El cine de Werner Herzog nos remite a menudo a dos ideas claves: la primera a historias sobre hombres fascinados por grandes gestas, emprendedores casi siempre aplastados por la naturaleza implacable; la segunda a Kaus Kinski, actor fetiche con el que se conoce más de un enfrentamiento durante los rodajes, pero cuya carrera resulta indisolublemente ligada a Herzog. Sin embargo, en Stroszek, auténtica obra maestra y posiblemente una de las películas más subestimadas de todos los tiempos, nada de todo esto se cumple. Rodada en 1977, cuando el sueño americano todavía era un proyecto a imitar por muchos europeos, sitúa la acción en los suburbios de Berlín. Bruno S. (Bruno Stroszek), alcohólico, asocial y simplón, sale de la cárcel tras cumplir una de sus condenas  y conoce a Eva (Eva Mattes), una prostituta maltratada y hostigada por dos proxenetas, a la que le ofrece refugio en su apartamento en el barrio turco de la ciudad. Allí vive su amigo Scheitz (Clemens Scheitz), hombre de edad avanzada que sobrevive a  base de pequeños hurtos en puestos y supermercados.  Scheitz, a punto de jubilarse, tiene intención de marcharse a los EEUU para reunirse con su primo, y Eva convence al reacio Bruno a unirse al viejo para alcanzar juntos el sueño americano. Durante algún tiempo el trío parece comenzar a lograr su propósito: él trabaja como mecánico, ella es camarera en un bar de carretera, compran una casa prefabricada… pero pronto las deudas, las dificultades económicas, la alineación y el desconocimiento del idioma darán al traste con sus sueños, lo que les conduce a recuperar sus antiguos patrones de comportamiento.

Aunque la trama es invención de Herzog, gran parte del poder de esta película se debe al alto grado de verité con la que es construida. Todos los personajes, a excepción de Eva Mattes, son ellos mismos. No son actores profesionales y comparten sus nombres con aquellos a quienes están interpretando. Bruno S. es en realidad Bruno Stroszek, músico callejero que pasó gran parte de su infancia maltratado en un horfanato,  y la mayoría de sus discursos en la película son improvisados en base a unas reglas genéricas de guión. Algo parecido sucede con el anciano Clemens, personaje excéntrico sobre el que Herzog había sido advertido antes de contratarlo: muchas de sus surrealistas teorías sobre el magnetismo animal o el mesmerismo son cosecha del propio intérprete. Uno de los proxenetas tenía antecedentes y había cumplido condena por violencia, el otro albergaba en su experiencia haber ejercido de gorila para empresarios de dudosa ética. Los turcos de Berlín, los agricultores de Wisconsin, los cazadores, los camioneros, los policías o los subastadores son todos genuinos en su oficio, fueron contratados por Herzog para interpretarse a sí mismos  y es la única vez que participarán en una película. El resultado es una tragicomedia de tono eminentemente realista que, sin llegar al documental, nos muestra  personajes desgarradoramente humanos envueltos en un círculo de fragilidad y exclusión del que no pueden escapar, donde la lucha por la supervivencia se encuentra abocada al fracaso bajo el envoltorio de la sociedad capitalista más hostil y cuyos personajes se rebelan de manera constante ante lo absurdo del futuro que se les presenta.

La banda sonora, mezcla de folk, piano y percusión metálica, da el tono de la película. La música es una parte muy importante en todas la obra de Herzog, y junto a la utilización del contraluz, el travelling y una sugestiva fotografía conforman unos efectos que ningún otro cineasta imprime a sus trabajos. Stroszek comienza de manera muy lineal, plagada de personajes extraños, tranquilamente anormales, que deambulan sin demasiado sentido por las calles de Berlín. No apresura la acción ni añade episodios artificiales de suspense o acción, siquiera se entretiene en diálogos complejos o aleccionadores. Werner Herzog es siempre impredecible, no hay forma de saber adónde nos lleva.  Sin embargo, dosifica in crescendo con tal habilidad la carga dramática que logra hacernos partícipes de los sueños, las desilusiones de sus personajes, su desolación, su desesperación y sus miserias. La escena final es probablemente una de las mejores secuencias rodadas por el alemán y resume el sentido total de la película: animales bailando enjaulados bajo neones (cual atracción de feria) tras un cristal repitiendo, ajenos a su naturaleza, una y otra vez la misma acción mecánica. Tremenda metáfora de la deshumanización y la mezquindad: Eva vuelve a vender su cuerpo, Clemens a los supermercados y Stroszek, invadido por la cotidiana e intranquila normalidad que le ofrece el nuevo mundo al otro lado del océano, decide acabar con su vida en un telesilla. Como anécdota, Ian Curtis vería esta película antes de partir hacia su primera gira por Estados Unidos, pero jamás emprendió el viaje, porque esa misma noche se suicidaba en la cocina de su apartamento. Pero lo de Joy Division es… otra historia.

გუშინ ღამით საკუთარი თავის დაძინების უშედეგო მცდელობის შემდეგ ფიქრებში გავერთე და რაღაც უცნაურს  გადავაწყდი.

უცბათ ვიფიქრე რომ მთელი ჩვენი სამყარო იყო ერთი დიდი ტელევიზორების ქარხანა, სადაც ყოველდღიურად მზადდებოდა უამრავი ტელევიზორი და თითოეულ მათგანში იყო წინასწარ გამზადებულ-დამონტაჟეული თითოეული ადამიანის  ცხოვრება. და ჩვენ ყველანი, ადამიანები, ვარსებობდით ჩვენ-ჩვენ ტელევიზორებში და წინასწარ ჩაწერილ-დამონტაჟებულ ცხოვრებას ვთამაშობდით.

მერე დავიწყე ფიქრი იმაზე თუ როგორი შეიძლებოდა ყოფილიყო ეს ქარხანა და როგორ შეეძლო თავი ემართა.

იქიდან გამომდინარე რომ ჩემი ტვინი მხოლოდ და მხოლოდ იმ ინფორმაციას მოიცავდა რაც ამ ქარხანამ ჩემთვის ჩატვირთავდა მივხვდი, რომ ამ კითხვებზე პასუხი არ მომეპოვებოდა.

მერე იმაზე დავფიქრდი თუ სად შეიძლებოდა არსებულიყო ეს ქარხანა             და იქიდან გამომდინარე რომ დადამიწა, ჩვენი გალაქტიკა, და სრულიადაც სამყარო მხოლოდ და მხოლოდ ტელევიზოში ჩაწერილ ჩვენს ფონებს წარმოადგენდა მივხვდი, რომ ეს ქარხანა სრულიად სხვა სივრცეში არსებობდა რაზეც არანაირი წარმოდგენა არ ჰქონდა არცერთ ტელევიზორში ჩაწერილ ინფორმაციას. (ამ კონკრეტულ შემთხვევაში მე).

მაგრამ მერე დავფიქრდი იმაზე თუ როგორ გამოიგონა უბრალო ტელევიზორების ქარხანამ ამდენი ინფორმაცია და ამდენი  სხვადასხვა ისტორია ტელევიზორებში არსებული ადამიანების შესახებ. როგორ გამოიგონა მაგ: თოვლი, ველოსიპედი, ლურჯი ფერი, მზის სათვალე, Woodstock 69, შოკოლადი,  ზაფხულის არდადეგები,  JoyDivision-ი, Polaroid-ი, ციფრი 7, ან თუნდაც  ხალი ჩემს ხელისგულზე და მერე მივხვდი..

რომ ტელევიზორების ქარხანა რომელთანაც მე საქმე მქონდა არ იყო უბრალო ტელევიზორების ქარხანა.

La purezza non è roba da bambini. Chi vi ha insegnato questa cosa si sbagliava, vi ha portato fuori strada. La purezza ha a che fare con l’esperienza. I puri sono quelli che non sono capaci di fare delle offese ricevute motivo sufficiente per non rischiare di riceverne  altre. Sono i coraggiosi con problemi di memoria, gente che non si cura di ciò che è stato. Sono quelli che l’esperienza non riuscirà mai ad abbrutire. Il meglio della società, in sostanza, animali rari e preziosi; quindi, ritenetevi fortunati se ne incontrate qualcuno.

Ho imparato questa verità alla terza o quarta sofferenza d’amore. Credo l’autore indiretto sia stato Werner. Breve digressione descrittiva e di celebrazione. Werner aveva ricci neri su un viso disegnato da una mano celeste. Le sue sopracciglia nere fregiavano la fronte come due pennellate di antico inchiostro cinese su pelle appena bronzea. Il suo sorriso si apriva a luna costringendo gli occhi a contrarsi in nette virgole rovesciate. Mentre i suoi occhi, tra loro appena più distanti del dovuto, erano un difetto messo lì a ricordare con poesia che la perfezione non appartiene a questo mondo.

Un giorno, mi lasciò senza dirmelo. Due settimane dopo, due settimane passate a cercare  in ogni modo di parlarci, lo vedi baciarsi con la sua ex in facoltà.

Più mi sforzavo di non provare dolore, più torrenti di lacrime mi inondavano la faccia. E più soffrivo, più capivo che per nessuna ragione al mondo avrei permesso a quelle lacrime di decidere il mio futuro. Quel pianto era semplicemente nel presente e sul passato e era per Werner: un momento tutto per lui di autentico dolore. Niente di più, in fondo. Mentre piangevo, è lì che ho scoperto di essere una pura e i puri si tamponano il sangue e poi capiscono che quel sangue è ragione sufficiente per giustificare la ritirata dalla battaglia, ma non il ritiro dalla guerra. Rimozione del dolore, schiaffo in faccia al rancore e la prossima ferita sarà bella, dolorosa e sorprendente come fosse la prima.

Alexis ama molto questa teoria, per ovvie ragioni. Una volta si era addirittura messo in testa di averla inventata lui; infatti poi abbiamo litigato. Gli capita ogni volta che qualche pensiero altrui gli risulta particolarmente affine: si deve immedesimare con l’autore, prendere la paternità del concetto. Un vezzo sgradevole che di solito argino concludendo con “Pensala come vuoi, ne ho almeno altre dieci di teorie come e meglio di questa. Prenditi pure i diritti, non me ne faccio niente, te li regalo”. A quel punto, si ammutolisce e riflette sulla possibilità di stare nel torto. Si rinfresca il cervello e poi ammette di essersi sbagliato.

Sto tamponando anche ora, che mi sento umiliata per quello che è successo nel Consiglio. Anche ora che minimizzo buttandomi a terra e ridendoci su insieme a Alexis. Del resto,  questa umiliazione non è una faccenda d’amore, è piuttosto il tipo di umiliazione per la quale ho imparato a rendere la guarigione abbastanza rapida.

Arrivata a casa, capisco che quello che voglio è solo riprendere il fiato dall’ultima ora in attesa che mi chiamino dall’ufficio.

Tolgo le borchie che mi pesano sulle spalle, butto il mantello sul pavimento, slaccio il corpetto di velluto che mi stringe il busto, sfilo gli stivali che avevo messo per piantare le portulache e cammino a piedi nudi sul pavimento caldo. Vado verso il distributore creativo di bevande, una macchina che in molti mi invidiano, una novità del dipartimento Cose utili e efficienti per la casa: inserisci il tuo stato d’animo e lui, come il più amichevole e bravo barista, si inventa una bevanda con gli ingredienti in polvere che hai caricato dentro, una bevanda fatta solo per te, per allietare il tuo umore nei minuti successivi. Esempio. Sei stanco?: caffè, guaranà, zenzero e vaniglia. Sei stressato?: camomilla, kava, novocaina, tenanina, valeriana e lamponi. Sei depresso?: cioccolata, panna, essenza di wafer, colorante. Ah, sei depresso perché stai ingrassando?: inutile che ve lo dica, acqua. E poi c’è la modalità alcolica, ma ora non ve la racconto. Sta di fatto che quelli del dipartimento Cose utili e efficienti per la casa si danno un sacco da fare, non si può proprio negare.

Mentre mi dirigo verso il distributore, una foto, a terra, laggiù, tra la poltrona e la colonna centrale della luce, attira la mia attenzione. Mi avvicino, la raccolgo. È Ian Curtis. Che diavolo ci fa Ian Curtis sul pavimento? Dovrebbe starsene rinchiuso nella copia del fascicolo sui Joy Division, il suo gruppo. Di solito, non faccio copie anche dei fascicoli degli artisti che abbiamo in archivio, ma quello che avevamo ricostruito sulla loro storia, sulla sua soprattutto, era qualcosa di particolarmente prezioso, qualcosa che volevo conservare anche in modo più intimo. Il fascicolo sui Joy Division è uno dei più completi: abbiamo due video, sei immagini, la biografia di Ian Curtis e persino un film che i Cercatori del Cinema avevano nel loro di archivio.

Prima di rimettere a posto la foto, mi fermo a osservare il viso di Ian: ha gli occhi di uno che non vuole essere guardato. Ma niente da fare, quegli occhi divorano l’attenzione di chiunque abbia un po’ di tenerezza o disperazione nel cuore. Così belli, sembrano fatti di infiniti pezzetti di vetro, smarriti eppure attenti, profondamente saggi o del tutto inconsapevoli. Dicono in fondo quanto l’esistenza sia un gioco tragico e insensato frammisto a una grazia che ha del divino.

Il fascicolo non c’è. Inutile starvi a elencare tutti i posti in cui lo cerco. Non c’è, è sparito. Tra i cinquanta pezzi di rock che tengo in casa, manca anche Unknown Pleasures, il loro album.

Salgo al piano di sopra, a casa dei miei. Vado diretta in camera di Lyon perché quando qualcosa non sta nella mia zona, forse sta nella sua camera e quasi sicuramente è già rotto. Fw>>

In camera, alleva tartarughe d’acqua in un grosso recipiente che emana miasmi ammorbanti a causa di un cibo liofilizzato che gli somministra quotidianamente e anche più volte durante la giornata secondo criteri del tutto arbitrari.

Non escludo che questa della puzza sia anche una tattica per tenere alla larga gli estranei dal suo spazio vitale, spazio di cui è piuttosto geloso.

Quando entro, sta sdraiato sul letto a fissare il soffitto e con delle cuffie attaccate al suo pannello multimediale sta ascoltando qualcosa.

-Togli quelle cuffie.

Si mette seduto, è preoccupato e, quando è preoccupato, borbotta e assume l’assetto fisico di un panda, con un po’ di gobba e una goffaggine disarmante.

-Oh…

-Vorrei sapere chi t’ha dato l’autorizzazione a prendere le mie cose.

-Scusa… Te ne avrei parlato oggi…

-Parlato del fatto che mi prendi le cose in casa senza chiederlo?

-No, voglio dire, non solo.

In questi momenti, io smetto di ascoltare, mi sale la rabbia e parto con la scenata isterica. Di quelle che i maschi imparano a conoscere e progressivamente sminuire già in tenera età con le madri, passando appunto per le sorelle, per poi finire con fidanzate e mogli.

Non so come mai, ma questa volta rinuncio ai miei minuti di sano rimprovero femminile, resisto e chiedo spiegazioni.

-Cioè?

-Qualche giorno fa sono sceso a casa tua, no?, e…

-Ecco, cominciamo da qui, che già non ci siamo: che sei venuto a fare?

-…cercavo un po’ di cioccolata…

-L’hai trovata? Ne ho una al doppio ripieno nocciola e granuli di miele che è… è… non puoi capire, devi assaggiarla. Sì, vabbè, insomma, perché hai preso le mie cose?

-Non ho trovato la cioccolata, mi stavo annoiando, mi sono messo a guardare i tuoi dischi e i fascicoli e mi piaceva questa copertina…

Mi mostra Unknown Pleasures, che intanto era finito tra la coperta e il suo sedere, poi continua:

-Ho messo il supporto circolare nel tuo pannello e ho ascoltato. È la cosa più bella che abbia mai sentito. Sono sceso diverse volte in questi giorni, poi oggi ho deciso di portare tutto in camera… Non riesco a smettere di ascoltarlo.

Mi siedo sul letto, mi racconta che c’è una canzone, She’s Lost Control, che è la sua preferita. Si chiede cosa sia quel suono secco e denso. È un basso. Nei video, Peter Hook, il bassista, ha un’imitazione del Rickenbacker, un Hondo, FireGlo. Ma gli spiego che sono quasi sicura che in studio, per registrare, abbia usato qualcos’altro, non so cosa.

-Sono il miglior gruppo della storia.

-Che ne sai? Non hai ascoltato altro.

-A proposito, perché non diffondete tutta la musica che avete in archivio? Che poi chi se ne frega se è musica antica? Sempre meglio dello schifo che sta in giro…

-Già, non parliamo di questo argomento, non oggi.

-Comunque, Ian Curtis è un fico. Aveva le crisi epilettiche, scriveva testi che parlano di me e io non riesco a smettere di ascoltarli da giorni. Sono i migliori. Tu lo sai che si è suicidato a ventitré anni? Lo sai che A era l’anniversario della sua morte? Ho anche fermato gli orologi e il calendario di casa per celebrare quello che i posteri devono ricordare come il giorno più triste dell’umanità (tono enfatico, nda). Li tengo fermi per una settimana…

-Che cosa?

-Sì, per lutto.

Lyon in un certo senso vive in un mondo suo, ma è molto lucido, non è come sembra. Lyon fa certe cretinate spesso solo per autocompiacersi, per riderci su per conto suo. L’ironia, il nonsense, il sarcasmo, gli scherzi sono per lui valori non necessariamente da condividere: sono parte di una festa che può godersi anche da solo. Il suo gesto, che in effetti è una pura cazzata, non va interpretato tanto come il gesto di un fan rimbecillito, ma quasi come la presa in giro dello stereotipo di quel fan. Insomma: quando ha fermato il tempo, di sicuro ci stava ridendo su, era consapevole di essere ridicolo. Quindi, ha senso che gli dica che per colpa della sua scema celebrazione di morte, ho rischiato il licenziamento e dato il via a una catena inesorabile di disgrazie? Ha senso che gli dica che è un coglione? Probabilmente no.

-Sei un coglione.

-Sì lo so.

Una voce, dall’ingresso, tuona:

-Lyon, imbecille!, hai manomesso tu il calendario?! Hai toccato il pannello della palazzina?

È mio padre, che appena rientrato in casa deve aver scoperto l’ideona settimanale di Lyon.

-In bocca al lupo.

-Mi sa che è incazzato. Può essere che si è accorto che quando ho fermato la data, ho mandato in blocco la centralina dell’acqua calda… per sbaglio… Ah, comunque, ti hanno cercato dall’ufficio appena prima che rientrassi.

-Che hanno detto? Tono?

-Non era quello che ti comanda, il capo. Era qualcuno della tua divisione, ha detto che è urgente, che deve farti vedere una cosa.

Mi alzo, ma solo dopo avergli dato uno spintone fraterno. Una volta, quando ancora ci dilettavamo nella lotta greco-romana sul letto della nonna, sarebbe caduto all’indietro. Adesso, non lo sposto di un millimetro, è una roccia. L’unica mossa vincente che ho a disposizione rimane il solletico: non a caso, il tempo della lotta è stato dichiarato “finito”. Ride, si rimette le cuffie e si stende di nuovo, occhi chiusi. Attende così che il prossimo invasore del suo spazio vitale varchi il confine.

by Valentina Parasecolo

Is this baby crying in German or French?  A new study says we may be able to tell. The study was originally discussed on my sister pod, The World’s science podcast. It   concludes that we begin language acquisition in the womb. At that stage, we are, well, a captive audience to mama’s words; researchers say we pick up a bit of her accent and intonation. Then after birth, we cry in ways that imitate that accent and intonation.

Then it’s off to Ukraine, where the Ukrainian language (see alphabet above) is enjoying a government-sponsored revival. This comes at the expense of Russian – with the notable and ever-delightful exception of swear words: people still curse almost exclusively in Russian. Why? you tell me, please…In any case, the government’s support of Ukrainians, especially in schools and colleges has turned this into an election issue. The two front runners in next January’s presidential vote are the pro-Western Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko, who generally favors the promotion of Ukrainian, and the more Kremlin-oriented Viktor Yanukovych, who believes Russian should be protected.  Which leaves our Kiev-based reporter, Brigid McCarthy, somewhat conflicted as to which language to study.

Finally, a conversation with the two French guys behind cover band Nouvelle Vague. Their new album re-imagines punk and new wave classics by The Sex Pistols, Plastic Bertrand and others. The singers tend to be non-native English speakers, female and young — young enough in some cases not to have heard the originals, or know about the ethos and vibe of punk. I like a lot of their reinterpretions because they’re so wildly different from the originals, yet add something that was seemingly overlooked by the original artists. It’s as if the musical code — the language — is flipped to reveal something previously hidden.  So, the vicious anger of the Sex Pistols’ version of God Save the Queen becomes a sweet, hymnal folk song. The Police’s poppy So Lonely becomes a desperate, haunting dirge. There’s a great linguistic flip too:  for the one song with lyrics in French, Plastic Betrand’s Ça Plane Pour Moi, the singer is an English woman who enunciates the French words with a marked English accent.

At the end of our interview, I offered the Nouvelle Vague guys my two cents on the punk classics they might next tackle:  anything from Elvis Costello’s My Aim is True album, Richard Hell’s Blank Generation,  Iggy Pop’s Dog Food, and top of the list:  a very early single from Adam and the Ant called Young Parisians. They should sing that one in French.

Listen in iTunes or here.

OK, I just need to include an image of the Pistols.

Meadows and his Free Photographic Omnibus

Ask Daniel Meadows where he is from and he will reply, “I really don’t know. Except that I am English.” His work as a photographer over the years has documented England at its most real, whether it was touring the country on a Double Decker bus in the 70s and taking portraits of the people he saw, or photographing Ian Curtis and Joy Division in 80s Manchester during their rise to fame…

Meadows was born in Gloucestershire in 1952. He studied at photography at Manchester Polytechnic from 1970-73. Interesting projects from that time include The Shop On Greame Street in 1972  as well as collaborations with renowned observational photographer Martin Parr with Butlin’s By The Sea in Yorkshire in 1972 and June Street in Salford in 1973.

In 1973 and ‘74 Meadows, a self-confessed hippy, started his Free Photographic Omnibus. As Meadows puts it himself, “Once upon a time I lived in a double-decker bus, reg. JRR 404, better known as the Free Photographic Omnibus. She was my home, my travelling darkroom and gallery. We were an unlikely couple; she with her crash gear box and temperamental ways, me with my bushy hair and homemade flares. But we got along okay and, during 1973 and ‘74, we travelled about making a national portrait of the English. We covered 10,000 miles shooting pictures and giving them away.”

Some of Meadows' Photobus portraits in 1973 & '74

The free spirit of the 1970s meant that Meadows didn’t take a record of who he was photographing; no name, no age, no location. Just a photograph for them, and a photograph for his own archive. Which was unproblematic until 25 years later when Meadows decided he wanted to find his previous subjects and re-photograph them for his book The Bus.

Famous for not only taking photographs for Joy Division’s album artwork, Meadows has also been celebrated for taking a rare, albeit accidental, shot of Margaret Thatcher’s handbag and untidy office at No. 10 in the 80s. Yet these days, Meadows says that he no longer takes any photographs. His work now lies in the world of research, with particular focus on the ways of exploring the depth and range of his photography archive through storytelling using multimedia. He was awarded his PhD in 2005 for his innovative work with photography and participatory media.

Meadows was the creative director of the BBC’s Capture Wales Digital Storytelling project from 2001 until 2006, a project which has been described as “the most ambitious of all the BBC’s user generated content offerings”. Not only is the method of Digital Storytelling a brilliant way for Meadows to showcase his archive of photographs, it also allows access to a more personal world where photographs can take on a new life and meaning.

A photograph that was used Meadow's exhibition There's No Such Thing As Society...

When Meadows gave his lecture on Digital Storytelling last week, I knew I wanted to interview him within the first 5 minutes when he showed a video featuring a beautiful Rolleiflex camera. Considering that Meadows is an award-winning documentarist and photographer, and has hung out with some of England’s finest musical talent, he seemed completely humble and, well normal. He says that he enjoys looking at other peoples’ photographs more than his own, quotes Bob Dylan in an American drawl, and was not at all patronizing when I had to take a photograph of him, with my far inferior camera skills. In fact he seemed genuinely interested in my Polaroid camera, and wanted to watch the photograph spring to life. As you’d expect, his office is wall-to-wall with photographs (some his own, some not) and photography books, and during the interview he was constantly moving from shelf to shelf to illustrate his answers with photographic evidence. He even has the souvenir books that he bought at a Bill Brandt exhibition in 1970 when he was just 18 and beginning his interest in photography…

10am Wednesday 11, 2009.

H: I’ll start at the beginning. What attracted you to photography in the first place, and was it something that you always wanted to do?

Daniel Meadows today...

D: “It wasn’t something I always wanted to do. There were two really big events I think.  Well there were three actually. One was that I was crap at everything at school. And if you were crap you were allowed to do art. You know, our education system is so bad that instead of encouraging you to be creative from the moment you enter school, they discourage it. So creativity was the idiots’ class. So when I failed exams they ended up putting me in the art class. Then they discovered I couldn’t paint, so they said why don’t you try photography, cos it’s kind of easy. The second thing was I saw a wonderful little film, a BBC Omnibus in 1968 called Beautiful Beautiful and there was a New York photographer called Bruce Davidson, he’s on Magnum photography, and he did a project called East 100 Street which is in Harlem. And we’d all been led to believe that Harlem was big, bad and dangerous, and, you know, full of black people. And here was this white middle-class Jewish man, with a huge view camera, play camera, photographing people in their homes. And he made beautiful pictures, and he said something that stuck in my head, which is, ‘I poise, not pose, people… People have an innate dignity and they will set themselves before the camera in a dignified way. And they will choose what they will give.’ I remember thinking, ‘Ah this is a different way of working. I like this.’  And the third thing, there was a very famous British photographer called Bill Brandt, who’s dead now, who’d been brought up in Germany but lived in England. He is one of the greats. And there was a big retrospective exhibition of his work in 1970 at the Haywood gallery, and I went there on a school outing when I was 18. And I remember thinking ‘Wow photography’s wonderful.’ He made these wonderful documentary pictures around Great Britain from the 30s onwards. What was lovely about Brandt was that he did documentary pictures which I loved very much, but he also did portraits. He did nudes; I thought that was pretty exciting. If you take photographs you get a passport to do all sorts of things, you meet famous people, women take their clothes off for you, and you get to study the world we live in and for me at 18 that seemed pretty exciting.”

H: Was it Bill Brandt then who inspired you to do the Photobus project then? The fact that he’d gone around documenting Great Britain?

D: “Well the inspiration for the Photobus was more Cliff Richard, I hate to say. How tacky is that? There was a film, probably the first film I ever saw, Cliff Richard, 1960 Actually it wasn’t the first film I saw, the first film was Snow White. But one of the first films I saw was Cliff Richard in Summer Holiday. It was 1961 and I was nine. Or it could have been 63 when I was 11. And he lived on a Double Decker bus. So I guess it was a mixture of that, of Cliff and Brandt and Bruce Davidson. But also the other missing connection there is this guy called Sir John Benjamin Stone who was a Tory MP in the Edwardian era who travelled England and tried to make a record of the English. He travelled about and he did lots of portraits, cos he was an MP he had an ‘in’ to photographing famous people. He was photographing major events. But his real enthusiasm was for dying, fading, disappearing, rustic festivals and so on, and there’s this picture Harvest Home Kern Baby of 1901. You could look at this picture for a million years and you’d never fathom what it is about. One of the things I really, really love about photography is that it describes things perfectly and it explains nothing. And that’s what I love about photography. There’s always some mystery. And so for me those two things are the things I learnt from Stone.”

Then and Now... Meadows re-photographed his Photobus subjects once he found them 25 years later...

H: Do you think you’d still be able to do something like the Photobus today?

D: “No. The Criminal Justice Act in, was it 1980? The one that the Tories brought in to beat the Crusties, makes it almost impossible. I mean the gypsies and travelers are given a very hard time. I mean it was hard enough living in a bus, parking up and so on in 1973 and 74. You wouldn’t be able to do that now.  It’s not possible in the modern world.”

H: Did it take you a long time to embrace digital photography?

D: “I was a very early adopter of digital storytelling. I ran a digital storytelling class here for undergraduates in the mid to late 90s and people thought it was pretty wacky. And when I first started teaching you lot, you know, mainstream journalists, about the coming of the digital age, we were very unpopular. I mean you were all very welcoming last week, but 10 years ago I used to get, you know, people used to complain, ‘Why are we having to learn all this rubbish?’ I was a very early adopter of all of that stuff. But, for me, the digital age is ultimately not about technology. Photography has always changed; every five minutes there are new innovations and there have been throughout the history of photography. So photographers are used to embracing innovation, which I guess it why I was kind of into it a bit early. But it actually wasn’t the photographic side of things that excited me, so much as the fact that we had some new tools that looked like opening out media to become a much more democratic activity. So that was, for me, the thing that I really liked about it, that you could tell your own stories and publish them and didn’t have to go through the filter of patronizing big media professionals who basically were setting themselves up as gatekeepers. And I would still argue that that is the case. We have too many commissioning editors and people in the way between good ideas and good television.”

Ian Cutis photographed by Meadows in Manchester, January 1980.

H: What’s been your favourite photography project of your own over the years?

D: “I did love doing digital storytelling at the BBC. Every time you ran a workshop, people would bring their photographs in, you had such a window onto other peoples lives, and for me that was kind of humbling, but also very exciting and intriguing. And I began to enjoy looking at other peoples’ pictures more than I enjoyed making new pictures myself. There are pictures that are a fantastic trigger to memory; you can learn to listen to people. A photograph is a great place to begin listening to people. If that doesn’t sound bizarre!

H: Has there been anyone in particular who has been your favourite to photograph?

D: “No, but I can think of some people I really hated photographing!  The problem with doing anything out on a limb is that you have to finance it. And whilst in the early days I did manage to get a bit of funding from the Arts Council when I did my bus project, most the projects I’ve done, I’ve just gone and done them, and then tried to sell them to get some money.  Throughout the 70s I was thinking up stories like the mental hospital story, and going and doing them and then selling them to magazines. But when I started having children and I needed more stable income I had a long period working in the film industry as a stills man, taking pictures in the film industry. And there were some actors who were just bizarre. They’d stand and pose in front of the video cameras all day, then when I’d come on, I’d be sent off the set. They’d do silly things, like when they were rehearsing, which is when you could get your pictures if you were intelligent and you’d work with the actor rather than against them. You could say to them, ‘Well I think we could probably get the stills during the rehearsal, but make certain you’re wearing the right costumes.’ And then John Thaw- Inspector Morse- I did some stills for him, he would come out carrying a newspaper and rehearse with a newspaper in his pocket, or he’d put a hat on that wasn’t in character, just because he couldn’t stand the stills man. And Alec Guinness always had me sent off the set when I worked on the film of Little Dorrit in the 80s. I’d always rather liked Alec Guinness’ acting but I have to say he was a very difficult person to work with.”

Joy Division photographed by Meadows in Manchester, January 1980.

H: Would you mind telling me about your experiences in the Factory Records days?

D: “Factory Records! Well, for a period in the 70s I worked as a researcher in television and even then, it’s quite interesting now when I look back at the experiments with photographs. There’s a little film I made where I work as a kind of TV reporter reporting on my own photographs as events, which is very like a digital story. Anyway, so I went to work as a researcher at Grenada TV and, you know, I learned a lot about how television was made, which was later extremely useful when I came to doing digital storytelling. Grenada had big open plan offices and for a whole, well one long summer I shared a desk with Tony Wilson. Well I mean the desk had about 13 or 15 people all around it and Tony Wilson was one of the people around that desk. He was then a presenter on Granada Reports, and I was working on an arts program called Celebration. And it’s difficult for you lot to imagine it, but television was just as difficult to get into in those days, but it was incredibly over-manned. You could sit around all week doing very little, then suddenly the bit you had to do you’d have to do it very well. There were far too many people, and the unions were very, very strong, and as we well know there’s a whole trade union history of what happened with that. And so there were times when Wilson and I were sitting around twiddling our thumbs and he knew about my ventures on the bus and stuff and knew I was a photographer. In fact I carried a camera around with me all the time, or camera bag all the time with several cameras in it. And he just used to say ‘Come on Daniel, I’ve got a new band or a new act’ or this or that, you know, and the arts program I was working on made a little film about the Factory shortly after it opened, Factory Nights Down In Hulme. So I went and photographed and made a documentary about John Cooper Clarke. I loved John Cooper Clarke. I still love him. And then Joy Division were getting going and he needed some pictures for Joy Division and stuff… “

H: You did some of their album artwork as well didn’t you?

D: “It’s difficult for your generation to imagine how kind of crap it all was. You know, you live in an age of digital artwork and stuff, with things produced to a very high standard, but at that time Wilson had really good ambitions for the style of Factory Records, that they should be well designed. And he used this young guy called Peter Saville to do all the design. But Wilson was also hugely informed by the Situationists, the French avant-garde movement. And one of his bands was called Durutti Column, whose name came from a Situationist group. The original Situationists, they were kind of radical freedom fighters in the Spanish civil war who basically went around killing the bourgeoisie. I mean they weren’t very pleasant! Anyway, there was a sweet little guitar player called Vini Reilly who was in Durutti Column, and he wasn’t very well, he had some depressive illness and he was physically very unwell. But he played this sweet, kind of angelic guitar, and Wilson thought it would be amusing to have a sandpaper record sleeve.  I went down to Wilbraham Road, Wilson’s partner in Factory had a flat down there, and I went to photograph Vini Reilly, for I think it was Sounds magazine, when the return of the Durutti Column album came out. I photographed him mainly downstairs, in the garden and in the porch by the house, and then upstairs were several of the members of Joy Division sitting around gluing together these sandpaper albums.  The Situationists produced not only a book but also a magazine that had sandpaper covers. And the idea was that it would destroy everything around it, so they made an album with sandpaper covers. I still have mine somewhere. But I actually glued one or two together that afternoon. But you know we were just young people sitting around, making things. And it became quite a legendary album, a) because it was a good album, and b) it talked about what Wilson was trying to do with Factory. I photographed Joy Division in the studio, and photographed them at a gig in Oldham, so yeah it was an interesting time.”

Joy Division producer Martin Hannett, photographed by Meadows in Manchester, January 1980.

H: Have you found that observing people and places through photography has taught you anything about people and places that ordinary people wouldn’t necessarily see?

D: “Well, as Dylan used to say ‘It depends what you mean by all those terms, man.’  Ordinary!” (Laughs a lot)

H: Ha, Sorry I know ordinary is a bad choice of word…

D: (More laughter) “No it’s not a bad choice of word. It’s a very good choice of word, I’ve been guilty myself of using the word ‘ordinary’. So it depends what you mean by all those terms, man. But obviously I’ve learnt a lot. I think the thing I’ve learnt most is how bad we are at listening to people. Journalists from big media tend to make their mind up what the story’s about before they go and shoot it and that’s a sadness to me because what it doesn’t allow for is serendipity, and surprise and wonder. The more I spend time with ordinary people, man, the more I realise how wonderful we are, and watching television today makes me think how crap we are. And in that gap is the place where I do my work. You know, I have such an intolerance for reality-based television, I mean it’s shite with a capital S. And it’s as though we can’t do anything now on TV without it having a reality element. And it’s shite cos it’s cruel, its fundamentally based on a cruelty that people are set against each other. It’s like the entertainment of the playground, we’re all gathering around to watch an execution that can be picked over by a media that’s gradually losing credibility. You know fewer people are watching television programmes. Like if a television programme gets five million viewers, the makers go ‘Hey we had five million viewers’. But I say wait a minute, we live in a country of 60 million people, that means 55 million people had the intelligence not to watch your crap programme… “

To find out more about Daniel Meadows, have a look at his website www.photobus.co.uk or his Cardiff University profile…

All photographs have been used courtesy of Daniel Meadows…

or, “How the Tories Taught Us to Dance by Taking Away Our Jobs…”  Well, maybe not.   Anyway, Hannah is back with another corker of a blog that she researched by talking to her Mum.  Your Mum must be pretty cool Hannah.  I hate to think what I would have to write about if I based it on conversations with my Mum.   Best not to think about it.  Over to you Hannah… 

So here goes the next instalment of my Mancunian musings:

This week, as I’m sure you’re all aware, Morrissey (the King of Mancs!), was described as ‘storming off stage’ after a bottle was thrown at him during a concert at the Liverpool Echo Arena. It made me think, this would never happen in his hometown. As a result, I’m dedicating this blog to all the Mancunians that have made us proud, and why the lyrics of Joy Division, The Stone Roses, The Inspiral Carpets, The Smiths; the list could go on, still resonate with me today, as a twenty year old who didn’t live through this era.

As I meandered down Oxford Road today, I popped into the Portland Bookshop. Admittedly, it was Peter Hook’s new book, ‘The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club’, which stood proudly in the window that lured me in. The Hacienda was not just another swanky city centre club to blow your week’s earnings on during the drunken debauchery of a Friday night, it represented a lot more than this; it represented a new era for Manchester.

Manchester’s reputation as the industrial capital of the North was ruined by Thatcherite policies, and Manchester in the late seventies and eighties was bleak and miserable. The Smiths’ ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’, ‘Please Let Me Get What I Want’ and ‘This is How it Feels’ by The Inspiral Carpets encapsulate these feeling perfectly for me.

The Manchester music scene largely seemed to avoid overt politics and certainly did not compare to bands like The Clash or Gang of Four. The one exception possibly being Easterhouse, from Stretford; a band that supported The Smiths and were aligned to the far left.

In spite of this, there is little doubt that there were huge amounts of political, economic and social unrest in the North of England during Thatcher’s time as Prime Minister. It is because of this that the Hacienda came to represent a new age of hedonism, hope and overwhelming optimism for the people of Manchester.

Walking through today’s regenerated and gentrified Manchester, it’s almost impossible to recall how dark and depressing the city was in the late 70s. The home of the industrial revolution was at a low ebb and the only people who believed any kind of revolution was now possible were the romantic idealists behind Factory Records.

As Luke Bainbridge, a journalist for The Guardian observed: “emboldened by the spirit of punk and an excess of civic pride, Factory’s founders, in particular Tony Wilson and Robert Gretton, believed in Manchester more than they believed in themselves.”

The Hacienda club, launched in 1982, was the physical realisation of their vision; and a vision for the people of Manchester. During numerous conversations with my mum (one of the very first members of the Hacienda) about this period, I have come to realise that the hype and excitement surrounding the Hacienda in NME; a magazine which she read religiously, was phenomenal. Perhaps because it captured the spirit that was needed for Manchester to turn itself around.

Unfortunately as Peter Hook explains in his book, Manchester in 1982, wasn’t quite ready for a New York discotheque. In spite of this, the book recognizes that the Hacienda was an iconic piece of Mancunian history. It’s conversational, colloquial tone traces the club’s history from the early years when it opened every night, despite the fact that it was often empty, through the euphoric years when it brought acid house to the UK, to its demise, dogged by gang violence.

What else came to symbolise Thatcherite Manchester then? Well, the de-industrialisation of the city did seem to create a flurry of working class creativity. The one good thing about there being so many empty industrial buildings was that it gave the bands formed after the famous Sex Pistols concert in 1976 somewhere to practice and later provided space for venues.

Dave Haslam, in his book ‘Manchester, England: the story of a pop cult city’, cites the hedonism and creativity of the infamous ‘Madchester’ music scene as a response to deindustrialisation and rapid decline of Northern cities during Thatcher’s time as prime minister. This creativity and sense of bohemian values seemed to be attack on the Thatcherite mentality and celebrated Mancunian pride and dignity.

In spite of the chaos that pervaded Manchester in the 1970s and 1980s, Ian Curtis echoed the feeling that The Hacienda subtly represented in his haunting rendition of ‘Atmosphere’, in the lines “Life rebuilding, Don’t walk away”.

This isn’t to say that the ‘Madchester’ music scene was wholly an attack on the destruction of industry and songs like ’24 Hour Party People’, ‘Step On’ and ‘Waterfall’ are merely classic anthems that will undoubtedly live in the hearts of Mancunians forvever; not because they chart a specific period of history, but because they will continue to fill the dancefloors for years to come!

This has been a great blog to write, and one last thought: Get Well Soon Mozza!

Hannah

Brilliant!  Rather than a last word, here’s a picture that I pinched from somewhere taken in the Northern Quarter, where else.

Hot Chip acaba de anunciar la fecha que saldrá su nuevo álbum el cual será el 8 de febrero del próximo año, ya se puede preordenar en la tienda digital de Hot Chip. Ahorita ya hay una canción que esta circulando por la red y pues aquí les dejo un video no oficial con la canción “Take It In”, haber que les parece, a mi me gusto mucho, se parece algo al cover que se aventaron de “Transmision” de los Joy Division.

A voz suave arranha. Da garganta potente, a voz de um anjo invade a embalagem rebelde. A suave melancolia inunda nossos ouvidos. Senhoras e senhores, esse é Paul Banks. Vocalista do Interpol, banda nova-iorquina da safra indie dos anos 2000, Paul é facilmente reconhecido pela semelhança de sua voz com a de Ian Curtis (1956-1980), do Joy Division. Agora, o cantor tenta trilhar novos caminhos e lança seu primeiro projeto solo sob o pseudônimo de Julian Plenti.

Em Julian Plenti is… skyscraper, Paul voa sozinho, mas voa baixo – é impossível separar a sonoridade de cantor da sua banda de origem. Praticamente todos os elementos estão lá, inclusive a participação de Sam Fogarino, baterista do Interpol, que dá as caras em Games for days, o primeiro single do álbum (o clipe da faixa também conta com a fofa Emily Haines, do Metric, em um bico como atriz).

A jogada que parece preguiçosa, pode tornar-se genial se analisada por outro prisma. Depois de três discos de sucesso com o grupo, Paul Banks parece pronto para explorar o melhor de si, continuando em sua eterna cruzada pelos escuros caminhos do desalento. Com os pés fincados no rock ‘n’ roll, como não poderia deixar de ser.

JULIAN PLENTI IS… SKYSCRAPER
Julian Plenti (Paul Banks, do Interpol). 11 faixas (37 minutos). Matador.
***

A história é que o ex-vocalista do Bush, e marido da Gwen Stefany, vai aparecer num episódio da série ‘Criminal Minds’.

E lá, com a cara branca e olhos pretos por conta da maquiagem, faz uma versão bizarra de ‘Love will tear us apart’, do Joy Division.

Mas é impossível alguma coisa ficar boa com aquele jeito arfante de cantar, né?

Rossdale também anda tocando ‘Landslide’ em seus shows. É uma das músicas mais chatinhas do Smashing Pumpkins. Bonitinha, mas chatinha, saca? E ao fim ele dá aqueles gritinhos arfantes enquanto as meninas gritam. Terrible.

If I would have known how common this whole Joy Division/Jesus & Mary Chain thing would be, I never would have uttered a word about Interpol and their fascination with JD and The Chameleons. Turns out they’re just the tip of the iceberg; everyone seems to have a bassline or two in the classic Joy Division style these days, and those riffs are catapulting a lot of great songs into the indie limelight.

Little Girls? Oh FIDDLESTICKS, lemme just list ‘em:

• No-DOY Division (the bassline to “Growing” is snaky enough to crawl down your toilet)
• JAMC (eternally everyone’s, apparently … someone should buy a copy of Sister Vanilla’s album at LEAST)
• Wavves (awwww!)
• Times New Viking and Magik Markers (because I’m feeling generous)
• Interpol (in the guitar arpeggios mostly, albeit with one guitarist instead of two)

And that’s about it, actually (I was going to mention groups like A Place To Bury Strangers and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, but, frankly, they’re both dipping from the same trough here).

It wouldn’t kill these timid little girls to stretch out a little I suppose, but you could say that about fucking ArCADE Fire — it’s a moot point these days, really, with everything getting smooshed together and remixxed and double-tracked and what-not like it is.

And why can’t I get a drum machine to sound like that, to accompany my riffs and vocals like that? It’s tough, and Little Girls do-it to-it.

This isn’t the same band — The Little Girls – that surfaced in 1981 carting bubble-gum jams like candied yams back in the earl’ ’80s (but you can listen to that band HERE if you want to just fer fun), mind you. Subtract the “The,” though, and you get a new, economic, lo-fi TRI-brid (I officially coin this hyphenate) you should take for a test drive sooner than later.

¡Qué difícil es ser original cuando (casi) todo está inventado! Y si no, que se lo digan a Bernard Sumner y a su nuevo grupo Bad Lieutenant.

Pero no quiero que parezca que desprecio la carrera de Bernard Sumner, fundador de una de los grupos más influyentes de la historia, Joy Division y, tras el suicidio de Ian Curtis, líder de New Order, precursora del sonido Madchester.

Aunque también estuvo en proyectos como el supergroup Electronic, sobre el que ya me despaché a gusto hablando aquí. En fin, que la carrera de Sumner ¡Es un carrerón! Pero Bad Lieutenant era bastante prescindible en su hoja de servicios.

Sumner montó su nuevo combo este año junto a Phil Cunningham, ex New Order y el pasado 5 de octubre publicaron su primer LP, “Never Cry Another Tear”. La crítica musical dice que son un más-de-lo-mismo de New Order, pero para mí suenan más a Mónaco, el grupo de Peter Hook. Igual es porque el que fuera bajista de New Order era lo mejor de tenían los mancunianos.

Bad Lieutenant – “Sink Or Swim”

Monaco – “What Do You Want From Me”

Buzzcocks Interview– for Tommagazine.com

Pete Shelley Interview
By Nolan Giles

The Buzzcocks are punk royalty, emerging from the hiss and spit of the chaotic late-seventies slump, their songs ignited the youth of a nation. 30 years down the track, as the world slips into economic uncertainty once more, the Buzzcocks are still alive, kicking down doors and causing mayhem on their world tour. Lead singer, Pete Shelley believes the rebellious fire that burned so brightly in their heyday, isn’t quite so apparent in the music of today.

“I don’t ever turn on MTV, even when I’m in a hotel, I’d rather watch the foreign language channels than watch the shite they play on there,” he jokes.

“I mean my wife was playing an Interpol CD the other day and a couple of songs were alright… Just alright though, I wouldn’t give them too much encouragement!”

Shelley laughs down the phone line with the excitement of a musician enjoying the success of a debut album. You wouldn’t think this was a man who stood at the forefront of a movement that changed the landscape of music, so dramatically, so long ago.

Formed in 1975 The Buzzcocks were the first of Manchester’s legendary musical exports. They breathed ingenuity into punk music with their catchy melodies, driving, clean guitar sound and biting lyrics. Shelley’s words, which went against the political trend set by the Sex Pistols, were a satirical commentary on adolescence, love and the shitty human condition.

“It was something to inspire, instead of complaining about things you could go off and do it yourself,” he explains.

“Punk changed stuff so much it is hard to think of what the world would be like if it didn’t happen. It didn’t just effect music, the mentality can be seen on the fringes of art and design, it’s about making the culture richer, and every time that happens it should be applauded. At the time it was about writers, photographers and designers as well, we were extremely lucky to have a great designer in Malcolm Garrett. Our album covers were the kind of covers Franz Ferdinand wish they could do today!”

Although he enjoys taking the piss out of modern music, Shelley does see parallels in the DIY online ethos of bands today, and that of the punk mentality, but he believes it still takes something extra special for a band to succeed.

“Even though it’s possible for people to do things for themselves, unless you can attract people with what your doing it’s not going to connect,” he says.

“The hard thing is to get the message of what your doing across to everyone, and it must be very frustrating for a lot of new bands because of that. The internet allows you to get feedback, and get out your message, but the trick is to do it without becoming spam!”

In 1975, the internet was a thought as far away as the idea of America electing a black President. The Buzzcocks had to gain their popularity through a certain radio DJ, going by the name of John Peel.

“We were lucky because we had John who would play all our singles on the radio, meaning that people would hear about us,” he chuckles.

“We just popped records in the post and I think he was listening to absolutely everything because he was frightened of missing something. So all these bands were sending him cassettes, he must have had this huge pile of them but he listened to every single one, just in case he missed a really good track.”

John Peel is now regarded with the same amount of musical respect as the Buzzcocks, the musical interconnection that was apparent at that time in Britain is like nothing seen since. An example of this occurred in Manchester’s Free Trade Hall in 1975, where the Sex Pistols played a historic gig.

“Well it was exciting because we were putting on a concert, and our friends the Sex Pistols were coming up to play it. It was a bit disappointing because we didn’t have a bassist or drummer so we couldn’t play. I did meet Steve Diggle (Buzzcocks guitarist) that night though, Malcolm McLaren (Pistols manager) met Steve outside and said ‘are you a bass player?’ Steve said ‘yeah’ and so he brought him over. I was selling tickets at the box office at Malcolm came over and simply said, ‘here’s your new bass player!’”

It wasn’t just Steve Diggle that attended the gig that night, although the numbers were pretty small.

“Because I was on the door I must have seen everyone that was there, I think it has been counted as 42 to 43 people, but it is what those people came to do that became the stuff of legends.”

‘Stuff of legends’, is really an under-sight, among those 42 people in attendance was Morrisey, who went on to form the Smiths, Tony Wilson the founder of Factory Records, Mark E. Smith, lead singer of The Fall as well as the nucleus of people who went on to create Joy Division and then New Order.

The late Ian Curtis, Joy Division’s lead singer and a modern day cult figure, was a close friend of Shelley’s. Although he respects the man, Shelley reckons the reason for the recent resurgence in Joy Division’s popularity is down to one thing.

“It’s because they have had all the bloody films made about them!” he laughs.

“Ian’s just a normal guy really, he didn’t really stand out, I must have had many conversations with him, but I can’t really recollect one of them.”

The influence of the Buzzcocks’ music can be heard from the grit of Nirvana to the wit of Jamie T, and may be the reason why their music still sounds as fresh and raw today, as it did in the seventies.

“I don’t know why the Buzzcocks sound hasn’t dated after all these years, because its quite simple really, just two guitars a bass and drums, we just turn up the amps and let them distort a bit!” He jokes.

“To me it’s just a bit of punk and a bit of pop.”

This electrifying punk / pop combination is soaring into Brisbane next week as part of the can’t-be -missed, ‘Another… Bites’ Tour.

“It’s like it says on the tin, we’re just going to play the first two albums ‘Another Music in a Different Kitchen” and “Love Bites” back to back, exact track order, everything the same.” He explains.

“We did it in the UK earlier this year and it was received extremely well, a lot better than we ever thought it would. There were times when we had doubts but that is before we played it in front of an audience, and it all came together really well.  The songs take on new meanings sort of, you rediscover parts of them, its like your revisiting them and discovering something new. I mean some of those songs we haven’t played for many many years, and now we wonder why didn’t play them all the time!”

The tour rekindles fond memories for Shelley, of a time of discovery, when the band and the world were waking up to their audacious sound.

“Every song back then was a new experience you were always doing something new, different, lyrics and rhymes, we’d struggle through our guitar solos as well, but we’d always accomplish something,” he says.

“Each time then it was like opening the envelope.”

The tour is also a welcome break for Shelley of playing just this hits, although they do make for a pretty special encore.

“This is what the tour is showcasing, the fact that we did albums as well as singles. Things like ‘Ever Fallen in Love’, ‘Orgasm Addict,’ are always going to get the best reaction, the whole encore is choc-a-bloc with the hits so we get some good chants and sing-a-longs.”

The relentless 1978 work ethos, of releasing two albums and a single every two weeks has long since gone for Shelley. Now all that is necessary is to rock out the classics onstage to thousands of fans.

But there is one prolific aspect of being a Buzzcock that still remains…

“We’re partying just as hard as we used to, sometimes a lot harder! Although the hangovers are getting worse by the year, and closer together!”

Oto fotorelacja z kwietniowego koncertu Kumka Olik w Poznaniu. Chłopaki grają juz 2 lata, w  sierpniu 2007 podpisali kontrakt z Universal Music Polska, która jest największą wytwórnią płyt w Polsce.
Kumka Olik to młody zespół, który czerpie inspiracje z takich zespołów jak The Strokes, The Kooks, Joy Division i Sonic Youth. Do zespołów grających “polskie indie” podchodzę zwykle bardzo sceptycznie, jednak moim zdaniem powinniscie ich posluchac. To chyba zupelna nowość na naszym zacofanym polskim rynku. Słyszałem kiedyś o pewnej teorii, która mówi, że  ”moda na zespoły” przychodzi do nas z USA z ok 10 letnim opóźnieniem. Weźmy pod uwagę fakt, że 10 lat temu w NY powstało The Strokes..

Kumki mają na swoim koncie dwa single. Pierwszy z nich “Zaspane poniedziałki” dotarł na Listę przebojów programu trzeciego.

Drugim singlem jest piosenka o tytule “Grzeczne dziewczynki. Również dotarła ona na LP3 jednak z lepszym rezultatem-utrzymywała się przez pare tygodni w pierwszej dziesiątce.


Jeżeli chcecie znależć informacje o koncertach to zapraszam na www.kumkaolik.com

20 Watts played Julian Casablancas, Joy Division, Sleigh Bells and more on WERW

Eric, Jett and Caitlin were in the studio from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. last night, playing new releases, editors’ picks, local favorites AND a solid hour of post-punk for all you lucky listeners.  Here’s what we played last night: new tracks are in bold, local artists are italicized.

Don’t forget to tune in to 20 Watts’ Audiocandy+ shows on Wednesday and Thursday from 9-11 p.m.!

artist: Julian Casablancas [16/20 watts -- read the review]
title: 11th Dimension
album: Phrazes for the Young

artist: CFCF [13/20 watts -- read the review]
title: Invitation to Love
album: Continent

artist: Lymbyc System [19/20 watts -- read the review]
title: Ghost Clock
album: Shutter Release

artist: The Swimmers [15/20 watts -- read the review]
title: Shelter
album: People Are Soft

artist: Weezer [14/20 watts -- read the review]
title: I’m Your Daddy
album: Ratitude

artist: Blakroc ft. Raekwon
title: Stay Off the Fuckin’ Flowers
album: Blakroc

artist: Mirrors
title: Lights and Offerings
album: N/A

artist: Avi Buffalo
title: What’s In It For?
album: What’s In It For? 7″

artist: Kid Sister [read about our favorite hip-hop divas]
title: Right Hand Hi
album: Ultraviolet

artist: Lady GaGa
title: Bad Romance
album: Bad Romance

artist: Yeasayer
title: O.N.E.
album: Odd Blood

artist: Big Boi ft. Gucci Mane
title: Shine Blockas
album: Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty

READ THE 20: YOUR ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO POST-PUNK

artist: The National
title: Mistaken for Strangers
album: Boxer

artist: Joy Division
title: Twenty Four Hours
album: Closer

artist: The Cure
title: Inbetween Days
album: The Head on the Door

artist: The Fall
title: English Scheme
album: Grotesque

artist: Echo and the Bunnymen [read about our favorite post-punk movie soundtracks]
title: Gods Will Be Gods
album: Porcupine

artist: Gang of Four
title: I Found That Essence Rare
album: Entertainment!

artist: Talking Heads
title: Take Me to the River
album: White Label/Promo

artist: The Raincoats
title:  No One’s Little Girl
album: The Kitchen Tapes

artist: The Jesus and Mary Chain [read The 20: Your Essential Guide to Noise Pop]
title: In a Hole
album: Psychocandy

artist: Talking Heads
title: Making Flippy Floppy
album: Speaking in Tongues

artist: Joy Division
title: Love Will Tear Us Apart
album: Substance

artist: Devo
title: Gut Feeling/Slap Your Mammy
album: Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!

artist: Biggie Smalls (Karl Ingloff Remix) [read Carly Wolkoff's editor's pick]
title: Biggie Smalls vs. Thomas the Tank Engine
album: N/A

artist: Delirium
title: Blue Magic
album: Delirium Presents … Heroes

artist: Mouth’s Cradle [watch Mouth's Cradle perform at the 20 Watts LAUNCH]
title: Front Porch, Back Porch
album: N/A

artist: Passion Pit [read Elizabeth Vogt's editor's pick]
title: Little Secrets (Jack Beats Remix)
album: N/A

artist: Phantogram [hear an interview with Phantogram]
title: Mouthful of Diamonds
album: Eyelid Movies

artist: Golden Shoulders [read Caitlin Dewey's editor's pick]
title: Mountain
album: Get Reasonable

artist: The Tundra Toes [read our feature on the Ithaca music scene]
title: Miami
album: The Band Before Time

artist: Grand Salvo
title: Needles
album: Soil Creatures

artist: Sarah Aument [read our review of Sarah's set at the O, Morning Showcase]
title: Couch Slouch
album: Wake Up Singing EP

artist: The Great Collide
title: Far From Here
album: N/A

artist: Sleigh Bells
title: Ring Ring
album: N/A

artist: Pants Yell!
title: Magenta and Green
album: Received Pronunciation

artist: M.I.A.
title: Paper Planes (DFA Remix)
album: Slumdog Millionaire S/T

artist: Devon James [read our feature on lo-fi recording, including Devon James]
title: Use This One
album: N/A

dopo un weekend del genere, è l’unica canzone possibile.

tra le tante sentite.

På Labrador kommer nu nytt från ett par band som funnits på bolaget en tid. Mary Onettes Labrador-debuterade med magiska EP:n Lost, beskrivet som den perfekta mixen av A-ha och Jesus And Mary Chain. Här rymdes Joy Division/New Order och The Cure. Bandet följde upp med EP:n VOID ett självbetitlat album och EP:n Dare. Nu är bander här med sin andra fullängdare. Av inledningsspåret Puzzles att döma fortsätter man på den storslagna vägen, svulstigt på gränsen till arenaindie, en gräns man har balanserat på men hittils lycka hålla sig på rätt sida om.

The Mary Onettes – Puzzles

Sambassadeur är bandet som gjort det klart att de inte är särskilt intresserade av att spela live. Precis som Mary Onettes har man däremot levererat några fina EPs. Det var ett tag sen senaste släppet – singeln Final Say som var en av förra årets bästa låtar. Men nu är bandet på gång med nytt album i början av nästa år, och en singel de närmsta dagarna. Låten Days lovar gott, en låt i Sambassadeurs mjuka lätt drömska värld av ljud.

Sambassadeur – Days

Labrador

Photo courtesy of myspace.com/neworder

I found New Order’s first single, “Ceremony,” on a mix tape of my dad’s from his years in college.  It quickly made it to my iTunes library, and was soon after promoted to 5 stars – not a small honor.  ”Ceremony” was the song that bridged the gap between Joy Division and New Order, as the lead singer of Joy Division committed suicide just after the first recording of the song, leaving the remaining members to form New Order.  A ton of the bands you probably listen to are a result of Joy Division and/or New Order.  Two obvious examples include Interpol and Radiohead.  My favorite band, Radiohead, paid tribute to their influences by covering “Ceremony,” which I’ve also included if you feel uncomfortable jumping directly into 80’s music.  Enjoy the great music, and happy Friday!

-charlie

Radiohead – Ceremony (New Order Cover) (download)

New Order – Ceremony (download)

Here’s a video of Radiohead playing their cover.

Here is my dad, Dad.

Dad and Mom are about the same size but he has shorter hair and does all the driving.  He likes to turn on the music and dance with me.  I really like it when he dances with me and sings “Dance, dance, dance to the radio. Dance, dance, dance to the radio!”

Sometimes Dad’s face is really scratchy and he rubs it all over my head and I have to act like it’s okay because he’s holding the bottle.

Dad is in charge of talking in silly voices, singing made up songs about eating and pooping, and making me burp.  Dad likes to change his shirt a lot.  Especially after he gets done holding and burping me.

I remember in my old boarding school there was this girl, she even slept in the bed next to mine for the start of second year. And then suddenly she just left and moved to another school, leaving all her stuff behind, even her bed sheets.
It’s not like we mourned her departure or anything, she wasn’t the nicest of people.
It like, it was as if at the time she had just disappeared, just been like wiped off the face of the planet. None of us kept any connection with her.

Then one of the girls called her and the only report that I got form the conversation was that she said that she’s lost a lot a weight from “riding”.

It’s wierd how these things work.

Then two years later there were paper posters put up all over town with a black and white picture of her. Missing.

She turned up two days later at her friend’s house, where she had been all of the time apparently.
I haven’t heard another word of her existence since.
Was just thinking about the whole fiasco the other day.

History, I guess.

strange how some things just lie dormant in your memory for years

The blood-alone thing has been screwing with me majorly, so now it seems that I won’t be “clean” for maybe another year?
It sucks I guess, but whatever is, is.

still nowhere feels like home

feelin funny bitches
love yis

xxx

There’s no shortage of books on Ian Curtis or Joy Division. At this point, everyone recognises Ian Curtis as a certified musical and style icon and he’s revered accordingly. It reached a point when Men.Style (RIP) labelled him as an ‘overinfluencer’. What makes this book different from the others is the fact that Kevin Cummins had captured them from their beginnings as ‘Warsaw’ to their heady heights. And, as you’d expect, there’s more than enough unseen images to make this worth a purchase. It is a first edition collectable copy though, so the £200 price tag shouldn’t be much of a shock. Pick this up over at Paul Smith.
via:selectism