heroic. It'll be pathetic. And in that, as von Trier illustrates here, really rather beautiful too.
4
This Korean revenge thriller seemed to slip under the radar a little, which is unfortunate because it's kind of brilliant. Byung-hun Lee plays the agent out to avenge his fiancee's murder; Min-sik Choi is the deliciously sadistic killer. It all sounds rather generic (for Korea) but what plays out is a thing of poetry - grim, but prettily and therefore palatably so. As much as I love the unabashedly badass way America does revenge in movies (see #1 and #2), there's something dignified, even honourable about it in Asian cinema and I Saw the Devil is no exception. The film glides by with near-Shakespearean elegance*, then it ends, and in the 2.5 hours between you witness something that is - if you'll excuse the pun - devilishly good.
* admittedly we're talking Titus Andronicus-Shakespearean "elegance", ie: pseudo-intellectual torture porn. But, y'know, amazing.
3
That this only comes in at third place says a lot for my Top 2. Just as its central couple cling to their relationship, Blue Valentine clung to my top spot for much of 2011. Franky I've never seen anything like it. Director Derek Cianfrance spent twelve years on the film and it shows. Honesty - real, documentary-like honesty - is like golddust in the movies, but Cianfrance, Michelle Williams and the perennially brilliant Ryan Gosling absolutely nail it. With the sole exception of Annie Hall (and perhaps Eternal Sunshine), I can't think of another film that captures the minutiae of relationships so well and so candidly. Blue Valentine is the kind of film that actually tells you things about yourself; some of them good, some of them insufferable, but what's great about it is that for all the years of hard graft and re-drafts, it doesn't even feel like it.
2
It's rare that a film will live up to the promise of a good trailer. It's just as rare that a guy as smart as David Fincher is given free rein to make a multi-million dollar blockbuster without compromising on something. But every now and again it happens, and as the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo proves, when it does it's absolutely jaw-dropping.
For all the talk of violence - and there's quite a bit - it's actually the humanity of the story that penetrates. The relationship between Rooney Mara's (literal) cyber punk and Daniel Craig's grizzled journo is unexpectedly tender, and gives the film some much-needed heart. One thing I'm a sucker for is a bittersweet ending, and GWTDT delivers one where the punch is compounded by the incongruous sweetness of what went before.
For all the talk of violence - and there's quite a bit - it's actually the humanity of the story that penetrates. The relationship between Rooney Mara's (literal) cyber punk and Daniel Craig's grizzled journo is unexpectedly tender, and gives the film some much-needed heart. One thing I'm a sucker for is a bittersweet ending, and GWTDT delivers one where the punch is compounded by the incongruous sweetness of what went before.
As the eponymous Girl, Mara is excellent, but the world and its dog knows that. Craig though, seems to have been overlooked by almost everybody. Blomkvist isn't a particularly showy role, but Craig imbues him with such warmth and turns a potentially underwritten character into one you really root for. It's great. It's all great, and accordingly the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is pretty much the film of the year.
Well. Sort of.
Well. Sort of.
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Surprise! I actually think this film has popped up on every End of-Year list in existence. If they're harsh it resides somewhere in the bottom five; if they're kind (and therefore right) it's number 1, because it is, y'know, the best. I wrote about it here but it's worth all reiterating because it's so good. There's nothing else like it but everything is like it. It wears its influences on its silver satin sleeve, and yet it's influential. It's a derivative true original. It's John Hughes and Chan-wook Park. It's synthpop, smashed thighs, elevator kisses, elevator assasinations, silent longing and amateur dental surgery all wrapped up in a hot pink bundle. It's a mood flick with a car chase. It's absolutely ridiculous and absolutely sublime. It's Drive, it's ace and it's my film of the year.
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