I’m going to London tomorrow. I’m going to protest. I’m going to protest peacefully.
I hope that peace surrounds me. If it doesn’t, I hope that my years of protest experience will serve me well.
I’m banking on the “swiftly walking away” routine if it all kicks off. It has served me well before. I’m not banking on banks.
I'm not an anarchist. I believe in social justice and equality. I believe that we should care for our planet. I believe that our current financial systems create social injustice and environmental damage. I believe that a system that promotes and rewards the rich and the greedy is fundamentally very wrong.
As well as the rest, I am protesting for the right to protest peacefully. I’m going alone and I'm a little nervous.
Fabpants Recommends: People Like Us are an inspiration. Vicki Bennett gives her music away for nada. Is she the creator of the oddest sampled based tracks that this world has seen? Perhaps.
Download MP3: People Like Us – It’s Just Amazing (courtesy of wfmu.org)
Download tracks dating as far back as 1992 here:
People Like Us Website
You’ll find many tracks that have given me great pleasure over the years.
This is a Flat 1a favourite:
Download MP3: Devendra Banhart - Cripple Crow (courtesy of hautetfort.com)
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Gig Review: The Freewheelin' Peter Doherty
Peter Doherty, Brighton Dome Concert Hall, Thursday 19th March 2009
It’s no great secret that I am long-term fan of Peter Doherty; poet, singer, shambolic guitarist, tabloid fodder and chaotic dreamer. As a fan of fine words, delicate thoughts and ‘tickle me pink’ music, Doherty finds a vulnerable place in my silly old heart.
I have never had heroes. As a child, I found myself taken with lifestyles instead of laudable individuals. I had romantic notions of a free world. I longed for a society built on three constructs: love, peace and creativity. I thought that if I believed and wished for this perfect society hard enough, and if others did the same, then anything was possible. I never doubted the power of empathy, of being able to place oneself in another person’s shoes.
I doubted the will in others to dream and wish hard enough. I doubted the capability of others to realise the beauty of this dream. I felt that they could if they truly wanted to.
I looked to the hippie movement and I looked to the medieval world of wandering minstrels. So struck by a children’s book about wandering minstrels, in vivid dreams of longing, I visualised an idealised version of the society that this lifestyle encompassed. I never imagined myself to be a wandering minstrel, but as a medieval villager, enthralled.
I have always known my limitations.
Now I am 37 years old. I no longer live in a village. Entertainment visits towns. I visit festivals. We travel to each other. My insides flutter, melt and bubble whenever I see a great live act. What is an artist on tour but a modern day minstrel? What is a festival but a medieval fayre? Do I ever change?
I knew what I wanted before I found it.
Still, there is only one person, in real-life, that truly captures the full spirit of my childhood wandering minstrel imaginings. This is Peter Doherty. This is the man who would play outside a venue after a gig, take people back to his flat, prioritise fans over journalists, and wear his heart - however fucked up - on his sleeve.
The lifestyle can be chaotic, but therein lays the romance. There is romance in chaos. We are enthralled by chaotic periods of history. We love to find the beauty in hardship and hard times.
The Peter Doherty that played the 1800 capacity Brighton Dome on Thursday night was the same Pete Doherty that played the 100 capacity Brighton Freebutt in 2004. Life may have moved on, but the character remains the same: charming, affable, quick witted, generous of spirit and naturally shambolic.
On Thursday night, Peter walked on the stage wearing jeans and a long-sleeved jumper. He looked rather normal, with no razzmatazz, tie or glitz. Later, a hat would appear and disappear. For the most part his face was on full view. He looked healthy. He looked confident. He looked years younger. He looked less afraid of holding a stage on his own. He didn’t have to. The stage was, for the most part, full. Sensible looking men, older - even - than one such as I, added instrumentation to his songs.
Peter is trying something new. It’s not just his name.
And so it was. With strings, smoky jazz ballads and country-folk influences, the set-list bestowed a disjointed journey through Peter Doherty’s Arcadian dream, with a fresh veneer to boot.
For the first few songs, I found myself agog. Self-assured and refined, there was nothing to fault. I may be a Doherty fan, but I never realised that with proper focus and practise, the man has an amazing singing voice. Has he been too freewheeling to find it, use it and fiercely fight his corner with it? Has he had coaching?
This is a creative fantasist and not a man of natural focus. The focus is new too.
In due course, the real Peter shone through.
For, even at the Dome, after such a cracking start, there were mistakes. I bless the man for them. Such failings are part of his beauty and his charm. Without them, the air would be tepid and the atmosphere dull.
With a sharp remark, a facial expression and a 'we’re all in this together' attitude, Doherty shrugs off the odd bum note or excitable false start with a 'I'm only human' charm. The man carries his fans on his journey with him, wherever that may be to, in the sweet by and by. He might be ramshackle, but he’s always inclusive. Perhaps it is this combination that causes Doherty to attract the most ardent of fans.
Stalkers besiege Peter and, although I am a self-proclaimed fan, stalkers scare me. Doherty doesn’t discriminate. He accepts all-comers, sometimes with bemusement but never with distaste. I like this. This is the libertarian in action. A man is merely a man. We are all equals.
Bras and flowers hang on the microphone stand, notes are silently read, jewellery is worn and half-smoked 'illegal indoor' cigarettes are lambasted and then smoked. Playful curiosity prevails.
Peter hasn’t choreographed every aspect of his set, and even with the new spit and sheen, this fact remains. Plans change according to mood and circumstance, and gifts find themselves accepted in good humour.
Good humour is not bashing the idiot - who hits you square on with a full pint of beer - around the head with a guitar. "Let’s be professional," Doherty says with a wily grin. Pretending to hurl your guitar at him is far funnier. Returning a wet gift when it’s least expected is an apt comeback. I hope he hit the right person.
With four albums true, and an unofficial back catalogue, leaked by the man himself, Peter - who turned 30 just ten days ago - has a vast reserve of great songs that should be the envy of most musicians. Fans know many of his songs in all stages of development, from the tenements to the charts.
Gently sung and poorly picked classics have a life of their own. Being precious isn’t the reserve of the wandering minstrel. Corporate sales, records labels and buff are not the Arcadian way to hearts and minds. Jacopo Sannazaro will tell you as much. A good song will find its way. Life is the sum of its parts. This is what the tabloids miss. From kernels, a new album has emerged for real. Songs mutate in a wider arena.
Peter has always been too generous. He is no doubt aware of his short fallings when it comes to musical accomplishment. Thus on release, his songs are never completely his own. The first Babyshambles album demonstrates the pitfalls to this approach all too well. Carl Barât is the only musician that has ever truly added something to Peter’s songs without taking too much away. The producer Stephen Street is now trying to take this crown. He is on stage for the show.
Perhaps we have a lot to thank Stephen for. The new album Grace/Wastelands is racking up good reviews. When the reviews are not good they are positive.
Developing a relationship with the old songs in their new form has been an odd but enjoyable experience. The album entries grow and grow on me. I am learning to listen to them in the different way. Gone is the George Orwell down and out, living-room busker. These songs have so much polish they could gently caress a middle-class eating experience.
When Peter stood alone on the stage singing 'The Ballad of Grimaldi', the loveable in house busker stood before us once again. He took us back to the unofficial recordings, with the "we fight in the street" lyrics punching into the room. Without perfection, playing as though to a room of friends, and for love of the ditty alone, it demonstrated that Peter is Pete. He is both men. Anything is possible for the future.
Seeing Doherty looking so confident and healthy, and performing so well, can only be for the good. The man is young enough to find his own path and to learn to direct his songs himself.
Perhaps the new album is too refined, perhaps the Dome Concert Hall rendition of Albion was bastardised, deplete of a proper chorus, and a dad rock tragedy, but, surely, this is a much better direction for the man we so easily could have lost.
Fabpants Recommends:
Here are three songs from Peter Doherty’s new album Grace/Wastelands.
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Sheepskin Tearaway (courtesy of iamthe-walrus.com)
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Arcady (courtesy of iamthe-walrus.com)
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Lady Don't Fall Backwards (courtesy of media.clashmusic.com)
You can listen to the whole album, all twelve tracks, here: Peter Doherty - Grace/Wastelands
Other new albums worth your attention include Polly Scattergood – ‘Polly Scattergood’ and Camera Obscura – ‘My Maudlin Career’.
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - I Hate The Way (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - Unforgiving Arms (courtesy of stashbox.org)
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - Other Too Endless (courtesy of hauntedgraffiti.com)
Download MP3: Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career (courtesy of camera-obscura.net)
To finish here is a lively number from Heartsrevolution, purveyors of sweet things from ice-cream vans.
Download MP3: Heartsrevolution - Ultraviolence (Vitalic Remix) (courtesy of fileden.com)
It’s no great secret that I am long-term fan of Peter Doherty; poet, singer, shambolic guitarist, tabloid fodder and chaotic dreamer. As a fan of fine words, delicate thoughts and ‘tickle me pink’ music, Doherty finds a vulnerable place in my silly old heart.
I have never had heroes. As a child, I found myself taken with lifestyles instead of laudable individuals. I had romantic notions of a free world. I longed for a society built on three constructs: love, peace and creativity. I thought that if I believed and wished for this perfect society hard enough, and if others did the same, then anything was possible. I never doubted the power of empathy, of being able to place oneself in another person’s shoes.
I doubted the will in others to dream and wish hard enough. I doubted the capability of others to realise the beauty of this dream. I felt that they could if they truly wanted to.
I looked to the hippie movement and I looked to the medieval world of wandering minstrels. So struck by a children’s book about wandering minstrels, in vivid dreams of longing, I visualised an idealised version of the society that this lifestyle encompassed. I never imagined myself to be a wandering minstrel, but as a medieval villager, enthralled.
I have always known my limitations.
Now I am 37 years old. I no longer live in a village. Entertainment visits towns. I visit festivals. We travel to each other. My insides flutter, melt and bubble whenever I see a great live act. What is an artist on tour but a modern day minstrel? What is a festival but a medieval fayre? Do I ever change?
I knew what I wanted before I found it.
Still, there is only one person, in real-life, that truly captures the full spirit of my childhood wandering minstrel imaginings. This is Peter Doherty. This is the man who would play outside a venue after a gig, take people back to his flat, prioritise fans over journalists, and wear his heart - however fucked up - on his sleeve.
The lifestyle can be chaotic, but therein lays the romance. There is romance in chaos. We are enthralled by chaotic periods of history. We love to find the beauty in hardship and hard times.
The Peter Doherty that played the 1800 capacity Brighton Dome on Thursday night was the same Pete Doherty that played the 100 capacity Brighton Freebutt in 2004. Life may have moved on, but the character remains the same: charming, affable, quick witted, generous of spirit and naturally shambolic.
On Thursday night, Peter walked on the stage wearing jeans and a long-sleeved jumper. He looked rather normal, with no razzmatazz, tie or glitz. Later, a hat would appear and disappear. For the most part his face was on full view. He looked healthy. He looked confident. He looked years younger. He looked less afraid of holding a stage on his own. He didn’t have to. The stage was, for the most part, full. Sensible looking men, older - even - than one such as I, added instrumentation to his songs.
Peter is trying something new. It’s not just his name.
And so it was. With strings, smoky jazz ballads and country-folk influences, the set-list bestowed a disjointed journey through Peter Doherty’s Arcadian dream, with a fresh veneer to boot.
For the first few songs, I found myself agog. Self-assured and refined, there was nothing to fault. I may be a Doherty fan, but I never realised that with proper focus and practise, the man has an amazing singing voice. Has he been too freewheeling to find it, use it and fiercely fight his corner with it? Has he had coaching?
This is a creative fantasist and not a man of natural focus. The focus is new too.
In due course, the real Peter shone through.
For, even at the Dome, after such a cracking start, there were mistakes. I bless the man for them. Such failings are part of his beauty and his charm. Without them, the air would be tepid and the atmosphere dull.
With a sharp remark, a facial expression and a 'we’re all in this together' attitude, Doherty shrugs off the odd bum note or excitable false start with a 'I'm only human' charm. The man carries his fans on his journey with him, wherever that may be to, in the sweet by and by. He might be ramshackle, but he’s always inclusive. Perhaps it is this combination that causes Doherty to attract the most ardent of fans.
Stalkers besiege Peter and, although I am a self-proclaimed fan, stalkers scare me. Doherty doesn’t discriminate. He accepts all-comers, sometimes with bemusement but never with distaste. I like this. This is the libertarian in action. A man is merely a man. We are all equals.
Bras and flowers hang on the microphone stand, notes are silently read, jewellery is worn and half-smoked 'illegal indoor' cigarettes are lambasted and then smoked. Playful curiosity prevails.
Peter hasn’t choreographed every aspect of his set, and even with the new spit and sheen, this fact remains. Plans change according to mood and circumstance, and gifts find themselves accepted in good humour.
Good humour is not bashing the idiot - who hits you square on with a full pint of beer - around the head with a guitar. "Let’s be professional," Doherty says with a wily grin. Pretending to hurl your guitar at him is far funnier. Returning a wet gift when it’s least expected is an apt comeback. I hope he hit the right person.
With four albums true, and an unofficial back catalogue, leaked by the man himself, Peter - who turned 30 just ten days ago - has a vast reserve of great songs that should be the envy of most musicians. Fans know many of his songs in all stages of development, from the tenements to the charts.
Gently sung and poorly picked classics have a life of their own. Being precious isn’t the reserve of the wandering minstrel. Corporate sales, records labels and buff are not the Arcadian way to hearts and minds. Jacopo Sannazaro will tell you as much. A good song will find its way. Life is the sum of its parts. This is what the tabloids miss. From kernels, a new album has emerged for real. Songs mutate in a wider arena.
Peter has always been too generous. He is no doubt aware of his short fallings when it comes to musical accomplishment. Thus on release, his songs are never completely his own. The first Babyshambles album demonstrates the pitfalls to this approach all too well. Carl Barât is the only musician that has ever truly added something to Peter’s songs without taking too much away. The producer Stephen Street is now trying to take this crown. He is on stage for the show.
Perhaps we have a lot to thank Stephen for. The new album Grace/Wastelands is racking up good reviews. When the reviews are not good they are positive.
Developing a relationship with the old songs in their new form has been an odd but enjoyable experience. The album entries grow and grow on me. I am learning to listen to them in the different way. Gone is the George Orwell down and out, living-room busker. These songs have so much polish they could gently caress a middle-class eating experience.
When Peter stood alone on the stage singing 'The Ballad of Grimaldi', the loveable in house busker stood before us once again. He took us back to the unofficial recordings, with the "we fight in the street" lyrics punching into the room. Without perfection, playing as though to a room of friends, and for love of the ditty alone, it demonstrated that Peter is Pete. He is both men. Anything is possible for the future.
Seeing Doherty looking so confident and healthy, and performing so well, can only be for the good. The man is young enough to find his own path and to learn to direct his songs himself.
Perhaps the new album is too refined, perhaps the Dome Concert Hall rendition of Albion was bastardised, deplete of a proper chorus, and a dad rock tragedy, but, surely, this is a much better direction for the man we so easily could have lost.
Fabpants Recommends:
Here are three songs from Peter Doherty’s new album Grace/Wastelands.
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Sheepskin Tearaway (courtesy of iamthe-walrus.com)
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Arcady (courtesy of iamthe-walrus.com)
Download MP3: Peter Doherty - Lady Don't Fall Backwards (courtesy of media.clashmusic.com)
You can listen to the whole album, all twelve tracks, here: Peter Doherty - Grace/Wastelands
Other new albums worth your attention include Polly Scattergood – ‘Polly Scattergood’ and Camera Obscura – ‘My Maudlin Career’.
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - I Hate The Way (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - Unforgiving Arms (courtesy of stashbox.org)
Download MP3: Polly Scattergood - Other Too Endless (courtesy of hauntedgraffiti.com)
Download MP3: Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career (courtesy of camera-obscura.net)
To finish here is a lively number from Heartsrevolution, purveyors of sweet things from ice-cream vans.
Download MP3: Heartsrevolution - Ultraviolence (Vitalic Remix) (courtesy of fileden.com)
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Here’s to you Mrs Robinson
Life laps gently at my feet. I don’t want it to carry me way or knock me over. Lapping is good.
--
Last night, as My Geek travelled home, there was a scene to behold. Two ladies, one large, sat on the train. They were in their early forties. They were nourishing two lads, twenty years their junior, with beer.
"You are going to fuck us when we get home, aren’t you?" the larger lady said quite lucidly.
The lads looked sheepish. They gave a noncommittal response in the positive.
"I want you to fuck me hard"
Let’s hope her dreams came true.
--
Life knocks some people over.
Sometimes I want to write about my day job. I meet fascinating people. The grit of life forms words that whisper in my ears. Tissues wet. Plans form to stop the deluge. I believe in confidentiality. The best stories fade away.
The stories keep coming and they keep fading.
Fabpants Recommends: We are all machines. We just don’t know it.
Download MP3: Machine Boy – Jamie (sorry, this link has died)
My mum dusted him every day.
Download MP3: Passion Pit – Sleepyhead (courtesy of indiemuse.com)
I have a sleepyhead today. The Passion Pit 'Chunk of Change EP' has been with me since last November, and is still getting regular airplay. Let this song build before you decide whether you like it or not:
My beard grew down to the floor and out through the doors
Of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead, sleepyhead
Download MP3: Passion Pit – I’ve got Your Number (courtesy of kissatlanta.com)
I’ve always felt so scared of all this needing
Everyone that I’ve met has been somewhat mistreated
Download MP3: The Low Anthem – Charlie Darwin (courtesy of fensepost.com)
Cast your reckless dreams upon our Mayflower
Haven from the world and her decay
'Charlie Darwin' is not indicative of The Low Anthem’s 2008 release 'Oh My God, Charlie Darwin'. It’s a rather gruff affair, with some gut pummelling shanties and late night tales.
As a whole, the album does not gel. For 'To the Ghosts who write History Books' I felt the wince reaction. Crooner Alert.
'Champion Angel' is wailed in that "For some odd reason I think wailing is heartfelt" kind of way. Wailing is never sincere, as much as the wailer might try.
I fear that the worst of the 80s has inspired parts of this album.
All the same, 'Charlie Darwin' is a truly brilliant track and I must share it. It's the best of the tracks that I'm recommending today.
As I’ve started, I may as well continue with this 'has potential, but sadly fails' diatribe. No offence to anyone concerned. The fact I listened to your full release means that you tempted me with talent.
I have been listening to the new album from 'Here We Go Magic'. In their words, "It is a lovely ruckus." I listened to the album three times and it got worse with every listen.
The brain says, this is different, how avant-garde, I should like this. Then there is this smell of shit that gently wafts from the speakers. To start with, it’s subtle. Then it takes over. Some of these tracks may have lived up someone’s bottom.
The track I’d recommend, if any, is called 'Everything’s Big'. It isn’t available to stream online, but I’m sure that you can find it on torrents.
Some people love the 'Here We Go Magic' album. It’s one of those divisive releases. Brooklyn’s contribution to popular music continues.
For gigs, perhaps I should have visited Brooklyn in 2008 or 2009, and not in 2004. Tom's Diner, Brooklyn Botanic Gardens and The Union Club, were as rock 'n' roll as Brooklyn got for me. My trip to the States was pretty rock 'n' roll though. Don’t get me wrong.
If I went now, I wouldn’t be able to recall Asbury Park, aka 'Beirut by the Shore', as it was five years ago. The Great Bamboozle was the name of a festival in Asbury Park, New Jersey (a short hop from New York). M Ward and Sonic Youth played in 2004.
The Great Bamboozle describes the whole day. It started with a suicide on the railway tracks. Asbury Park. What a town. The American dream is this town. Gay pride, a small and sedate affair, sat on a grass square next to The Stone Pony music bar and festival venue. The town owes its resurgence to gay pride.
Asbury Park was a mess. The powers that be charged a fee to walk on the cold and windswept beach. The promenade, the shops and the attractions were long dead.
There was something quite beautiful about the crumbling buildings, the potholes, the struggling, but aspirational gay community, and the well-dressed African American’s heading to and from church.
Today, I am going to finish with something that’s light and cheery, but strangely sad. It’s from Mali, Africa.
I have no idea what the song is about, but, in my mind, it’s like the dreamy sister of Paper Planes (M.I.A.). Maybe it’s just that 2008 sound. Why am I still in 2008? What is this hold that it has on me? This is one of those tracks that I downloaded and then forgot about. There are a lot of them.
Download MP3: Amadou & Mariam - Sabali (courtesy of theyoungturks.co.uk)
For your information, someone is singing in the flat upstairs and it sounds bloody awful.
--
Last night, as My Geek travelled home, there was a scene to behold. Two ladies, one large, sat on the train. They were in their early forties. They were nourishing two lads, twenty years their junior, with beer.
"You are going to fuck us when we get home, aren’t you?" the larger lady said quite lucidly.
The lads looked sheepish. They gave a noncommittal response in the positive.
"I want you to fuck me hard"
Let’s hope her dreams came true.
--
Life knocks some people over.
Sometimes I want to write about my day job. I meet fascinating people. The grit of life forms words that whisper in my ears. Tissues wet. Plans form to stop the deluge. I believe in confidentiality. The best stories fade away.
The stories keep coming and they keep fading.
Fabpants Recommends: We are all machines. We just don’t know it.
Download MP3: Machine Boy – Jamie (sorry, this link has died)
My mum dusted him every day.
Download MP3: Passion Pit – Sleepyhead (courtesy of indiemuse.com)
I have a sleepyhead today. The Passion Pit 'Chunk of Change EP' has been with me since last November, and is still getting regular airplay. Let this song build before you decide whether you like it or not:
My beard grew down to the floor and out through the doors
Of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead, sleepyhead
Download MP3: Passion Pit – I’ve got Your Number (courtesy of kissatlanta.com)
I’ve always felt so scared of all this needing
Everyone that I’ve met has been somewhat mistreated
Download MP3: The Low Anthem – Charlie Darwin (courtesy of fensepost.com)
Cast your reckless dreams upon our Mayflower
Haven from the world and her decay
'Charlie Darwin' is not indicative of The Low Anthem’s 2008 release 'Oh My God, Charlie Darwin'. It’s a rather gruff affair, with some gut pummelling shanties and late night tales.
As a whole, the album does not gel. For 'To the Ghosts who write History Books' I felt the wince reaction. Crooner Alert.
'Champion Angel' is wailed in that "For some odd reason I think wailing is heartfelt" kind of way. Wailing is never sincere, as much as the wailer might try.
I fear that the worst of the 80s has inspired parts of this album.
All the same, 'Charlie Darwin' is a truly brilliant track and I must share it. It's the best of the tracks that I'm recommending today.
As I’ve started, I may as well continue with this 'has potential, but sadly fails' diatribe. No offence to anyone concerned. The fact I listened to your full release means that you tempted me with talent.
I have been listening to the new album from 'Here We Go Magic'. In their words, "It is a lovely ruckus." I listened to the album three times and it got worse with every listen.
The brain says, this is different, how avant-garde, I should like this. Then there is this smell of shit that gently wafts from the speakers. To start with, it’s subtle. Then it takes over. Some of these tracks may have lived up someone’s bottom.
The track I’d recommend, if any, is called 'Everything’s Big'. It isn’t available to stream online, but I’m sure that you can find it on torrents.
Some people love the 'Here We Go Magic' album. It’s one of those divisive releases. Brooklyn’s contribution to popular music continues.
For gigs, perhaps I should have visited Brooklyn in 2008 or 2009, and not in 2004. Tom's Diner, Brooklyn Botanic Gardens and The Union Club, were as rock 'n' roll as Brooklyn got for me. My trip to the States was pretty rock 'n' roll though. Don’t get me wrong.
If I went now, I wouldn’t be able to recall Asbury Park, aka 'Beirut by the Shore', as it was five years ago. The Great Bamboozle was the name of a festival in Asbury Park, New Jersey (a short hop from New York). M Ward and Sonic Youth played in 2004.
The Great Bamboozle describes the whole day. It started with a suicide on the railway tracks. Asbury Park. What a town. The American dream is this town. Gay pride, a small and sedate affair, sat on a grass square next to The Stone Pony music bar and festival venue. The town owes its resurgence to gay pride.
Asbury Park was a mess. The powers that be charged a fee to walk on the cold and windswept beach. The promenade, the shops and the attractions were long dead.
There was something quite beautiful about the crumbling buildings, the potholes, the struggling, but aspirational gay community, and the well-dressed African American’s heading to and from church.
Today, I am going to finish with something that’s light and cheery, but strangely sad. It’s from Mali, Africa.
I have no idea what the song is about, but, in my mind, it’s like the dreamy sister of Paper Planes (M.I.A.). Maybe it’s just that 2008 sound. Why am I still in 2008? What is this hold that it has on me? This is one of those tracks that I downloaded and then forgot about. There are a lot of them.
Download MP3: Amadou & Mariam - Sabali (courtesy of theyoungturks.co.uk)
For your information, someone is singing in the flat upstairs and it sounds bloody awful.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Gig Review: Men Diamler, Women Crisis
I wrote this on Saturday 21st February. It’s been waiting. Now it’s here. I didn’t want to post any off-topic blurbs during the Venice Marathon.
Men Diamler – The Greenhouse Effect, Friday 20th February 2009
This one-man act could be the most impressive that I have ever seen. With just a guitar, a voice and a rhythmic foot Men Diamler makes soft and raucous music to equal appeal. His vocals have such strength that, like an opera singer, Men Diamler has no need for a microphone.
Unfortunately, it was Friday night when I saw him. Some of Men Diamler’s vocals are sweetly quiet, like a whisper in your ear. Peace was required and the sound of drunken chattering was no great backdrop.
‘Shhh!’ Men Diamler gently requested, with a friendly grin. He unplugged his guitar, and with one finger still pressed to his lips, he softly stepped through the crowd.
The primary culprit was more than drunk. He was excitable. He said ‘Let me play guitar, I am Mariachi’. He followed Men Diamler back to the stage and haunted him. “The ladies want to dance,” he shouted. “Ladies, you want to dance, don’t you?” They didn’t. Glances became Pokémon cards. Traded.
“I think I’ve opened a can of worms here”, Men Diamler announced. He sure had. With a drunk by his side, raucously shouting over the lyrics, and trying to grab the guitar, Men Diamler pressed on in good cheer.
The drunkard would have followed Men Diamer under the legs of a tall man. Instead, the drunk wobbled and fell onto me. Later he asked me to go to a pub with him. The drunk that is.
A man that can crawl through the legs of a taller man, whilst strumming and singing, doesn't ask you to go to a pub with him. Not when you're both already in a pub. That’s just stupid.
I wish, I wish, I wish that I could have enjoyed Men Diamler without the side show. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want. I did come away with a ‘make your own’ CD for just £5.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Men Diamler - No Matter (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Men Diamler - When I Get Fucked Alternative Version (sorry, this link has died)
Men Diamler – The Greenhouse Effect, Friday 20th February 2009
This one-man act could be the most impressive that I have ever seen. With just a guitar, a voice and a rhythmic foot Men Diamler makes soft and raucous music to equal appeal. His vocals have such strength that, like an opera singer, Men Diamler has no need for a microphone.
Unfortunately, it was Friday night when I saw him. Some of Men Diamler’s vocals are sweetly quiet, like a whisper in your ear. Peace was required and the sound of drunken chattering was no great backdrop.
‘Shhh!’ Men Diamler gently requested, with a friendly grin. He unplugged his guitar, and with one finger still pressed to his lips, he softly stepped through the crowd.
The primary culprit was more than drunk. He was excitable. He said ‘Let me play guitar, I am Mariachi’. He followed Men Diamler back to the stage and haunted him. “The ladies want to dance,” he shouted. “Ladies, you want to dance, don’t you?” They didn’t. Glances became Pokémon cards. Traded.
“I think I’ve opened a can of worms here”, Men Diamler announced. He sure had. With a drunk by his side, raucously shouting over the lyrics, and trying to grab the guitar, Men Diamler pressed on in good cheer.
The drunkard would have followed Men Diamer under the legs of a tall man. Instead, the drunk wobbled and fell onto me. Later he asked me to go to a pub with him. The drunk that is.
A man that can crawl through the legs of a taller man, whilst strumming and singing, doesn't ask you to go to a pub with him. Not when you're both already in a pub. That’s just stupid.
I wish, I wish, I wish that I could have enjoyed Men Diamler without the side show. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want. I did come away with a ‘make your own’ CD for just £5.
Fabpants Recommends:
Download MP3: Men Diamler - No Matter (sorry, this link has died)
Download MP3: Men Diamler - When I Get Fucked Alternative Version (sorry, this link has died)
Monday, 9 March 2009
A Guest Entry by Mr Tresvant
Spoiler Alert: only read the next five paragraphs if you like Movie Trailers or Book Forwards
My wife and my dead wife. Am I the only one that sees her? My wife and my dead wife. Doesn't anybody see her at all?
Mr Tresvant would probably rather you didn’t. He may sometimes wish her dead, but she isn’t.
Sean McGuire probably wishes that he'd jumped of a tower block and succeeded in death or permanent hospitalisation. That Aidan Brosnan character had it easy.
Mrs Tresvant is the source of all ills.
The best thing about having a difficult wife is the days off.
My Favourite Day
By Ralph Tresvant
MY favourite day of the week is Wednesday because that’s when my wife gets the bus to Skipton with her friend Mrs Devoe.
Mrs Devoe looks like Gordon Strachan and she stood for Parliament last time round under the Euro Sceptic banner. She has energy that one – she posted over 4,000 campaign leaflets in one day... to 3,000 houses. She didn’t get in – she was beaten into third place by someone running under the Slightly More Euro Sceptic banner.
Goosnargh’s not received a penny from Brussels since them two were at it. She was right to be sceptical was Beryl.
Anyway, my favourite day of the week...
Wednesday is the one day of the week when I know I won’t get any calls from the police saying Mrs Tresvant’s been arrested for cutting people’s hair in the queue at the Post Office. And it’s the only time I get to reply to all the emails and letters from Sean McGuire’s solicitors... cease and desist orders I think they call them. I can’t help it if Mrs Tresvant didn’t like him giving up his pop career.
The traders in Skipton don’t like Wednesdays at all. That’s the day when my wife and Mrs Devoe hit the market and throw sponges in puddles. There’s been talk of an ASBO being served but everyone else round here loves Wednesdays so much they help the wife contest it each time.
Yours in magic marker
Ralph Tresvant
Tresvant Recommends:
Download MP3: Anvil – Hair Pie (sorry, this link has died)
Anvil’s fortunes have changed. Perhaps Mr Tresvant’s will too.
My wife and my dead wife. Am I the only one that sees her? My wife and my dead wife. Doesn't anybody see her at all?
Mr Tresvant would probably rather you didn’t. He may sometimes wish her dead, but she isn’t.
Sean McGuire probably wishes that he'd jumped of a tower block and succeeded in death or permanent hospitalisation. That Aidan Brosnan character had it easy.
Mrs Tresvant is the source of all ills.
The best thing about having a difficult wife is the days off.
My Favourite Day
By Ralph Tresvant
MY favourite day of the week is Wednesday because that’s when my wife gets the bus to Skipton with her friend Mrs Devoe.
Mrs Devoe looks like Gordon Strachan and she stood for Parliament last time round under the Euro Sceptic banner. She has energy that one – she posted over 4,000 campaign leaflets in one day... to 3,000 houses. She didn’t get in – she was beaten into third place by someone running under the Slightly More Euro Sceptic banner.
Goosnargh’s not received a penny from Brussels since them two were at it. She was right to be sceptical was Beryl.
Anyway, my favourite day of the week...
Wednesday is the one day of the week when I know I won’t get any calls from the police saying Mrs Tresvant’s been arrested for cutting people’s hair in the queue at the Post Office. And it’s the only time I get to reply to all the emails and letters from Sean McGuire’s solicitors... cease and desist orders I think they call them. I can’t help it if Mrs Tresvant didn’t like him giving up his pop career.
The traders in Skipton don’t like Wednesdays at all. That’s the day when my wife and Mrs Devoe hit the market and throw sponges in puddles. There’s been talk of an ASBO being served but everyone else round here loves Wednesdays so much they help the wife contest it each time.
Yours in magic marker
Ralph Tresvant
Tresvant Recommends:
Download MP3: Anvil – Hair Pie (sorry, this link has died)
Anvil’s fortunes have changed. Perhaps Mr Tresvant’s will too.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Venetian Dreams: Outdoor Spaces
Part 1 is here: Venetian Dreams: An Introduction
Part 2 is here: Venetian Dreams: Water Buses and Islands
Part 3 is here: Venetian Dreams: The Obligatory Museums
The best thing about outdoor spaces is that they are free. They tend to involve you in, or allow you to witness, the real life of a place. They satisfy the greed of wanderlust. On a cold and wet day, they can be just that: cold and wet. That’s real life for you.
Canal Di San Marco, Castello and Sant‘Elena
When the Grand Canal has finished snaking from north to south, it greets Canal Di San Marco (Saint Mark’s Basin).
If you visit Piazza San Marco (or Saint Mark’s Square) - the prime tourist spot of the city - Canal Di San Marco is next door. When the water levels rise, the basin and the square become as one. Stepping-stones provide a walkway through the flood. It was wet, but it wasn’t that wet.
Instead of visiting Piazza San Marco first, we decided to meet a little of the city. Starting at Palazzo Giustinian, we walked along the water’s edge from San Marco district, or sestiere, into Castello. Across the water, we could see the island of La Giudecca, the grand domed of church of Santa Maria della Salute and, to its left, Dogana di Mare. The latter sit at the tip of Dorsoduro district and, with a map in hand, are easy to identify. I recommend buying a waterproof city map before leaving home. Dogana di Mare is an old customs house and in the shadow of the great churches’ dome, the customs house has a feature of its own. On top of a short white tower, sits a golden globe, and on top of that stands a woman who points with the wind.
We slipped past Piazza San Marco to find a very small public garden called Giardini ex Reali. It’s size exemplifies the lack of green space in Venice, but we were on a quest to find more. We raised our noses snobbishly and walked on.
Past the Doges Palace and past the Bridge of Sighs, we headed eastwards. In the summer, this is a place of funfair rides, sweet treats and pickpockets. In the cold, we walked past closed tourist attractions and enjoyed the peace. Pink lampposts, nearby islands, a wide promenade and gentle waves set the scene. It was dry, but cold. A young couple sat on a bench sideways. Silhouetted against the water, they faced each other. With her legs folded, they tucked neatly inside his. With locked eyes, they were eighteen or nineteen and in lust.
Small detours allowed us to view the alleyways and the houses where people live. The streets wore washing and communal dead-ends told us of life, but people were few. It was ideal. Street hung washing delights me. Colourful t-shirts, empty jeans, billowing jumpers or well-washed whites, there is something quite beautiful about washing. Freshly hung or nearly dry, washing is a storyteller. It dresses streets, adorns gardens, and adds life whenever it dries. It provides a public exhibition of a private world.
Whether in Zanzibar, Barcelona or Venice, street hung washing is a travelling favourite. It means so much more than historic relics or tourist draws. Money and power make landmarks. Washing is part of the life that all of us live. I could travel the world taking photographs of drying clothes and die happy. Such images would create an exhibition so colourful, so real and so levelling, that I could never leave.
Back in Venice, on an archaic hotel television, I watched a weather forecast sponsored by Confetti. That was before I started to see confetti everywhere. There are other ways to create colour in streets. On an unguided and unscripted walk along Canal Di San Marco, we always returned to the water, the promenade and confetti.
Now when I shut my eyes, small colourful shapes, cut from paper, pattern my eyelids. We saw so much confetti that it’s left a indelible image in my mind. A small girl held a large bag aloft, and she threw it to the world. It filled her sister’s hood, spread wildly across the pavement, scattered all across Venice and then travelled with the wind to Rome. We saw it thrown once, but it was everywhere.
Then, we found green. It was landscaped and tamed. The promenade continues to the tip of the Castello district and circles the largest park we found. In fact, two parks sit alongside each other. They create a large public space, with swings, trees, benches, statues and archways. They are Giardini Pubblici Park and Parco delle Rimembranze. A group of young people rollerbladed and cycled by. Young families strolled. It was quiet, but not empty.
We walked over a bridge, and when Giardini Pubblici became Parco delle Rimembranze, we found ourselves on the island of Sant‘Elena. Centro storico is all islands, but Sant’Elena has retained its island status in name. It’s a lovely part of town. Gated communities live there. Perhaps there are threats from parkland wolves, degenerates or rabid tourists.
We walked along a wide, tree-lined pedestrianised street called via 4 Novembre - not via five Novembre - and turned left at the gated community onto via 24 Maggio. Why the streets are named with number is a mystery to me. We crossed the river, which has an accessible bridge, with ramps, and followed the locals along Pakudo Sant’ Antonio. There were rows and rows of fabulous washing hung over this street. Rio Terra di San Guiseppe took us to Parco delle Rimembranze. On the other side of the park, we took a Vaporetto back to San Marco.
That was the end of a lovely walk. It was simple and easy, and there was green.
If you follow it, you can see Piazza San Marco beforehand, afterwards or both.
Piazza San Marco
Piazza San Marco is a famous square, that’s not square at all. It’s trapezoid. You can get there on a number 1 or number 2 Vaporetto. It’s signed posted all over Centro storico for walkers. You can’t miss it.
If you travel within the safety home, you can see it here:
Piazza San Marco All Round View
Of all the buildings in the Piazza, the Basilica is the most impressive. It has five domes and is impressively decorated. It’s also free to get in, and not much is in Venice.
I bought an Eyewitness Pocket Map and Guide for Venice, which I’d heartily recommend. Its size, content and style make it a good companion. The map of Vaporetto routes is particularly useful.
The guide contains a particularly impressive diagram of the Basilica and Doges Palace, with explanations. It seems that Saint Mark’s body has a symbiotic relationship with the history of Basilica di San Marco. Venetian’s monks stole it from Egypt, it was lost in a fire in 976AD and then reappeared in 1094 when the church was consecrated. Apparently, it now lies in the altar. Or does it?
Ultimately, Piazza San Marco is a large public space, covered in paving slabs. The buildings and water that enclose it, are what makes it special. Doges Palace, Museo Civico Correr, Basilica di San Marco, Campanile si San Marco and Saint Marks Basin make this square a natural magnet for day-trippers and tourists.
Tourists can’t sit unless they pay to. Pigeons can. Personally, I prefer Trafalgar Square, with its multiple steps, gushing fountains and low walls, all available as seating and picnicking. Trafalgar Square also has many free public events and free toilets. Piazza San Marco wants your money.
It was quiet when we were there, and these are the benefits of travelling in the cold.
The Grand Canal
You can see this by Vaporetto or foot. I suggest a bit of both, mixed with some sightseeing. It’s a wide waterway filled with boats and dressed with buildings.
The Jewish Ghetto and Cannergio
The Cannergio sestieri, or district, with wide streets and public spaces, buzzes with a mix of locals and tourists. It has shops and is a place to buy everyday goods. Small alleyways lie off the main thoroughfare. Schools and green space demonstrate that there is more to life than tourism.
The main thoroughfare runs from Fondamenta di Santa Lucia (Santa Lucia Railway Station) to Strada Nova. Although there was no flooding during our stay, raised walkways, like tables, lay along parts of this road. Important routes in Venice keep raised walkways at the ready.
The through road hosts bustling market stalls, bread and sweet shops, and an odd mix of products. The stalls aspire to attract locals and tourists alike. Outside Campo Santissimi Apostoli we saw approximately 50 locals protesting, against what we could not tell. Men pushing two wheeled trolleys rushed goods to their point of sale.
Near Fondmenta Nove, where we took a Vaporetto to San Michele, abandoned and boarded up convent buildings stood next to the imposing white church of Santa Maria Assunta. This was on Campo dei Gesuiti. The sight of the ostentatious religious building on this wide, and empty, avenue of boarded up windows was quite striking. I wonder what the Jesuits would think. After all that effort to build it, it now stands next to desertion.
Cannergio is the home of the Jewish Ghetto, and attracts tourists away from San Marco. It was the first Jewish Ghetto ever and this was exciting news to me. 'Geto' in Venetian dialect refers to a foundry, and the Jewish population replaced the foundry. The name refers to what went before and nothing more.
We went to the Jewish Ghetto with a courtesy umbrella from our hotel. We turned it into a circular walk of sorts. I will describe it, and you can follow if you choose.
Starting at Fondamenta di Santa Lucia (Santa Lucia Station), we walked along Rio terrà Lista di Spagna, past the rain-soaked market stalls and raised walkways. We crossed a canal at Ponte Guglie, strode along Rio terrà San Leonardo, with its bread and sweet shops, and then headed northwards onto Rio terrà Farsetti. The synagogue signs lead to the ghetto, and we opted to follow these westwards.
We met Campo Ghetto Nuovo via an old gateway. In secular times, the gate would close at midnight. Christians then guarded it, paid by the Jews. It was an odd scenario.
The gate was no more. Instead, there was a big sign that said “Campo de Gheto Novo” clearly welcoming us or warning us away.
The Jewish population of Venice was confined to live in this area from 1516 to 1797. That is was the first ghetto is not something for Venice to regret. When other countries choose expulsion, Venice chose to resist. As a merchant city, Venice wanted to retain Jews. They placated the church by creating the ghetto, and it is told, that the Jews didn’t really mind. They enjoyed the benefits of a gated community. They did complain about being squashed.
In Barcelona, the ghetto streets are so narrow that one can imagine the cramped conditions. In Venice, most streets, ghetto or not, are narrow, and there are few public squares. Campo Ghetto Nuovo has a large and pleasant public square, with trees. TREES. In some ways, it seems spacious. You don’t get the same sense of overcrowding. The Venetian Jews built up instead of out, with buildings growing taller and taller.
Napoleon tore down the ghetto gates in 1797, but the people chose to stay.
Hitler deported and killed 200 Venetian Jews, during the Second World War, and it was then that ghetto lost its Jewish focus. According to the Jewish population of Venice, there are now about 600 Jews living in Venice and Mestre, and very few in the ghetto. All the same, the ghetto is experiencing resurgence. It hosts Jewish community activities, synagogues, Jewish community administrative offices, a museum, a rest home and a social centre.
While we were there, Campo Ghetto Nuovo also hosted a green sentry box, with armed men inside. Other photographs suggest that this is new, and we wondered if it might be due to recent Israeli and Palestine conflict.
We walked southeast through Ghetto Vecchio, past a synagogue and kosher shop. It was a little late for the museum.
Instead, we walked along Cannaregio Canal - the second largest canal in Venice – past more gateless gateways, well-kept buildings and shops. Reaching the lagoon waters, and driving rains, we wove our way back to Santa Lucia Station. We passed Parco Savorgnan, one of Venice’s rare parks, and the leafiest alleyway in town.
Having walked from Ca’ d’oro to Fondamenta Nuove before, we covered a lot of Cannergio on foot. I preferred it to the San Marco or Dorsoduro districts. The latter focus heavily on churches and tourism and Cannergio does not.
Dosoduro
It was in the Dosoduro sestieri that we found the Peggy Guggenheim museum. Our visit to the district started well. It was raining lightly, but manageably. As the day progressed, the rain continued abated. Suddenly, tolerance levels found themselves exceeded, and we frog marched back to the hotel.
The sights probably didn’t get the attention that they deserved, but we covered much of the region and had churches coming out of our bottoms. If you like churches, Venice is for you. Even for a non-church enthusiast, like me, some of the Dosoduro sights are well worth a repeat visit.
From the Guggenheim Museum, we headed south to Fondamente Zattere al Gesuati. The Zattere’s run along the edge of Canal Di San Marco, provide a view of La Giudecca island and, without any tourist ‘sell’, provide a great opportunity to walk alongside the urban landscape with the lagoon lapping at your side. This is where sailors and fisher-folk once lived. It now has a relatively suburban atmosphere.
We followed the basin-front to Ponte Lungo, where we turned right onto Fondamente Nani. There we saw a boathouse. It was so similar to those that sit on the edge of the Norfolk Broads that my heart sang. This was in Squero di San Trovaso. From across the canal, in front of the boathouse, we saw upturned gondolas, perhaps waiting for the rain to stop. We learnt that this is where gondolas are made and repaired. I felt oddly at home.
We crossed the bridge and turned back southwards, passing the church of San Trovasco, and its three wells. Instead of collecting groundwater, the residents would collect rain. It was raining when we went by. Churches and wells seem to exist in partnership in Venice. If you see a church, a well is usually to hand.
We turned again, right, onto Fondamente Bontini and proceeded along the road as it turned into Fondamente Ognissanti. There, we passed a former convent, now a hospital. We learnt that it once housed nuns that escaped Torcello during the malarial days. I was tempted to go in. The building looked bold and shabby on the outside, but large signage indicated a professional interior. I have a nosiness for such places. The grit of life must live inside.
The reason I loved this walk, despite the rain, is because I got to see not one, but two boathouses. From the bridge at the end of Fondamente Ognissanti, we stood looking directly over the Squero (boathouse) and it was more impressive than the first. Even though the rain was now soaking through our trousers, and there was an ugly building site to our left, I found myself delighted with the view. To our left was the realism of construction, and to our right the fairytale world of boats.
From the narrow Calle della Chiesa, we turned right onto the Fondamenta Bontini, and then left across the canal. We found ourselves in a piazza between two great churches, with San Sebastiano on our left and Angelo Raffaele on our right. The oddly shaped public space felt good to walk through. We continued along the Fondamenta Pescheria, and over a bridge protected by a startling encased Jesus.
We briefly looked at the church of San Nicolo dei Mendicioli, rebuilt many times since the 12th century and, undoubtedly, a highlight for some, and then headed back the way we had come; along the Fondamenta Barbargio, and then back across the canal into the courtyard of Santa Maria dei Carmini Church. The huge gothic building before us, stood astern and imposing. The building does not encourage fun. There is no fun to be had here, it says.
Then we stepped into the Rio Terrà della Scoazzera and our rain-soaked hearts rose. Rio Terrà della Scoazzera transforms into a large square, called Campo Santa Margherita. The square hosts trees, more glorious trees. Lined with homespun cafes, and boasting an irregular shape, the piazza is warm and welcoming, even on a cold and wet day. There is a quirky building that sits alone in its heart. Apparently, this is the Scuola dei Varoteri. It once housed furriers. Campo Santa Margherita is a Venice highlight.
At its northern tip, we left Campo Santa Margherita and the Dorsoduro district. We found a wonderful shop selling freshly made bread, pizzas and soya milk all for a reasonable price. Feeling cheered by our first and last successful shop in Venice, we headed for warmth.
Rialto Bridge and Market
Rialto Bridge crosses the Grand Canal. Rialto Bridge is the oldest of the Grand Canal’s bridges. As bridges go, I didn’t find it very impressive. It’s a sight worth seeing, but not a wonder of the world.
The oddest aspect of Rialto Bridge is that it hosts three walkways. If you take the middle walkway, you could miss the whole bridge thing altogether. Shops line either side of it and hide the canal. The tourist hellholes, that they probably are, stood shut for winter.
There is a good view of the canal from the side walkways and tourists gather to snap, snap, snap.
Rialto market is close by. It’s smaller than Norwich market. The focus is on fresh food. Artichokes in water, courgettes wearing flowers and old Seville oranges fill stalls. We bought oranges and they were dry and tasteless. Fresh dates were expensive – four for €1.50 – and perhaps Rialto market isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
There is an impressive line of seafood stalls.
You can see a little video of the Bridge and Market here:
Rialto Bridge and Market Film
Final Venice Tips
Recommended Websites:
viewer.arounder.com
europeforvisitors.com
museumplanet.com
Recommended Resources
Eyewitness Pocket Guide and Map: Venice
Insight Fleximap: Venice (it’s waterproof)
Fabpants Recommends: I’m enjoying the resurgence of morose music.
I rated The White Lies as ‘Fucking Awesome’ at Latitude Festival last year and truly enjoyed their bottom of rung support slot at the Concorde2 last May. Do I like their number 1, bestselling album? Hell no! During the first track, I had to stop myself from yelling out ‘Oh, will you please stop wailing’. It’s stadium wank rock. What a shame.
Alas, it is not to be.
Fortunately, there are more doom and gloom mongers for 2009. Where’s there’s misery there’s hope. It’s not very often that I’ll praise an NME giveaway, but their ‘Pictures of You’ album - made up of covers versions of The Cure - is brilliant.
When Dinosaur Jr’s cover of ‘Just Like Heaven’ came on I found myself back at college. I used to have that very song on a cassette mix-tape, made for me by one Mr Banyard in 1989. It had the same abrupt ending too.
Download MP3: Dinosaur Jr - Just Like Heaven (courtesy of coverlaydown.com)
Initially the drums on this track confused me, now I love them:
Download MP3: Marmaduke Duke – Friday I’m in Love (courtesy of 8106.tv)
The Cure revival was evident in town yesterday. In one pub, they played a best of CD on a loop. There’s something wrong with that in a public environment. In another, they played several tracks mixed in with a great selection of tunes. It was a far better mix than at the Silent Disco later. Last night, the Silent Disco DJ sets were surprisingly poor. I expect them to be poptastic in a highest common dominator dreadful pop kind of way. That’s a detour though.
Crystal Stilts ‘Alight of Night’ secretes gentle and soothing misery. Gloomy, warm and lovely. The Jesus and Mary Chain, they imitate, but are not. Crystal Stilts are a little one dimensional and certainly have room for improvement. This song is rather wonderful though:
Download MP3: Crystal Stilts – The City in the Sea (courtesy of Frocksdemilo.files.wordpress.com)
Download MP3: The Jesus and Mary Chain – April Skies (courtesy of bnc.yi.org)
Finally, I highly recommend the Maupa album ‘Run Sleep Run’. Maupa create bleak, desolate and beautiful music. Allow the album to seep into your subconscious and bestow a visual imagery of dour industrial towns, and gloomy alluring lands.
Download MP3: Maupa - Run Sleep Run (sorry, this link is dead)
Download MP3: Maupa - Milky Eyes (sorry, this link is dead)
Part 2 is here: Venetian Dreams: Water Buses and Islands
Part 3 is here: Venetian Dreams: The Obligatory Museums
The best thing about outdoor spaces is that they are free. They tend to involve you in, or allow you to witness, the real life of a place. They satisfy the greed of wanderlust. On a cold and wet day, they can be just that: cold and wet. That’s real life for you.
Canal Di San Marco, Castello and Sant‘Elena
When the Grand Canal has finished snaking from north to south, it greets Canal Di San Marco (Saint Mark’s Basin).
If you visit Piazza San Marco (or Saint Mark’s Square) - the prime tourist spot of the city - Canal Di San Marco is next door. When the water levels rise, the basin and the square become as one. Stepping-stones provide a walkway through the flood. It was wet, but it wasn’t that wet.
Instead of visiting Piazza San Marco first, we decided to meet a little of the city. Starting at Palazzo Giustinian, we walked along the water’s edge from San Marco district, or sestiere, into Castello. Across the water, we could see the island of La Giudecca, the grand domed of church of Santa Maria della Salute and, to its left, Dogana di Mare. The latter sit at the tip of Dorsoduro district and, with a map in hand, are easy to identify. I recommend buying a waterproof city map before leaving home. Dogana di Mare is an old customs house and in the shadow of the great churches’ dome, the customs house has a feature of its own. On top of a short white tower, sits a golden globe, and on top of that stands a woman who points with the wind.
We slipped past Piazza San Marco to find a very small public garden called Giardini ex Reali. It’s size exemplifies the lack of green space in Venice, but we were on a quest to find more. We raised our noses snobbishly and walked on.
Past the Doges Palace and past the Bridge of Sighs, we headed eastwards. In the summer, this is a place of funfair rides, sweet treats and pickpockets. In the cold, we walked past closed tourist attractions and enjoyed the peace. Pink lampposts, nearby islands, a wide promenade and gentle waves set the scene. It was dry, but cold. A young couple sat on a bench sideways. Silhouetted against the water, they faced each other. With her legs folded, they tucked neatly inside his. With locked eyes, they were eighteen or nineteen and in lust.
Small detours allowed us to view the alleyways and the houses where people live. The streets wore washing and communal dead-ends told us of life, but people were few. It was ideal. Street hung washing delights me. Colourful t-shirts, empty jeans, billowing jumpers or well-washed whites, there is something quite beautiful about washing. Freshly hung or nearly dry, washing is a storyteller. It dresses streets, adorns gardens, and adds life whenever it dries. It provides a public exhibition of a private world.
Whether in Zanzibar, Barcelona or Venice, street hung washing is a travelling favourite. It means so much more than historic relics or tourist draws. Money and power make landmarks. Washing is part of the life that all of us live. I could travel the world taking photographs of drying clothes and die happy. Such images would create an exhibition so colourful, so real and so levelling, that I could never leave.
Back in Venice, on an archaic hotel television, I watched a weather forecast sponsored by Confetti. That was before I started to see confetti everywhere. There are other ways to create colour in streets. On an unguided and unscripted walk along Canal Di San Marco, we always returned to the water, the promenade and confetti.
Now when I shut my eyes, small colourful shapes, cut from paper, pattern my eyelids. We saw so much confetti that it’s left a indelible image in my mind. A small girl held a large bag aloft, and she threw it to the world. It filled her sister’s hood, spread wildly across the pavement, scattered all across Venice and then travelled with the wind to Rome. We saw it thrown once, but it was everywhere.
Then, we found green. It was landscaped and tamed. The promenade continues to the tip of the Castello district and circles the largest park we found. In fact, two parks sit alongside each other. They create a large public space, with swings, trees, benches, statues and archways. They are Giardini Pubblici Park and Parco delle Rimembranze. A group of young people rollerbladed and cycled by. Young families strolled. It was quiet, but not empty.
We walked over a bridge, and when Giardini Pubblici became Parco delle Rimembranze, we found ourselves on the island of Sant‘Elena. Centro storico is all islands, but Sant’Elena has retained its island status in name. It’s a lovely part of town. Gated communities live there. Perhaps there are threats from parkland wolves, degenerates or rabid tourists.
We walked along a wide, tree-lined pedestrianised street called via 4 Novembre - not via five Novembre - and turned left at the gated community onto via 24 Maggio. Why the streets are named with number is a mystery to me. We crossed the river, which has an accessible bridge, with ramps, and followed the locals along Pakudo Sant’ Antonio. There were rows and rows of fabulous washing hung over this street. Rio Terra di San Guiseppe took us to Parco delle Rimembranze. On the other side of the park, we took a Vaporetto back to San Marco.
That was the end of a lovely walk. It was simple and easy, and there was green.
If you follow it, you can see Piazza San Marco beforehand, afterwards or both.
Piazza San Marco
Piazza San Marco is a famous square, that’s not square at all. It’s trapezoid. You can get there on a number 1 or number 2 Vaporetto. It’s signed posted all over Centro storico for walkers. You can’t miss it.
If you travel within the safety home, you can see it here:
Piazza San Marco All Round View
Of all the buildings in the Piazza, the Basilica is the most impressive. It has five domes and is impressively decorated. It’s also free to get in, and not much is in Venice.
I bought an Eyewitness Pocket Map and Guide for Venice, which I’d heartily recommend. Its size, content and style make it a good companion. The map of Vaporetto routes is particularly useful.
The guide contains a particularly impressive diagram of the Basilica and Doges Palace, with explanations. It seems that Saint Mark’s body has a symbiotic relationship with the history of Basilica di San Marco. Venetian’s monks stole it from Egypt, it was lost in a fire in 976AD and then reappeared in 1094 when the church was consecrated. Apparently, it now lies in the altar. Or does it?
Ultimately, Piazza San Marco is a large public space, covered in paving slabs. The buildings and water that enclose it, are what makes it special. Doges Palace, Museo Civico Correr, Basilica di San Marco, Campanile si San Marco and Saint Marks Basin make this square a natural magnet for day-trippers and tourists.
Tourists can’t sit unless they pay to. Pigeons can. Personally, I prefer Trafalgar Square, with its multiple steps, gushing fountains and low walls, all available as seating and picnicking. Trafalgar Square also has many free public events and free toilets. Piazza San Marco wants your money.
It was quiet when we were there, and these are the benefits of travelling in the cold.
The Grand Canal
You can see this by Vaporetto or foot. I suggest a bit of both, mixed with some sightseeing. It’s a wide waterway filled with boats and dressed with buildings.
The Jewish Ghetto and Cannergio
The Cannergio sestieri, or district, with wide streets and public spaces, buzzes with a mix of locals and tourists. It has shops and is a place to buy everyday goods. Small alleyways lie off the main thoroughfare. Schools and green space demonstrate that there is more to life than tourism.
The main thoroughfare runs from Fondamenta di Santa Lucia (Santa Lucia Railway Station) to Strada Nova. Although there was no flooding during our stay, raised walkways, like tables, lay along parts of this road. Important routes in Venice keep raised walkways at the ready.
The through road hosts bustling market stalls, bread and sweet shops, and an odd mix of products. The stalls aspire to attract locals and tourists alike. Outside Campo Santissimi Apostoli we saw approximately 50 locals protesting, against what we could not tell. Men pushing two wheeled trolleys rushed goods to their point of sale.
Near Fondmenta Nove, where we took a Vaporetto to San Michele, abandoned and boarded up convent buildings stood next to the imposing white church of Santa Maria Assunta. This was on Campo dei Gesuiti. The sight of the ostentatious religious building on this wide, and empty, avenue of boarded up windows was quite striking. I wonder what the Jesuits would think. After all that effort to build it, it now stands next to desertion.
Cannergio is the home of the Jewish Ghetto, and attracts tourists away from San Marco. It was the first Jewish Ghetto ever and this was exciting news to me. 'Geto' in Venetian dialect refers to a foundry, and the Jewish population replaced the foundry. The name refers to what went before and nothing more.
We went to the Jewish Ghetto with a courtesy umbrella from our hotel. We turned it into a circular walk of sorts. I will describe it, and you can follow if you choose.
Starting at Fondamenta di Santa Lucia (Santa Lucia Station), we walked along Rio terrà Lista di Spagna, past the rain-soaked market stalls and raised walkways. We crossed a canal at Ponte Guglie, strode along Rio terrà San Leonardo, with its bread and sweet shops, and then headed northwards onto Rio terrà Farsetti. The synagogue signs lead to the ghetto, and we opted to follow these westwards.
We met Campo Ghetto Nuovo via an old gateway. In secular times, the gate would close at midnight. Christians then guarded it, paid by the Jews. It was an odd scenario.
The gate was no more. Instead, there was a big sign that said “Campo de Gheto Novo” clearly welcoming us or warning us away.
The Jewish population of Venice was confined to live in this area from 1516 to 1797. That is was the first ghetto is not something for Venice to regret. When other countries choose expulsion, Venice chose to resist. As a merchant city, Venice wanted to retain Jews. They placated the church by creating the ghetto, and it is told, that the Jews didn’t really mind. They enjoyed the benefits of a gated community. They did complain about being squashed.
In Barcelona, the ghetto streets are so narrow that one can imagine the cramped conditions. In Venice, most streets, ghetto or not, are narrow, and there are few public squares. Campo Ghetto Nuovo has a large and pleasant public square, with trees. TREES. In some ways, it seems spacious. You don’t get the same sense of overcrowding. The Venetian Jews built up instead of out, with buildings growing taller and taller.
Napoleon tore down the ghetto gates in 1797, but the people chose to stay.
Hitler deported and killed 200 Venetian Jews, during the Second World War, and it was then that ghetto lost its Jewish focus. According to the Jewish population of Venice, there are now about 600 Jews living in Venice and Mestre, and very few in the ghetto. All the same, the ghetto is experiencing resurgence. It hosts Jewish community activities, synagogues, Jewish community administrative offices, a museum, a rest home and a social centre.
While we were there, Campo Ghetto Nuovo also hosted a green sentry box, with armed men inside. Other photographs suggest that this is new, and we wondered if it might be due to recent Israeli and Palestine conflict.
We walked southeast through Ghetto Vecchio, past a synagogue and kosher shop. It was a little late for the museum.
Instead, we walked along Cannaregio Canal - the second largest canal in Venice – past more gateless gateways, well-kept buildings and shops. Reaching the lagoon waters, and driving rains, we wove our way back to Santa Lucia Station. We passed Parco Savorgnan, one of Venice’s rare parks, and the leafiest alleyway in town.
Having walked from Ca’ d’oro to Fondamenta Nuove before, we covered a lot of Cannergio on foot. I preferred it to the San Marco or Dorsoduro districts. The latter focus heavily on churches and tourism and Cannergio does not.
Dosoduro
It was in the Dosoduro sestieri that we found the Peggy Guggenheim museum. Our visit to the district started well. It was raining lightly, but manageably. As the day progressed, the rain continued abated. Suddenly, tolerance levels found themselves exceeded, and we frog marched back to the hotel.
The sights probably didn’t get the attention that they deserved, but we covered much of the region and had churches coming out of our bottoms. If you like churches, Venice is for you. Even for a non-church enthusiast, like me, some of the Dosoduro sights are well worth a repeat visit.
From the Guggenheim Museum, we headed south to Fondamente Zattere al Gesuati. The Zattere’s run along the edge of Canal Di San Marco, provide a view of La Giudecca island and, without any tourist ‘sell’, provide a great opportunity to walk alongside the urban landscape with the lagoon lapping at your side. This is where sailors and fisher-folk once lived. It now has a relatively suburban atmosphere.
We followed the basin-front to Ponte Lungo, where we turned right onto Fondamente Nani. There we saw a boathouse. It was so similar to those that sit on the edge of the Norfolk Broads that my heart sang. This was in Squero di San Trovaso. From across the canal, in front of the boathouse, we saw upturned gondolas, perhaps waiting for the rain to stop. We learnt that this is where gondolas are made and repaired. I felt oddly at home.
We crossed the bridge and turned back southwards, passing the church of San Trovasco, and its three wells. Instead of collecting groundwater, the residents would collect rain. It was raining when we went by. Churches and wells seem to exist in partnership in Venice. If you see a church, a well is usually to hand.
We turned again, right, onto Fondamente Bontini and proceeded along the road as it turned into Fondamente Ognissanti. There, we passed a former convent, now a hospital. We learnt that it once housed nuns that escaped Torcello during the malarial days. I was tempted to go in. The building looked bold and shabby on the outside, but large signage indicated a professional interior. I have a nosiness for such places. The grit of life must live inside.
The reason I loved this walk, despite the rain, is because I got to see not one, but two boathouses. From the bridge at the end of Fondamente Ognissanti, we stood looking directly over the Squero (boathouse) and it was more impressive than the first. Even though the rain was now soaking through our trousers, and there was an ugly building site to our left, I found myself delighted with the view. To our left was the realism of construction, and to our right the fairytale world of boats.
From the narrow Calle della Chiesa, we turned right onto the Fondamenta Bontini, and then left across the canal. We found ourselves in a piazza between two great churches, with San Sebastiano on our left and Angelo Raffaele on our right. The oddly shaped public space felt good to walk through. We continued along the Fondamenta Pescheria, and over a bridge protected by a startling encased Jesus.
We briefly looked at the church of San Nicolo dei Mendicioli, rebuilt many times since the 12th century and, undoubtedly, a highlight for some, and then headed back the way we had come; along the Fondamenta Barbargio, and then back across the canal into the courtyard of Santa Maria dei Carmini Church. The huge gothic building before us, stood astern and imposing. The building does not encourage fun. There is no fun to be had here, it says.
Then we stepped into the Rio Terrà della Scoazzera and our rain-soaked hearts rose. Rio Terrà della Scoazzera transforms into a large square, called Campo Santa Margherita. The square hosts trees, more glorious trees. Lined with homespun cafes, and boasting an irregular shape, the piazza is warm and welcoming, even on a cold and wet day. There is a quirky building that sits alone in its heart. Apparently, this is the Scuola dei Varoteri. It once housed furriers. Campo Santa Margherita is a Venice highlight.
At its northern tip, we left Campo Santa Margherita and the Dorsoduro district. We found a wonderful shop selling freshly made bread, pizzas and soya milk all for a reasonable price. Feeling cheered by our first and last successful shop in Venice, we headed for warmth.
Rialto Bridge and Market
Rialto Bridge crosses the Grand Canal. Rialto Bridge is the oldest of the Grand Canal’s bridges. As bridges go, I didn’t find it very impressive. It’s a sight worth seeing, but not a wonder of the world.
The oddest aspect of Rialto Bridge is that it hosts three walkways. If you take the middle walkway, you could miss the whole bridge thing altogether. Shops line either side of it and hide the canal. The tourist hellholes, that they probably are, stood shut for winter.
There is a good view of the canal from the side walkways and tourists gather to snap, snap, snap.
Rialto market is close by. It’s smaller than Norwich market. The focus is on fresh food. Artichokes in water, courgettes wearing flowers and old Seville oranges fill stalls. We bought oranges and they were dry and tasteless. Fresh dates were expensive – four for €1.50 – and perhaps Rialto market isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
There is an impressive line of seafood stalls.
You can see a little video of the Bridge and Market here:
Rialto Bridge and Market Film
Final Venice Tips
Recommended Websites:
viewer.arounder.com
europeforvisitors.com
museumplanet.com
Recommended Resources
Eyewitness Pocket Guide and Map: Venice
Insight Fleximap: Venice (it’s waterproof)
Fabpants Recommends: I’m enjoying the resurgence of morose music.
I rated The White Lies as ‘Fucking Awesome’ at Latitude Festival last year and truly enjoyed their bottom of rung support slot at the Concorde2 last May. Do I like their number 1, bestselling album? Hell no! During the first track, I had to stop myself from yelling out ‘Oh, will you please stop wailing’. It’s stadium wank rock. What a shame.
Alas, it is not to be.
Fortunately, there are more doom and gloom mongers for 2009. Where’s there’s misery there’s hope. It’s not very often that I’ll praise an NME giveaway, but their ‘Pictures of You’ album - made up of covers versions of The Cure - is brilliant.
When Dinosaur Jr’s cover of ‘Just Like Heaven’ came on I found myself back at college. I used to have that very song on a cassette mix-tape, made for me by one Mr Banyard in 1989. It had the same abrupt ending too.
Download MP3: Dinosaur Jr - Just Like Heaven (courtesy of coverlaydown.com)
Initially the drums on this track confused me, now I love them:
Download MP3: Marmaduke Duke – Friday I’m in Love (courtesy of 8106.tv)
The Cure revival was evident in town yesterday. In one pub, they played a best of CD on a loop. There’s something wrong with that in a public environment. In another, they played several tracks mixed in with a great selection of tunes. It was a far better mix than at the Silent Disco later. Last night, the Silent Disco DJ sets were surprisingly poor. I expect them to be poptastic in a highest common dominator dreadful pop kind of way. That’s a detour though.
Crystal Stilts ‘Alight of Night’ secretes gentle and soothing misery. Gloomy, warm and lovely. The Jesus and Mary Chain, they imitate, but are not. Crystal Stilts are a little one dimensional and certainly have room for improvement. This song is rather wonderful though:
Download MP3: Crystal Stilts – The City in the Sea (courtesy of Frocksdemilo.files.wordpress.com)
Download MP3: The Jesus and Mary Chain – April Skies (courtesy of bnc.yi.org)
Finally, I highly recommend the Maupa album ‘Run Sleep Run’. Maupa create bleak, desolate and beautiful music. Allow the album to seep into your subconscious and bestow a visual imagery of dour industrial towns, and gloomy alluring lands.
Download MP3: Maupa - Run Sleep Run (sorry, this link is dead)
Download MP3: Maupa - Milky Eyes (sorry, this link is dead)
Monday, 2 March 2009
I Hate Firefox: A Guest Entry by Grumpy Missives
Here comes the second article in my guest entry series. If you hate Microsoft, have you ever thought that you could be wrong?
Why does Apple get away with being such a big bastard monopoly without the world calling them evil?
That’s by the by. Today, we’re here to learn about Firefox.
Firefox? Lovely free software, open-source code, not-for-profit, faster than light, visits your ailing granny at the weekends and so on.
Don’t act like a corporation and no one will think you are one. Firefox have foxed the world.
They do make money. They really do. Check out the Mozilla Corporation if you think they don’t. That’s all I have to say. I’ll let Grumpy do the rest.
I Hate Firefox
by Grumpy Missives
OK, well the title of this article is a bit over the top, but hopefully it will Google well and I want to be heard.
"Well why use it?" I hear you ask. There are two main reasons why I use it:
Reason 1
I develop websites and I need to test that my creations don't break in Firefox. Damn Firefox.
Reason 2
Firefox does not understand Microsoft's domain policy. If a hypothetical company somewhere near me uses a domain policy to stop employees from accessing dodgy websites, Firefox will not understand. This leads to a situation where a certain employee can access his webmail, and even listen to low quality Myspace songs at work. The horror, the horror.
That doesn’t stop me hating it.
There are a few things that I don't like about Firefox and I’m going to rant about them now. Buckle up, here goes.
Reasons to Hate Firefox
Evangelists
First on that list, by far, is the Firefox evangelists. How Firefox has managed to attract such blind loyalty and devotion from so many otherwise normal people is a mystery. Apparently, 25% of non-porn traffic (NPT) on the Interweb is devoted to bashing Internet Explorer and praising Firefox. Which is astonishing as 74.9% of NPT is Facebook status updates and Twitters saying "At my desk...scratching my balls" [citation needed].
Fussy HTML rendering
The evangelists lead me on to the second thing I hate about Firefox. Generally, it would appear that most are web designers endlessly droning on about Firefox's superior adherence to web standards. Well, a giant whoop-de-do. I'm sure that the millions of amateur website creators out there are very happy that although their website looked great in Dreamweaver and IE, it’s unusable in Firefox. This is teaching them valuable lessons about coding standards, not frustrating the hell out of them.
I tend to develop websites testing mainly in IE and then later in the other browsers. This has lead to many fascinating hours spent trying to figure out the strange take that Firefox has on displaying websites. Run a search for "Firefox" and "Whitespace" to find some of the many millions of other souls damaged by this monster.
Don't get me wrong, I love web standards but that’s because I am a geek. Firefox's unwillingness to forgive normal people making mistakes when creating websites seems malicious, especially when Firefox's own adherence to standards is a bit suspect.
Automatic Updates
The third thing that I hate about Firefox is the automatic updates. In my personal list of bad updaters, Firefox gets first prize. Third place goes to AVG anti-virus for really pointless in-your-face updating. Second place goes to the Adobe updater for repetitively poking me for a reaction. What sane person could be expected to care that Adobe reader just went from version 9.1.1 to 9.1.2. It's just bloody-mindedness.
Firefox is the shitty update king though. It's like an attention starved child who's learned a new trick. [Update] Mozilla seem to have somewhat sorted this out with later versions of Firefox 2 and with Firefox 3. It still recently reduced my full screen YouTube video back to window size, to tell me something i didn't want to know. So I decided to keep this in as a permanent reminder.
Cookies
Being a paranoid sort of chap, I like to tinker with my browser cookie settings. I dislike the idea of being tracked across the internet by Google and Doubleclick. If I have a fondness for music blogs and Hello Kitty, that's my business. As a web developer, I know that cookies have their place. Deleting all of my cookies when the browser closes can lead to some frustration and an inbox full of password reminder emails.
Internet Explorer and old versions of Firefox make it nice and easy. Just go to the browser privacy menu and choose to accept first-party cookies and reject third-party cookies. OK not a perfect solution, but pretty good and very easy. Plus the cookies that slip through give my spyware checker something to complain about.
How do you do this in the new versions of Firefox? Well, start by rolling up one trouser leg and hopping in a circle three times. Next, start Firefox and type "about:config" into the address bar. You may get a warning at this point along the lines of "What are you doing Dave?". Type network.cookie.cookieBehavior into the snazzy filter field at the top. Right-click on this option and choose "Modify". Change the value to 1 to disallow all third-party cookies; change it to 2 to disable all cookies; change it to 0 to accept all cookies. Then kill yourself if you got a step wrong.
Me: The IE Apologist
So what browser should you be using? Well Opera has a nice interface but web developers suck at testing with it. Safari can be fast but the weirdly absent or minimal status bar freaks me out. Firefox has some pretty cool extensions but I seem to remember not liking it for some reason. Chrome looks to have some great user interface features, but Google's record on privacy is scary. Lynx is for people who like their information very dry, like a red wine that adds fur to your tongue.
I'll be sticking with Internet Explorer for the moment. Yes, I know it (so far) treats web standards with contempt, and Microsoft is the devil that killed Netscape. Also hackers will always target the biggest browser with their shenanigans. However, it’s easy to use and every website is tested for it.
At least every website is tested for IE 7, IE 8 so far doesn't work with any websites in default mode but that's another story.
The most recent security flaw also showed that Microsoft can get a patch out in under a day, if it is reported widely enough in the press. I have always felt that the crazy pace of growth on the Internet at the end of the 90's, was partly due to MS bundling IE with Windows. Every owner of a new PC got that tempting little "Internet" icon on their desktop, just begging them to buy a modem. The loss of the crappy little browser that was Netscape was a small price to pay for those heady days of HotOrNot and Fark.
Grumpy Recommends:
Download MP3: Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – I Came Here to Hear the Music (courtesy of thelookback.com)
Why does Apple get away with being such a big bastard monopoly without the world calling them evil?
That’s by the by. Today, we’re here to learn about Firefox.
Firefox? Lovely free software, open-source code, not-for-profit, faster than light, visits your ailing granny at the weekends and so on.
Don’t act like a corporation and no one will think you are one. Firefox have foxed the world.
They do make money. They really do. Check out the Mozilla Corporation if you think they don’t. That’s all I have to say. I’ll let Grumpy do the rest.
I Hate Firefox
by Grumpy Missives
OK, well the title of this article is a bit over the top, but hopefully it will Google well and I want to be heard.
"Well why use it?" I hear you ask. There are two main reasons why I use it:
Reason 1
I develop websites and I need to test that my creations don't break in Firefox. Damn Firefox.
Reason 2
Firefox does not understand Microsoft's domain policy. If a hypothetical company somewhere near me uses a domain policy to stop employees from accessing dodgy websites, Firefox will not understand. This leads to a situation where a certain employee can access his webmail, and even listen to low quality Myspace songs at work. The horror, the horror.
That doesn’t stop me hating it.
There are a few things that I don't like about Firefox and I’m going to rant about them now. Buckle up, here goes.
Reasons to Hate Firefox
Evangelists
First on that list, by far, is the Firefox evangelists. How Firefox has managed to attract such blind loyalty and devotion from so many otherwise normal people is a mystery. Apparently, 25% of non-porn traffic (NPT) on the Interweb is devoted to bashing Internet Explorer and praising Firefox. Which is astonishing as 74.9% of NPT is Facebook status updates and Twitters saying "At my desk...scratching my balls" [citation needed].
Fussy HTML rendering
The evangelists lead me on to the second thing I hate about Firefox. Generally, it would appear that most are web designers endlessly droning on about Firefox's superior adherence to web standards. Well, a giant whoop-de-do. I'm sure that the millions of amateur website creators out there are very happy that although their website looked great in Dreamweaver and IE, it’s unusable in Firefox. This is teaching them valuable lessons about coding standards, not frustrating the hell out of them.
I tend to develop websites testing mainly in IE and then later in the other browsers. This has lead to many fascinating hours spent trying to figure out the strange take that Firefox has on displaying websites. Run a search for "Firefox" and "Whitespace" to find some of the many millions of other souls damaged by this monster.
Don't get me wrong, I love web standards but that’s because I am a geek. Firefox's unwillingness to forgive normal people making mistakes when creating websites seems malicious, especially when Firefox's own adherence to standards is a bit suspect.
Automatic Updates
The third thing that I hate about Firefox is the automatic updates. In my personal list of bad updaters, Firefox gets first prize. Third place goes to AVG anti-virus for really pointless in-your-face updating. Second place goes to the Adobe updater for repetitively poking me for a reaction. What sane person could be expected to care that Adobe reader just went from version 9.1.1 to 9.1.2. It's just bloody-mindedness.
Firefox is the shitty update king though. It's like an attention starved child who's learned a new trick. [Update] Mozilla seem to have somewhat sorted this out with later versions of Firefox 2 and with Firefox 3. It still recently reduced my full screen YouTube video back to window size, to tell me something i didn't want to know. So I decided to keep this in as a permanent reminder.
Cookies
Being a paranoid sort of chap, I like to tinker with my browser cookie settings. I dislike the idea of being tracked across the internet by Google and Doubleclick. If I have a fondness for music blogs and Hello Kitty, that's my business. As a web developer, I know that cookies have their place. Deleting all of my cookies when the browser closes can lead to some frustration and an inbox full of password reminder emails.
Internet Explorer and old versions of Firefox make it nice and easy. Just go to the browser privacy menu and choose to accept first-party cookies and reject third-party cookies. OK not a perfect solution, but pretty good and very easy. Plus the cookies that slip through give my spyware checker something to complain about.
How do you do this in the new versions of Firefox? Well, start by rolling up one trouser leg and hopping in a circle three times. Next, start Firefox and type "about:config" into the address bar. You may get a warning at this point along the lines of "What are you doing Dave?". Type network.cookie.cookieBehavior into the snazzy filter field at the top. Right-click on this option and choose "Modify". Change the value to 1 to disallow all third-party cookies; change it to 2 to disable all cookies; change it to 0 to accept all cookies. Then kill yourself if you got a step wrong.
Me: The IE Apologist
So what browser should you be using? Well Opera has a nice interface but web developers suck at testing with it. Safari can be fast but the weirdly absent or minimal status bar freaks me out. Firefox has some pretty cool extensions but I seem to remember not liking it for some reason. Chrome looks to have some great user interface features, but Google's record on privacy is scary. Lynx is for people who like their information very dry, like a red wine that adds fur to your tongue.
I'll be sticking with Internet Explorer for the moment. Yes, I know it (so far) treats web standards with contempt, and Microsoft is the devil that killed Netscape. Also hackers will always target the biggest browser with their shenanigans. However, it’s easy to use and every website is tested for it.
At least every website is tested for IE 7, IE 8 so far doesn't work with any websites in default mode but that's another story.
The most recent security flaw also showed that Microsoft can get a patch out in under a day, if it is reported widely enough in the press. I have always felt that the crazy pace of growth on the Internet at the end of the 90's, was partly due to MS bundling IE with Windows. Every owner of a new PC got that tempting little "Internet" icon on their desktop, just begging them to buy a modem. The loss of the crappy little browser that was Netscape was a small price to pay for those heady days of HotOrNot and Fark.
Grumpy Recommends:
Download MP3: Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – I Came Here to Hear the Music (courtesy of thelookback.com)
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Venetian Dreams: The Obligatory Museums
Part 1 is here: Venetian Dreams: An Introduction
Part 2 is here: Venetian Dreams: Water Buses and Islands
We visited a few museums in Venice, including the Doge’s Palace and the Correr Museum, but the Peggy Guggenheim Museum was by far the best. What follows is one opinionated person’s view of the museum trail.
The Doge’s Palace
When we decided to visit this museum, we were cold. Please bare this in mind. The aim was to spend a little money on warming up. It was the only aim. The museum did not fulfil this requirement. It failed miserably. It was colder inside than out. Everyone wore coats, hats and gloves and some still rubbed their hands together to make warmth. It was fucking freezing.
The first few rooms were full of columns. Initially, a column or two is interesting, but the scene soon gets dull. Monumentally dull. I could take no more. We entered a vast room filled with more defunct ancient roof bearers than any that preceded it and walked straight out. We were cold, bored and more interested in the ancient art of heating. Don’t get me wrong, an ornate column can be a work of wonder, but a collection of columns, that hold up nothing, in bitterly cold and mostly bare rooms, is for the hardcore.
This sums up the general ambience of The Doge’s Palace. It is cold, repetitive and mostly empty. They could condense the contents into fewer rooms, and it would be far more interesting. Did I mention heating? And, what about seating?
The Doge’s Palace is a vast museum to walk around, and every chair or bench is dressed with rope to obstruct weary rest breaks. The only place that they heat and seat is the cafe. Here, they insisted that we pay for an exorbitantly expensive table service. Meanwhile, a kinder pricelist for self-service stared straight at us. We are not above serving ourselves.
In the museum's display rooms, the staff sat or stood in corners, wrapped up in thick coats and looking miserable with the climate. Some hovered over air conditioning units that gave off as much heat as an old fart.
Aspects of the museum were impressive. They have a map room, called The Shield Room, which is to die for. Large painted maps of the world adorn the walls and vast globes take the centre. I like maps. I would like a map room. This is an impressive map room.
The palace also hosts a notable armoury, with crossbows, armour and swords. Some of the swords are so big that only a giant could lift them. It’s hard to believe that such items are truly a part of human history and not fantasy. I can’t help but be amazed. I should be shocked. They are brilliant, but brutal. I like defensive castles too. Hot boiling tar on your head anyone?
Yes, I’m a pacifist beguiled by the wonderful, wild and violent society that inhabited this earth in medieval times. Wandering minstrels, castles and armour: they are all like a fantastical dream.
Perhaps one of the most famous aspects of The Doges Palace is the bridge with a harrowing name. The Bridge of Sighs is named after the groans of devastated prisoners. It served as a space between courtroom and cell. It’s easy to walk over it without realising its full significance. I did and had to backtrack.
Unfortunately, the museum lacks information about the prisoners and the prison cells. Throughout, it fails to reconstruct history in an imaginative or inspiring way. This is a shame. I love learning about prisons. My fascination with prisons is worse than my penchant for castles. I suggest that the museum curators visit Kilmainham Gaol. It could teach them a lot about sharing history and firing up the old grey matter.
It was only on my return home, that I learnt that Casanova once lived in a Doges Palace prison cell. It seems that the rampant young devil had seduced too many high-class wives. Charged with ‘irreligious behaviour’, Casanova found himself in a prison cell. Casanova escaped in 1756 and it’s said that on the Golden Staircase, which has a ceiling so bright and garish that it hurts while it impresses, a guard mistook Casanova for a politician and let him out. Such stories written on a plaque would certainly have fuelled more interest. I guess that’s why you pay for a Secret Itinerary tour or an audio guide, but the entry tickets were truly pricey and we opted against having a talking machine or person.
Despite the poor presentation and welcome, the palace has a lot to offer. In the rooms, there are laminated information sheets, but they are quite dull to read.
The Palace includes an impressive courtyard and there are grand rooms, in perfect condition, where important governmental business once took place. The rooms that politics once breathed life into are truly striking and, if you have any interest in the political affairs, a visit is essential. The Hall of the Senate is a place where you can truly imagine the lives of the rich and powerful. Fine wooden seats line the edge of the room, opulent paintings line the walls and ceiling, and the grand decadent environment that decision-makers met in, is breathtaking. You can imagine the high and mighty arguing and debating the fate of all, whilst dressed in the finest clothing that Europe had to offer.
Next door, the Grand Council chamber lives up to its name. The ceiling, decorated across the entire room, is magnificent. The room is the largest in the palace. It hosts a stage that I’d love to see a gritty punk rock indie band perform on. The grit and the glory would contrast so beautifully. In my mind’s eye it has already happened and my heart has soared.
We so needed a sit down by the time we reached these rooms, that the long lines of benches that we weren’t allowed to sit on were a form of mild torture. To sit and marvel at these rooms would have been delightful. A few well-placed benches in the centre of the room would be most popular.
I encourage you to view the palace here. Really, it is impressive and my criticisms should not prevent a visit. This website provides a fantastic viewing service.
Arounder Venezia
I have thoroughly enjoyed reliving the memories from the warm comfort of home. I still wish I could have climbed the Giants’ Staircase, which leads from the courtyard, and seen the large statues up close. Erected on the upper parapet in 1567, they depict Mars and Neptune. The staircase, like the benches, was roped off.
The Bridge of Sighs is currently dressed in adverts on the outside, and perhaps undergoing work.
Museo Civico Correr
Not permitted to buy a ticket for just the Doges Palace, we gained a pass to Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana and Museo Correr. We would rather have saved our pennies, but c'est la vie. At the end of a cold day, we decided to see what the ‘other’ museums had in store. Somewhere along the line, I got the impression that once in Museo Correr we would gain entrance to the National Library (Biblioteca Nazionale). Perhaps I was wrong or we didn’t find the right door. It was late and our time was up.
In the Museo Correr, we found many statues, most with missing limbs and penises. If a witch ever turns you into stone beware. You might lose something that you’ll miss. Icarus and Cupid feature heavily. Thalia was there. If you are a fan of Antonio Canova, his work fuels much of the collection. There are paintings, coins and armoury.
To me it was much like a non-capital city museum and a bit lacking. It was a place to while away some time and pick up a few new facts, but nothing blew my mind. Mostly, the visit led to intrigue. I call this intrigue ‘The Case of the Missing Members’.
Peggy Guggenheim Museum
Of all of the places that we paid to visit in Venice, this is by far my favourite. One in five pieces is a masterpiece, the gallery is warm and welcoming and the collector’s life is as interesting as the collection itself.
The museum is set in Peggy Guggenheim’s home, where she lived with the art all about her, sunbathed naked on the roof, and invited people in see her amazing collection. She connected herself with the art world and its people, put on exhibitions and helped artists to escape from the Nazi’s. She died when I was seven. There are many photographs of her in the home, with some of the art placed exactly where it is today. A sofa that she sat on, sits in the centre of the same room.
We found friendly staff, reasonably priced refreshments and a free ten-minute talk on Peggy’s life. Peggy Guggenheim discovered and funded Jackson Pollock, lost her father to the Titanic, lost the one true love of her life to a minor operation, and persuaded the British courts that modern art really is art. Importing art is cheaper than importing objects. She helped many artists into Britain.
My favourites in the collection include:
Victor Brauner - Consciousness of Shock
Check out the rudder. This has a wonderfully surreal boat theme going on.
Vasily Kandinsky - Upward (Empor)
Blake’s got a new face.
René Magritte, Empire of Light, 1953–54
It’s light but it’s dark. It’s crisp.
Gino Severini - Sea=Dancer (Mare=Ballerina)
The paint really does escape onto the frame. The colours are brilliant in real life.
Jean Metzinger - At the Cycle-Race Track (Au Vélodrome)
This reminds me of my brother-in-law’s obsession with the Tour de France, but is a really impressive piece, even for those of us that pootle. The cyclist moves so fast, that you can see right through him.
Campanile
The Campanile is a tower, rather than a museum, but it’s historic and tells a tale.
I like climbing tall towers and looking down at the world. From Cromer Church to Happisburgh Lighthouse, I like towers.
At the Campanile in Piazza San Marco, there’s a lift. You don’t have to climb. No one showed us the stairs and the lift took us straight up. We didn’t have to queue. We never had to queue in Venice. It was cold. It was even colder higher up.
The air was freezing limbs and lungs, but the ascent was easy. We hadn’t worked for warmth.
“I think my little finger is going to fall off” I heard a man say. His accent was from the north of England. It’s cold up north. Imagine how I felt.
It was worth it. It’s always worth it. From the top, we could see Piazza San Marco, Centro storico, the Lagoon, La Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggoire islands, and lots and lots of sky.
The tower has been reconstructed and repaired many times since 1173. We stood on the 1912 version.
The first version acted as a lighthouse, supported a torture cage, and wobbled in an earthquake. It’s said that Emperor Frederick III of the Roman Empire rode his horse up it in 1452. Good for him.
It gained a new face in the early sixteenth century and Galileo demonstrated his telescope from its heights in 1609. In 1902, it fell down. Within 10 years it was back, rebuilt to the 1514 specifications.
It has bells, five of them, so it’s a little like being up a church tower. Instead of calling people for mass, the bells were there to communicate messages. The fifth one, called the 'Bad One, forewarned of executions. The prisoners held in the cages, dangling at the side of the tower, must have dreaded this bell.
Revolutionaries from the Veneto Serenissimo Governo group climbed the tower in 1997, thinking they had liberated Piazza San Marco. They held the tower for a few hours. In 2006, to the annoyance of police, they bought back the tank that they used to storm the square. I find that quite funny.
Stood 98.6 metres high, my imagination filled itself with prisoners, executions and revolutionaries, and my eyes, watering with the bitter wind, marvelled at the view.
Fabpants Recommends: I won’t name any names, but someone close to me was singing Barry Manilow the other day. It really made me want to hear the song. It’s the only cure for earworm. You’ll cringe, but you’ll secretly enjoy it. I have to share these moments. I don’t know why, but I do. It’s not good for any of us.
Download MP3: Barry Manilow - I Can't Smile Without You (courtesy of infonistacrat.com)
Here’s the aftercare package.
Eula are straight outta Indie Alley, where the soft and the shouty unite rebelliously. If you need a bit of lively indie-pop, here it is:
Download MP3: Eula - Housewolf (courtesy of infonistacrat.com)
Going back in time a little, here is a track from 2006 EP called ‘Applause Cheer Boo Hiss’. I recently rediscovered it and had to listen to it repeatedly. It’s still special. Don’t you just love rediscovering little lost numbers? "Look at those girls, so young, so young, still piss their pants."
Download MP3: Land of Talk - Summer Special (courtesy of margheritaferrari.com)
As for new releases, what about Abe Vigoda’s new EP? The cover of Stevie Nicks’ Wild Heart is rather special. The original has been beaten and battered to death by this copy. It's fucking brilliant:
Download MP3: Abe Vigoda - Wild Heart (courtesy of resonatormag.com)
‘Don’t Lie’ gives 1980s gloom music a 2009 edge. It’s reminiscent of Echo and the Bunnymen et al, with a secretly bright chorus.
Download MP3: Abe Vigoda - Don't Lie (courtesy of aolradio.podcast.aol.com)
Just in case you were wondering, and you probably weren't, the new album ‘Tight Knit’ by Vetiver is rather dull, despite the varied styles that it incorporates. It's a finger picking folk journey through the flatlands of the soul. It's a gentle album for sleepy Sundays. If all you want to do is sit and grow grey hairs, then it might be for you. "Every day that I'm away from you shakes me up inside." I do like the 'Everyday' song. It's rather lovely. That's why I'm sharing it. Unfortunately, an album is the sum of its parts.
Download MP3: Vetiver - Everyday (courtesy of subpop.com)
I started with a cheesy tune, so I may as well end with one. This is probably worse. The Lily Allen ‘Fuck You’ song has got to be great to sing along to at 1am in a club. I can just see myself wagging around a mockingly accusative finger. I say mockingly, because don’t hang out with bigots. I say fuck you, fuck you very, very much.
Download MP3: Lily Allen - Fuck You (courtesy of eamel.net)
Oh, I saw Sprectrum at The Freebutt yesterday. The less said the better.
A man had his erect penis out in public on Friday night. He was wearing a body harness, rubber latex chaps and, probably, a cock ring. Most of us were wearing t-shirts and jeans. Whilst returning my eyes to their eyeballs and my jaw to my face, I had to admire the bravery. I also had to giggle. I don't see a big cock pointing at me from the corner of the dance floor very often.
Part 2 is here: Venetian Dreams: Water Buses and Islands
We visited a few museums in Venice, including the Doge’s Palace and the Correr Museum, but the Peggy Guggenheim Museum was by far the best. What follows is one opinionated person’s view of the museum trail.
The Doge’s Palace
When we decided to visit this museum, we were cold. Please bare this in mind. The aim was to spend a little money on warming up. It was the only aim. The museum did not fulfil this requirement. It failed miserably. It was colder inside than out. Everyone wore coats, hats and gloves and some still rubbed their hands together to make warmth. It was fucking freezing.
The first few rooms were full of columns. Initially, a column or two is interesting, but the scene soon gets dull. Monumentally dull. I could take no more. We entered a vast room filled with more defunct ancient roof bearers than any that preceded it and walked straight out. We were cold, bored and more interested in the ancient art of heating. Don’t get me wrong, an ornate column can be a work of wonder, but a collection of columns, that hold up nothing, in bitterly cold and mostly bare rooms, is for the hardcore.
This sums up the general ambience of The Doge’s Palace. It is cold, repetitive and mostly empty. They could condense the contents into fewer rooms, and it would be far more interesting. Did I mention heating? And, what about seating?
The Doge’s Palace is a vast museum to walk around, and every chair or bench is dressed with rope to obstruct weary rest breaks. The only place that they heat and seat is the cafe. Here, they insisted that we pay for an exorbitantly expensive table service. Meanwhile, a kinder pricelist for self-service stared straight at us. We are not above serving ourselves.
In the museum's display rooms, the staff sat or stood in corners, wrapped up in thick coats and looking miserable with the climate. Some hovered over air conditioning units that gave off as much heat as an old fart.
Aspects of the museum were impressive. They have a map room, called The Shield Room, which is to die for. Large painted maps of the world adorn the walls and vast globes take the centre. I like maps. I would like a map room. This is an impressive map room.
The palace also hosts a notable armoury, with crossbows, armour and swords. Some of the swords are so big that only a giant could lift them. It’s hard to believe that such items are truly a part of human history and not fantasy. I can’t help but be amazed. I should be shocked. They are brilliant, but brutal. I like defensive castles too. Hot boiling tar on your head anyone?
Yes, I’m a pacifist beguiled by the wonderful, wild and violent society that inhabited this earth in medieval times. Wandering minstrels, castles and armour: they are all like a fantastical dream.
Perhaps one of the most famous aspects of The Doges Palace is the bridge with a harrowing name. The Bridge of Sighs is named after the groans of devastated prisoners. It served as a space between courtroom and cell. It’s easy to walk over it without realising its full significance. I did and had to backtrack.
Unfortunately, the museum lacks information about the prisoners and the prison cells. Throughout, it fails to reconstruct history in an imaginative or inspiring way. This is a shame. I love learning about prisons. My fascination with prisons is worse than my penchant for castles. I suggest that the museum curators visit Kilmainham Gaol. It could teach them a lot about sharing history and firing up the old grey matter.
It was only on my return home, that I learnt that Casanova once lived in a Doges Palace prison cell. It seems that the rampant young devil had seduced too many high-class wives. Charged with ‘irreligious behaviour’, Casanova found himself in a prison cell. Casanova escaped in 1756 and it’s said that on the Golden Staircase, which has a ceiling so bright and garish that it hurts while it impresses, a guard mistook Casanova for a politician and let him out. Such stories written on a plaque would certainly have fuelled more interest. I guess that’s why you pay for a Secret Itinerary tour or an audio guide, but the entry tickets were truly pricey and we opted against having a talking machine or person.
Despite the poor presentation and welcome, the palace has a lot to offer. In the rooms, there are laminated information sheets, but they are quite dull to read.
The Palace includes an impressive courtyard and there are grand rooms, in perfect condition, where important governmental business once took place. The rooms that politics once breathed life into are truly striking and, if you have any interest in the political affairs, a visit is essential. The Hall of the Senate is a place where you can truly imagine the lives of the rich and powerful. Fine wooden seats line the edge of the room, opulent paintings line the walls and ceiling, and the grand decadent environment that decision-makers met in, is breathtaking. You can imagine the high and mighty arguing and debating the fate of all, whilst dressed in the finest clothing that Europe had to offer.
Next door, the Grand Council chamber lives up to its name. The ceiling, decorated across the entire room, is magnificent. The room is the largest in the palace. It hosts a stage that I’d love to see a gritty punk rock indie band perform on. The grit and the glory would contrast so beautifully. In my mind’s eye it has already happened and my heart has soared.
We so needed a sit down by the time we reached these rooms, that the long lines of benches that we weren’t allowed to sit on were a form of mild torture. To sit and marvel at these rooms would have been delightful. A few well-placed benches in the centre of the room would be most popular.
I encourage you to view the palace here. Really, it is impressive and my criticisms should not prevent a visit. This website provides a fantastic viewing service.
Arounder Venezia
I have thoroughly enjoyed reliving the memories from the warm comfort of home. I still wish I could have climbed the Giants’ Staircase, which leads from the courtyard, and seen the large statues up close. Erected on the upper parapet in 1567, they depict Mars and Neptune. The staircase, like the benches, was roped off.
The Bridge of Sighs is currently dressed in adverts on the outside, and perhaps undergoing work.
Museo Civico Correr
Not permitted to buy a ticket for just the Doges Palace, we gained a pass to Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana and Museo Correr. We would rather have saved our pennies, but c'est la vie. At the end of a cold day, we decided to see what the ‘other’ museums had in store. Somewhere along the line, I got the impression that once in Museo Correr we would gain entrance to the National Library (Biblioteca Nazionale). Perhaps I was wrong or we didn’t find the right door. It was late and our time was up.
In the Museo Correr, we found many statues, most with missing limbs and penises. If a witch ever turns you into stone beware. You might lose something that you’ll miss. Icarus and Cupid feature heavily. Thalia was there. If you are a fan of Antonio Canova, his work fuels much of the collection. There are paintings, coins and armoury.
To me it was much like a non-capital city museum and a bit lacking. It was a place to while away some time and pick up a few new facts, but nothing blew my mind. Mostly, the visit led to intrigue. I call this intrigue ‘The Case of the Missing Members’.
Peggy Guggenheim Museum
Of all of the places that we paid to visit in Venice, this is by far my favourite. One in five pieces is a masterpiece, the gallery is warm and welcoming and the collector’s life is as interesting as the collection itself.
The museum is set in Peggy Guggenheim’s home, where she lived with the art all about her, sunbathed naked on the roof, and invited people in see her amazing collection. She connected herself with the art world and its people, put on exhibitions and helped artists to escape from the Nazi’s. She died when I was seven. There are many photographs of her in the home, with some of the art placed exactly where it is today. A sofa that she sat on, sits in the centre of the same room.
We found friendly staff, reasonably priced refreshments and a free ten-minute talk on Peggy’s life. Peggy Guggenheim discovered and funded Jackson Pollock, lost her father to the Titanic, lost the one true love of her life to a minor operation, and persuaded the British courts that modern art really is art. Importing art is cheaper than importing objects. She helped many artists into Britain.
My favourites in the collection include:
Victor Brauner - Consciousness of Shock
Check out the rudder. This has a wonderfully surreal boat theme going on.
Vasily Kandinsky - Upward (Empor)
Blake’s got a new face.
René Magritte, Empire of Light, 1953–54
It’s light but it’s dark. It’s crisp.
Gino Severini - Sea=Dancer (Mare=Ballerina)
The paint really does escape onto the frame. The colours are brilliant in real life.
Jean Metzinger - At the Cycle-Race Track (Au Vélodrome)
This reminds me of my brother-in-law’s obsession with the Tour de France, but is a really impressive piece, even for those of us that pootle. The cyclist moves so fast, that you can see right through him.
Campanile
The Campanile is a tower, rather than a museum, but it’s historic and tells a tale.
I like climbing tall towers and looking down at the world. From Cromer Church to Happisburgh Lighthouse, I like towers.
At the Campanile in Piazza San Marco, there’s a lift. You don’t have to climb. No one showed us the stairs and the lift took us straight up. We didn’t have to queue. We never had to queue in Venice. It was cold. It was even colder higher up.
The air was freezing limbs and lungs, but the ascent was easy. We hadn’t worked for warmth.
“I think my little finger is going to fall off” I heard a man say. His accent was from the north of England. It’s cold up north. Imagine how I felt.
It was worth it. It’s always worth it. From the top, we could see Piazza San Marco, Centro storico, the Lagoon, La Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggoire islands, and lots and lots of sky.
The tower has been reconstructed and repaired many times since 1173. We stood on the 1912 version.
The first version acted as a lighthouse, supported a torture cage, and wobbled in an earthquake. It’s said that Emperor Frederick III of the Roman Empire rode his horse up it in 1452. Good for him.
It gained a new face in the early sixteenth century and Galileo demonstrated his telescope from its heights in 1609. In 1902, it fell down. Within 10 years it was back, rebuilt to the 1514 specifications.
It has bells, five of them, so it’s a little like being up a church tower. Instead of calling people for mass, the bells were there to communicate messages. The fifth one, called the 'Bad One, forewarned of executions. The prisoners held in the cages, dangling at the side of the tower, must have dreaded this bell.
Revolutionaries from the Veneto Serenissimo Governo group climbed the tower in 1997, thinking they had liberated Piazza San Marco. They held the tower for a few hours. In 2006, to the annoyance of police, they bought back the tank that they used to storm the square. I find that quite funny.
Stood 98.6 metres high, my imagination filled itself with prisoners, executions and revolutionaries, and my eyes, watering with the bitter wind, marvelled at the view.
Fabpants Recommends: I won’t name any names, but someone close to me was singing Barry Manilow the other day. It really made me want to hear the song. It’s the only cure for earworm. You’ll cringe, but you’ll secretly enjoy it. I have to share these moments. I don’t know why, but I do. It’s not good for any of us.
Download MP3: Barry Manilow - I Can't Smile Without You (courtesy of infonistacrat.com)
Here’s the aftercare package.
Eula are straight outta Indie Alley, where the soft and the shouty unite rebelliously. If you need a bit of lively indie-pop, here it is:
Download MP3: Eula - Housewolf (courtesy of infonistacrat.com)
Going back in time a little, here is a track from 2006 EP called ‘Applause Cheer Boo Hiss’. I recently rediscovered it and had to listen to it repeatedly. It’s still special. Don’t you just love rediscovering little lost numbers? "Look at those girls, so young, so young, still piss their pants."
Download MP3: Land of Talk - Summer Special (courtesy of margheritaferrari.com)
As for new releases, what about Abe Vigoda’s new EP? The cover of Stevie Nicks’ Wild Heart is rather special. The original has been beaten and battered to death by this copy. It's fucking brilliant:
Download MP3: Abe Vigoda - Wild Heart (courtesy of resonatormag.com)
‘Don’t Lie’ gives 1980s gloom music a 2009 edge. It’s reminiscent of Echo and the Bunnymen et al, with a secretly bright chorus.
Download MP3: Abe Vigoda - Don't Lie (courtesy of aolradio.podcast.aol.com)
Just in case you were wondering, and you probably weren't, the new album ‘Tight Knit’ by Vetiver is rather dull, despite the varied styles that it incorporates. It's a finger picking folk journey through the flatlands of the soul. It's a gentle album for sleepy Sundays. If all you want to do is sit and grow grey hairs, then it might be for you. "Every day that I'm away from you shakes me up inside." I do like the 'Everyday' song. It's rather lovely. That's why I'm sharing it. Unfortunately, an album is the sum of its parts.
Download MP3: Vetiver - Everyday (courtesy of subpop.com)
I started with a cheesy tune, so I may as well end with one. This is probably worse. The Lily Allen ‘Fuck You’ song has got to be great to sing along to at 1am in a club. I can just see myself wagging around a mockingly accusative finger. I say mockingly, because don’t hang out with bigots. I say fuck you, fuck you very, very much.
Download MP3: Lily Allen - Fuck You (courtesy of eamel.net)
Oh, I saw Sprectrum at The Freebutt yesterday. The less said the better.
A man had his erect penis out in public on Friday night. He was wearing a body harness, rubber latex chaps and, probably, a cock ring. Most of us were wearing t-shirts and jeans. Whilst returning my eyes to their eyeballs and my jaw to my face, I had to admire the bravery. I also had to giggle. I don't see a big cock pointing at me from the corner of the dance floor very often.
