Hadestown - Anaïs Mitchell

Just over a week ago, Steve Hodgson (@BestofTimes on Twitter) recommended Hadestown to me. I'd seen a good review of it in The Guardian and been intrigued, but a personal recommendation from someone that you know has overlapping musical tastes is worth ten good reviews, so I eventually took the plunge.

I was gripped from the first time I heard it, but I've enjoyed it even more with repeated listenings. It manages to pack in many different kinds of things that I love: roots/folk music, New Orleans jazz, a 1930s theme, great lyrics, Greek mythology, and a guy with the deepest voice I've ever heard — what more could I ask?

The album (a 'folk opera') was written by Anaïs Mitchell (who sings Eurydice), but also features many other talented musicians like Ani DiFranco (Persephone) and Justin Vernon (Orpheus). It retells the story of Eurydice lured down to the Underworld by Hades, and her lover Orpheus who follows her to try to bring her back, but sets it in the Great Depression of the 1930s. Orpheus and Eurydice are in love, but penniless, and Hades seduces Eurydice with a vision of prosperity and security in the Underworld. Once down there, though, she finds it a dark and joyless prison, and misses flowers and sunlight and — inevitably — Orpheus.

I don't think that there's a single dud track on the album, and they are all as catchy and singable as any good folk tune should be, but there are one or two tracks that I particularly like. 'Why We Build the Wall' is done in a country style with slide guitar, but has a call and response format that reminds me of a sea shanty or the kind of work song that slaves might have sung on a plantation. It is also somewhat timely. Do these lyrics remind you of anything?

Who do we call the enemy?
The enemy is poverty
And the wall keeps out the enemy
And we build the wall to keep us free
That’s why we build the wall
We build the wall to keep us free

Another great track is 'Hey, Little Songbird'. Steve mentioned in his tweet that the album featured a guy with a voice that originated "somewhere about his ankles". That man is Greg Brown and Anaïs describes his voice as "subterranean": that's highly appropriate for someone playing Hades, the King of the Underworld. It's a glorious voice — deepest, darkest, 85% cocoa solids bitter chocolate, dangerous and seductive. Despite the warning, I wasn't expecting his voice, and the first notes of 'Hey, Little Songbird' pinned me to my chair, his basso profundo giving my woofers a good workout¹ and making the dust dance on the floor.

Then there's the great New Orleans jazz blast of 'Way Down Hadestown', and the slinky, prohibition number 'Our Lady of the Underground' featuring Persephone as the owner of a speakeasy. I could go on, but you should just go and listen to it yourself. I also found myself thinking again about one of my favourite Jeff Noon books, Pollen. Though it is set in a weird, psychedelic future Manchester, it also features Persephone and Hades (disguised as John Barleycorn) in a skewed and mixed up version of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, and it somehow fits well with the feel of the album.

¹ Not a euphemism. ↑

Listen yourself warm

I've had a request from James. He enjoyed my snowy photo from a couple of weeks ago, but it's making him feel cold. He's had enough of the winter and wondered if I could post some 'summery music' to warm things up a bit. Well James, your wish is my command. It's a great idea, and I've had a blast putting together a summery/warm playlist this morning.

Rather than risk the authorities taking me away for posting tracks without permission, I thought a Spotify playlist might be the safest bet, so I hope that the majority of you have access to Spotify. If not, you should be able to hunt down the tracks elsewhere. I present — with great pleasure — the Summer Heat playlist.

1. Ma'Africa - Mahotella Queens and Ulali (from 1 Giant Leap). This had to be the first choice, as it warmed me up very effectively on a snowy walk recently. It's a great, bouncy, sunny track, which will put a spring in your step.
2. Night Scented Stock - Kate Bush (from Never For Ever). It's a short, sweet gem of a song, and other than the title, it isn't obviously summery. But somehow I always think of a hot, midsummer night in a secret, moonlit garden when I listen to this. YMMV.
3. Psychedelic Shack - The Temptations (from Psychedlic Shack). Party music! You will be dancing by the end of it (or at least jigging in your seat) and that will warm you up.
4. Firefly - Michael Franti (from Songs from the Front Porch). I find Michael Franti's voice wonderfully warm, and the atmosphere of this song just says warm summer night to me.
5. Plastic Factory - Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band (from Safe As Milk). What would a playlist be without Beefheart? This is another that might not scream summer to everyone, but for me it makes me think of driving off on holiday, windows down, yelling the line "Factory's no place for me, Boss Man leave me be!" at the top of my voice while drumming on the steering wheel. It also has a lovely, dirty, stomping quality to it that somehow says summer freedom to me.
6. Marieta - Ibrahim Ferrer (from Buena Vista Social Club presents Ibrahim Ferrer). A deliciously lively, infectiously upbeat track. In contrast to Plastic Factory, if listening to this doesn't immediately conjure up images of hot, Cuban nights, dancing your flip-flops off in a sweaty, smoky club, you have a faulty imagination. I particularly love the bit near the end where it all kicks off.
7. Mustt Mustt - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (from Mustt Mustt). I could have chosen any of the Sufi master's music, but even though this is one of the most well known of his works, I really love it. Nusrat's voice a source of warmth of its own, and that's reason enough to include it.
8. Nocturn - Kate Bush (from Aerial). The song is actually about skinny dipping in the sea on a midsummer night, so it's very appropriate. Plus, it's a great song, and her voice has the same warmth inducing properties as Nusrat's.
9. Summerfield Avenue - Chris Wood (from Trespasser). This makes me remember playing in the garden in the summer when I was a kid and splashing about it the paddling pool.
10. Sankofa - Hypnotic Brass Ensemble (from Hypnotic Brass Ensemble). Brass — I have decided — is inherently summery, and this is just the right music for sitting in the sun and drinking a beer or two.
11. Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd (from A Retrospective). More, 'going away on holiday in a carefree mood' music. Also, classic track.
12. One Day Like This - Elbow (from The Seldom Seen Kid). This is one of those songs which is in danger of over-exposure, because it seems to be used as background music to just about every TV programme. However, it's a lovely song — uplifting, life-affirming and sunny.
13. Bonus track! Sexual Healing - Kate Bush (B side of King of the Mountain). I had absolutely no idea that Kate had covered Sexual Healing until I found it by chance on Spotify. It's hard to compete with the Marvin Gaye original, but this is pretty special. I'm including it because a) it's Valentine's Day and b) if this doesn't warm you up, nothing will!

Enjoy.

The Imagined Village - Empire and Love

Mr. Bsag recently saw The Imagined Village play in Birmingham. I was intensely jealous, because I couldn't join him due to a work commitment. However, he brought me back their latest album — Empire and Love — which I'm really enjoying. The Imagined Village are a kind of folk/world music collective, involving several talented musicians including Chris Wood, Eliza Carthy and Martin Carthy, along with parts of Chris Wood's 'Best Band in the World' (Barney Morse-Brown and Andy Gangadeen).

Here they tackle a wide range of songs, some traditional and some modern, but they manage to give each a unique and fresh feel, combining traditional English acoustic instruments with Indian sitars, tabla and dhol. I've listened to the album a lot recently, and I love all the tracks, but I'm particularly fond of 'Space Girl' (sung by Eliza Carthy) — a cautionary tale set to 1950s sci-fi sounds, and 'My Son John', sung by Martin Carthy. The latter is a traditional song about a young man losing his legs to a cannon ball, but they have very cleverly updated it to weave in references to Iraq and Afghanistan, and John getting a set of carbon fibre 'blades' to replace his legs. This works very well and reinforces the sad point that young men continue to lose life or limb while fighting other peoples' wars.

Chris Wood sings 'Scarborough Fair', rescuing it from folk cliché, and also leads on the lovely track 'Sweet Jane', accompanied by Indian instruments. However, the standout track for me is a cover of Slade's 'Cum on Feel the Noize'. A folk version of Cum on Feel the Noize? It seems like (and for all I know was) the outcome of a somewhat drunken bet to see who could come up with the most unlikely song to cover in a folk style. However, much like Apple products, it somehow Just Works™.

Martin Carthy sings the lead vocals, and the whole song is taken at a much slower tempo than usual. This makes it sound like a sad, regretful lament, rather than the roaring party track that Slade recorded. I was so struck by this complete change in tone that I started imagining the music video that might accompany it.

Scene: Interior. Night. We are in a very gloomy, down-at-heel, shabby pub: the kind of place where people go to drink and try to forget their troubles.

We focus on Martin Carthy, dressed and made up to look like someone down on his luck, oppressed by his life. He is staring into his pint disconsolately, then looks up and starts to sing:

You think I've got an evil mind I'll tell you honey
I don't know why
Don't know why

He could be addressing us, the viewer, or alternatively complaining to someone who isn't there. The pub is the kind where people tend to have conversations with invisible interlocutors, so it's not clear which it is. At any rate, his voice is querulous and indignant. He can't understand why he has been so misunderstood.

He sings a brief, quiet version of the chorus, in the manner of someone who knows he will never get wild, wild, wild again, or — for that matter — ever feel the noize.

Then the camera pulls out to reveal the other band members occupying the pub. All are seated at separate tables, nursing their drinks and not looking at one another. As the next chorus begins, they join in, quietly:

So come on feel the noise
Girls grab your boys
We'll get wild, wild, wild
We'll wild, wild, wild
Come on feel the noise
Girls rock your boys
We get wild, wild, wild
Til dawn

Every 'wild' is sung slowly on a sad, descending intonation, like a sigh or a dying breath.

Later, the barman picks up his sitar from behind the bar¹. There's an instrumental bridge, and everyone has that unfocussed look of people remembering their past glories and knowing that they have gone, never to return. No one smiles.

FIN.

Seriously, it's a cracking track, and has reversed my hatred of the Slade song, which is no small feat.

¹ Did I mention that there's a sitar? Well there is, and it rocks. \oo/ \oo/ ↑

Give me heart and soul and error

I was watching an excellent Arena documentary the other day about Brian Eno. Eno is a fascinating person, and would most likely be at the top of the list if I ever got asked who I would invite to a dream dinner party. He is one of those rare and precious people who think quite deeply about both art and science, and manage to combine elements of both in new and interesting ways in their work.

There were lots of great bits in the documentary, including a flick through one or two of the hundreds of notebooks he has filled throughout his life. He said that he writes things down so that he can think about them properly (not necessarily to remember them later), and he had notes on everything from mundane reminders of dental appointments to elaborate pictorial representations of the events of a day.

But what really caught my attention was when he was talking about how he dislikes over-precise music. Music has become rather standardised and polished. For example, drummers now routinely record to a click track, so while their drumming sounds very precise, it doesn't necessarily sound 'right', and has a tendency to be have a bit of a cold, antiseptic feel. He said that he preferred a bit of surprise and variability in music — something that doesn't sound exactly the same every time it is performed.

For probably the first and only time in my life, I thought, "Brian, I was thinking just the same thing myself this morning." I had been listening to a band called Sym who play a variety of unusual instruments like the Swedish nyckelharpas (no, I've never heard of it before either) and the hurdy-gurdy. I love anything with a hurdy-gurdy in it, and I was wondering idly why I'm so fond of the sound it produces. It gradually dawned on me that I love it precisely because it never quite sounds the same twice. It's a gloriously 'dirty' sound, with scrapes and squeaks and buzzes and multiple harmonics, and I doubt that even skilled hurdy-gurdy players can play it with absolute consistency. All of these faults just make it sound more real and alive, and that makes it a joy to listen to.

You can take the same approach with electronic instruments by adding back the variability in various ways (like Eno's keyboard which plays a different sampled sound on each key), so the warm and fuzzy feel isn't necessarily restricted to acoustic, analogue instruments. But that feels a bit like cheating, somehow.

Walking songs

The recent snow has made cycling to work impossible. Some brave (or foolish) souls have been cycling along the main roads, but my route goes through parks and other open spaces where it's certain that very little gritting will have been done. I'm also a total coward when it comes to riding in icy conditions. I have a Weeble¹ like ability to stay upright — despite slipping — when on foot, but I crash to the ground on a bike at the first wobble on ice.

Usually when I can't ride to work for whatever reason, I take the train, but I decided (for reasons of economy and fitness) to try walking at least one way to work this past week. The plan was to walk the 4.8 miles to work² in the morning, and then catch the train back again. It isn't a huge distance, and it ended up taking me an hour and 10 minutes at a brisk pace, even negotiating the snowy pavements. I had to get up earlier, but it was really pleasant getting into a good walking rhythm, watching dawn break, and having the route mostly to myself for the first part at least.

On Friday afternoon, there were signalling problems at Birmingham New Street, and consequently much of the local network was thrown into disarray. Mr. Bsag called me to say that there were cancellations noted for at least the next hour, so I decided that I might as well walk home too.

I had been quite cold in the office during the day, and the chill persisted despite the exercise, so half way home I felt rather weary. I was listening to my iPhone on shuffle, and just at that moment, the track Ma' Africa by Ulali and the Mahotella Queens (from the album '1 Giant Leap') came on. As soon as it started, I felt instantly warmed, thinking about hot, African landscapes, and within a few minutes I was almost bounding up the hill, a spring in my step, admiring the way that the setting sun was washing the snow with pink and smoky grey.

If the snow continues, I can see I'll have to put Ma' Africa on repeat, particularly when travelling home.

¹ Thank you low centre of gravity! ↑

² A different route to the one I cycle, which is longer, but more cycle-friendly. ↑

Chris Wood gig

Last night, Mr. Bsag and I went to see Chris Wood play the All Services Club in Moseley. We had been looking forward to the gig for ages, as we are both big fans, but because of various other circumstances, we were exhausted after a very hard and busy week, and wondered if we were going to be in the right mood to appreciate it. We needn't have worried: it was fantastic, and the warmest, most intimate and spellbinding gig I've ever been to.

The All Services Club is a funny venue. The decor is a two or three decades out of date, and the main room contains a tiny stage of the kind that looks as if it is more used to hosting small children wearing tea-towels on their heads and pretending to be shepherds than world-renowned folk musicians. However, the tiny venue gave the event a very intimate feel. Since there is no stage entrance, Chris and the band had to wander through the audience to mount the stage. Near the end of the show, he was talking about encores, and how the accepted procedure is:

1. Band sing 'last song'
2. Audience applauds
3. Band goes off stage
4. Audience applauds
5. Band comes back on stage
6. Band plays encore

Given the stage, step 3 was impossible because there was nowhere to go (he put it a bit more strongly than that, to a lot of laughter), so they would just play two more numbers and end. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I adore Chris Wood's voice, and I love his style of guitar playing. When he sings, I hang on his every word like an utter fangirl. It helps that he is a consummate storyteller. Telling stories is a very old craft (and one of the original functions of folk songs, of course), but it's difficult to do well. He pulls you in to the story from the start, so that you can't wait to hear what happens next. There are emotional highs and lows, twists and turns and unexpected and beautiful turns of phrase that make you laugh or make tears come to your eyes, so that you have to pretend you've got a bit of dust in them.

On this tour (and on the new album, 'Handmade Life'), he was playing with a fantastic band comprising Robert Jarvis on trombone, Barney Morse Brown on cello and Andy Gangadeen on drums. They were terrific, and enhanced and complemented his sound, without overwhelming the words in any way. Robert also did an uncanny impression of a Merlin-engined Spitfire on the trombone (during the song 'Spitfires'), which made plane-mad Mr. Bsag¹ go a bit misty-eyed.

They played many of the songs off the new album (which we bought — and got signed! — at the gig), as well as a scattering of older favourites. Sometimes that can be disappointing if you haven't heard the new material yet: artists are understandably keen for you to hear what they have just been working on, but audiences like to hear what they already know and love. But in this case, it was wonderful. His songs are stories, and it was a priviledge to hear them for the first time live, rather than recorded². 'Hollow Point' was a great example of the thrill of hearing these things for the first time (though I'm sure that the experience will deepen with repeated listens). It starts off describing a beautiful summer day ("Awake, arise, you drowsy sleeper"), and sounds like a traditional folk song about pastoral pleasures with some sinister undertones. But then we find out that the person in question is getting on a bus. Gradually, it you realise that it's the story of Jean Charles de Menezes, the Brazilian electrician shot dead by police at Stockwell tube station in 2005. It's a lament for him, and the feeling of doom, sorrow and inescapable fate is incredibly powerful.

I also loved 'Turtle Soup' — a song about Darwin's time on The Beagle. The tune is a great, sea-shanty-like thing, but the lyrics are very evocative too. There are a couple of lines at the end ("'Cause the church may shout but Darwin roars/At the age of twenty three") that made me covertly raise my fist in a Darwin Power salute (Biologists in da house! Reprazent!) and mutter an exultant "yes!" under my breath.

There were lighter moments too. Chris described 'My Darling's Downsized' as a love song for old gits, but that's fine by me. It's a lovely, warm song about the pleasures of cooking rock cakes and watching your potatoes chit on the allotment, and contained a lot of lines that made me laugh:

I light the touch paper but I don't retire
Because my love for her cannot be overstated
It's deep and it's not final salary related

As Chris said between numbers, folk singers have always sung because they felt that something need to be said. He upholds this tradition by championing the cause of people who are little-known, quiet, everyday heroes, from history to the present time — just don't get him started on David Starkey or Henry VIII. He also comments on the social and political situation, so there are quite a few tracks on the album about the credit crunch. He's certainly a man worth listening to, and I felt very lucky to be able to do just that yesterday.

¹Well, OK — me too. ↑

²Doubly so, because only those going to the gigs have access to the album until it is on general release when the tour ends. ↑

A review of three things sharing a theme

I'm lagging behind a bit on reviewing some stuff I've come across recently, so I thought I might save a bit of time by doing a three part mini-review. When I was thinking about it, I realised that the film, book and album I'm about to review share a theme: death.

I expect I've lost all three of my readers now. But in these difficult times, a bit of morbid fascination cheers everyone up, right?

Falling Angels by Tracy Chevalier

The novel opens with the death of Queen Victoria, and follows two families — the Coleman and Waterhouse families — who happen to have adjacent family plots in a London cemetery. Sweeping social changes are about to replace the formality of the Victorian era (with its obsession with elaborate mourning rituals and rigid social class system), with something more informal and fluid in Edward's reign. The women's suffrage movement is slowly gaining momentum, to widespread disapproval from those who are still hanging on to the old, Victorian ways.

Each chapter relates events from the viewpoint of one of the characters: Mr. and Mrs. Coleman and their daughter Maude, or Mr. and Mrs. Waterhouse and their daughter Lavinia. Occasionally, we get a very different view from the household servants, or from the boy who digs graves in the cemetery. The story (revolving around the cemetery) is pretty gripping, and the characters are brilliantly realised. In particular, the way that you see the two girls (Maude and Lavinia) maturing throughout the novel is fascinating.

Far North directed by Asif Kapadia

If you like the landscapes of the Arctic (it was filmed in Svalbard), you'll probably like this film. The photography is absolutely stunning, which is as well, because the plot is minimal and the dialogue almost non-existent. Given the minimal plot, it's difficult to describe without giving anything away, but I'll try not to post any spoilers. The story centres on Saiva (played by the terrific Michelle Yeoh) who has been told by a Shaman that she will bring death on disaster to any who get close to her. In an attempt to avoid this fate, she exiles herself, rescuing a baby called Anja along the way. One day they come upon a dying man, Loki, and everything starts to fall apart.

The film has a kind of harsh, mythic quality, enhanced by the fact that you can't place the time or geographical location of the action easily. I don't think I'm spoiling anything if I say that it doesn't have a happy ending, and death and relentless fate are omnipresent. At the time, it felt like quite a slight film, but it has lodged itself stubbornly in my mind, and I keep thinking about and reinterpreting events in the film.

Better Times Will Come by Diana Jones

I first heard a few tracks from this album in a concert of American Roots music shown on TV, and hosted by Seasick Steve. I found her mellow, unornamented voice and the way she sang about heartbreaking things with a total lack of sentimentality utterly mesmerising. And she tells a story so well. The songs on this album aren't (quite) all about death, but they are mostly sad songs about hard lives and difficult choices.

There are many good tracks, but in my opinion, 'Henry Russell's Last Words' is the best. Henry Russell was a Scottish miner who died in a mining accident in West Virginia in 1927. He and more than 100 others were trapped in the coal mine, and — without any hope of rescue — slowly suffocated and died. As the air was running out, Henry wrote a note to his wife Mary with a piece of coal. Jones used this letter as the basis for the lyrics.

The quiet acceptance, sorrow and dignity of Henry's words shines through the simple melody. Unless you are made of stone, the repeated refrain of "Oh how I love you, Mary" will bring tears to your eyes. Every single time you listen to it...

Ukulele Prom

Those of you who follow me on Twitter, or occasionally look at the tweets in the sidebar of this site will have noticed me going on about the Prom featuring the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (UOGB). The prom actually happened on Tuesday night, but we recorded it and listened to it last night. I've made no secret of my love for UOGB, and their performance at the Prom didn't disappoint. Any group of people who can turn Kate Bush's 'Wuthering Heights' into a ratpack swing classic, make 'Anarchy in the UK' sound rather sweet and wistful, or sing 'Pinball Wizard' from Tommy a capella and make it sound like a sea shanty, have my undying admiration. The latter piece also got the funniest, most affectionate heckle of the night from the audience. They announced that they would be singing (without their instruments) one of the greatest English Rock songs of all time, and someone yelled out "Judas!". OK, so it's only funny if you know your Dylan folklore, but then it's hilarious, and it was delivered with perfect timing.

The piece de resistance was when they played Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy' with approximately 1,000 ukulele-wielding audience members playing along. It could have sounded dreadful, but actually, it was brilliant, uplifting and rather joyous. It's great to hear professional musicians doing what they do best, but even better is when they let you join in. When so many people participate, you don't have to feel self conscious about making a mistake (really — who is going to notice if one person in 1,000 plays a dud note?) and you can just enjoy the feeling of being part of something wonderful. I get the same feeling every time I take part in the CBSO singalong. I'm only a very poor amateur, but it's wonderful to join the professionals, concentrate hard, and mix my voice with so many others. I would have loved to have been at that Prom, and might have even bought a ukulele and learned to play the piece specially for the occasion!

Fanny

A few weeks ago, I caught the very end of a re-run of The Old Grey Whistle Test, and a brilliant band from the 1970s. They were an all-female band and had a terrific style, with vocals slightly reminiscent of Janis Joplin. I couldn't believe that I'd never heard of them before because they were so good. I waited for the credits at the end of the programme and found out that the band was called Fanny. I know — it's an unfortunate name, but don't let that put you off. I've done a bit more research on them and — to my delight — found that a retrospective collection of four of their albums (with lots of extra material) is available on Spotify in the form of First Time in a Long Time: The Reprise Recordings.

If you like rock bands, you should definitely go and listen, but here's what I like about them. First (and most importantly), they are great musicians. There is some wonderful guitar work (both lead and bass), brilliantly funky keyboards, and some incredibly crisp drumming. I don't even usually notice percussion to any great extent, but I found myself listening to how sharp and precise the drumming was, and yet it still felt lively and organic. Second, the band members also seem to share the song-writing credits and they all (at one point or another) take lead vocals, which makes for some quite diverse tracks. Some of their songs are quiet and folk-influenced, some are hard, driving rock, and some really funky. They also do some really good covers, including a wonderful cover of Cream's 'Badge'. It takes a lot of confidence and skill to take on a classic from such respected musicians, but they pull it off with considerable aplomb, and bring a new feeling to it. Judging from their performance on The Old Grey Whistle Test, they were also electric live, and didn't exploit their unusual status as an all-female band at all, but just relied on being great musicians, regardless of gender.

I also love 'I Just Realised', 'It Takes a Lot of Good Lovin'' and 'Seven Roads', but there's a lot to choose from. You can buy the collection on iTunes, but the next time I go to our local vinyl shop, I'll be rummaging through the 'F' section seeing if I can find any of their albums on vinyl, because that would be a real treat.

Susanna - Flower of Evil

One of the many things which I love and admire about Mr. Bsag is his almost magical ability to pick great books and music for me. The extraordinary thing is that I have often never heard of the item in question, and if I had, would never have thought of choosing it. But when I listen to the music or read the book, I think it is wonderful and love it to bits. Even though he knows me pretty well, it baffles me how he decides that I would like a particular item, because they often don't fit obviously with my interests or taste. An excellent example is the book, Pilgrimage on a Steel Ride: A Memoir of Men and Motorcycles by Gary Paulsen, which he gave me a few years ago. It is a non-fiction book about Paulsen's journey from New Mexico to Alaska on a Harley-Davidson motorbike at the age of 57. For one thing, I very rarely read non-fiction books (other than those relevant to my work), and although I quite like motorbikes (particularly Harleys), it's not an obsession. And yet, I loved the book, and its perfect explanation of what it is to be a man. I've re-read it several times, and it remains one of my favourite books: a perfect choice.

Which brings me to 'Flower of Evil': I'd never heard of the artist or the album before, but put it on and was ravished by it. When I ripped it to iTunes to put it on my iPhone, the Gracenote database set the Genre as 'Unclassifiable', which sounds about right to me. The album is mostly composed of extreme cover versions, so different from the originals, that it's often quite difficult to identify the song. Her strong, clear voice reminds me a bit of P. J. Harvey's, and that combined with the great arrangements and stately pacing of the songs gives everything a haunting, almost sinister air.

The ABBA song, 'Lay All Your Love On Me' becomes a pleading, entreaty, and while I never thought I could like Without You, she turns it from overblown bombast to genuinely affecting emotion. The only relatively 'straight' cover is her version of Sandy Denny's 'Who Knows Where The Time Goes', which is beautiful and worthy -- but respectful -- of Sandy's original.

It's well worth a listen, though I suspect that it's something you'd either love or hate, which makes it all the more miraculous that Mr. Bsag made such a good choice.

Moseley Folk Festival 2008

We went to the Moseley Folk Festival yesterday, and it was really fantastic. I don't know why I haven't been before. I love folk music, and Moseley is only a short bus ride and a walk away from me. Anyway, I'll certainly be going again next year. The festival is held in Moseley Park, which is a fabulous, fairy grotto of a park, hidden in a valley between rows of Victorian houses. It's surrounded by trees, and the natural slope of the site makes a good amphitheatre for live music.

All the artists I saw were wonderful, so it's hard to single people out, but there were several artists (some new to me) who I particularly enjoyed.

Jon Redfern

Jon Redfern has a lovely, delicate style, and a great guitar technique with beautifully-crafted songs that really hold your attention.

John Smith

John Smith: surely the man with the least distinctive name in music, but a really distinctive, rich voice, and a mind-blowing guitar style. He's one of those artists who is really hard to describe to someone else, because he doesn't sound like anyone else, but he made my heart break a bit. Which is a good thing, in case you're wondering. He also has an extraordinary, show-stopping guitar technique where he lays it flat on his lap and employs a kind of extreme tambour stroke to provide a percussion backing. Even though he's there, doing it in front of you live, it's hard to believe that he's getting such an incredible layered sound out of one guitar and two hands. If you're interested, you can hear it on 'Winter (Live)' on his MySpace page.

The Family

The Family describe their music as "swaggering, Bourbon-drenched Cosmic Country music for bow-legged women", which is a fairly good summary. It's good-time music that's a little bit off its head -- something like early Beefheart or Canned Heat. They also gave away free CDs, which endeared them greatly to the crowd.

The Destroyers

What can I say. I've never had the pleasure before, but now I'm wondering where they've been all my life. I've got a very soft spot for Klezmer music, which is the basis of The Destroyers' sound, but they swerve joyfully between klezmer, ska, dub, punk, funk and folk, often within the same song -- it's like an explosion in a music factory. And they have a hurdy gurdy, and any music featuring hurdy gurdy is OK by me. They've got a great video (shot in Digbeth!) of their anthem to the joys of multicultural urban life, Out of Babel, which is definitely worth a look. But if you want to see their live style (with a much reduced band), see Rhombus of Righteousness. Little kids (of all ages) love them because you can jump around like a loon to their music -- in fact, it's impossible not to.

Sharron Kraus

Sharron Kraus has a lovely, high, clear voice which she completely subverts by singing dark, dangerous folk songs and murder ballads. Her music manages to sound ancient, like songs passed down through the generations, but she writes all her own material. Excellently creepy.

Chris Wood

I've raved about Chris Wood's music before, so it won't be a surprise that he was the reason we decided to get tickets for the festival. So it was a shame that his set was so short, and that it was plagued with sound problems. Actually several artists had problems with the sound, which with acoustic music in the open air can really mar the performance. He was also on not long after The Destroyers, so people were still a bit excitable. It must be hard for someone -- whose stock-in-trade is a quiet, carefully crafted, emotionally-laden story in song -- to get people to shut up and listen. Well, I was listening and hanging on to every note, and he was wonderful. Chris: if there's a chance in a million (see what I did there?) that you happen to be reading this, some people were listening. And you made me shed a tear with 'One in a Million'. Again. I'm a sucker for a sweet, romantic story, and it's the way you tell it. I wish you'd had time for 'Lord Bateman' too.

Exceptions to the rule

While listening to a Radio 4 documentary about The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (TUOoGB), I remembered an article I wrote -- wow -- nearly four years ago about how cover versions of songs and remakes of films are very rarely as good as the original, and are frequently worse. It struck me that TUOoGB are pretty much a universal exception to that rule. They play a lot of cover versions, and by some kind of weird voodoo which breaks all known laws, they manage to make the songs you dislike great and the songs you like brilliant, but brilliant in a different way to the original.

For example, I can't say that I've ever liked the theme to 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly', but when TUOoGB plays it, it's a work of genius. I positively detest 'Leaning on a Lampost' in its original form by George Formby, but the Cossack version by TUOoGB is fantastic. Conversely, I love 'Wuthering Heights' by Kate Bush, but the Working Men's Club Crooner version by TUOoGB is terrific. And if you haven't heard their gentle, folk version of 'Anarchy in the UK', you haven't lived. I don't know how they do it, but I'm guessing that it involves sacrificing chickens somewhere along the line.

Do yourself a favour and check out their law-defying antics on BBC iPlayer before they take it down.

Wired for sound (again)

I finally managed to get a new amplifier an Audiolab 8000a from ebay. I wired it up last night with my new speaker cables (The Chord Company Carnival Silver Screen) and I've been enjoying discovering our music collection again.

As I mentioned in an earlier comment, I'm pretty familiar with this Audiolab model, because my Dad had one for years. In fact, I'd even heard it with my current speakers, because they also used to belong to my Dad. What I wasn't quite prepared for was how much my old amp must have been deteriorating over the last 6 months or so, because I was blown away by the quality of this amp. It gives an enormous amount of what we audiophiles call 'wellie' (a technical term, you understand). So much so that I had to dive for the volume control because I wasn't prepared for what would come out of the speakers. The volume knob starts at about the 7 o'clock position, and 9 o'clock is more than enough to fill the room. The sound is gloriously transparent, so I can hear the wonderful warm quality of my Rega Planet CD player, as well as the totally different quality of the AR turntable. In short, all the sources sound different, which is just as it should be. The speaker cables probably need a little while to bed down, but I'm very happy with it.

I like a nicely balanced sound, but it is nice to hear properly weighty base again. When I was testing the system out yesterday, I played a few tracks from 'Knives to the Treble' by Burning Babylon via the SliMP3. A huge grin spread over my face, and I ran to get Mr. Bsag, dragging him into the living room. "Sit down here and feel the sofa vibrate!" It wasn't overdone, just very, very deep.

Last.fm

I've finally signed up at last.fm. I don't know why I resisted for so long, but the increase in the numbers of full tracks that they feature was certainly an encouragement . I do sometimes listen to the radio stations at work when I'm away from my main iTunes library, but I'm mainly interested in it as a way of discovering new artists. A 'similar artists' station turned up 'Iron & Wine', who I had never heard of before. I liked him (yes, it is just a 'him' rather than a 'they') so much that I bought 'The Shepherd's Dog' recently, as you can see from my recently scrobbled tracks.

It's also interesting to look back at your listening habits. It isn't completely characteristic of all my music listening, because I also listen to CDs on the stereo downstairs, but I seem to oscillate between fairly random playlists of a wide range of my collection and intensively listening to a few albums straight through. I'm in the latter mode right now, it seems.

I haven't really done anything with the social side of last.fm yet (if you're on there and think you might enjoy my musical tastes, do point me to your username), and I wish that the player integrated with iTunes rather than using a standalone player, but otherwise I'm liking it a lot.

Riding the choral wave

This Sunday, my Mum and I took part in the 'Singalong with the CBSO' event. I took part in 2005 and thoroughly enjoyed it, and Mum and I both went along in 2006, because she enjoys singing too. This year's piece was Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. If you're not a fan of Classical music, you probably know at least once movement from either the Old Spice advert or The Omen, depending on your age and cultural tastes. It's one of those Classical pieces which a lot of aficionados look down their noses at, but I think it's wonderful, particularly if you see it performed live, or -- even better -- if you sing it.

There are a nice mixture of movements, including jolly, bawdy songs about drinking, pretty, lyrical pieces, and even a very strange song from the viewpoint of a depressed roasted swan on a spit who is about to be eaten. There's plenty of orchestral colour too, with two pianos, plenty of timpani, bells and even something that sounded like a football rattle. But you can't get away from the fact that 'O Fortuna' (the aforementioned advert/horror film music) is the real star of the show.

Even if the association hadn't already been forged in my mind by the Old Spice advert, singing O Fortuna is a lot like surfing. If you're singing it with about 2,000 other people as we were on Sunday, it's like surfing one of those monster waves off the coast of Hawaii, where you have to get towed on to the wave by a jetski.

As you are travelling out to the wave, it opens with a few big, slow chords. They seem pretty impressive at the time, but it's nothing to what comes later, when you're right up close to the wave. Then, as you're towed into position, there is a soft, staccato passage where the choir sings in unison. Gradually, this builds in volume and tension as the parts of the choir spread out on the scale, and you see the gigantic wave you're going to ride. Just when you think you can't stand the excitement any longer, you let go of the tow rope, stand up on your board, and tip over the lip to career down the mountainous face of the wave. Ten kinds of orchestral and choral hell break out as the Symphony Hall is filled with 2,000 voices giving it some serious vocal welly, booming timpani and a full orchestra having a blast. As the wave starts breaking behind you, you gradually coast to a halt on a chaotic turmoil of unwinding music, desperately trying to sustain the long, last note as the adrenaline knocks all the breath out of you.

Phew. Woohoo! Can we do it again? Luckily, we get to do just that, because the theme is reprised at the end of Carmina Burana.

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