music

Paradise City Indeed

There are times, every now and then, when my jaw drops in astonishment of how truly lucky I am: moments when one of my dreams has come true, or a crazy far-fetched fantasy has been somehow brought to life. Last night saw another of those amazing moments.

When I got wind that Guns and Roses were going to play Wembley Stadium this summer a few months ago, of course I automatically thought that watching them would be great, and contacted mum to get tickets. These days, it seems that my mum is still the best person to ask when I want to arrange such things. Mum duly obliged, and I was soon counting down the months to last night. I have been into Guns and Roses since school: aged about ten or eleven, a couple of my classmates were into them, and I was struck by their mixture of rebelliousness and jaw-dropping electric guitar riffs. In the thirty years since, whenever I wanted to let off a bit of steam or the world got too frustrating, I always put on a Guns and Roses song: the music seemed to be able to do the screaming and shouting for me.

To have at last watched them perform live, then, at London’s greatest stadium alongside a crowd of tens of thousands, was utterly incredible. The atmosphere there last night was phenomenal, like nothing I had ever experienced before. Of course, I can compare it to things like going to watch Greenday or The Cat Empire, but in a way this was on another level. The volume was almost deafening, so much so that I could barely make out the lyrics being sung. I couldn’t even make out what John was saying, sat right next to me. Yet as the sun went down and the sky grew darker, and the lights in the stadium came on, there seemed to be a wonderful aura about the place: the audience in front of me all turned small lights on, so it looked like a reflection of the night’s sky above us. As the band went through their back catalogue*, often getting up and dancing to my favourite songs, it struck me how truly lucky I was. And when they finished the evening with Paradise City, probably one of my favourite pieces of music ever, I was absolutely euphoric.

*Mind you, I was slightly disappointed that we must have arrived slightly too late to hear them play Live And Let Die.

Queuing for Pretentiousness

Oasis and the fact that tickets for their upcoming tour have gone on sale was on the news this morning. Inspired to blog about it, I just checked my archive, and my opinion of the band hasn’t changed since I wrote this entry: Liam and Noel Gallagher are still two talentless, arrogant wankers. What gets to me (in a mildly annoying way) is the obviously fake adoration they’re currently receiving. The beeb’s breakfast show I was just watching showed fans queuing outside ticket offices, as if it was somehow equivalent to a Beatles or Queen reunion. The thing is, many of the people there were obviously too young to have been alive when Oasis were actually together; either that or just wanted to tap into the band’s Northern chique, faux-anti-establishment brand. In other words, this didn’t have anything to do with wanting to listen to music, but was entirely pretentious.

Then again, I suppose the same accusation could be levelled at me when I was so enthusiastic to get tickets for Monty Python Live in 2014. Given that I wasn’t alive when Python first aired in the Seventies, was I just going with the Python-are-great vibe? Was I being pretentious, claiming to tap into a culture which I thought was trendy and fashionable? I don’t think so: although I was born post-Python, I had grown up in a household full of Monty Python References. I remember my dad singing The Lumberjack Song when I was little, not understanding why he would work all night and sleep all day. I remember being told about spam, and the song Jesus sang when he was on the cross. Most fondly of all, I remember watching Michael Palin’s travel programs on Sunday evenings. Thus when they reunited eleven years ago, my enthusiasm was entirely heartfelt and genuine. Those guys were and are legends and cultural icons; watching them live will always be one of the highlights of my life. My only regret looking back is that I didn’t get tickets for my parents to see the show too, as they were even bigger Python fans than I was.

Now, however, Oasis are trying to tap into the same kind of nostalgic vibe Python exhibited, but the difference now is that it is entirely superficial. These ‘fans’ don’t actually like Oasis, as much as they want to be seen to like Oasis. They seem to be under the gross misapprehension that being an Oasis fan makes you an anti-mainstream rebel, when the irony is that you can barely get more mainstream than these two generic, nauseating, unoriginal twits. Anyone genuinely into rock music would be queuing for tickets for the plethora of other actual rock concerts happening across the country this summer. But instead they put on their stupid hats and sunglasses, and try to imitate the mannerisms of two Mancunian wankers who never had a shred of musical talent in the first place.

The Crucible

Something cool happened yesterday, which I felt a tad guilty about at the same time. Unlike last Saturday the sun was shining, so yesterday morning I had what I assumed was a brilliant idea and emailed the Globe theatre. I explained what happened, about my powerchair, the rain, and why we missed half the play, asking if we could perhaps go to another performance. A couple of hours later I got a reply asking for our booking details, which of course I gave. I soon got another email back, informing me that we could go to the performance that afternoon. For a moment I was over the moon, until John, who was by then in the room, told me that he couldn’t go because he had things he needed to do here. I instantly felt extremely guilty: going to see The Crucible had been his idea in the first place, and I should have checked with him before I sent the email.

By that time, however, there was no time to get into that: it was almost one and the performance would apparently start at two. I hopped onto a bus and set off for the South Bank, feeling rather guilty but looking forward to what I was about to see.

Arthur Miller’s Crucible is a fascinating play. As I said last week, it was a text I studied at A Level, but I had never seen it performed live. The spectacle I was witness to yesterday afternoon was incredible. It’s a play where tension slowly builds and builds until, in the third act, it’s almost tangible, with all the characters accusing one another of witchcraft. Their denial only results in more suspicion, escalating to a riveting, heart-breaking, almost unbearable denouement. The way it was performed yesterday was jaw-dropping, and I really felt for the lead character, John Proctor, trapped in a position he had no way of escaping. This was theatre at it’s greatest.

Of course, Miller’s play is famously an allegory for the McCarthy witch hunts of the 1950s, so that’s what I kept thinking about throughout yesterday’s performance: what are we actually watching, and what might it mean? You only need to turn on the evening news to see that there is a crucible now burning in America far more dangerous, more insidious than either Proctor or Miller could ever have imagined; and I think that may have been among the reasons why this play is being performed at the Globe this summer. The timing cannot be ignored. A play illustrating the first time people in America descended into embittered, suspicious anarchy is actually about the second; but what might it now say about the third? What worries me is that this time, there won’t be any rapturous applause at the end.

As the play ended and I started to leave the theatre, of course I felt deeply satisfied: it had been a fascinating afternoon. But I needed to make sure I did two things: first I got a copy of Arthur Miller’s play so I could reread it and study it more deeply; but I also asked if John could go, perhaps in a few weeks, since he couldn’t come with me yesterday, and I’m glad to say he can.

Pulp Fans And Outsidership

I was just watching BBC Breakfast News as usual, and came across something which really, really got on my nerves. They were running an item on Pulp, Jarvis Cocker and Britpop, about how it was so influential and the legacy it left, especially on places like Sheffield. Towards the end of the piece, they quite predictably interviewed a few fans: what I found so annoying was how such fans saw themselves as outsiders. They were saying how, to be into a band like Pulp, you had to be a bit weird, strange or unusual, gleefully emphasising how different and abnormal they thought they were. The thing is, the people saying this were white, male, able-bodied and (I assume) straight. Sorry, but I couldn’t help getting rather wound up by that. They obviously belong to the most mainstream, advantaged cohort of people there is; one which faces the least discrimination of all. Liking a certain band or genre of music does not make you an outsider, yet they seemed to regard theirselves as oddities swimming against the mainstream current.

As someone who faces various kinds of discrimination every day, down to being unable to get where I want to go due to places being inaccessible for wheelchair users, to hear such a person trumpet how ‘different’ he felt he was, really felt like a piss-take. He would know nothing of the kind of persecution a member of any real minority faces. But then, these days it seems to be culturally fashionable to be a member of a minority: nobody wants to be seen as a member of the advantaged, privileged few, so rather like Monty Python’s Four Yorkshiremen will jump at anything that makes them seem hard done by, persecuted or different. The thing is, liking the music of a certain band, and being educated in a special school alongside seven or eight quite disabled young people, are hardly the same thing.

Life Is A Cabaret

I think it would be fair to say that my New Year’s Eve was astonishing, and one of the best I’ve ever had. I didn’t stay up for the fireworks – indeed, I was in bed by eleven, after one too many margaritas – but my afternoon yesterday was absolutely phenomenal. John and I went to see Cabaret at the Playhouse theatre, just off Whitehall. It was once again John’s idea, and I didn’t know much about the show; but as soon as I entered the performance space, I knew we were in for something truly special.

Over the next couple of hours, my jaw was almost constantly on the floor. Truth be told, I think I was vaguely familiar with Cabaret as it started to ring a few bells; yet what I found myself watching yesterday was unlike anything I had ever seen or experienced before. The text is set in 1930s Berlin, and is about people coming to terms with the rise of Nazism. One character is a writer from America; another is a jewish man trying to find love. There is a deep darkness at the core of the play, but around this core is a sort of frenetic jollity. The performance itself is full of action and energy, song and dance. When I say ‘full’, I mean you could barely get more into the room. John and I were sitting right next to the circular stage, and the performers were charging in every direction, sometimes so close that I could have touched them.

It was visceral, awe-inspiring entertainment. It was theatre, but it was unlike any theatre I had experienced before. The stage was at the centre of the room, but it was like the entire room was the stage. Thus the performers interacted with the entire space, both on the stage and off it, singing and dancing in a way that was utterly, utterly exhilarating. At the same time, there was an intense darkness to the piece, as the story being told to us was one of persecution and discrimination. The lyrics to some of the songs being sung were truly heartbreaking. There was therefore a discord or juxtaposition at the core of the piece, between the energy of the performance and the play being performed, which was profoundly unsettling.

Once again I’m struggling to sum what I experienced yesterday in one short blog entry. Such performances can never be translated into prose but have to be experienced for yourself. How J managed to get tickets at such a discount baffles me. But as I tried to get home yesterday evening, battling my way through the crowds of revellers and blocked off streets, I reflected to myself once again how lucky I am to live here, in this metropolis of theatre and music and life, where I can go to such amazing performances and events, just a tube line away.

What 2025 will bring is anyone’s guess, but simply being here fills me with optimism. The wider world might be currently standing at a precarious juncture, and indeed yesterday’s performance could be read as a nod to that. Yet what shows like Cabaret also tell you is that humanity always survives; good always finds a way to prevail, and good people will always find a way to show their friendship and love, be that through meeting for drinks in pubs, going to spectacular performances or going to places like India or Morocco. I don’t know what life will bring me next year, but then, life is a cabaret.

Happy New Year everyone!

Rocking Out in Trafalgar Square

Yesterday was yet another of those days which reminded me how awesome living in London is. To be honest I didn’t have much of a plan: I have a new anti-Trump hat which I thought I’d go try to show off in Parliament Square, but I fancied a bit of a trundle first. I caught the Elisabeth Line to Tottenham Court Road, and had a look round Soho. There wasn’t much going on there, so I headed towards Westminster.

On my way through Trafalgar Square, however, I got rather distracted. The square was swelling with people; people were selling food from vans. I encountered a street preacher who, naturally, I instantly started to tell to shut up. I then got into a debate with him about the nature of reality, which lasted about half an hour. But it was only when that ended that the fun really began.

Heading towards the entrance to Whitehall I started to hear music: cool, rock music of the kind I usually like. Some guys were playing in that end of the square, and people were starting to gather to listen. There were three or four of them: fairly young, and they looked rather funky. The young lady on the drums struck me as especially impressive. The crowd around them was growing, and starting to get into the swing of things.

Needless to say I joined them. I was rather hesitant at first, not wanting to cause any trouble, but pretty soon I was rocking about, flying around in my powerchair like a mad-thing! The band seemed to welcome it, and the funky-looking lead singer encouraged me. They were playing all kinds of cool things, including American Idiot by Greenday. That, of course, lead me to ask if they knew Basketcase, and when they started playing it, the buildings around the square echoing to the lyrics “Do you have the time, to listen to me whine…” I went into full rock mode. The afternoon had suddenly become awesome.

Between songs, the lead singer spoke to the crowd, introducing the band as The Vone. They were busking of course, and asking for donations. I instantly took a liking to this group of young people, and was especially taken by how the lead singer took the time to see what I was typing into my Ipad. Their gig lasted about an hour or so, after which I started talking to them. The lead singer, Marcello, thanked me for my dancing, and I apologised for stealing the show somewhat. As the band packed up their things, I asked if they fancied a beer, and Marcello told me that they were about to go to a nearby pub, inviting me along.

The rest of the evening was spent getting to know my new friends. Marcello turned out to be a fascinating guy: I had assumed he was American given his accent, but he was from brazil. He works as a musician for Cbeebees. He also told me that he lives in Woolwich, so there is a chance we could meet up again. London has this incredible ability to introduce you to fascinating people, so that every morning you never know who you’re going to meet or what you’ll encounter. Yesterday was another of those amazing days which suddenly morphed into something incredible. I have new friends and new memories – what more could I ask for?