DarrenByrne.com

As the scouts say, be prepared. Thank you to everyone who replied to my pleas for help and advice for my first ever festival. There is so much we would have forgotten had it not been for your guidance. The weekend ended up being one of the greatest times I’ve ever had. 2008, a year of so many highs, some I thought could never be topped, seems to have peaked this weekend. For the three days there was a buzz and an atmosphere I’d never really witnessed before. And to make it even better, I was with some truly fantastic people, new friends and old, who gave me a festival I could never have hoped for – one of fun, laughter and epic nights. Thank you all so much.

In an effort to relay my experiences, I thought it fitting that I also give other festival newbs a guide to what they can expect and maybe they can be as prepared as I was to take on the big bad world of festival life.

Arrange to Arrive Late

Okay, this may not seem to be the best bit of advice to begin my festival guide, so allow me to clarify. If you have a girlfriend and she has a friend who is very practical, and furthermore if you yourself are as practical as a back pocket in a vest, it is advisable to arrive late and allow them to completely set up the two tents and have a beer ready for you on your arrival. Both Andy and I were working on Friday and finished work around 1.30 (Thank you very much, Mr. Bossman – I will endeavour to make up for it). Together we traversed the Wicklow Way to reach the campsite in Punchestown for around 3pm. The two wonderful women, Lottie and T, had the tents up (kudos go to T on this) and beers ready for us to enjoy. We were men of leisure for the weekend and, I’m sorry Ladies, there is only the slightest hint of guilt. Also, hot pants high five!!!

Be Open to New Music

Bags were searched, wristbands were granted, umbrella hats (these are now exempt from my annoyances as previously illustrated in this post) were obtained and we finally entered the concert arena. I’m not sure what I was expecting. It was immense. It was people as far as the eye Whatever about people, it seemed to be stages as far as the eye could see. The first stage as we walked through the (red campsite) entrance was the O2 stage, the second biggest outdoor stage. Deus were playing as we entered and, while I had never heard of them before, I am now eager to buy their album. I realised that this weekend was going to be more about just catching the bands I know and like – I had to open my mind (and ears) to something new, something different. I forged ahead anxious for more.

Buy Irish

I’m unsure without doing the research, but someone might be able to correct me if I’m wrong: this year seemed to have a lot more Irish bands than ever before. Moreover, these Irish bands were gracing the main stages in triumph more than ever before. On Friday evening we caught Mundy and Bell X1, two of the greatest acts of the weekend. Mundy‘s July may have set the stage on fire, but his Galway Girl set fire to the night. It was electric – the crowd (bursting out of the Green Room tent) was chanting – more than that – they were erupting with Day-I-Ay-I-Ay’s. It was one of the many, many highlights of the weekend.

Bell X1, too, are a band I have wanted to catch for quite a while and I was not disappointed. A great Irish pop act with an edge (not The Edge, an edge).

The rest of the weekend saw us catch a number of other Irish acts including the sensual Camille, Delorentos, the Loose and Róisin Murphy to name a few. This was a festival that really promoted the ‘Boys in Green’ and it was far from a publicity exercise – this country is on top form at the moment when it comes to musical talent.

Bring Beer

Okay, as festival advice goes, this may seem a little redundant, but it was the best segue I could come up with to talk about our first night back at the tent, when Lottie, T, Andy and I shared drinks and chatted away into the cold night. Apparently I fell asleep in the tent with Andrew draped across me. I have no recollection of this. I think I’m happy about that.

I was thrilled to have two people I love to bits along to help us lose our festival virginity. They helped us out so much and were fantastic friends all the way. How on earth they put up with my irritating prattle for hours on end is beyond me. I can only assume they (like Lottie) have learned to tune me out.

It was also wonderful to share our time with the great Mr Rick, the delicious RP, the ravishing Lady Anonymous (I’ll stick with this name until she advises another). Thank you all for a great time and I look forward to many more. Btw, Rick, did you ever locate the doughnut picture?

Bring Ear Plugs

This is a damned important piece of festival advice. Much of my festival advice is just a neat way to tie my weekend together with snappy titles, but this one is a must. I know you may come to these festivals for music, but JayZ‘s 99 Problems on your neighbour’s Ghettoblaster at 6am after getting to bed (I use the term ‘bed’ loosely) only a couple of hours earlier will make you despise music forever. Cue the ear plugs. They may not drown out everything and if you’re a very light sleeper they are unlikely to do much good at all, but if you’re like me, they’ll allow you to sleep on through the morning, as the racket fades away into the background.

Forget About the Luxuries of Home and Embrace Festival Culture

You have to – you truly need to drop all your niceties and pleasantries and misguided gentilities. When you awake on your first morning, Saturday for us, and your teeth are furry, your body is dripping with sweat, there is a smell emanating from somewhere (the Gods only know where), there is a foot in your face and something unusual crawling across your chest, a strange sticky substance that you vaguely recall touching last night seems to have stained your leg a shade of green, there are noises that resemble an orchestra of monkeys that have no instruments, only spare car parts, tuning up, noises which you are sure should never greet a person in the morning – when you awake to this, you realise that this is to be a weekend like no other you have known. Thus, we have the festival culture. Embrace it, love it, make it your friend. Otherwise you’ll annoy yourself with talk of lost toothpaste, the lamented loss of deodorant, the departure of civilisation and, of course, sanitation.

When it Comes to Toilets, Don’t Expect the Ritz

I was prepared! I was told by so so many people, I had heard so many stories over the years about the disgusting, unhygienic, foul, putrid, stench-pits that were festival toilets, that I was not it the slightest bit phased when I saw my first faeces stained toilet seat. Nor was I bothered by the vomit covered walls. But, in truth, I seem to have a very lucky weekend when it came to toiletry facilities. Maybe it was luck or maybe Crapeus, the God of Toilets, was shining down upon me, because I seemed to pick the cleanest, most well stocked of all the portaloos all weekend. I also made use of the very pleasant indoor toilets at the VIP section of the Bacardi Dance Tent. Fine, I didn’t shower for the entire weekend, but I was expecting that. All in all, my experience was a good one. I think Lottie and the others may have different views to me on this though, so again I say, be prepared for the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

Bring Food

Your festival weekend is unlikely to be one of gourmet foods unless you are headed to Henley Festival and even then I wouldn’t hold my breath. Oxegen did have an elaborate array of food stalls, varying from the dodgy Taste of India, to the tasty (but perhaps equally dodgy) Fat Pig. There were vegetarian options and smoothie bars, there were traditional Fish and Chips and suitably modern Bagel Bars. Certainly, there was a great selection, but the prices were high and the standards were varied. It was good that we (I say we but I mean our saviour T) had food, drink and gas stoves up at the cars. It made for a pleasant lunch before catching our first music act on Saturday.

One act I had marked as a definite and was really looking forward to was Camille O’Sullivan. The burlesque temptress has a voice to rival any of the Mainstage acts and puts on a show that thrills. Her too-short set in the Pet Sounds tent began with a small crowd but attracted enough people to fill the tent by the time she had finished her show. And what a show! Beginning in a skimpy dress, she gradually undressed until she was in her very fetching underwear singing ‘In These Shoes, I Don’t Think So’. I think she had only a mere 7 or 8 songs in her allotted time but she, along with the audience, were ready for a lot more. Two of my favourite Oxegen moments come from this gig – her performance of the Tom Waits song ‘Misery’s the River of the World‘ and her unforgettable rendition of the aforementioned ‘In These Shoes‘.

Be Prepared for Rain, Mud and Cold Weather

As we ran from Camille‘s gig in Pet Sounds across the full length of the arena, the rain caught us off guard and, while the previous evening’s heavy downpours saw us ready with umbrella hats and rain macks, the quick burst of rain on Saturday afternoon saw us soaked by the time we reached the Green Room for the Brian Jonestown Massacre.

This was another band I had only vaguely heard of but couldn’t have named any of their songs. And, although I enjoyed their set, I am still none the wiser. They seem to have a great sound, a solid sound that works for one or two songs, but then it quickly wears thin as each song seems like a slightly different variation on the last. I liked them, even if each song did sound alike, but I won’t be rushing out to buy an album.

We were really in the Green Room to catch the proceeding band, The Ting Tings. They were pop-tastic. A great performance mixed with an enthusiastic crowd made it one of the best gigs of the weekend. I think ‘That’s Not My Name‘ will go down as one of the anthems of Oxegen 2008.

The Mainstage May Not Always Be the Best Stage

or

Don’t Sacrifice Quality for Hype

Much of Saturday heard murmurs of Amy Winehouse‘s cancellation. Some said she had died, some said she had just fallen into a catatonic state. But they were all wrong (well, she may have been slightly catatonic).

Only a few minutes late, she arrived out onto the main stage to eruptions of cheers and applause. Still too thin but at least she was upright, she looked reasonable well (translated that means ‘not strung out’) and sober (-ish). As the music started, however, it’s clear she’s been through the mill. She’s good, but not great. The excellent songs lack something as she blithely croons through her catalogue. Her lethargy and apathy are made all the more apparent by the hyperactive energy of her male backing singers and dancers. Their life seems to highlight her lack of it. It’s a shame to see it because the girl clearly has so much talent. Of all the drugged up divas in recent years, she is the only one I really hope gets her act together. I will continue to listen to her on my iPod but I wont be typing ‘Amy Winehouse Oxegen’ into my YouTube search bar any time soon.

MORE TO FOLLOW…

I’ve returned to the land of the living after an incredible weekend at Oxegen. My festival virgin Cherry has been popped in the most wonderful of ways. I’m all tingly!

I’ll try to put my Oxegen post together over the next few hours, but the TV looks so inviting…

Woohoo! Well, we’ve got our tickets and we’ll be off to Oxegen. This is my first festival ever, so I’m very excited. Giddy, even!

So, I collected our tickets this evening (thank you again, Sir). That’s all we need, right? Our tickets, yeah? Nothing else?

I mean, obviously we’ll get a tent. And a big load of toilet roll. Obviously! But that’s it yeah?

Spare clothes? Sure, it’s a festival – we can wear the same ones all weekend. Wait! Rain! Okay, so I’ll bring a spare shirt and tie. I’ll pack two pairs of canvas runners, in case one pair get a little damp. Some spare socks maybe? Nah – they take up too much space.

I guess I’ll bring my iPod, just in case there’s no good music for a little while. It’ll be safe enough I’m sure. I’ll just make sure to keep it beside my tent, so I know where it is. Same for my laptop, of course.

But that’s it, right? I don’t need anything else. Should we bring a few bottles of Heineken? I guess they’ll have some good trendy bars and they’ll probably have table service at some of the venues? Do we need to get to each venue early to get a good seat? I’m sure someone will move if I ask them politely.

I just Googled festival and got some wonderful pictures from the Henley Festival which is also running this weekend. I assume it’s something similar.

I’m really looking forward to it and Lottie is going to look beautiful in her ballgown.

But if anyone does have any advice for festival newbies, please leave a comment or two below. Seriously, please help!

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but Repo! is one of the movies I’ve most looked forward to in years. I mention it now because there is a new trailer just released.

Repo! The Genetic Opera is a new musical from the director of three of the Saw movies, Darren Lynn Bousmann. The gist: A worldwide epidemic encourages a GeneCo, a genetic engineering company, to launch an organ-financing program similar to getting a loan for your car. However, the repossession clause is a killer. Mwahahah!

Starring the incredible Tony Head (of Buffy fame) as the Repo Man, his voice is just one of the many things this film has to offer – I can’t recommend his album, Music For Elevators enough. Sarah Brightman is marked for repossession and Paul Sorvino plays the head of GeneCo. Paris Hilton also appears in the movie, but don’t let that put you off too much – she’s been getting good reviews.

It looks to be a kind of cross between The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Saw and I am dying to see it.

Released in August in the US, there is no release date for this side of the world yet, but hopefully it will be around the same time.

You want more?

Sadly, the weather was incredible and the title of this post does not refer to raindrops on my noggin. Instead, it relates to the middle-aged weirdo who was high on god-only-knows-what at the Radiohead gig on Saturday night. He will thus forth be known to us as Pissy Guy.

Maybe I’m wrong (I’m notoriously naive when it comes to these matters) but it definitely seemed that there was far more than alcohol coursing through Pissy Guy’s system to make him dance in a disturbingly writhing manner, to make him profess his hatred and then his unending love for Andrew, to make him wear his dark sunglasses well into the night (maybe he was being cool – it was hard to tell) and lastly, to make him relieve himself in the middle of the field outside Malahide Castle, surrounded by other concert-goers. Why are drugs such a significant part of Irish culture (and world culture) today? Are our lives so miserable and uninteresting that we need to fill our systems with a variety of life threatening chemicals. It is here that my own hypocrisy shines through – I’m a big drinker and while I could attempt to explain and excuse my drinking habits, all explanations and excuses would fall flat on their face – I am aware, like many Irish people, I drink too much. But I digress, this post is about my ire for the ever-expanding drug culture in Ireland.

In addition to Pissy Guy, there were a number of other strung-out oddballs at the gig. Bug-eyed Boy who repeatedly asked me if I was enjoying the gig was particularly bothersome as the gig hadn’t started at that point. My trek to the bathroom passed two separate blokes who had passed out (and received swift medical attention, to the credit of the gig organisers) while surrounded by their equally high-as-kites friends.

I have lost one of my best friends to drug use. No, he is not dead, but he is most definitely lost. In recent times, he has apparently got his life in some semblance of order – he doesn’t do as much drugs as he used to – but this guy had so much potential, was loved by so many around him and could have done so much with his life. Instead, he wasted the potential and is now wasting his life. It’s very sad that whenever he comes up in conversation these days, the best anyone can manage to say about him is “he’s not looking too bad” or “well, he’s looking better than he used to“. I referred to my naivety earlier: this best friend of mine was well known on Wicklow’s druggy scene and yet, I knew nothing about it. I can’t even look back and retrospectively pretend I was in denial. I truly didn’t know, didn’t imagine and didn’t see that my always-hyper best mate was taking any illicit substances. That’s more than naivety – it’s stupidity.

Drug use in Ireland today, is on the increase and this will not change. Even someone as blind to it all as me can see it in every bar, at every gig, on every street corner. If I decided right now that I wanted to get high, I’m fairly confident I could ‘score a hit’ fairly easily. Is it the economic downturn that is making people turn to drugs to ease the pain? Unlikely, as the upsurge began in more prosperous times. So, is it the ready money of Celtic Tiger Ireland that explains the increase? Possibly – Justine Delaney Wilson‘s book, The High Society: Drugs and the Irish Middle Class, controversial and over-reaching as it may be, does educate the reader to Ireland’s drug culture and it definitely shows the connection between wealth and drug use, but it doesn’t sufficiently explain it, as drug abuse is still a predominantly ‘lower-class’ (perhaps ‘poverty stricken’ may be a better choice of words) problem. Or is it simply the worldwide drug culture filtering into the lives of the Irish. Regardless the reasons for it, it’s sad, it’s scary and it’s here to stay.

Incidentally, the gig itself was excellent. It’s the first Radiohead gig I’ve been to and I’d love to see them again (perhaps at a different, smaller venue though). Andrew gives his review of the gig here, with a little more emphasis on the actual music. 🙂

Insanely expensive as they may be, I got my birthday present today – two tickets to Tom Waits on 1st August. Woohoo!

It is too much money, but it’s a once in a lifetime experience and I can’t wait for the gig. Thank you sooo much to Liz for buying me the tickets. 🙂

Update: Ray Foley just announced the gigs have sold out. 27/05/08 12.30pm

This is fantastic. Wheezer’s new music video. Thank you John Braine for posting this one.

It is perhaps fitting that I begin listening to Scarlett Johansson‘s album of Tom Waits’ songs on the day Waits announces details of his first Irish gigs in 21 years.

Over the years I had heard many Waits’ tracks, often sung by others, some by the artist himself, but it was his 2004 album, Blood Money, that grabbed my attention and made me a real fan. God’s Away On Business was a track I watched late one night on telly – it was a dark, twisted track with amazing lyrics matched by the gravelly voice of Tom Waits. I ran out the next day to buy the album (how much easier life is with the advent of music downloading).

Anyone, let alone a young Hollywood starlet, taking on the feat of doing an album entirely of his work, was always going to ruffle a few feathers among the Waitsian fan base, a devout following. Johansson has the advantage of cult status however, having been so perfect in the incredible Sophia Coppola movie, Lost in Translation, with Bill Murray. This was a movie that showed her to have the beauty and innocence of youth coupled with her wise eyes and a maturity that made the films’ pivotal relationship so wonderful to watch. But does that allow her the audacity to borrow from Waits’ catalogue? Each fan will have to make up their own mind.

Track by Track

The opening track, Fawn (from 2002’s Alice), is an instrumental piece and feels a little pointless, as if they are taunting us slightly. I was waiting for it to cut into the meat of the dish. Fawn is a cute intro though, that serves more to introduce us to the album’s producer, Dave Sitek, than to Ms Johansson. It’s clear that we are not going to get any of Waits’ creepy, haunting, beats that seem to hunt you while you sleep. Instead we are presented with a misty, southern states, drunken jazz atmosphere that fits very well with Waits’ pseudo-melodies and intelligent lyrics. The inclusion of Nick Zinner from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s and David Bowie on some tracks can only help the situation.

The Town With No Cheer, from Swordfish Trombones (1983), is one of the best tracks on the album and it is understandable that this song is chosen to introduce us to Scarlett’s smoky bass tones and masculine pronunciations of the lyrics. Quickly we learn that Scarlett’s vocal range is somewhat limited – she struggles with higher notes and her pitch is shaky at times. But, when we consider the gruff nature of Waits’ original vocals, we can look past this, as long as there is enough quality in what we hear throughout the rest of the album.

There is truth to the old adage, put your best foot forward. This is clearly what Sitek and Johansson have chosen to do here. Tracks 3 and 4, Falling Down and Anywhere I Lay My Head are truly remarkable.

Falling Down (from 1988’s Big Time) has a wonderfully strong start with near-synthetic piano overlaying a repetitive accordion piece. The lyrics are inspired and delivered beautifully by Johansson, but it is the inclusion of David Bowie’s backing vocals that truly lift this track and make it an immediate classic. Bowie’s backing vocals begin lightly and gently rise to a wonderful finish which has his voice match Scarlett’s in the lead, without taking over at any point. Apparently, Bowie, Johansson and Sitek are good friends, having worked together on previous projects – both Bowie and Johansson were in The Prestige with Christian Bale, while Sitek and Bowie worked together on TV on the Radio.

Anywhere I Lay My Head (from 1985’s Rain Dogs) is probably my favourite track on the album. You sway along to the tune and the chorus seems to sweep you into the music. Johansson’s multi-layered contralto voice is at its best here. It is followed by Fannin Street (2006’s Orphans) which is a song of regret, looking back over life’s mistakes and her voice is so perfect at selling the imagery that you forget she is only 24 years old. I can see a smoky bar and an aging band, led by a femme fatale and her glass of single malt whiskey, dreamily remembering her past.

Song For Jo is the only original track on the album and is written by Johansson and Sitek. This track is perhaps a hint that Johansson’s foray into the limelight of the music charts is not a one-off event. This is a strong track and although it lacks the punch of some of the other tracks on the album, it does have some dreamy qualities that shows the potential for something grander.

Green Grass is a track from the excellent Real Gone album from 2004 and I was destined to be critical of this track. It is from one of my first Tom Waits albums and an album I was particularly fond of. Green Grass is one of the poorer tracks on the Real Gone album and I am surprised to see Johansson choose it. She handles it admirably, but adds very little new. On future listens, I will skip forward to the next track.

I Wish I Was in New Orleans (1976’s Small Change) is perhaps the last great track on the album. Painting a picture of the streets of bourbon street, late at night as the music man plays his old wooden music box, clanging out a tune that sounds more like a demonic lullaby than any tune that would whisk a child off to sleep. The album’s general atmosphere is best summed up in this track which is a mixture of sadness and hope.

I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (1992’s Bone Machine) is immediately recognisable as a hit from the Ramones, so there is definitely additional pressure on Johansson and Sitek to pull out something special. Sadly, for me, this is the flattest track on the album. It is lifeless and feels like they knew they couldn’t make it better than either the original or the Ramones hit version, so they just threw something together. It’s a shame that this recognisable track should be the one to bring the album to a screeching halt.

I Don’t Wanna Grow Up is followed by No One Knows I’m Gone (from 2002’s Alice) and Who Are You (from 1992’s Bone Machine) and while both are better than their predecessors, neither reach the heights of quality attained earlier in the album.

Overall, this is more than a simple piece of curio – it is an album of great songs, preformed very well and arranged cleverly, and while I can’t see it hitting the bargain bins anytime soon, I certainly don’t see it reaching chart-topping heights.

But, of course, there’s no doubt that Johansson knew this early on. She chose to do an album of Tom Waits songs. She did not follow in the pop-princess heels of Lohan, Miley Cyrus or that other silly poppy ‘actress’/’singer’. The album was never likely to be a mainstream draw and if all we ultimately take from listening to it is that it is a fan’s tribute to an artist she really likes, then that’s not too bad.

I suspect this album will perform one service though – to introduce a number of new people to the incredible talents of Tom Waits. If that is this album’s legacy, then Johansson has plenty to be proud about.

Sidenote: How hot is Johansson? Does anyone want to see pics of Sitek, Bowie, Kinner? I doubt it!

Finally, the dates and details of Tom Waits Irish gigs has been confirmed. He will be playing on July 30th and 31st and on August 1st (my birthday is the 2nd). It will be in the Rat Cellar in Phoenix Park tickets will go on sale at Tuesday 27th May at 9.00am. It’s fully seated, €116.25 and €131.25, which is a touch pricy to say the least.

But I’ll still be going! Wooohooo!

Here is one of my favourite Waits tracks, God’s Away on Business:

I have seriously had enough of Europolitics. I have immersed myself in it far too much over the past few days, more so than I would have expected or intended.

So, this evening, I am going to switch off my brain, open a few cans of beer and settle in to watch the semi-final of the Eurovision Song Contest.

I truly love it. It’s stupid, it’s over the top, the music is generally poor and the presenters are invariable an embarrassment. What’s not to love?

Dustin will be up 11^th and I may have to go for a bathroom break at that point. Needless to say, sending Dervish, Brian Kennedy, the small odd brother and sister who were clearly a little too close, that awful Chris Doran (remember that?) have not worked for us in recent years, but sending a loudmouth bird (not Linda Kavanagh) to represent us can only end in disaster. My prediction is that we won’t even get to the final, which will, admittedly, be a pity. Watching the painfully inevitable voting at the end of the night is (I say unashamedly) very exciting.

This year, I haven’t had the opportunity to listen to all the songs prior to the event, so I will be making my mind up at the same time as everyone else. Bookies have Russia as favourite to win, so rather than cause us further misery by posting up Dustin’s video, here’s Dima Bilan with Believing.

Apparently Rick O’Shea is more than just an online entity and blog awards presenter (Photo by the amazing Rymus). He doesn’t just spend his days photoblogging and trawling the Interweb in search of interesting tidbits to share with us. It seems, in his spare time, he is also a DJ of sorts on 2FM.

So, to keep him from whinging, as soon as Ray Foley calls it a day, I switch over to hear what Mr Rick has got to say for himself. And it had better be good. My radio remote isn’t working – I’ve had to get up from my desk and walk over to change the radio station.

Being that I am an active listener, I am armed with Rick’s email address, rick@rte.ie, and the show’s text number, 51552. I intend on participating.

__________

He’s been looking for suggestions from his listeners of things to do this evening. Some have suggested skinny dipping, some have suggested a few cold ones down the beach. I think we should all hit St Stephen’s Green en masse and have a giant picnic – I’ll pick up about 40 bottles of Fanta orange. Who’ll get the ham sambos? Maybe O’Brien’s will sponsor it if I agree to put their logo on the blog –>

__________

After 3 o’clock, Rick is looking for dodgy business practices. We can only assume he’s going to set up the private sector’s equivalent of the Office of the Ombudsman. It began with the estate agent in the UK who put up his own For Sale signs on empty houses, to give the impression he was selling properties left, right and centre. There’s supermarkets who use out of date sweets in their pick and mix. And then there’s the employer that printed payslips on the back of the menus and put them in used envelopes before giving them to staff. Isn’t that just being environmentally aware?

__________

The music on the show is chosen brilliantly. There’s a good mix of modern mainstream tracks with a bit of old fashioned cheese thrown in as well. It pains me to admit it, but I think I’ve been Rick rolled into becoming a 2FM listener (well, for three hours each day anyway).

Rick’s blog is here; his 2FM site is here; he does Bebo and MySpace; here‘s his FaceBook page. If you can’t catch the show each day, the PodCast is available here.

It’s tough to admit, it’s a dark disturbing and, some would say, sickening secret – I’m a Eurovision fan.

Some of my fondest memories of being a child include being gathered around in front of the TV excitedly watching the results of the Eurovision each year. We would shout at the screen, place bets (I won over three pounds one year!!), and laugh at the awfulness of most of the songs.

As I’ve gotten older, my interest wained and I missed the show entirely for a year or two, but in 2006 I got hooked again.  It’s criminal that LT United’s We Are the Winners didn’t win, and wonderful that Ireland was the only country who got the humour enough to give it 12 points.

This year, however, humour, irony and social commentary are nowhere near good enough reasons for putting that awful piece of shite, Irelande Douze Pointe, into the competition.  I, for one, will be hoping we don’t even make it to the final.

It won’t stop me watching the show though!!!

Do you remember Dubstar? They were a 90’s band who apparently had three albums and a best of album, but in my head they were just a one hit wonder, who produced the great Not So Manic Now in 1995. I loved this track and I think it’s aged well.

Continued from Dodging Bullets in Donegal

Back in our hosts’ house, as our tension ridden group nursed our bruises and plotted revenge and the systematic demise of our once close friends, we prepared for dinner. Two taxis collected us and brought us to some kind of industrial estate. There were factories and warehouses, open expanses and open plan offices, but there was no obvious sign of a restaurant. I had heard stories of people travelling into the heartland of Donegal only to be abducted, brought to a secluded location and tickled to death. Up until this moment, I had assumed the stories were nothing more than urban legends.

At the moment I was ready to scream (like a big girl) for help, we pulled over to rest beside a new building which had no signage over it, but its big windows did show us that there were people dining. I felt somewhat secure and ventured in.

La Fantasia – yes, it’s a restaurant and not a sex shop – was surprisingly nice. The food was very good. While some of the group moaned about the varying degrees of rarity in their respective steaks, I happily tucked into my veal in wild mushroom sauce. While the veal may not have been the most flavoursome I’ve had, the sauce more than made up for it. Delicious!

Thinking about it afterwards, I think everyone in our group would have happily taxied straight back to the house after dinner rather than go to the club. We looked rather stoic (a mixture of stuffed stomachs and mangled muscles), especially when compared with the five separate Hen Parties that surrounded us. A boost to my ego came when I was bestowed with a garland that apparently signified that I was a ‘cute guy’. Okay, garland is probably overselling it. It was a pair of ‘L’ plates with string through them, and, as one of my good friends pointed out, probably stood for ‘Loser’.

After an exhausting one pint, we legged it back to the house (is this a sign of old age setting in?). We relaxed into beanbags and armchairs and began our long night of drunken revelry. Retrospectively, I’m not sure any of us should have picked up those microphones (with the exception maybe of Stella and her beautiful voice). I’m sure the neighbourhood curdled as our caterwauling commenced.

Singstar on the Playstation is actually a fantastic idea. Anything that can unite a gang of drunken louts and not result in a fist fight must be a good thing. Again, we teamed up and took on challenges far more gruelling than paintballing – we had to sing Mariah Carrey songs.

Always at a disadvantage going up against the might of Stella and Darragh (Darragh was less ‘might’ more ‘shi……nevermind), our team of Niamh, Gary and myself were ready for the challenge. Well, we thought we were. Had it not been for Niamh’s management of the medleys and Gary’s laudable love of Lavigne, our result would have been even more dismal than it was. My only achievement of the night was a decisive win, singing Time After Time, and I’m not sure that’s something I should be entirely proud of.

As the evening grew on, the croaks and wails (and puppy dog tails) became croakier and wailier(!). We murdered No Woman No Cry, we eviscerated Africa, we lampooned Chains and completely obliterated the song formerly known as Gold. Spandau Ballet we were not.

The following morning…… I can’t actually tell you much about it. While everyone else arose and had breakfast, I steadfastly refused to step out of my slumber. I love my sleep. Shortly after I got up, we hit the road again towards Dublin and Wicklow…and I slept during the journey too.

Anyway, thank you very much to both Stella and Nicky for your hospitality. Thank you to Darragh for the use of your photographs and a huge thank you to Liz for driving to Donegal and back (and for putting up with me on a constant basis).

Dodging Bullets in Donegal

My Brief Absence

I was first introduced to Portishead by accident about 9 years ago, by a friend of mine at the time, Peter. It was via an unlikely artist, Tom Jones. Knowing that I was (am) a big Divine Comedy fan, Peter pointed me at Tom Jones’ album, Reload, which included a track with Neil Hannon, a cover of Portishead’s All Mine. The album also included a cover of Motherless Child with Portishead. I immediately ran out to buy Portishead’s two albums, Dummy and Portishead (it’s possible my memory is a little iffy on this – I think it more likely that I copied the albums from my friend, but let’s not dwell on that).

On the 25th of April, the band, consisting of Beth Gibbons, Geoff Barrows and Adrian Utley, will release their third album, ingeniously titled Third. Ten years after the release of their self-titled second album, this is one of the most eagerly anticipated albums in recent years.

So, I sit here, excitedly listening to the new album and I am not disappointed. Often, a build up and an elevated air of anticipation can lead to a monumental let down (see Damien Rice’s 9), but Third is a wonderful piece of musical engineering.

From the word go, we are sucked back into a musical landscape which only this band can create. The first track, Silence, is an epic adventure that begins so slight and builds to a cheeky finish that had me checking my iPod batteries. This track gives us a mere tease of Gibbons’ vocals which are as stark as ever.

There are maybe only two tracks that feel as though they were written minutes after the release of their second album, but this is not wholy a bad thing – Machine Gun is an excellent tune but it seems to contrast with the rich freshness and modern edge of Third. (On third and fourth listening, this ‘negative’ point fizzles away – I cannot find fault with this album).

Hunter is a track that paints a picture. It feels like listening to two tracks at once. Perhaps we are, through the music, hearing the points of view of the hunted and the hunter. Superb! Equally, The Rip is a ripping track (sorry!). It’s shows some growth in Gibbons’ vocals, where we hear a more romantic, slight sound (don’t worry – the edge is still very evident). A slow starter, the synth sound hypnotises and pulls us along to a sleepy ending. Portishead’s version of a lullaby maybe?

Plastic and We Carry On show the band’s love of percussion. The helicopter blades of the drum beat in Plastic are just as important to the track as the seething vocals, while the rhythm of We Carry On makes me want to march (but I’m very tired, so I don’t think I will).

The biggest surprise on the album comes in the form of the ukelele led Deep Water. I wonder if this was a track they made to amuse themselves, but was too good to be left off the album? The harmonies are silly, the melody unoriginal, but somehow this sounds great. It’s a bit of light relief after the heavy We Carry On.

Machine Gun is old style Portishead. Explosive drum and bass beats, almost metalic, mixed with Gibbons’ piercing vocals. Did they head down to the local steelworks to record this one? Perhaps, but the result is brilliant.

Small is a truly beautiful track, just beautiful. It’s looking to be my favourite track on the album. The sensual sound of Gibbons’ voice carries this song through the first minute or so before being joined by a long, deep organ sound. The synthesised, almost 70’s sound, makes me wonder if this is what The Doors might sound like had Morrison stuck around a while longer. This track quickly becomes as anthemic as the second album’s All Mine.

Magic Doors is a hectic mix of vocals and drum beats in disarray. It’s a tough listen, more suited to a late night and a few beers. There’s a rawness to it that sounds like it may have been lifted from Dummy, their debut album. The closing track, Threads, too sounds like vintage Portishead, though it is one of the strongest tracks on the album. Sweeping synthesised sounds, almost whale-like, help this tune crescendo into a big foghorn finish, perfectly closing the album.

I’ve listened to it in full four times now and a few tracks more than that. As much as I enjoyed their debut, Dummy, and adored the follow up, Portishead, Third is likely to be my favourite Portishead album. Haunting, moody, intelligent and modern, this will be big and rightly so.

Notes:

The Official Website of Portishead

Third’s MySpace Page

Beth Gibbons’ MySpace Page

Geoff Barrow’s MySpace Page

Portishead on Wikipedia