Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of hanging out with Sista K, Supreme Clem and Nassim – three members of the Marseille based ‘global fusion’ band Watcha Clan. Their fifth album, Radio Babel, comes out in April and it’s simply the most awesome take-everything-you-can-get-hold-of-and-shake-it-all-about concoction I’ve ever heard; a mix that includes dubstep, drum & bass, rai, and folk music from Europe and the Middle East, underpinned by a strong sense of social justice. The band were as much fun to talk to as their album was to listen to. But don’t just take my word for it; have a listen for yourself…
Baaba Maal presents “In Praise of the Female Voice” Royal Festival Hall, 12 March
The last few Baaba Maal gigs I’ve seen were all collaborative efforts. There was the marathon Africa Express show up in Liverpool, where he rocked out with the likes of Franz Ferdinand and Hard Fi – and following that, a Meltdown show at the Royal festival Hall, at which he shared the stage with long-time collaborator Mansoor Seck and Brit rappers Kano and Bashy. Tonight’s gig was a similar joint effort; this time round Baaba played host to a string of female vocalists from Africa and the UK: Eska, Krystle Warren, Annie Flore Batchiellilys, Speech Debelle and VV Brown.
Baaba has been singing the praises of African women in an honorary feminist style for some time now (as he was the last time I spoke to him), and this gig was, in effect, him taking that further. Sure enough, the track ‘A Song for Women’ (from his last album, Television) had an airing – done as a beautiful duet with VV Brown. But I’m running ahead of myself…
Eska was the first lady to take the stage after Baaba and his band had got things started (actually, the first lady to take the stage was host Andrea Oliver, larger than life and rocking a ‘baldhead’ look as only she can). I’m one person for whom Eska can do no wrong, and she was on brilliant form – both as a vocalist and as a multi-instrumentalist. The first of Eska’s two songs was a reworking of Odyssey’s ‘Inside Out’ (of late, she’s been taking old 70s and 80s disco-pop tunes and reinterpreting them in a quirky jazz style). For her second song, ‘Rock of Ages’, Eska emerged from behind the keyboards and accompanied herself on a violin.
Annie Flore Batchielys was definitely the surprise act of the night – or at least the one with the most unusual entrance. Having been led onstage arm in arm by Baaba, she proceeded to back-track her way out of the band’s little circle, and stayed out of it for nearly all of the song she was supposed to be accompanying Baaba on. When she did start singing, however, she was electrifying. She did a couple of songs on her own while the band took a short break. I didn’t catch all of what she said while she was talking to us (Note to self: might be time to start listening to those French podcasts again), but everyone caught the profuse thanks to Baaba Maal in the closing lines of her last song.
For my money, Krystle Warren was the most intriguing of the other guests, but you kind of got the impression that she’d been added on to the bill at the last minute (especially when she didn’t appear in the grand finale). VV Brown was dignified and elegant while Speech tried to play up to the “rappers are rebellious” stereotype by declaring that she was going to take up more time than she’d been allocated for her set. But there was plenty of love in the house – as the founder of the South Bank’s Women of the World season (of which this gig was a part) discovered when she chatted to Andrea about the advances that have been made by women in the 100 years since the first International Women’s Day was observed. It was only at that point that I realised there was supposed to be a feminist angle to the whole event – but I’m sure I speak for all the blokes in the house when I say that it never felt exclusive or “girls only.”
I left the RFH nodding my head along to the opening track of Annie Nightingale‘s post-gig DJ set. As I stepped out of the venue, I wondered what Kwame Kwei Armah and Paul Gambaccini had to say about their feminist sides, and contemplated coming along on Sunday to hear them speak. In the end, I didn’t.
Known to millions of telly viewers as Stringer Bell in the crime series The Wire, London boy Idris is one of the finest British actors in recent years to find success stateside.
Idrissa Akuna Elba was born in 1972 to a Ghanaian mother and a Sierra Leonean father. His journey from Hackney to Hollywood has seen him appear in Absolutely Fabulous, Family Affairs, Luther, The Number 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency and the US version of The Office on telly, and a long string of films that includes 28 Weeks Later, American Gangster and Guy Ritchie’s Rocknrolla. Off screen, he’s also a pretty nifty DJ. spinning tunes under the nom de turntable DJ Big Driis.
Look out for Idris this summer, playing the role of Heimdal in the film version of Marvel Comics’ Thor.
I’m not a big fan of ‘reality’ TV shows, but one of them has been keeping me entertained quite a lot over the last few weekends. Not the show itself, so much as all the banter that you get on the two main social networking sites when it’s on. In fact, it’s become something of a weekend ritual for me. The show starts; I fire up my laptop and read the barrage of sarky tweets and Facebook status updates that ensue as the show unfolds. Sometimes I don’t even have to have the telly on to enjoy the fun. I’ve been on a train from Sheffield to London with nothing but my laptop and a wifi connection, and still been thoroughly entertained.
Sadly, though, the fun only lasts until Sunday evening when we get the results of the previous night’s voting. That’s when (depending on how the results have gone) the tweets and status comments go from being light-hearted and fun to whiny and vitriolic.
I know that generally we all get upset when our favourite team loses. But for some unknown reason, the people who watch this show tend to take that disappointment to infinity and beyond. Suddenly it becomes a microcosm of everything that’s wrong with the UK. Every now and then, some level-headed soul will try to restore some balance by reminding us that it is, after all, just a TV karaoke show and nothing to get too steamed up about. But that usually just seems to stir up more anger (why are the people who take ‘reality TV’ so seriously always so bloody angry? I thought it was supposed to be light entertainment?). Well, I don’t care anymore. It’s time to point out one simple fact the complainers have clearly forgotten.
People, please bear that figure in mind before making any sweeping value judgements about the state of Britain based on however the results turn out. If the bottom two are black, it isn’t conclusive proof that the whole of Britain is racist (especially if Wagner gets through again, what with him being Brazilian and all). And if Wagner does get through again, please don’t whine about the British public having no taste (at least big them up for having a sense of humour). Remember: it’s (less than) one in five people.
Have a “glass half full” attitude. Instead of moaning about the (less than) one in five Brits who have bad taste in music, why not commend the four who have good taste in music (and who demonstrate that good taste in the most obvious way possible: by simply choosing NOT to watch this bloody programme)?
Oh, and of you’re going to moan generally about “this not really being a singing contest” or “the judges deliberately don’t choose the best singers” – change the record, please. You’ve been watching this show now for at least five years; surely by now you know how it works? Stop making exactly the same complaint every year. You’ve seen the pattern; you know they never deviate from the script; and yet you still choose to watch – so put up or shut up.
Now grab a beer and sit down, tune in and tweet; make those sarky comments on your Facebook statuses, and let’s all have a laugh. Mock the off-key singing, the dodgy hairstyles, the “drunk uncle at a wedding” dance moves and Louis (PLEASE, do mock Louis!). By all means root for your favourite… but keep it light-hearted. Don’t get too precious about the result – or the show itself. Definitely don’t see it in any way, shape or form as an indicator of how the whole country thinks.
It’s been a week since my last Greenbelt-related post; a week since that fun two hours I spent spinning tunes in the Blue Nun. The rest of the festival’s still fresh in my mind (well, it has to be; I’ve been writing reviews of it for other websites and magazines all week!), so maybe I should round up here with the rest of my personal reflections and impressions from the festival that celebrated ‘the art of looking sideways’…
The DJ set in the Blue Nun (aka “Madonna’s Bra”) went well; there were a lot of feet tapping and heads nodding as people supped their pints (always a good sign for the humble bar DJ). I even had one or two punters ask for song titles and/or a playlist. I even had a congratulatory tweet from someone in the bar as I was playing! Social media on mobiles; it’s so immediate…
As per usual, I spent more time in the press room and less going to see things. I’m not necessarily complaining, because some quality people came through and spoke to us (Clare Short, Robin Ince, Milton Jones, Richard Rohr and Roger McGough, to name a few). Earlier on on Sunday, I went along to the Medianet’s first birthday party, and ended up having tea with Nick Park (as you do).
The gigs I did see have mostly been brilliant, though. I caught much of Greenjade‘s gig in the Underground on Sunday, plus a bit of Extra-Curricular. The London Community Gospel Choir were on brilliant form on Mainstage Sunday night. So too was Beverley Knight – but there were so many photographers wanting to take pictures of her that I could barely make it into the pit. In the end, I stayed for a couple of songs.
Gil Scott-Heron was a no-show on Monday (so I took both your novels all that way with me for nothing – thanks, mate!), but judging from the audience reaction, the last minute inclusion of Foy Vance on the Mainstage lineup was a good choice (as was the King Blues‘ promotion to headliner for the night). Jars of Clay also went down well with an extended set to make up for the Scott-Heron deficit.
Away from the Mainstage, my favourite act to play on Monday was the Dodge Brothers. I actually think I like Mark Kermode more as a musician than as a film critic now! (not that I hate his film review shows and articles; I just enjoyed the vibe at their gig. They make good banter with the audience, those guys!)
Overall, I didn’t see as much of the comedy as I wanted. But the two acts I caught in the Festival Bowl on Monday night were pretty funny. And DJ Ayo‘s jazz & Bossa Nova selection in the Blue Nun was a nice way to wind down whilst looking forward to the Tuesday Morning Tent Takedown.
And that was it; another amazing Greenbelt over. Roll on, GB2011; in the meantime, I shall continue looking sideways…
I wish the sun would make up its mind; I can’t keep putting this hoodie on and taking it off immediately afterwards…
It’s nearly noon. A shower’s been had; a toothbrush has accidentally been dropped down the gents’ loo; a replacement for said toothbrush has been found (thank God for aeroplane freebies); breakfast has been had, and there are still a couple of hours to spare before some of the items I want to see on today’s schedule begin. A good time, then, to look back on yesterday.
I arrived on site just after midday, and the happy reunions started almost immediately. I caught up with the team running the Press office (another happy reunion), and was halfway through updating this blog when the fire alarm went off. Does everyone assume it’s just a test when that happens? The whole Grandstand area was evacuated and the ringing went on for some time; thankfully there wasn’t a fire (or at least, nothing noticeable was burning) and we were eventually let back in – only for the thing to go off again a few hours later!
Friday night was hip hop & jazz night on the mainstage. thebandwithnoname kicked things off, followed by Ugly Duckling (who sadly I missed, as I was busy catching up with another friend, sorting out a few work-related things and searching for something to eat). It was while Ugly Duckling were on stage that nature decided to upstage not only them but every other band who happened to be playing on Friday. “Look!” “Up there!” “Check out that rainbow!”
"There's a ribbon in the sky..."
It was a sight. Starting not far from mainstage, the enormous Technicolour arch spanned Cheltenham Racecourse all the way past the Grandstand. Sadly, my attempt at photographing the whole rainbow (my first attempt at using the panoramic feature on my new camera) resulted in a montage of three slightly off-kilter views of the same place!
Meanwhile, back on the mainstage, Ty delivered a storming set. His audience wasn’t the biggest (even given that he was a support act, there could have been more people); nevertheless, he had a commanding stage presence and the audience lapped it up. Sharlene Hector (who played a solo set here last year) and HeidiVogel did a sterling job on backing vocals. It was also good to see him bring on Vula (who also did a solo gig here last year) for a guest slot.
Courtney Pine rounded up the night’s mainstage programme with a high-energy set which, in true Courtney fashion, married jazz with reggae, drum & bass, South African township jive and a few other things (I’m sure I heard some salsa and even some klezmer in there somewhere!). On guitar was Cameron Pierre, whose birthday it just happened to be (I’ve got a couple of tracks from his Pad Up! album in amongst my selection of tunes for this evening’s DJ set. Who knows, I might play one!).
Later on, I enjoyed some mellow acoustic music in the Performance Cafe, where Sugarfoot (formerly Brownmusic) were playing. They were one twin short (Loretta couldn’t come, so Natasha bravely held the fort), but still sounded as beautiful as ever. I missed Zic Zazou earlier on, but they played one tune for us during Last Orders (most creative use of a pile of old bottles I’ve ever come across!), along with some comedy from the always-good-value-for-money Jude Simpson and a video report from Greenbelt’s new sister festival, Bunnybelt.
Well, that was yesterday. I have a couple of panel discussions to pop into today; Shed Seven are on later tonight – and I’ve got my DJ set to prepare for, of course…
The 09:48 1st Great Western to Cheltenham Spa has just pulled out of Paddington. In about two and a half hours’ time, I should be searching for a nice accessible spot on Cheltenham Racecourse on which to pitch a tent. I’m still pondering whether to go and socialise or just lie in it and sleep once it’s up.
The tent will be home for the next few days while I’m at the Greenbelt festival. I hadn’t realised it before, but this is actually my 20th Greenbelt! All of a sudden, my DJ set tomorrow evening has a whole new meaning.
It’s been an interesting 20 years – in which I’ve gone from being the unsure rookie punter whose borrowed tent fell in on him on his first night in it, to a virtual resident of the press room. These days, I even get to inflict my choice of music on the other punters! Nice…
There’s a lot I love about Greenbelt. Back at the start of the 90s (and the start of me dabbling in this writing thingy), the writing workshops held at Greenbelt’s London HQ were key to my early development as a writer (thanks a lot to guys like Dave Roberts and Martin Wroe, who used to share their insights and expertise with us). The more I went, the more I realised there was more to Greenbelt than music. I’ve discovered an array of writers and thinkers (Caesar Molebatsi, Robert Beckford, Jim Wallis, Phillip Yancey and the late Mike Yaconelli, to name a few), and made lots of friends through my annual pilgrimage to Cheltenham (and to Castle Ashby and Deene Park before that). And of course, I’ve heard more great bands and singers than I care to remember.
On the Greenbelt blog (see my blogroll), there’s a series of “Why I’m Excited” posts, in which people associated with the festival have been talking about what (or who) they’re looking forward to the most. Here’s my “Why I’m Excited” list:
Jars of Clay are playing! So too are Brownmusic, Gil Scott-Heron, Ty, Beverley Knight, Foy Vance, Courtney Pine and Greenjade. Just a few of the acts I don’t want to miss.
They’re screening Africa United on Sunday afternoon (check back here for a review soon after).
A couple of ‘must go’ workshops and panel discussions – including one on storytelling and one on the relationship between music and activism.
The comedy line-up’s brilliant: I have to see Jude Simpson, Milton Jones and Andy Kind (he’s recently been featured on Channel 4’s 4thought.tv – top bloke).
And did I mention that I was Djing? 7Pm on Saturday in the Blue Nun wine bar. Drop by just before Shed Seven on Mainstage…
As I write this, we’re just seven hours away to doors open time at the IndigO2, for one of the most eagerly anticipated gospel gigs to take place in the UK – at least as far as I can remember.
Faith Child, Guvna B and Victizzle are just three of the wave of urban acts that have injected some much needed new energy into British gospel music (more specifically, the ‘urban’ rap/grime/garage end of it) in recent years. Tonight, they’re the joint headliners at the prestigious venue, performing under the collective moniker The Three Musketeers (T3M).
The closest I’ve come to making a new year’s resolution in recent years was my decision last year to “do one crazy thing every month”. I think it’s that part of me that admires these three men the most. For three young artists known for ‘Gospel grime’ (a niche within a niche, if there ever was one) to say to themselves, “Let’s put on a gig at the O2” – that’s crazy talk right there.
Crazy it might sound, but it’s certainly not an unreasonable ambition – or even a new one. Nine years ago, I spent a weekend in Holland and met a few Dutch gospel artists. I asked them what their aspirations were, and one of them said, “I would really love to see Dutch Gospel artists put on a concert in Ahoy.” (That’s the 10,000-seater arena in Rotterdam; the venue where Destiny’s Child’s Live DVD was shot, if you’ve seen it) Simply put, the aim of any artist – Gospel or otherwise – is to sing in front of as many pairs of ears as possible. If those ears are linked to hands that are willing to pay you for your trouble, even better.
A lot has been said and written about British Gospel music – and not all of it has been good. It’s the poor relation; the kid whose best has never been good enough for an audience that willingly gobbles up anything that comes from Stateside and bears the ‘Gospel’ label – regardless of whether it’s actually any good. In such an atmosphere, any artist who ignores the naysayers and steps up in such a big way deserves all the support they can get.
The guys’ choice of name speaks volumes too. In my years covering gospel music both in and out of the UK, I’ve always found the British gospel rappers to be the most shining example of a body of brothers (and sisters) working together in unity. I read The Three Musketeers in school, and was always struck by the Musketeers’ motto: “All for one, and one for all.” In my view, these rappers have been living the Musketeers’ motto all throughout their careers.
I bought my ticket a couple of weeks ago (Victizzle sold it to me in person, in the middle of Oxford Street. That’s how dedicated these guys are!). Tonight, I’m going to be at the ringside, blowing my vuvuzela and having a good time. Why don’t you come and join me?
The first one I saw was the Fuhrer’s foul-mouthed reaction to the news of Michael Jackson’s death, barely days after watching his memorial concert. Others followed: Usain Bolt’s 100m win; Kanye West upsetting Taylor Swift; Oasis splitting up… all of varying degrees of hilarity (and tastelessness).
While I can understand why the filmmakers had the videos pulled (they did kind of trivialise what was a really deep, serious film), part of me wishes they were still around, and new ones were being made. I’d have loved to see what Hitler would have made of these news stories:
Rage Against the Machine getting the Christmas number 1
Heroes being axed
Britain’s hung parliament
Reception problems with his new iPhone 4
The vuvuzela
Delirious?’s ‘History Maker’ only getting to number 6 in the charts
Robbie Williams rejoining Take That
Google Wave not really catching on
Naomi Campbell giving evidence at the Charles Taylor trial
Usain Bolt losing to Tyson Gay
… And if possible, I’d like those videos to be in 3D.
It started with an invite to the premiere of the new documentary India’s Forgotten Women, just a day before hopping on a plane to Singapore for a week. Then last Friday, I spent much of the evening in Secondo (a trendy bar/clothes shop situated under a railway arch in Clapham), at a fund raising event called Tamasha, organised by a couple of young women I go to church with.
Last year, ten of us spent two weeks in Delhi, with a project we support out there called Asha (the Hindi word for “hope”). Asha operates in 35 slum areas in Delhi, providing healthcare, educating children, helping people set up businesses, and a lot of work empowering women in various aspects of life – to the point that whereas in the old days, slum dwellers were completely at the mercy of slumlords, these days it’s the women who ‘run tings’ in the slums where Asha operates. Anj (one of the two ladies who organised the event) works in London as a teacher. She’s about to head off to India to work with the Asha project again – for a year this time.
The event itself was a lot of fun. I ate some extremely sticky Indian confectionery and saw a couple of very promising new singers perform live (with real bands; none of that karaoke business). I even bought a Levi’s denim jacket really cheap! All in all, a good night – and it started me thinking about a few things.
One of the reasons I started a blog was that I was getting fed up of having stories which I felt ought to be heard, but not being able to share them because they weren’t “what editors are looking for right now.” If your work involves dealing with a gatekeeper of some sort – an editor, an interview board, Simon Cowell – you can probably relate to that feeling of your destiny being in someone else’s hands. Not nice. Well, this blog was meant to be the place where those stories found an outlet, so it’s about time I used it for that a bit more.
As I’ve already mentioned, I went to India last year and spent some time with the Asha project. I’ve got an in-depth interview with the leader of the project, which I’ve hawked around various newspapers to no avail. The commissioning editor of one very big magazine was interested in the story; we swapped emails back and forth discussing the possibility of them running it… and then the emails stopped (I discovered a while later that the mag had gone bust).
Anyway, the point of all this is to announce a mini “India Season” of blog posts. I’ll be putting up part of that interview with Dr. Kiran Martin (founder of the Asha project) soon, followed by an interview with Michael Lawson, the director of India’s Forgotten Women. In the meantime, why not recap by having a look at my blog posts from last year’s India trip?
GEORGE LUKE 