Björk, the Icelandic singer’s Biophilia project incorporates handmade instruments, iPad apps, David Attenborough’s nature films and an album too – and she’s showcasing it all at Manchester international festival.“There will be an album in September, with an app to go with each of the 10 songs“.Extraordinary.This article titled “Björk: ‘Manchester is the prototype’” was written by Alex Needham, for The Guardian on Monday 4th July 2011 19.00 UTCOriginally formulated by scientist Edward O Wilson, the biophilia hypothesis suggests that human beings have an innate affinity with the natural world – plants, animals or even the weather. Yet it’s not biophilia but good old-fashioned fandom that has drawn a small band of Björk obsessives to queue outside Manchester’s Campfield Market Hall since 10am this morning. Not that there’s anything old-fashioned about the woman they are here to see. Biophilia is the Icelandic singer’s new project – the word means “love of living things” – and promises to push the envelope so far you’ll need the Hubble telescope to see it.A collection of journalists have already had a preview at a press conference in the Museum of Science and Industry over the road. Björk is absent, preparing for tonight’s live show, her first in the UK for over three years, which will open the Manchester international festival. Instead, artist and app developer Scott Snibbe, musicologist Nikki Dibben and project co-ordinator James Merry talk through Biophilia’s many layers. There will be an album in September, with an app to go with each of the 10 songs. There will be an education project, designed to teach children about nature, music and technology – some local kids will embark on it next week. There will be a documentary. And then there will be tonight’s show, performed in the round to a 2,000-strong crowd including journalists representing publications from New Scientist to the New York Times, as well as the diehard fans waiting outside. One, 20-year-old Nick from London, is a classical violinist who has loved Björk since the age of 14. “I wasn’t really into pop at all until I heard Medúlla,” he says, citing her most challenging album. “It was like a gateway drug from me liking difficult 20th-century western art music to liking pop.”It’s a journey in the opposite direction from the one most music fans make, and one which speaks volumes about the complexity of Björk’s work. “More classical musicians respect Björk than any other pop star,” he adds.At the museum, Snibbe is demonstrating the apps. The app that goes with the first single, Crystalline, includes a game in which you collect crystals in a tunnel, through which process you alter and customise the music. The app also includes an abstract version of the musical score; and an essay by Dibben that explains, in this case, how the structures of crystals relate to the musical structure of the song. The app for another song, Cosmogony, presents a 3D cosmos you can navigate. Each app has been created by a different – often rival – developer. “To me, it feels like the birth of opera or the birth of cinema,” says Snibbe.Yet Björk didn’t have such lofty aspirations in creating the project. “My main aim is to not get too bored myself,” she says, via email (she rests her voice between shows). “I feel that if I’m curious and excited there is a bigger chance the listener might be. At the end of the day, it’s more about the feeling of an adventure rather than the details of the adventure itself. So in short: whatever turns you on.”That said, the change from a passive to an active listening experience is a radical one. “The apps are mostly made for headphones and a private experience,” says Björk. “What you see live is only us playing our version. You can play a totally different versions at home.” If you’ve no desire to do that, Merry is at pains to point out that Biophilia will still exist as a CD or download – and indeed only those with access to an iPad or iPhone can experience the apps. So far, the project has been too expensive to adapt to other handheld devices.At the show venue, the journalists are being given a tour of the new instruments that have been specially built for the project. One contraption looks like a giant silver mangle decorated with two massive ear trumpets, but is called a sharpsichord. There are two giant pendulums, which have strings plucked by a plectrum as they swing past. There’s a Tesla coil that descends in a cage from the ceiling; two prongs that emit purple flashes of lightning – and, with it, sound. There’s also a celeste, which has been gutted and fitted with the pipes of a gamelan. These fantastical devices are controlled by an iPad. Above the performance space is a circle of screens that show the apps for each new song; moving tectonic plates for Mutual Core; invading pink cells for Virus (“Like a virus needs a body, as soft tissue feeds on blood, I will find you, the urge is here,” go the lyrics).It must be one of the most complex pop shows ever, and according to Björk, it could have been more elaborate still. “Manchester is the prototype,” she says. “We had to leave many things out because of budget and time and stuff.” As it is, the whole project has taken three years and cost so much money she told Rolling Stone that “we’ll be lucky if we earn zero”.Yet, on purely artistic grounds, it’s hard to regard Biophilia as anything other than a success. As the lights go down, Björk’s childhood hero David Attenborough’s unmistakable voice, recorded just that day, fills the room to explain the songs. The show includes Björk’s favourite footage from BBC nature documentaries playing when she performs older songs. Hidden Place is illustrated by a beautiful but disturbing clip from Attenborough’s Life – of a seal’s corpse being devoured by psychedelically coloured worms and starfish. All 10 tracks from the new album are played. Such an onslaught of new material would try the patience of most audiences, but this one is rapt – no one even goes to the bar.Much of this is due to the sensory bombardment of music, images and costumes – not least Björk’s bright orange wig, which a comment on the Guardian’s review says makes her resemble a tamarin monkey. Her decision to ban cameras and other recording equipment from the venue has also played its part. “I feel since everyone has made such an effort to be there all together at the same place and time, we might as well go for it,” she says. “It can be hard to play music for people who are filming you for Twitter or whatever. It’s like going to a restaurant with someone who keeps texting their friends while you are speaking to them – hard to concentrate.”Then there’s Björk’s extraordinary voice, once compared by Bono to an icepick, and still imperishable at 45. “My voice has changed,” she says. “I thought it had gone a little deeper. On my last tour I got nodules [on the vocal cords] but managed to stretch it out with three years of vocal work, so I’m back to my old range now.” Björk “adores” a whole range of singers: “Chaka Khan, Beyoncé, Antony” – the latter being Antony Hegarty, a former collaborator who is here in the audience – though her “favourite singer alive today” is Azerbaijani devotional singer Alim Qasimov. She is accompanied by a 24-piece Icelandic choir she discovered on YouTube.After spending so long meticulously making Biophilia, performance feels liberating. Live shows and making an album are, says Björk, “extreme opposites. After noodling for ever on an album, gathering together the best moments, it’s refreshing and healthy to have to do it all in one whack. Then you sort of have to take real life into it and accept that you only have whatever you have that day – and that is enough.”Right now Björk is at the intersection of music, nature and technology, exploring how the three together might help build a more sustainable future. But is it still pop? “Yes, absolutely!” Björk claims. (Dibben, who wrote a book about Björk, says the singer is wary of having her music hived off into the rarified world of the academy.) “Or perhaps I would rather call it folk music – folk music of our time. I was never too much into Warhol and the whole pop thing – it felt a bit superficial. I prefer folk. People. Humans.”• Bjork plays Manchester international festival on 7, 10, 13 and 16 July. Biophilia is released in September<br /> <a href=”http://oas.guardian.co.uk/RealMedia/ads/click_nx.ads/guardianapis.com/music/oas.html/@Bottom” _mce_href=”http://oas.guardian.co.uk/RealMedia/ads/click_nx.ads/guardianapis.com/music/oas.html/@Bottom” rel=”nofollow”><br /> <img src=”http://oas.guardian.co.uk/RealMedia/ads/adstream_nx.ads/guardianapis.com/music/oas.html/@Bottom” _mce_src=”http://oas.guardian.co.uk/RealMedia/ads/adstream_nx.ads/guardianapis.com/music/oas.html/@Bottom” alt=”Ads by The Guardian”></img><br /> </a><br />guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.Thanks for subscribing to Andy Roberts blogBjörk: ‘Manchester is the prototype’Related posts:who is itExclusive Radiohead artwork plus The King of Limbs album streamCanterbury Cathederal
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Björk: ‘Manchester is the prototype’
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/07/05/bjork-manchester-is-the-prototype
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July 5 2011, 8:45am | Comments »
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Write me a hit by teatime: the world of professional songwriters
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/05/18/write-hit-songwriters
Songwriters work in the shadows, knocking out tunes to order – sometimes in a matter of hours. The songwriters who work for Jay-Z, Adele, Florence and more tell Alexis Petridis how they do it – and why times are getting tough
This article titled “Write me a hit by teatime: the world of professional songwriters” was written by Alexis Petridis, for The Guardian on Tuesday 17th May 2011 20.30 UTC Two years ago, Al “Shux” Shuckburgh found himself catapulted straight into songwriting’s premier league. The Londoner hadn’t expected much from the track he’d produced and co-written at a songwriting session with American tunesmiths Angela Hunte and Jane’t Sewell-Ulepic, about how homesick the pair were for Brooklyn. Later, Hunte sent it to Jay-Z‘s label, Roc Nation, but received a frosty response. Then EMI’s head of publishing overheard it at a barbecue, and decided it would be perfect for Jay-Z. The following night, the rapper wrote his own lyrics, recorded them, and then excitedly told Alicia Keys he had “a song that was going to be the anthem of New York” and asked her to perform on it. Back in London, Shuckburgh wasn’t even allowed to hear the track. “Well,” he says, “I could have heard it if I’d flown out to New York. But they were being so careful about anything leaking. At that point, I didn’t really have a track record, they didn’t really know who I was, so they didn’t know if they could trust me.” In fact, the first time he heard Empire State of Mind was when The Blueprint 3, the Jay-Z album it appeared on, finally leaked online. “It was very weird. I remember listening to it in my studio thinking, ‘Is this for real?’” Shuckburgh sounds more sanguine than might be expected for a man who was actively prevented from hearing a song he co-wrote. Perhaps the subsequent effect of Empire State of Mind on his bank balance and status has eased his pain. The track shifted 4m legal downloads and spent five weeks at No 1 in America, making it Jay-Z’s first US chart-topper. “It’s not like everything’s easy now,” says Shuckburgh. “But everything’s easier.“ Maybe that’s just how professional songwriters tend to be: whatever other attributes the job may require, a giant ego and a sense of preciousness aren’t really among them. This may be why songwriting tends to attract so many former performers, who have either tired of the limelight or watched it fade, and are now making some pragmatic decisions about their futures. Among the more improbable credits on recent hits were the three songs on Beyoncé‘s last album co-written by Ian Dench, formerly the guitarist of 1990s British indie dance band EMF (big hit: Unbelievable); then there’s She-Wolf by Shakira, partly the work of Sam Endicott, moonlighting from his day job as frontman of New York-based the Bravery. The washing machine technique “It’s the kind of job where the best thing you can be is invisible,” says Shuckburgh’s former mentor Eg White. “The very idea of a professional songwriter gets in the way of the singer.” White should know. He began his career as a performer – in boyband Brother Beyond and then in the critically acclaimed Eg and Alice, makers of glossy adult pop. He then went on to become one of Britain’s most successful songwriters for hire. He’s been responsible, or at least partly responsible, for Will Young‘s Leave Right Now, James Morrison‘s You Give Me Something, Adele‘s Chasing Pavements and Florence and the Machine‘s Hurricane Drunk. Tomorrow, as they have been doing for half a century, the Ivor Novello awards will turn a brief spotlight on to the shadowy world of professional songwriters, those people who ply their trade in studios and writing sessions, half-hidden from view, despite being the backbone of the music industry. Up for songwriting awards this year are the composers of such inescapable hits as Tinie Tempah‘s Pass Out, Katy B‘s Katy on a Mission and Plan B‘s She Said. As pop and R&B dominate the charts again (indie bands tend to write their own songs, or if they don’t, they keep quiet about it), the songwriter-for-hire is back in demand. At the top of the UK singles chart sits Bruno Mars, whose songwriting credits include Travie McCoy’s Billionaire and Cee-Lo Green‘s Fuck You. These songwriters do something that seems to go against every romantic notion we have about artistic creativity: they write songs to order (and apparently the current craving among UK labels is for songs that sound like Mumford and Sons, or Florence and the Machine). White, himself the winner of two Ivor Novello awards, is prevailed upon to meet an artist, form a bond, and come up with something chart-topping in the space of a day. “Sometimes less,” he says cheerfully. “Sometimes I get two hours. Someone comes over at three, we have a cup of tea, chew the cud for a bit, go: ‘All right, shall we write a song?’ And by six, they’ve gone home and we’ve fucking done it. Chasing Pavements, that took two or three hours.” Enormously affable, White seems to love every aspect of the process, even being forced to make friends with artists he’s never met before. “You immediately stop observing the niceties of gentle human contact between strangers,” he says, adding that he subscribes to “the washing machine theory” of songwriting. “I tend to play a few records and discuss them: what we need is the beat from that one, the fragility of that one. We try to keep it open, but we talk about the ways it might have precedents in different genres, smash them all together and get something different. If you just put one thing in the washing machine, you’re going to get one thing out; but if you put two or three colours in, who knows what colour’s going to emerge? Pop music is built out of pop music.” This is not an approach adopted by everyone. Jim Duguid, co-author of five songs on the debut album by Paolo Nutini, says: “Some record companies will give you a list of five songs and say, ‘We want something like this.’ But that’s like someone turning up with a BMW, giving you a load of parts and saying, ‘Can you build something like that for me?’ It’ll kind of look like it, but it won’t be right.” Duguid, who was drummer and songwriter with the old band Speedway – of which Nutini was a huge fan, doesn’t care much for knocking out a collaboration in a couple of hours, either. “I try to avoid that like the plague. A lot of industry people think, ‘Yeah, we’ll throw you together and you’ll write a hit in a day.’ But we did that in Speedway and it’s not the way the best music comes out. I like more of a social occasion, maybe three days of chatting and listening to music, then getting a couple of ideas together that reflect that.” The one thing professional songwriters seem to agree on is that times are getting tough. “Having had some success,” says Duguid, “it still shocks me how little money there is in it. I’m lucky in the sense that Paolo is one of the few artists who still sells physical CDs, and there’s money in that. With downloads – at one pence a download between three songwriters – you’ve got to be shifting a heck of a lot of records. The real money’s in getting your song on an advert or on television, but that’s getting harder, because everyone’s trying to do it.” A glorious bloody nose It’s a situation that is changing the nature of recording, says White: “Nobody wants album tracks any more, they just want singles. Before, you weren’t just chasing the money and the radio play – you could do something you really wanted to do, and had thus far been thwarted. Nobody wants the beautiful slow song that ends up as track 11 on an album but that everyone who buys the album will end up loving best of all. It’s down to iPod playing, cherry-picking, downloading. Fifteen years ago, you would hope that albums would outsell singles two to one. Now, I hear stories about Taio Cruz selling 13m downloads and 300,000 albums. And it’s not just him. Katy Perry: massive singles sales, small album sales. For publishing companies, that’s not a disaster – 13m singles is fantastic. But it’s a disaster for record companies and it’s a human disaster. The album is no longer the way people define themselves: there isn’t enough meat in there.” For a moment, White’s ebullience seems to desert him. Then he mentions Adele’s LP 21, which has just spent its 15th week at No 1 in the UK, and suddenly he perks up: he has a song on that. “Oh, that’s a glorious bloody nose to the music industry. Short-termist arses. Start fucking making music with your hearts! The record industry was saying no one was buying records any more, and then someone makes a very stoical, honest, beautiful record and people are buying it in shedloads. Because it’s nutritious.” Anyway, he says, album tracks or not, it’s a great job. “I’ve had Matt Cardle in today. We’ve both been making a fuck of a lot of noise, turning the guitars up really loud.” Matt Cardle off The X-Factor? Loud guitars? Noise? Really? “Yeah,” White chuckles. “Songwriting really is great fun.”
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May 18 2011, 4:56am | Comments »
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Bob Dylan posts web message about China shows
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/05/14/bob-dylan-posts-web-message-about-china-shows
Bob Dylan on his own websites claims the authorities did not censor his setlist for the recent China concerts.
This article titled “Bob Dylan posts web message about China shows” was written by Caspar Llewellyn Smith, for guardian.co.uk on Friday 13th May 2011 18.12 UTC Confounding seasoned Bob Dylan fans, the 69-year old song and dance man has posted a message on his official website addressing the controversy surrounding his concerts in China in April. Dylan has never previously communicated with his followers in this way, but he has now refuted the suggestion that he allowed the Chinese government to censor his setlist. Several critics – if not all – questioned his motivation, including New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, who wrote that Dylan “sang his censored set, took his pile of Communist cash and left.” In response to such accusations, Dylan wrote on bobdylan.com that the Chinese authorities had not refused him permission to play there, and while “according to Mojo magazine the concerts were attended mostly by ex-pats”, there were not many empty seats and this was not true. “If anybody wants to check with any of the concert-goers they will see that it was mostly Chinese young people that came,” he continued. Dylan added: “The Chinese press did tout me as a 60s icon, however, and posted my picture all over the place with Joan Baez, Che Guevara, Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. The concert attendees probably wouldn’t have known about any of those people. Regardless, they responded enthusiastically to the songs on my last four or five records. Ask anyone who was there. They were young and my feeling was that they wouldn’t have known my early songs anyway.” In respect to the idea that the Chinese government vetted the setlist, Dylan wrote: “We played all the songs that we intended to play”. The singer turns 70 on 24 May, and with an oblique reference to the happy occasion, the sometime author and radio show host concluded this novel missive: “Everybody knows by now that there’s a gazillion books on me either out or coming out in the near future. So I’m encouraging anybody who’s ever met me, heard me or even seen me, to get in on the action and scribble their own book. You never know, somebody might have a great book in them.”
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May 14 2011, 3:20pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
The day I (nearly) met Bob Dylan
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/05/14/the-day-i-nearly-met-bob-dylan
Ten years ago, John Harris was within seconds of a meeting Bob Dylan – until Eric Clapton stole him away. Now he talks to those who have been granted an audience with rock’s greatest enigma.
This article titled “The day I (nearly) met Bob Dylan” was written by John Harris, for The Guardian on Saturday 14th May 2011 11.05 UTC Imagine this: since you were 11 years old, you have been convinced Bob Dylan is a genius. You own every album he has ever made, and your shelves are full of books whose titles attest to the great cloak of mystery that surrounds him: Behind the Shades, Wanted Man, Invisible Republic. You can quote his lyrics, and play dozens of his songs on the guitar. There are days when you find yourself revering him more than the Beatles, which is saying something. And then it happens: someone points you in the direction of a set of stairs and says it’s time for you to meet him, which produces an attack of nerves so strong that you fear you might pass out. As he winds down after playing in front of 10,000 people, what exactly are you going to say? “Hello Bob, you’re the reason I made a harmonica holder out of one of my mum’s coathangers in 1983 and tortured the neighbours with repeated renditions of Like a Rolling Stone, and I just wanted to say thanks”? No. “Hello Bob, I’ve always had trouble making narrative sense of your 1978 song Changing of the Guards, and wondered whether you could help?” Absolutely not. “Hello Bob, great show”? Please. Sadly, to kill this shaggy dog story before it runs away with us, when the dressing room door eventually swung open, Dylan wasn’t there: he’d been spirited away by Eric Clapton, someone reckoned. Which makes 11 May 2002 – the day I nearly met Bob Dylan – nothing to tell the grandchildren about, really. Thanks to favours pulled by a musician friend, I did, though, watch Dylan perform from the wings of the London Arena that night, and studied him as he left the stage. I noted that he was smaller than I imagined (5ft 7in, apparently), and that he walked with a strange gait, shuffling on his toes, almost like a boxer. He passed a foot or so in front of me: I nodded at him, and I think he nodded back. To me that was quite something, but that’s an indication of what hero-worship can do to you. On 24 May, Dylan will turn 70, an occasion that has already given rise to celebration concerts, cover stories, radio shows and more. Maya Angelou has dutifully praised him as “a great American artist”. To Bruce Springsteen, Dylan is “the father of my country”. There is much more of this stuff to come – a renewed outpouring of the kind of questions that tantalise me, and the millions of people who have been profoundly touched by his music. Most of them boil down to two conundrums: Who is Bob Dylan? And what does he want? Like most of the high-achieving musicians of his generation, Dylan will never quite escape the shadow of the 1960s, but he is one the few alumni of that decade whose new work still seems vital and interesting. His last album, 2009′s Together Through Life, had its moments, but if you really want to understand how great his recent-ish work has been, you should sample Time Out of Mind (1997), Love and Theft (2001) and Modern Times (2006): albums streaked with wit, existential insight and the rare sound of a rock musician building age and experience into every note they sing. Dylan’s voice is now shot to pieces compared to how it sounded 40-odd years ago, but I think that’s part of what makes his latterday stuff so good. Mick Jagger shakes his bum and attempts to convince his audience that time has stood still since the mid-70s; Dylan confronts us with not just his own mortality, but ours, too. As ever, he is surrounded by a cloud of ephemera and apocryphal chatter. No one really knows anything about his politics: he has expressed approving sentiments about Barack Obama, but recently caused howls of dismay when he played in China; yesterday, a very unexpected post appeared on bobdylan.com, in which he acknowledged that a collection of recent setlists had been given in advance to the authorities, claimed he hadn’t been censored (“we played all the songs that we intended to play”), and said nothing at all about whether he should have followed the advice of some outraged commentators and spoken at least a little truth to power while he was there. In 2000 I watched him in talkative mood at Wembley Arena, expressing his pleasure at being in the UK with reference to Britain’s efforts in the second world war. What he said probably had more to do with his Jewish upbringing than anything else, but they didn’t sound like the words of the liberal peacenik of common assumption: “We all know how Britain stood alone. That always meant a lot to the people I grew up with.” Dylan has starred in ads for the lingerie chain Victoria’s Secret and for the iPod. He is said to have been married at least three times, although only one of those unions has been public. An infinite number of questions buzz around the internet, none of which are ever anwered: having embraced born-again Christianity circa 1978, but then apparently rediscovered his Judaism, where is his spiritual head at? Does he really leave his tour bus parked in motorway service stations and go for spontaneous moonlit rambles across fields? And did he really once consider relocating to Crouch End? I can well remember the source of my idea of Dylan as a shadowy, unbelievably enigmatic presence: a BBC film titled Getting to Dylan, first screened in 1987, in which a team from the Omnibus programme followed him as he played the part of a faded rock star in a risible film called Hearts of Fire (also starring Rupert Everett). Weeks went by before he consented to be interviewed, but it eventually happened, in an on-set trailer near Toronto – and in 20 minutes, he allowed a rare glimpse of his essential condition. You can see the entire Getting to Dylan interview on YouTube (have a look for “BBC Dylan interview”): it remains an enduring portrait not just of who he was, but who he will probably always be, and what a strange and lonely business being Bob Dylan actually is. So I place a call to his interviewer, Christopher Sykes, now 65, who has the rare distinction of being one of the only film-makers who has trained a camera on Dylan and asked him questions. (Though he directed the acclaimed Dylan documentary No Direction Home, not even Martin Scorsese managed that.) “I really liked him,” Sykes tells me. “He was tremendously funny. Charming, I thought. And he is incredibly charismatic. You find yourself wondering: is this something about him, or is this something you bring to someone that famous? But sitting a few feet away from him is pretty scary. He’s got a way of looking at you that’s frightening. When he looks straight at you, you really do feel like he’s got some sort of x-ray vision; that he sees right through you.” It was partly the memory of that look that threw me when I thought I was about to meet him. “He looks like a … funny old Gypsy person,” Sykes continues. “You have this sense that he’s been around for an awfully long time. I remember thinking, ‘I bet if you look through medieval paintings, there’ll be a picture of him somewhere.’ It really does feel like he’s been around for ever.” Sykes is nonplussed by suggestions that Dylan did the interview in a state of narcotic refreshment (“He liked drinking Johnny Walker black label, and I think he smoked dope”), and recalls a recent occasion when he had dinner in Los Angeles with Dylan’s son, Jesse – who was reminded of the interview, and offered a very telling question: “Was he kind to you?” “Tender and really helpful,” is the verdict of the writer Adrian Deevoy, who was summoned to Philadelphia a few years later to interview Dylan for Q magazine. They ended up talking in the seaside town of Narragansett, Rhode Island – and Deevoy’s memories chime with one regular observation of Dylan’s lifestyle: that whereas some artists glide through a world of luxury, Dylan seems to live and work in a fascinatingly higgledy-piggledy way. “It sounds weird,” he tells me, “but we were all on a double bed in a very small motel room: Dylan, myself, his manager Jeff Rosen, a willowy Scandinavian woman, and a massive dog.” Mike Scott, the singer and chief creative mind in the Waterboys, became a smitten Dylan fan at much the same age that I did, watching his appearance in the film of George Harrison’s Concert For Bangladesh, and realising that “he was the great poet of the times”. In 1978, Scott and a friend went to see Dylan play at Earls Court, then followed his tour bus back to a hotel where they spied him sitting in the bar. “That was exciting,” he says. “‘Fucking hell! I’m going to meet Bob Dylan!’ We got half way across the bar, and these blurred, giant shapes suddenly appeared in front of us: bouncers, who escorted us off the premises.” Seven years later, when Dylan was in London recording with the ex-Eurythmic and rock Zelig Dave Stewart, Scott and two of his band got a call, and were summoned to a north London recording studio. “That felt like crossing the other half of the room,” he says: the collected musicians spent two hours jamming, while Dylan spurned singing in favour of playing “burbling, non-stop lead guitar”. Scott recalls being perplexed by his refusal to step up to the microphone, but feeling thrilled when Dylan told him he was a fan of the Waterboys’ big hit The Whole of the Moon. Some time later the phone rang again, and Scott found himself in a rented house in Holland Park. “We hung out with him for a couple of hours. He played us a record by the McPeak Family, folk musicians from Ulster, and he gave me a cassette of an American Indian poet called John Trudell.” And what was Dylan like? “Puckish. Humorous. In the studio, he’d been very quiet and closed in on himself. But now he was gregarious: exactly what I’d want Bob Dylan to be like. It was great.” Dylan told them tales about the presence of Vikings in his native Minnesota, introduced Scott to his kids, and shared a herbal moment with him. “I don’t know whether you can say this,” says Scott, “but I’ve smoked a joint that Bob Dylan rolled, and he’s smoked a joint that I rolled.” Self-evidently, I cannot compete with any of that, but still: during 30-odd years, Dylan has powerfully spoken to me about love, loss, life, death, sadness and contentment, and he still does. When I recently moved house, it rather pains me to admit that a freshly acquired set of his CDs, faithful to the original mono versions, came with me in the car, lest anything should happen to them. Thanks to a moment of carelessness in Mississippi, I am proud to say that I own a speeding ticket issued on Highway 61. The last book I finished was a collection of writing about Dylan by the American author and thinker Greil Marcus; I’m about to start an updated version of the aforementioned biography Behind the Shades, by Clinton Heylin – 902 pages, which seems to me a very satisfactory length indeed. I have seen Dylan play at least 15 times, and I’ll probably keep doing so until his so-called Never Ending Tour comes to a close. It can be a frustrating business – certainly, I wish he wouldn’t endlessly change the phrasing of just about everything he sings, sometimes in the manner of a wheezing pub crooner. But in between the moments you’re left guessing which song he’s actually playing, there are always enough flashes of greatness to justify the effort, and occasions when just about everything aligns correctly. In 1995, Dylan leapt on stage at the Brixton Academy without his guitar, sang while waggling his legs in the style of the young Elvis, and delivered a fantastically rambunctious show that had me laughing with pleasure. In 2001, I saw him at Stirling Castle: probably the single best concert I have seen him play, full of restraint and tenderness perfectly suited to a summer twilight. The essential thing, though, is this: whatever happens, you can surely take great delight in looking toward the stage and saying, “Look – it’s Bob Dylan.” And then there is the excellence of so many of the songs he has written as he tumbles towards old age – such as Ain’t Talkin’, the final song from Modern Times: “Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’/ Through this weary world of woe,” he sings. “Heart burnin’, still yearnin’/ No one on earth would ever know.” How beautifully put, and how very true.
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May 14 2011, 3:17pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Now That’s What I Call Music goes digital
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/04/11/now-thats-what-i-call-music-goes-digital
New service from 1980s tapes maker “Now That’s What I Call Music” allows fans to make and download own compilations.
This article titled “Now That’s What I Call Music goes digital” was written by Alexandra Topping, for The Guardian on Sunday 10th April 2011 20.51 UTC Back in the dry-ice-swept and pre-digital days of the 1980s, their endless series of twin-packed cassettes supplied the latest in cheesy chart fodder. Now That’s What I Call Music! was the compilation that everyone had but no one would admit owning. Three decades on, Now has finally taken a leap into the digital age, with its website allowing fans to create and download their own compilations. To spread the word, the company helped organise 500 house parties across the UK, where teenyboppers, pop fanatics and pressured parents from Cornwall to the Highlands danced around their living rooms to party tunes such as Jessie J’s Do it Like a Dude and Britney Spears’ comeback single Hold it Against Me, made their own playlists on the Now website, and took photos which they were then encouraged to share on Facebook. The new marketing campaign is a recognition that while advertising billboards and a glossy picture of New Kids on the Block may have sold music in the 90s, they have little impact in 2011, said James Foley, music editor of industry newsletter Record of the Day. “It’s a brilliant mix between a Tupperware party and an online social network,” he said. “In the past, kids made mix tapes and took them into school on Monday morning, but now they are going to spread the word on Facebook and Twitter. That’s how the noise is made.” Giles Harris, managing director of party organisers Come Round, which has organised similar bashes to promote Usher, JLS and The Wanted, explained how from the seed of a 10-person party a nationwide campaign is spawned. “In the real world, everyone who comes to a party tells at least 10 others, and through Facebook and Twitter they reach about 50 more – so for those 500 parties, you are actually going to touch around 375,000 people,” he said. But it isn’t just a sneaky sales technique dressed up as good fun, he insisted. “No one at these parties has anything forced on them, it is not like receiving junk mail. Organisers apply to hold a party – they get the album before its release as well as other goodies. If we are being sneaky at all, it is just by making it lots of fun.” As one party organiser, Andrew Crotty, croakily put it the morning after his bash: “Everyone loves a freebie.” After holding several Come Round parties for his 10-year-old daughter and her friends, they had become so popular that he held his Now festivities in a nightclub, where events took a rather more debauched turn. “We had a lot of fun, put it that way. We had a couple of streakers – you’ll be amazed at what some people will do to get their hands on a free CD.” The new marketing technique reflects record labels’ obsession with marketing directly to customers, said Harris. “In the past, EMI or Universal’s customer was HMV or Woolworths, but now they want to go straight to the fan. Through the parties they get to be in the lounges of their consumers for more than four hours.” Labels and artists also benefit from the most powerful form of marketing – word-of-mouth. According to research from Nielsen, 90% of consumers rate friends as their most trusted way of discovering products, and 60% tell 10 or more friends if they like something new. PR agent Mark Borkowski said the move reflected a shift from selling a product to getting consumers to buy into it. “Music fans know how to get music for free, so record labels need to find ways, like Radiohead, of giving them more value.” In an industry that is strapped for cash – album sales declined by a further 8% last year – harnessing that power makes economic sense, said Pete Duckworth, joint managing director of Now. “Social networks are hugely powerful means of marketing music. You have a readymade community to market to. The fan gets something they want, the record company doesn’t waste money advertising to people who aren’t interested, and the artist gets to speak directly to their fans.” Now and then Since its launch in 1983 Now That’s What I Call Music! has been as much an integral part of the pop psyche as prefab girl groups and perfectly coiffed teen heartthrobs. Despite the demise of other pop institutions such as Top of the Pops, Smash Hits and Hit Man and Her, the series has remained in robust health, its 2010 Christmas album one of its best sellers to date. Through the years Now! has ridden the waves of potentially tempestuous format changes. Starting out on vinyl and cassette, early compilations had accompanying VHS (and earlier Betamax) tapes with music videos of classic 80s artists such as Frankie Goes to Hollywood and the immortal Kajagoogoo. The first double CD came in 1987, vinyl lasted until 1996, and cassettes to 2006 before finally giving up the ghost. There was a brief fling with MiniDisc from 1999 to 2001, and in 2005 Now 62 became the first Now album to be released as a digital download. Robbie Williams is the most featured artist in Now!’s 28-year history with 30 different songs with, without and with again Take That while with the nation’s sweetheart, Cheryl Cole has featured 25 times. The honour of being the longest-standing star, getting songs on to both Now 1 and Now 68 belongs, quite rightfully, to Phil Collins.
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April 11 2011, 3:57am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Exclusive Radiohead artwork plus The King of Limbs album stream
See artwork exclusively created for the King of Limbs project and listen to the new Radiohead album in full.
This article titled “Exclusive Radiohead artwork plus The King of Limbs album stream” was written by Caspar Llewellyn Smith, for guardian.co.uk on Monday 28th March 2011 09.06 UTC Six weeks after Radiohead issued The King of Limbs as a download – engendering a flurry of excitement – the band are releasing the CD version of the album. At noon on Monday, the record will be launched at three special events in London, Manchester and Glasgow, where a free newspaper created by the band called the Universal Sigh will be handed out to fans. Radiohead are also releasing a “newspaper album” version of the King of Limbs priced at £30 – although this will involve a different newspaper than the one handed out to fans. The London event will take place at the Truman Brewery on Dray Walk, London, E1 6QL, the Manchester event will be outside the Bread and Butter Cafe on Tibs St in the Northern Quarter and the Glasgow event will take place on Dundas Street. There are another 59 similar events worldwide – and fans in New Zealand have already got their hands on the paper. You can listen to a stream of The King of Limbs above, and below are two exclusive examples of artwork created for the project, credited to “Zachariah Wildwood & Donald Twain”. The Universal Sigh features writing from authors Robert MacFarlane (whose books include Mountains of the Mind and The Wild Places) and Jay Griffiths (winner of the Discover award for the best new non-fiction for Pip Pip: A Sideways Look at Time). The Guardian will be bringing you our own view of Radiohead’s newspaper, plus our own special response to it later today. . .
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March 28 2011, 3:49pm | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
PJ Harvey – review
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/04/pj-harvey-%E2%80%93-review
After The Radiohead King of Limbs release, Polly Jean Harvey’s is the most talked about. Excellent reviews.
This article titled “PJ Harvey – review” was written by Dorian Lynskey, for The Guardian on Monday 28th February 2011 21.30 UTC Polly Harvey has been denying for years that she’s an autobiographical songwriter. Her war-themed new album Let England Shake should finally rest her case. Even a listener hellbent on blurring singer and song would have to admit that she didn’t actually fight in Gallipoli. In this new stage of her career, which began with 2007′s White Chalk, Harvey celebrates craft not catharsis; the action on stage belongs as much to the world of theatre or visual art as it does to rock’n'roll. She strides out enrobed in black with a feathered headdress, like a sorceror in a Terry Gilliam film, clutching her autoharp as if a widow’s memento. Her three-man band form a semi-circle several feet away from her, playing antiquated equipment. Given Harvey’s commitment to her theme, they’re lucky she didn’t make them dress as Anzacs. The Let England Shake material is experimental in conception, but simple in execution, with emotionally direct melodies and deliberately rudimentary playing. Disembodied samples of voices from 20s Iraq and 70s Jamaica rise up like ghosts. To call the songs anti-war, just because of the bloodshed they describe, would be to ignore the macabre relish with which Harvey sings some of the most brutal lines. In performance, as on record, these songs are an unsettling puzzle, not congratulations for being on the right side. Events in Libya add a fresh twist to the bitter black humour of the Eddie Cochran-quoting refrain of Words That Maketh Murder: “What if I take my problems to the United Nations?” Older songs enter the main set only when they are sympathetic to the mood: the phantom wail of The Devil or the eerie sensuality of The River. Every move is precisely controlled and contained. During several songs, Harvey stands stock still; at the end of England she cocks her head in the spotlight to catch the dying notes of a long-gone Kurdish folk singer. She doesn’t say a word to the audience until the encore, which is the first time tonight seems at all like a conventional, communal rock show. She introduces the band in soft, polite Dorset tones and cranks up the distortion for a liberating blast through Meet Ze Monsta. You might try and find in this sudden loosening up the “real” PJ Harvey, but she would no doubt tell you to stop looking. The truth of this extraordinary performer lies in the stories she tells.
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March 4 2011, 9:47am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Million Dollar Quartet – review
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/03/03/million-dollar-quartet-theatre-revie
Review for The Million Dollar Quartet a rock musical based on an impromptu jam session at Sun Records studio on 4th December 1956 between Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins.
This article titled “Million Dollar Quartet – review” was written by Michael Billington, for The Guardian on Monday 28th February 2011 22.15 UTC 1956 was a momentous year: the Suez crisis, the Hungarian revolution, Khruschev’s denuniciation of Stalin. But it was also a time of cultural upheaval, and this exuberantly nostalgic show recreates the occasion on 4 December when Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins all converged on the Sun Records studio in Memphis for some impromptu music-making. Sam Phillips, who turned an old radiatior shop into the pioneering Sun studio and who hosts the get-together, is described by one of the group as “the father of rock’n'roll”; and Colin Escott and Floyd Mutrux’s story records the poignant moment at which the sons abandon the father. Elvis has already been sold to RCA and become a Hollywood star, and the others now accept that it is time to move on. But, though the show pinpoints the eclipse of the Sun and the tensions within the group, such as Perkins’s resentment of Presley’s refashioning of Blue Suede Shoes, what we see on stage is a celebration; and, if you’re of a certain generation, it’s a joy to hear once again numbers such as Hound Dog, Great Balls of Fire and I Walk the Line. Obviously, the cast have to compete with our memories of the real thing, but Ben Goddard does a particularly good job of conveying the anarchic wildness of Jerry Lee Lewis. But Michael Malarkey as Elvis, Derek Hagen as Johnny Cash and Robert Britton Lyons, the one authentic American, as Carl Perkins offer substance as well as shadows. Bill Ward as the pathfinding Phillips and Francesca Jackson as Elvis’s squeeze, who offers a notably sultry, microphone-caressing version of Fever, add to the gaiety of a show that taps into all our yesterdays.
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March 3 2011, 11:54am | Comments »
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I posted to distributedresearch.net
Radiohead: The King of Limbs – reviews
http://distributedresearch.net/blog/2011/02/20/radiohead-thekingoflimbs-reviews
The release strategy and format of Radiohead’s albums have been talked about endessly but what do the reviews of the music have to day about it? independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/reviews/radiohead-the-king-of-limbs telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/cdreviews/8334723/Radiohead-The-King-Of-Limbs-review
Here’s my review: I like it. This article titled “Radiohead: The King of Limbs – review” was written by Kitty Empire, for The Observer on Sunday 20th February 2011 00.06 UTC In the end, it arrived early. Announced on Valentine’s Day – and, perhaps not uncoincidentally, the eve of the Brits – the eighth Radiohead album was eventually sprung on the world a day before anyone was expecting it. That was an act of mischievous digital benevolence so typical of Radiohead, a band rewriting the rules of pop engagement on the fly. Judging from their most recent black-and-white portrait, in which the band slope awkwardly at the bottom of an ancient tree, The King Of Limbs could, by rights, have been their acid folk album – one informed by the writing of Roger Deakin, perhaps. Indeed, seven tracks in, Give Up the Ghost – a mellow and mantric song strung on acoustic guitars and announced by birdsong – gives a hint of what might have been. By contrast, anyone following Thom Yorke’s recent Office Chart blog posts might have been expecting a record in thrall to dubstep, or even more obscure electronic micro-genres. Fulfilling that brief is Feral, a sinuous bass shakedown at the heart of this typically contrary, intermittently stunning, album. Yorke’s deep affinity with musical outriders such as LA’s Flying Lotus – upon whose album Cosmogramma he guested last year – is manifest. Bloom, the album’s opening track, is underscored by wild jazz polyrhythms. Well, this is a 21st-century Radiohead album; it was never going to be easy listening. In truth, The King of Limbs sounds a little predictable, certainly at first. It is very much the heir to 2007′s In Rainbows, imbued with some of the spirit of Yorke’s solo outing, 2006′s The Eraser. Which is to say, it sounds another death knell for fans of The Bends and OK Computer still hoping for a late recantation and a return to anthemic guitar rock. Guitars are very thin on the ground in Radiohead’s dark wood. The most traditional sounds here occur on the splendid Codex, in which a stately, distant piano bongs mournfully. Restless rhythms abound. But they never quite resolve into dance beats – despite Yorke’s brave moves in the video that accompanies Lotus Flower. It should have stopped traffic in Tokyo last Friday at rush hour, but because of crowd concerns, the screening on Hachiko Square’s giant video screens was pulled. Radiohead’s works reward close and long listening; this dense and knotted eight-track album is no exception. But one of its most instant delights was the sense of giddy communion last Friday, as fans and observers awaited, then savoured, the record in real time.
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February 20 2011, 6:07am | Comments »
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