The shortlist for the Mercury Music prize was announced today, with both bands from the Wirral and UCL in with a shout
The massively talented jazz boys Portico Quartet are thoroughly deserving nominees. If you've never heard of them, let this be your excuse to be bewitched by their Knee Deep in the North Sea album. It's jazz, but not as you know it.
They're a UCL group who were knocking around Russel Sq at the same time as me. I'd seen them play before, but had never had a proper chat with them until I interviewed them for The Journal in Newcastle when they played a gig at the Sage. It's funny how things work out.
Here's my interview: http://tinyurl.com/5pzuxs
Not to be outdone Wirral's own Miles Kane is in the running as one half of the shortlisted duo The Last Shadow Puppets. Miles who hails from Hoylake, teams up with Alex Turner of The Arctic Monkeys on nominated album The Age of The Understatement but still also plays with homegrown indie kids The Rascals.
I know a few guys who are in with The Rascals, so the first thing on my to do list tomorrow is to ask nicely for an interview with Miles for The News. Watch this space.
And the odds? Portico are the rank outsiders at 16/1 while The Last Shadow Puppets are a safer bet at 7/1.
I'd love to see one of them pull it off.
The Shortlist
Adele - 19
British Sea Power - Do You Like Rock Music?
Burial - Untrue
Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid
Estelle - Shine
Laura Marling - Alas I Cannot Swim
Neon Neon - Stainless Style
Portico Quartet - Knee-Deep In the North Sea
Rachel Unthank & The Winterset - The Bairns
Radiohead - In Rainbows
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss - Raising Sand
The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age of The Understatement
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Monday, 21 July 2008
Joking aside
Right, glass of red at hand it's time for a serious blog post. I'll try to keep it brief.
You see, it's this business of "Can we laugh at Obama?" that's getting to me.
Ever since the cover of The New Yorker crashed and burned the media has been navel gazing, asking itself if it can poke fun at the presidential candidate.
We're talking serious column inches dedicated to this non-issue. Presumably WASP journos are keeping themselves awake at night fretting about whether they've become institutionally racist without even noticing. Please stand up: Joel Stein, LA Times, Jeff Zeleny, New York Times, I won't even go on.
Obviously, they haven't. But they have noticed that something is happening.
The public don't want to laugh - whether the jokes are funny or not.
Facing more crises than the human brain can easily comprehend (just for starters: Iraq, Iran, credit crunch, rising food costs, climate change, Afghanistan) maybe people are prepared to take politics seriously again.
Maybe it's because we seriously need some solutions, and seriously need to lose the apathy. Who else is betting we see a record turn-out at both the next US and UK elections?
Satire just doesn't sit right with the current public mood - there's a real desire to believe in something. For once we're not hoping for another juicy Oval Office scandal, we're looking for someone to give us hope.
Now that we're in a corner we've decided we need the next J F Kennedy and Martin Luther King rolled into one. The fact that we're happily manufacturing a Democratic Presidential candidate who embodies the two biggest talismanic icons of 20th century America suggests it might be time to kill the wise cracks.
Can Obama deliver? Maybe. I'd like to think so, but to this issue that's irrelevant.
What's boring, and what made me write this in the first place, is that the minute a joke about a black guy bombs it's because he's black. No, New Yorker - it's not, it's because you can't let go of the cynicism and key into the mood of your readers.
You see, it's this business of "Can we laugh at Obama?" that's getting to me.
Ever since the cover of The New Yorker crashed and burned the media has been navel gazing, asking itself if it can poke fun at the presidential candidate.
We're talking serious column inches dedicated to this non-issue. Presumably WASP journos are keeping themselves awake at night fretting about whether they've become institutionally racist without even noticing. Please stand up: Joel Stein, LA Times, Jeff Zeleny, New York Times, I won't even go on.
Obviously, they haven't. But they have noticed that something is happening.
The public don't want to laugh - whether the jokes are funny or not.
Facing more crises than the human brain can easily comprehend (just for starters: Iraq, Iran, credit crunch, rising food costs, climate change, Afghanistan) maybe people are prepared to take politics seriously again.
Maybe it's because we seriously need some solutions, and seriously need to lose the apathy. Who else is betting we see a record turn-out at both the next US and UK elections?
Satire just doesn't sit right with the current public mood - there's a real desire to believe in something. For once we're not hoping for another juicy Oval Office scandal, we're looking for someone to give us hope.
Now that we're in a corner we've decided we need the next J F Kennedy and Martin Luther King rolled into one. The fact that we're happily manufacturing a Democratic Presidential candidate who embodies the two biggest talismanic icons of 20th century America suggests it might be time to kill the wise cracks.
Can Obama deliver? Maybe. I'd like to think so, but to this issue that's irrelevant.
What's boring, and what made me write this in the first place, is that the minute a joke about a black guy bombs it's because he's black. No, New Yorker - it's not, it's because you can't let go of the cynicism and key into the mood of your readers.
Sunday, 20 July 2008
Open season for seniors
As I write this Greg Norman is at the top of The Open leader board. He's also the hot topic in the gossip columns, accompanied by his new wife Chris Evert in Southport. No-one cares about the footballers, wags and Hollyoaks c-listers popping up in the seaside town - this is a Norman conquest for our times.
What's weird about that? Norman's a hugely talented golfer and, to quote The Daily Mail, "Chris Evert shows off her HUGE wedding ring" - so it's the usual combination of celebrity sportsman, blonde partner and bling. Except they're both 53.
Hold that thought a moment, and let me draw your attention to Helen Mirren. If you haven't seen that bikini pic yet and you're a female under the age of 60, prepare to be shamed: http://tinyurl.com/5fa695
She looks incredible, natural, healthy and happy - take note Posh.
I don't know what's more refreshing about this sexy senior phenomenon - the fact that their achievements are down to actual talent, rather than having chosen the right plastic surgeon, or that our admiration is genuine. I mean compare Mirren to Madonna - who would you rather look like?
Yes, you have to admit Madonna's body defies gravity, she can certainly still contort into any yoga position you care to name, and she's worked damn hard for it. Good on her. And that's how we patronisingly respond to showbiz oldies who are still out there: "Good on her, she looks great for her age."
This week it's different though, this isn't about congratulating OAPs for not being dead yet - this about actual, bona fide envy. Mirren and Norman aren't doing great for their age - they're just doing great full stop.
I looked at that Mirren pic and felt the same way I do when I see Scarlett Johansson on the red carpet or Kelly Brook frollicking about in her bikini.
As for Norman - he's pulling out all the shots in Southport and even if he doesn't win it, he'll have put on a damn good show at "brutal Birkdale" in what has been one of the windiest Open events in history.
I'm impressed.
What's weird about that? Norman's a hugely talented golfer and, to quote The Daily Mail, "Chris Evert shows off her HUGE wedding ring" - so it's the usual combination of celebrity sportsman, blonde partner and bling. Except they're both 53.
Hold that thought a moment, and let me draw your attention to Helen Mirren. If you haven't seen that bikini pic yet and you're a female under the age of 60, prepare to be shamed: http://tinyurl.com/5fa695
She looks incredible, natural, healthy and happy - take note Posh.
I don't know what's more refreshing about this sexy senior phenomenon - the fact that their achievements are down to actual talent, rather than having chosen the right plastic surgeon, or that our admiration is genuine. I mean compare Mirren to Madonna - who would you rather look like?
Yes, you have to admit Madonna's body defies gravity, she can certainly still contort into any yoga position you care to name, and she's worked damn hard for it. Good on her. And that's how we patronisingly respond to showbiz oldies who are still out there: "Good on her, she looks great for her age."
This week it's different though, this isn't about congratulating OAPs for not being dead yet - this about actual, bona fide envy. Mirren and Norman aren't doing great for their age - they're just doing great full stop.
I looked at that Mirren pic and felt the same way I do when I see Scarlett Johansson on the red carpet or Kelly Brook frollicking about in her bikini.
As for Norman - he's pulling out all the shots in Southport and even if he doesn't win it, he'll have put on a damn good show at "brutal Birkdale" in what has been one of the windiest Open events in history.
I'm impressed.
DIY dentistry
What do you do when half of your tooth falls out on a Thursday night and you aren't registered to a dentist?
That's the question I was faced with this week. Although an iceberg sized chunk of molar had freed itself from its normal resting place I could only feel a dull ache.
Stupidly, I told the emergency dental people this over the phone, and apparently a dull ache does not an emergency make. If you find yourself in this situation my advice is LIE.
Cry, gnash and beg your way to an appointment by telling them that you've taken so many ibuprofen for breakfast you can see pixies playing hopscotch under the table.
I learnt too late that this is the way to be seen quick-sharp. So facing the weekend, with the pain now getting worse they told me to sort myself out - and I do love this - by buying my own temporary filling kit from Boots.
That's right, for £5 you too can stick a lump of bluetack-type dental product in your mouth and hope for the best.
I have administered my own treatment - but I'd have rather seen a professional. Do I get a refund on my National Insurance?
That's the question I was faced with this week. Although an iceberg sized chunk of molar had freed itself from its normal resting place I could only feel a dull ache.
Stupidly, I told the emergency dental people this over the phone, and apparently a dull ache does not an emergency make. If you find yourself in this situation my advice is LIE.
Cry, gnash and beg your way to an appointment by telling them that you've taken so many ibuprofen for breakfast you can see pixies playing hopscotch under the table.
I learnt too late that this is the way to be seen quick-sharp. So facing the weekend, with the pain now getting worse they told me to sort myself out - and I do love this - by buying my own temporary filling kit from Boots.
That's right, for £5 you too can stick a lump of bluetack-type dental product in your mouth and hope for the best.
I have administered my own treatment - but I'd have rather seen a professional. Do I get a refund on my National Insurance?
Saturday, 12 July 2008
Dubai: Burkahs, big bucks and bikinis
Quelle surprise! Dubai has been exposed by The Sun as a hot bed of drunken debauchery. News of embarrassing ex-pat Michelle Palmer exposing herself on Jumeirah beach has prompted the nation's favourite tabloid to investigate. About time too. According to their report it's all burkahs and bonking on the beach over there - and in a Muslim country! The paper reports that Westerners flock to the UAE for their fix of sun, sea and sex.
Cold, hard, cash more like. Everyone's there for the tax-free earning potential. The place is awash with homesick 20 and 30 somethings who have sold their souls in return for getting rid of their student debt or escaping the credit crunch. It's no wonder Michelle and pals are drinking themselves into oblivion - there's nothing else to do. Remember, this is a place where people pay to jog with a fitness instructor around the air-conditioned interior of the world's largest shopping mall because the outside temperature - the desert - would finish them off in minutes.
I was seconded to Dubai for two months last year. I couldn't get out of there quick enough; suffice it to say the Emirate state challenges Australia for the title "The Land that Culture Forgot."
And while the media has been quick to refer to Dubai as the Las Vegas of the Middle East or the next Ibiza it actually has much more in common with Switzerland. Stay with me on this one.
For a start you leave your religion and ethics at the arrivals gate.
Yes, it's a Muslim state - but only just. It's certainly not Saudi Arabia, and in the time I was there I never saw, or even heard, of a woman being asked to cover herself up.
The same principal applies with alcohol. Dubai is definitely not a dry state, no matter what the rules might say. Booze can be served in hotels - not just to guests -which means there are essentially pubs and clubs on every corner.
As for ethics, well if you think that slave labour is an acceptable price to pay for the 24 hour building sites that support the property boom, then fine. But I regret ever having had anything to do with it.
So why are the rules so lax? Well, this is where the Switzerland comparison starts to make sense.
As long as the ex-pats aren't copulating on the beach a la Palmer then the authorities are happy to turn a blind eye to behaviour that would land you in trouble in other Muslim countries - in much the same way that the Swiss don't ask where your billions came from when you open a bank account.
I've also worked in Switzerland, and upon arrival it struck me that Dubai has that same international appeal. It's called money.
According to the FCO the UAE population breaks down as follows: Arab (55%), South Asian (28%), Iranian (8%), other expatriates (9%).
These are 2007 stats, and I'd be astonished if the expat figure doesn't rise when the figures are updated for '08. As for the 55% Arabic population, they're either the eye-wateringly rich who live in Knightsbridge for most of the year, or they're residents of the most traditional of the UAE states, Sharjah.
It doesn't matter where you are in the food chain, the unspoken understanding is that everyone's in Dubai to work. Minimum wage Malaysian waitresses, and well paid Australian engineers alike come to Dubai to get rich quick, and then get out.
Running out of oil, Dubai has taken drastic steps to reinvent itself as the power house of the Middle East. An international hub which welcomes Westerners, and anyone else that wants to do business, Dubai has fast been positioning itself as the region's economic capital with the Dubai International Financial Exchange (DIFX) doing a tidy trade thanks to the runaway success of the Sukuk.
In real layman's terms the Sukuk is a form of Islamic bond which can be traded within Islamic rules - basically it gets around the issue of debt and interest - but has crucially helped to open up the DIFX to international investors. The details of Sukuk trading aren't important here, my point is that it illustrates the extent to which Dubai is prepared to marry east with west to make money.
During my time in Dubai I was shocked by the lack of news reporting on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the complete silence about the Iranian hostage crisis. Dubai doesn't do bad news, and you certainly won't see anything in print that suggests that the Middle East could be an unstable kind of place, because that could scare off those all important investors.
And so the same logic applies to relaxing the rules for foreigners. While I was there I felt that as a Westerner I would be indulged up to a certain point because Dubai doesn't want to go and get itself labelled as 50 lashes kind of state.
Something tells me Michelle won't be spending too long in the clink.
Cold, hard, cash more like. Everyone's there for the tax-free earning potential. The place is awash with homesick 20 and 30 somethings who have sold their souls in return for getting rid of their student debt or escaping the credit crunch. It's no wonder Michelle and pals are drinking themselves into oblivion - there's nothing else to do. Remember, this is a place where people pay to jog with a fitness instructor around the air-conditioned interior of the world's largest shopping mall because the outside temperature - the desert - would finish them off in minutes.
I was seconded to Dubai for two months last year. I couldn't get out of there quick enough; suffice it to say the Emirate state challenges Australia for the title "The Land that Culture Forgot."
And while the media has been quick to refer to Dubai as the Las Vegas of the Middle East or the next Ibiza it actually has much more in common with Switzerland. Stay with me on this one.
For a start you leave your religion and ethics at the arrivals gate.
Yes, it's a Muslim state - but only just. It's certainly not Saudi Arabia, and in the time I was there I never saw, or even heard, of a woman being asked to cover herself up.
The same principal applies with alcohol. Dubai is definitely not a dry state, no matter what the rules might say. Booze can be served in hotels - not just to guests -which means there are essentially pubs and clubs on every corner.
As for ethics, well if you think that slave labour is an acceptable price to pay for the 24 hour building sites that support the property boom, then fine. But I regret ever having had anything to do with it.
So why are the rules so lax? Well, this is where the Switzerland comparison starts to make sense.
As long as the ex-pats aren't copulating on the beach a la Palmer then the authorities are happy to turn a blind eye to behaviour that would land you in trouble in other Muslim countries - in much the same way that the Swiss don't ask where your billions came from when you open a bank account.
I've also worked in Switzerland, and upon arrival it struck me that Dubai has that same international appeal. It's called money.
According to the FCO the UAE population breaks down as follows: Arab (55%), South Asian (28%), Iranian (8%), other expatriates (9%).
These are 2007 stats, and I'd be astonished if the expat figure doesn't rise when the figures are updated for '08. As for the 55% Arabic population, they're either the eye-wateringly rich who live in Knightsbridge for most of the year, or they're residents of the most traditional of the UAE states, Sharjah.
It doesn't matter where you are in the food chain, the unspoken understanding is that everyone's in Dubai to work. Minimum wage Malaysian waitresses, and well paid Australian engineers alike come to Dubai to get rich quick, and then get out.
Running out of oil, Dubai has taken drastic steps to reinvent itself as the power house of the Middle East. An international hub which welcomes Westerners, and anyone else that wants to do business, Dubai has fast been positioning itself as the region's economic capital with the Dubai International Financial Exchange (DIFX) doing a tidy trade thanks to the runaway success of the Sukuk.
In real layman's terms the Sukuk is a form of Islamic bond which can be traded within Islamic rules - basically it gets around the issue of debt and interest - but has crucially helped to open up the DIFX to international investors. The details of Sukuk trading aren't important here, my point is that it illustrates the extent to which Dubai is prepared to marry east with west to make money.
During my time in Dubai I was shocked by the lack of news reporting on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the complete silence about the Iranian hostage crisis. Dubai doesn't do bad news, and you certainly won't see anything in print that suggests that the Middle East could be an unstable kind of place, because that could scare off those all important investors.
And so the same logic applies to relaxing the rules for foreigners. While I was there I felt that as a Westerner I would be indulged up to a certain point because Dubai doesn't want to go and get itself labelled as 50 lashes kind of state.
Something tells me Michelle won't be spending too long in the clink.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Elvis and I
I met Elvis Costello today, and I was charmed. The man now has one more fan in the world.
We put a note to the residents of the Wirral on the website asking them to send in the questions they wanted putting to him - and they did! Simple things please me.
Anyway, Elvis loved the geek chic of my (ok, their) questions, such as: "Do you plan to release the Wendy James demos?"
I will now write nice things about him because he had twinkly eyes and was an absolute gent.
I did have to resist the very unprofessional urge to ask if I could try on his trademark specs.
We put a note to the residents of the Wirral on the website asking them to send in the questions they wanted putting to him - and they did! Simple things please me.
Anyway, Elvis loved the geek chic of my (ok, their) questions, such as: "Do you plan to release the Wendy James demos?"
I will now write nice things about him because he had twinkly eyes and was an absolute gent.
I did have to resist the very unprofessional urge to ask if I could try on his trademark specs.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Stuck in the world wide web
August bank Holiday anxiety has set in. I'm trying to a) decide where to go and b) book it. Simple. Actually it's not.
I know that in the grand scheme of things it's only three days, it doesn't matter if it's not perfect and wherever we end up it will all work out fine in the end. But I can't help it - I'm convinced that whatever we decide to do we'll have missed out on something better.
I blame the internet. I'm not like this with other decisions, but try to book a holiday online and you suddenly get the world and his wife sticking their oar into what should be a perfectly straightforward decision. Every time I think I've cracked it trip advisor puts me off, or kayak seduces me with another option.
We want somewhere sunny, but not too hot, a short hop away on a cheap flight. So that's us off to the South of France then. Unless we go for Cinque Terre in Italy, or Sicily, or Corsica, or what about Montenegro...
I know that in the grand scheme of things it's only three days, it doesn't matter if it's not perfect and wherever we end up it will all work out fine in the end. But I can't help it - I'm convinced that whatever we decide to do we'll have missed out on something better.
I blame the internet. I'm not like this with other decisions, but try to book a holiday online and you suddenly get the world and his wife sticking their oar into what should be a perfectly straightforward decision. Every time I think I've cracked it trip advisor puts me off, or kayak seduces me with another option.
We want somewhere sunny, but not too hot, a short hop away on a cheap flight. So that's us off to the South of France then. Unless we go for Cinque Terre in Italy, or Sicily, or Corsica, or what about Montenegro...
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