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.

Dirty Cop Friday

As previously mentioned, Optical Radio is based at the London art space The Old Police Station, with all its attendant interesting "original features". This Friday the station is holding a party/fundraiser, Dirty Cop Friday, which will also be streamed live.

It starts at 6pm and includes films, talks, art, DJ Munkybutler and live sets from the bands The Ruthless and The Apocryphalites.

Artist in the Loo

You ever make a dash for the loo and find an artist in residence? Well, it is a hazard in London, as I discovered on arriving at The Old Police Station to do my radio show. There, ensconced in one of the former cells, was artist Claudia di Gangi, several days into her residence with her show Is Your Studio a Refuge or a Place of Torture? , as part of Walls of Authority.

As this particular cell served as the Ladies toilet, it was a bit of a shock, but after a visit elsewhere, I sat down in Claudia's temporary studio for a chat. She has been living and working there since last week, making videos that she posts on YouTube. Although she doesn't consider her practice to be performance, she does interact with members of the public who drop by. But, mainly it's about the videos and reacting to the enforced solitude of such a space. She will be presenting her findings to the public on 23 January.

Amanda Palmer live webcast

So, here's a bit of post-modern multi-tasking in the digital age. As I type this, I am passively participating (i.e., lurking) in the latest Amanda Palmer cosy fireside webcast. Quite by accident, as I saw her status update on MySpace mentioning it. I haven't actually figured out how to actively participate by commenting without handing over the shreds of my online security to some unknown company. But, at least I can see other people's (1453 viewers at last count!) comments.

So, far she's not saying anything of burning interest, but is sporting a cool T-shirt (Antihausfrau, with an umlaut over the i for some reason), and I am hoping she will expand on her Tweeted reports from the Golden Globes that I found highly amusing as they appeared, alongside Twitpics, especially the one from the ladies room, packed with young thin, blonde things I didn't recognise but are apparently really famous.

Ah, the ukulele has made an appearance! Yes, that gets an immediate response from the commenters. Odd, Amanda hasn't really responded to any of the comments that are appearing. Surely, this is the point of webcasts--interactivity. Now Amanda is taking a moment out to Twitter during her own live webcast. This must be the ultimate in self-reflexivity. What did we all do before the web, eh?

Listen to the Pictures

As career shifts go, moving from goth sirendom to painter is a pretty nifty one, and Anja Huwe has made just such a move, establishing herself in the art world over the last decade, after leaving Xmal Deutschland. Tonight was the opening of her first exhibit, Listen to the Pictures, in her native Hamburg.

In November, Anja walked me around her studio, showing me the large canvasses she works with tools to make densely pointillist acrylic works. As she explained, even in her days as a singer, she saw songs as colours and, in her paintings, she hears sounds. "This is my music," she told me. Currently, she is working on a book about this condition, known as synaesthesia.

Listen to the Pictures runs at Westwerk, Hamburg until the 24th of January.

Miep Gies

Miep Gies, who helped hide Anne Frank's family and rescued the girl's diary, has died aged 100. What a woman.

This quote from The Guardian sums up her view of the world: "I don't want to be considered a hero. Imagine young people would grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty."

ITN has an overview of her life.

Hitch-hike

This is pretty cool: Deerhoof and Marlene Marder performing Kleenex's "Hitch-hike" somewhere in Switzerland.

Flaked Out

Well, I am meant to be on air presenting the first edition of 2010 of Odd Girl Out. Spent the weekend editing audio clips, trying to get to grips with the limitations of Audacity, etc. But, No, tonight's live show is cancelled. The station manager was worried about getting home, as last time it snowed during a show, it took him five hours and me SIX HOURS to get back, such is the state of London's public transport and its strange aversion to a few flakes of the white stuff.

So, instead, I am home baking chocolate chip cookies. As you do. Tomorrow I hope to finally enjoy the snow, instead of enduring it. Will also listen to a bunch of downloads and try to make next week's show, which includes interviews with Chicks on Speed and Joyce Raskin, extra, extra special.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

Taxi for 2009

Still digesting the news that the top song for 2009, as chosen by listeners to 6Music, is by Depeche Mode. Eh, what decade is this? The 1980s, apparently. It does feel like 2009 has been the year of the revival.

Anyway, onto more highfalutin matters. Next month 500 yellow cabs in New York will be featuring artwork by Shirin Neshat, Yoko Ono and Alex Katz, which is pretty cool. Maybe TFL could combine this idea with Poems on the Underground. Over to you, Mayor Boris.

And to all...

Just listening to Beth Ditto's two-hour Christmas special on 6Music. Things got off to a bumpy start when she referred to the Slits and Banshees drummer as "Bunjee", but it improved from there--a mix of her favourite bands and some festive tracks. The kicker was a rather out-of-tune Christmas number cooked up by Beth at a Girls Rock Camp a few years ago which rhymes "Christmas" with "kisses". The programme is now on Listen Again and airs again on 3/1/10.

May as well tie up a few loose ends while I'm here. Congrats to Myra Davies for her Qwartz nomination for last year's Cities and Girls. Also, I am quite enjoying the new albums by Meshell Ndegeocello and Cobra Killer. I haven't heard anything from Meshell since the mid-90s but Devil's Halo is a real delight, a mix of rock band arrangements and introspective lyrics which, I think, is a grower. The Cobra Killer record, Uppers and Downers, also surprised me, because I've never really been sure about them. I think their presentation sometimes obscures the music, but this record is packed with clever songs spiced up by a few guest appearances.

Must go check on the Quorn roast. The smoke alarm has already gone off once today, a great tradition, to be sure. So, to all....

De-listed

So many things I am meant to be doing: clearing space to finally set up proper bedroom instead of sleeping on futon in office, writing speculative article on artist/filmmaker, prepping re-construction of destroyed radio show, oh, and blogging.

I have been asked a few times for end of year/decade lists, but find I have nothing to say in this format. Why is this? I used to love lists. I would never go shopping without one and about a decade ago used to compile all my favourite songs into a bespoke compilation tape for my own enjoyment.

Now, however, I have become listed out by other people's lists. It seems the easiest way to fill space in media outlets and strikes me as, quite frankly, the laziest of lazy journalism. So, I am not doing one. Everyone can make up her or his own mind about favourite and least favourite things. So there.

Odd Girl Out

At this time of year, with the wet and cold persisting, it's a good time to nestle in the welcoming bosom of radio (so to speak), but for me this daily ritual has added piquancy, as for the last two months I've been producing and presenting my own show. Odd Girl Out airs weekly on the web station Optical Radio, and it's been a welcome return for me to the airwaves after a long gap.

The idea came to me some time in the early '90s when I still lived in San Francisco and was writing a bi-weekly column on women and the arts for a local queer paper. Once I moved to London and began researching what should have been my book on women and underground music (long story), I began to think it would be great if there were a way to bring the music alive, so to speak.

The first version of Odd Girl Out aired way back in 1996, but it's been a long time finding an outlet for uncensored, un-formatted radio that mixes music and speech and allows me to delve into my archive and record collection.

Slowly, I have been digitising old cassette-recorded interviews and extracting short clips to air on the show. So, far the wisdom of Beth Ditto, Elizabeth Fraser, Gudrun Gut, Cornelia Schleime, Verena Kyselka and Melanie and Dolly of Mad Chicks has seen the light of day. And I've had my first live in-studio interview, with photographer Jaine Laine.

It's still a work in progress and I am adding features as I think of them, but it's great to be back on air and get the work of these amazing women out there. My playlists are posted on my journalistic site. Any suggestions, links or MP3s can be sent to valphnx (at) myspace.com.

Confidence Is a Preference

I was well chuffed to open last Thursday's Guardian, while waiting for my laundry, and see Liz Fraser's visage. "Aha, finally!" I thought, as it's been a long wait for the former Cocteau Twins singer's debut album. I seem to recall she signed to Blanco y Negro in about 1999. So, a long wait, indeed. She doesn't even have a proper website, just a rather threadbare work in progress. But, I am sure whatever Liz comes up with is worth waiting for.

Sadly, the article doesn't give any great hope. Though she left the group of her own volition, having already set up house in Bristol with her partner Damon and given birth, Liz doesn't seem to have found any great peace of mind and her old insecurities seem to have followed her into her new life. Having interviewed her a few times back in the '90s, I found her extremely personable, able to laugh at herself and others and, of course, quite talented and creative. I had great hopes for a solo career, in which she could finally express herself, unhindered by others' expectations. But, at least from her comments in the article, she still seems to find it hard to release anything for public scrutiny, new single aside.

It makes me wonder: what is the point of being in a band, if it doesn't add to your confidence and sense of capability? I have met many women who leave bands and don't seem to take good things away with them, as if they feel they can only create with their bandmates around them. So sad.

Und jetzt

Typical. As soon as I leave Berlin, exhibits pop up everywhere I would want to see. The latest is Und jetzt, a group show of female artists from the GDR. Among the 12 artists on show are Verena Kyselka and Gabriele Stötzer, two former members of Exterra XX about whom I have written. Other artists include Christine Schlegel, Elsa Gabriel and Cornelia Schleime.

Recently, I had the pleasure of speaking to Cornelia Schleime when she came to London to present some of her Super 8 work. Sadly, I could not attend her talk, as it coincided with my visit to Berlin, but we spoke at length about her life in the GDR and her emigration to West Berlin in the 1980s. She also delivered a highly amusing rant about the plethora of prams in her neighbourhood of Prenzlauer Berg, the baby boom there an unexpected post-wall development.

Und jetzt runs at the Künstlerhaus Bethanien 27 November to 20 December.

Berlin Insane

Tomorrow, were I not otherwise engaged (and far away), I would definitely get myself over to SO36 (a venue I STILL have never been inside, though I have passed by) in Berlin to see the lineup gathered for Berlin Insane: the next chapter of Pale Music. It includes Mona Mur & En Esch, Italoporno, Kill the Dandies and Pale supremo Steve Morell on the decks.

During my recent visit to Berlin, I stopped by Pale HQ to speak with Steve, as a longtime observer of the alternative scene, about gentrification. He had a lot to say, but concluded he fears the powers-that-be want to clean up the city. "Keep Berlin dirty" is his mantra.

As it happens, I also met up with Mona Mur, at photographer Ilse Ruppert's birthday gathering. Just back from touring Poland and the Czech Republic, Mona was buzzing, the kids digging her brutalist industrial vibe. As we left Ilse's flat, Mona spotted the bus we were both meant to be getting and set off on a sprint in her high-heeled boots. Shod in sensible shoes, I quickly outpaced her, but she still made the bus. I was impressed. "These are my stage shoes," she declared, once we were seated on the top deck. From there she directed my attention to various landmarks, including former locations of the wall. Berlin by Night, with the Queen of Darkness. Now that's a tour.

Save Berlin

Back in London one day now, I am still reflecting on my whirlwind trip to Berlin-- mostly work, a bit of fun, not much sleep.

The big topic among people I visited was the future of the city, development, planning and gentrification. The timing of my visit was very much based on the 20th anniversary of the fall of the wall, but only because that is a good starting point to assess the changes that have occurred since then and how they affect the future direction of the city.

As areas like Friedrichshain see huge developments like O2 World and Mediaspree, is there still room for independent, small-scale projects, especially in the area of alternative culture and politics? This is what gives the city its special character and is such a lure for people like me. But, it's not what gets funding.

This weekend sees Save Berlin, a three-day exhibition of alternative visions for Berlin, organised by Ex-Berliner magazine. I missed speaking to the organisers but did have a chat with Julia L, one half of Julia + Julia, the performance duo I met on my last trip. The Julias are collaborating with two others, under the less-than catchy name of Julia + Linda + Julia + Ines, for their Amazonian-hand-craft themed installation in the foyer of the exhibit. This and other visions are on display throughout the weekend at a venue in Wedding, an interesting choice, as Wedding is one of those neighbourhoods being touted as the next Kreuzberg or Prenzlauerberg. So, in five years will people be complaining of how it's too hip, cool, trendy and not affordable? Possibly.

Mauerfall

A cold, grey, drizzly day greeted me as I ventured out to see the Domino Galerie running from Potsdamer Platz up past the Brandenburger Tor. A symbolic wall, set to be toppled this evening to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, this bit of commemoration strikes me as a bit cheesy.

Laid out in a narrow strip patrolled by guards and lined by fencing (Hmmm), it lacks the gravitas or dignity one would expect of such an occasion, especially with the burger vans and commercial enterprises hovering in the background. Nearing Brandenburger Tor, one finds a sense of expectancy and enthusiasm otherwise lacking. Not for me. I won't be anywhere near the place when it all comes tumbling down to the tune of Paul van Dyk.

Sunday I spent the day in Hamburg visiting the studio of artist Anja Huwe, as she prepares for her next exhibition in January. We had a good long talk and were joined by her friend, photographer Katja Ruge, who dropped me off near the coach station. Prowling the mean streets of Hamburg, I spent a good 11 minutes listening to church bells marking 6 pm before devouring a falafel and some Turkish coffee. Didn't see much of Hamburg but found it enjoyable, nonetheless. Not so the 7-hour coach journey, but that's another story.

Treppening

A rather frantic day running around arranging and completing interviews ended with some lusty Hüfteschwingen to loud rock music in the upstairs corridors of RAW-Tempel, a quite extraordinary grassroots project in Friedrichshain that is in dispute with its owners and thus in limbo. An Open House evening, the Treppening featured exhibitions, open studios and a band playing under the stairs while visitors wandered the maze-like layout, sampled fresh waffles and experienced the camaraderie of social cohesion that is sadly lacking in so many neighbourhoods. Long may it reign.

Feedback

Neurotitan Gallery, Berlin
Until 28 November

On a short trip to Berlin, I found myself this evening at the opening of Feedback, an exhibit curated by Danielle de Picciotto. Wandering the space, I tried to imagine the relationships between the visual art on the walls and the sound installations that stand in front of the works. What, for example, is the connection between the intricately cross-hatched drawings of Laurie Lipton and the strange mutterings of Algis Kizys?

Later, I spoke with de Picciotto, who explained that she asked the musicians to respond to particular art works, reversing the usual visual-response-to-music dynamic. "I like to flip things," she declared. An artist, not a curator, dePicciotto works to a particular plan in organising these group shows. Bringing together people who would not normally interact, working with artists she knows and installing the results in Neurotitan (where earlier in the year I viewed Transgression) are all purposeful statements, supporting bold work and independent spaces, such as Neurotitan, which is run by artists.

Art in Berlin, she feels, has changed dramatically, with the commercial element coming to the fore. With rents rising and the prices of work declining, it is harder for artists to get shown and to make a living. The scene has become more competitive, with artists in group shows fighting to be the one to get a solo show.

Cigarettes and beer bottles in hand, visitors mingled with participants including musician Alexander Hacke in a shiny brown suit, and sculptor Petra Wende. I also had a chat with Manon Duursma, whom I met earlier in the year and who is slowly venturing back into music, making field recordings at home. Most intriguing.

Gearing up for the 20th anniversary of the fall of the wall, Berlin is poised with uncertainty. Even the weather can't make up its mind, snowing one day and beaming with sunshine the next.

LFF: week two

While not what I would call a vintage festival, the 53rd LFF ended on a high note for me, as I made it to the last filmmakers tea, a series of which had been held throughout the festival.

An opportunity for press to meet one-to-one (or, as happened, in clusters) with filmmakers, they are a form of journalistic speed dating, one parking oneself awkwardly at a table with a keen or jaded filmmaker and hoping to come away five minutes later with some insights or at least good quotes.

Well, one of my dates stood me up, one was jetlagged and the other had such a full dance card, she conducted group interviews and then legged it to a screening. But, it was certainly an eye opener. Good scones, too, even if I was not as impressed by them as a colleague who piled her plate high and praised the quality of English food! One certainly doesn't hear that compliment paid often.

Anyway, I was very pleased to get an audience with Shirin Neshat, whose debut feature, Women Without Men, played at LFF. Given events in Iran over the summer, the film, which is set in 1953 as the elected Iranian government was replaced by that of the Shah, is timely and, in some quarters, controversial. Originally several installations, the film draws together the stories of four women, as the country is on the brink of the coup that brings the Shah to power. Despite their varying social positions, they all gravitate to a magical orchard, attempting to find a place for themselves in the face of oppression. An allegory for the state of Iran itself, Neshat's vision is confidently realised.

Wearing the green wrist bands of the opposition movement, Neshat confidently handled questions from six or seven journalists, explaining her position as both artist and activist. At some point, I will elaborate on her comments. But, it was an impressive appearance.

I also spoke to Ana Kokkinos, who had just flown in from Australia as a last-minute addition to the festival. Sadly, I was not able to catch her new film, Blessed, but I well remember her debut, Only the Brave, a tough-minded depiction of Greek-Australian teens. She admitted she was something of a teenaged tearaway and is drawn to these kinds of stories, and the new film returns to this terrain, as it follows teenagers and their parents throughout one eventful evening.

Of the films I saw in the second week, standouts are Precious and Ander, two depictions of home life in very different circumstances.

LFF: French Fancies

When it comes to whimsy and visual imagery, Jean-Pierre Jeunet pretty much has it wrapped up, after Delicatessen, Amelie and, um, Alien Resurrection. Now, in Micmacs à tire-larigot, he's tackling the very real-world subject of arms manufacturers. After naive video store worker Bazil is shot in the head by an errant bullet during a shootout, he finds himself homeless, friendless and jobless wandering the streets of Paris.

But, this is no ordinary quotidien Paris, but a sepia-tinted city of Jeunet's imagining, populated by circus performers and lovable rogues who adopt the down-on-his luck Bazil and assist him in his quest to bring down the two munitions companies responsible for his injuries, his father's death and untold miseries in foreign conflicts. This is a man with a dream, and the means to realise it. There follow ridiculous plot twists and implausible set pieces, executed with Jeunet's attention to detail and cinematic references. There is even a bit of romance between Bazil and a contortionist. And, save for some rather creepy voyeurism involving a security guard, it works.

Mia Hansen-Løve's family drama The Father of My Children is also steeped in cinema but of the business kind, as workaholic film producer Gregoire finds his production company under financial pressures, despite his best efforts. Neglecting his family in Paris, he spends all of his time on the phone, attempting to cut deals all over the globe in pursuit of his vision of the purity of arthouse cinema. The film references feel a bit in-joke, with Gregoire locked in a battle with a Swedish auteur over rising production costs. When it all crumbles, the focus shifts to his wife and three daughters, who find themselves stepping into the breach.

In truth, Gregoire is not a very sympathetic character and the film spends far too much time on his endless phone calls and not enough time developing the female characters who, rather belatedly, emerge. It is only revealed toward the end of the film, for instance, that the wife is Italian, hence her desire to move the family to Italy, against the eldest daughter's wishes. The division into two halves feels a bit awkward, negating the emotional power of the film.

Bettina Köster: Queen of Noise

Asinella Records
23 October release

I had an advance copy of this album a year ago and thought it would just be a matter of whacking it on CD and adding some album art. Well, more fool me, because it's obviously had a lot of mixing done since and is now in a totally different order, with changed titles and an additional song.

So, back to the beginning. Köster first started this record back in 2006 when she upped sticks from Berlin to rural Italy and has been working on it ever since, shifting to Vienna and Berlin for various stages.

The one track I hadn't heard proves to be the absolute standout: the cracked piano ballad "Pity Me", which is melodramatic as the title suggests. I am put in mind of a tux-clad Marlene Dietrich swanning around a candlelit cabaret regaling all and sundry with tales of her broken life. Cinematic doesn't begin to cover it.

Elsewhere the record is thoroughly modern, with an underpinning of electronica and squalling guitars. The sax she employed so prominently on her last project, Autonervous, is downplayed to a few atmospheric stabs.

The way she uses her voice is intriguing. I haven't heard such a dramatic shift since Marianne Faithfull returned from her heroin addiction with Broken English in 1979. Having dropped in pitch and tone from the swooping histrionics of Malaria!, Köster's voice now fits menacingly between Faithfull and Grace Jones. When she growls "Welcome to Regina's Diner" on "Regina" it is very much as the spider to the fly.

But the bold listener who enters this web is in for some very pleasant surprises. A Devo-esque tongue-in-cheek cover of "Helter Skelter" finds her dryly intoning rather than shouting. And the album closer "Thar She Blows" is a tender love song.

The bulk of the record is a shake-your-rump and get jiggy sexy workout. I have some quibbles with the running order, as I would have sequenced the bassy "Grab Me" and "Confession" at the start. The latter includes the teasing lyrics "I have been playing in the trash and I kissed a lot of frogs", which beg questions.

I met Bettina Köster in Vienna in summer 2008 for an interview, but as she was still mixing the album, we didn't discuss it much. Subsequently, I emailed her to ask about the record.

KB: The songs I have heard are all in English. Even as recently as the Autonervous record you were still writing in a mixture of English and German. So, why this change now?

BK: When I was recording Autonervous I was in Berlin, [but] now that I live in Italy, I speak much more English. Plus, English is my favorite language, as it is, in my opinion, much more concise.

What influence do your surroundings have on your writing, as far as language, subject, etc.?

Having recorded in the isolation that comes with being a foreigner in a population 500 town [and] not really being proficient in the local language, which is not even Italian but Neapolitan, gave me the oportunity to go deep into myself and deal with nothing but writing songs and recording.

Lyrically, there seem to be recurring words: water, confessions. What would you say are the themes of the record?

I love the water--maybe you remember my song "Kaltes Klares Wasser" [by Malaria!]. I do not care too much about swimming. I like it on the water but not in the water [and] I have grown up with boats. They mostly sink, but nevertheless. When I first came to the area in 1998, I sat on the beach of Positano, one of the Siren Islands right in front of me and I had the strong feeling of feeling familiar, having come from the water there.

Re: confession, I was very open with my lyrics and they are also most personal. And then, I'll have to admit, I kissed a lot of frogs. I confess that I was attracted to the red umbrella (something that is not good for you but that has an intense attraction) and also I kissed the devil's daughter at least once. Which really shattered my world for a moment... [Another lyric] "This procession is ending and leading right up to you" is the visualisation of the new person to enter my life.

LFF: Week One

Seeing as how I am sort of cheating on myself by contributing LFF reviews to other parties (see Sound on Sight), I thought I really ought to make it up to myself by delivering something substantial to Kunstblog. So, fresh from tonight's Screen Talk with Jane Campion, I can report on the inner workings of an auteur.

Actually, Campion wasn't that illuminating, and, as I haven't seen Bright Star, her latest (the clips I have seen of wan young things quoting poetry to each other didn't really pique my interest), I can't do justice to her comments on that work. Suffice to say, a lot of thought went into the sound and the palette.

Interviewed by festival artistic director Sandra Hebron, Campion seemed a bit nervous and giggled a lot, which was surprising for one of such gravitas. She revealed she still gets anxious in the run up to a shoot--"terror" was the word used, and that her break from feature directing was something of a mid-life reassessment. Once back on set, she couldn't remember what to do! Warming to the evening's task, she told some great on-set anecdotes, including how she handled sniping by junior crew.

She also graciously accepted a DVD from a cheeky actress in the audience touting her wares. Amazing the woman got close, given the burly security men seen guarding the door earlier. The LFF has bouncers now! In fact, I was tapped on the shoulder and informed gruffly that "she doesn't want to be filmed" when I tested out the sound capability on my new compact camera. Funny profession to go into then, isn't it?

Generally, I have found the festival a bit user-unfriendly this year. Not just the bouncers (guarding what?), but the reams of uninformative information, scanners used at the Delegates Centre, rooms closed off for private functions and the refrain of "availability permitting". It feels a bit repressed. Loosen up, film people!

Of course, there are loads of cinematic delights to counter the lapses in presentation. My favourites of the first week are the US indie charmer Dear Lemon Lima, (seen on preview) and Jeunet's Mic-Macs, wildly imaginative, if lacking in logic.

Biggest flop is The Exploding Girl Never has a title seemed so inappropriate, for this treacly slow, monosyllabic slackerfest. Him: Hey. Her: Hey. Him: Hi. Her: Hi. I seriously considered getting up and walking out, I was so bored.

London Film Festival

14-29 October, London

Today sees the opening of the London Film Festival, aka Clooney Fest, as dear George has THREE films on display, including tonight's premiere of Fantastic Mr. Fox. Apparently, the queues have been building all day.

George aside, the attractions of the festival include Sam Taylor-Wood's depiction of the youth of John Lennon, Nowhere Boy, which closes the festival, as well as Jane Campion's latest, Bright Star, a biopic of John Keats and Fanny Brawne.

As usual, though, I am more drawn to the small, obscure films and so am looking forward to the dramas Cracks, Tales from the Golden Age, and Leaving. Blank City was announced, but this doc on CBGBs has now been replaced by another, Burning Down the House. Not sure why.

Jane Campion and Julianne Moore are featured speakers, but I am especially keen to see what transpires at the panel on female directors called Snipping Away at the Celluloid Ceiling, the panellists for which have yet to be announced.

I hope to try out some new methods of coverage, so may be popping up in unexpected places.

Scarce: Days Like These

Nottingham, England is not known as one of the great cinematic capitals of the world, but it is where the doc Scarce: Days Like These is premiering on the 13th. There is a reason, as this is where Scarce's UK tour starts and, as the film is about them, it makes sense.



As a great follower of obscure bands myself, I was intrigued as to why the London-based photographer and filmmaker Sally Irvine would undertake to document a band that released one album before breaking up in the 1990s. Mind you, Scarce had a dramatic story: singer/guitarist Chick Graning nearly died from an aneurysm and was only saved by the timely intervention of his bandmates, who broke down his door when he didn't turn up for practice one day.

Having seen the film, I noticed how little Graning says, his more voluble bandmates Joyce Raskin and Joe Propatier doing most of the talking. He seems a rather fragile presence, even 14 years after the event. It was Raskin, committing her thoughts to paper for the book Aching to Be, who contacted Graning and got the re-formation going. She seems to have been most affected by the dissolution of the band, but the emotional fallout is not really covered in the film.

What is clear is the durability of bonds within a band and between band and audience, and the fact that Scarce can break up and re-form a decade later and still find an audience is heartening.

Scarce: Days Like These premieres in Nottingham on 13 October. Scarce tours the UK 13-17 October.

Film Series in London

While the London Film Festival is still some days away, there is plenty for cinephiles in the capital to enjoy this week.

The BFI is marking the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall with a film series looking at "how Europe arrived at its present state and stimulating reflection on its future". Oh, yes.

This first strand, The Writing on the Wall, focusses on German films, and there are some intriguing ones on show, including the double bill Germany, Year Zero + Germany Nine Zero and No Place to Go.

Next week sees a retrospective of Coop 99, the Vienna film cooperative responsible for such titles as Esma's Secret and The Edukators. A few years ago I was blown away by Barbara Albert's Fallen at the LFF and I am pleased to see this film get a screening, with the director in attendance.

The Writing on the Wall runs 4-14 October in London.
The Coop 99 retrospective runs 8-13 October in London.