Fifth birthday for a rather special boy

Remote control

Stories from the apocalypse - the dreaming

 

the entry to his dream lies beneath the billowing windswept tufts of a thousand hissing devil-point thistles...

 

...that blot out the bold red sky and sinking low to the pits of an ancient seeping stomach, a familiar place, blurred and distant in his mind. Where is it?  He scratches his head and looks round for clues.

 'White'. What might that mean? The thistles continue to fall in sharp shards, cutting his head open to the elements and the sky and the sinking sun seeping blood red to the lobes of a distant memory that crawls in cawl-skeined flight...

 ...where he remembers the brief presage of a rainbow cloud before it too sinks into the fire bush and awaits the staked claims of the vultures. That's how the ancients pass to the next realm. He remembers now,

he remembers

staked to the ground...

... and how they heap cold tiles to his cadaver, scales and feathers, dust and bones to the long night of passage...

.. and the shaft of light blinds between the trees and soft mossy places where once he danced young and proud to his maiden-headed joy

.. and still it comes flooding in rich arced jetting spumes through the thistles and blood red pulsing in his head...

.. to a silent Amish barn and the sad hangings of dusty hessian within which a gun scythes the crying children thistle-tipped to the ground.

...and they are nailed in feathers and glue to the circling birds that descend

on this joyous fecund seed bed as these images flash for one last time...

 

... into dream

and wonder

and

silence

Skipping

Yesterday lunch-time I went for a walk round town and I met such a beautiful sight.

She must have been six or seven, curly hair flying as she grasped hold of her grandfather's hand. She was skipping so joyfully as she raced up the hill. The smile on her face said it all. The joy and innocence of youth! The love of her grandfather beside!

And the tap, tap, tap, tap of her white stick as she danced and skipped. She was blind. But she could see...

I wonder how many others who walked that same street could see as well as her.

Latitude 2015 .. the curtain falls

Dear Sheddists,

the rain comes during the night, but fortunately not hard enough to spoil the last day of Latitude 2015.  It's not long before the sun returns, drying the fields before they have the chance to be churned into mud.

Today we've decided to stay put at the Obelisk Arena as it boasts the best line-up of the festival by some margin, even if they're all well-known names.  Mrs electrofried bags a couple of seats in one of the stands at the back as I go off in search of yet more ridiculously over-priced festival cider.

So here's what the day brings...

Gareth Malone and the Voices of the Latitude Choir - deliver a short and punchy set. Despite just a few days of practice the choir of amateurs perform remarkably well.

Naomi Shelton and The Gospel Queens - continue the day in suitably fine style. Confined to a wheelchair and now in her 70s Naomi brings a warmth and a joy to proceedings supported by some fine musicians and backing vocalists.  Soul for the soul.

The Boomtown Rats - the ever narcissistic Master Geldof bounds onstage in a snakeskin suit and promptly proceeds to berate the audience for not dressing up.  Perhaps it might have been better if the audience had instead reminded him about growing up, his performance punctuated at regular intervals by foul language and inane boasts. Many of the audience head out muttering under their breath - hardly the hit of the festival.

Seasick Steve - fortunately revives the party spirit with a superb set of hocum blues played on an increasingly bizarre series of home-fashioned instruments.  Very, very good indeed and he has the audience eating from his hand. Quite a contrast with the tawdry act that preceded  him.

The Manic Street Preachers - unashamedly play their greatest hits and whilst I'm not the most ardent of fans it's clear even to me they've amassed a fine collection of songs over the years. It presages the way for the final act of the festival.

Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds - I'm not expecting to enjoy this quite as much as I do. Noel and his band play songs from their latest album and Oasis covers in about equal measure, all of which are rapturously received.  Fittingly they end with 'Don't look back in anger' and the traditional hands in the air audience sing-a-long.


So that was Latitude 2015.  Some great music (Public Service Broadcasting, Femi Kuti, Seasick Steve and Noel Gallagher standing to the fore), some great culture (who can forget the magnificent first-night ballet on the water by Studio Festi culminating in an ear-shattering fireworks display) and some decent weather.

A fine way indeed to celebrate ten years of festival fun.

Latitude - Gallery 3

 

 

Latitude 2015 - Saturday Blues

Dear Sheddists,

Saturday and dawn breaks on another pleasingly warmed morning. Already there are snaking queues leading ramshackle into the Shower Tents. A desultory trickle is the best that can be managed and it's back to Veronica the Van with a free copy of 'The Independent' tucked purposefully beneath my arm.

It's another leisurely start. Stoked once more with sundry breakfast detritus from the 24/7 servery we pass through the psychedelic Check-Point Charley entry-point to the festival fields.  We're off to the Film Tent for a fascinating piece called, 'Station to Station' by Doug Aitken. It features over sixty one minute short musical performances and interviews shot during a train journey from New York to San Francisco.  Well worth a look if it comes near you.

From there it's back to the music and...

Badly Drawn Boy - with a lack-lustre and somewhat surly performance of his meister-work, 'The Hour of the Bewilderbeast' over at the Obelisk Arena.  Frankly five minutes was more than sufficient, thank you.

Sun Kil Moon -  a short trip across the BBC 6 Radio Tent sees Mark Kozelek in surprisingly spritely form. The ex Red House Painter even takes off his denim jacket toward the end of the set to do battle with one of the three drum kits on stage. 

Jose Gonzalez - back to the Obelisk Arena for a fine performance by Mr Gonzalez and his impressively fluid backing band. We saw him play at Warwick Arts Centre earlier in the year when he was just as impressive.  Swedish bossa-nova, ambient just doesn't come finer than this!

Flagging a little we head back to the Comedy Tent to see Marcus Brigstocke.  We saw him perform on Friday as part of an improv ensemble and today he's even better when he flies solo. The vicissitudes of divorce and fresh love provide the soundtrack to his insightful comic observations.

And at this point as weariness overwhelms us we decide to turn in for an early night, the starkly scratched sounds of Portishead accompanying our return journey to Veronica the Van.