Mad, Bad and Dangerous to know: Mad Men, AMC, 2007/2008

The opening sequence of Mad Men floats across the screen like a slick, successful Everyman executive’s nightmare: the silhouetted man reaches his expansive office, which slowly crumbles as he freefalls, past giant advertising billboards towards what end, we are unsure.  His doom?  Utopia?  Only the final episode will tell.

By referencing indelible images of the past (9/11, Hitchcock’s Vertigo) and soundtracked by David Carbonara’s haunting instrumental theme, the scene is set.  Madison Avenue.  New York.  The 1960s.  Nixon is in power and a young Senator by the name of John F. Kennedy is making his mark.  A time when men are men – and on Madison Avenue, they are the masters of the universe – and rarely seen without a cigarette or a drink in hand.  A time when women are housewives, mothers, daughters, secretaries, mistresses and shopgirls and occasionally, artists or divorcées – but never equals.  When children are seen but rarely heard.  When hippy beatniks and their ‘art’ are irrelevant and peripheral.  The Beatles have yet to hit America, the Summer of Love is almost a decade away and Vietnam was simply an exotic destination in East Asia.

Patti Smith: Dream of Life

“There’s a Patti Smith documentary out,” a colleague told me.  “I think you’d like it.”

“Oh?”  I pricked my ears up in interest.  I vaguely remembered two friends talking about the movie but had dismissed it, because I wasn’t familiar with Smith’s work.  Although I probably had been more concerned with the food I was about to tuck into at the time.  “Is she still around?”

My colleague laughed.  “Yes.  It’s full of poetry.  You should see it.”

And so, this misty, chilly December night, I set out for the West End.  In search of Poetry and its comrades, Truth, Beauty and Love.

Back to School

Ephemeral, mercurial summer. Seemingly here one day and gone the next in a flurry of settling into new abode, gigs, bashes, festivals, weather grumblings, a not-quite-there heat and lazy hazy sundays… Suddenly, the early August chill attained a permanent air, a heads-down vibe permeated the atmosphere and September had arrived.

The Kindness of Strangers – Built to Spill, Scala, Thursday 24 May 2007

Being fairly petite and vertically challenged, my gig modus operandi, is to rock up suitably early to secure myself a raised vantage point, with a railing to lean on when Knee tires. The only fly in the ointment is that after having secured such a position, one needs to hang on to it for dear life. Unfortunately, after a pint or so, the need to relieve one’s self may interfere with this. This is when having a bud comes into its own. However, my buddy Jaya was wandering far and wide, trying to secure his ideal vantage point in the midst of the scrum. With a shrug, I thought ‘easy come easy go’ and scuttled off to the ladies’.

‘Jeff Rules!’ – Wilco, Shepherd’s Bush Empire, Sunday 20 May 2007

So came the inebriated cry, in a quieter moment during the Wilco set at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire on Sunday 20 May 2007. Wilco frontman, Jeff Tweedy, wrapped up in bringing a song to a close, did not acknowledge it but most within the vicinity chuckled.

Clumsily articulated, perhaps, but never was a truer sentiment expressed.

Bored of the Bling

Lord of the Rings: The Musical.

Not a phrase to whet a theatre-goer’s appetite, really – even one who was a Tolkien aficionado (for background, during my adolescence and teens I read and re-read his books dozens of times, bought copies of various special editions and wrote a pained, torturous high school thesis on some obscure, forgettable LOTR theme). I had paid scant attention to reports of the demise of the first stage adaptation in Toronto and certainly was not interested in seeing if the West End could make it palatable.

But Tues night found me sitting in an £80 stall seat in the magnificent Drury Lane Theatre, courtesy of a friend who had wrangled some free tickets. A magnificently thorny hedge had seemingly sprung from each side of the stage and had crept its way to the rafters and forward to engulf half the ceiling and the first two boxes. But the hobbits gambolling about the audience and the stage during the pre-show, capturing wondrously life-like fireflies were frankly, irritating. Admittedly, I have never appreciated Tolkien’s love for his daft, exasperating hobbits at the best of times.

So this is the New Year

The bright lights, overindulgence and the relentless pressure to celebrate of the Christmas and New Year season have receded into the background. The initial shock of the yearly increase in public transport fares has come and gone (Let all tourists beware: it is now £2 for a a single non-Oyster bus ride). We’ve had the sudden plunges in temperature, mild days, wind so strong the rail system was reduced to a trickle and the City’s main thoroughfares were shut down in case the scaffolding adorning many a London building would tumble down. And of course, we’ve had the yearly snow which never fails to amaze Londoners… and bring their public transport system to a juddering halt.

Eros’ Arrows go Awry

Three vignettes from three renowned directors: Wong Kar Wai, Steven Soderbergh and Michelangelo Antonioni. The premise, the arcing force of desire charted by directors who had already made powerful comments on the same (Wong in Happy Together and In The Mood for Love, Steven Soderbergh in Out of Sight and Antonioni in Blow Up) was faultlessly conceived. But as some things in life, the sum is very much less than the parts and the execution fails to deliver.

Ping Pong: ‘Would you like to try the extra sauce menu for another £1?’

Err… no. The basic chilli oil, chilli sauce and soy sauce will do just fine, thank you.

Yes the condiments offered were more exotic permutations of the above. But would they enhance what should by rights be steamed parcels of tasty perfection? Unlikely. And the extra £1 cost? Outrageous!

Dumplings of the Chinese variety have seemingly taken the West End by storm. Just a hop, skip and jump away from Yautcha, beside the Tudor exterior of the wonderful Liberty, is Ping Pong, another trendy establishment offering an all day dim sum dining experience.

Amedeo’s Muses, The Royal Academy of Art

Amedeo Modigliani and his brand of long faced, swan necked, melancholy lovelies in their muted shades have long been a favourite of mine. I have always been partial to portraits of fashionable women, their gazes mysterious and distant and their stories unknowable. When wandering around a dusty gallery (eg. Norway’s Nasjonalgalleriet in Oslo) full of dull, unappealing canvases, Amedeo’s paintings are bound attract the eye much like a magpie is attracted by a shiny bauble.