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.