Totally Dublin

Mama Cass - subject of a fascinating pop “fact”.

Several songs on the new Hot Chip album were written by chimpanzees! Newton Faulkner grows parsnips in his hair! George Michael has a special door in the roof of his mansion which he has to be lifted in and out of by crane! Yes readers, those were some appalling fibs. But from time to time the world of rock and pop throws up stories which are stranger than anything you could make up. For example the recent revelation that Dion Dublin has invented a new musical instrument. A percussion instrument in fact. Yes, that’s Dion Dublin the ex-England international footballer who played up front for Coventry City in the late 90s. The instrument is called the Dube and it has its own website and everything. “I literally went to Jewson and got some off-cuts of wood - I bought a hammer and some nails and I made a cube,” says Dublin, “I made it myself and got a few cuts trying to play it. It’s just sort of snowballed from there.” Well I never. Is there a long tradition of footballers inventing musical instruments? Did Frank Worthington invent the keytar? Were syndrums dreamed up by Trevor Francis? No, they didn’t which is why Dion Dublin following in the footsteps of Les Paul is rather odd.

I’m telling you this now because one day this will be the answer to a tricky pop pub quiz question. You have been primed. You need to bone up on your musical trivia if you’re ever to fare well at a pub quiz, but you don’t necessarily need to untangle the truths from the falsehoods because most fascinating pop facts turn out to be boringly false without ever being corrected. Mama Cass didn’t die by choking on a sandwich, despite a vicious rumour to the contrary, no doubt given currency by the fact that Mama Cass was indeed rather portly. David Bowie didn’t invent Connect 4. And it’s not true that Stevie Wonder lost his sense of smell in a car accident. Except it is. But he got it back again or something. Oh I don’t know, leave me alone alright? I’ve got a pop blog to write.

Which is why it’s helpful to keep coming back to Snopes.com, the website that takes urban myths and subjects them to a “rigorous critical analysis” (or something). It has lots of different subsections including a page about music. Lots of the spurious musical rumours (i.e. lies) seem to involve notions about female pop stars being blokes - see the entries on Ciara and Lady Gaga. It’s as if people think a woman couldn’t possibly really be responsible for making great music, so non-existent genitals must be conjured to explain away the amazing power of brillo female pop. Didn’t the Spice Girls kick those barriers down years ago? You know when they had all those number ones? Snopes can’t verify the point, but it can put paid to the old story that Keith Richards likes to have his blood replaced every so often (aw, that’s the sort of story you half hope is true), and it can confirm that Michael Jackson owned the rights to the Beatles back catalogue – indeed it goes into exhaustively lengthy detail concerning the small print of the deal. But truth is boring so let’s make up some more lies: Florence Welch is terrified of water! Julian Casablancas’ next album will feature backing vocals by tennis “ace” Andy Murray! Mollie from The Saturdays was once a member of Riot Grrl band Huggy Bear!

(The pop blog will return next week after its author has a nice long lie down… - Ed.)

Special thanks to everybody who stayed upon the news of no free whiskey, to Orlando’s Ennio and Lil Dave’s electro, to the able-bodied last-minute laptop of Stephen Foy, to the bewitching Children Under Hoof and their enlistment of Norman McLaren’s ballet dancers, to Colm Meaney for sticking his grizzled head in for ten minutes (even if he did think it was the jax), and to flashmaster Peter Fingleton for these:

Tonight, Odessa Club, 8pm.

Children Under Hoof live soundtrack films.

Orlando and Lil Dave spin cinema remixes.

Sparky the swearing parrot calls everybody a ballbag.

And you.

During the great 2009 celebrity die-out, we were treated to some truly appalling cut and paste biopic jobs, as well as some blatant money grabbing from programme makers looking to capitalize on fan grief. The welly-sucking low point of this muck was Derek Acorah’s risible Live Séance, where Sky One allowed him to manipulate some emotionally vulnerable people into believing he could provide a direct line to the recently deceased Michael Jackson. The rapid turn around in producing these slipshod obituaries always left you wondering how much thought could really have gone into them, or if Jackson could really have even settled into his heavenly Hilton, before Acorah started maniacally jabbing at the celestial doorbell.

With these still fresh in our Telly Thursday memories, it was incredibly refreshing to sit down to Channel Four’s Mo at the weekend, a well considered, living, breathing remembrance of a much loved political personality on both sides of the Irish sea. Beginning with the diagnosis of her terminal brain tumor, the feature length drama follows ex-Northern Irish Secretary of State through her political success and later isolation, right up to her death in 2005.

The focus of Mo however isn’t on the political work that drove her life, but rather on the woman behind it. Indeed, anyone tuning in for  an in-depth account of the Northern peace process may feel shortchanged here, as the nuts and bolts of history are eschewed in favour of the personalities that shaped it. Though Mowlam is obviously the centre of attention here, it is how those around her interact with her outgoing personality that gives the drama its substance, particularly in a Northern Ireland unused to having a woman at the political table.

Julie Walters’ casting as Mowlam (though she had very publicly voiced her own personal concerns about her physical suitability) turns out to be an utter success, as she expertly embodies the willfulness, humour and bottom line humanity of her character. This humanity turns out to be one of the defining themes of the show, as well as a double-edged sword for Mowlam herself, as it is the cornerstone by which she endears herself to the public, but also the Achilles heel by which she flounders in the hard-nosed world of politics. It’s a poignantly drawn conflict, but also one that is perhaps overused in places, and too often reiterated.

That small gripe made however, it doesn’t take away from an excellent portrait, that is intelligent enough to challenge the viewer in their preconceptions of the woman. Early fears of a drama about ‘Saint Mo’ get quashed in the second half, as her illness begins to take hold and the viewer is confronted with the ugly reality of a hard fought death. As Mo lashes at those around her, we get a nuanced, 3D Mowlam, in a drama that is fearless and dignified in the portrayal of a proud woman facing oblivion.

For Irish viewers, Mo Mowlam should resonate as a familiar and well-liked figure, like a feisty aunt who lights up the house when she comes to visit. Going into this drama you feel as if you already know her a little, before you proceed to get to know her a lot through Walters’ excellent portrayal. When things get tough towards the end, and they do get tough, this familiarity just makes her decline even more difficult to watch.

While it is difficult to emphasize just how emotionally evocative this drama is, it’s also important to point out that this is by no means an utter dirge. There is humour aplenty here, in a script so peppered with under your breath one-liners that it bears endless re-watching. As an overall drama, it checks every box. A wonderful success, in other words. If by nothing else, this was evinced by the fact that its premier on Channel Four drew more viewers than any other drama since 2001. Almost five years on from her sad passing, it seems Mo Mowlam is still capable of drawing a crowd.

Mo aired onChannel Four on Sunday 31st January 2010, and will be available for a limited time on 4oD.

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/mo

ITV2 got a bit raunchy last Thursday. Well, no, not really. Not to any over indulgent sense anyway. But it seemed to be a recurring theme because Channel 4 did the same thing with the return of teen shenanigans chronicler Skins. I found that a bit dull though which is why, this week, I’ve decided to take a look and see what London call-girls get up to.

Secret Diary of a Call Girl, the series based on the best selling true story and blog of Dr. Brooke Magnanti, a doctor of forensic pathology returned on Thursday night, with a double bill opening its third series. This was followed by an interview with Magnanti, carried out by Billie Piper who portrays her in the series. And both programmes were quite enjoyable.

I was quite impressed with Series 1 of Secret Diary when it came out. It was quirky and likeable, and although I thought Billie Piper was a bit awkward when it came to addressing the camera and the audience, it was still something fresh and funny. The second series dipped a bit, not least because Billie Piper was trying to play a high class call girl while clearly pregnant. Also the casting of Callum Blue, an actor with such similar physical features to David Tennant that I felt like I was watching Doctor Who – The Bits We Couldn’t Show the Kids…

The third series returns to the form of the first, with a nice narrative structure that will likely permeate the rest of the series. James D’Arcy is the new man of interest for Belle, or Hannah as she’s known to her friends, and it might just be me but I still think there’s a bit of a Tennant-like quality about him. It’s clear to see what audience demographic the producers are aiming for.

The usual supporting cast return: Iddo Goldberg as best mate (with complications) Ben; Ashley Madekwe as cockney call-girl Bambi and Cherie Lunghi as Belle’s original and Bambi’s current boss. The story is set just after the launch of Belle’s first book and her editor (James D’Arcy) is now pressuring her to begin a second. Belle’s response of “I’m going to have to do some serious whoring” sets the tone for the rest of the series.

In addition to this, Belle’s sister Jackie arrives to stay with her after splitting with her husband, with no knowledge of her sister’s true occupation. Her discovery of Belle’s collection of sex toys results in their visit to a very visual fetish club, where a silent midget wielding a giant dildo on a drill steals the scene.

Where the series works best is its source material. Not just a diary entry show in the way Sex and the City was, Secret Diary is based on real events, some of which are detailed on the real Belle De Jour’s blog (which incidentally is quite an interesting read). The show claims to highlight the diverse sexual encounters of the London elite but, considering we’re in the 21^st century, it’s not really telling us anything we didn’t already know.

The scripting of the material is good though. There is a quirk and a charm to the writings of the real Belle De Jour just as there is a quirk and a charm to Billie Piper’s portrayal of her, and it translates very well to screen. A lot of the dialogue is funny in its simplicity and that’s probably the most appealing part of the show. It’s a simple A-B-C plot that’s perfect for a half hour comedy. It might not be as stimulating (no pun intended) as some of the issues raised by other more serious programming but it is undoubtedly entertaining.

ITV lives in the BBC’s shadow in terms of comedy and drama programming. While the BBC works off a huge budget and plays it relatively safe; ITV can be seen to do the opposite, despite it not always paying off (Case in point – last year’s Demons)

Every so often though, they get it right and Secret Diary of a Call Girl is one such occasion.

Secret Diary of a Call Girl airs on ITV2 on Thursday nights at 10pm.

The newly refurbished Irish Film Institute might be unrecognisable from what it was before. Or it might not. We don’t know. We haven’t been there yet. But the IFI are giving the public the chance to see firsthand the wonderful damage improvements that they’ve made. 

 On Saturday 6^th February, the IFI opens its (new) doors for a day of free screenings, welcoming the public into its snazzy new foyer, the new and improved film shop, the luxurious Cinema 3 and the refurbished IFI Café Bar (where Totally Dublin recommends you get loaded before going to see 2001: A Space Odyssey. It enhances the viewing experience…) 

With fourteen free screenings running through the day in all three cinemas, the Open Day caters for audiences of all ages as well as hosting workshops, music and welcoming special guests to introduce the films.  

Tickets for all screenings will be available at 11am on February 6^th from the IFI box office only. There will be no online or phone bookings. Tickets will be sold on a first come, first served basis, with a maximum of 4 tickets per person. We recommend you arrive early to avoid the bloodshed. 

Or if you absolutely must participate in bloodshed, only do so if the last remaining ticket choices are for Ballroom of Romance or Grizzly Man.

For more information visit: http://www.irishfilm.ie/ 

The Programme for the Day:

12.30   Ponyo 
12.50   Ballroom of Romance 
1.15     IFI Irish FilmArchive Screening 1: Colm O Laoghaire Shorts 
2.15     Ghost World   (+ optional Teen Animation Workshop) 
2.30     2001: A Space Odyssey 
3.00     Eamon 
4.30     My Night with Maud 
5.00     IFI Irish Film Archive Screening 2: Welcome to the Emerald Isle: A Selection of Travel Films  
5.10     Bringing Up Baby 
6.30     Make Way for Tomorrow (16mm) 
6.50     Grizzly Man 
7.10     Crazy Heart 
8.50     A Single Man 
9.20     Winner of IFI People’s Choice Poll – Announced on 5th February

I know it’s hard to believe what with temperatures ranging from a near-freezing 1°C to an only mildly warmer 3°C this past weekend, but the Spring/Summer season has arrived (if only according to my calendar). As shiver-inducing as it may be, it’s now time to start contemplating your look for the next few months. Rummage around for those tailored shorts, fitted tanks (you HAVE been in the gym, haven’t you? No? Me neither…) and leather sandals that have served you well in the past and prepare to, in a manner of speaking, get a little bit naked.

Despite menswear’s reputation as the last bastion of conservatism in fashion, menswear designers are now eager for us all to get our collective kit off. Well, not entirely (sorry, gym-bunnies), it’s more of a case of offering a tasteful sneak-peek to strangers without actually going starkers. This is of course, sheer fabric/underwear-as-outerwear I’m talking about, and the runway couldn’t get enough of this haute voyeurism, either. Read it whatever way you wish - an ethereal aesthetic or just an opportunity to flash the goods, it’s a key look this Spring/Summer season.

At Dior Homme, Kris Van Assche advocated sheer (the vast majority of the collections’ looks centred on one piece - the sheer shirt) and sheer-on-sheer (a sheer loose-fitting blazer over said sheer shirt) which, although appealing enough, probably prompted many to wonder why the house’s prices are so exorbitant when the material’s actually nigh on translucent.

Another Parisian fashion fixture, Riccardo Tisci for Givenchy, approved of the trend, sending out models adorned in blackest-of-black mesh. It worked well (even donned with leggings here!) but even if you are buff enough, do please avoid the German gay bar-frequenter circa 1990s look.

Gucci’s Frida Giannini took a more subtle approach (and the probably the safest to adopt), pairing a slim-fitting v-neck knit with a bold blue shimmering suit. New York’s acclaimed export, Tim Hamilton, indulged in a spot of body-part-fetishisation. Models’ arms from the bicep down were clad in semi-see-through in shades of black and a colour which fused the masculinity of grey and the understated femininity of lilac.

All of the above are styles to source inspiration from and most offer ways of incorporating the trend into your day-to-day wear without leading to your a) catching sever pneumonia, or b) being labelled as a rent-boy. One sartorial misstep that could lead to the aforementioned is provided by Duckie Browne. I said it once, and I’ll say it again, I’m not so hot on nappies.

Saint Etienne: (left to right) Pete Wiggs, Sarah Cracknell, Bob Stanley

For this week’s blog I’ve decided to praise a couple of the best things in pop: Universal’s Deluxe Edition series and particularly the esteemed label’s treatment of the back catalogue of the most amazing (and amazingly undervalued) pop group of all time: Saint Etienne. All of Saint Etienne’s studio albums are due for the Universal deluxe makeover treatment; Foxbase Alpha, So Tough, Continental and Sound Of Water are already out and the rest (Tiger Bay, Good Humor, Finisterre and Tales From Turnpike House) are to follow this year. Each reissue contains extensive sleevenotes form some of the greatest writers on pop; England’s Dreaming author Jon Savage deals with Foxbase Alpha, Freaky Trigger’s Tom Ewing provides the excellent essay for So Tough and The Guardian’s Jude Rogers has been asked to take care of Finisterre. Not only do you get to read these writers’ fascinating insights into what makes pop tick, you get it all via references to Saint Etienne’s ace records, an ouevre which is, to my mind, the greatest hidden gem the pop world has to offer. You will have deduced at this point that Saint Etienne are my favourite group. Consisting of Bob Stanley, Pete Wiggs and Sarah Cracknell, their music charts the development of post-Acid pop, Britpop, post-rock and glitchy electronica, and even what they used to call “Eurocheese”. These records are peppered with undeniable shiny pop classics like He’s On The Phone, Only Love Can Break Your Heart and Who Do You Think You Are. Granted some of these shoulda-been-number-one-with-a-bullet gems stalled at number 39, but that’s where being ten steps ahead of the pack gets you.

When I was a teenager and going through that “rebellious” pop-hating phase, they were the band who seemed to say “Hang on, pop is at least 40 years old and there’s much in that history to admire”. Saint Etienne were and remain great pop archivists, to the extent that they recently established their own dedicated reissues label (Eclipse). So Tough was my favourite album around the time that I was just starting to explore the backwaters of pop. Some called it “magpie pop”, and the album is packed with samples from old films like Peeping Tom, Lord Of The Flies and Madness’ (seemingly forgotten by most people) Take It Or Leave It. Avenue was the record that sucked me in. I bought the cassette single (!) from the Virgin Megastore (!!) and never looked back; to my 16 year old ears it sounded like the most otherworldy, mind-expandingly beautiful pop record in the history of the universe. It sent me dashing back to listen to the Beach Boys again, it also sounded like an amalgamation of A.R. Kane and The Cocteau Twins, but with the melodic clout of The Bee Gees or ABBA and the technical precision of Kraftwerk. The b-sides were incredible too – I got into The Velevet Underground because I read (Avenue b-side) Paper sounded like them. On So Tough itself I was bombarded with this panoply of pan-generational, multicultural pop; Railway Jam is indebted to dub reggae, You’re In A Bad Way is perfect 60s pop parody, Junk The Morgue sounds like some rough old House thing on Trax. And yet it definitely all had that Saint Et “stamp”, because there was a sense that every sound that was being chucked into the mix set the forgotten alongside the acclaimed, Saint Etienne weren’t picking things out of a spirit of elitism or showing off. Rather it felt like being let in on a club; their 1992 single Join Our Club was like a manifesto that that extent. Who else would have the audacity to do a cover of Stranger In Paradise – and make a great fist of it? On the So Tough Deluxe Edition it sits next to a cover of I’m Too Sexy. They were that kind of band. But they also wrote stone-cold classics like Hobart Paving and Nothing Can Stop Us and Like A Motorway and The Process. All the while their records were stuffed with lyrical references to The Four Tops, Carole King, The KLF, House Nation and World Of Twist. The only reason I mention this is because this fandom shines through on their records – you can hear that this group love pop, all of the neglected and forgotten one-hit wonders as much as the acclaimed “legends”.

Critical consensus seems to hold Foxbase Alpha to be the best Saint Etienne album, although I prefer Finisterre. Finisterre was their angry album, and eventually became an arty film which on one level can be viewed as a documentary about London at the beginning of the current century, and on the other as a neat autobiography of Saint Etienne themsleves. They’re famous for their connection to London, and their music has always really been the story of the relationship between music and different environments. Like London itself, on these albums there is a lot to take in. Tiger Bay is a techno-folk concept album from 1994 which featured contributions from Underworld and Stephen “Tea Towel” Duffy. Sound Of Water is their foray into experimental territory and sounds “at once pretty and quadratic, like daisies grown in hydroponic vats”, according to sleevenote writer Roy Wilkinson. Tales From Turnpike House was a concept album about a tower block that saw St Et collaborate with Girls Aloud producers Xenomania and brill 70s heart-throb David Essex. Put simply if you haven’t heard all of these records and all of their b-sides and rarities, and if you haven’t pored over their artwork or ever tried figuring out just what the hell the lyric to Avenue is supposed to be then it’s time to start NOW! These Deluxe Editions look, sound and ARE beautiful and mesmerising in the way only the very best pop music can be. Foxbase Alpha was recently reswizzled by Richard X. Titled Foxbase Beta, it’s available via Rough Trade and guess what – it’s a million times better than it needs to be. Snap these records up now, readers.

Foxbase Alpha (Deluxe Edition), So Tough (Deluxe Edition), Continental (Deluxe Edition) and Sound Of Water (Deluxe Edition) are all available now on Universal/Heavenly.

Foxbase Beta is available via Rough Trade.

“It was a costume drama, it needed a costume drama budget, and it didn’t get that.” 

So says Rodney… I mean Nicholas Lyndhurst.  

It’s always been said that the BBC do costume dramas better than anyone in the TV industry, and it’s true enough – Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Much Ado… I could go on, but that’s generally what the costume dramas do. So naturally, when the prequel to Only Fools and Horses, Rock and Chips received less than the usual allocated budget, Lyndhurst wasn’t impressed. 

The feature length spin-off was shot in just 19 days after waiting months to get the green light. Of the show, Lyndhurst stated, “We thought, ‘we haven’t got the budget we want, we haven’t got the schedule we want, so we’re going to have to make it as brilliant as we can’”. 

And in terms of the production of the show, there really wasn’t any cause for concern - the 60s-set prequel does look fantastic, from the replicated London streets to a nostalgic scene in the Nelson Mandela flat towards the end. Clearly a lot of effort was made to make the show as authentic-looking as possible. 

The performances, too, are excellent. Kellie Bright is the stand-out player as Joan, the Trotter matriarch, working two jobs to feed her extended family, which includes Ted Trotter, (Phil Daniels) whom we know better as Grandad. Nicholas Lyndhurst, cast as his original character’s father Freddie, is also excellent, exuding a sort of cockney charm but at the same time always making an audience wary of his criminal background and intentions towards Joan. The young Del Trotter, played by James Buckly of The Inbetweeners is also a good choice. Though I don’t think anyone can ever picture anyone but David Jason in the role, Buckly does well in capturing the mannerisms and attitude of the character he would become. 

Plotwise, there isn’t really a lot going on in Rock and Chips. The story mainly revolves around the release of Freddie ‘The Frog’ Robdal from prison and his subsequent pursuit of the seldom-happily married Joan Trotter. Amidst this main plotline, we see some early signs of Del’s wheeling and dealing. One amusing scene shows the various members of the Trotter house electrocuting themselves on door handles after Del installs a nylon carpet in the whole house. Elsewhere, Freddie returns to his safe-cracking routine but not enough time or plot is dedicated to this. 

At its simplest, the show is a tale of origin, the story of how Rodney came to be. And after watching ten minutes of Joan’s lacklustre relationship with her husband Reg (Shaun Dingwall, once again playing a cockney chancer – does he ever feel typecast, I wonder?) it becomes clear that her relationship with Freddie will be in the vein of a romance drama, which one might find a tad boring (or sickening) from the writer who wrote one of the BBC’s most popular comedies of all time.  

But it doesn’t turn out that way at all, though the lack of decent subplot does diminish the show. With the scenes between Freddie and Joan effectively telling the only story of the piece, all other scenes between them are somewhat redundant. It’s almost like a fan film, focusing mostly on what could have been the schmaltzy stuff but throwing in a bit of the humour we saw in abundance in Only Fools.  

There’s no denying the charm in John Sullivan’s writing. Rock and Chips has two very important things going for it: the nostalgia and the writing. You probably would struggle to pick a selection of better loved characters than Del and Co, and this certainly helps to distract us from the giant holes where a subplot should sit. The writing similarly, though not dedicated in this case to an extravagant or original plot still exudes the charm that John Sullivan nailed in Only Fools. The trademark quirky dialogue might seem a bit like “Guess the catchphrase” but that never bothered us in the original series so it would seem petty to complain about it now. 

Rumours of a commissioned sitcom are abound but I’m hoping Sullivan adheres to the principle of quality over quantity. After all, do we really want the whole detailed story from 1960 to the present?  

Only Fools and Horses diehards will probably write pages on why this show was a travesty. But if you just want something light and unchallenging with an occasional laugh then you could do a lot worse than Rock and Chips.