What was that sound ringing around your brayyyyne?

Quick "this day in history" moment: 2 years ago today (March 5th), I kissed the blarney stone, climbed the Rock of Cashel, and saw the greatest band in the world play the Point in Dublin, Ireland. One of the best days of my life.



My hero (he'd be looking right at me...if he wasn't so entranced with his own guitar playing.)

Egbert Sousé Looks At Jean-Luc Godard . . . And Can't Quite Believe What He Sees

Here is a fine photographic reproduction of me with the owner of this blog joint looking at Jean-Luc Godard. Neither of us are sure we can believe our eyes . . .




Since I can’t think of anything better to mouth off about, I have decided to grant a request from my following to share some thoughts about this fellow:



His name is Jean-Luc Godard and I agree he doesn’t look like much. But that guy with the crazy stare and the poseur’s cigarette hanging out of his gob is one of the half dozen most important figures in the history of cinema.

Jean-Luc: The “nouvelle vogue guy” years
His career falls more or less neatly into three parts. The first part runs from the late 50s through the late 60s. He made a series of experimental, playful and hugely influential films like A bout de souffle, Bande à part and a bunch of others. For better or worse, Godard’s fingerprints are all over the movies that came after him. Directors as varied as Quentin Tarantino, Hal Hartley, Wong Kar-wai and David Lynch (along with any number of others) borrow directly from his work.

You might think this means he makes good films, but you might want to hold off a bit before jumping to that particular conclusion. A bout de souffle is a cool flick and the running through the Louvre and the impromptu dance sequences in Bande à part are among the great movie moments of 60s cinema. Some of his others, particularly Les Carabiniers and Masculin, féminin, are still reasonably fresh and dynamic.




But even his best work has stuff I’m not too crazy about: a love of effect at the expense of plot or character (both of which are often arbitrary), self absorption, juvenile politics and a general creeping pretension. So while the films I’ve mentioned, as well as others like My Life To Live or La Chinoise (despite its political stupidity, which at least can be defended as naively representative of its time), are okay in my book, many of his most famous films of this period (Alphaville, Pierrot le fou, Contempt, etc.) just leave me cold.

Jean-Luc: The “crazy guy” years
At some point in the late 60s, Godard decided to give up on narrative cinema or really coherence of any kind. Even his least interesting 60s work had flashes of humour and a cinematic sensibility, but for some reason he suddenly disappeared up his own orifice and slapped together some of the most boring, inane, self indulgent and annoying films ever committed to celluloid. I hate these movies. Watching them is the cinematic equivalent of a root canal. Sorry, that’s not strong enough. It’s more like having a root canal without anaesthetic while a Nazi dentist is asking you “Is it safe?” His most famous work from these years is Sympathy For The Devil, which mixes a little footage of the Rolling Stones with a lot of brainless politicizing and pointless boring sludge. Even with the Stones at their peak, this is just too awful a film to be considered even marginally watchable. And it’s still miles better than the other stuff he did in the 70s.



So if you get a chance to see a Godard film from this period, do yourself a big favour and rent Cycle Sluts From Hell instead.

Jean-Luc: The “boring guy” years
In the 80s, Godard returned to a more traditional (all things being relative) approach to cinema. Pretty much all his films for the past 25 years or so have been hailed by critics and cineastes as “comebacks” and “returns to form”. Even I’ve been suckered to seeing a few of them. Someone whose taste in film I respect will assure me that this time Godard has regained his touch and I end up sitting through miseries like Je vous salue marie or Forever Mozart or Prénom: Carmen and am left asking myself why, if this is such a great film, is it so hard to stay awake?

Unfortunately, boredom isn’t the only problem. In Godard’s recent Eloge de l’amour, a character comes up with this gem: “Americans make films about other countries’ history because they don’t have a history themselves”. It’s not the anti-Americanism I mind (hey, I’m not from the U.S.), it’s the breathtaking stupidity and smugness I object to. The sensation of watching that film was akin to being trapped in a noisy Parisian café where the coffee is overpriced and a little nasty, while an arrogant, obnoxious intellectual at the next table blew smoke from his Gauloise in my face for two hours. I guess it’s the kind of thing you have to develop a taste for . . .

In the city there's a thousand things I wanna say to you

So, after 3 days of being back home from the NYC, I'm still not quite sure what I think of it. As members of the 'friends of Mike' club well know, London and Dublin are the gold standards by which I measure whether I like a place or not. To review, Rome and Paris both failed miserably, San Francisco didn't quite make the cut, and now we come to the "Capital of the world." Well, quite frankly I was only there for a little more than 48 hours, so basing an opinion on that may be difficult. (That said, I was only in Paris proper for about 4 hours before I decided I hated it, so take that for what it's worth).

Anyhoo, a summary of events. Went down to Ground zero, which I didn't quite get the eery vibe that I got in places like Dieppe, Dunkerque and the rest of Normandy and a few other similar places...mainly because it just looks like a construction site now. Times Square was next, but it just seemed like a ripoff of Piccadilly Circus. Rockefeller centre was nice enough, though. Then back to MSG to meet a friend to go down to Central Park to see the Gates, the conceptual art thingy created by Christo. I don't get it. BUt as it turns out, I continued my pilgrimmage to Beatles holy sites by going to Strawberry Fields, on George's birthday no less. (Which I didn't know at the time, but it's a nice story)...they had flowers, pictures and a guitar and weirdoes milling about. Good times, and off to find the Dakota, which was less nice, but important nonetheless. Once again, a small stone circle and the place where a Beatle died doesn't really match Abbey Road studios and 3 Saville Row. Then hanging out in a couple of bars in the village for the rest of the day...this was good.

Saturday I was right off to see the Empire State Building. Aside from the line, good stuff. Nice views, windswept hair, gotta love it. Then one of those "hop-on, hop-off" tour buses got me a quick view of the whole of the downtown. Of course, I had to pay $37 for it, which knocked it waaaaaaaaay down in my book. Then a bit of CD shopping in the village, where prices were again ridiculous. Then Ian Brown, then back to Times Square at night (which I'd been told "you HAVE to do". I still thought it was a bigger version of Piccadilly Circus.)

And that's all folks. Don't like the subway as compared to London, it's harder to walk around the city, the people are different.

Hmmm....3 out of 5, I guess.

So, to recap, the big cities I've been in the last two years...

Out of 5:

London = 8
Dublin = 5
Liverpool = 4
New York = 3
San Francisco = 3
Edinburgh = 2.5
Rome = 2.5
Toronto = 2
Zurich = 2
Paris = -6

Mikey reacts to the News of the world

Volume 1: In today's episode, our hero looks at Popey McGee's health scare.

So it looks like Pope John Paul II is having a rapid decline in his health and he's not long for this world. I'm filled with a whole lot of mixed emotions about this. First and foremost, as a former Catholic (I'm an atheist nowadays), I by all rights shouldn't care about this one way or the other, but regardless of your faith (or lack thereof) you have the give the man his due for being by all accounts a pretty good guy (unless you're gay or a woman). I give him full respect for bouncing back after being shot and not letting his illnesses get in the way of his duty, and continuing to travel the globe in spite of what must be a bad way of living. So seeing him finally lose the battle against his own body will be pretty melancholy.

On the other hand, this may be pretty morbid, but I in a way can't wait to see what happens when he dies. Me being only 25 years old, he's the only Pope I've ever known, so I've never seen a Papal enclave. And more importantly, neither has CNN. I can just imagine it now...Christiane Amanpour being sent to Rome to cover the story and talking about "my sources in the Sistine Chapel tell me that Cardinal Sistano has sustained a heavy challenge from Cardinal Smith of the United States" only to debunk it an hour later when an altar boy tells her that Cardinal Rzjghiugiauhia from Swaziland is the new favourite. Then when the white smoke appears, all bets are off. I'm well looking forward to it.

And then the final factor, I won't be able to say I met the Pope anymore. When we were living in Rome back in the day (1990, to be precise), we were granted an audience with the Pope (along with a whole mess of other people too, but we were there). Anyway, after he does his ceremony, he's walking around greeting some of the people and he hugs me, and then goes to kiss my baby sister, who was in my mom's arms, which trapped me in between him and my mom. Half crushed me to death. But we got a picture out of it, which was so impressive to my grandparents, they got it put in the local newspaper in Cape Breton. Which was a nice thing to have when you're 10.

So here's to you, JP2.

Goodnight, Springton...there will be no encore.

Ian Brown (with Radio 4) at Webster Hall, New York City, NY - February 26th, 2005
Doors open at 6:30???? Six fucking thirty? What the hell? Oh, wait. Webster Hall is basically a strip club 6 nights a week, save for the occasional concert. (Kings of Leon played there on wednesday night). Anyway, we get in, and go up, and up, and up some more....where the hell is the stage? Oh, there it is. Looks cool enough. Nice looking venue, probably holds slightly more than a thousand punters, with a balcony. Anyhoo, hang around with a beer in hand checking out the scenery. Finally wander over to the rail, and get in my traditional "seeing a brit-pop hero of mine" position at the rail stage-left. (where I'd been for oasis and Paul Weller in the past) Luckily I was on the rail, as due to some back problems, I'm pretty certain I would've collapsed otherwise. An hour passes and Radio 4 come on 'round about 8. They're alright. They've got a guitarist, a bass player/lead vocalist, a guy on keys/computer, a drummer, and a percussionist...who reminds me that I've got a fever, and the only cure is....more cowbell. They do their set as the crowd applauds politely. We sit and wait as the roadies set up....looks like no mic stage right, so more than likely no Noel Gallagher. Damn. Anyway, Ian comes out 9-ish garbed in a black leather parka, and green hoody looking cool as fuck. (I mean, it's Ian Brown, how could he not?)

First song is Destiny or circumstance which he almost immediately stops on account of no sound coming out of the stage monitors. They sort that out, and do the song again from the top. Next though, he goes into something that sets the punters off...I can't make hide nor hair of it due to the shit sound, but as soon as he starts singing "your knuckles whiten on the wheel"....HOLY SHIT! MADE OF STONE!! Of course after about 3 lines, they stop again. More sound problems. Ian walks right over beside me and starts yelling at the soundman. Ridiculous. So they do it again. Then we get a run of roses songs that leaves a fair number of the crowd delirious with joy (this being the first time Stone Roses songs had been played in North America since they split in 1995)....she bangs the drums, waterfalls and sally cinnamon. Then a pile of solo songs: if dolphins were monkeys, forever and a day, golden gaze (this was mega), F.E.A.R, and all these from solarized: T.I.M.E., sweet fantastic, Longsight M13. He then says "keep what ya got", to which a punter yells out "where's Noel Gallagher?" To which he replies "he couldn't get a plane". The final two songs were Lovebug...and a stunning I wanna be adored. As soon as the bass line kicked in, the place went mad. Then Ian climbs up on top of the riser slamming the tambourine, the guitar riff starts and that got the pogoing going pretty heavy. Great ending to a great show. But no encore, which was a huge disappointment. (I believe the last three songs were supposed to be the encore, but due to time constraints he never left the stage.)

Final thoughts:
- I thought his voice was in good form, especially compared to the bootleg I got from October,
- his sound guy should be fired (they ended up restarting 4 songs due to poor sound/mixing problems)
- the crowd was full of british expats who were having it large on the night....stunned a fair number of them were still standing after the show.
- Keep what ya got, which is probably my favourite song of the last few years, suffered without the guy who wrote the music playing it. It wasn't too good on Conan on wednesday night, either. But that was due more to Ian standing still and doing that marching thing.
- He was far more animated at the show, posing for pictures, wandering the stage, yelling at the sound guy.
- Trying to get out of the venue was pretty bad as they had a bunch of other floors set up for their club stuff. (Quick aside: walked over on friday morning to get a picture of the marquee, which didn't have "Ian Brown" up yet. It had "Friday night: "amateur night - strip tease. First prize: $500" Oh goodie.)

All in all, I'll give the show a 7 of 10 and the experience of spending the weekend in NYC a 9. Good times.


PS: Noel couldn't get a plane, my ass. This was posted on oasis' official site during the weekend:

NOEL GALLAGHER: A CORRECTION
25 February 2005
It has come to our attention that stories have been circulating in the press that Noel Gallagher would be performing with Ian Brown on the Conan O'Brian show in New York this week.

This was never true and is simply a rumour that was circulated by Ian Brown's management and publicist...

Bastards.