A prolific writer who often drew on his own life experiences for his work, and Miss Julie is no exception, Strindberg was both in favour of women’s advancement and an accused Misogynist! He had numerous platonic and sexual relationships throughout his life, most of which ended in turmoil.

Of course the class and gender complexities involved in relationships were far more difficult in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries weren’t they? Well quite possibly not.  Yes, both men and women now have the vote and the ‘upstairs downstairs’ scenario is far from the norm for the bulk of society, but issues about class-divide continue to fill news pages and attitudes towards women’s sexual behavior continues to plague them.

The themes of gender, class, love and lust explored in Miss Julie, written in 1888, are just as applicable today in 2012. It’s safe to say as I went to watch Miss Julie on Monday, directed by Sarah Frankcom at the Royal Exchange Theatre, I did not expect to be uplifted, but I certainly hoped to be enlightened. Informed beforehand of no interval (cue “Jesus what if I need to wee” panic), once the play started I fully understood why.

The set of Miss Julie – the kitchen of a Swedish Count’s house, all rustic wood awash with pale blue and soft cream hues – was beautifully and suitably basic and bleak. The play, set on Midsummer’s Night in 1874, revolves around the actions of three characters, played out in real-time before you.

First there’s the fickle, contradictory and unsettling Miss Julie. Referred to as “mad” before she even enters the stage, it seems she is a danger, even for herself, to know. Maxine Peake fantastically plays a Miss Julie who is unnervingly excitable and flippantly changeable and always fully, sexually charged.

Then there is the Count’s Manservant Jean. Cocksure and aspiring to rise above his station, Jean is played with a touching brutality by Joe Armstrong. Having loved Miss Julie since they were children, Jean is engaged (though with a sense of comedy by both) to Kristin, the household cook.

Kristin, though not involved in the main bulk of the action, is a uniquely essential character and offers an insightful point-of-reference to which the topic of the play continually springs back to. A devout Christian and happy to stay in her place provided that ‘those above her’ are something worth looking up to, Kristen is less a voice of reason, and more an embodiment of the reasons behind such complex gender and class issues in the first place. In the hands of Carla Henry, Kristen is played with a headstrong pathos that fills you with admiration and sympathy. Brilliantly knotted in sentiment and astutely right.

Once Kristen is either out of the way or conveniently asleep, it doesn’t take long for the action to elevate between Jean and Miss Julie who has entered the kitchen quarters in search of company, excitement and something or someone that she can connect with. Jean is jacket off and in his own quarters but in the presence of his ‘better’ who flips between a known notion of gender and class hierarchy and a hell-bent determination to destroy it. What unfolds is ugly, convoluted and irrational, just like the themes that fuse it.

Raised, by her late mother, to both think and aspire like any man, and also to hate men, Miss Julie is like a Nordic Estella. In Peake’s capable hands, she flicks, like a light switch, between the role of Dominatrix and submissive servant wanting orders. Jean, though critical of such changeability, is equally so. He dives between love-struck child and brutish yob with the flippancy of someone who knows his place but blatantly wishes he didn’t. Over-charged and out of place, together they cross the gender and class divide in the form of quick, off-stage sex. This decision is made lightly, but carries with it, as it still does, an immeasurably heavy weight.

The static between them is both exciting and dangerous and infiltrated by a sharp witticism that makes light of things while ironically highlighting them. In response to Jean’s tale of an impoverished childhood, Miss Julie frivolously yawns, “What a bore it must be being poor”. Equally humorous and unsympathetic is Jean’s retort to Miss Julie’s hysterical call for a death pact of “I think we might be better off in the Hotel trade”. While he yearns to run away to an independent life, which includes Miss Julie, her recklessness and intense considerations fill him with fear. Unable to indulge in her emotional dilemmas he claims, for his class, “Love is a game we play when we get time from work”.

All the turmoil and anxiety is brought to a brutal head as the Count returns home and something must be done to cover the tracks left by the actions of the night. It is, quite literally, fight or flight time. In an act that parallels the conclusion to Muriel Spark’s The Driver’s Seat, Miss Julie asks to be told to conclude things with a finality that is irreversible.

Each character ultimately leaves for what they believe they deserve. Kristen exits the stage, for the last time, to go to church. Miss Julie and Jean – with all options before them and seemingly no options at all – choose, respectively, a living death, or death itself; I left wondering, which was worse.

The set of Miss Julie, with its electric blue light and bluntness is the perfect platform for such shocking bleakness. The dialogue, expertly adapted by David Eldridge, is spiky and raw and the performances engulfing and unsettling. Peake, Armstrong and Henry are galvanic in their exploration of issues that, don’t simply taint but, charge through the lives we live.

Today I read: most online news sites (that are worth reading)
Today I listened to No Ceremony and Alt-J

We bought this lovely foil windmill from Whitby. We found it sat overlooking the seaside under blue skies blowing happily. We’ve stuck it in our garden which is far from the sea and currently rainy and grey. Because they add such delightfully, tacky brightness to the place I think they are happier about their current situation and not at all resentful. They spin with glee.

Part of the reason for this is, as well as the more established and historic venues and organisations in the city, Manchester also has a long history of innovative groups like Blank Media Collective. Established in 2006, the collective claim to “champion emerging artists, writers, musicians and practitioners through exhibitions, performance, free portfolio hosting on their website and via our online magazine, blankpages.” And since 2006 they have gathered a firm a respected reputation for doing just that.

You can loose yourself for hours wandering delightfully through the many amazing portfolios on their website. Forget Pintrest; if you want to look at cutting-edge art and beautiful photography, the Blank Media Collective site is the place to waste a few hours. Similarly blankpages, their bi-monthly magazine, is a true aesthetic. Each edition showcases a poet, fiction writer, illustrator, musician/group etc, in an ever changing but always beautifully designed, clean and artistically respectful way.

So what about their exhibition?

Currently, within their fantastically, isolated and brilliantly clean and cubic building on Hulme Street, Blank Space is exhibiting ‘Inside’. The artists involved – Claudia Borgna, Philip Cheater, Drop Collective, Gill Greenhough, Rosie Leventon, David Ogle, Emily Rubner, Liz West and Chris Wright – are all extremely different and unique in terms of style/media and content. All, however, are united in one thing; a project that aims to thoroughly explore the psychological and physical responses we have to the environments we experience.

The segmented space within Blank Space provides the perfect setting for this as participants are invited and able to completely immerse themselves within each individual art piece.

Themes of absence, loss, memory, fantasy and nostalgia are very thoroughly, and touchingly, explored; this is not an exhibition you simply look at, but one in which you participate fully with. You simply cannot help it. When I went to the exhibition, it literally took me a few attempts (and the knowledge that there was someone close by if I needed them) to allow myself to be entirely involved with some pieces; such was their unsettling effect on me. Others, however, I struggled to pull myself away from, and, in fact, revisited several times before I left.

‘Inside’ is a perfect name for a truly unique and very forward thinking exhibition, for once you are inside Blank Space, you enter a world that envelops and engulfs you. A world, which has literal, physical affects on you and which forces you, mentally, through a disturbing and enlightening range of emotional spaces.

Not content with simply putting on a fantastic exhibition, to accompany and compliment ‘Inside’, Blank Media Collective have produced a beautiful publication which is on sale there. Screen-printed and bound by the collective’s clever little hands, the ‘Inside’ booklet showcases the work of twelve emerging writers. The pieces are wide-ranging and unusual and offer the perfect accompaniment for the exhibition experience. The booklet is really fantastically designed, attractive, sharp and extremely stylish; a pure treat to indulge in.

On till the 29th April, I completely recommend that you go to ‘Inside’. Take the time to appreciate the pieces from different parts of the rooms; stand and stamp; kneel and be indulgently voyeuristic. Allow yourself to fully embrace all that it has to offer you. This is in Manchester, it is free and it is simply fantastic. ‘Inside’ is art at it’s most engaging.

Today I listened to: No Ceremony

Not that this matters much; actually, it’s quite refreshing. A million miles away from the world of electronic press kits is something actually worth talking about. And it’s because people are talking about them that they seem to be spreading their delightful blend of melancholic and uniquely electro joy.

What I know of No Ceremony is via four tracks (one a remix of a Patrick Wolf’s Time Of My Life) uploaded as youtube videos, posted by CPR Agency. The fact that when you check out CPR’s site, the link to No Ceremony doesn’t actually work, only adds to the mystique surrounding their music. All four of their songs are available for free download from various places, one of which is their website.

The imagery on their website, along with that attached to some of their video uploads is scarily incongruous with the sounds they’re producing. Think rows of war graves/ hundreds of people in gas masks etc – somewhat death metal – where as No Ceremony are providing electronic dreamscape sounds that you can have on repeat for your entire summer (when it eventually arrives). I have looped it for almost a week without a thought as to looking elsewhere.

Think thin fuzzy blue lines, surreal and split up electronics, ethereal vocals and both lightly acoustic and ruffed up and distorted guitars. A comment posted on their HEARTBREAKER video on youtube sort of sums it all up” WHO ARE YOU!! and why is your music perfect!!!

I also want to know, but in the meantime will simply keep clicking repeat.

No Ceremony are set to play Manchester as part of the Future Everything Festival and I, for one, will be going!

Today I listened to: No Ceremony
Today I watched: Scott & Baily
Today I read: The Rough Guide To Berlin 

I played with various crops of this image, but ultimately kept returning to the original because I just liked the variety of colours, textures and lines.

So, having heard it was now in stock, I merrily trotted along to Selfridges Manchester to check out the new Spring/Summer 2012 collection. With hair swinging and teeth shining (I didn’t quite look like this but I’m enjoying the vision) I skipped up to the second floor where they’re stocking the Anglomania collection. Considered very much as a way into Westwood (which sounds like a grand road lined with large oak trees), Anglomania is an affordable way, in designer terms, of buying into the brand.

Each season is based around the same set of staple items – drape dresses (which can be worn as long t-shirts), wide necked blazers, angled skirts, slim cut trousers etc – simply refreshed and re-vamped for the new season’s style. Only Westwood doesn’t ever follow trends and therefore does not produce collections that include, what you thought was, this season’s style. Subsequently, despite the Mystic Meg’s of fashion foreseeing a S/S 2012 that is laced in pastel shades, Westwood’s collection includes black, sparkled velour, shades of beige, moss green and navy blue and more heavy printed tassels than you can shake a golden orb at.

Consequently, if your S/S is donned in Westwood, you will not blend into the crowd. But I don’t think that is ever Dame Viv’s intention. Stamping itself all over the collection is a heavy use of sharp Oxford stripes, a light spattering of check and gingham (of course), the introduction of a bold tassel motif and the re-emergence of her squiggle design particularly in the accessories.

The squiggle is also repeated in the jeans Westwood created in collaboration with Lee (have now trotted down to the men’s department). It lines the inside of a jet-black pair of denims that is blazoned with a diamond studded Westwood orb on the back pocket – all yours for a bargainous £125.  In my chazzer shop terms, this is pricy, in designer terms, it’s bargain of the century. In the world of ‘fashwan’ (which is sometimes on a slightly different planet), the entire Anglomania collection is extremely reasonably priced. In a way, it depends on how much you intend to buy.

Westwood, a long-term campaigner against the ecological and ethical side effects of fast fashion, has repeatedly said “Buy less choose well”. It was in fact printed across her S/S 2011 gold label campaign t-shirt (this year it’s “Trees Save Lives”). For somebody whose business is to sell clothes, Dame Viv is telling us to buy less.

Recently, and widely, reported to have said “People have never looked so ugly” her design principle is very much based on individuality, buying well and making it last. Despite my obsession with second hand and vintage, I totally agree with Viv here. I have a Westwood Red Label classic white, angled shirt. It is about three years old yet looks as sharp as ever and could comfortably sit alongside her S/S 2012 collection. This isn’t because Westwood is old fashioned, but rather because she is all style.

There is a recognizable and distinctive Westwood style that embraces individuality (does not follow fashion) and encourages you, in wearing it, to do the same. Alongside the black Lee’s are several updated MAN classics (her male Red Label) alongside some key Gold Label pieces. These well-made, mixed-up, unisex items really sum up Westwood. For example, her MAN Gold Label Heart Gaia T-Shirt – a long, oversized, angular cut, black t-shirt awash with a huge red heart – would look just as good on a woman, belted in with heels or boots as on a man, quiffed-up in skinny jeans. Less ‘one size fits all’, more ‘these are my designs, now go and make them your own’!

To accessories this dandy lot is the reliably outlandish collection of bold checked bags and purses, some impressive and deathly jewelry designs and an unusual set of cufflinks (I thought they were taps till I heard the person nest to me laugh at their phallic shape and I realized they were in fact penis’s, and so swiftly moved my staring face away from the glass cabinet). There are also some truly honey-pot heels (sculpted and smooth like they were made for Miss Piggy) and almost Regency style plastic pumps.

So off I skipped on my merry way – full of stylistic inspiration and feeling a strong urge to button up all my clothes at a jaunty angle. I didn’t buy anything, but I fully intend to and I have worn my Red Label shirt three times since, each in a very, very different way. I think Dame Viv would approve. No fast fashion for me but rather trash/clash/more dash than cash style and a piggy bank with Vivienne Westwood’s name on.

Today I read: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Today I listened to: My heart, it carries the sound by Last Harbour

Lucienne Cole’s Dance To Music, Lars Laumann’s Fortelling the Death of Diana and other alternative and interesting pieces have been brought together to pay tribute to the band as part of an exhibition at The Holden Gallery, Manchester. The Gospel According To… (Part 1) is curated by CUBE’s Creative Director Jane Anderson. The aim of the exhibition is to explore The Smiths and their cultural impact by bringing it into a contemporary context.

Formed in Manchester, The Smiths made a massive global impression. This is marked by the fact that the artists and where the art was made spans several countries, adding an international twist to the affair. These artists have individually, and quite uniquely, re-interpreted the band’s cult status into a variety of mixed media pieces as part of the anniversary celebration. And The Holden Gallery offers a beautifully clean and open space in which to explore the pieces.

In the middle of the room, on top of a table is Lucienne Cole’s piece. Tap dancing to Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, her performance, recorded at the Fabaret event and full of technicoloured tremors and transmission interference, is captured and played on a tiny grey TV.

There’s an expansive collection of original images by photographer Stephen Wright whose iconic portrayal of the band has become synonymous with how they are visually perceived. His widely applauded ‘Salford Lads Club’ image of the four members appeared inside The Queen Is Dead and now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.

Displayed alongside his history defining collection is a humorous, and oddly nostalgic, collection of modern day equivalents. Their grimy colour pose an interesting contrast to the original monochrome set. Jeremy Deller has included a couple of his luminously bold prints and Jan Timme has painted his work 5 Words, straight onto the gallery wall. A piece that is almost invisible but very there, you have to walk the width of it to read “Work is a four letter word’ recalling the B-side of Girlfriend in a Coma.

Laumann’s Fortelling the Death of Diana occupies an entire mini theatre booth inside which, spliced cinematic clips are played on constant loop. This is over-laced with a recording of the artist explaining his theory of how Morrissey foretold Princess Diana’s death in God Save The Queen. Another piece, Bootleg Booth, again offers you solace in the darkness of replayed video clips, digitalised and repeated in all their lo-fi glory courtesy of Brave Music Agency.

Striking a counteractive display is Andrew Bracey’s Karhu This Charming Man. Created in Helsinki, the piece features the Finnish traditional god, the bear, transformed into a karaoke singing, symbol of a beer company. Sat, as a box of beer inside a fridge, the bear mouths This Charming Man beside jars of pickles and cartons of fruit juice.

The Gospel According To… (part 1) runs from 16^th March till 4^th May. In conjunction, (Part 2) will be held at Cornerhouse, Manchester on April 12^th. This panel discussion will look in retrospect to a 1980’s Manchester as inhabited by The Smiths. It will explore the social and cultural politics of the time and discuss how this affected the formation of the band and the music produced, which went on to have such global resonance. The grand weight and impact of their cultural legacy is what the artists in (Part 1) have re-evaluated into something fresh and new that represents where the band sit in the present.

An absolute must for fans of The Smiths, drummer Mike Joyce, who was at the preview, accurately summed things up. When I asked him if he was enjoying the exhibition he replied “Very much so. It’s thought provoking, funny and at times, a bit scary! Just like the records. Perfect.”

Today I listened to: Your heart, it carries the sound, Last Harbour
Today I read: The Independent Online 

This is a composite of two images taken from The Gospel According To (Part 1) exhibition. In a way it is my re-interpretation of the exhibition itself.

Despite being driven by up-tempo, indie-type stuff (preferably electro based, because in my head I am an 80’s, false eyelash wearing, robot), I am currently consumed by all that is darkly filmic and soulful. Last Harbour, Ren Harvieu (review here) and The Slow Show have joyously – or actually quite lamentingly ­­– sung me into early spring. I would really love to see a gig of all three together in fact.

Fortunately I own Last Harbour’s newly released Your heart, it carries the sound, fantastic it is too. This means they are loaded into my iPod and can soundtrack me on the go. Ren remains on virtual loop (until her album release in April) as did The Slow Show until this morning when I received a real hard copy of their Brother EP through the post.

Beginning with God Only Knows, the EP welcomes you with the beautiful northern brass horns that I remember so fondly from the gig. It quickly opens out into a more expansive swing with sweeping drums and a lightly twangy, country-esque guitar before the delightful syrup-sponge vocal tones of Rob Goodwin. He drawls you through a tale of change and uncertainty, over such whisperingly repetitious horns, that you are soon swayed into a state of summer-hazed sleepiness.

The title track Brother, wakes you up from your lazy lay with a sharp, echoing, piano intro that sounds as though it is playing from down the corridor of a large and empty house. This is a more romantically sorrowful affair, heavily aided by the beautiful use of Adrianne Wininsky on Cello and a larger use of musical space, particularly in the first half of the song. The second half lifts into something slightly less introspective, but equally reflective. Lyrics move on from “You’re to young to leave me brother” to the sharply emotive “Oh brother, you’re just another story” as it musically swells into an almost dirge-like impact, before imploding into a whispery nostalgic conclusion.

Dirty Little Secret seems at first to be a lighter, less melancholy, track with elegant cello and simple piano over a straight but effective beat. However, despite the increased heartbeat pace, we soon return to themes of uncertainty; this time of a man and his “dirty little secret”, as sang with understated haunting by Zoe Chiotis behind Goodwin’s appeals of being on “that slippery slope”. They then vocally join forces as lovers who battle it out with the lines “another late night, another drunken fight, another lover’s poor and desperate call for redemption”. Another musically bitter pill you aurally and indulgently swallow.

We have more of Zoe’s delicate backing on closing track Goodbye Rose. This gently eases you back into yourself with even more musical space than was used in the earlier parts of Brother. Here, Chiotis’s backing is even lighter and more airy in contrast to Goodwin’s vocal crawl, which he delivers with an even heavier laze as he suitably sings “And so, now it’s all gone, goodbye”.

Moving on from spring, the Brother EP cover certainly has more than a touch of summer to it. It pictures a young boy, holding his nose, mid icy-splash in a lake. However, this being The Slow Show, the lively scene is washed over in subtly dark, green-grey hues. It is an image of both summer and shadow, visually and emotionally. It perfectly suits the EP, which is, at all times, looking forward with a nostalgically strong heartstring attached to the past. The four beautifully balanced tracks, recorded and mixed by Keyboardist Fredrik Kindt at Blueprint Studios Manchester, demonstrate a confident use of musical space that gives full respect to the instrumentally considerate composition.

Again I am left eager for their next show. Fortunately, for an over-obsessive like myself, I do not have to wait long.  They are launching the Brother EP (available to download and buy on May 7^th) this Sunday 18th March at The Deaf Institute, Manchester. And I, for one, will be attending, with suitably rueful bells on and a gloriously ‘woe is me’ look on my face.

Today I listened to: Brother EP, The Slow Show and My heart, it carries the sound, Last Harbour
Today I read: Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood

We don’t smoke, but we love this Vimto ash tray. I bought it for my other good half from Vintage Village and gave it to him as a valentines gift. It’s yellow with ‘Drink Vimto’ on it, what could be more suitable.

Now, I love a lot of different of music. I know it’s pretty hard for most people to sum up their taste, but if I had to sum up mine (which I don’t but will anyway), i’d say I generally like energetic and powerful indie/rock based music, with a particular penchant for electronic and pretty much anything from the 80’s (I wonder how many people claim a taste for the lifeless and weak?). However, my obsessions in 2012 have included Ella Fitzgerald, a rather cool Jazz On Film album, Niki & The Dove, Muddy Waters, Kuedo, Cyndi Lauper and of course Ren. It’s a pretty mixed musical bag with one common thread; whatever style they are, they are completely.

That’s not to say I’m against a bit of musical role-play; I’m all for artists straying outside of their defined genre roles (yes I’m liking this metaphor). In fact, one of the criticisms I have read about Ren is that she strays into too many styles (the Bossa-Nova tinged Through The Night, the country lilt of Do Right By Me). Although I can hear these varying influences, I mainly hear one distinguishable, almost era-less sound – very much driven, at full force, by Ren’s fantastically powerful and unique voice.

There’s a lovely interviewed by Tim Jonze on the Guardian website where Ren talks about her bored and introverted childhood. She explains how she found cinematic solace in the Disney musicals and all time classics such as Gone With The Wind, overtaken by the “Drama of it all”. You can certainly hear such influences reflected in her well-structured song writing. She also tells tales of a more-than-obsessive Morrissey fan mum who would play his albums loud and late into the night. This could certainly explain her acutely heavy sense of mood.

And it was that very same sense of mood that filled the walls of Matt and Phred’s last Wednesday for her album launch. Those familiar with the venue (previously referred to as Matt & Phred’s Jazz Club) will appreciate its suitability to her edgy and filmic sound. With a weighty anticipation creeping around the media-savvy well-packed room, she finally arrived on stage, crutch in hand (more than a hangover from her near-death experience last summer) dressed head to toe in a sheer black 20s number.

Her retro ensemble perfectly matched the jazz based five-piece that accompanied her. This included a piano, double bass, saxophone, guitar and drums played on an impressive kit donned with a cool art-deco fonted drum face. All aided the timeless quality of her style. She opened with the full-on theatrics of Tonight and no sooner had her voice filled the room then her crutch was dropped and what you thought you knew of Ren Harvieu changed right before your eyes.

She didn’t simply perform the songs; she fully possessed them. Her voice is the richest mix of both Sandie Shaw and Dusty Springfield with more than a touch of Film Noir about her. She smoldered her way through For You increasing the intensity with which her audience was captured with every line she sang. With Through The Night and Do Right By Me she continued to beguile the crowd to an unknown (at a gig) level of concentrated attention. For Ren, the mic isn’t something you just sing into, but something through which to transpose all the sentiment, longing and desire behind every track.

She received huge applause for her uber-seducifying version of Rihanna’s We Found Love although there was no such Rihanna style swagger on this stage. Ren spoke little in-between songs and paused only for the occasional sip of her pint while the band struck up their next swing. I’ve read that some felt her lack of confidence and crowd participation to be one of the only negative elements to the show. Not that I want the woman to be riddled with self-doubt (i’m certain this is not the case) but I particularly found this aspect of Ren’s performance refreshing. I have been in a band and am well aware of the crap advice people give you with regards to having stage presence. Ren HAS stage presence in abundance, and no amount of show-host banter, or Nina Simone-esque cabaret chat would have improved the performance she gave.

The peak of her performance had to be her rendition of Roy Orbison’s Crying, an all time favorite of mine and clearly of hers too. The audience stood stunned for a whole few seconds (a long pause in gig-time) before breaking out into serious applause.  Joined on stage by The Zutons’ Dave McCabe she closed with the string-surging Open Up Your Arms. The line “I don’t see you listening anymore” could not have been more ironic as she ended a show, so stunningly wonderful to watch, all were listening to the euphorically sorrowful end.

She says in the Tim Jonze interview that the music she makes is “heartfelt” and it is something she has wanted to do for a long time. It is that determined and yearning singer that sang the fantastic set at Matt and Phreds last Wednesday. Ren Harvieu is so much more than a 21-year-old Salfordian Lana Del Ray with a back catalogue of influences. There is something about her timeless quality that really is the antithesis to all the usual musical comparisons that people tend to make (me included). The line from Open Up Your Arms, “think that you have sussed me out, but I know that you don’t know what you’re talking about” seems particularly relevant here.

The dateless sound is certainly one of its strengths, yet i’ve heard various re-mixes of her songs laced over intricate and impressive electronica and they too are a joy. While her voice sounds as though it is singing from another age, she is fantastically now. She isn’t a Duffy-Adele-Ray. She’s a Ren Harvieu. And as she ends by lamenting “let me in” I know for a fact that I certainly will, and if the crowd is anything to go by, the rest of the world will too.

Today I listened to: Ren Harvieu
Today I read: The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood
Today I watched: Being Human Series two 

Ren was so cool to watch and I loved taking her picture, she performed very well and pretty much ALL the images I captured were lovely of her. I also want to know where she got her eyelashes and eyeshadow from and I like them LOTS (though I refrained from asking her while she sang on stage). See the full set of images here.

Arthur is the macho anti-hero of Alan Sillitoe’s Saturday Night And Sunday Morning, freshly adapted by Matthew Dunster for the stage at The Royal Exchange Theatre. Running till the 7^th April 2012 SNASM is a wake-up call to those with rose-tinted notions of a time when good old-fashioned housewifery kept domesticity afloat (starting to laugh), when men were gentlemanly (laughing lots) and people had ‘proper’ values (laughing so hard I’ve burst my way out of a life-restricting, retro girdle).

Arthur, a young bike factory machinist, walks, talks, and shags his way around late 50’s industrial Nottingham like a man on a mission, which is exactly what he is – “I’m out for a good time, all the rest is propaganda” he spits out. Angry with his lot in life and hell-bent not to get tied down by the domestic drudgery that surrounds him, Arthur works hard all day (earning more than most of his colleagues) then blows his wages on sharp suits, plenty of pints and female (often married) company.

Often labeled Midland’s own ‘Angry Young Man’, (to the apparent distaste of Sillitoe himself), Arthur’s the essence of early 60’s ‘Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll’ lifestyle. Urged by factory-floor misery, in the shadow of the ever-looming Cold War. Yet his cultural relevance does not rest there. His laddish ‘me against the world’ ethic continues to emerge. Think punk/skin head/90’s oasis/last summer’s rioters – different era, same attitude. Even the laddish title of the Arctic Monkey’s album, with its ASBO laden lyrics, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, is a line straight out Arthur’s mouth.

Rather fond of a bit of Kitchen Sink Drama (quite literally) and already a HUGE fan of the 1960 Karel Reisz directed film starring Albert Finney (I have a worrying Freudian Daddy Warbucks complex), I was more than keen to see how Dunster’s vision would play out. And I was far from disappointed.

Dunster, with the liberation that theatrical production offers, and without the censorship suffered by Reisz, has brought back from the novel various culturally important characters and vital scenes omitted from the film adaptation. With a multitude of fast-talking players, an innovative use of stage and props (including a moving rail which provided scene-specific paraphernalia) and an intelligent and effective use of sound, SNASM is touching and shocking, and an ultimate thrill.

Central to its success is Arthur, played in full-on geezer glory by Perry Fitzpatrick (most well-known from This Is England). Quiffed-up and sharp-suited, Fitzpatrick’s Arthur is so astutely played that you are sat gripped and full of admiration, despite his obviously flawed character. This puts you in the same position as the married Brenda (Clare Calbraith, Downton Abbey), her married sister Winnie (Chanel Cresswell, This Is England) and the younger Doreen (Tamla Kari, Being Human), the three women Arthur successively beds. Yet this isn’t a tale of male immorality, but rather a story about how different types of people learned to cope with the inane trappings of a dead end working-class life. As Arthur himself says “I’m a bloody billy-goat trying to screw the world, and no wonder I am, because it’s trying to screw me”.

And this involves a lot of dressing and undressing. Dunster’s clever, choreographed moves acutely highlight the escapism-fuelled sexuality of such affairs. As Arthur continues his vocal tirade at the audience three or four versions of Brenda and later Winnie undress for him, adding passionate emphasis. This contrasts sharply, in pace and tone, with the disturbing abortion scene. This sees a solitary and frightened Brenda undress and sit in a scalding hot bath of water. Arthur, sat watching, is completely detached as she drinks herself into a stupor. All passion completely disappeared.

Similar themes of action and consequence (the essence of a Saturday night and indeed Sunday morning) are explored in the second half of the play. Following the energetic pace and pleasure-seeking thrills of the Goose Fair, Arthur gets his comeuppance in the form of a thorough beating by Winnie’s squaddie husband and his friend. Now I hate bad stage fighting (you know where one actor’s fist is an entire rulers length away from the other actor’s face), it undermines completely the intent. This fight, however, was very real – tense, loud and full of fear and fury. Fairground revelers screamed, fists flew and people yelled. All the while Elvis Presley’s Jailhouse Rock rang out into a distorted, disturbing jeer upon the whole scene. It was a strikingly successful accumulation of the play to this point, and possibly one of my favorite scenes.

Mirroring Brenda’s bath scene in the first, we see, in the second half, Arthur undressing and in pain. Following the fight at the fair his parents, full of protective instinct,  gently take his clothes off and lay him into bed. No sex or excitement here, the ‘undressing in the bedroom’ scenario is completely inverted by it’s consequences. Both this and the bath scene are extremely touching and moving. They are depressing reminders of the very human realities of such behavior; in a world, which even Arthur himself knows, will catch up with you in the end.

Arthur is on the stage for the entire play and Perry Fitzpatrick’s portrayal, while thoroughly cocky and self-assured, is far from one-dimensional. He accurately portrays the underlying fear and vulnerability that essentially shapes Arthur’s dogged resistance to what is put upon him (income tax, national service, domestic expectations). His performance is electrifyingly sharp and smacks you straight in the face while all the time leaving you feeling entirely sympathetic to his cause.

The supporting cast does not support – they shake you, wake you and leave you sat upright in your seat. There’s the likes of Jo Hartley (This Is England) and Graeme Hawley (Coronation Street), amongst others, who are at every point brilliant and real. You are left with the realisation that this working-class tale of late 50’s woe, with its issues of gender, race, sexuality, morality and expectation, is still entirely relevant. In the hangover of last summer’s riots, you see that these character’s lives are full of the same sexual, political and job-based dissatisfaction that is such a feature of life in 2012.

Dunster’s adaptation is stylish, sharp and exhilarating. His characters are grittily real and full of heart. He utilizes the theatrical tools at hand to successfully deliver a performance that embodies all the sly and exciting thrills of Saturday night, as well as the consequential comedowns that Sunday morning, and real life, brings. I hope to see it again before it ends and couldn’t encourage you more to do the same.

Today I read: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Today I listened to: Your Heart, It Carries The Sound by Last Harbour 
Today I watched: Being Human, Series One 

This is a pot corgi I bought on my last trip to Vintage Village. We used to have corgi’s when I was little. I most remember Sindy (you can tell my age when we got her from the name) and she was la little lady and a half. This is a suitably trashy/class reminder of her gorgeousness.

Recently formed and Manchester based they have a gentle Americana sound with a distinctly Northern, as in Northern English, slant. Having been warmed up by I See Angels, The Slow Show came on stage looking a rather dandy lot (I do appreciate it when people make a stylistic effort). And there were quite a lot of them too with the main five-piece accompanied on stage by a cellist and two-piece brass section.

The venue was packed and really quite noisy. The only time this seemed a problem was when they performed Northern Town, a slightly saccharine northern nod to Streets of London. Apart from that their delicate, though not ever underpowered, sound filled the room beautifully. They played a set that was refined and reflective and each member seemed delightfully comfortable basking in such soulful laments. The singer, whose rich vocals, like a caramelised Lou Reed or young Johnny Cash on Hurt, casually drawls through the songs making the declarations and outbursts all the more striking. He also strummed clean fresh chords backed by the lead player’s bright arpeggios and sweet harmonies.

Both played Gibson 335s, (if you don’t know these guitars get googling, they are pretty lil’ beasts) which aided the visual style of the band. As did the lovely red Nord keyboard, upon which the player replicated fantastic Hammond organ sounds that were given ample audible space. As were the drum and bass combo. The drums were wonderfully intricate and extremely sonically thoughtful. The Cello lines aided the soulfulness of the experience whilst the brass really added that Northern Town twist. At every point the instruments had room. Never egotistical but always imaginatively orchestrated and well executed.

To make comparisons, I’d say roughly that their sound is the hybrid musical lovechild of Nick Cave’s The Ship Song with an Elbow freshly returned from an American Road trip. Did that help? Without comparisons, id say they sound like a beautiful set of instrumental lines, gently tumbling down a green, grassy hill, working their way to a magnificent and emotional conclusion. Now how nice does that sound?

With a show at The Deaf Institute on the 18^th March and a CD release on the 19^th, available on download on the 2^nd April, we can expect to be hearing a lot more from The Slow Show and I for one am glad about it.
Today I listened to: Making Mirrors by Gotye
Today I read: The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood 

Lead Singer from The Slow Show

Bags of Attitude is a commission launched by Oxfam and The Pankhurst Centre in Manchester running at Piccadilly Place until the 28^th February. It follows on from a course of creative workshops the center ran over summer 2011 where women were invited to creatively examine the way that spending cuts have affected their lives. Led by artist Charlotte Newson, they decided to artistically express their difficulties, and the effects these have on them as people, by creating handbags.

Owned almost exclusively by women (and most own a fair few) a handbag is both an object of luxury and necessity (it is mainly women who need to carry ‘personal’ items as well as items associated with childcare). It is also a status item or exactly the opposite. It therefore seemed the perfect symbol through which the women could express themselves.

Under the guiding hand of Newson a beautiful, unusual and at times, very forward-looking collection of handbags was created (while I was there, people were wanting to purchase the bags). But the creation of the bags was only the starting point. Once made, each individual bag was filled with things its creator felt represented the way the spending cuts had affected their lives and them as human beings.

Collected together for the exhibition, they are displayed alongside laminated snippets of statistical information that detail the gender division of the cuts and surrounded by audio work by musician Claire Mooney. Mooney also edited the women’s personal accounts, which you can listen to on earphones while you rummage through their bags.

And that is exactly what you’re encouraged to do. As it says on Charlotte Newson’s Facebook page, you’re invited to “break the taboo and look inside women’s handbags to hear their real story”. The concept, experience and outcome of this is effective and beautifully incongruous.

Bearing in mind the financial backdrop the project is based on, the result couldn’t be more aesthetically exciting. From a design point of view alone they are a delight (yes, I wanted several, they are right up my trash-fash alley). They are also extremely poetic. One bag resembles a battered old child’s game die with a note that reads “Access to mental health services is pot luck” hence the die’s battered appearance. Another is a beautifully thick, fluffy heart, inside which is another heart, inside which are the hopes and dreams of the maker. Some are filled with the female paraphernalia of every day life – a baby spoon, medication, sanitary towels and shopping receipts full of budget items.

As you peer into them, you feel you’re peering into the souls of the women. The experience is both a privilege, and at times, quite disturbing. I listened to a woman explain how isolated she felt, having left work as a trained teacher to raise her children, now left under-confident, inexperienced and pretty much unemployable. This isn’t ‘easy listening’.

There are numerous resources for you to take on your way out which further highlight the gender impact of the cuts. The whole exhibition beautifully represents, in the most personal of ways, how this affects the lives of women. The artist intends to tour the exhibition, ending at Westminster. The importance of the issues it explores is such that everyone should see it. This isn’t just about the issues women face, it’s about how these affect everyone in society. It is also about the ‘Bags of Attitude’ that the women themselves have. Despite the cuts, despite the barriers, these women are full of a forward-thinking creativity that can only benefit society, if only they get the chance to use it.

Today I listened to: Making Mirrors by Gotye
Today I watched: Red Dwarf Series III 

 Image by Anne Louise Kershaw © Charlotte Newson