Elizabeth Shue sings the Blue

Elizabeth Shue has fallen off the radar a bit as of late, which is sad since she is an Academy Award winner!! And oh yes - she starred in one of the greatest family films of all time: Adventures In Babysitting.

And i think she might be the recipient of my first teenage movie star crush.

A Cracker shame

Long time ago in a country far far away (1993, Belfast) Grumpy Man and I went to a gig. Nothing out of the ordinary there, the headliners were Counting Crows and the soirée was at Queen’s uni. We quite liked Counting Crows and would probably have gone anyway, but the main reason we were there was to see the support act, Cracker. A few months earlier we’d heard their single Low; I bought the CD from Virgin right away and listened to nothing else from then until the concert. We were immediate loony fans, quite possibly their biggest fans in Europe! For some reason I feel the need to point out that Grumpy Man and I aren’t secret gay lovers, but I digress.

Looking back, we got a wee bit silly about this, and im pretty sure there was a pact never to disscuss it, but the internet doesn’t count does it? During the Cracker set, we sang along to every song at the top of our voice, getting way to excited (looking back though, it still ranks up there in terms of best gigs). It’s what happened next that’s the problem…

We deicded to get Dave Lowery’s autograph.
Worked out that they were probably staying a the Europa Hotel
Thought they might be hanging out at the bar
Ended up finding out what room number he was in
After humming and haaing we headed up
Stood outside the door for about a minute, before deciding…’well, we’ve gone this far…’
It was imedalty clear from the kafuffle inside that Lowery was in true rock’n'roll fashion, ‘on the job’
We contemplated a run for it before the door opened
The door opened, out popped Lowery in nought but a skimpy towl
We said, uh… we’re big fans can you autograph our CDs?
He did. We vowed never to mention it again.

Good evening Belgrade

Good evening Belgrade this is the Jungle calling, these are the results of the Monkey jury…

2 pts – Bosnia http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/bosniaherzegovina.shtml

4 pts – France http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/france.shtml

6 pts – UK http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/uk.shtml

8 pts – Spain http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/spain.shtml

10 pts - Ukraine http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/ukraine.shtml

12 pts - Greece http://www.bbc.co.uk/eurovision/participants/greece.shtml

REM Accelerate

I’m getting my first listen to the much hyped REM album this morning… I’ll give it my “outta 5″ rating after each listen It’s only a half hour long so I’ll probably have listened to 3 or 4 times before lunch.

I haven’t really enjoyed an REM album since New Adventures in Hi-Fi, but I’m hopeful about this one.

 

9:30 Definitly some rasping tracks in there. A little bit Monstor, a little bit Document. Quite short, no messing about, more angry and urgent than intense and meaningfull.

Larry David Norman (4/8/1947 – 24/2/2008)

The American ‘Dylan-esque’ singer songwriter Larry Norman died last week. He’s a man I’ve seen in concert more than a few times, and had the honour of sharing a limo (people carrier) back from a gig to a hotel in Eindhoven one time. I didn’t know him personally so wouldn’t pretend or assume to write a homily, but I’ll write about my experience of him.

Underrated by the main stream? Certainly. Overrated by the Christian music scene? Most definitely.

It feels disresepectful to write what I’m gonna write next, but I know there will be loads who think the same when they hear he died. They’ll say, seriously! You mean he’s not dead yet!? I remember going to a concert with GrumpyMan in the Assembly Buildings in Belfast circa 1990, everyone was in their seats waiting expectantly about half an hour before Showtime when the promoter came out and told us that he was actually still in Holland, pretty much at death’s door. Over the next, well 18 years I guess he had been rumoured to be almost dead. I wonder how it would have changed his life to know in 1990, than actually death wasn’t just around the corner. Maybe that’s a great way to live, or maybe it’s not.

Next time I met Larry was in 1997 when my little band of musicians were sharing main stage at a festival called Flevo in Holland. He held the crowd of thousands in awe as he stumbled through his repertoire, like an aged price fighter, every anthem felt like it could be final. Afterwards myself and Vox were waiting in the back stage drivers area waiting to be shipped back to our hotel - the drivers were having a bit of banter with us, talking in dutch of course and probably taking the mick, so we were in the boisterous mood pretending to be jack-the-lads ourselves. A knock game to the door and for some reason I thought it would be funny to pull the door open really quickly and shout YES?! WHATAYAWANT! At who ever it was. It was of course Larry. “I need a drive, man” he mumbled. I felt really daft and said…. “ur, um I’m … an artist not a driver” (I’m going red, as i did then).

Of course now that Larry was wanting a lift the drivers swung in to action, yes larry, no larry. So we were told we could share a car with Larry. Memory fails me, but I think I jumped in the front seat, just for the laugh of seeing Vox have to make small talk with the big man, but it didn’t mater, all Larry wanted was a McDonalds. At 1am! In the outskirts of Eindhoven! The legend is that Vox made some comment under his breath re: Cheese Burgers causing his heart problems… but I can’t remember if he actually did.

An hour or so driving round looking for a Micky D’s and suddenly Vox and I were less in awe of him and more in a ‘ can we, the heck, get back the hotel please’. So we talked him into the idea that there would be food at the hotel and he seemed happy.

I’m doubting that story tells much about an important and sincere artist like Larry Norman. But it’ my story, it’s my addition to his legend.

For a real obituary jump here - http://www.stocki.ni.org/news/item/127

Tragedy of Wine

Amy Winehouse in 2004 and in 2008, she’s still got ’something’ but the effect of drug abuse, fame (and tattoos) are hard to watch.

Brits 08

The best concert i ever attended?

[greatest 'hits' redux]  

In my late teens and early 20s this would have been a question to which I could have replied immediately, with my top 5… and this top 5 would have changed yearly! My circle of friends were very into going to gigs - it wouldn’t be unusual to see 4 or 5 a month.

But now days I maybe get to 3 or 4 a year, none of which seem to really compare to the emotion and excitement of those heady days in the mid 90s.

So, therefore I think im about ready to say that my greatest concert experiences are probably behind me - and I can now objectively look back at the ones I remember as being great. (im limiting it to ‘event’ gigs in venues of over 500 or so)

Cracker, Mandela Hall. They were/are pretty unknown, I heard the single Low on BBC Radio 1 once, and it became my immediate favorite song. My buddy AD and I learned the words to the songs in an instant, and when we heard they were supporting Counting Crows on their tour – well it felt like Christmas.

The Stunning, Olympia Theatre, Dublin. The Stunning were a great band, one of those Irish bands that were only really big in Ireland, but with a couple more ‘hits’ could have been a household name. AD got me into their first album by playing the tape on a loop, in his VW beetle multiple times! Their second album was just as good, and we heard tell of a gig in Dublin that summer. So we got tickets and drove to Dublin (if I remember rightly we took a wrong turn and ended up driving for hours through IRA bandit country). It was a midnight start for the gig and the place was packed with the big names of Dublin culture and music. The band seemed to the treating every song like it was their last and the crowd bellowed their love at every opportunity. It was only at the encore that we realised that it was their last ever gig (everyone else seemed to know), the singer thanked his parents in the ‘royal box’ and thanked the fans for all the good times. We drove home in the Beetle as the sun was rising, knowing we’d witnessed an event.

REM, Slane Castle. Slane gigs were always more about the day than the actual gig, but in the case of this one I remember being completely un-impressed by the 99 support acts (apart from spearhead who were great). After 5 hours of standing there I really just wanted to go home… but REM were mesmerizing – it was around the time of ‘what’s the freq Kenneth?’

Hothouse Flowers, Ulster Hall. I just remember them being so cool, great songs belted out with intensity and a real sense of something communal. A few years later I saw them again in the Limelight bar (with about 2000 fewer people), totally different kind of gig, but once again, memorable.

Elastica/Ash, Limelight. I know its very Britpop, but there’s no use censoring my taste in retrospect. Ash were the support act, they were still in school and this was their first real gig – a great feeling of these guys are just like us as we moshed around. Elastica were at their peek –and I still maintain, very underrated.

U2, RDS, Dublin. Zoo TV comes home. We slept out over night on the street at the Virgin Megastore in Belfast to get tickets,  so much was the anticipation. The concert was mind blowing – almost overwhelming, it felt totally important (if that’s not to pretentious). I think history will laud  Zoo TV, I think that Achung Baby and that tour was as important to 90s music as Beatles/Stones were to 60s Sex pistols/Bowie to the 70s etc. (nothing like a bit of hyperbole) (Rick Astley to the 80s?)

Radiohead, Queens University. They had released OK Computer on the Monday – the only album I’ve ever queued for before the record shop doors opened. They were about to become the greatest band on the planet for a while, and to our almost disbelief, there were roomers of a ‘secret’ gig in Belfast on the Tuesday. Myself, AD and SG got down to Belfast town centre at 7am (if memory serves me) to queue for one of the 100 tickets… we were about 578th in the queue! We hung on anyway until 9am when we were officially told no. I can still feel the disappointment. But with 2 hours to go before the concert I got a phone call from good friend and local rock Svengali, SO,  that there were 2 spare tickets going – I jumped at it, but then had to take the decision to ditch SG … who was very and rightly p1ssed off! (only for a week or two, but still mentions it).  The gig it self was a bizarre experience, the greatest band in the world playing to 100 or so people in a university hall, it was ethereal, almost other-worldly. The sounds and melodies of that album are still amongst my favourite.

OK, number one U2, Earls Court, London. AD and I didn’t have tickets… we got them from a tout just before it was due to start.  Bono had been flying home in between earls court shows to visit his dying father, which added to his connection with the songs. Once again emotion and passion in every song, reaching out to every one there. AD and I weren’t even sitting together, but when we met up after… AD looked like he had tears… I mocked him (of course) but I had been welling up all through it. We actually paid a fortune to see them again at Slane Castle a month or so later – but it was a waste of money – nothing beat that earls court show.

MIA - Paper Planes

Songs from the shows

I’m no fan of musical theatre. Well, fan is a big word… I have been to see a few musicals, and yes, like them… but that doesn’t make me a fan… The last one I went to see was Spamalot, which was in fact brilliant. My mate GE was with me and she was a big fan, so I allowed myself to be swept along, which is always the best way I feel. Before that I went to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - it had all the great names… WILMOT-BLAIR-BIGGINS!!! A great show.

Understand that I’m not gay or ought, but I love musicals.

Last night on the south bank show (embarrasingly for the best part of a decade I thought Melvin Bragg was Billy Bragg’s dad - I was shockingly fished in by someone!) Anyway the show was about the making of Viva la Diva which ‘stars’ opera singer Katherine Jenkins and Ballerina Darcey Bussell. (It’s notable that Bussell looks really like the thin one offa trinny and Susannah, and Jenkins is fairly hot!)

Truly truly awful: Jenkins can sing but is a rubbish dancer, Bussell can dance but can’t sing. But they both had to sing and dance songs from Broadway. My word, an absolute car crash. The opening night in Manchester was a peer ‘through your fingers’ experience as they sang out of tune and bumped into each other a lot.

Whoever told them it was a good idea, was less than inspired.

Flight of the conchords

The series is almost over, so it seems a bit late for a recommendation…. but Flight of the Conchords on BBC3, is very very funny.

From a shabby apartment on the Lower East Side, the friends spend their days seeking gigs for their digi-folk act, Flight of the Conchords (New Zealand’s “fourth most popular folk act”) in a bid to break onto the world stage.

Indonesian Knights

This may or may not be interesting - as with most QMonkey musings, it’s one of those ‘stories’ again - part of a finite resource which will someday soon run dry, not unlike the oilfields of Arabia. I’ll then have to investigate more renewable post sources. A few years ago I spent a year working in Singapore, it involved quite a lot of travel in SE Asia, visiting remote power stations to install software. The actual job was as boring as it sounds but the trips made for some interesting copy.

One of those trips was to a little remote town on the north cost of Indonesia, called Paiton. Myself and fellow Irishman Sean were joined on the trip by our new recruit in the office, Catherine (Catherine was a local Singaporean, who was in her mid 20s like me, but wasn’t really ‘up for the banter’ and eventually resigned after 2 months saying she couldn’t work with Sean and I. How embarrassing!). We flew from Singapore to Surabya with Gaurda Airlines - a scarily stereotypical journey, if there had been chickens roaming free in the cabin they would have fit right in - I took extra notice of the ‘in the unlikely event’ announcement!

We were met at the airport by a driver in one of those ubiquitous Toyota vans. The journey to our apartment was to take about 2 hours, it was late at night so I figured I could maybe get some shut-eye.

People often talk about scary car journeys, but with this one I KNEW we were going to crash, I was just praying that it would be a small crash and there wouldn’t be too many injuries. It was no better than a dirt track, no road markings, but heavy heavy traffic in both directions, no one travelling below 70 mph and our driver overtaking at every possible chance. On a number of occasions we forced the oncoming trucks to brake hard to avoid us - and we did bump in to a number of cars along the way… barely acknowledged by the driver! Sean, Catherine and I didn’t say a word for the entire trip but when we arrived we all just started to laugh manically… well… Sean and I laughed… Catherine just stared at us, shaking her head.

Next day we headed to the Power Station and did our bit - no really problems as expected. The main guy Pieter was a South African who’d be living there for a few years and was keen for Sean and I to join him for a night out in the village. I was a bit hesitant and said I’d maybe stay behind with Catherine… but that was greeted with cheeky smiles and winks… it all got a bit embarrassing, so I ended up going out with the boys. Paiton village had no street lights and was really just a succession of open air stalls, hawkers selling exotically smelling street food and questionable women hanging around doorways. The locals mingled in the middle of the street, constantly bumping into people on bikes, old rickety cars and even oxes (oxes or oxen?).

We were the only white guys around - but everyone was very friendly and some of them seemed to know Pieter. We headed into a bar and the lady at the door said, hello Mr Pieter, your usual table? No idea why she said that, because there only really seemed to be one table… it was a white plastic garden style table in the middle of the room in front of a big screen. All this time I was trying to look like a ‘cool’ man of the world… in a ‘I do this sorta thing all the time’ kinda way… but the screen had me worried. The worry enhanced slightly as all got our own ‘personal bar maids’.

So the three of us sat around the table, with our personal maid standing beside us, pouring the Bintang beer into our glasses and grinning a lot. Their job seemed to be constantly shower us with complements… Mr Peiter you so funny, Mr Jonny you so tall etc etc.

It was at this point that I made a complete tit of myself - my maid was very keen to keep the glass topped up, so every time I took a sip she topped it up - catching me quite unawares and causing me to spill it all over myself. Much running around to find towels and dabbing of t-shirts ensued.

After I’d been cleaned up, and made to look like a complete amateur, Pieter nodded to the head waitress and she shuffled around at the bottom of the screen. I started to get very nervous - I’d no interest in any hanky panky and this seemed to very much be what was on the cards. Until all became clear… IT WAS KAROKE NIGHT! Sean was handed a microphone and the words to Brown Eyed Girl came up in the screen. He belted it out with gusto, with his maid sitting on his knee swaying along.

Once I knew that It wasn’t about the hanky panky I was WELL into it…which is weird because I never seemed to get to the end of my beer  … I started to find it very ironic and, well, the makings of a good story. I shuffled through the booklet of songs… and selected With or Without You… I was on my feet… blasting it out, in a shack in the middle of Piaton, dancing a long to it with my personal maid… she said Mr Jonny you such a good singer… I said… thanks I used to be in a band.

Oh my giddy aunt… I did actually say that… I’ve gone red even now as I type it. I might not publish this post - these kinda things are best left unpublished!

Songs i wish i’d written #57

I know it’s sung by Leona Lewis,  an X-Factor clone, and it kills any cred i thought i had, but its a great tune, and the lyric   ….you cut me open, and i keep, keep bleeding love…   is perfect.

… oh really?.. having the words leona lewis and x-factor on the post quadruples your hits? didn’t know that!

We Fins luv your soft rock stylings ya?

OK, it’s come to this, im going to have a roll out an other ‘when I were a rock star’ tale. Reason being that two of t’other legends have got blogs and are likely to mine this story soon if I don’t get in there first. Truth be told we were small fry, we managed to cultivate a reasonable close-to-home fan-base who would buy enough of our CDs to pay for the next one, and a great slap-up Christmas dinner. But one thing our illustrious manger did well was to publicise us in European countries who frankly didn’t know any better.

There was a period of two years or so when approx one long weekend a month we were jetting off to Scandinavia, Holland or Germany to rock the socks of the unsuspecting locals. Best part of it was without doubt, the fact that it was a free weekend away with yer mates. Most times we’d stay in hotels but some times we’d be sleeping on the floor in some random house of a promoter who looked like Ringo Starr. In retrospect those were the most craic - ‘getting in amongst em’ as our manager liked to say.

The venues would vary greatly, sometimes it would be a festival in a holiday camp near Eindhoven, next it was a youth meeting in downtown Düsseldorf, next it would be a wee pub is the snowy hills around Essen, or a beach hut along the Hague sea front or a summer festival by a late in mid Sweden. We never really knew what to expect until we got there.

One February weekend we were booked to play at an unpronounceable festival in Turku, Finland. We usually flew to Amsterdam then on to our location, this was a particularly cold weekend and when the plane landed in Helsinki it was minus 16 degrees. As we walked from the plane to the terminal the wings were being de-iced for take off (I wouldn’t have fancied the return journey). We got to the luggage carousal and waited as usual for our instruments and our bags to come around, as we always did hoping they hadn’t got damaged in transit (as was common). Fifteen minutes later we noticed that the bags had stopped coming, and the horrible realisation set in that we we’d been de-bagged!

Vox came to the fore, and marched up to the KLM desk to let them know that we were world renowned recording artists and we needed our bags by 11am the next day for a sound check. This seemed to do the trick so we made our way to the hotel, finding it all quite an adventure.

At the hotel we had a bit of banter at the bar, meeting up with a crazed fan (crazed seems harsh, but he was a bit of a mentalist). He was Finnish and had travelled to gigs in other parts of Europe to see us, and he was really proud to have us on his home turf.

We were still wearing the clothes we’d travelled in - I have an awful feeling that I opted for casual slacks and a polo neck sweater. We’d no wash bags or night attire, other than the wee wash pack KLM had given us on the plane. So when the morning came we were dying to get at our bags so we could have a good shower and change before the gig.

But yes, you’ve guessed it, the bags hadn’t arrived. At this point we started to get a bit concerned. The cavalcade arrived at the hotel to bring us to the gig venue and seemed uninterested in our story and more interested on getting us there in time. ‘Don’t worry we’ll sort it out’ seemed to be their favourite phrase. So in we got, still wearing the clothes we put on the previous morning and smelling like angry Swedes (that joke slays them in Finland).

As with all these trips we still had no idea what to expect. In my mind I was thinking it would be a little town square festival, where we played on the back of a lorry while some people listened and others wandered around the stalls. When we pulled up at the biggest ice hockey arena I’d ever seen we were convinced we were just using the car park.

As we got through the doors we realised that it was a 20,000 seater arena and they were hopeful of filling most of it. We started to get that pit of the stomach feeling of oh oh, we’re soooo out of our depth. They obviously think we’re something we’re not. Think about the stage at Live Aid, but indoors, massive screen each side of the stage, excited teenagers everywhere

THEN it hit us, oh my word, we’re wearing the clothes we travelled in, oh crap, we’ve got no instruments. The hunt was on scavenging and begging random punters to see if we can borrow a few guitars - eventually it paid off and we got what we needed (though I ended up playing this Level 42 like 5-string poncy bass). We jumped on stage trying to look like it was the kinda audience we were used to - shouting things like     Hello Finland!

When it was over we were euphoric, taking pictures of everything that moved, chatting non stop about the gig, but even as we were manning the merchandise booth, servicing a queue of enthusiastic Fins,  it was tempered with the melancholic thought that we would probably never play to this many people again. We never did, but we’ll always have Turku.

Of a thursday evening

I’ll tell you who is hilarious. That Russell Brand. His Ponderland shows on Channel 4 thisweek have left me doing that quite embarrassing thing, of laughing uncontrollably in a room by myself. Tonight’s was on sport, as with all good comics, its the way he tells em!

I’ve now just turned over to BBC2 to watch some of Paul McCartneyon the electric proms. My good friend GB is a big macca fan, and will no doubt have loved it. Though it was ‘good’, when he plays the old Beatles songs it feels quite sad that him and Ringo are the only ones left. Anyway…….

Vox O’Malley has paid generous tribute, through the medium of the comic strip. A great all round artist, thinker and techno philosopher… he’s obviously found some new graphics tool and is going to town! a man after my own heart

Celebrity Encounter: James Galway

During my formative years, my parents decided it would be a good idea for me to learn an instrument. A friend of the family played the flute and had an old one she could give me, so for that reason, the flute it was. My mum looked up the local paper and found a teacher for me, Tuesday evenings from 6 to 7, for next 4 or 5 years!

I did enjoy it and hate it in equal measure, but looking back I’m really glad I was forced to go when I would have rather watched TV and played with my mates. I didn’t keep it up when I left high school, but I did learn other instruments and it helped make music a big part of my life.

Being a flautist (yes indeed) my hero was the great James Galway, made all the better because he harked from my native East Belfast. Randomly enough, my teacher was the daughter of a guy called Billy Dunwoody, who actually taught Galway (if there is such a thing as a flute geek, then this post will be loved, if not, it will be scorned).

The pinnacle of my fluting experience was when James Galway played a concert at the Ulster Hall. Because of Ms Dunwoody’s contacts she got tickets for five of her students to go along, and wait for it, meet Mr Galway backstage.

I remember it photographically, it was the biggest moment of my short life. The five of us, and the equally awed teacher lined up outside the dressing room to be ushered into his presence. Once there none of us uttered a word, we just couldn’t. But I remember he let us touch his golden flute (not a euphemism), and gave us a sage and insightful piece of advice. Keep Practicing. Brilliant.