Shocked and saddened to hear that John Peel has died. In my late teens and early twenties I religiously listened to (and taped) his BBC Radio One shows. Half the music you never wanted to hear again, the other half became part of your life. That was part of the reason why so many people loved him (read some of the many tributes at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/talking_point/3956035.stm)
: He was his own man, playing what interested him, not what a computer compiled playlist thought people wanted to hear. Who else would play a 30 second John Zorn squall followed by Gregory Isaacs, an obscure, but brilliant, 1950s blues recording, the hottest new record in the clubs of Kinshasa, a Japanese techno 12" and the latest single from Nirvana? As well as broadening the minds of generations of alternative music fans, Peelie also championed so many great bands, giving them their first national airplay. The list of performers who recorded sessions for his 'wingding' is incredible (http://www.vheissu.freeserve.co.uk/). He will be sorely missed.
Different Day's 'mission statement' (ha!) promised that it would include playlists from tapes of old Peel shows; the first of these will be posted in the next couple of weeks.
Last Friday I saw Gerhard Schroeder deliver a speech to mark the opening of a new pulp mill in eastern Germany. As a practioner of a rather more sedate form of journalism, it was fascinating to be face to face with a full-on media frenzy, as myself and the other representatives of the trade press were joined by the entire German news media circus for the afternoon. Seeing first-hand the swarm of attention that followed the German Chancellor from the moment he arrived to the moment a fleet of bulletproof limos raced off to take him to his next engagement was a real eye-opener. To be the man at the eye of such a storm must be strange indeed. it's an interesting paradox that the power granted to Schroeder and other world leaders through their offices comes at the cost of a loss of personal autonomy: A high-level politician's day has to be meticulously planned, mostly by others; racing from one meeting to the next, it must often feel like events are controlling you, rather than the other way round. Of course, for most people, the loss of a degree of autonomy would be a small price to pay in exchange for access to the power vested in the office of Chancellor, Prime Minister, President, or whatever. But, without the personal authority to back it up, it's a kind of hollow power.
Perhaps this explains George W. Bush's almost mystical reverence for his office, as documented in Bob Woodward's Plan of Attack. What authority would Bush have if he were not President?
Rex Lawson: Music and machines
@ Djanogly Recital Hall, Nottingham - 7/6/1998:
In the dark days before decks there was nothing. Well, not quite, there was the gramophone, and before that there was the pianola. Reputedly invented by Edwin S. Votey, the pianola was an in-demand instrument from its emergence in the 1890s to the depression of the 1930s. A mechanical device, designed to be attached to the front of a conventional piano like its better-known offshoot, the player-piano, the pianola was fitted with rolls of pre-recorded music (scored on paper). However, unlike the player-piano, which simply automatically replayed what was recorded (like a record/CD player or sequencer), the pianola actually had to be played (using foot pedals and hand levers to control the tempo and dynamics of the music), making it the 19th/early 20th century equivalent of the mixing desk.
In this recital, Rex Lawson (and his fabulous beard) gave a brilliant demonstration of the instrument's capabilities with his renditions of works by 20th century composers like Ravel and Stravinsky, whilst also providing an entertaining account of the history of the pianola and its music. With able assistance on one piece from Sylvia Clarke and Mervyn Cooke, Rex Lawson kept me engrossed for the full 90 minutes of a concert that challenged preconceptions of classical music as dry'n'dusty. (Fittingly, it ended with most of the audience on stage getting a close-up view of Lawson's technique and the operation of the instrument - watching the movement of the piano roll was like looking at a screensaver!) An insight into the future music of the past, this recital brought back to life an important precursor of the music technology which makes today's sounds possible.
You can find out more about the pianola from The Pianola Institute: www.pianola.org.
It's been widely observed that the Internet gives a platform to every interest group, not matter how obscure or bizarre: pick a subject, any subject, and there's probably a website about it, if not dozens. This truth was brought home to me today when, following a stray thought, I entered the search term 'Manhole covers' into Google. I was hoping to find a site celebrating this humble piece of street furniture and, sure enough, among the first 10 of the 64,700 entries (!) were such delights as Dan Heller's photos of manhole covers of the world (http://www.danheller.com/manholes.html); Drainspotting.com ("Drainspotting is all about paying attention to your surroundings. Manhole covers, drains, grates, trench covers--someone had to design all of these. Functional and ornamental, there's a lot of interesting stuff happening down by your feet."); and manhole covers of Tokyo (http://www.eps.vic.edu.au/japan/cover.htm). I also learnt about Art Underfoot, a competition to design new manhole covers held by the city of Vancouver earlier this year. Most interesting of all was an article on 'Manhole covers of London' posted on online magazine, Ruavista. With a strapline of 'Signs of the City', Ruavista is a semiotician's dream. Founder Marc Voelgel outlines the magazine's philosophy thus: "Ruavista seeks to organize the streets [sic] wealth and to share it with the greatest number of people worldwide and strives to promote a new form of urban tourism based upon visiting ordinary streets and paying attention to details rather than famous spots and beautiful architecture." In practice, this means such delights as articles on Brazilian motel signs and Parisian wall advertisements, real audio files recorded in streets around the world and a photo forum open to anyone submitting photos "provided they address the theme of the street." Read more at: http://www.ruavista.com.
Going through those old Pulse reviews reminded me of a recent conversation with Euro Correspondent chief Stephen Gardner. He was telling me how he came across a website dedicated to an ultra obscure British 80s indie outfit, The Clockwork Earwig Project. The site included extracts from a tape recording of a gig in Cheltenham in 1986 that Stephen attended. That got me thinking how many other unknown, unsigned and essentially unsuccessful bands of the past are having their exploits rediscovered through the Net? And how many D90s of half-baked school bands, bedroom malcontents and general arsing about on instruments are lurking still in cupboards and attics around the world, waiting for their moment in the sun? "Anyone can do it," said the punks. And we did. Of course, before the advent of the www, only one and half men and a horse's head (to borrow a Dutch expresion) could hear what most of us were doing. Now, anyone with the inclination can convert the sole surviving tape of a gig played at a friend's 18th birthday party in Prestatyn in 1989 to a CD and MP3 and shove it out there for all to download.
Maybe the next wave is a wave of the past. As the mainstream remains dominated by TV talent shows, maybe it is time for a scene that excavates music never intended for mass consumption, made by people who never had a hope in Hell of getting a record contract (who never even thought it was possible). They just wanted to make some music and put it down on tape, with whatever primitive means were at their disposal. Will anyone be listening this time?
As promised, here is the first of the reviews I wrote for The Nottingham Pulse listings magazine between 1997 and 1999. I thought I'd start at the beginning, so this is my very first contribution to the publication, a review of a 'Battle of the Bands' competition first published in November 1997.
Smirnoff Battle of the Bands (semi-final), Sam Fay's, Sunday Oct. 12, 1997
Tonight's three semi-finalists in this competition for unsigned bands each made it through one of ten heats designed to sort the wheat from the chaff. Well if this is the wheat then it looks like there has been some sort of crop failure! It's not that the bands were bad, it's just that they weren't that good either.
First on were Wave, a four-piece pitched somewhere between Paul Weller and Radiohead, with a hint of the Stooges and The Beatles thrown in. Featuring a useful vocalist and with a couple of catchy tunes, Wave were alright, but nothing more. Simply, they were too mired in the cliches of their chosen genre to really engage.
The second band were Bombscare, whose punky thrash brought to mind Hole, Nirvana, L7 and the like. While showing more willingness to experiment than Wave (notably with their take on funk, 'Divided'), ultimately Bombscare were even less interesting. The problem was that their music is all about dramatising alienation (hence titles like 'Blackest cloud') but to do this well (paradoxically) requires good communication and having the ability to make the audience feel their pain. Failure to connect (as Bombscare showed) reduces social critique to a bedroom sulk.
The final semi-finalists were Elfin (from Sheffield) who had the best gear and the best sound. However, as they demonstrated with their opening couple of numbers, they also had too much regard for the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Then the effects boxes came out and the music became more adventurous, although not always better. 'Sider', for instance, came over as an ill-judged meeting between Pink Floyd and Extreme. To be fair though, the last couple of tracks, 'A little pilgrim' and 'Mystery Machine' (with its 'Scooby Doo' scat section) were probably the most accomplished efforts of the evening, if nothing to really set the pulses racing. Hence Elfin's victory was not unexpected, even if, by and large, this semi-final was very much a tale of the expected. Let's hope for more surprises in weeks to come.
Anyone venturing into one of Brussels' metro stations recently will notice something different: gone is the Muzak that used to be piped into the fetid ether, in its place English language pop oldies (sample selection: Duran Duran's 'Ordinary Day', followed by Ziggy Marley and Deniece 'Let's hear it for the boy" Williams). Personally I find the new regime intrusive and much preferred the instantly forgettable background murmur of the previous era: much better for contemplation.
I assume the change is an attempt to make the pretty squalid Brussels underground less unpleasant for passengers. However, it is not our ears that are offended but our eyes and, in particular, our nostrils: the metro stinks. Some piped perfume wouldn't go amiss. Perhaps it isn't so far down the line: Procter & Gamble has recently developed Scentstories (www.scentstories.com), a system for 'playing' scents in the same way you would a CD. I wonder what Brian Eno makes of it all?
I stumbled across a fantastic website yesterday, following a lead picked up while browsing nationmaster.com. The site in question is an online exhibition about Birobidzhan, the Jewish Autonomous Oblast created by Stalin in 1934. This excellent resource, maintained by Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania, not only sheds light on a little known, but fascinating experiment in social engineering (Birobidzhan was conceived as an alternative location to Palestine for the Jewish homeland), it is also beautifully designed. Check it out at: http://birobidzhan.swarthmore.edu/
Yes, it is on its side; I think it looks better that way. This is actually next door to the Cardozo and is my favourite building in Miami Beach. I love the symmetry.
All these pictures were taken on a walking tour organised by the Miami Design Preservation League. To learn more about its work wend your way (can you wend on the web?) to: www.mdpl.org
Here are several photos of the Art Deco district in Miami Beach that I took a couple of weeks ago. All the buildings pictured are on Ocean Drive. First up it's the Waldorf Towers, aka 'The lighthouse building'.
Welcome to 'Different Day', a new weblog that aims to avoid spreading more of the 'same shit'. My name's Justin Toland and I'll be your host on this three-stage journey through the ages.
Stage one: Thoughts on culture past
Including a collection of articles written for Nottingham-based listings mag, The Pulse (1997-1999); selected playlists for tapes compiled from BBC alternative radio shows, 1989-1997 (John Peel, Out on Blue Six, Mixing It, Pete Tong, Andy Kershaw); unpublished texts from London at the turn of the Millennium; favourite quotations; and Be Here Now: Pop music and the heritage industry, the unexpurgated Master's thesis!
