The first official single from Benin City - who you may have found gigging throughout the UK capital over the past year or so - and it’s an absolute gem.
You’ll recognise the rhyming talent of LV collaborator Joshua Idehen sprinkled amongst the atmospherics, but it’s the tension and final release of the players here that really make this track special. Released via Audio Doughnuts in late May/June.
(via puppetstrings)
Lately I’ve been doing something rather unexpected. I’ve been reading a book. For fun.
I remember hearing actress Diana Quick on the radio a few years ago, explaining how her English degree had ‘stopped her reading for three years’. I know how she feels. It’s taken me a long time to regain the spirit of voracious reading that led me into a literature degree in the first place - and which that three years of reading lists, essays and determined analysis almost beat out of me.
Thankfully, I can now pick up a book without an ulterior motive, and The Map and the Territory by Michel Houllebecq is my latest choice. My flatmate is a fiction buyer for Waterstone’s, and so our living room is filled with books she’s brought home from the office, and this one caught my eye because it looked odd, and I like odd things. There was something about art, murder, and Paris on the jacket, and so I gave it a go.
It’s… well, it’s well written, but very, very French. In a bad way. Especially in its attitudes towards women. Men are described in terms of their temperament, and their emotional pain, (every man is in emotional pain), and women are described in terms of their tits and arse. Seriously, if I have to read the line ‘Olga’s perfect breasts’ once more I might have to throw the book across the room. Beautiful, inconsequential women encrust the novel like jewels at a cocktail party, and are met with the cool indifference of the troubled protagonist who is so intelligent as to be beyond such things. Even that ‘sumptuous black girl’s plump arse’ or whatever the last casual reference was. Oh dear, Michel.
Possibly this is more beautiful in French - I’m reading a translation - but the wafer-thin plot was also giving me pause about finishing up. It has that air of extreme philosophical importance that I can imagine happening in a cafe full of cigarette smoke, hipsters, berets and bullshit. The reality is that nothing is happening, and as a writer, if you’re not bothering to tell me a decent story, I don’t see why I should put up with you for 400 pages. But then someone got murdered, so I kept on reading.
Does that make me fickle? Possibly I’m too demanding. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because I’m not being graded, I’m not reading it to impress anyone and it’s just for pure fun. So I don’t mind if it’s not perfect, or a bit sexist, or a bit slow. It’s a book. It’s not perfect. Plus ca change.
A photograph of the old Angel station from the 1980s, before it was remodelled in 1992.
Aaron Sorkin. He’s back.
Oh my God, so much yes.
Some healthy advice from one of the greatest screenwriters of the 20t Century.
For aspiring poets:
I haven’t been posting lately. I wrote a poetry show, though. Seriously! A whole show, with words, and poems, and feminist theory and a song at the end and EVERYTHING. I mean, it’s not done yet, obviously, but it’s a solid, recognisable first draft. I am thrilled.
Also surprised. I did an MA in…
I had forgotten about this.
While the BBC’s current documentary series about the London Underground is very good, this 40 minute documentary from 1989 is an electric example of terrific documentary filmmaking, as well as a fascinating snapshot of London. I tracked it down in the BFI’s videoteque suite a couple of years ago for some research, but I’m thrilled to find it’s wangled its way to YouTube. Award winning director Molly Dineen casts her camera silently, brilliantly and entirely without judgement at a group of people getting on with their lives. And by god it’s interesting.
Some things to note: there is no voiceover. There is no ‘I’m on a mission’. No framework or repetition. There’s juxtaposition, colour, atmosphere, and place that tells its own story.
Forget that it’s about the tube: this is a truly brilliant film. The first 60 seconds will make you realise everything that’s wrong with contemporary documentary. It’s a raw historical artefact. It’s funny. It’s compelling. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s about something that should be completely mundane. Watch it.
The London Underground, the 1890s.
I love this photograph. Wooden floorboards. Umbrellas. Old adverts. It makes me think how strange the everyday is. How strange today will seem, tomorrow.
Adorable. Watch if you like books, libraries, or want to see what no-budget digital content can do.
Last week I filmed some interviews for this brilliant, fascinating piece that’s being installed at the Siobhan Davies studio in Elephant and Castle for the next few weeks. It’s a durational piece that lasts up to 12 hours, of performers moving very slowly, or being still. Their images are captured using pinhole cameras. The photos are developed and become a part of the performance. People arrive, people leave. Things return. Images come back. Things are lost, recognised, forgotten. It’s beautiful, fascinating, timeless and impossible to describe. The performance is touring the UK now - do go if you can. More details at www.feveredsleep.co.uk
I’m exhausted from filming and writing job applications - so I give you some PUPPIES! Just born to our beautiful family dog. Full of cuteness. Enjoy.
Lexy had her puppies today! The whelping began at 11:30am, and by 1pm the first puppy had been born. By 5pm she was all finished and she is now resting on her new vet bed with five beautiful baby girls! Two are golden and three are mostly black with a few white patches. It’s too soon to tell how…
