Oh. (Russ L has a blog)

I haven’t felt much like writing just lately (although, paradoxically, I was thinking of starting another blog. More on that if I decide I can be bothered to do it), but as ever the bold tales of fings wot I done are piling up. Don’t panic, though. You put your Reading Glasses on, I’ll don my Writing False Moustache, and we’ll get through this together.

Friday the 11th of April was my chance to bare witness to Top Girls at The Crescent Theatre. I’d never been there before, perhaps surprisingly. This was in the ’studio’ room - a performance of ‘Seven Brides For Seven Brothers’ happened in the main hall. Apparently they had ‘Annie Get Your Gone’ not long after. Plenty of opportunities for both rootin’ and tootin’.

I ‘did’ this play (I mean ‘Top Girls’, not ‘Seven Brides…’ or ‘Annie Get Your Gun’) for A level English-Literature when I was at college (I think that this might not be uncommon), but since I’d never actually seen it staged I was quite looking forward to it. I can’t be bothered with any exposition about it, so just have a read of this if you’re not familiar.

I enjoyed this. The programme spoke of Brecht (and I’ve heard him mentioned in relation to the play before), but irrespective of what techniques of acting and scripting may or may be involved used I found myself pulled in rather than distanced. It’s a very visceral and cathartic play, really, or at least that’s how I always perceive it – while (of course) it does make you think, I don’t think the various emotional dehiscent elements of it lend themselves to completely neutral viewing. They were the strength of this, and absolutely captivating (even if all of the shouting did make one member of our party’s headache worse). On a lighter note, the arguments/talking-over-each-other bits were done masterfully, which is surely no mean feat of timing. Lovely stuff.

The following night was reserved for AMMA at The Villa Ground (results in this messageboard thread, to save you having to brave the inaccuracies of MMA Universe). These are always good fightcards, although I’ve steadily come to hate the venue (it’s terrible for being able to actually see the ring, particularly for a shortarse like me). I missed the last three fights due to the ever-heavy-hanging spectre of needing to get the train, but had great fun nevertheless. There wasn’t a single bad fight on the card (or such of it that I saw), and the best amongst them was Ross Sutherland vs Ben Rose. Sutherland was throwing out almost constant submission attempts (I’m barely exaggerating), but Rose just would not give up. He gritted his teeth through a particularly gnarly triangle for absolutely ages, it was amazing. Sutherland took the unanimous judges decision in the end, but they both deserve all of the applause and plaudits you could possibly give them. (Edit: The UK’s best MMA fighter Rosi Sexton writes about cornering a fighter at this show on her excellent blog).

Skip on a week to Saturday the 19th, for Packers (no permalink, sorry – you’ll have to scroll down a bit) at Newhampton Arts Centre in Wolves (another one I’d never been to before). This was very sweet, very funny, and extremely well-observed – all of the characters were immediately recognisable archetypes of people. You’ll feel like you know ‘em all well. Happy ending, too. And proper accents.

The night after meant going to Birmingham Town Hall for Mahler’s 2nd - my favourite symphony to hear live (this was my third time. It’s probably my favourite symphony full stop, in fact). The Town Hall definitely isn’t as good as Symphony Hall acoustically, I found out (the choir and a few other things seemed a bit drowned out at times) but still stunning. The Birmingham Philharmonic Orchestra were remarkable considering that they’re not professionals.

Tuesday the 22nd saw me heading to The Academy for a Gogol Bordello gig. I’d managed to avoid going to The Stankhole since October, and so having given them a bit of time I was expecting to find all of its ills remedied. Really? Nah. All of the commonly repeated bad points still apply, only now the reek of the toilets seems to have a longer range. I look forward to the day the citizenry will rise up and cleanse it with fire. There will be much rejoicing.

Skindred supported, and as such I must make the obligatory mention of the fact that a mate of mine put them on at Eddies some years ago and apparently they acted like proper spoiled little wannabe rockstars (TALKING POINT AHOY-HOY: Is diva-like behaviour from bands who aren’t actually rich/famous yet some sort of socio-cultural parallel of your middle class ‘economic expectation’ thing? A quasi-existentialist re-ordering of the model of the world in your mind based entirely on how you want things to be, and if others in the world outside object then goshdarnit there’s gonna be trouble? Discuss). I should also note that at this gig your man there reeeeally overdid the “That’s not loud enough” getting-the-crowd-to-shout bit. Beyond these things, though, they were ace. You wouldn’t call ‘em avante garde by any means but their songs don’t have 100% boring basic structures, they really give it some welly, and they’re damn catchy. That ‘Trouble’ in particular is a choon. Skindred are probably my favourite reggae-metal band who allegedly treat DIY promoters badly from all of South Wales, and I really mean that.

I have mentioned before that I see a direct correlation between how many members a band has and how aaaawesome they are (there may actually be a formula to work it out. Maybe “divide the number of personnel by two, and use that number of ‘a’s at the start of the word awesome”), and so it goes with Gogol Bordello. Like a livewire gypsy Pogues fronted by an alternate-universe version of Iggy Pop who has a crap moustache and is trying to talk you into letting him tarmac your drive, they combine both frenetic punky jumparounds with slurring ‘n’ roaring drinking songs. Their onstage business is circus-like (carnivalesque if you will) and all the better for it. Fun fun fun.

Word reached me that Carina Round was due to play a secret gig at Woom art gallery on the 23rd. Or a largely unpublicised gig, rather - it couldn’t have been that secret if I knew about it. I’m not in the loop. Or any loop.

Loop-envy aside, I made my way over to The Jewellery Quarter and found not-too-much happening at Woom when I arrived, so I popped around the corner for a pint of Peroni (tall, slim and suspiciously phallic glasses For - as I believe young ‘uns say - The Win) in ‘Vertu’. I couldn’t decide if it was swanky or just wanky. Laura Louise (who seems to be the guv’nor of these ‘Goo Stick’ nights) was already on by the time I got back to Woom, playing acoustic stuff with a jazzy sort of feel. I often think it comes close to damning with faint praise to say that someone “has a good voice” but that’s what it was all about here, with a lot of depth and feeling. She did an absolutely gorgeous version of ‘Summertime’ (the Gershwin one. Not the Will Smith one. Although that’s good too).

Her Wonderfulness Carina did a five song solo set, appearing very very tired. It was weird seeing her without lots & lots of people around (since this set seemed to be semi-secret ‘n’ such), although likeable. She started with a new one I hadn’t heard before and didn’t catch the name of (I faintly recall a line about Clawing someone’s fuppin’ eyes out. Lovely), before going on to ‘Simplicity Hurts’, a fierce version of ‘Ready To Confess’, ‘Downslow’, and finishing with ‘Thief In The Sky’ (which by now I absolutely love). A very atypical Carina gig, but nice enough.

Immediately after she’d finished, Mickey Greaney stepped up to the stage for a couple of songs in what appeared to be impromptu fashion. I’ve read some of the hilarious stuff his name has prompted over at the B:INS forum in the past, but musically speaking he was new to me. His first song was a standard and boring acoustic ballad sort of thing, but the second had a nice dynamic build about it (fairly nifty trick with just a voice & acoustic guitar, few manage it) and I liked it a lot more.

I left after that. I think Laura was due to play again, but I was nearly as tired as Carina was and I needed to be up early the following morning to…

Picket! Yes, it’s still a question of a three year pay deal at 2%, 0%, and 1%. This one-day strike on the 24th was timed to coincide with quite a few other trades going out, which was a very good thing – ours was very well supported, but I’m pretty sure that’s only because the teachers’ strike left a lot of folk with no-one to have their kids. We’ve had too many outwardly ineffectual ones in too short a space of time, in my most humble of opinions. I was nevertheless one of the two (count ‘em) people making up the picket line at our place. What a show of strength.

I’ve spoken before about the wealth of choice that the evening of the 25th offered for entertainment, but I’m now incredibly glad that I opted to go and see Björk at The Civic Hall (especially since McDermott vs Elcock was postponed). There was a good omen as soon as I entered the venue – the London Underground Song was playing over the PA. They should do that at more gigs.

Leila’s part-live part-DJing support set was absolutely all over the place. This is a good thing if you ask me, although it did go on a bit. We got (at different times) distorted bits of speeches and other songs, drone, R.D. James style ambient, industrial breakbeat, techno, and possibly more besides that I’m forgetting. Not all of it worked perfectly, but some bits were ace. Half of the crowd seemed rapturously appreciative, and half nonplussed (the girl sitting in the seat next to me seemed bored out of her mind).

A brass band marched onto the stage all tootling and parping as brass bands do. All of a sudden there’s FIRE EVERYWHERE then there’s Björk in a floaty yellow number and looking elfin (it’s clichéd, but really the best possible adjective when you see her in real life). I was surprised (although I’m not sure why. Hmmm) to find the first half of her set having definite leanings towards a vaguely mournful feel, but she switched to high-priestess-of-the-rave mode in the middle. The highlights came when the laser-lightshow came into play (predictably. Perhaps I am shallow), in particular “Army of Me” (it’s my favourite of hers anyway, but combine that synthline with a lasers and loads of confetti and you can’t lose). The closing “Declare Independence” was breathtaking, shaking off the “Atari Teenage Riot haven’t been very well lately” air it has on record and becoming a joyous, life-affirming thing (also including the densest confetti cloud I’ve seen released over an audience since Britney Spears in 2004), and… oh too many too mention. Amazing stuff. Probably not quite a top ten live set ever, but hovering somewhere near.

That’ll do, I think. There’s been the English Originals folk festival since then, and there’ll be more stuff very soon, but this post is long enough already. I will return at some point with more parables of modern life. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.

It’s clearly an offshoot of this kind of crapola, but these people who complain about young’uns playing their music too loudly on buses usually speak of chavs playing garage (the more hardline sorts sometimes say hip-hop, but those with pretensions towards being a reasonable human being draw back from that after thinking “Hang on… I have been known to actually like some hip-hop. Y’know, the first De La Soul album”).

The behaviour thus bemoaned by them doesn’t tend to annoy me. I can easily see why it would wind someone up (the playing of music in general, that is; not specific types) and I have some degree of sympathy (it’s someone forcing something onto someone else, after all), but it usually just doesn’t get to me.

Today I found an exception. It wasn’t the playing of music, oh no; it was the fact that he was playing The Same Damn Track. Over And Over Again. And Again. Then Again.

One of these days you’re all going to pay. All of you.

(This track was, incidentally, a post-rock come instrumental-metal sort of thing. Pelican-ish, maybe).

There was a whole pile o’ fighting on the telly on Saturday the 5th of March, and (just for a laugh) I decided to attempt to use Twitter to liveblog it. Nothing particularly funny or insightful resulted, but click on the ‘more’ if you want to see it (I don’t normally use those but it’s a bit long to post straight to the main page. Obviously, this only applies if you’re looking at the main page now. If you’re looking at this post on its own then just ignore this bit).

(more…)

Saturday the 29th of March gave me an excuse to go to Kidderminster (just what I’d been looking for!), in the form of Angrrr Management’s The Octagon Club MMA card. It was probably the least of the five Angrrr cards I’ve been to (in fact probably the least of any of the six MMA events I’ve seen at the Glades Leisure Centre), although that’s not to say bad by any means.

Speed and brevity seemed to be the theme of the evening – the first seven matches were over in the first round (five of them inside two minutes), and the three epic-scale affairs that followed only went for a couple of sessions. The fight of the night was probably the makeshift headliner (after Jacob Lovstad vs Kevin Thompson was cancelled. Shame they couldn’t have publicised that fact a bit more widely beforehand, really) between Chris Rice and Christian Smith. It was one of those wild brawls that our domestic MMA scene does so well, with a great atmosphere provided by the supporters of both getting behind their man.

This one was more about the future than the present for me, though. A few fighters had their first fight under pro MMA rules on this card, with particularly impressive debuts from Joseph Duffy and especially Eugene Fadiora. I’ve seen the latter before in the three amateur fights he had at AMMA and he always looked good, but this was an assured and confident performance even beyond those. He rocked former victim Neil Huntley with an elbow early on; Neil tried to take it to the ground, but Eugene inexorably manoeuvred to side control with both arms trapped (y’know, Matt Hughes position) and pounded for the quick stoppage. I realise I say this sort of thing a lot, but he’s a name to look out for.

The girl attempting to do post-fight interviews could have done with a bit more practice, though.

My fellow trife ninjas of West Midlands Blogging Massive (yeah you better watch out) didn’t seem to be representing in quite the force I was expecting at the Enablers gig, but obviously they were all a-waiting for Capsule’s Efterklang gig on the 27th. Bloggers aplenty, there were. Loads of the little bleeders.

Our Broken Garden (one of Efterklang. She was on her own here, although I understand she sometimes plays with accompaniment) was already on when I arrived. Mournful (and very Nordic) piano ballads were her stock-in-trade, with a very pretty sound but a bit dull. I will, however, note that the songs on HerSpace page seem a bit more engaging than she was live (a bit more “Wish You Were Here”, perhaps).

Efterklang are, like the headliners at the gig I went to before this, a band you could adjectivificatisorate about for a long ol’ time without coming to any sort of useful result. They are oh-so very difficult to describe. ‘Sigur Ros’ is a common (if generally acknowledged to be incomplete) comparison that I myself cleaved to (while acknowledging it to be incomplete) last time I saw them, but that seemed even less helpful still this time around. Nevertheless, imagine a more song-based Sigur Ros combined with a more song-based Godspeed! You Black Emperor (yet again the ‘post-rock’ frame of reference will cause disgust, but I can’t help that) and a reallyreallyreally small but reallyreallyreally timbraly (is that a word?) rich choir. All of this could be very misleading if taken in too literal a fashion. I would thus recommend that you don’t do that.

The music is wonderful (in both the ‘good’ and ‘provokes wonder’ senses. Yes; that’s what I was trying to say in the last paragraph), then, but there’s some element of performance to it all too. Firstly, Efterklang have about 381 members. That always makes a band good. They were actually one short due to violinist Peter Broderick having been turned away by customs, but this problem was effectively surpassed by whistling and air-violin. Genius. Their trousers weren’t as mad as they were on the last tour, but (as grievous a failing as that may be) I can’t hold it against a band who not only have a big joyous clap-a-long but also have some of their members march into the audience with percussion to make sure it all goes well.

A nice early finish to the gig at 22:40, too. I approve of that.

Wechtie wrote about this gig too. Hoots mon!

Right. I’m ‘behind’ on my quasi-autistic compulsion to write about every event I go to, and have been since January now. I’m only ever two or three things behind, but whenever I do one I go to something else soon after. I’m going to make a bit of effort and get up to date with this over the next couple of days, but you know what that means. Quick’n’crap posts a-go-go.

The thought occurs that more posts on here have been of the “quick’n’crap” variety than haven’t of late, but since the normal ones are only marginally less quick and marginally less crap I don’t suppose that’ll make much difference to anyone.

Anyway, as I was saying before you distracted me, Sunday the 23rd o’March meant heading Hare & Hounds-wards for The Curate’s Egg’s Enablers gig. In the name of not boring y’all further with stuff you’ve read from me before (I doubt anyone’ll actually be here if they have a problem with boredom or me repeating myself, but nevertheless) I will chant the mantra: Don’t moan, don’t moan, don’t moan…

Tempting as it was to almost blunder straight into an Ad Hominem fallacy, this was possibly the best time that I’ve seen openers Mills And Boon. The ‘Beefheart’ thing really shone through at this gig – always present, but strong here. Scrangly (yes, scrangly) guitar abounded, and the unusual structures of the songs seemed even more engaging than usual. Also, counting in with “One, two, three, fourfivesixseveneightGOOOO~!” is always worth doing.

(Don’t moan, don’t moan, don’t moan…)

The Courtesy Group were typically good. Al was wearing a smock that buttoned up the front. This is important, I feel. They’re another band I’ve written about so many times before that I have nothing else to say, but they’re ace. Post-punk with poetry, a bit The Fall but not really and a bit Beefheart but not really. Really love the guitar bit in that one song they do. You know, that one with the really loveable guitar bit.

(Don’t moan, don’t moan, don’t moan…)

Neither of the International Touring Headlinerz that I’ll be speaking of during both this post and the next have a lot in common sonically, but they do share the common facet of being bands at which you could throw completely apposite adjectives all day and never come any closer to describing them. This is usually a good sign in my eyes, and so it goes with Enablers. The phrase ‘post rock’ will upset the ears of many who are sick of the trend of recent years, I realise, but it’s about the most approximate existing style. No mere quiet then loud merchants, though, musically Enablers offer peaks and troughs that feel genuinely emotive to me. “Slint, saturated with smoke and whiskey” seems poor but will have to do. Even more important than this is frontman and spoken-word vocalist Pete Simonelli, intoning his affecting words in his deep sonorous voice. He’s like a skinny performance poet channelling Cave and Bukowski, and really elevates this band to the level of something other.

Oh alright then, just a little moan. When the opening band on a Sunday night finishes at quarter to ten, you know it’s going to be a pain in the arse later on. I had to leave halfway through Enablers not to get back to town for my last bus home, but to get the last bus back to town so that I could get a taxi from there. I saw more than I did of the headliners at the last Curate’s Egg night I went to, but ended up paying through the nose for the privilege and once again wondering about the purpose of the exercise. I know that the people in charge have (to some extent) their hands tied, but, well. There we are.

This month is clearly all about fighting, and orchestral & choral music. Maybe all at the same time.

Standard disclaimers: I can’t ensure that these events will go ahead, that they’ll be good, or that I will be going to them. This is just a list of things I found that looked like they might be interesting, so please do not contact me to ask for your event to be included. That’s not the way it works.

Saturday the 29th of March till Sunday the 6th of April – ‘Dance Steps’ (Stan’s Café) @ The MAC, Edgbaston, Birmingham - You, yes that’s you, can perform this play by means of choosing and following different sets of instructions and directions scattered around the MAC. From the people that brought you the (I’ll say it yet again) magnificent The Cleansing Of Constance Brown.

Tuesday the 1st – Beethoven’s 5th (CBSO) @ Symphony Hall, The ICC, Birmingham - Dur-dur-dur DUUUURRRRR! Dur-dur-dur DUUUURRRRR!

Wednesday the 2nd and Wednesday the 9th – ‘Midland Journey: Archive Film Of Wolverhampton And The Black Country’ @ The Light House, Wolverhampton - Showing various films of how it was in The Good Old Days. It promises chainmaking and groaty pudding.

Thursday the 3rd until Saturday the 5th – ‘Days Of Hope’ (MAC Productions) @ The MAC, Edgbaston, Birmingham - A Howard Goodall musical translating the events in The Balkans in the late 80s into a Spanish civil war setting. It’s had some very good reviews.

Thursday the 3rd till Sunday the 6th – British Open Show Jumping Championships @ The NEC, Marston Green, Birmingham - Neigh, neigh and thrice neigh.

Friday the 4th till Sunday the 6th – MAC closing weekend @ The MAC, Edgbaston, Birmingham - The final hurrah of the Midland Arts Centre before it closes until Autumn 2009 to be refurbished and rebuilt. As well as the abovementioned ‘Dance Steps’ and ‘Days Of Hope’, Friday is the storytelling day for families, then there are a couple of days of puppetry events and the grand finale of the MAC On Screen film showing.

Saturday the 5th – Handel’s ‘Messiah’ (Ex Cathedra/Orchestra Of The Age Of Enlightenment) @ Symphony Hall, The ICC, Birmingham - Oh hey they’re playing my song.

Saturday the 5th and various dates up until till Saturday the 19th – ‘Top Girls’ (Crescent Theatre Presents) @ The Crescent Theatre, Birmingham - The excellent Caryl Churchill play. The people putting it all together have set up a blog. This is a very good thing. They’ve neglected to put the dates and times and so forth on it, but still. Baby steps.

Tuesday the 8th – John Barrowman @ Symphony Hall, The ICC, Birmingham - Captain Jack sings.

Friday the 11th – ‘The Masque Of Red Death’ (The Happiness Patrol theatre company) @ The Old Joint Stock Theatre, Birmingham - Poe. And I ain’t talking about La-La’s mate.

Saturday the 12th – AMMA @ The Holte Suite, Aston Villa Football Club, Aston, Birmingham - Amateur and B-class pro MMA, and they’re always good shows. This version of the card is fairly up-to-date, I believe.

Sunday the 13th – Portishead @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton - Of course it’s already sold out, you silly moo.

Sunday the 13th – Pugilist Promotions’ “Old School/New Blood” (Boxing) @ The Tower Ballroom, Edgbaston, Birmingham - Fighting sports return to the reservoir-side venue for the first time in aaages. You have amateurs early in the afternoon, then (after a break) professionals in the evening.

Monday the 14th – ‘The Terrible Tudors/The Vile Victorians’ (Horrible Histories) @ The Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - For kiddies, though, so I doubt it will stoop to the genuine horrible and vile depths.

Monday the 14th – Mil Millington @ Hall Green Library, Hall Green, Birmingham - Go here (and laugh fulsomely) if you don’t know who Mil Millington is. This reading thingy is only for ages 16-25, though.

Wednesday the 16th – Merzbow and The Dirty Noise Ensemble @ The Hare & Hounds, Kings Heath, Birmingham - Noizez. Not, I would suggest, for the faint of heart or the delicate of eardrum.

Thursday the 17th – Lethal Bizzle @ The Academy, Birmingham - If you’re going to this, don’t take any beef with you. You’ll risk losing some teef. And you don’t want that.

Saturday the 19th – The Presidents Of The USA – The Academy, Birmingham - This is one of those instances where I used to adore this band, but (without ever at any point consciously going off them) they’ve declined in importance to me to the point where I’m not really all that fussed. Still: “Peaches come from a can/They were put there by a man”. I can’t argue with that.

Saturday the 19th – Thai Boxing (Firewalker) @ The Light Bar, Wolverhampton - I have no details at all, but if you want to see some Muay Thai then this may be the place to go.

Sunday the 20th – ‘As Seen On TV’ (Notorious Choir) @ The Electric Cinema, Birmingham - ‘The choir with a difference’ a-singing television themes.

Sunday the 20th – Mahler’s 2nd (Birmingham Philharmonic/City Of Birmingham Choir) @ The Town Hall, Birmingham - Surely the greatest symphony to hear live. (And if you like a bit of Gustav, there’s also his Fifth at Symphony Hall on the 22nd).

Tuesday the 22nd – Gogol Bordello @ The Academy, Birmingham - Take up thy caravan and travel.

Tuesday the 22nd – Boris @ The Medicine bar, The Custard Factory, Digbeth, Birmingham - This gig in collaboration with one Michio Kurihara, which may well mean more to you than it does to me.

Thursday the 24th and Friday the 25th – “Packers” (Zip Theatre) @ The Old Joint Stock Theatre, Birmingham - A comedy set in The Land Of The Righteous (The Black Country, to the likes of you). Apparently “a story of pain, pathos, severed digits, mad boyfriends, hypochondriacs, attempted murder, sex and parcel-tape.” Also at Newhampton Arts Centre in Wolves on the 18th and 19th.

Thursday the 24th and Friday the 25th – ‘Blue Planet’ (Manchester Camerata) @ Symphony Hall, The ICC, Birmingham - A documentary from off of the telly about fishies and such (remember: keep friends close, anemones closer), with the Manchester Camerata a-playing a score specifically composed by George Fenton.

Friday the 25th – Wayne Elcock vs Darren McDermott for the British middleweight title (Hennessy Sports) @ The Aston Villa Leisure Centre, Aston, Birmingham - Birmingham vs Black Country, and it’s the big one – the British title. Come On Macca! (Although: guh! at the ticket prices. Almost glad I won’t be going, with that sort of piss-taking).

Friday the 25th – Bjork @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton - Well it’s Bjork. Obviously.

Friday the 25th to Sunday the 27th – English Originals @ The Town Hall & Symphony Hall, Birmingham - An English folk festival, just after St George’s Day. This really does look fantastic: the main gigs are Billy Bragg at The Town Hall on the Friday, Tunng and Seth Lakeman at The Town Hall on Saturday, and The Daughters Of Albion (Kathryn Williams, Norma Waterson, and others) at Symphony hall on he Sunday. You’ve also got free sets (Rush Hour Blues stylee) from The Old Dance School (Friday) and Little Sister (Sunday) at the Symphony Hall foyer in the ICC, and a free showing (if you have a ticket for any of the gigs) of the Folk Britannia documentary at 2pm in The Town Hall on Sunday.

Monday the 28th until Sunday the 25th of May – International Dance Festival @ all over Birmingham - Loads and loads and loads of dance and dance-related events from all over the world are taking place over the course of a month, at various venues in town.

Tuesday the 29th – Alabama 3 @ The Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton - Woke up this morning. Obviously. I wouldn’t be typing this otherwise.

Wednesday the 30th – Cursed @ The Medicine Bar, The Custard Factory, Digbeth, Birmingham - Sometimes sludgy and sometimes crusty hardcore, but (and this is the best bit) they’re actually really good unlike most of the bands that most of the people who’ll tell you Cursed are good will tell you are good. Good. Tell. Good.

Wednesday the 30th – Boxing (First Team) @ The Civic Hall, Wolverhampton - The New And Radical Dean Harrison Matchmaking Philosophy continues to bare fruit – he’s fighting Gary Reid here, which is a genuinely risky fight. Good luck to him, ‘cos it’s great to see.

After The Cleansing Of Constance Brown (I’ll say it again: magnificent) had finished, it was only a matter of walking around the corner a bit to get to The Barfly. This was a good thing, since the rain was absolutely persisting it down. It also meant that I was able to get there without missing more than about five minutes of opening local doomsters I Am Colossus. They didn’t grab me musically, but I loved the slow-motion rockstar poses.

Paul Catten’s The Sontaran Experiment were the aliens-in-the-middle at this particular gig, and they were bloody ace to boot. They played electronic-y and guitar-y and bass-y drum-y and vocal-y and feedback-y noise, with a structure to it but enough of a nod to free-form to keep you guessing. Destructive, but fun and possessed of an obvious sense of the absurd (and/or of humour). The ticking clock bit (“Tick… tock… tick… tock… tick… tock… BLEEEEUUURRRGH… tick… tock…”) made me laugh out loud in a non-abbreviated way. Ace stuff.

Gallhammer, apparently, are very heavily hyped. This is easy to imagine (between being ‘young girls’ and ‘Japanese’, they’d appeal to a lot of people with odd but common fetishes), but I’ve never seen any of it myself. Given that it’s been a long, long time since I last read a music magazine this is hardly surprising, and I’m certainly not trying to disingenuously suggest that all of this media attention doesn’t exist, but all I’d ever come across before the gig was a squintillion people bringing the “Hype! Boo sucks to them!” schtick and it was far more irritating than a press push would likely have been. Worst were the people who would proclaim themselves to be “fans of sludge” or “fans of doom” who proclaimed them to be mediocre at best (a common meme); they’d like a mediocre sludge band (that’s what they do. “I am a fan of ‘x’ style of music” means “I like the average ‘x’ bands as well as the good ones”, doesn’t it?), but not when said mediocre band is the subject of media attention. Confused am I.

I wanted to like Gallhammer, therefore. They had potential to elevate themselves by being a bit different, too: their really incongruous new wave bits and fairly bizarre vocals. Sadly, neither came through. The difference in vocals was lost in the live sound (which wasn’t particularly bad or anything, just the usual less-than-crystal-clear); the new-wave-y pop-punk-y bits didn’t really materialise much at all. Other than that we had ordinary sludge with a few crusty bits. They did have a few parts to a few songs that I got into and some vaguely catchy moments here and there, but on the whole my shoulders shrugged. I wouldn’t be averse to seeing them again, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to do so either.

The Cleansing Of Constance Brown, though. The night was all about that.

Jez sent me a link to The Birmingham Mail’s report about the usual sort of huff and puff surrounding Cage Rage coming to Birmingham. It’s the typical “I don’t really have a clear idea of what I’m protesting against, but I’ve nevertheless decided that it must be barbaric” business (See also: “We’ve got to protect our phoney-baloney jobs, gentlemen. Hurrumph! Hurrumph! I didn’t get a hurrumph outta that guy…”), but I note with interest that it contains a quote from none other than Deirdre ‘LolDeirdre’ Alden.

Forgive me, but I couldn’t help myself.

The entertainment for the night of Saturday the 15th began with a walk down a Digbeth side-road, only vaguely sure of where I was going. The venue for Stan’s Café’s The Cleansing Of Constance Brown was a warehouse on Floodgate Street. They themselves don’t like having to use spaces like this and are desperate to find suitable premises that they can call their own (give ‘em a shout if you have any serious ideas), but I didn’t mind. Bit different, ayit?

Inside, one found walls of big black curtains creating a theatre of sorts in the middle of the warehouse. The back wall of the stage at one end shot back to form a corridor, where everything happened. Everything that happened, of course, was magnificent.

A series of scenes were portrayed in the corridor, each of them showing people exhibiting power over others – from the major (a Jewish family hounded out of their subsequently torched home) to the minor (a man forced to put his cigarette out), and quite often off to one side with the unexpected (the titular Constance Brown – or one thereof, at least – shoots herself in an over-stressed office and forces everyone else into abject panic). It was moving at times and funny at others, always thought-provoking and all acted perfectly: there wasn’t any dialogue as such (people did speak, but they were generally intentionally inaudible over the music), but the body language of the cast was without exception perfectly observed and relayed. The only moments where there was even the slightest hint of uncertainty were when it was entirely deliberate. Some of those moments were damn clever. You probably won’t believe me when I tell you that they elided so smoothly between a drunken office party and an Abu Ghraib scene that you didn’t quite realise when the latter began, but they did.

At the end we were led from our seats, down the corridor and around the outside of it to the exit, enabling us all to see the massive expanse of warehouse behind the curtains and the sheer amount of it taken up by the squintillions (I wasn’t there long but that’s my honest numerical estimation) of costumes used. This was a shock in itself.

Amazing, amazing stuff. I know I recommend a lot of things on here, but this is one I really reeeeally recommend (and for that matter I’m not alone). This run in Birmingham has finished and performances are few and far between, but if it’s ever staged again then make sure you go.