Review - Music of 2005

So, what a year it’s been. A year that saw a tedious croaking creature sell by the truck-load. Who actually buys James Blunt?

2005 saw a glut of sensitive singer-songwriter types clog up the album charts. Katie Melua sang a song about a load of Chinese bikes, David Gray got grayer and Blunt out-blanded everyone with the interminable ‘You’re Beautiful’ (although he at least succeeded in giving the world a new rhyming slang). These are acts custom-made for people who buy their albums at the supermarket. I mean, why waste time shopping around for original and innovative music, when you can get Daniel Powter with your washing powder and David Gray with your Special K? On the plus side, Tom McRae made an underrated return, Bright Eyes released a terrific acoustic album and a forgettable electric one, while a Futureheads-endorsed Kate Bush emerged from the wilderness after 12 years.

It was a year of global turbulence, which was recognised by the music world. The Tsunami Relief concert took place in Cardiff in January, and was followed by the Live 8 concert in July, two decades on from the archetypal Live Aid event. It wasn’t without controversy: firstly when Sir Bob blew his top over ticket touts on eBay, then when critics noted the lack of ethnic acts performing (a criticism also levelled at the Live Aid line-up). Arguably, these were the most exciting things about an event which, musically, was most notable for Razorlight and a reformed Pink Floyd. Roger Waters and Dave Gilmour stopped suing each other long enough in the name of a good cause.

They weren’t the only ‘golden-oldies’ to hit pay-dirt this year. Cream reformed for a sell-out performance at the Royal Albert Hall, BMG continued to milk the Presley cow dry, and Peter Kay resurrected the career of Sheffield lounge lizard Tony Christie. Originally released in 1971, ‘(Is This The Way To) Amarillo’ stayed limpet-like to the number one spot for what seemed like forever, staving off all competition. It even managed to cause the MOD to crash, when a pastiche of the promo by the Royal Marines became an in-demand download. It was somewhat ironic that, in a year that the terror threat became a grim reality in London, it took a porky comedian and a crinkly crooner from the North to bring the defence of the realm to a standstill.

Sheffield also provided another chart-topper in 2005, courtesy of the Arctic Monkeys. It was all the more remarkable that the relatively unknown four-piece achieved this through word-of-mouth, via hard gigging and free download demos. It was vindication of how the internet was now having a significant impact on how music was being promoted and consumed. This was further illustrated by the introduction of download figures to the Gallup chart survey. The world of mobile ring-tones had an impact as well, spawning a very annoying amphibian. The Crazy Frog proved that the novelty single was not just for Christmas, rivalling ‘You’re Beautiful’ and ‘…Amarillo’ for the year’s most industrial-strength irritant, and denying Coldplay their first number one.

It was business as usual for Coldplay, who returned with their third album, ‘X & Y,’ after a clutch of sound-alikes (Keane, Snow Patrol, Athlete) threatened to replace them in the hearts of the lighter-waving hordes. ‘Fix You’ helped to fix that. For those not trying to sound like Chris Martin and co, classic post-punk provided the template, with debut releases from Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs, Editors, Maximo Park, The Bravery and the Rakes, plus follow-ups from Hot Hot Heat and Franz Ferdinand. All these sold better than an album of re-recordings by the reformed Gang Of Four, who were an audible influence on anyone with clipped guitar licks in 2005. But most welcome of all was a long-awaited return from Belgium’s finest export, dEUS, a personal favourite.

Elsewhere, Bloc Party and Kaiser Chiefs fell out with Oasis. The Magic Numbers fell out with Richard Bacon. An androgynous American won the Mercury Music Prize. Pete Doherty finally got around to releasing Babyshambles’ debut album, although that was overshadowed by the blizzard of publicity surrounding his girlfriend. Still, Kate Moss seems like… ahem, Snow White compared to Shaun Ryder, who seemed to be paying homage to Patrick Moore of Channel 4’s ‘Gamesmaster’ in the Gorillaz ‘Dare’ promo.

So – to quote Mr Holder - here it is, merry Christmas. When marketing overtakes music and the festive number one spot becomes the Holy Grail. Will it be G4? Will it be Crazy Frog? Will it be a song about a JCB? Will it all go away with enough chestnut stuffing lodged in my ears? Perhaps if I close my eyes and cross my fingers really tight...

Stomach Turning Japanese

Stayed up late last night to watch a Japanese horror film, Takashi Miike's 'Audition.' My friend in Devon, Tim, had recommended it. It starts off quite innocently enough, but the climax is very shocking and wincing. I won't give too much away, if you haven't seen the film before. Suffice to say: if you're ever booked in for an acupuncture or reflexology session, don't watch 'Audition' beforehand.

Review - Arctic Monkeys, Cardiff Barfly

“People said it’d be quiet in Cardiff,” intones Arctic Monkeys’ frontman Alex Turner. But, after a modest entrance to the sound of Dr. Dre, the band light the touchpaper; the crowd surging forward and threatening to engulf the stage of the tiny Barfly venue.

There’s a buzz about this Sheffield four-piece at the moment, garnered through word-of-mouth and a fiercely loyal internet fanbase, ensuring tonight’s gig is a sell-out. Not bad for a band who’ve only just released their first 1,000 copy, limited-edition single.

With Pete Doherty missing in action, Arctic Monkeys are of a current crop (Kaiser Chiefs, the Rakes) looking to occupy a post-Libertines place as a mouthpiece for the working-class weekender. They cover teenage angst (‘Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts’) to nightclub hedonism (‘Dancing Shoes’, ‘I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor’), filtered through Alex Turner’s distinct Sheffield drawl. The highlight is ‘Fake Tales of San Francisco,’ a critique of pop stars singing of places they've never visited (with the biggest number one of the year by a Sheffield native crooning about a town in Florida, it’s perfectly prescient).

The band plays a tight, wired set, unperturbed by the chaos in the crowd as security intervenes to hold back the tidal wave. By the time we reach the bouncer-baiting ‘From The Ritz To The Rubble,’ they’re appropriately flanked onstage by two burly bouncers. As the crowd joyfully sings back “kick me out!” like they’ve known it all their lives, you get a feeling that in the future, Arctic Monkeys are going to have little trouble getting past that velvet rope.

Review - The Dresser, New Theatre, Cardiff

For Only Fools & Horses star Nicholas Lyndhurst, playing a plonker for over twenty years could quite easily become an albatross around the neck. Fortunately, there was no such weight on his shoulders in this enjoyable production of Ronald Harwood’s The Dresser.

Set during WWII, a local theatre plays host to an acting company. Among the backstage staff is Norman, the loyal dresser to Sir (Julian Glover), a veteran actor-manager playing the lead in his 227th performance of King Lear and struggling to keep a grip on reality. Aided by personal assistant Madge (Liza Sadovy) and Her Ladyship (Annabel Leventon), Norman strives to ensure that the show must go on.

Lyndhurst gives a restrained performance as the camp Norman, feeding on some acerbic comic lines without ever falling into cliché. Glover, himself no stranger to King Lear, strikes a perfect balance of authority and fragility. The chemistry between him and Lyndhurst is impressive, showing a neat parallel with Shakespeare’s king and his fool.

A convincing mood of 1940s Britain was achieved throughout by war-torn sound affects and drab décor. An inventive bogie set allowed the action to flow on scene changes, and the use of direct address to the audience was inspired, giving Peter Hall’s play an extra dimension.

With a seamless blend of drama and comedy, The Dresser was a delight to watch. On this evidence, Lyndhurst proves he doesn’t have to play second fiddle to anyone.