PETER GABRIEL at WOMAD 2009

As mentioned below, the main draw for me to WOMAD 2009 was Peter Gabriel. I've seen him a few times and he has never disappointed. First time was promoting his first solo album at Liverpool Empire in late 1977. He had so little material that the set was padded with a cover of "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" and a couple of songs from Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, most memorably "Back in New York City" which closed the show as a leather-jacketed PG in "Rael"mode, leapt from the top of his grand piano. Another show at the Empire, Knebworth festival (head freshly shaved, giant panda on his back) supporting Frank Zappa, and a breathtaking performance at Birmingham Odeon (first time I heard "Biko") all wonderful and pre-dating the stardom and arena dates that the success of Sledgehammer and the So album eventually provided. The biggest and least successful show for my money was that one, at Earls Court, a venue so soulless only Pink Floyd have ever tamed it successfully. Then the 2008 "Human Rights Now!" tour in support of Amnesty International, with Springsteen, Sting (bleeaugh!), Tracy Chapman and Youssou N Dour. I missed the "Us" tour due to financial embarrassment (the Secret World DVD is a must, though), but caught up with him again at the NEC in 2003. By that time he'd given up dying his hair, sprouted a neat white beard and a comfy looking paunch. Not too far from yours truly, really! What sets us apart is his vision and talent!!

Taking years between album releases, his quality control is extraordinary. With the possible exception of his second record, rushed to capitalise on the success of the first, the proportion of Peter Gabriel songs that do not make the world a better place is tiny compared to most of his peers. They sound crafted (sometimes over-produced, perhaps, but live performance invariably remedies that) and while there are signature sounds, each has a distinct identity to set it apart from the rest. I wasn't that keen on his voice when I first heard it on a badly copied cassette of Genesis' Nursery Cryme, but as I recall, my objection was that he "sounded old", by which I probably meant mature beyond his years. Anyway, he's continued to grow into that voice and is now surrounded by a core of musicians who can replicate and expand upon his studio sound with apparent ease, and routinely appear to enjoy doing so.

Central to these is bass (or more usually "stick") player Tony Levin, who has been integral since the first solo record. The Chapman stick is a bizarre looking instrument, like an 8(?) string bass guitar which is played more like a double bass and plucked with both hands. The only other player I've seen is King Crimson's Trey Gunn, with whom Levin played in the Double Trio manifestation of KC (dig out the Deja Vrooom DVD if you can). Actually I've just found www.stick.com via google which tells you all about it. There are 10 and 12 string versions too. A snip at $2500 !

Other stalwarts are David Rhodes who started out supporting PG with his group Random Hold in the early 80s and Richard Evans (keyboards).There are usually at least a couple of other musicians and latterly PG's daughter Melanie, who does backing vocals and occasional shared lead on duets,including Downside Up, played at WOMAD.

So what about the performance? Well, it's a small stage by festival or even theatrical standards, but they still manged to open supplemented by a string section, drafted in for the debut of a couple of songs from the upcoming (this year?, next year??, next century???) Scratch My Back project, which involves PG covering other musicians' songs in exchange for their covers of his songs. On the strength of his version of Paul Simon's "The Boy In The Bubble" it should be interesting listen (tune and tempo completely refashioned) although not a substitute for "real" new material.
This over-crowded the stage, but once the guests moved on PG, at least, was able to wander about a bit and interact with musicians and crowd. The set was deliberately different to the one played at WOMAD in 2007 (only 3 songs in common, we were told), but there were few questionable choices. Games Without Frontiers sounded re-arranged (again), Solsbury Hill was fun as usual, but in keeping with the professed purpose of the show, namely the promotion of Witness.org (go on, check it out!), the finale was Biko, which I hadn't heard live for over 20 years. Hairs on back of neck, all that stuff. I've never liked the way it's presented (crowd encouraged to give black-power type clenched fist salute with their lily-white liberal manicured paws), but the power of the song is undeniable.

You Can Blow Out A Candle
But You Can't Blow Out A Fire
Once The Flame Begins To Catch
The Wind Will Blow It Higher
And The Eyes of The World Are Watching Now.....

Unfortunately, the world has been watching for quite some time now, and while the problems in South Africa may be no worse (though not as much better as we might like to believe), there are plenty of others queuing up. As Alexei Sayle once pointed out (re. "Ebony and Ivory") "as far as race relations go, piano keyboards aren't gonna solve nuttin' " and however moved I am by hearing "Biko", the world is the same the next day.

WOMAD

World of Music, Arts & Dance

A noble enterprise that's been running as a concept since 1980 and as a festival since 1982, I've been tempted to sample WOMAD for many years but frankly deterred by the prospect of a whole weekend of unknown (to me) artists performing in mostly foreign tongues, accompanied by the standard festival discomforts of mud and sleep deprivation.

I was finally tempted this year by the availability of day tickets (£60, free for kids) and the presence on Saturday of one Peter Gabriel, a man more deserving of a knighthood and national treasure status than many already enjoying such accolades. As a founder of WOMAD, PG has put his money where his mouth is, not only by supporting the organisation but also by bringing the artists involved from all over the world to market via his Real World label, many of the products being recorded at his Real World studios. Famously an early WOMAD festival resulted in such losses that he had to re-engage with his former Genesis bandmates for the Six Of The Best concert at Milton Keynes in 1982 to bail the whole thing out, but it seems some stability has now been established. That said, his sole U.K. appearance for 2009 at WOMAD, whilst ostensibly in support of his Witness charity, may well have been to prop up feeble ticket sales, as it was apparent that many, myself included, made the trip to Malmesbury last Saturday primarily to see him.

There was much else on offer, though. Several venues (even the largest much smaller than the three largest at Glastonbury) presented musicians from all over the world, while catering and merchandise stalls mixed a good selection of quality product with the usual bottom-end tat. Throw in a steam fair and mostly decent weather and the recipe for a very pleasant family day out was complete (although we were down to one child having sent Sprog One to Scout Camp)!

By definition, the music is a mixed bag, and sponsorship from Radio 3 rather than the more usual 1,2 or even 6, points at the potential heavy-going involved. No question that most artists, however esoteric, received a warm welcome, but of those I saw (and the festival set up inevitably means choosing between simultaneous performances), some were easier for western ears to metabolize than others.
It emerged that lyrical incomprehension is not the greatest barrier, as I ended up buying a CD ("Eagle") by Chinese artist Mamer who spoke not a word of English and had all his introductions translated by a band member. Nevertheless, "tunes" from some contributors seemed almost random successions of notes, faithful to a key but without readily discernible melody to these jaded lugholes. Perhaps repeated exposure would open them up but the opportunity wasn't there, supposing I'd felt strong enough.

This partly misses the point, though. As a celebration of cultural diversity, WOMAD is exemplary. Much has been made of music as a universal language, much of it cobblers, however as an excuse to present people of one background at their best, to those of another, it is more than fine.

One further reservation. Maybe because of the ticket price, the social and cultural mixture of those attending did not reflect that providing the entertainment. If I found Glastonbury noticeably white and middle-class, WOMAD was positively WASPish! It may present a rare opportunity to hear African musicians,but there weren't too many of ethnic background doing so. It doesn't matter to the extent that at least the WASPs are being educated, but the apparent alienation of those you might hope to turn up and root for their own (sorry about the pun), is disappointing, if hardly surprising.

(P.S. WASP = White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, although White Anglo Saxon Professional might apply better here)

Zappa Plays Zappa

A week before Glastonbury I spent two very rewarding evenings in the company of Dweezil Zappa (The late Frank's eldest son) and the band of (mostly) young musicians with whom he has been touring the world intermittently for the last three years or so.

When Frank died, the "Official Communique" from the Zappa Family Trust was that those who loved the man's work should ensure that it kept being played. Vested interest there, as they stood to claim royalties, but a wise enough principle. Aside from recordings, there were numerous tribute/covers bands all over the world. There still are, but the initial enthusiasm was dampened somewhat last year when the ZFT tried to prevent Germany's annual Zappanale going ahead as it was in breach of copyright i.e. not paying them the financial dues they wanted.

Frank died in 1993. Zappa Plays Zappa has been on the road since 2006. Had it not been for The Muffin Men and others in the U.K., and like-minded fanatics throughout Europe, South America and beyond, interest in Zappa would have dwindled significantly more than it had done in the intervening 13 years. Those musicians (good ones too - the music's mostly too complicated for the casual slouch to master) who made anything from their "piracy" of the man's work are unlikely to have made a fortune. Few would have been able to support themselves on the back of tribute gigs alone and they were generally semi-pro at best.

Now that the ZFT has its own project for playing the music - Zappa Plays Zappa - the goodwill appears to have evaporated and the tributes that had been tacitly condoned have been challenged in the courts. Happily the German court where the challenge was made threw it out and Zappanale took place and will do so again this August. I'm not quite brave enough to attempt attending, as the language barrier on top of all the drawbacks of festival existence and foreign travel are a bit much, but it's good to know it's there. A bad taste lingers, though.

Anyway, I digress.

I first saw Zappa Plays Zappa at Shepherds Bush Empire in 2007. At that stage, while slickly rehearsed and blessed with a better sound system than Frank would have enjoyed for most of his career, they were still using a "party trick" to get noticed. A video clip of FZ would appear on a couple of occasions during the set and FZ's guitar solo would slot into the song the band was playing live. Similar to the Elvis Live! show, I'd imagine, and probably the Michael Jackson rehearsal footage-dressed-up-as-a-live-show that we have to look forward to somewhere down the road. The effect was eerie, professional but a bit too exploitative for my taste, and detracted from the monumental achievement the band had made in learning many of the most problematic songs from the catalogue, weird time signatures and so on. A better feature was the presence for much of the set of former FZ sideman Ray White, who looked and sounded like he was genuinely having fun.

For 2009, the band was slightly smaller, a largely redundant second keyboard player was missing, redundant because the remaining one (Scheila Gonzalez) can play keyboards and saxophone simultaneously if the mood takes her! There were no "special guests" from the numerous ranks of former FZ band members either, but the need has clearly dissipated

The first night, at Birmingham Symphony Hall, while a good show, suffered because of the venue and some technical problems with in-ear monitors which delayed the start by 30 minutes. The Symphony Hall is a very plush venue, but its oval shape places many audience members a long way from the stage, and only when "forced" to stand by the threat of an abbreviated performance did it come to life, and then just in the stalls. By contrast, the audience at Bristol Colston Hall the following night was so rabidly "up for it" that it had trouble staying in the seats! As with the Old Man's shows, the set list was substantially varied between the two nights, just as I had hoped. The Symphony Hall pretty much demanded a nod to the highbrow element of FZ's work, which it got, while the Colston enjoyed a rockier show which trod the line between polish and anarchy very well. FZ should be proud.

But Is It Art ?!

Up to London yesterday for a visit to the Royal Academy of Art's Summer Exhibition, courtesy of JRT who as a "Friend" can get me in free. Which turned out to be only marginally less than what it is worth.

This was the second time I'd been to a Summer exhibition, last year being the first. Despite apparently "airy" rooms with high ceilings, the RA is oppressively warm and fairly crowded. If you were there to see a masterpiece, this wouldn't matter much, however the masterpieces were thin on the ground.

The idea of the exhibition, that pretty much anyone can submit work from which judges select the cream for display, is perfectly sound. The fact is that the number of submissions is so huge that some work receives barely a cursory glance and not all of what is selected is ultimately hung, as each room is curated by an academician, and some choose to space the work more widely than others. Consequently a couple of rooms are laid out like the pages of a crowded stamp album, with as many diverse (generally smaller) works displayed as will fit on the walls, while larger rooms contain relatively few (if often huge) canvases. So far, so messy, but there is clearly an unenviable dilemma of presentation, in step with the dilemma of initial selection.

Sadly, I doubt whether much of what is on show would gain a place on the wall of another gallery, let alone a home or office.

I must declare at once my ignorance of Fine Art. I'm interested in it, and if let loose in one of the great galleries (Tate Britain, for instance) will have no trouble identifying pictures humbling in their achievement and/or moving in their perception. The old saying that "I don't know much about art but I know what I like" still applies.

The Summer Exhibition, which includes drawings, paintings, sculpture and video should represent the best of what has been submitted. If it does, you have to conclude that the RA is losing its clout, in that much better work is not being submitted but just being sold on completion. That may be healthy, but the implied prestige of recognition by the elite is apparently being diluted or lost altogether, as the Academy hangs substandard work rather than leave the walls bare.

The exhibition includes a number of deliberate visual jokes, including a hand-written postcard asking that it be included as it wouldn't take up much space and would make the "artist"s mother proud. Unfortunately, much of the remaining content is also a joke, but made at the expense of the presiding body. There are unfinished sketches, badly finished (half-finished?) sculptures and paintings which might embarrass a ten year old. The subject matter includes numerous cats and dogs, badly posed nudes and portraits "stylised" as a barely plausible excuse for incompetence. As I observed to my host, all those years ago, when I avoided drawing people for my art homework because I couldn't "do" them, I needn't have worried as the inability was clearly shared by several of the exhibitors. Yes, I do know that Picasso could draw representatively but chose to adopt a more symbolic style. I have no reason to believe that some of the pictures on show in Piccadilly have anything more than plain ole incompetence to justify their appearance. And even much abstract work, which cannot be criticised for inaccuracy, still screams out for a dose of "Emperor's New Clothes"-style honesty. As in, "That's a bloody mess, mate. My cat could produce a more interesting effect."

Happily, there are many exhibits worthy of admiration, but that they are surrounded by so much offal detracts unfairly from their achievement.

Coincidentally, the gallery's upper floor is currently devoted to a wonderful exhibition of work by Pre-Raphaelite J.W. Waterhouse, much of it so exquisite it is almost unimaginable that any one picture took less than a lifetime to produce.Hopefully some of the exhibitors at the Summer Exhibition will visit it and realize that what they are doing is not worthy to hang in the same building!

M.J. - Remember The Time

The Glastonbury festival wasn't properly underway when the news of Michael Jackson's death broke. There was no official announcement, just growing mutterings which many, myself included, dismissed as fabrication. Only days before, I had read that Cliff Richard is rumoured to have died every year, as a Glastonbury standard. I assumed this was a variation on the theme.

Only once I had wriggled into my sleeping bag (with little prospect of sleep given the hoard of drunkards surrounding me), did I receive a text repeating the allegation, followed by a call from Her Indoors, confirming that he'd had a heart attack and was definitely deceased.
Further confirmation arrived in text form from 8 a.m. on the Friday morning, when the first of half a dozen appalling jokes appeared, courtesy of Gloucester's premier barber and dodgy joke-merchant.

It was a surprise, of course, but barely a shock. Media speculation about Jackson's health had been rife for years and Ladbrokes had been taking bets on whether he'd ever make it onto the London stage. They paid out too.

As with most celebrity-related issues, one's view on Michael Jackson the man is informed only by the speculation of a media which can sell copy, advertising minutes or whatever on the back of scandal. At best, though, he was extraordinarily naive and/or badly advised in the conduct of his private life. It is certainly possible to share a bed with a child in all innocence, but if you're a D-list has-been, let alone one of the world' biggest stars, you can rely on someone trying to make a fast buck from selling a story, however innocent the truth. There is no way of assessing that innocence from suburban Gloucester. Suffice to say that he was never convicted of anything (although some accusations were settled out of court).

Michael Jackson the artist, by contrast, was and is public property, for us to analyze and celebrate 'til the cows come home. I saw him perform live twice, an experience which elevated my view of him as a mere pop star to concede that he was indeed special.

The first time at the old Wembley Stadium in 1988, still licking my wounds after the surprise departure of the first Mrs G. (no problem finding someone else who'd have her ticket!), I was in the mood for some light entertainment. And I was well and truly entertained. The moonwalk was literally unbelievable, to a point at which I had convinced myself that there was some unseen conveyor-belt device hidden in the stage! There wasn't.

He was promoting the Bad album, which I still prefer to the more popular Thriller. His voice was clear and all the "vibes" were positive. He knew how good he was and did everything to demonstrate it.

Fast forward a few years and we're back at Wembley for the Dangerous tour in 1992. The album had been a bit of a disappointment but on the strength of my previous encounter I was still hopeful that a breath-taking performance would be forthcoming. It was, but with significant reservations. On several occasions MJ feigned "collapse", freezing, between songs and even mid-song, as if he could no longer continue, inviting the audience to cheer him back into action. This was in addition to slow set and costume changes, far removed from the slickness shown four years earlier. I didn't buy it, and was quite bored with it by the end of the gig. The performance remained special but the attitude had deteriorated to a victim schtick which was unworthy of his talent.

Nevertheless, the second half of his adult life pretty much endorsed the portrait of the artist as misunderstood victim. While the last twenty years saw little "product" of note, his untimely exit, before the undignified milking spectacle that the imminent O2 series of concerts threatened, ensures that, with image so much the core of any pop career, his reputation will survive.

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Incidentally, only with his death have I realised that Michael Jackson was a few months older than me. How anybody, let alone someone with such a frail physique, could have hoped to perform fifty high-energy sets at anything approaching the standard which the public would expect of a man who they remember from videos made when he was half the age, is a mystery. That he was persuaded to try (by debtors, management or whoever) is as worthy of investigation as any witchhunt of his medical team.

Glastonbury: The Pros and Cons

A week ago I was watching Crosby Stills and Nash from a sunny hillside, sipping cider and wishing it would last forever (the event, not just the cider). This despite the dismal sanitation, sleep deprivation and enough rain to render Worthy Farm squelchy for much of the weekend. So it must have been a good experience, even though I was unable, by my return on Monday, to commit unequivocally to repeating it. Indeed, my observation to a fellow camper, returning to a car near mine at sparrow's fart on Monday morning, that it must be like childbirth, demanding a refusal to repeat until the pain is forgotten, seems to have been on the money. I can now say, with a week's hindsight, that it was great and that I would go again. Why's that then?

The music was, predictably, a big part for me, and put crudely, if you add up how much I'd have had to spend to see the acts I enjoyed individually, it must be well over twice the cost of attending the festival. Plus patience is rewarded by allowing the stalwart field-stander to get very close to the performers, even with those massive crowds.

Secondly, the atmosphere is, as everyone insists, special. Very little aggravation, the shared experience apparently sufficient to allow conversation between strangers that would be rare in normal social situations. Just as well, given I was alone for most of the time.

Thirdly, there's stuff you're just not likely to see anywhere else. The fancy dress, the art displays and the musical acts that you chance upon and enjoy, though you never would have looked for them deliberately.

Finally, being out in fresh air for four days is not something that happens to me very often, and is probably therapeutic even if it may have contributed to the tiredness.

From those pluses we must deduct the following:

1) It is a HUGE site, miles from end to end, and if you want to take full advantage of it you're going to walk a long way. I'll take a pedometer next time, but there's no doubt that I walked miles, not a problem but for having to wear wellington boots for so much of the time. Hikers next time, maybe.

2) Not all of your fellow campers qualify as well behaved. Consequently they add to the inevitable mess in the toilets which simple over-use would dictate, and relieve themselves into beer cups before slinging them at those further forward in the crowd. Nice!

3) Many of them are inconsiderate noisy bastards whose "good time" will not be compromised by respect for others and their sleep. So you'll be lucky to average four hours a night.

4) Finally, while the toilets may be "much improved" over the past few years, support for Water Aid's campaign for worldwide sanitation is not going to be furthered by giving people a first-hand experience of third world conditions. No, they probably aren't that bad. Not quite.

For me, the first list comfortably outshoots the second, but I would have to respect anyone for whom the reverse was true. The sanitation issue would be more significant for many women, I'd guess.