The art of eccentricity

As I write this, I am listening to Jude Cowan's CD, Doodlebug Alley, handed to me by the artist as I left last night's 12-Bar Club gig, part of the London Fringe. It was an enjoyable evening, full of poets and musicians and plenty of amusing audience-performer interaction (some unwanted).

In all the years I have lived in London, I've never actually set foot in the club, and I was fascinated to see a forge dated 1635 form part of the back wall of the main stage. The sound engineer informed me it was used to make horseshoes. I am impressed to think it must have survived the Great Fire. But, I digress...

Cowan performed in the front room, a quirky, pigtailed figure adopting a knock-kneed stance usually seen by rockabilly guitarists, but here matched with a concert ukulele, face scrunched up, the better to add a melodramatic visual element to her idiosyncratic songs. I would have termed her style "English eccentric", had I not been warned via a pre-gig comment by fellow performer Helen McCookerybook, that they are neither English nor singer-songwriters. So, perhaps "British eccentric" is more accurate. Cowan's is quite a melodramatic style, full of dramatic pauses, knowing intonations and clever wordplay. "The Lure of Paris" made repeated mention of a "boring banker" in such a barbed way as to suggest it was cockney rhyming slang. Another number very amusingly riffed on "red Berlin" and the narrator's various romantic escapades.


Later, Helen McCookerybook took to the main stage for her soundcheck and was immediately engaged by a grizzled eccentric-in-residence who questioned her as to whether they had met before. Barefoot, she then carried on a running dialogue with the folk in the balcony, flashing a steely smile to go with her deceptively gentle tunes. Speak softly and carry a big Gretsch, I think. I recognised a few songs, as she was my first live performing guest on Odd Girl Out, but this was the first time I saw her play electric guitar. Seeking the sympathy vote for her sore thumb, she showed off her jazz chords, and played a brisk, engaging set, selected from the luggage tag she had tied to her guitar neck. She was very proud of this innovation and predicted it will sweep the folkerati circuit.

Among the audience was Cowan's and McCookerybook's colleague Kath Tait, the third member of their tongue-in-cheek group the Desperado Housewives ("on the run from husbands and housework"). Their next themed gig, on the subject of cowboys, is on 9 September at the Montague Arms in New Cross.

Sound in Vision

I just found out my film War With Love is screening next Saturday as part of the Sound in Vision Festival at the Clapham Picturehouse in South London.

Although it's been online, it's only the second screening of War With Love, my lo-fi-black-and-white-super-imposed-melancholic epic, shot in wintry Berlin.

As I quite like mixing visuals with music, it's a pleasure to be part of this bill. There doesn't seem to be a line-up online yet, but I have received details.

Sound in Vision Festival, 28 August:

2pm – The Henry Brothers

3pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

4pm – Marta Fontanals-Simmons

4.30pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

5pm – Benjamin Folk Thomas & Jack Day - Country Folk Duo

6pm – Short Films – The Best from Local Film makers

7pm – Amaziah

8pm – The Stepsons

There is no admission fee, but, as it's a benefit for PLAN International, donations are welcome.

New Odd Girl Out Radio blog

I had been posting playlists for Odd Girl Out on MySpace, but I now have a dedicated site for my radio show, Odd Girl Out Radio.

The new site will feature playlists from the show, as well as other features, which will be introduced over time. I shall also be moving a few of my Blogroll sites over there. Keep checking back!

Tonight at Old Police Station: Yuck house

Tonight is a benefit for Optical and pH7 radio stations at the Old Police Station in New Cross, London.

It features performances in the garden, live bands in the interview room and will be streamed live on the two stations. An exhibition, Yuck house, will be on in the cells. The bar opens at 5pm. £5 donation entry.

Sleigh Bells

Rough Trade East, London
10 August

At last, a foray out of my contemplative, tree-hugging reverie and back into gigland! Well, an in-store at Rough Trade's hipster eastie offspring in Brick Lane. I used to live in this 'hood earlier in the century, just as it was becoming achingly trendified. I still enjoy the odd visit, mostly to pick up bagels, but also to wander the cobblestones and gaze in the windows of shops that probably wouldn't allow me to darken their doors.

But, this jaunt was prompted by the appearance of Brooklyn noise-beats duo Sleigh Bells, whom I have played a little bit on my show. I have yet to hear the debut album, Treats, which prompted this visit to ye olde record store. And, given that much of their recorded work is highly produced, I wondered how it would translate live. As indeed, perhaps did they, because before the show, I bumped into vocalist Alexis Krauss wandering the aisles of the shop and she commented approvingly that the sound was much better than she expected. Off-stage she and bandmate Derek Miller were the model of polite, well-mannered young people (said to be in short supply nowadays)--both of them shook hands with me and Krauss offered a 120-watt smile, to boot.

Onstage they turned into raging rock beasts, with Krauss the epitome of RAWK frontwoman, complemented by Miller's choppy guitar playing. But, RAWK in a very, very good way--high energy, loud enough for ear plugs and with charisma to burn. She has the full range of poses and dance moves, as well. The only drawback was the limited "liveness" of the show, as all of the music, save Miller's guitar, came from a laptop. And when he left the stage for two or three songs, Krauss was effectively performing karaoke. But.... it's hard in the digital age to truly be live and it was a very enjoyable 35 minutes.

Afterward, the two glowing performers wandered the shop, wondering what the heck was going on, until they were ushered behind the counter to sign merchandise. Not having a copy of the record, I made my way out, back into the rain of a grey, rainswept London, bagel in hand.

Walking is good for you...

Spent a good three hours walking from Tottenham Hale to Lea Bridge Road along the Lea (or Lee) River, with a brief detour to Springfield Park for a cuppa (but the care was not yet open), back to the river, through marshes, past posing heron, following the trail of assorted geese and discarded footballs (an England one was going in circles, much like the team) and then had a cursory picnic at the standing stones of the Middlesex Filter Beds. Felt marvellously invigorated. Then slept for three hours. Now off to find something cultural to see, as this is an arts blog.

Early Riser

Up ridiculously today, owing to insomnia. Pottering about at 03:12, I took a peek toward the north, in hopes of spotting Aurora Borealis, visible because of solar storms. No such luck. Would have been a marvellous birthday present.

That's twice I have missed out. I actually visited Reykjavik a few years ago mainly to see the Northern Lights but fell foul of overcast conditions. This morning in London the stars were twinkling, the rain had moved off, but... no lights, except for human-made ones. Ah, well. Since I'm up, may as well start the day.

Making Berry

I tried to think of a more clever pun for the title, honestly I did. Anyway, just back from a glorious hour in the forest picking blackberries. Surprisingly, it's still early in the season and most are not yet ripe. The gnats were out in force, thanks to yesterday's rain. Nevertheless, I persevered and returned with two yoghurt pots' full--that's 2 kg. More than enough for a week's worth of smoothies and a decent crumble. Unless I put one pot in the freezer for the winter.

It's only recently, rather late in life, that I have discovered the joy of berrying in the summer, having moved to a flat near a forest some four years ago. With nothing else to do in the area, I took to wandering the forest, glorying in nature and discovering that some of those things growing were actually edible! Imagine. At the time, I could jump up of a morning and, still in my pyjamas, dash out for a quick forage to get enough berries for a smoothie. A reminder that city life isn't all technology and hustle bustle. Lovely.

Now, living a bit farther away, it's more of an effort, but I do try to get out there once a week, sometimes combined with some softball or a kickabout. Today, though, it was all about the berries. Previous trips have involved quite a bit of bloodshed, as those thorns are hazardous, but today the toll was merely a few scratches. Now I just have to sort the b____rs.

Frontier Blues

Due out on 30 July in the UK, the indie film Frontier Blues is the debut feature from Babak Jalali. Set in his native Iran along the northern border with Turkmenistan, the film is an absurdist meditation on loss and getting on with life. Four male characters are the leads and the film often alludes to the absence of women from their lives without ever really explaining how this came to be.

I wondered at the meaning myself: is the filmmaker commenting on the lack of visibility of women in Iran, or in his own life, or does it have some other meaning?

The characters are not especially sympathetic: one is an irascible minstrel who spends most of the film posing for an annoying photographer from Teheran keen to photograph the native population in situ, setting up one ridiculous, contrived pose after another; a second character is a frustrated factory worker in love with a woman who never speaks (the sole female character); a third is mentally and socially deficient and only really bonds with a donkey; and the fourth is the third character's uncle, running a failing clothes shop and given to long pauses staring into the middle distance.

This is a film long on atmosphere and short on plot. Many will find it annoying. I was impressed by the cinematography and the stylised way Jalali told his story, but was left a bit confused about the point he was making. And what happened to the women?

Cool as a Uke: Amanda Palmer Plays Radiohead

Or to give it its full, splendidly retro title: Amanda Palmer Performs the Popular Hits of Radiohead on Her Magical Ukulele, in which the newly-liberated-from-major-label-hell Palmer tackles six songs by prog-indie mopesters Radiohead. Perhaps it is not such a stretch, as the Oxford band share Ms. Palmer's penchant for pay-as-you-like releases: this one is available for download at 84 cents and up, to pay for licencing and admin costs. Anything above the minimum goes to Palmer and the other musicians.

So, it's totally DIY, direct selling, which is a natural progression of Palmer's online adventuring, which includes active Tweeting, aggressive merchandising and irregular webcasting. This past week, for example, she delivered a marvellously ramshackle webcast to launch the record, highlights of which were a performance of her song "Gaga, Palmer, Madonna" in the bath, as well as two versions of "Creep", one tense and a bit detached, the other rather more intimate, if tinged with fatigue. It was a gripping, if chaotic, set.

So, what do you get for your 84 cents' worth? Well, for me, the first two cuts are the weakest. "Fake Plastic Trees" and "High and Dry" sound a bit detached, as if she is still warming up. "No Surprises" sounds as if she is too close to the mic, and her downward vocal swoops are a bit melodramatic for my taste. This is a performer steeped in the stage tradition, with charisma to burn. But, these recordings are not her finest work.

Things get much more interesting on "Idioteque". There is intriguing online footage of her recording this in Australia, and the live version on the webcast was also a standout, featuring her musician chums Cormac Bride and Molly on vocals and piano. Palmer (or AFP, as she prefers to be known) also contributed some discordant percussion by striking the piano strings. On record, this song works beautifully, emotionally, and technically (if you see what I mean), whereas the preceding ones seemed almost Palmer-by-rote.

Then there are two versions of "Creep" to contend with. Having seen her perform it on ukulele earlier this year in Vienna, I am well aware how brilliantly this song works in a live setting. The album contains a soundchecked version, as well as a live one, neither of them as good as in Vienna, but what can you do? Given that the soundcheck version is parenthesised as "hungover in Berlin", one might view it with suspicion, but it actually adds a great deal of pathos to hear Palmer's rather strained vocal on the high notes. She has impressive breath control, to say the least.

In between the two "Creep"s is a piano and strings version of "Exit Music (for a Film)", the dark, reflective song with which she closed the webcast in fine style.

It will be interesting to see how Palmer negotiates the post-record label digital future. As she explained in her blog: "This whole radiohead release is a GRAND EXPERIMENT. it’s my first self-release off the label. i have no idea how the hell it’s gonna go and i’m not claiming to know what the answers are. i’m figuring out how to do this as i go along, and you’re helping me do it."

Solitary Woman: the rise of the one-woman band

I don't know if it's the allure of total control or simple economics, but I do notice a plethora of one-woman bands knocking about at the moment, laden with guitars, laptops and effects pedals.

I have had the pleasure of meeting a few of these acts recently and, indeed, next week's (22 July) Odd Girl Out features the session Golden Disko Ship did when she came in last month on a visit to the UK. She referred jokingly to her set-up as her "ego trip", albeit in a very self-deprecating way.

This week also saw the release of Girl In a Thunderbolt's album, Seven Sisters, recorded some time ago in Norway. She is already well underway with fresh material, but the tracks on here are well-produced, showcasing a distinctive vocal style keeping just this side of overly mannered and set to some moody, brooding tunes.

Also out is Lianne Hall's album, Crossing Wires. I first came across her when she was in the art-punk band Witchknot, who were mainstays of the DIY Bradford scene back in the '90s, but then lost touch with what she was doing once she moved to Brighton. I know she was in the band Pico and also playing solo, but then saw her playing last month in London. She is what I might call an amplified singer-songwriter. The songs seem to come from a foundation of acoustic guitar, but are then gussied up with electronics. Her voice, too, is made for confessional song-writing, with a plaintive, highly emotive quality. While the songs on Crossing Wires are a mixture of sparse ballads and up-tempo songs, I actually prefer the more produced ones, as they take the songs to new places.

And then there were two...

A slight detour into sport, if I may. So, it's the World Cup final tomorrow, with the 3rd place playoff having been decided today. This means that Paul, the psychic octopus, has a perfect record of predictions going into tomorrow. Will he make it a clean sweep? The suspense is unbearable.

For me, Paul has truly been the find of the tournament, sneaking in under the radar, building up strength slowly and possibly peaking at just the right time. I have mixed feelings for tomorrow, as I would like the Netherlands to win. But, Paul has gone for Spain. And, as they say, the octopus knows best. I do think if Paul finishes with a 100% record, he should get the freedom of Oberhausen. Or perhaps, just freedom.

The joys of live webcasting....

Just spent a few frustrating minutes at Sofia Talvik's webcast, having logged in an hour early as the message on her site said it would be "Live at 8pm", without specifying a time zone. As it's in Sweden, I guessed two hours ahead of BST, but was wrong.

Then, having picked up the gig a few minutes late (as I wandered elsewhere on the web), I found an over-exposed, slightly wonky camera position, a few dropouts and, after two melodious, acoustic songs.... Nothing. The feed went dead. Oh, well. That's live. Ba-dum-bum.

Ah, but it's back now. And she's speaking Swedish. No subtitles, unfortunately. But something about "acoustic Florida" (her record). Despite that sunny title, the songs are quite wintry in feel, albeit delivered in summery, al fresco fashion--acoustic guitar in hand, before an audience that seems to be chatting away, rather obliviously.

Stonewall Uprising

Those who have a vision of the 1960s as a rosy time of flower-bedraped hippies practising free love will have their eyes opened to another culture of "twilight people" slinking into Mafia-owned bars under the watchful eyes of armed police. As the doc Stonewall Uprising illustrates, even in New York City, the city's gay and lesbian population had a hard time of it. And given the criminalisation and pathologisation of alternate sexualities, it's not surprising that frustration bubbled up into violent rebellion, commonly known as the Stonewall Riots.

It's a story well told in the film, which premiered at the London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival and is now playing in the USA. Based on a book by David Carter, the film posits that what is often termed a riot was actually an uprising and that the gay rights struggle is part of a larger civil rights movement. Carter's vision is for lesbian and gay history to be seen "as part of our common human story".

When Ed Koch's grim visage popped up on the screen, I had to stifle a bitter laugh. As a native New Yorker, I well remember the confirmed bachelor's tenure as mayor of the city. But, in the 1960s, as an ambitious city council member, Koch led the "clean-up" of the gay bars in the Village, lest the upstanding straights have to be confronted with the low-life dykes and fairies who patronised places like the Stonewall Inn, which was raided by police on 27 June 1969, providing the touch paper that lit the movement for gay liberation.

One wonders how many people who gather each year for Pride parades (often now with no LGBT or Q signifiers attached, I notice) actually realise that their knees-up commemorates a violent struggle for recognition of basic human rights.

Deptford's Dreaming

It's all happening at the Old Police Station. Last night saw the opening of Ben Graville's photo exhibit, Deptford's Dreaming, in the Metropolitan Tea Rooms. The word "characters" was used a lot in the conversation of guests, as they pointed out local figures of renown or notoriety. Tea Rooms boss Jaine Laine, who presides over the yet-to-be realised Deptford Museum, which will eventually house Graville's photos, struck a sombre note as she lit a candle to honour one subject who was murdered. Graville's eye is drawn to the more marginal areas of life, the "before", rather than the "after" of local gentrification. Photos of security tags on clothes, drug paraphernalia and piles of rubbish probably aren't the face that the local authorities wish to showcase, but they reflect a scruffy defiance of homogenisation.

As guests mingled inside, perusing the pictures and quaffing wine, outside in the courtyard an array of "characters" was drawn to the window, through which the England game played on the tiniest of TVs. Rain fell, a vuvuzela was tooted and one man played guitar as a discordant accompaniment. Extraordinary.

The courtyard houses a collection of freight containers-turned-rehearsal spaces, one of which is now a recording studio, having been opened by royalty-in-residence Jaine Laine last week. The newly dubbed Amersham Vale Studios hosted its first session, as Berlin one-woman-band Golden Diskó Ship recorded five songs for my show on Optical Radio. The session will air next month. I could not be prouder, as it has been my aim to get more live music on the show, another step in our upward surge and, well, scruffy defiance of homogenisation.

Whirlygig Cinema this weekend

On Sunday I have two films showing in London at the Whirlygig Cinema screening. The theme is music and images and both of my films, one a doc and one a music video, were shot during my residency in Berlin last year. Looking forward to it.

One more day...

Well, I took my own advice and checked out the Anne Lister doc, Revealing Anne Lister, on the BBC i-player. It's up until tomorrow night and well worth a watch. Where to start?

Well, presenter Sue Perkins, decked out in North Face jacket and a succession of hoodies (those budget cutbacks at the BBC must really be biting), cut a dashing dykey figure, wandering over the Yorkshire moors and meeting a gaggle of tweedy academics for insight into Lister's life. Perkins took to her task with relish, reading out saucy excerpts from Lister's diaries and offering her own critique of the diarist's life, noting acidly that there was no excuse for her to abandon her first girlfriend after she was committed to an asylum. She also wondered aloud, with some anger and incredulity, why she had never heard about Anne Lister when she was growing up.

The coda of what happened to the diaries offered some clues. Far from being lost for 150 years, the diaries were actively suppressed, owing to their explicit lesbian content, by an array of family members, townsfolk and researchers until Helena Whitbread re-discovered them and set about translating them again. That made me most angry--what a wasted effort when Lister had left behind an index and a friend of the family had already decoded them some 100 years before. And so one can see how unkind history can be to trailblazers. Odd to think society actually moved backward between the time of Lister's very open life and now.

Anne Lister tonight on BBC2

So, for all those who have been waiting since the LLGFF for this (and I have had visitors from Taiwan and South Korea checking in), The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister airs tonight on BBC2 at 21:00 BST. Starring Maxine Peake and Anna Madeley, it tells the story of 19th century Yorkshire industrialist Anne Lister and her lesbian love affairs, which she wrote about in code in her diary.

Also of interest is a doc on Anne Lister, her home at Shibden Hall and the de-coding of the diary, which airs immediately after the drama at 22:30. (Thanks to Tony for alerting me.) For those not in the viewing area (or without TVs), these programmes should also be on the BBC i-player for seven days afterward.

One mystery solved....

Over the last few weeks I have been branching out my radio listening to encompass Absolute and its spinoff '80s-only station. Apart from hearing far too much White Snake (well, any White Snake is far too much), I have been puzzled by the heavy airplay for Fyfe Dangerfield's insipid cover of "She's Always a Woman". Why the heck would anyone cover that slice of tripe? I wondered. And why is anyone playing it? Have only just realised it's the soundtrack to a John Lewis ad. Not owning a TV, I had no idea. It's still crap, though.

Creatures of the Night

Wow! Where did that come from? London has seen some absolutely gorgeous weather over the last few days, or more specifically, nights. Where previously, the sun rather apologetically disappeared behind some clouds, now it holds out long into the evenings and then bows out gracefully, leaving behind balmy temperatures, a brilliant moon and a rather fetching shade of (gropes for colour wheel).... cornflower? Glaucous? Well, uncharacteristically colourful for night time.

This brings out strange, excitable behaviour in Londonders who have spent the lengthy winter huddling indoors. Peering blearily out of a bus late on Thursday after my goth show, I saw hordes of night owls spilling out of bars and clubs and cafes onto the pavement for al fresco socialising. And not just the smokers! The sky above the Thames was dotted with lights and I thought: What a beautiful city I live in. Sometimes one needs a reminder.

Twisting, Turning and Doubling Back

Well, what a strange week it's been--first The Clamerons merge their blue and yellow (but not green) forces (4 women out of 29 cabinet posts--so generous!) and then The Ash Cloud decides to pay a return visit to Blighty. Mmm.

Of more relevance to this parish is the double whammy in London this Thursday, the 20th, when The Raincoats take their turn as Don't Look Back artistes by performing their 1979 self-titled debut in full at The Scala.

Also, kicking off that night is Mother Festival, featuring an off-kilter bill including Wet Dog, Normal Love (ex-Rhythm King and Her Friends) and Molly Nilsson.

Sadly, I will miss both, as I am on air that night doing my radio show, which will feature a GOTH special of suitably scary and black-clad ladies. Grrr. And, indeed, Brrr.

The Pack A.D.

Currently on tour in Europe and due to play two shows on 14 May in London and Brighton, the Vancouver rock duo The Pack A.D. are busy, busy supporting the release of third album We Kill Computers, a curious record the press notes insist is a move away from blues, but which I find is positively steeped in the stuff.

The sound, as with the album title, is strictly analogue and should sound awesome live, whereas on record it sounds a bit stodgy. The band were determined to reproduce their live sound in the studio, which leads me to ask: why? Surely, if you want a live record, you set up some mics at a venue and record the show. I don't understand this reverence for the "live sound" on record. Why not make use of the studio to add to the sound? Live is live and recorded is recorded.

Jasmina Maschina

5 May
Wilmington Arms
London

The mean streets of Clerkenwell formed the backdrop for a visit by electroacoustic act Jasmina Maschina, the Berlin-based artiste swopping one grey metropolis for another (we had sun last week, honest). Slipping on-stage and shedding her shoes, the Australian expat fixed her gaze on her Mac, started strumming her guitar and began the gig as unassumedly as she continued. Bobbing her head gently, she sampled herself, allowing the computer to take large portions of the pieces, adding her soft vocals and delicate guitar patterns to the mix. It was a performance of understated intensity, if that's not a paradox.

Some of the pieces, such as "Ausland" and "City Fever", were taken from the new City Splits #1: Berlin record, featuring two artists from one city (the other half, Golden Disko Ship, visits the UK in June). One song, "Lisa's Opening", is, as yet, unrecorded.

This Maschina was slightly under-powered, as she acknowledged, owing to a bout of food poisoning, but she played very much within herself, barely acknowledging the audience. I was reminded of Kurt Cobain's description of listening to The Raincoats, as if he were hidden in the attic, eavesdropping on them and afraid of being discovered, lest it break the mood. At the end of her seven songs/tone poems, Jasmina Maschina thanked the audience and slipped her shoes back on. And I shuffled out onto the streets of Clerkenwell, feeling I'd borne witness to quite an intimate experience.

Service with a Grimace

A typical UK Bank Holiday Sunday. Rain. So much for all those plans to transplant the orgegano, paint the trim, etc.

Anyway, a wry smile creeps to my frowning lips on reading Helen McCookerybook's hilarious rant, The Kindness of Strangers, about the precarious state of the customer service ethic in the UK, something I have never quite gotten to grips with, even after 15-plus years.

We have an election this week. Oh, dear.

Nobody's Daughter

Just listening to the stream on The Guardian of the new Hole album, Nobody's Daughter. After a 12-year lapse, it was always going to be difficult to go back to the old moniker for Courtney Love (or is it Courtney Michelle?). And, indeed, to my ears, the record sounds in places like a bad Hole tribute band. What has happened to Courtney's vocals? I don't mean the raspiness that characterises them. I like that.

But, what's with the Dylan impression on "Someone Else's Bed"? Or the Billy Corgan-esque gymnastics on the otherwise standout "Honey"? Perhaps this is some in-joke between the two (before they fell out on Twitter.... again).

In any case, it's a record long on clever lyrics and overly-mannered vocals and a bit short on tunes. Much of it sounds like Celebrity Skin, which I found over-produced and rather drab. Perhaps this isn't a surprise, considering collaborators this time include Corgan and Linda Perry, not exactly grounded minimalists.

Perhaps it's too much to ask for Love to rise to the brilliance of Live Through This, though there are a few moments that recall its breathless mix of self-laceration and cattiness. It's good to have her back, and perhaps, with this comeback out of the way, she will re-discover her creative spark.

Ether10: Berlin Sounds

Queen Elizabeth Hall, 23 April

A funny ol' evening, this. It wasn't clear until a few hours beforehand whether everyone had made it over from various locales, including Finland, for this celebration of Berlin music, owing to our friend, The Ash Cloud. But, happily all were present and accounted for: Vladislav Delay, Thomas Fehlmann, To Rococo Rot, and, of most interest to me, Greie und Gut.

The latest collaborative effort by restless creative spirits Antye Greie and Gudrun Gut, Greie und Gut--or Greie Gut Fraktion, as they also style themselves--gave the UK premiere of their intriguing concept piece, Baustelle. Inspired by the building work they themselves were undertaking last year, the piece comprises some nine parts, each on a theme: concrete, stone, etc.

Amusingly, they arrived on-stage in character, wearing boots and coveralls and with their laptops draped in safety tape. Unlike Gut's early band, Einstürzende Neubauten, they didn't take any heavy machinery to the stage. But, the screen behind them did show some building work in practice, artfully rendered in black and white. And, at one point, they did don hard hats.

It's intriguing to speculate on just who contributed what to the works. Greie handled most of the singing, with Gut contributing some understated (and sometimes inaudible) vocalising into two mics, one presumably with effects. Some of the pieces were more like tone poems than songs, but others were downright funky and poppy. Imagine that! They also covered "Wir bauen eine neue Stadt", by Palais Schaumburg, Fehlmann's old band. He kept the crowds entertained with a laptop DJ set in The Front Room after the main gig (see pic).

Very much looking forward to hearing the Baustelle album, which Gudrun handed me afterward. I had hoped to speak with GGF, but, sadly for me, Greie slipped away, tired out from her long day.

Cloudy, with a chance of ash

As time passes and the temporary closure of UK air space stretches into days and, quite soon, a week, I find myself pondering the awesome power of the Icelandic ash cloud that is making a slow, meandering, high-flying tour of Europe. Since exploding onto the scene five days, The Ash Cloud has succeeded in doing what successive waves of environmental campaigners, terrorists and various air mishaps couldn't do: grounding entire fleets of air craft and forcing everyone backwards to a time when we thought nothing of, say, setting aside 24 hours to travel from London to Prague. Sea Cats? Hovercraft? Trains? What are those?

Not only that, but this Cloud is oh-so-modern and tech-savvy, with its own Twitter page, which offers handy tips, messages in Icelandic and even a smidgen of post-modern soul-searching. Yes, this Cloud has feelings. Ash Cloud, I salute you. Hvað er að í himninum? Það er aska ský.

Record Store Day

One day to go until the 3rd annual Record Store Day (i.e., April 17), celebrating that rarity, independent record stores. I think record stores still have a role to play in the digital world. I can recall many, many happy experiences searching bins in New York, San Francisco, Berlin and other places, digging out obscure pieces of vinyl or CDs, chatting to other customers and the often incredibly knowledgeable and passionate folk who run these shops.

A good record store is as much a place of community as a place of commerce, and they should be supported or they will die out. I am still in mourning for my favourite shop in London, Totem, which is now a baby clothes store. (Not to mention I lost my £20 credit there.)

Among the treats on show for Record Store Day are signings, performances and exclusive releases spanning the globe from Australia to Brazil to Greece, though concentrated in the USA. Amoeba Music, in the San Francisco Bay Area, is pulling out the stops, with appearances by Charlotte Gainsbourg and Holly Golightly in its two shops.

Exene Cervenka is touring record shops between Los Angeles and Seattle.

In London, Rough Trade has awesome bills at its two shops, with appearances by Jesca Hoop, Magic Numbers and Laurie Anderson (!!!).

There are also special releases by, among others: Breeders, Sharon Jones, Hole, Joan Baez, Coco Rosie, Goldfrapp and Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Definitely worth getting out of bed for on a Saturday.

Queer Control Records compilation

Isn't that just the way? You wait ages for a free compilation and then two come along at once. Operation Download: Mixin' It Up is Queer Control Records' new free download. I've just given it a listen and it is a refreshingly varied compilation of music from LGBTIQQ artistes.

Yes, that's two Qs, which answers the question I posed recently about the ever-growing acronym list for the not-straight community. The second Q (surely Q² would be snappier) stands for "questioning". So, now I know. Anyway, the music ranges from hardcore thrash to dance to indie rock to folk, with many acts I shall be looking up, friending and playing on my radio show, among them The Degenerettes (featured in Riot Acts), Miss the Occupier and Harlequin Baby.

Kill Rock Stars sampler

Many records to review, but I shall hold off for now and instead report that Kill Rock Stars have posted a FREE sampler on their website, featuring old and new faves such as Gossip, LiLiPUT, Bikini Kill and more.

Evening Session revival

Just listening to the one-off Evening Session return on the (apparently doomed) 6Music as I set up my back room. I always liked the Whiley-Lamacq pairing and was a regular listener to the Evening Session in the mid-90s when I arrived in London.

But..... I can't say the music has aged well: 60 Foot Dolls, Ash, Sleeper, Ultrasound, Bennet, and the execrable Gene. Each and every one prompts in me no sense of "Oh, weren't those the good old days!". More like: "Christ, they were crap!" I always found Britpop a horrendously backward-looking trend. What about new music, Jo and Steve?

LLGFF: Out of the Blue + Untouchable Girls

Out of the Blue (dir Alain Tasma)

The Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls (dir Leanne Pooley)

Just to round off my rather patchy coverage of this year's festival, owing to unfortunate restrictions on time, etc., here are a couple of uplifting pieces, one drama, one doc.

Out of the Blue is a French drama about Marion, a woman who leaves her husband, sets up house and then meets an intriguing younger woman. But, the course of true love never runs smooth, owing to a jealous ex who can't let go and the brattiest teenager I have seen committed to film in a long time. Much melodrama and waving of arms ensues. Will Marion have the courage to commit to her new life?

The Topp Twins: Untouchable Girls, about New Zealand's yodelling lesbian sisters, is a well-made doc showing their lives through music and a series of unfortunate haircuts (well, they started out in the '70s) right up until a triumphant home-town show. I was aware of the Topps, having seen them at some US womyn's music festival years ago, but I had no idea how big they were in their homeland, even helping force through gay rights legislation. So, it's reassuring to see them getting their due. I'm not a big fan of yodelling, but I was impressed by their incredible repartee, honed since, well, birth.

LLGFF: Gender Variant

Riot Acts: Flaunting Gender Deviance in Music Performance (dir Madsen Minax)

The Last Summer of La Boyita (dir Julia Solomonoff)

Although the LLGFF lags a bit behind the times in remaining L and G, rather than expanding to LGBTQI (have I missed any acronyms???), there is an increasing number of transgender-related films in the programme, including these, the first a doc on gender-variant musicians in the USA (and one in Canada), the second a thoughtful Argentina-set drama.

While the musicians in Riot Acts are public performers, performing in bars, clubs and at festivals, they are also managing quite private situations, sometimes still transitioning or changing identity. Some are on testosterone, some are still getting to grips with changes in vocal range or quality, wondering how their efforts to synchronise their bodies and minds will affect their music. I was particularly impressed with the low-key dignity of Joe from Coyote Grace, an acoustic duo from Sonoma, CA. Joe had a particularly interesting story: he got together with his musical and life partner as a woman and then transitioned, meaning their personal and private lives had to go through a shift. They still play lesbian bars, causing him to reflect: "Why should that be a surprise? I love being here."

No such self-knowledge for Mario, the rural, teenaged farmhand in The Last Summer of La Boyita. Worked as hard as the horses by his brutish father, he finds a friend in Jorgelina, who visits with her father, the farm's owner, for a summer and discovers it isn't just her older sister who is going through the full range of growing pains, including developing breasts and menstruating. Unfortunately, for Mario, rural Argentina isn't the greatest place to be gender-variant, and the story is painful to watch as it plays out, unfolding slowly, with layers of meaning being unwrapped. It reminded me a bit of XXY, with the teenaged character showing far more poise and dignity than the adults. Perhaps there is a bit of a boom in such stories in Argentina.

LLGFF: Reclamation

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains (dir Lou Adler)

Christopher Strong (dir Dorothy Arzner)


I'm all for reclaiming lost films and assessing them in the light of modernity. Certainly, last night, having viewed these two, I am full of thoughts, some contradictory. It's also sobering to think how little has changed, in some ways, since these two films were shot and released.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains was presented under the auspices of Unskinny Bop and is obviously one of their favourites and cited by many bloggers as proto-Riot Grrrl, so I was looking forward to my first viewing of it. Odd I have never seen it, as though it had a small release in 1982, apparently it has gained most of its cult status from repeated cable viewings in the '80s. I did have access to cable TV in the '80s but never caught it. Too busy watching Radio 1990, I guess.

Well, what to say? There is so much right about this film, from its portrayal of disaffected teenaged girls from small towns seeking escape, to its portrayal of a cynical and manipulative music industry, to its hilarious depiction of British bands taking to the road for their big breakthrough US tours becoming disillusioned. (How many times does Paul Simonon ask: "When do we get to California?")

But, feminist? Proto-Riot Grrrl? I don't think so. Diane Lane's Corinne Burns sets off with her sister and cousin as The Stains to make it out of Charlestown, PA. Her only concern is getting out, not connecting with other girls or making a statement. At no point in the film does she really have any contact with her audience, other than insulting one woman in the front row of the band's first gig. While legions of girls follow The Stains and dress like them, taking up their mantra of "We Don't Put Out", this is portrayed as some kind of herd-like fashion statement, not any kind of empowerment.

Crucially, for me, there is no indication any of these Skunks forms her own band or moves from being a consumer of culture to a creator. This was the important message of both first-wave punk and Riot Grrrl: DIY. That doesn't happen in the film. And as for The Stains' supposed triumph, becoming a fluffy MTV band and losing all their rough edges and anger? How is that a triumph? I think the film works brilliantly as a satire of the power of media and is quite prescient of reality TV. (I also think Spinal Tap took some pointers from it.) But, I can't see much of a feminist message.

As for the subtextfest that is Christopher Strong, crikey. Dorothy Arzner and Katharine Hepburn. Need I say more? Well, yes. Made in 1933, this period piece set in London features Hepburn in marvellous outfits (including a jaw-dropping shiny moth costume, complete with antennae) taking to the skies as a pioneering aviator locked in a quite ludicrous romance with dull aristo Colin Clive. Can't see it myself. But, Arzner and screenwriter Zoe Akins work in some marvellous mixed messages. To wit, saintly married lady and mother Billie Burke utters the immortal line: "Marriage and children make almost any woman old-fashioned and intolerant." How the audience roared at that one. But, of course Hepburn's transgressive, trouser-wearing character cannot possibly get away with her behaviour and dies a fiery crash landing death. Arrgh.

LLGFF: Eloise + And Then Came Lola

Ah, the perils of coupledom. If it's not the domineering mother putting the kibosh on a budding relationship, it's the ex worming her way back into the picture.

And Then Came Lola (dirs Megan Siler, Ellen Seidler) is a lesbian re-working of Run Lola, Run (Lola Rennt), relocated to San Francisco. But, instead of Lola running to save her partner from death, she needs to pick up some prints and deliver them to her girlfriend, who is meeting a client. So, not much drama there, except of the dyke variety--the client is the girlfriend's alluring ex. It's played for laughs, with Lola getting to grips with her flakiness, lack of responsibility and commitment-phobia. And being forced to make her haphazard journey across SF several times until she gets it right and actually "is there" for her partner. There are several running gags (pardon the pun), including a play on the title. But, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you.

No such fun and games for the star-crossed would-be lovers in Eloise (dir Jesus Garay), a beautifully crafted Catalan drama. Poor Asia lives a dreary life with her control freak mother, who actually times the amount of time the girl spends studying before tucking her into bed at night. Brrr. It's no wonder the girl looks with awe on confident, free-spirited art student Eloise and soon she is modelling for her and discovering more about herself. But, then the mother intervenes.... Brilliant performance by Ariadna Cabrol as Eloise, a dead ringer for Ani di Franco (see pic). But, there's no singing, just much scratching of charcoal pencils and longing glances, to excellent effect.

LLGFF: The Lost Women of Cinenova

Having attended last night's Cinenova programme at the LLGFF, I was surprised to be handed a sheet of paper, with many, many names on it. Names of filmmakers represented by Cinenova but who have now dropped off the radar. Names including Julie Dash, Joy Chamberlain and Jan Oxenberg. How can this be? How could these filmmakers become lost?

Well, partly this is down to the fact that Cinenova, which, as a distributor of work by women since 1991, has had no funding since 2001 and, hence, relies on volunteers.

But, I was also puzzled thinking about the work on show last night: except for Barbara Hammer, I could not recall any recent work by any of the filmmakers on show, including Cheryl Farthing and Annette Kennerley. Why was so much work produced by an array of UK lesbian filmmakers in the late '80s and early '90s, who then seemed to disappear from view? I put this to curator Naz Jamal, who suggested that many of the filmmakers chose to go on to do other things: they didn't necessarily want to pursue film as a career. But, I wondered if it was down to a lack of funding and other social changes since then. Fewer commissions from Channel 4? Lack of opportunities to go on to do features? Perhaps it parallels what I've noticed in punk: in their 30s women seemed to leave the music scene, only to emerge 20 years later. Perhaps these women will come back.

Speaker Helen de Witt commented on how surprised she was to see the style on show in the films, a far cry from the "boring, political" films remembered from that time. I remember it differently, as an exciting time full of style AND politics, of ACT UP, Queer Nation, Lesbian Avengers, and lots of exciting short experimental work coming across the pond from the UK to my then-domain of San Francisco, itself a hotbed of queer filmmaking. There was a lot to be angry about. Indeed, there still is, but filmmakers don't seem so interested in exploring that. We live in an era of rom-coms, with marriage and families taking centre-stage as topics for films.

Cafe Carbon

Cafe Oto

Another late night. You'd think I live in a metropolis or something. But, it is unusual. Anyway, just back from Cafe Carbon, a report-back from the much-maligned Copenhagen climate change conference, done in an arty style. To explain, it seems many, many artists made the trip to Copenhagen, either because they had commissions to tie in with the summit or because they wanted to do a bit of guerrilla activism/art. The Gluts appear to fall into the latter category.

A trio of Gina Birch, Hayley Newman and Kaffe Matthews, they have longstanding credentials in various artistic arenas. They are also self-proclaimed fans of climate change activists and tagged along on the activist train that ran from Brussels to Copenhagen, performing eco-friendly songs along the way and filming their activities. Cafe Carbon was their shindig and they showed their film and performed several food-themed songs, interspersed with various activists reporting on their own projects as well as exhorting the audience to be more active and less consumerist.

Among the projects highlighted was Emily James and co.'s forthcoming doc on UK climate change activists, including a visit to Copenhagen during which one filmmaker was arrested by Danish police on suspicion of being a terrorist. John Jordan also showed footage of his Bike Bloc action.

The Gluts lightened things up with their menu of songs, all on a theme of food. This included booty-shaking dance moves, "upcycled" outfits and many lyric changes from familiar songs. The capper was guest performer Helen McCookerybook's "Baked Alaska", performed on a ukulele Gina Birch bought for her. The uke revolution continues. The Gluts have an album's worth of material recorded, but I have no word on a release.

LLGFF: The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister

It's rare I venture out to Leicester Square, which is often swarming with drunken louts and aggressive touts. Or, as happened last night, with screaming girls awaiting the arrival of Robert Pattinson for some premiere.

Making a sharp detour to Odeon West End, I attended the premiere of the BBC production of The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister, for the opening night of the 24th London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. Full of swaggering dandies and extravagant haircuts. And that was just the audience. The film, starring Maxine Peake as the titular character, an extraordinary 19th century Yorkshire noblewoman, is great bawdy fun, full of heaving bosoms and a bit of bodice ripping. Quite racy for the BBC. Can't imagine what Outraged in Tunbridge Wells will make of it, when it airs on BBC2 later in the year.

But, of course, on these occasions, it's all about the people-watching, both at the screening and the after-party. Spotted: Sarah Waters, Charlotte Cooper, and The Raincoats. But, the real action was in the Ladies toilets at the Odeon, where Maxine Peake and other cast members repaired after the film. Simultaneously fixing her make-up and signing autographs, Ms. Peake tutted that she still can't get used to seeing herself on the big screen. Meanwhile, her co-stars patiently waited in the queue. Finding myself between Miss Walker and Miss Belcombe, I shook hands with them both and complimented them on a job well done.

It's not often a character's hesitant declaration: "But, I-I-I don't want to marry" is greeted with cheers. Jane Austen's characters turned finding a husband into a sport and congratulated themselves on this achievement, but for Lister's circle, remaining unmarried was the happy ending.

Into the Archive

As I have been delving into my archive of interviews (the results to appear on Odd Girl Out and some day in more concrete form), I have experienced a full spectrum of emotions, from admiration to despair. From "Wow! I can't believe she said that!" to "Oh, My God, that tape hiss is appalling!".

Generally, it runs along the lines of good substance, terrible style. I haven't always been able to afford good quality tape, and though my trusty Sony Walkman (date of birth: 1986) is still holding up well, the recordings aren't always vintage. I am planning on investing in a good digital recorder, but have yet to find anything affordable that records in stereo. Suggestions welcome.

But, it is a long-long-LONG-term project. Today, I am in 1993, visiting London for a week (ah, what a life-changing trip that was) and meeting Tanya Donelly, Thalia Zedek and Bikini Kill on tour. The Walkman was behaving well, but perhaps running a bit slowly, as Kathleen Hanna sounds a bit chirpier than usual. Thankfully, that can be easily fixed with a tweak of the Speed Tune.

Not so the 1996 interview with Ellyott Dragon, which popped into the tape player, ran for five seconds and then stopped. Snapped tape. Now WTF do I do? Any further suggestions welcome. Surely, history cannot be erased by a flimsy tape. Can it?

IWD on Film

Being of the non-televisual persuasion, I had to wait until I awoke this morning and checked online to see who won at the 82nd Oscars and to learn that, yes, the Academy finally deemed a woman worthy of the best director award. I'm sure it's a very happy International Women's Day for Kathryn Bigelow. The film I was really rooting for, though, was Precious (from the novel, blah, blah), which did succeed in a couple of categories, including a well-deserved win for Mo'Nique. Hurrah.

These successes cannot disguise the continued under-representation for women behind the camera, and so it's a good time to mention that the Bird's Eye View Festival continues in London this week, with a Susanne Bier masterclass today and screenings of films by Kim Longinotto, Jessica Hausner and Cherien Dabis later in the week.

Friday Night Drama

I've been meaning to write about Anat Ben-David's performance at Dirty Cop Friday, but got rather distracted by some drama that happened beforehand, namely a collision involving my bus. Quite an emotional scene, as the car that rear-ended the stationary bus was totalled and one of the car's occupants required medical treatment and a trip in an ambulance.

With shaking knees and jangled nerves, I made my way to DCF to meet a friend and then was whisked off to Optical to do a live interview with Anat Ben-David, the results of which are now on Optical's Featured Sets. Not my most focussed or incisive questioning, but, what the heck.

Below is also some live video of the night. I think she was a bit annoyed with the audience reaction, repeatedly chastising everyone for being too cool. Now I have attended numerous gigs over the years and London is the worst for being stand-back-arms-folded-impress-me attitudinal, but I really thought this group was out to have fun and just wasn't familiar with her work. Oh, well. A bit of confrontation spices up a night. And I made it back home without any further traumas.

Lorries and Loungers

Back from another show, a mixture of giddiness and exhaustion. I did my good deed for the day by pointing an errant Viennese lorry driver in the right direction, lest he send his load of Tische und Stühle crashing into a low-hanging bridge. He was very grateful for my efforts, as he didn't speak English. Finally, finally, the German lessons are paying off...

Last night was quite enjoyable, a worthwhile hike to the wilds of northwest London to see the debut of Club Artyfartle (still not sure about the name), an assemblage of five singer-songwriters showing off their new wares. This took an unusual form of all of them lining up on the stage and playing one song per "set", but with three sets. The mystery performer turned out to be Viv Albertine sporting a bloody finger, courtesy of some dangerous potato peeling.

Viv was the only one to play electric guitar, which is perhaps cheating, but she seemed at home among the acoustic stringed set: Martin Stephenson (very funny banter), Acton Bell (delicate playing), Katy Carr (massive voice, tiny ukulele) and club promoter Helen McCookerybook (good tunes and elaborately written lyrics--see above) all performed new material, with the odd fluffed note to prove it.

Aside from the music, I quite liked the cakes and casual conversation, especially as among the guests was Gina Birch discussing her new-found passion for knitting bags. Things I gleaned: more Raincoats gigs are coming and Gina is now blogging. I also met a cousin of a Mo-Dette, who told some great stories about being on the road with them back in the day.

Showers Likely

Seeking some shelter from another cold, wet day in the Big Smoke and finding myself in the City, I stopped in at my favourite attraction, the Museum of London. Perhaps it is its location, enmeshed in the old London Wall, or the fact it tells the story of the capital and retains an air of sentiment, in my increasingly jaded outlook.

In any case, truthfully, the museum is not looking at its best right now, with new galleries under construction and not due to open until May. As it stands, the history of London stops at 1666, with the Great Fire, the subject of which forms a rather camp 6-minute film that I viewed, along with an elderly couple and a bored family, who left half-way through, before the fire finally stopped and the rebuilding process began. What a nailbiter.

The place was thronged with schoolkids taking a tour of the Roman Gallery and I managed to keep one step ahead of the screaming hordes until they caught up with me just by the Great Fire, thwarting my efforts to try on the fireman's (sic) hat. Pesky kids.

I did, however, spot a rather fetching leather jerkin in the Mediaeval section. To die for, but too small for me. The caption said it was for a young boy. Ah, that would explain the rather limited bosom area. Nice buttons, though.

Girl in a Thunderbolt

Witches Hat Club
London
12 February

As a hotbed of creativity and musical inspiration, Norwich has, up until recently, escaped my attention. But, thanks to Grrrl Sounds, I now know how much this humble East Anglia burg has to offer in the way of bands.

One such exemplar is Girl in a Thunderbolt (Maria to her friends), who appeared on a bill of otherwise folky bearded types on Friday night, a bit of an odd pairing, but she is used to it, declaring she has become a singer-songwriter almost by default. A devotee of DIY, old things and blogging, she has been playing in bands since 2005 and has been solo the last couple of years, recording at home and playing gigs around the UK and Europe.

In her short seven-song set one heard a hint of weariness, but her voice grew stronger as she progressed, sampled acoustic guitar and tambourine accompanying her distinctive vocals, the odd break adding piquancy. "Irate", delivered with some slap guitar and heavy breathing, was a highlight. On "Dopamine" she switched to her vintage Omnichord for a cautionary tale of sleeping with friends.

Before the gig, we conversed briefly and she explained in her soft-spoken manner that she has an album recorded in Norway, but isn't sure of its time or manner of release. The four songs on her EP, Songs for Modern Lovers, give a flavour of her vast musical influences and the capabilities of her home studio. I am particularly partial to "Old Bones" and "Volatile". Girl in a Thunderbolt is back in London on 18 February.

How It Is

Just back from a brief trip to the Tate Modern, braving snowstorms and screaming schoolchildren, who seem to be swarming the south bank, lucky them to have so many attractions to visit within a short distance: Shakespeare's Globe, London Eye, Southwark Cathedral, etc. But not, presumably, Vinopolis.

In any case, said bairns were positively gleeful entering How It Is, Miroslaw Balka's installation in the Turbine Hall. From the back it looks like an upturned crate. From the front, more like a cattle car, with a steep ramp leading into the mysterious blackness. The kids screamed their heads off, while my guest and I merely peered inquisitively in, looking for signs of life.

Sniffing the air, I found it rather cool and sweet-smelling. I spotted some light-coloured shapes in the dark, identified them as people and vowed not to step on them. Venturing through the middle, we didn't actually make contact with anything until we bumped into the back wall and understood why the shapes were so low down: they were sitting against said wall.

And from the inside, it was a nice bit of people-watching, as the silhouetted forms rose up from the ramp and joined us. Very Close Encounters. Briefly, we pondered our places in the world and the difficulty of moving forward. My friend went back out and came in, offering: "It doesn't work the second time." So, first impressions are everything.

Winter in Wien

So, just back from a quick trip to wintry Vienna, just enough time to work in some exhibits, interviews and even a few gigs. Very productive.

First up was Gender Check, the mammoth exhibit of Eastern European depictions of gender, currently at MuMok, but also running in Warsaw in March. As it happened, Cornelia Schleime, one of the exhibiting artists, was in town for a talk, so I stayed to see that, making it a 12-hour shift for me at the museum. Turns out she doesn't consider her work to have any relevance to gender roles, so a bit off-message there, but always entertaining. And I found out: blondes do have more fun.

Next up was the launch of the new issue of Fiber, so a chance to meet some of the folk behind this fine publication, as well as hear some readings from some incredibly nervous writers. I can't be smug. I have never read my work aloud. So, well done to them.

Then it was PARTY TIME with Scream Club, in town for the night and in fine form at Brut. Hot, sweaty fun and a new album due in the spring.

After an absolutely freezing walk through the out-of-season (and amazingly atmospheric) Prater, it was off to see Amanda (Fucking) Palmer put on an astounding show at Arena. Wow. Making her entrance straddling a balcony while performing some piece of Schlager nonsense by 1950s teen idol Heintje earned her massive kudos and it went on from there. The choice of covers was inspired: Michael Jackson, The Sound of Music, Grauzone, Radiohead (off-mic and on ukulele; see below) and, finally, Leonard 'Laughing Boy' Cohen's "Hallelujah", which was rather a downbeat end to an upbeat concert, but the locals say that Vienna is rather a depressive city, so perhaps it all made sense.