I found some excellent videos of The Bad Plus on YouTube today, there's pretty much a whole concert here. Watch them all. Here's a highlight: the comparatively restrained Prehensile Dream which is from their brilliant 'Suspicious Activity?' album. Unbelievable texture and variation from what is essentially the same thing over and over again. I like the ridiculous scales and contra-motion underneath the melody when the piano gets going.
The Bad Plus are one of my favourite bands in the world and certainly one of the most inspirational. Their compositional technique is unrivaled in its ability to simultaneously experiment with rhythm and tonality, let alone genre and style, whilst aways firmly clasping aesthetic melody and almostsexuallygratifying harmony unrelentingly by the testes.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Accidental 7/4 Reggae Vibes
In Which: Our Hero Spends Hours With A Loop Pedal, A Shiny Guitar, A Trumpet And A Frustrated Drummer...
Monday, 27 July 2009
Frolicking through the mint fields with a bottle of Bacardi
In Which: Our Hero Drags Himself From Restful Slumber Within Minutes Of Having To Be Smartly Attired And Waiting For His Chauffeur, Drinks Heavily, Sees The Glory Of The Lord, Drinks Heavily, Smuggles Cider, And Ends The Evening At A Party (Apparently).
I went to a wedding on Saturday. It was in the middle of the countryside, and the weather was rather nice. It was single-handedly the strangest ceremony that I've ever seen - Rob 'The Dazzler' was ordained for the occasion, so the ceremony was quite unconventional, having none of the restricting shackles of religious tradition. The strange bit, however, was not the fact that we were all standing in the middle of a field listening to a ceremony that was erring more towards a comedy routine than a church service - no, the most surreal bit was when we all had to sing, A Capella, all four verses and refrains of 'Glory Glory Hallelujah', the famous American abolitionist hymn.
Kind of like the awkward half singing that characterises Happy Birthday around the globe, everyone started off in their own key, and then arranged themselves into factions, grouped together in three or four different keys, singing parallel to each other, with a few floaters in between, undecided and liberal with their tonal affections. This is a rare and special form of harmony which rarely sees light except for on these special occasions, and always brings a tear to my eye.
Anyway, the ceremony was all over by about three o'clock, from which point there was studious drinking seen from everyone. I tried my darnedest to get through all available options, but in the limited time before I got a lift home at twelve I could only get through the ale, lager-beer, both white wines, rosé, three reds, a bottle of Prosecco, a couple of mojitos, and a gin and tonic. By the time I left I realised there were a few more bits for me to try, so I had to smuggle all I could into the car with me, which unfortunately amounted to little more than a Magners, which looked pretty good in the dark behind the bar, but I have to say was very disappointing. Not the best way to end the evening.
As with most photos it would be much better if there wasn't someone else clogging up the frame. Unfortunately this picture comes courtesy of May-Kui, and she only posted photographs with her in them, stupid woman. I also think this would be better if I was wearing the hat, but unfortunately my head is so massive and unwieldy it didn't fit.
I went to a wedding on Saturday. It was in the middle of the countryside, and the weather was rather nice. It was single-handedly the strangest ceremony that I've ever seen - Rob 'The Dazzler' was ordained for the occasion, so the ceremony was quite unconventional, having none of the restricting shackles of religious tradition. The strange bit, however, was not the fact that we were all standing in the middle of a field listening to a ceremony that was erring more towards a comedy routine than a church service - no, the most surreal bit was when we all had to sing, A Capella, all four verses and refrains of 'Glory Glory Hallelujah', the famous American abolitionist hymn.
Kind of like the awkward half singing that characterises Happy Birthday around the globe, everyone started off in their own key, and then arranged themselves into factions, grouped together in three or four different keys, singing parallel to each other, with a few floaters in between, undecided and liberal with their tonal affections. This is a rare and special form of harmony which rarely sees light except for on these special occasions, and always brings a tear to my eye.
Anyway, the ceremony was all over by about three o'clock, from which point there was studious drinking seen from everyone. I tried my darnedest to get through all available options, but in the limited time before I got a lift home at twelve I could only get through the ale, lager-beer, both white wines, rosé, three reds, a bottle of Prosecco, a couple of mojitos, and a gin and tonic. By the time I left I realised there were a few more bits for me to try, so I had to smuggle all I could into the car with me, which unfortunately amounted to little more than a Magners, which looked pretty good in the dark behind the bar, but I have to say was very disappointing. Not the best way to end the evening.
I think I went to a party afterwards and probably just shouted at some people. I don't really remember.
As with most photos it would be much better if there wasn't someone else clogging up the frame. Unfortunately this picture comes courtesy of May-Kui, and she only posted photographs with her in them, stupid woman. I also think this would be better if I was wearing the hat, but unfortunately my head is so massive and unwieldy it didn't fit. Saturday, 25 July 2009
Put a fucking donk on it mate.
In Which: Our Hero Traverses The Country, Eats A Burger After All The Chip Shops Closed Early Due To Potato Shortages, Enjoys The Irony Of Inland Wigan's Pier, Untraverses The Country, Melts A Bit, And Sleeps.
We played a gig in Wigan yesterday. It was genuinely awesome. The guys from A Bear came all the way from Manchester to see us, which was an absolute treat. All the guys there were super nice and helpful, so thanks Wigan/Drew/Neil.
The Tudor is a pretty inauspicious looking place from the outside, but it's a really nice little pub, and all the drums were mic'd up to the point where the floor was vibrating, as in this little video of our soundcheck.
All the other bands pulled out from the night, so we were even treated to some emergency techno courtesy of some weirdo, who quite aptly summed up everyone's reaction to him by reminding us: "next time you see this face - FUCK OFF". Nice of him to recommend avoidance strategies for us.
As I had to get to a wedding the next day, Chris kindly drove us back to Norwich that very night, a delightful five hour journey through the burgeoning daylight. There was much energy drink, chicken tikka sandwiches, wine, winegums (aka Tesco jam doughnut), beer (aka Tesco iced doughnut) and endless fags consumed.
By the time we reached home, in the cold and surprisingly bright light of day, I think we were all a little madder than we had been when we left, to the point where I had an argument with Dan about infinity and how maths is NEVER BUILT ON ASSUMPTIONS. Maths is in fact based on truths. That's why it's awesome. Maths is one of the very few subjects where there is no fudging, no flim flamming, and no corner-cutting. And, for the record, 0.9999 recurring is exactly equal to 1.
Proof:
If x = 0.99999999.....
then 10x = 9.999999.....
Subtract one from the other:
10x = 9.99999999.....
- x = 0.99999999.....
9x = 9.0000000.....
divide by 9:
9x = 9 => x = 1
9 9
So whenever x = 0.99999..., x = 1
i.e. 0.99999.... = 1
QED
We played a gig in Wigan yesterday. It was genuinely awesome. The guys from A Bear came all the way from Manchester to see us, which was an absolute treat. All the guys there were super nice and helpful, so thanks Wigan/Drew/Neil.
The Tudor is a pretty inauspicious looking place from the outside, but it's a really nice little pub, and all the drums were mic'd up to the point where the floor was vibrating, as in this little video of our soundcheck.
All the other bands pulled out from the night, so we were even treated to some emergency techno courtesy of some weirdo, who quite aptly summed up everyone's reaction to him by reminding us: "next time you see this face - FUCK OFF". Nice of him to recommend avoidance strategies for us.
As I had to get to a wedding the next day, Chris kindly drove us back to Norwich that very night, a delightful five hour journey through the burgeoning daylight. There was much energy drink, chicken tikka sandwiches, wine, winegums (aka Tesco jam doughnut), beer (aka Tesco iced doughnut) and endless fags consumed.
By the time we reached home, in the cold and surprisingly bright light of day, I think we were all a little madder than we had been when we left, to the point where I had an argument with Dan about infinity and how maths is NEVER BUILT ON ASSUMPTIONS. Maths is in fact based on truths. That's why it's awesome. Maths is one of the very few subjects where there is no fudging, no flim flamming, and no corner-cutting. And, for the record, 0.9999 recurring is exactly equal to 1.
Proof:
If x = 0.99999999.....
then 10x = 9.999999.....
Subtract one from the other:
10x = 9.99999999.....
- x = 0.99999999.....
9x = 9.0000000.....
divide by 9:
9x = 9 => x = 1
9 9
So whenever x = 0.99999..., x = 1
i.e. 0.99999.... = 1
QED
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Internet speed dating
You
You've seen your whole life
Laid out in front of you
Spread out so evenly
Over your table but
Does it feel as real as
You
You've seen the whole world sat
there in your hands and it
Springs up and shoots at the
Click of a finger but
Does it feel as quick?
We spent the whole day
Here in your room, inside this box
It was a window
To all our friends who were outside
We could have stayed here
Right 'til the day that we both died
We've got the whole world
Right where we need it, in this box.
We've got the whole world
Right where we need it but we can't
See for tubes and wires.
You've seen your whole life
Laid out in front of you
Spread out so evenly
Over your table but
Does it feel as real as
You
You've seen the whole world sat
there in your hands and it
Springs up and shoots at the
Click of a finger but
Does it feel as quick?
We spent the whole day
Here in your room, inside this box
It was a window
To all our friends who were outside
We could have stayed here
Right 'til the day that we both died
We've got the whole world
Right where we need it, in this box.
We've got the whole world
Right where we need it but we can't
See for tubes and wires.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Marseille
In Which: Our Hero Inadvertently Finds Himself In The Third Biggest City In France, Finds Somewhere To Stay, Finds Somewhere Else To Stay, And Finds Himself Grumbling In A Carpark To Which All Roads Unavoidably Hurtle.
I went to France last week. I stayed in Paris for a few days, and then, after a mighty reorganising stint and several fruitless hours of stressful booking, moved down to Marseille for the end of the week. I have lots of nice stuff to say about drinking wine and wandering around Paris, but before I write a blog about that, I would like to detail just how utterly shite Marseille is.
1) First of all it's really grubby. Most of it looks like the level of upkeep of a Ghanan village. Despite my keen style and charming looks, I am not usually a superficial person, but really. They obviously do not often entertain guests.
2) Everyone drives like a maniac. Motorcyclists regularly use the pavement when there is heavy traffic, cars in general ignore pedestrian crossing lights (and then honk and yell at you because you've had the indecency to get in their way by crossing when they're trying to cruise through a red light thus almost getting knocked down by them and nearly denting their car which is already hammered to the point of falling apart because they're all such COCKING BAD DRIVERS).
We were staying on 'Rond-Point Prado', a rond-point being a round about. This roundabout however had a road straight through the middle of it. What's the point? Honestly, what's the point in having a sodding roundabout at all if you don't even have to drive round it?
They don't have road markings in France, so people just park wherever they feel the need to. Such as on the pavement, or indeed, on a rond-point.
3) There's absolutely NOTHING to do there. We stayed for three days, and had resorted to sitting in cafés smoking after the first afternoon. The 'Major Cathedral' is literally surrounded by wasteland, the 'Champs Elysées of the South' is more akin to the grubbiest parts of East London minus any interesting shops, and the Museum of the history of Marseille is, de facto alone, a gaping void of interest. And yet somehow it is to be the European Capital of Culture in 2013. Hopefully we will all be dead by then.
4) What are described on the map as parks it actually turns out are car parks. Whilst Marseille is not necessarily the greenest city in France, it can certainly boast an impressive collection of vast, empty concrete fields.
5) There is nowhere to stay. And when we went, everywhere that did exist was fully booked because there was a music festival going on. We booked ourselves into a hostel which seemed nice enough on the website. We got there to discover it was this guy called Sam's shabby little flat with some bunk beds in. I've never seen such a poor effort at disguising a flat as a business. To the point where he insisted we took our shoes off inside. We didn't have any lockers or safes, and Hannah walked in on Sam stark naked in the unlocked bathroom.
We immediately left, cried a bit, and lugged around Marseille for a couple of hours until we found a real hotel. Sam seemed genuinely offended. I kindly detailed for him exactly where he was going wrong in his scam, and his life in general. I don't really think that made things any better.
6) The music festival was a crock of pointless turd.
I think that about rounds it up.
I went to France last week. I stayed in Paris for a few days, and then, after a mighty reorganising stint and several fruitless hours of stressful booking, moved down to Marseille for the end of the week. I have lots of nice stuff to say about drinking wine and wandering around Paris, but before I write a blog about that, I would like to detail just how utterly shite Marseille is.
1) First of all it's really grubby. Most of it looks like the level of upkeep of a Ghanan village. Despite my keen style and charming looks, I am not usually a superficial person, but really. They obviously do not often entertain guests.
2) Everyone drives like a maniac. Motorcyclists regularly use the pavement when there is heavy traffic, cars in general ignore pedestrian crossing lights (and then honk and yell at you because you've had the indecency to get in their way by crossing when they're trying to cruise through a red light thus almost getting knocked down by them and nearly denting their car which is already hammered to the point of falling apart because they're all such COCKING BAD DRIVERS).
We were staying on 'Rond-Point Prado', a rond-point being a round about. This roundabout however had a road straight through the middle of it. What's the point? Honestly, what's the point in having a sodding roundabout at all if you don't even have to drive round it?
They don't have road markings in France, so people just park wherever they feel the need to. Such as on the pavement, or indeed, on a rond-point.
3) There's absolutely NOTHING to do there. We stayed for three days, and had resorted to sitting in cafés smoking after the first afternoon. The 'Major Cathedral' is literally surrounded by wasteland, the 'Champs Elysées of the South' is more akin to the grubbiest parts of East London minus any interesting shops, and the Museum of the history of Marseille is, de facto alone, a gaping void of interest. And yet somehow it is to be the European Capital of Culture in 2013. Hopefully we will all be dead by then.
4) What are described on the map as parks it actually turns out are car parks. Whilst Marseille is not necessarily the greenest city in France, it can certainly boast an impressive collection of vast, empty concrete fields.
5) There is nowhere to stay. And when we went, everywhere that did exist was fully booked because there was a music festival going on. We booked ourselves into a hostel which seemed nice enough on the website. We got there to discover it was this guy called Sam's shabby little flat with some bunk beds in. I've never seen such a poor effort at disguising a flat as a business. To the point where he insisted we took our shoes off inside. We didn't have any lockers or safes, and Hannah walked in on Sam stark naked in the unlocked bathroom.
We immediately left, cried a bit, and lugged around Marseille for a couple of hours until we found a real hotel. Sam seemed genuinely offended. I kindly detailed for him exactly where he was going wrong in his scam, and his life in general. I don't really think that made things any better.
6) The music festival was a crock of pointless turd.
I think that about rounds it up.
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