Please Keep the Exits Clear

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X - Francis Bacon, 1953

Dance with defiance,
The circus freaks & lions
Are crowded round your cage to permit you


To condescend your dreams,
But they're picking at the seams,
And now it seems like they're going to rip through


The bars of your cage,
Which you constructed in a rage;
Underage liaisons & your vices.


Now you're trapped by the same
Faceless mass with no name,
That took you by the hand in a crisis.


I can stay if you want me to,
And we can have another beer;
But I'm not driven by greed
So I'll stay if you need,
But please keep the exits clear.


See, I'll come if you need me,
But I won't do more than that;
Deceptively needy,
Consistently greedy,
Know your exits or you'll be trapped.

Fireflies

Das Irrlicht - Arnold Bocklin, 1882

We, fireflies; burn for a day
And think it a forever.
Flitting through the cosmic dark;
Wisps of twilight rising,
Caught like silk on Autumn's leaves,
Hung amongst the ageing trees,
Frame the rolling amaranth skies,
Which round the quieted fireflies.

The Lovers

The Lovers - Rene Magritte, 1928

Watching the bubbles rise through your pint

Like grains of sand in an hourglass,

Whilst the rain beats down on the pane outside;

These smaller prisons to pass.

Those eyes that flirted, perverted by season,

Lines run amok through heartache and reason.

You could take a pen and scrawl on each one:

'Here is December 2008,

When I realised you couldn't let go of your past;

And here is the New Year's Eve of that year,

When in favour of cheer you forgot your own heart.

Here's where I saw how you always sought ease,

Clutching at fading memories;

Too scared to entrust your fate to me;

Your future, your past, your elegy.'

I loved you for guilt of what I had done,

But it led me to crawl at your heels,

In paying my debt I ensnared myself,

And your touch became my seal.

But time has embittered the lash of your laugh,

And the rain has run dry your lips;

Though your nylon-clad thighs chain my joy to your whim,

and your face has my vision eclipsed.

Still, sat here with you,

In this jailhouse bar,

I'll seek a collusion at last;

You're the face of love,

But you're not the whole,

You're a memory of the past.

The 1:20 Service from Edinburgh to Leeds

Edward Hopper - Compartment C Car 293 (1938)

On the 1:20 service from Edinburgh station,

Through Newcastle, Sheffield, and Leeds;

Delayed on approach for 10 minutes at Preston,

And a further 3 minutes by me.

As I boarded the carriage with courage and luggage,

And sat down in seat 24B,

My heart took a leap as you glanced at my seat,

Then sat across the aisle from me.

What beauty and wonder in futures I ponder,

Clandestinely await you and me;

I sought your eye as you stared at the sky,

and listlessly appraised the sea.

When looking right to admire the sights,

You surreptitiously caught my gaze;

I snapped down to my book and dared not to look,

In case you thought me crazed.

O, girl of no name, with one destination,

How perfectly preserved you are,

With dusty sun-light on soft hair and dark tights,

As distant from me as the stars.

And when the train pulled into Newcastle,

As you began to ready your things,

I wept in despair at the sight of your hair,

which I shall never now see up in rings.

Call off the engagement! Illicit romance,

Return the children to sender;

Undo the kisses we shared in our home,

Refund the aga and blender!

For what can you say to a girl in a way

That conveys one's most desperate thoughts,

Without being arrested, imprisoned, molested,

And strung up by court after court?

So as you rose to leave my life, 
My eyes alone perceived my strife,

I begged for one last requiting glance;

And as you buckled your coat,

Fate clutched at my throat,

And our eyes met by sweet, heavenly chance.

I shall miss you, my love, of an hour and a half,

Who departed, Newcastle at three,

On the 1:20 service from Edinburgh station,

Who sat across the aisle from me.

Though perhaps not as much, for fate twists as such,

And a heart is too quick to betray,

As the girl who got on, after you'd gone,

And sat down in seat 24A.

Louise Distras - Heartstrings on a Hand Grenade EP Review

Louise Distras

  Young, wild, & armed with acoustic guitar, Louise Distras sings of desperate situations, dodging bullets, final stands and hostile towns with the coarse emotional vigour of a reckless outlaw pleading to the heavens for deliverance from the hell of a barren life. Her anthemic melodies and refrains grab hold with a fierce bite, whilst her lyrics are fraught with futile sentiments, fearful vulnerability, and aggressive defiance, reflecting an adept eye for the frustration of trying to escape a fruitless life in a town where only love and resentment grow.

  Her voice cuts through the tracks with the same visceral intimacy as on Jamie T's 'Panic Prevention', or Billy Bragg's 'Levi Stubbs' Tears'; whilst the acoustic guitar rattles out a cascade of chords with the same relentless vibrancy of Neutral Milk Hotel's songs about mutant children and poorly conceived monarchies.

  Folk-punk may strike some as somewhat of a contradiction in stylistic terms, but Ms. Distras ties the fast-paced aggression of Joe Strummer's Wild-West rebellious attitude to the rustic charm of the current 'folk revival' with jaunty skill, and the resultant sound is something distinctive, appealing, instantly memorable, and pleasantly indelible.

  Louise Distras' EP, 'Heartstrings on a Hand Grenade' is short, at three tracks, but fierce; like a musically inclined Gimli. The strength of this vignette is in the diversity between the tracks displayed within a fairly restrictive playing style. 'Black and Blue' is an upbeat and lively number, with lots of catchy whistling and whimsical fancying, but the lyrics have more in common with 'Jackson Cage' than Eliza Doolittle and there's a followable narrative structure, which is a welcome refreshment from the erratic mumblings of singers whose concept of lyrics is just the vacuous filler to hold stupid people's attention until the bass kicks in. 

  Opener, 'Bullets', has a strong refrain that feels instantly familiar and Distras builds well upon it, making the song feel like a personal anthem for a disjointed youth, rambling around the same ineludible streets. 'This is Your Life' has much the same feel, though there's an element of the politically charged that supports the '-punk' suffix to this hybrid genre, and it comes across as one of the strongest tracks because of it. There's real fury and commitment in these songs and the minimalistic instrumentation only amplifies the personal expression that's at the core of Ms. Distras' appeal.

   
  Overall I give Louise Distras' 'Heartstrings on a Hand Grenade' an animal rating of: Slow Loris. Don't be deceived; it may be short, instantly likeable, and something you will want to own, but this animal will still claw the skin from your face if you get it riled. Don't underestimate it.

In Memoriam A.J.W.

Amy Winehouse - 1983-2011

So, farewell then Amy Winehouse,
You sung the blues with soul,
Now you are blue,
And your soul has gone awry;
They tried to make you go to rehab,
And now it seems only too obvious why.

Hail to the Eskimo - 'Anything can Happen' EP Review

Hail to the Eskimo

        Hail to the Eskimo's debut EP 'Anything can Happen' is burgeoning with snappy beats, crackling with energy, and flourishing with heavy pop; it is, in other words, the Rice Krispies of the music scene. Low in cholesterol, high in protein and glazed with sugar it is filling without being surfeiting, sweet but not sickly, it is full of energy with little excess fat. Don't let me be misunderstood, this is not a thinly veiled advert for the nutritious benefits of eating Rice Krispies - other brands are available - this is a poorly contrived analogy for the nourishing experience of listening to Hail to the Eskimo's krisp sound, delayed guitars, biting bass, and powerful, female-fueled, vocals. 

        Emerging out of the furnaces of Sheffield and the coal mines of Doncaster, Hail to the Eskimo are still in their molten state, slightly unrefined and unsettled, which lends a feeling of unpredictability and vigour to a sound reflective of the high pitched guitar of The Killer's first album, the readying for the jump to light speed feel of The Stroke's third, and the restless sophistication of Bloc Party's first.

        Eponymous track 'Anything Can Happen' kicks off drums flanging, guitar snarling, and bass bracing itself for the fight. It is unrelenting in its danceability, yet the arrangements are varied enough for this to not become jaded, though perhaps the songs would benefit from having more confidence to really accentuate the contrast between the passion and the breaks; not that confidence is anything the band lacks. There's space enough in amongst the tightly interwoven parts for you to get a good grip on the music, and it grips you back with matched enthusiasm. 

        The lyrics have an anthemic hold and vocalist, Sally, sounds like Beth Ditto on a Slim-Fast diet, which is why, microcosmically, the band work. There is no perceptible over-riding ego, pushing and shoving for breathing space, suffocating the others, and whilst this can be a curse in getting media coverage in an age where music is judged - and I use the word scathingly - on personality and wardrobe, not content, here it allows all members to play an intrinsic part in a wider order. The guitar breaks are like Nick Valensi's early ones, competent but unassuming, the drums are highly rhythmic without swallowing up the restless bass, and throughout all of this the rhythm guitar brings the substance whilst the vocals strike out from within, piercing through the layers like a lighthouse tearing through the night.  There are no egos in this band, because the band is the ego, a collective body functioning as a whole.

        I give Hail to the Eskimo an animal rating of: Cerberus, the multi-headed hound, guardian of The Underworld's eternal gates; a collaborative of heads working as one to produce something that resembles the familiar form of the loveable dog, but with much more bite.