Caked Christine Morris (Chocolate)
issue 14 september 2009
blankpages
contents - -
Website: www.blankmediacollective.org MySpace: www.myspace.com/ blankmediacollective
3 - welcome 4 - blankverse - Hollyann Burton 5 - cover artist - Christine Morris 6 - Reflections on Procession 8 - short shorts - Arthur Chappel 10 - Mothertrucker 13 - blankverse - Hollyann Burton 14 - spotlight - artbysara 16 - blank media presents... 19 - blankpicks 20 - Melvyn and the Pigeon by Joe Booker 21 - blank media recommends...
this month’s mp3 - ‘Liddell Couture III’ by Mothertrucker
* You can also find us on other social networking sites such as Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, ArtReview and many more! blankpages submission guidelines: www.blankmediacollective.org/blankpages blankpages email: editor@blankmediacollective.org General Enquiries: info@blankmediacollective.org Communications: communications@blankmedia collective.org Exhibitions: exhibitions@blankmediacollective.org BlankMarket: market@blankmediacollective.org Special Projects: projects@blankmediacollective.org Blank Media Presents…: music@blankmediacollective.org Moving Image: movingimage@blankmediacollective.org blankpages copyright © 2006 – 2009 Blank Media Collective unless otherwise noted. Copyright of all artworks remains with the artist. Blank Media Collective logo copyright © Ben Rose 2008, www.graphicstateofmind.com. blankpages logo copyright © Eleni Angelou, www.eleniangelou.com Internal Photography (unless otherwise stated) copyright © Michelle Kerwin 2009
welcome Blank Media Team... Director: Mark Devereux Financial Administrator: Steven Porter Communications Manager: Kate Butler Web Manager: Simon Mills Web: Matt Small Exhibitions Co-ordinators: Jamie Hyde, Marcelle Holt & Gareth Hacking Special Projects Co-ordinator: Petra Hoschtitsky Blank Media Presents... Manager: Iain Goodyear Blank Media Presents: Steve Goossens blankpages Team... Editor: Phil Craggs Poetry Editor: Baiba Auria Fiction Editor: John Leyland Music Editor: Dan Bridgwood-Hill Visual Design by John Leyland With Thanks To: Claire Curtin Gemma Heyes Justin Watson Blank Media is kindly supported by:
I’m going to tell you a secret. Come closer, and I’ll whisper it to you. I don’t like Shakespeare. Or The Beatles. Actually that’s not the secret. The secret, the thing people try to keep quiet, is that you’re allowed to dislike them. Ok, I’m being slightly facetious, but you know what I mean. I’m sure we’ve all had it shoved down our throats that Shakespeare was the greatest writer of all time so many times our gag reflex has worn out. Equally, try mentioning in polite company that you think T he Beatles over-rated and you’ll be looked at like an alcoholic who’s gate-crashed a party and proceeded to urinate over the host’s expensive new settee – or over the host. None of the above seeks to deny that many genuinely love them, or to say they are wrong to do so. But that’s the difference. If you say you dislike either of them (and they are simply the most obvious examples) you are often regarded as someone who is just plain wrong. Of course, there are plenty of occasions when I’m on the side of orthodoxy. Holding an opinion for the sake of being different is as intellectually lazy as blindly accepting the majority view. But why is any of this important? Well, each work of art is a world view, or an aspect of one. Some fit us instantly, some we grow into, and some are just too short in the leg. There is a belief that if you don’t consume art and then create it you’ll produce something original. To me this view smacks of laziness and arrogance – too lazy to learn your craft and arrogant enough to assume you’ve nothing to learn from those who have. It’s more a question of the art you take in and how your own spin on it produces something uniquely yours. There are parallels in the wider world which reveal what happens when traditional mindsets allow only one world-view - the intimidation experienced by the women of Afghanistan in their country’s elections being the most obvious recent example. Societies that have only a few approved texts or works of art become fossilised in their attitudes, unable to deal with the new in any other way than to turn away from it. The ability of artists to choose their influences for themselves and create their own personal canon is a major part of their ability to produce works that are unique and vital. blankpages by its very nature is about this variety. And this issue is no different, containing striking visual art, exciting rock’n’roll, poetry and, for the first time, ‘sudden short’ fiction. If we’ve included it, it’s because we like it and think it worth presenting to a wider audience. I hope that the work contained in this issue goes on to form part of your personal collage. Phil Craggs blankpages Editor
Curvature of Words
blankverse this love the curvature of words and spines backs and books and page after page of physical verbs that slide and stretch and speak a language of their own this love the curvature of words and trees with branches lifted arched bent grasping towards the sun this love the curvature of words that winding road over dappled hills and sunset valley’s darker wood we swing we sway we float towards the next page of lines and characters this love the curvature of words
Hollyann Burton
Food For Thought (Henry Brooks) (Dark and White Chocolate)
Christine Morris “
I love painting with chocolate, it’s a surprisingly versatile medium, and obviously a real pleasure to work with. You can mould it, sculpt it, make it any colour, and tailor it to any of your needs. Chocolate is no longer a disposable pleasure and no longer something to feel guilty about! These paintings give you the time to appreciate what you enjoy, whilst feeding your imagination through your sense of smell and vision. Chocolate has its own long and sometimes painful history, with its connection to the slave trade. Henry Brooks was born into slavery, this piece is made from dark and white chocolate, a tribute to the people of that time, and the children who are used for its production now.
”
cover artist
‘We All Stand’ Reflections on
procession
At 2pm, on Sunday 5th July 2009, at the very beginning of the Manchester International Festival a very special event took place. Deansgate was closed off to regular traffic and both sides of the road were lined with people waiting for something to begin. And then it did. A marching band struck up and led the way down the road and more followed. A procession of Mancunians and Mancophiles walked, strode, rode, and danced their way down Deansgate to celebrate the city. Their city. How they chose to celebrate it was up to them. Which was rather the point. It was inevitable that music would form a major part of this event, considering the musical heritage of the city (the event itself shares a title with a track by one of Manchester’s finest bands New Order) and it opened with Hit The North – the 3rd Davyhulme Scout and Guide Marching Band with the K & K Dance Academy. The Stalybridge Old Band performed under the heading 16th August 1819, while more recent Manc music history was marked
by My Favourite Record – a celebration of the Happy Monday’s Bummed. Last Of The Industrial Revolution featured former mill workers from eleven sites; while The Adoration of the Chip celebrated the world’s first fish and chip shop as opened in Oldham. Lest We Forget saw hearses with flower wreaths in their windows mourning the loss of North Western landmarks including the Corn Exchange, the Hacienda, Talk Of The North and Wigan Casino. Lest we forget indeed that the word ‘funeral’ goes as well with the word ‘procession’ as any other. But this was not only an event about the past and passed - Manchester 2050 saw a vision of the future as designed by Millie Floyd, the winner of a schools’ competition. It included children riding on dolphins in togas and diving helmets, while others piloted shining submarines. And it was only fitting that a city with two major universities should celebrate education, as it did with Mobile Libraries Gave Us Power.
The procession officially ended with ‘No Language, Just Sound, That’s All We Need Know’ by steel drum group Steel Harmony. As they came to a stop they launched into a funky re-invention of Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ which brought a heart-felt round of applause from the crowd. In many ways it was this moment that summed up Manchester best – capable of producing works of importance, pride in its heritage, but never afraid to re-invent itself and breathe new life into that heritage. But the final item on the running order wasn’t billed. As Steel Harmony went past, the spectators flooded into the road behind them and became part of the event, claiming their part of their city and their place in its celebration. For a few precious minutes Deansgate firmly belonged to the people who flooded down it. The above mentions just a few of the 25 acts that took part in the procession. The event was curated by Turner Prize-winning artist Jeremy Deller (with banners by Ed Hall), but instead of bringing a show to the festival, he allowed the people of Manchester to express what is important to them in a way they wanted. This openness meant the procession reflected not only the interests of the population but was also full of the humour, wit and energy of the city. The journey down Deansgate became a journey through the collective psyche of the people of the north-west in all their
enthusiastic (but sardonic), forward-looking (but reverential), eccentric (but practical), victorious (but at times defeated), coherent (but divided) glory. The Situationists had a concept they called ‘psychogeography’. It involved studying the ‘specific effects of the geographical environment…on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’*. The idea was that the external architecture impacted on the internal architecture of the brain’s thought processes, and you could tell a lot about the inhabitants of a city from wandering its streets. On that Sunday you only had to wander down one of Manchester’s streets, as Deansgate became, for one hour, the mental map of Manchester.
Words and photos by Phil Craggs *Debord, Guy; ‘Introduction To A Critique Of Urban Geography’ (translated by Ken Knabb).
“
Inquiry Sorry to keep you waiting, Sir. I trust you appreciate that an archive inquiry like this proves to be something of a deep trawl. I must confess that I thought we wouldn’t find anything but I think I have found some possible answers to the mystery now. The remains of the card you brought in and presented to me are very fragile and faded with age. They are also ingrained with dirt. The wording, which is almost faded away, is in an old neglected language called English. From what little remains, and some computer searches, we were able to piece together the main body of the message the card once conveyed. It read, and I quote in translation as best I can; This balloon belongs to Melanie Calder, aged seven, of Ipswich, England. The bulk of the address has dissolved away beyond recovery, even for our research facilities, I’m afraid, and of course, Ipswich isn’t there any more anyway. . Essentially, the balloon to which this message card was once attached belonged to a young child. The balloon referred to was a lighter than air toy, often filled with helium gas. This balloon was released, along with hundreds of others in a competition. The idea was that a prize would be given to the child who’s balloon tag was found furthest away from the starting place, which was probably in Ipswich in this case. Most balloons would burst close to home, but some might have gone across the sea to other countries, and not been found for months. Of course many labels if found would simply be thrown away as rubbish. I think that happened in Melanie’s case. However, that rubbish was cast into space in an experimental rocket programme to send refuse and litter into deep space. People put their garbage into unmanned rocket pods and cast the pods off to the stars. Somehow, Melanie’s balloon ticket reached your planet. I expect the rocket pod crashed on your world and the winds there blew the label around until you stumbled accidentally onto it. It was very nice of you to bring the label back to us, after we polluted your world in such a way. I am glad to say that the rubbish pod programme was scrapped centuries ago. Alas, I’m afraid that our people have terribly short life spans and the young lady was probably deceased long before the label ever reached your galaxy. Her balloon undoubtedly went further than any, but as for presenting her with any kind of prize, you are far too late now. I’m sorry you had a bit of a wasted trip. Still, may I offer you a cup of tea before you head back home?
Arthur Chappel
I was born in Manchester England on 9/2/1962. I have a degree in literature and philosophy. I was brainwashed into a cult, which I escaped from in 1985. I write to prove that I am more than just a victim, I am a member of the Sealed Knot English Civil War Re-enactment Society, serving as a pikeman in the New Model Army. I have several articles, poems and stories in print as well as a website. With lots of performance poems, science fiction, horror, nonfiction, etc, under my belt erotica is my most recent area of writing, with recent successes in Scarlet Magazine among others.
”
short shorts
send me your shorts!
Editor’s Note Here at blankpages, we like to showcase the myriad different forms that art can take, in the variety of media the Collective has to offer. This month I’d like to highlight what I call ‘short shorts’. Give it a minute. You might think of it as the modern haiku of prose; a snappy vignette, a fleeting opportunity to make a swift statement. It is much more versatile than merely that – indeed it can be anything from 100 to 500 words and I challenge YOU, blankpages reader, to put pen to paper, fingers to keys, commit voice to recorder, do whatever it takes and send me your shorts! It’s a perfect form for provoking thought, or a smirk, or both, and it’s quicker than writing a chapter of a novel. Besides, I could do with some new beach attire. But do make sure you wash them before you send them to me... John Leyland Fiction Editor
Smarter Than The Average Smart Bomb Excuse me sir, yes, you on the Bicycle. I appear to be lost. No, please don’t try to ride away, I promise I am not programmed to detonate here. My navigational guidance system is malfunctioning after a collision with an antimissile skirmish a few miles back, and I need to seek directions to the ballbearing factory I am destined to destroy today. In-built retinal lie detectors will inform me if you attempt to misdirect me or claim not to know the directions required, in which case I will have to conclude that you are a hostile force and act accordingly. So if you would kindly tell me which route to take and then ensure that you are about five blocks away from my epicentre before I explode, you will be quite safe, thank you.
Arthur Chappel
2003 was a great year in the history of metal. Isis, Pelican and Cult of Luna were all at the top of their game, having recently released a trio of groundbreaking, heavy records. And, unusually, they were receiving the critical acclaim they deserved. It is this climate that saw the birth of Mothertrucker. Mothertrucker formed in the old-fashioned way – four friends with nothing better to do with their time. They bashed out simple instrumental metal numbers that guitarist and co-songwriter Charlie Butler happily admits ‘were generally 90% based on Kyuss.’ Within 6 months they were playing gigs and quickly went from strength to strength, as Charlie explains. ‘As time has passed we have all got better as musicians and much better at playing together as a band, so even though most of our songs are still based on big, dumb riffs, there is a lot more variation in rhythm, mood and structure.’ As such, Mothertrucker songs will take you on epic journeys through unfamiliar landscapes as they rise and fall between crushing riffs, spaced-out chimes and pedaldrenched meltdowns. Currently the band is made up by Charlie, Tom Moffat (bass), Chris Scrivens (guitar, and the other half on the song writing team) and Bruce Goodenough (drums, having played third guitar prior to the departure of original drummer James Davison) and they have three albums and two split-releases under their belts on a variety of record labels (Gallipoli Records, Calculon, BH/BB Records).
band photos supplied by Mothertrucker
mothertrucker
The self-released full length ‘Dark Transmi55ions’ is the latest of these and contains some of their finest work, not least ‘Liddell Couture III’ which accompanies this month’s issue. It displays all the ‘Trucker trademarks’ - meaty riffs that give way to intricate and eerie guitar melodies and, of course, some unspecified cosmic expedition. With the band’s dubious name, fight-commentary samples and ludicrous song titles (‘Never Cut Another Man’s Steak’, for instance), you’d be forgiven for thinking this band don’t take it seriously. Maybe they don’t, but the music they make is something which is very important to them, as is a love of music in general. And in particular, riffs… ‘I can’t get enough of them. They are the basic foundation of good metal, without them you are doomed to a life of falseness and failure.’ In case you were wondering, falseness is a terrible fate, especially when dished out by a man of metal such as Charlie. He is an avid riff fan and is happy to enthuse about his favourites. Of Mastadon’s ‘March Of The Fire Ants’,
he says, ‘Even when listening to this on public transport I find it hard not to raise my fist in celebration of the opening riff.’ That is the sort of dedication that spills over into the songs of Mothertrucker. However, it’s not all about the riffs, and Mothertrucker’s sound draws from a wide pallet. In particular, the guitar parts often hark back to the dark, adventurous sounds of Slint and Spacemen 3. And their tour-van playlist stretches even wider as they are technologically limited to playing Russian roulette with bass player Tom Moffat’s bag of cassettes. Reef and Symposium passed by without much trouble, but Queen caused some problems, as Charlie explains, ‘It prompted our then label boss, the ever-mysterious Kfe of AAARRGGHHHH! Records, to perform a full striptease and floor show to ‘It’s A Kind Of Magic’ in the front of the van whilst driving down a French motorway at about 11 in the morning.’ However, when the band get up on stage, the important thing is that they never go too long without massaging our ears with some sort of heaviness. And that is what separates Mothertrucker from the bands that inspired them to start playing in the first place, bands who don’t seem to love riffs like they once did. The latest material offered up by Isis and Pelican just seems to delve further into disappointingly complex textures that all begin to sound the same, forgetting the one thing that they did best in the first place. Charlie is quick to point out the difference. ‘In the period of 2000-2005 the likes of Isis, Pelican, Cult Of Luna and many other people claiming the tag ‘post-metal’ released some bostin records like ‘Australasia’, ‘Oceanic’, ‘Panopticon’, ‘The Beyond’, ‘Celestial’, etc, etc. Things then seemed to go a bit wrong. Cult Of Luna seemed to totally run out of ideas and riffs and just repeat the same formula, whilst Isis and Pelican both became steadily more melodic. Initially they both did this in a good way (‘Panopticon’, ‘Fire In Our Throats’, ‘City Of Echoes’ (I like it, no-one else does)), retaining heaviness and seeming to push their music forward but now have both hit a wall of no riffs, terrible, repetitive singing, smooth, polished, boring production and worst of all BASS WITH CHORUS ON.’
‘These bands have pretty much made the whole ‘post-metal’ thing a bit of a joke now with a million Isis copy bands about with 20-minute songs with 10-minute one chord build ups who only ever play one rhythm at one tempo. This is a real shame as there’s so much that could be done with the genre that no-one seems to want to try like adding real riffs, trying different rhythms, etc, which we try and do with our music. We probably just end up sounding like Isis and Pelican though as that’s what most our reviews say!’ It’s fitting that such a plucky attempt to reinvigorate metal should be taken on by four lads from Birmingham, the genre’s birthplace and spiritual home. It’s a home that has been good to Mothertrucker and Charlie is happy to sing the praises of local promoters and bands, in particular Capsule and riff-based comrades Grimpen Mire, Stinky Wizzleteat and Slab. Do all bands from Birmingham have ridiculous names? ‘Mills and Boon are still the finest band the city has to offer though…’ Most of Mothertrucker also play in proghardcore band The Hubble Constant, and Bruce Goodenough also finds time to play as part of The Shogun’s Decapitator, Miccoli and Nanook. They are all brilliant.
Written by Dan Bridgwood-Hill
For more information go to www.myspace.com/mothertrucker.
blankverse white
and the white bright light of the moon allows me to shed the tears i held onto for so long as they slide down my cheekbones towards my mouth and chin the valley town below is just a place and i am only attached to those i love the only way a place becomes a home is underneath the white teeth of your smile the moon is now a sliver white and worn and you are all the white the dark the light the one
Hollyann Burton
i sat on this hill in the dark and looked down on the lights in the valley town as they blinked and went out one by one the night was warm and slid off my skin like the white light of the moon and casting shadows across the way dusted silver grass the lake so still with a big white circle reflected in the middle and suddenly i am so blessed out here in this quiet place no noise no anchor holding me just the white stark light of the moon in the black death of night and i feel every bit of me coming up for air finally after holding on so long i let go
Hollyann is a poet born of the Northwest of America and living in England for the past 30 years but still retaining the laid back northwest accent and approach. She has been a fairly successful singer songwriter in Manchester and the North West of England. Her work reflects the passion and isolation of one torn between cultures and loved ones, constantly trying to find balance but also having the freshness of being born into new settings. There is a physical element to the writing and use of words as well as a fresh focus on colour and light, the main aim being to elevate the human experience for all who encounter her work.
spotlight
artbysara Welcome to the world of artbysara, peopled by feisty, finicky folk from the realm of fairytale to the bloke down the road...
“
I love caricatures, irony & strange goings on. I draw pen and ink cartoons using a dip pen & bottled ink, scan them into my computer & print them on all manners of things from postcards & mugs to magnets, t-shirts, badges & in books. I like best art that is affordable so am a fan of mass-production, digital printing and self-publishing which means anyone can print and publish their own work even on a small budget.
�
“
I’m a big fan of public libraries (long may they survive) & also of street art, political cartoonists & satire in all its forms. I illustrate posters, flyers, books for other people (I recently finished a book of Cornish Fairytales), & I write short stories to accompany my own pictures. I love scary women & men who look like they’ve just stepped out of some weird ancient fairytale & landed in this day & age with its mobile phones, street scenes, slang & woes. They’re a bit confused, a bit mouthy, at times timid, lost, pissed off...
But that’s just the way life is... know what I mean?
”
for more information, visit www.artbysara.com original photo © Baiba Auria
After plenty of time for a pint and a piece of cake, tonight’s opening set is by Closed Eyes Are Dancing. He operates a laptop, creating atonal soundscapes. A myriad of buzzing, drilling sythns fight to be heard above one another. The sound slowly evolves over the course of the set which is accompanied in its entirety by visuals that are projected onto a nearby screen. Garishly colourful pictures crack up and degrade over time, only to be replaced by new ones. It’s as if they’re being dissolved by the music. The music also slowly dissolves my brain, but in a very nice way. While it calls to mind people like Japanese noise-king Merzbow and the synths of the later Whitehouse albums it’s an altogether less sinister and aggressive affair. It’s a friendlier noise, but still not one for the feint-hearted. I have seen tonight’s headliners Samuel Sharp before so I know what I’m in for. They play the sort of dark alternative rock/post-rock/post-hardcore that is awkward for us reviewers as we can’t just put a simple label on it. Following in the footsteps of various 90’s underground American bands such as Fugazi, Slint and Shellac, Samuel Sharpe have that excellent quality of blending an obvious punk spirit with immense talent and a natural passion for experimentation within the rules of rock music. The guitarist is particularly good, inventing clever chords to do the job of playing lead and rhythm guitar simultaneously. His voice is equally impressive and the rhythm section do a fantastic job of carving out grooves as the band meander between angular postrock and subtly funky punk. The guitarist and bassist swap instruments for one song and while it is a slightly weaker line-up, it adds an interesting extra layer of depth to the performance. Variety, after all, is the spice of life. Samuel Sharp are just one of many very talented and promising young groups in Manchester at the moment and I will be eagerly awaiting the arrival of a good recording from them to see if their impressive live set holds up to repeat listens.
written by Dan Bridgwood-Hill
June
blank media
July So, it’s Saturday night in the death throes of July in what’s been a rather dreary summer (with worse to come, did we but know it). What can Blank Media Presents... offer to brighten up our dispositions? The evening is opened by DBH, the fiendishly clever pseudonym of our very own Dan Bridgwood-Hill. Dan has valiantly parachuted in at the last moment after one of the booked acts pulled out, and he has a bit of a problem. You see, he played Fuel the night before, and he’s promised that he won’t play any of the material he played the night before in this set. He opens with a song ‘about a particular animal’ called ‘Lonesome George’, a gentle lament which picks up pace as it segues into ‘My New D’, becoming more strident with a sharply picked melody, elaborate but not showoff-y. He follows this with ‘Sea’, a slightly Spanish-flavoured piece that ends to substantial applause, as does ‘C#’. He ends his set with a cover of Smokey Robinson’s ‘I Second That Emotion’, and makes good on his ‘no repetition’ promise. Now, it’s awkward reviewing Dan in these (blank)pages considering his connection to the magazine, so I shall leave that to our next act, Ricky Damiani, who stops two songs into his set to remark that Dan was ‘ridiculously good’. No-one disagrees. Ricky himself offers the night’s audience an exclusive, for tonight he is joined for the first time by an accompanying vocalist, Laura Capaldi. Ricky plays the acoustic guitar and sings lead, while Laura sings ethereally over the main vocal. They open with ‘Broken’, which begins misleadingly quietly before Ricky’s singing becomes louder and more abrasive, the roughness perfectly contrasted by Laura’s quieter and calmer presence which haunts the heartbroken narrator. They follow this with ‘Fragile’, which remains more low-key throughout, Laura’s vocals more breathy this time. ‘Surprise’ is a more jaunty number with
written by Phil Craggs
presents...
a clap-along feel. It almost makes it feel like summer. ‘Wolves and Bears’ has a suitably pastoral feel, reminding this listener of Idlewild singer Roddy Woomble’s solo folk album My Secret Is My Silence. Indeed, that album’s interplay between Woomble and backing vocalist Kate Rusby is quite similar to that on show on the night. Most of the songs are tales of unhappy love and the possibility of getting hurt, and this theme continues in ‘Ravens and Crows’ (which revisits the pastoral theme of ‘Wolves and Bears’) which threatens to get a little out of control but they just about hold it together. And it’s the only moment where there’s any doubt that they’re in control. For a first performance together, it’s remarkably assured, and suggests a lot of potential for this partnership in the future. Up last is one of those eccentric acts that BMP specialises in – acts which seemingly shouldn’t work but do. Pesticide Organica are a duo combining the seemingly opposites of the French horn and a laptop. What’s even odder is the range of sounds the laptop manages to twist from the horn. Firstly, we get the sound of running water, and the horn then produces a more recognisable mournful drone on top. This creates the feeling of being in a submarine which creaks around you as it descends deeper into greater pressure. It’s claustrophobic and unnerving, as though the hull could breach at any moment and drown the entire audience. Perhaps my imagination is running too wild, but as the performance continues the horn plays what sounds like the last rites of sailors lost at sea. Then the playing becomes even more eerie, as though accompanying their souls to the afterlife (the discordance suggesting things did not go well for them on judgement day). There’s even some improvised percussion as pieces of the horn not needed are taken off and tapped together and rubbed down the side of the horn (I’d compare this to pieces of the sunken submarine breaking off and hitting each other but that would definitely be taking the theme too far). Perhaps it was their performance that brought on the torrential rain of the next week, but it says a lot for the music that I’m sure the audience would consider it a small price to pay.
event photos © Gareth Hacking Photograpy
I’ve never been a fan of long books. You can tell any story in 200 pages, and beyond that everything included has to be really justified. When I am tempted by some huge volume, it sits on the shelf for ages, staring at me until I give in and start it. The most recent example of this is Norman Mailer’s Harlot’s Ghost, a mighty tome that clocks in at 1401 pages which I’ve found an extremely easy read, but not a shallow one. The novel takes us through the life and career of a CIA agent as he rises through the organisation and passes through the political situations of the twentieth century. The prose is clean and uncluttered, the narrative voice convinces, and you’re never left in any doubt that you’re in the hands of a master of his craft. Whatever you think of Mailer, the man could write. And while not all his novels are classics, this (after 458 pages) is shaping up to be a major achievement. Linked (although not chosen to be so) is Eric Hobsbawm’s Revolutionaries which collects his writings on the revolutions of the past century and the people who made them. Inevitably a lot of the book is about Communism and the Russian Revolution, but takes in Anarchism, the Spanish Civil War, Vietnam and the Paris riots of 1968. As light relief I’ve very much enjoyed Iris Wildthyme & the Celestial Omnibus (eds. Paul Magrs and Stuart Douglas) by the fledgling Obverse Books (www.obversebooks.co.uk). This is a collection of short stories which focus on the adventures in time and space of the aforementioned Ms Wildthyme and her good friend (and art critic) Panda – an animated stuffed panda with a high opinion of himself. They travel in a doubledecker bus and get involved in bizarre adventures, spoofing and lampooning aspects of popular culture, and featuring alien cats, Count Dracula and a time travelling Noel Coward and Marlené Dietrich. Yes, really. The purchasing of a new record needle has seen me re-investigating my vinyl collection, focussing especially on those tracks which have never been released on CD. So, lots of b-sides by the likes of The The, Antony & the Johnsons, The Kills, The Open, The Enemy, Cherry Ghost, The Cooper Temple Clause, Talk Talk and Editors, among others. My best recent find is a 12” single by Luxuria – Howard Devoto’s post-Magazine outfit that I’d never heard anything of before. - Phil Craggs
blankpicks June saw the return to Manchester of one of the finest experimental drummers in the world and former resident Chris Corsano. This time as part of a duo with Mike Flower who plays an oddly-named instrument called a Japanese Banjo. They performed a typically awe-inspiring set at Islington Mill, a venue that seems to be getting used more and more often, and rightly so. The occasion was only slightly marred by the fact that the set was too brief, not even half an hour, I think. But it was still long enough for me to realise why I would rather be watching them than anyone else. The Japanese banjo sounds vast and Mike Flower’s sense of melody is perfect as he takes us higher and higher, while Corsano seems to go faster and faster. The down-time is also expertly managed with bowed drums occasionally erupting into small flurries of hits, as the banjo drones on. All of which is a far cry from the musical duos who have been ruling my stereo recently. ‘The Love Below’ by Outkast is a recurring favourite as are the various projects of guitarist Nile Rogers and bassist Bernard Edwards such as Chic and Sister Sledge. Hit songs are certainly the order of the day and these albums are full to the brim with them. In particular I have been admiring Outkast’s passion for experimentation (and obvious Parliament Funkadelic worship) in the midst ofa genre arguably more corrupted than any other with bland plagiarists and thought-impaired millionaires whilst, crucially, still be able to produce highly successful pop songs. Unfortunately I don’t listen to enough Radio 1 to provide a more contemporary example, but I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. - Dan Bridgwood-Hill
Melvyn and the Pigeon
Joe Booker
One day, I was in the garden with my father, Melvyn. I can’t remember what we were doing, but for some reason we were looking up into the pear tree. That pear tree has been in the garden as long as I can remember, and undoubtedly a long time before that, but being so aged as it is, has never yielded anything of any worth. Certainly never a full and satisfying harvest. The pears that come from that tree are always small, dry, bitter, and even though they are born in the midst of a fresh new spring, they somehow still manage to look, feel and taste like an old man’s scrotum. This fine day though, my father had spotted something far more interesting in the tree. “Look. There’s a wood pigeon. They’re quite rare around here!”, he informed me before disappearing momentarily. Now, assuming you’ve already read the other story I’ve told in this magazine about my dad and pigeons, you’ll remember that I told you it was an accident that he ran a crowd of them over. What he did on this day however, brings into question his (seemingly thin) claims of manslaughter, as opposed to murder. He returned with a rock (my memory is a little blurred here. I think it was a rock, but it could just as easily have been a sling shot or a gun, knowing my father). Without a word, Melvyn cast the rock at the pigeon with all his might. It hit the bird well. My dad would be the first person to tell you about how good his hand/eye coordination is. It dropped dead instantly, falling to the ground like some very strange fruit. My dad collected his game and took it into the house, whilst muttering to himself… “Yeah…That’ll be fine. That’ll be alright that will”. The next time I saw the wood pigeon, it had been reduced to two red breasts sitting on a plate. I was amazed at how little meat had come from a whole bird. I didn’t mind too much though; Pa is a great cook.
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New Paintings | Lisa V Robinson | 05 – 27 September 2009 Joan Day Bursary recipient Lisa V Robinson explores the possibilities of paint as a medium whilst attempting to find a special balance between abstraction and figuration. As a tribute to the memory of Joan Day, a highly skilled painter who lived and worked in Yorkshirefor much of her life, South Square Gallery offers an annual bursary to support an emerging painter to produce new work for a solo exhibition. The gallery is delighted to present this year’s winner, Lisa V Robinson, who, over the past four months has been producing new work at her Westgate studio, in Wakefield. The series of large canvasses explore Robinson’s attraction to the physicality of paint; from the satisfaction in observing the progression of a line from start to finish, to the tactile sensation of applying generous amounts of paint. Oil paint is poured and splashed onto the canvas and theresulting surface provides inspiration to place other elements. The painting is then developed through a process of interactions. Consequently no end result can be preconceived which presents an exciting challenge.
South Square Gallery | South Square | Thornton | Bradford | BD13 3LD
next month! after our summer hiatus we’re back to monthly publication of blankpages. check the website on october 1st for issue 15!