Viv Albertine: Clothes Clothes Clothes Music Music Music Boys Boys Boys.

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I missed this when it came out and I see it has (rightly) picked up a bunch of awards.  Not the Pulitzer admittedly, but it’s not a Pulitzer book.

What it is is a damn good read, a hugely insightful rummage around in the mucky underwear of the punk era and, at times, a heartbreaking tale of one woman’s battle with life.

Viv Albertine was the guitarist in The Slits, but by her own admittance it was a struggle to get there.  She painfully explains the process by which she found her voice as meanwhile,  Ari Up, the child singer of the band confidently found her own precocious style.

It’s kind of a rags to rags story with a lot, and I mean a LOT, of bodily fluids shared along the way.

But it’s hugely engaging, often hilarious and deeply affecting.  Her moral code is set up for all to see, to be challenged but stoutly defended throughout.  It’s fair to say Viv has had a few encounters.

Her style of writing is particularly engaging.  She has no aspirations to be the next Donna Tartt but she can, and does, write a great story flitting about, as it does, in time sharing with us the minutiae of fashion in London in the 70’s. (In a small way like Tartt’s ex lover, Brett Easton Elliss, does in American Psycho)

Her description of John Lydon ‘s performance on stage with the Sex Pistols is a highlight and viscerally recreates that whole scene and, more importantly, the culture behind it.

Short chapters.

Short sentences

It drives along relentlessly.

And of course, you reach the end of the punk era with a sense of disappointment. The rest, about half of the book, remains.  How can it hold our interest ?

But not only does it do that, it actually gets even better as we hear of her terrible failed marriage, her horrendous IVF treatments, cancer and her uncertain return to the big stage.

OK, it’s a music book.  But in reality it’s the tale of a tortured woman who had a lot of fun.

It’s compelling and I urge you to buy it.

David Bowie’s goodbye at The Brits


The Brits was mostly its usual fare – irritating in very large part.

OK, we had a couple of good bits – I’m a bit of a sucker for Adele’s chat and much as I try to hate Coldplay you have to admire the boy’s desperate attempts at being a decent bloke.  And Ant and Dec made us smile from time to time.

But then, in the blink of an eye, it transcended.

We had Bowie’s eulogy.

The moment we all needed.

The funeral he never had.

Gary Oldman stepped onto the stage and the place hushed.

Jeez, I’m filling up again just writing this, like I did listening to Gary Oldman talk about his pal, David Bowie.

My Brit baiting is over.  This was momentous and any show that can have this sort of effect deserves to exist.

This was his opening line.

“We are coming to terms with the magnitude of David’s passing. The Jones family lost a husband and a father. Those closest to David lost a dear friend and the world lost a man, an artist of transcendent talent.”

“A transcendent talent.”

Now, I can exaggerate like the best of you but this was no exaggeration.  This was the stone cold truth.  The world is a worse place without David Bowie and if you need final proof of that listen to Black Star.  Black Star isn’t just a good Bowie album, it’s one of his best and it is THE best record released in 2016.

And that’s a fact.

Oldman’s speech was what the world needed.  I admit I finally shed a tear for David Jones.  I could not possibly have been alone in that.

Then Lorde did Life on Mars.

My only real criticism would be of the awful lighting that dogged the entire Brits.  But, that aside, it too was a suitable tribute.

This is all of it.

(Oldman’s eulogy, preceded by Annie Lennox’s intro and followed by Lorde’s extraordinary performance.)

Why the Big Short disappointed me so much.


Let’s start positive.

Christian Bale pulls another great performance out of the bag.

(Possibly his second Oscar.)

And so does Steve Carell.  (Should have been nominated.)

And the music is amazing.

As you leave to Led Zeppelin’s crushing ‘When The Levee Breaks’ you could be striding, like a Wall Street Trader, all big balled and bouffant into the night, wind rushing through your long shiny hair all attitoodinal.

You could be walking into a high maintenance Strip Club to be drooled over.

You could.

You really could.

Except you’re not.

Because the last two hours of your life were a mess.

You’ve seen an edit room meltdown.  Let’s face it, in places the editing in this movie is just sub frickin’ prime man.  But I can see why Hank Corwin is nominated. It’s original. (But it’s style over story telling).

This movie is an economics lesson that wants to be so, so, so cool that you might even start to like economics in such a way that it blows it.

But it forgets one very important thing.

Great movies tell stories.

This movie is not a story. It’s SO NOT a story.  It’s just a mess.  And any amount of Led Zeppelin and Steve Carell at his best and Bradd Pitt at his most subdued, modest, handsome, pouty self  doesn’t save it.

It’s a mess.

And that’s why it fails.

(And as for Margot Robbie.  Oh come on.)


I kinda liked it all the same.


The James Plays. Part 3. James III.


You can read the concept behind the James Plays in my post of two days ago here.

James III completes the trilogy and in my opinion the best was saved for last.

It’s subtitled The True Mirror because writer Rona Munro uses the device of a gift of a ‘true’ mirror from James III to his, by this point in Act 2, estranged wife to show her how ugly she is. But Malin Crepin, the Swedish actor who plays the part, could hardy be described thus, and her character doesn’t fall for it.

It backfires dramatically.  The metaphor extends to the plays as a whole holding a mirror up to Scotland and asking it what it stands for and looks like.

What makes this the most enjoyable of the three plays in the trilogy is, firstly, the performances of Matthew Pigeon as James III and, secondly, of Crepin as his wife, the Danish Queen Margaret.

Munro writes it for laughs and she gets them in spades.

Unlike the first two plays, this time we meet the protagonist towards the end of his short life (he died aged 37).  But it’s debatable whether this play should be called Margaret, as it’s the Queen that dominates the proceedings, fulfilling many of James’ duties in running the country while he enjoys the life of Riley, including assignations both with his female dresser and his manservant.

And yet he still carries a cross for his beautiful queen.

At one point he loses the plot with her and after losing an argument about whether her father, the King of Denmark, had paid her dowry he screams at her. “What did I get as your dowry? Orkney!  And FUCKING Shetland.”

The same cannot be said for his relationship with his eldest son, Jamie, destined to be James IV.  It’s a kind of madness in that he is jealous of him because the future is his and he knows Jamie will one day fill his shoes.  He sets out to make his life a misery as a form of anticipatory punishment.

He is, in the true sense of the word, a 15th century luvvie with many affectations that leave his court speechless, not least his hiring of a choir to follow him in his duties and sing musical numbers appropriate to the task of the moment.    These moments are truly hilarious.

Music plays a big part in James III as both acts open with seemingly spontaneous, but perfectly choreographed, barn dances to contemporary songs like Pharrell Williams’  “Happy’ and The Human League’s “Don’t you want me”.

It’s a hoot.

Pigeon really is outstanding as the madness consumes him; his marriage breaks down and his affair with his manservant reaches shock proportions.  His coming out scene will live long in the memory.

As the play nears its conclusion Queen Margaret berates the audience with the houselights on.  She asks us what being Scottish means to us the accusation being that Scotland does’t actually know what she wants, doesn’t know if it can survive without the protection of our big neighbours.  This is clearly where the Independence agenda is most focussed, as is to be expected given its commission in August 2014.

Regicide/patricide follow.  But by now we are fully attuned to the vagaries of life in 15th century courts.  It’s just another death really.


Over these three productions we meet three excellent kings (particularly Matthew Pigeon) and three excellent queens (particularly Malin Crepin)and some excellent supporting performances from Sally Reid, Blyth Duff, Ali Craig and Peter Forbes.  But, so too, do we have a few disappointments (no names mentioned).

Overall the ensemble is good.

The 20 foot sword that dominates stage left throughout should go.  Frankly it’s a pain in the ass.

For me James III crackled and was both hilarious and absorbing throughout.  Act 1 of James I was every bit as good but Act II slipped a little.  James II was the lesser of the three, let down as it was by the performances of the parliamentary big wigs.

But taken as a whole it’s a big, bold, brave, brash and epic theatrical event like no other I have experienced.

My final word of congratulations goes to Rona Munro.  The writing throughout is stunning, the plotting brilliant and the ambition laudable.

Now, back to my day job.



The James Plays. Part 2. James II.


I’m not going to go through the background to The ‘James Plays’ here.  If you are interested I’ve summarised it in yesterday’s post.

Part two of this theatrical marathon trawl through the 15th Century Scottish Monarchs’ turbulent reigns features the son of James I.  The play opens in his childhood as his mother, Queen Joan, hurriedly tries to bundle him out of her under-seige home in Perth, hidden in a kist.  His mother, spattered in blood, makes a fearsome sight and his father has reached his bloody end as part of an uprising led by Walter Stewart, Earl of Athol.

This experience leads to the young James suffering dreadful nightmares and the kist (or trunk) becomes his place of refuge.

Young James has been born with, in Rona Munro’s interpretation, a Scotland-shaped fiery red facial birthmark that led to his nickname of Fiery Face – it is said people appropriated this as a reflection of his hot temper but we see none of that here and indeed he was known to have run a popular reign.

Thanks to his father’s commitment to righting the wrongs he inherited the young James assumes control (at the age of only one) of a mighty army and rich dynasty,.  However, as a youngster he finds himself under the steely, and cruel, tutelage of Sir Alexander Livingston and the Earl of Crighton.  The boorish Livingston, it transpires, is far more interested in lining his own pockets than doing right for Scotland or for getting James’ back.

It has inevitable consequences.

As a nine year old we see the blossoming of ‘Jamie’s’ friendship with William Douglas, son of the previously inept Balvennie of The Douglas family who has, since finding favour with Queen Joan, grown some balls and amassed a colossal land bank from Elgin in the north down the east coast and into the borders.  Only Galloway now evades his greedy ownership and it’s of strategic importance because it will give him a corridor of territory that will lock out England.

His eldest son, Jamie’s pal William, however, is, in his eyes, a buffoon and has inadvertently stolen a valued horse from the Galloway owners which threatens to blow up into serious trouble.

So far, so convoluted.

The history lesson and the power struggles are fascinating, and the essence of the play.  Particularly that between the Stewarts and the Douglas’s.  It’s brought to vivid life through a metaphor in which both ‘clans’ do battle in a ‘football’ match on the Holy Feast Day of The Innocents that sees the Douglas’ triumph.  It’s underscored by conflict but ends up in a chummy but fragile peace.

The match has been arranged by Jamie’s young bride, the consumptive Mary of Guilders.  In an early scene it becomes clear that James has not consummated their marriage because he has spent the night in his kist suffering terrible nightmare.

Wealth and women are the real keys to power in this cornucopian of dynasties and Rona Munro ensures that, though not warlords, the women of the court and government are portrayed as important powers behind the empires.

Most notable of these is the imprisoned Issabella Stewart who James father has locked up in Edinburgh Castle.  James befriends her and sees her as a soothsayer.  “Beware the mouth that speaks blood” she says foretelling the souring of his relationship with William Douglas.

Most of the play, like James I, focuses on the early life of the King and in this case it’s centred around the timorous King’s early relationship with Livingston, Crighton and Balvennie as his older government leaders, and William Douglas, his best friend.

It’s a more intimate portrait than James I and we see the relationship with William sour as Douglas matures and becomes his father’s greedy son.  A greed that the ‘good King’ cannot tolerate.

The play uses a clever flashback sequence to change time periods as we see the child King become a young man and his initial impishness grow into steely determination.

But gradually it centres purely on his and young Douglas’ friendship.  He sends Douglas to Rome as his Papal representative thinking it will mature him but it only deepens the lust for power that he has inherited from his now dead father (an excellent death scene entertains us in act 2).

He returns thirsting for a share of the Monarch’s influence but we realise quickly that Douglas has overstepped the mark and, far from being the timorous beastie that marked his childhood, King James II will tolerate nae shite frae naebody.

Bring on Part 3.



The ‘James Plays’. Part one. James I.


The ‘James Plays’ were written to commission by Rona Munro for National Theatre of Scotland, The National Theatre and The Edinburgh Festival for Ed Fest 2014 and were performed a month before the Scottish Independence referendum on September 18th 2014.

The timing was no coincidence.

They were performed initially to reviews that ranged from ambivalent to brilliant.  One critic described them as better than Shakespeare (specifically I think this was in comparison to the ‘Henry Plays’) – something of an exaggeration given that Munro’s language is far less dense, and written with 21st century audiences (and not all in Scotland) in mind.

Whilst Shakespeare wrote largely in the vernacular of 17th century England, and in unrhymed iambic pentameter, Munro spares us this secondary level of complexity.  The dialogue is, in fact, very easy to follow.

Like Shakespeare, Munro is fond of a laugh and James I, Act 1 particularly, is chock full of laughs; some belly laughs in fact.

The trilogy (‘Box Set Theatre’ as it has been described rather flippantly) covers the reigns of the first three Scottish King James’ and covers the period of around 1424 when James returns to Scotland as a 31 year old uncrowned (in his native land) Monarch, just married to a fucking (as Munro is want to say) high maintenance 17 year old nobleman’s daughter, Joan Beaufort, daughter of nobleman, The Earl of Somerset, to 1488.

He’s survived 18 years in King Henry 5th’s prison after he was captured by English pirates whilst fleeing Scotland as a 12 year old boy.  He was invested, in prison, as king of Scotland by Henry but, of course, the savages, deep in conflict with their English neighbours know not of this and one particularly treacherous family, cousins of james, The Albany Stewarts have installed themselves in Falkland Palace and are running the country as tyrants.

The play concerns James’ freedom and return to Scotland with his new, petrified, bride and her maid ‘Meg’ (brilliantly played by Sally Reid) to establish his monarchy in the face of fierce opposition from the Stewarts.

His ambition is to return Scotland to lawful and fair governance, to end the war with England and to return the land taxes to the monarch’s chancellery instead of straight into the pockets of the Stewarts.

Well, it doesn’t proceed as planned.

The wife’s a moaning, homesick pain in the ass. Although it becomes clear that, despite the arranged nature of the marriage, not only is James in love with her but he had a major crush on her as he spied her from his prison cell in England.

The Albany Stewarts, especially the ferocious matriarch Isabella (a stellar turn by Blyth Duff) resist strongly.

And he can’t afford an army.

Thus we have much fighting, lots of ribald language, comedy aplenty and a touching love story as an underscore.

It’s great fun. with great performances by the ensemble of 20 and strongly led by Steven Miller as James, Rosemary Boyle as Queen Joan and John Stahl as Murdac Stewart.

We are spared james full life story culminating in his murder in Perth in 1437 during a failed coup.  His wife, Queen Joan and mother of his soon to be crowned son, James II escapes and seeks refuge in Edinburgh Castle where, presumably.  James II might kick off.

We’ll see. (And so should you)

James Plays at Edinburgh Festival Theatre until 13 Feb before touring.